Brownsmith's Boy Part 48

"I shall tell him myself, my lad," cried Mr Solomon.

"You forget who I am," cried the boy.

"I don't know anything about who you are when my show of fruit's being spoiled," replied Mr Solomon. "A mischievous boy's a boy doing mischief to me when I catch him, and I won't have him here."

"Turn him out, then," cried the boy; "turn out that rough young blackguard. I came in and caught him picking and stealing, and I gave him such a one."

He switched his cane as he spoke, and looked at me so maliciously that I took a step forward, but Mr Solomon caught me sharply by the shoulder and uttered a low warning growl.

"I don't believe he was stealing the fruit," said Mr Solomon slowly.

"He has got a good character, Master Philip, and that's what you haven't been able to show."

"If you talk to me like that I'll tell papa everything, and have you discharged."

"Do!" said Mr Solomon.

"And I'll tell papa that you are always having in your friends, and showing 'em round the garden. What's that beggar doing in our hothouses?"

"I'm not a beggar," I cried hotly.

"Hold your tongue, Grant," said Mr Solomon in a low growl as he trimmed off a broken twig that had escaped him at first.

"It was lucky I came in," continued the boy, looking at me tauntingly.

"If I hadn't come I don't know how many he wouldn't have had."

"Mr Brownsmith," I said, as I smarted with pain, rage, and the desire to get hold of that cane once more, and use it, "I found a peach lying on the ground, and I was going to pick it up."

"And eat it?" said the gardener without looking at me.

"Eat it! No," I said hotly, "I can go amongst fruit without wanting to eat it like a little child."

I looked at him indignantly, for he seemed to be suspecting me, he was so cold and hard, and distant in his manner.

"Mr Brownsmith always trusted me amongst his fruit," I said angrily.

"Humph!" said Mr Solomon, "and so you weren't going to eat the peach?"

"He was; I saw him. It was close up to his mouth."

"It is not true," I cried.

"He isn't fit to be trusted in here, and I shall tell papa how I saved the peaches. He won't like it when he hears."

"I won't stop a day in the place," I said to myself in the heat of my indignation, for Mr Solomon seemed to be doubting me, and I felt as if I couldn't bear to be suspected of being a thief.

My attention was taken from myself to the boy and Mr Solomon the next moment, for there was a scene.

"Now," said Mr Solomon, "I want to lock up this house, young gentleman, so out you go."

"You can come when I've done," said the boy, poking at first one fruit and then another with the cane, as he strutted about. "I'm not going yet."

He was in the act of touching a ripe nectarine when Mr Solomon looked as if he could bear it no longer, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed the cane away.

"Here, you give me my cane," cried the boy. "You be off out, sir."

"Sha'n't!"

"Will you go?"

"No. Don't you push me!"

"Walk out then."

"Sha'n't. It's our place, and I sha'n't go for you."

"Will you go out quietly?"

"No, I shall stop as long as I like."

"Once more, Master Philip, will you go?"

"No!" yelled the boy; "and you give me back my cane."

"Will you go, sir? Once more."

"Send that beggar away, and not me," cried the boy.

"I shall stop till I choose to go, and I shall pick the peaches if I like."

Mr Solomon looked down at him aghast for a few moments, and then, as the boy made a s.n.a.t.c.h at his cane, he caught him up, tucked him under his arm, and carried him out, kicking and struggling with all his might.

I followed close behind, thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture of my enemy, and was the better satisfied for seeing the boy thrown down pretty heavily upon a heap of mowings of the lawn.

"I'll pay you for this," cried the boy, who had recovered his cane; and, giving it a swish through the air, he raised it as if about to strike Mr Solomon across the face.

I saw Mr Solomon colour up of a deeper red as he looked at the boy very hard; and then he said softly, but in a curious hissing way:

"I shouldn't advise you to do that, young sir. If you did I might forget you were Sir Francis' boy, and take and pitch you into the gold-fish pond. I feel just as if I should like to do it without."

The boy quailed before his stern look, and uttered a nasty sn.i.g.g.e.ring laugh.

"I can get in any of the houses when I like, and I can take the fruit when I like, and I'll let papa know about your beggars of friends meddling with the peaches."

"There, you be off," said the gardener. "I'll tell Sir Francis too, as sure as my name's Brownsmith."

"Ha--ha--ha! There's a name!" cried the boy jeeringly. "Brownsmith.

What a name for a cabbage-builder, who pretends to be a gardener, and is only an old woman about the place! Roberts's gardener is worth a hundred Sol Brownsmiths. He grows finer fruit and better flowers, and you'll soon be kicked out. Perhaps papa will send you away now."

Mr Solomon bit his lips as he locked the door, for he was touched in a tender place, for, as I found out afterwards, he was very jealous of the success of General Roberts's gardener.