The Obstacle Race Part 22

"I think I must leave you now, Mr. Green," she said, "and go and find Mrs. Fielding. I expect the squire is in his study."

His answering smile was as ready as her own, but there was a secret triumph about it that hers lacked. "Pray don't trouble any further on my account!" he said courteously. "I can find my own way."

She threw him a nod, cool and kindly, over her shoulder, and took him at his word. He watched her disappear into the room beyond, Columbus in close attendance; then for a few seconds his hands went up to his face, and he stood motionless, pressing his temples hard, feeling the blood surging at fever heat through his veins. How marvellous she was--and withal how gracious! How had he dared? Midsummer madness indeed! And yet she had suffered him--had even stooped to plead with him!

A great shaft of red sunlight burst suddenly through the heaped storm-clouds in the west. He turned and faced it, dazzled but strangely exultant. He felt as if his whole being had been plunged into the glowing flame. The wonder of it pulsed through and through him. As it were involuntarily, a prayer sprang to his lips.

"O G.o.d," he said, "make me worthy!"

Then he turned, as if the glory had become too much for him, and went into the house.

He had been well acquainted with the place from boyhood though since the squire's marriage he had ceased to enter it unannounced. Before his appointment to the village school, he had acted for a time as the squire's secretary; but it had never been more than a temporary arrangement and it had come to a speedy end when Mrs. Fielding became mistress of the Court. Between her and her husband's protege, as she scornfully called him, there had always existed a very decided antipathy.

She resented his presence in the house at any time, and though the squire made it abundantly clear that he would permit no open insolence on her part, she did not find it difficult to convey her feelings on the subject to the man himself. He accepted the situation with a shrug and a smile, and though he did not discontinue his visits on her account, they became less frequent than formerly; and now generally he came and went again without seeing her.

The room he entered was empty. He pa.s.sed through it without a pause and found himself in the great entrance hall. He crossed this to a door on the other side and, knocking briefly, opened it without waiting for a reply.

"Hullo!" said the squire's voice. "You, is it? How did you get here? Were you caught in the storm?"

"No, sir, I took shelter." Green shut the door, and came forward.

Mr. Fielding was seated in a leather arm-chair with a newspaper. He looked at his visitor over it with anything but a favourable eye.

"What have you come for?" he said.

Green halted in front of him. "I've come to make a very humble apology,"

he said, "for my boy Robin's misdemeanour."

"Have you?" growled Fielding. He sat motionless, still looking up at Green from under heavily scowling brows. "Do you think I'm going to be satisfied with just an apology?"

"May I sit down, please?" said Green, pulling forward a chair.

"Oh yes, sit down! Sit down and argue!" said the squire irritably.

"You're always ready with some plausible excuse for that half-witted young scoundrel. I'll tell you what it is, d.i.c.k. If you don't get rid of him after this, there'll be a split between us. I'm not going to countenance your infernal obstinacy any longer. The boy is unsafe and he must go."

Green sat, leaning forward, courteously attentive, his eyes unwavering fixed upon his patron's irate countenance.

He did not immediately reply to the mandate, and the squire's frown deepened. "You hear me, d.i.c.k?" he said.

Green nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Well?" Fielding's hand clenched upon the paper in exasperation.

d.i.c.k's eyes very bright, wholly undismayed, continued to meet his with unvarying steadiness. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said. "The answer is the same as usual. I can't."

"Won't--you mean!" There was a sound in the squire's voice like the m.u.f.fled roar of an angry animal.

d.i.c.k's black brows travelled swiftly upward and came down again. "He's my boy, sir," he said. "I'll be responsible for all he does."

"But--d.a.m.n it!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the squire. "Making yourself responsible for a mad dog doesn't prevent his biting people, does it? He's become a public danger, I tell you. You've no right to let him loose on the neighbourhood."

"No, no, sir!" d.i.c.k broke in quickly. "That's not a fair thing to say.

The boy is as harmless as any of us if he isn't baited. I knew--I knew perfectly well--that there was a reason for what he did to-day. So there was. I'm not going into details. Besides, he was clearly in the wrong.

But you may take it from me--he was provoked."

"Oh! Was he?" said the squire. "And who provoked him? Jack?"

d.i.c.k hesitated momentarily, then: "Yes, Jack," he said briefly. "He had some reason, but he's such a tactless a.s.s. He blames Robin of course.

Everyone always does."

"Except you," said the squire drily. "Oh, and Miss Moore! She makes excuses for him at every turn."

"She would," said d.i.c.k simply.

"I don't know why," snapped Fielding. He suddenly laid a hand on the younger man's arm, gripping it mercilessly. "Look here, Richard! Do you want me to break you? Because that's what it's coming to. Do you hear?

That's what it's coming to. You're getting near the end of your tether."

d.i.c.k's eyes flashed with swift comprehension over the angry face before him, and an answering flicker of anger sprang up in them for an instant; but he kept himself in hand.

"Get me kicked out, you mean?" he said coolly. "Yes, sir, no doubt you could if you tried hard enough. You're all powerful here, aren't you?

What you say, goes."

"It does," said Fielding grimly. "And I don't care a d.a.m.n what I do when my monkey's up. You know that, don't you?"

"Rather!" said d.i.c.k. And suddenly the resentment died out of his face, and he began to laugh. "All right, sir! Break me if you like! I'll come out on top somehow."

"Confound you! Do you think you can defy me?" fumed Fielding.

"I'm sure of it," said d.i.c.k. "I can defy the whole world if I choose.

There is a certain portion of a man, you know, that can't be beat if he plays fair, however hard he's hammered. It's the rule of the game."

"Confound you!" the squire said again, and sprang fiercely to his feet.

"Don't talk to me! You go too far. You always have. You behave as if--as if--"

"As if I were my own master," said d.i.c.k quietly. "Well, I am that, sir.

It's the one thing in life I can lay claim to."

"And a lord of creation into the bargain, eh?" the squire flung at him, as he tramped to the end of the room.

d.i.c.k rose punctiliously and stood waiting, a man unimposing of height and build yet possessing that innate dignity which no adversity can impair.

He said nothing, merely stood and watched the squire with half-comic resignation till he came tramping back.

Fielding's face as he turned was heavy with displeasure, but as his look fell upon the offender a sudden softening began to struggle with the deep lines about his mouth. It was like a gleam of suns.h.i.+ne on a dark day.

He went to d.i.c.k, and took him by the shoulder. "Confound you!" he said for the third time. "You're just like your mother. Pig-headed as a mule, but--"

"Are mules pig-headed?" said d.i.c.k flippantly.

The squire shook him. "Be quiet, you prig! I won't be dictated to by you.