The Honourable Mr. Tawnish Part 7

"Tell me, Uncle d.i.c.k," says she, suddenly, laying a hand on either of my shoulders, "how did father hurt his foot?"

"Why, to be sure," says I, readily, "'twas an accident. You must know 'twas as we came down the steps at 'The Chequers', Pen; talking and laughing, d'ye see, he tripped and fell--caught his spur, I fancy."

"But he wore no spurs, Uncle d.i.c.k," says she, mighty demure.

"Oh--why--didn't he so, Pen?" says I, a little hipped. "Well, then he--er--just--tripped, you know--fell, you understand."

"On the steps, Uncle d.i.c.k?"

"Aye, on the steps," I nodded.

"Prithee did he fall up the steps or down the steps, Uncle d.i.c.k?"

"Down, Pen, down; he simply tripped down the steps and--and there you have it."

"But prithee Uncle d.i.c.k--"

"Nay, nay," says I, "the game waits for me, Pen--I must go."

But at this moment, as luck would have it, Bentley reappeared, nor was I ever more glad to see him.

"Aha, man d.i.c.k," cries he, wagging his finger at me. "Walk in the rose-garden, was it? Oh, for shame, to so abuse my confidence--d.i.c.k, I blush for thee; and Jack's a roaring for thee, and the game waits for thee; in a word--begone! And to-day, Pen," says he, as I turned away, "to-day is Friday!" and he stooped and kissed her pretty cheek.

I had reached the terrace when I stopped all at once and, moved by a sudden thought, I turned about and hurriedly retraced my steps. They were screened from sight by one of the great yew hedges, but as I approached I could hear Bentley's voice:

"His horse?" says Bentley.

"Yes," says Pen, "and Saladin's such a quiet old horse as a rule!"

"But what's his horse got to do with it?" says Bentley.

"Why, you were there, Uncle Bentley. Saladin jibbed, didn't he, just as father had one foot in the stirrup ready to mount?"

"Oh! Ha! Hum!" says Bentley. "Did Jack tell you all that, Pen?"

"Who else?" says she, "'twas you caught his bridle, wasn't it?"

"I? Hum! The bridle?" says Bentley, "why--egad, Pen--"

"And Uncle d.i.c.k caught father as he fell," she continued.

"Did Jack tell thee all that?" says Bentley.

"How should I know else?" says she.

"Lord!" says Bentley.

"And 'twas you caught the bridle, now, wasn't it?" says she, carelessly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh! Ha! Hum!" says Bentley, "did Jack tell you all that, Pen?" _Page 80._]

"Why--er--since you mention it,--yes--I suppose so," mumbled Bentley, "oh, yes, certainly I caught the bridle--surprisingly agile in one o'

my size, Pen, eh? But egad, the game waits--I must be off, but a kiss first--for saving thy father for thee, Pen."

Waiting for no more, I turned and set off towards the house, but as I once more reached the terrace, up comes Bentley behind me, whistling l.u.s.tily as usual.

"Why d.i.c.k," says he, "where have you sprung from?"

"Bentley," says I, shaking my head, "it's in my mind you've been a vasty fool!"

"For what, d.i.c.k?"

"For catching that bridle!" says I. "Why on earth couldn't you be content to let him trip down the steps as we agreed a week ago?"

"Why then, what of Jack's story of Saladin's jibbing--though strike me purple, d.i.c.k, if I thought he had enough imagination."

"Do you think he did tell her so?" says I.

"To be sure he did, d.i.c.k, unless--"

"Humph!" says I, "let's go and ask him."

Side by side we entered the great hall, and side by side we came to the door of the library; now the door was open, and from within came the sound of Jack's voice.

"I tell thee 'twas nought but a stone, Pen," he was saying, "I say, an ordinary, loose cobble-stone! Good Gad, madam, and why shouldn't it be a cobble-stone? Gentlemen are forever twisting their ankles on cobble-stones! I tell you--" Hereupon Bentley threw open the door, but I entered first.

"No, no, Jack!" I cried, "'twas down the steps--you tripped down the steps at 'The Chequers,' you know you did!"

"Nay, 'twas Saladin jibbed,--don't you remember?" says Bentley.

"Why, d.i.c.k and Bentley!" cries Jack, staring from one to the other of us, "what a plague's all this? Don't I know how I hurt my own foot? I say 'twas a cobble-stone, and a cobble-stone it shall be. Lord! how could ye try to fill our maid's pretty head with such folly? Shame on ye both! Why not stick to the truth--and my cobble-stone?"

"And now, dear Sir John," says Pen, very soft and demure, "pray tell me--how _did_ you hurt your foot?"

"Hey--what?" spluttered Jack, "don't I tell you--"

"A flight of steps, a stirrup, and a stone!" sighed Pen, shaking her head at us each in turn.

"Now look'ee, Pen," says Jack, trying to bl.u.s.ter, "I say I'm not to be badgered and brow-beaten by a slip of a girl--I say I'm not, by heaven!"

"Oh, my dears, my dears!" sighed Pen, reprovingly, "Isn't it time you learned that you can keep few--very few secrets from me, who understand you all so well because I love you all so well? I have been your playfellow and companion so long that, methinks, I know you much better than you know yourselves; I, who have had my word in all your councils?

How foolish then to think to put me off with such flimsy stories. Of course I shall find out all about it, sooner or later, I always do. Yes, I shall, even if I must needs hide in corners sirs, and hearken at keyholes, and peep and pry--so I warn you." And with this, she nodded and turned and left us to stare blankly at one another.

"That settles it!" said Bentley, gloomily, "she'll no more swallow thy cobble-stone than d.i.c.k's flight of steps, Jack. She'll know the truth before the week is out!"

"The minx!" cried Jack, "the jade!" And with the word he s.n.a.t.c.hed off his wig and hurled it into a corner.

"Jack," says I, "what's to be done?"