Prince Charlie Part 34

"Hands off!"

d.i.c.k a.s.sumed an appearance of abject fear, s.h.i.+vering like a calves-foot jelly. It was belied by the grin he could not keep off his face as he continued:

"No more of your affection! I want to walk ash.o.r.e. I don't want to be carried on a stretcher, maimed for life."

Masters was in earnest: deadly earnest. He wished he could get his companion to veer round from his frivolous mood. There was a slight frown on his face, as he said:

"Will you be serious, d.i.c.k?"

The boy was not insensible to the intonation of the words. Looked up, saying:

"Well, what is it?"

"I want to talk to you about your sister."

The opportunity was too good to be missed; appealed irresistibly to the humorous side of the listener; frivolity gained the day. d.i.c.k's nature was such that happiness ever wanted to bubble up, and it was so long since he had felt inclined to give it a show. He emitted a groan; leaned back in the deck chair and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"I thought that," he said. "I guessed it! Existence aboard this lugger's going to be made a curse to me! I am going to have her drummed into my ears all the rest of the voyage."

"d.i.c.k!"

"Understand, Prince Charleigh, that I know her. Have known her for nearly one-and-twenty years. By your own showing, you have known her little more than a month. ... Very well, two months then. It's out of your power to present her in any light in which I haven't seen her. I know the colour of her eyes, hair and teeth; the tilt of her nose and the length of it; how she looks when she's doing this, and how she looks when she's doing that. You understand? I'm not going to be bored all day long with your two-months old description of her."

"My dear d.i.c.k!"

Masters could not help laughing. Concluded that it would be best to let the boy run on. Necessarily he must reach the end of his tether, and his own turn would come then, when, in the natural course of things, the other's exuberance had subsided.

"You may laugh! You're infected. The disease is coursing through your veins. But you're not going to make a victim of me. When you feel it coming on, you just go to the bows--there's never any one there--and rhapsodize to the s.h.i.+p's figurehead. Spare me."

"d.i.c.k!"

Masters spoke quite patiently, smiling the while. He was giving the other his head; it was his best, his only, plan.

"Grin on, you old lunatic! But I warn you, if you seek to make my life a misery by pouring lover-like descriptions of my sister into my unwilling ear, I'll abandon myself to the mercy of the ocean, and sneak off alone in the Captain's gig."

"Well, I do want to talk to you about your sister."

d.i.c.k groaned again. He was in great good humour; his feet were beating a lively tattoo; Masters continued:

"But I don't propose now, or hereafter, to say one word about her appearance, manner or ways."

"Thanks, thanks, kind sir. For this relief much thanks. Excuse this emotion; they are tears of relief."

There was a limit; Masters was reaching it. Was forced into saying, half seriously, half jokingly:

"You are the most unsympathetic, hard-hearted brute that ever existed."

d.i.c.k grinned. It was exactly what he wanted to hear; took the utterance as the greatest possible compliment. He was succeeding admirably; restraining his delight, he said:

"Your flattery is too subtle. You wrap it up too much: like an American caramel. Please remember that my perception is not as delicate as yours."

"There is one thing I wanted to ask you, but whilst you are in this mood, I won't."

He turned to walk away. d.i.c.k realized the possibility of carrying a joke too far; in a minute was all repentance. He would not have wounded his friend's feelings for worlds; called out:

"Come back.... Orate. I'll be as sober as a judge."

He fully meant that.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE FINANCIAL LOADSTONE

Masters walked back to where d.i.c.k was sitting; stood facing the boy again. It was plain that he was really worried; evidently had something on his mind. d.i.c.k paid as much quiet attention as it was possible for him to bestow as the author spoke:

"You will oblige me very much by listening. This business reminds me of the boys and the frog, and I am not finding the role of frog a pleasant one to fill. If you will drop stone throwing and let me croak, I shall take it as a particular favour."

"Croak on."

"When I told you that I had lived at Wivernsea for years, I should have said only a month in each year. I go down there each October."

"This is of absorbing interest!"

d.i.c.k's intentions were good, but his high spirits got the better of him.

The look on his companion's face induced him to settle for another effort of solemnity.

"It was necessary for me to tell you that; by way of explanation of how little I know of Ivy Cottage!"

"Croak on."

Masters was leaning against the handrail, his fingers handling the ropes which supported the lifeboat. He put both arms through and, resting so, spoke on:

"People in Wivernsea--who don't know your sister--don't speak well of the place, d.i.c.k."

"What do you mean--haunted?"

"No. Worse than that."

The gravity in the speaker's manner was not without its effect on the boy. A spasm of pain shot across his face; he sat up soberly enough now.

The feet ceased their drumming; the hands came out of his pockets; the air of nonchalance fell from him like a mask.

"Worse? What?"

"That is what I am anxious to have explained. In a sense, it is no business of mine, but I want it cleared up for your sister's sake; and I think you ought to know."