"There"s some pretty girls about, too," resumed the Squire, gazing around. "Not that I"d advise you boys to look much at them. Wonder if they often walk here?"
Before a week had gone by, we were quite at home; had shaken down into our new life as pa.s.sengers shake down in their places in an omnibus; and made lots of friends. Some I liked; some I did not like. There was one fellow always coming in--a tall dark man with crisp hair; his name Richardson. He had plenty of money and kept dogs and horses, and seemed to go in for every kind of fast life the place afforded. Of work he did none; and report ran that he was being watched by the proctor, with whom he was generally in hot water. Altogether he was not in good odour: and he had a way of mocking at religion as though he were an atheist.
"I heard a bit about Richardson just now," cried Whitney, one morning that he had brought his commons in to breakfast with us--and the fields outside were white with snow. "Mayhew says he"s a scamp."
"Don"t think he"s much else, myself," said Tod. "I say, just taste this b.u.t.ter! It"s shockingly strong. Wonder what it is made of?"
"Mayhew says he"s a liar as well as a villain. There"s no speaking after him. Last term a miserable affair occurred in the town; the authorities could not trace it home to Richardson though they suspected he was the black sheep. Lots of fellows knew he was: but he denied it out-and-out.
I think we had better not have much to do with him."
"He entertains jolly well," said Tod. "Johnny, you"ve boiled these eggs too hard. And his funds seem to spring from some perpetual gold mine----"
The door opened, and two bull-dogs burst in, leaping and howling.
Richardson--they were his--followed, with little Ford; the latter a quiet, inoffensive man, who stuck to his work.
"Be quiet, you two devils!" cried Richardson, kicking his dogs. "Lie down, will you? I say, I"ve a wine-coach on to-night in my rooms, after Hall. Shall be glad to see you all at it."
Considering the conversation he had broken in upon, none of us had a very ready answer at hand.
"I have heaps of letters to answer to-night, and must do it," said Whitney. "Thank you all the same."
Richardson might have read coolness in the tone; I don"t know; but he turned the back of his chair on Bill to face Tod.
"You have not letters to write, I suppose, Todhetley?"
"Not I. I leave letters to Ludlow."
"You"ll come, then?"
"Can"t," said Tod candidly. "Don"t mean to go in for wine-parties."
"Oh," said Richardson. "You"ll tell another tale when you"ve been here a bit longer. _Will_ you be still, you brutes?"
"Hope I shan"t," said Tod. "Wine plays the very mischief with work.
Should never get any done if I went in for it."
"Do you intend to go up for honours?" went on Richardson.
""Twould be a signal failure if I did. I leave all that to Ludlow--as I said by the letters. See to the dogs, Richardson."
The animals had struck up a fight. Richardson secured the one and sent the other out with a kick. Our scout was coming in, and the dog flew at him. No damage; but a great row.
"Charley," cried Tod, "this b.u.t.ter"s not fit to eat."
"Is it not, sir? What"s the matter with it?"
"The matter with it?--everything"s the matter with it."
"Is _that_ your scout?" asked Richardson, when the man had gone again, holding his dog between his knees as he sat.
"Yes," said Tod. "And your dogs all but made mincemeat of him. You should teach them better manners."
"Serve him right if they had. His name"s Ta.s.son."
"Ta.s.son, is it? We call him Charley here."
"I know. He"s a queer one."
"How is he queer?"
"He"s pious."
"He"s what?"
"Pious," repeated Richardson, twisting his mouth. "A saint; a cant; a sneak."
"Good gracious!" cried Bill Whitney.
"You think I"m jesting! Ask Ford here. Tell it, Ford."
"Oh, it"s true," said Ford: "true that he goes in for piety. Last term there was a freshman here named Carstairs. He was young; rather soft; no experience, you know, and he began to go the pace. One night this Charley, his scout, fell on his knees, and besought him with tears not to go to the bad; to pull up in time and remember what the end must be; and--and so on."
"What did Carstairs do?"
"Do! why turned him out," put in Richardson. "Carstairs, by the way, has taken his name off the books, or _had_ to take it off."
"Charley is civil and obliging to us," said Whitney. "Never presumes."
How much of the tale was gospel we knew not; but for my own part, I liked Charley. There was something about him quite different from scouts and servants in general--and by the way, I don"t think Charley was a scout, only a scout"s help--but in appearance and diction and manner he was really superior. A slim, slight young fellow of twenty, with straight fine light hair and blue eyes, and a round spot of scarlet on his thin cheeks.
"I say, Charley, they say you are pious," began Bill Whitney that same day after lecture, when the man was bringing in the bread-and-cheese from the b.u.t.tery.
He coloured to the roots of his light hair, and did not answer. Bill never minded what he said to any one.
"You were scout to Mr. Carstairs. Did you take his morals under your special protection?"
"Be quiet, Whitney," said Tod in an undertone.
"And const.i.tute yourself his guardian-angel-in-ordinary? Didn"t you go down on your knees to him with tears and sobs, and beseech him not to go to the bad?" went on Bill.
"There"s not a word of truth in it, sir. One evening when Mr. Carstairs was lying on his sofa, tired and ill--for he was beginning to lead a life that had no rest in it, hardly, day or night, a folded slip of paper was brought in from Mr. Richardson, and Mr. Carstairs bade me read it to him. It was to remind him of some appointment for the night. Mr.
Carstairs was silent for a minute, and then burst out with a kind of sharp cry, painful to hear. "By Heaven, if this goes on, they"ll ruin me, body and soul! I"ve a great mind not to go." I did speak then, sir; I told him he was ill, and had better stay at home; and I said that it was easy enough for him to pull up then, but that when one got too far on the down-hill path it was more difficult."
"Was that all?" cried Whitney.
"Every word, sir. I should not have spoken at all but that I had known Mr. Carstairs before we came here. Mr. Richardson made a great deal of it, and gave it quite a different colouring."
"Did Mr. Carstairs turn you away for that?" I asked of Charley; when he came back for the things, and the other two had gone out.