CHAPTER FIVE.
AN EXPLOSION.
Relationships were somewhat strained in the Vane household during thenext few weeks, the two elder members being banded together in anunusual partnership to bring about the confusion of the younger.
"I can't understand what you are making such a fuss about. You'll haveto give in, in the end. You a poet, indeed! What next? If you wouldcome down to breakfast in time, and give over burning the gas till oneo'clock in the morning, it would be more to the point than writing sillyverses. I'd be ashamed to waste my time scribbling nonsense all daylong!" So cried Agnes, in Martha-like irritation, and Ronald turned hiseyes upon her with that deep, dreamy gaze which only added fuel to theflame.
He was not angry with Agnes, who, as she herself truly said, "did notunderstand." Out of the storm of her anger an inspiration had flutteredtowards him, like a crystal out of the surf. "The Worker and theDreamer"--he would make a poem out of that idea! Already the wonderfulinner vision pictured the scene--the poet sitting idle on the hillside,the man of toil labouring in the heat and glare of the fields, castingglances of scorn and impatience at the inert form. The lines began totake shape in his brain.
"...And the worker worked from the misty dawn, Till the east was golden and red; But the dreamer's dream which he thought to scorn, Lived on when they both were dead..."
"I asked him three times over if he would have another cup of coffee,and he stared at me as if he were daft! I believe he _is_ half daft attimes, and he will grow worse and worse, if Margot encourages him likethis!" Agnes announced to her father, on his weary return from City.
It was one of Agnes's exemplary habits to refuse all invitations whichcould prevent her being at home to welcome her father every afternoon,and assist him to tea and scones, accompanied by a minute _resume_ ofthe bad news of the day. What the housemaid had broken; what the cathad spilt; the parlourmaid's impertinences; the dressmaker'sdelinquencies; Ronald's vapourings; the new and unabashed transgressionsof Margot--each in its turn was dropped into the tired man's cup withthe lumps of sugar, and stirred round with the cream. There was noescaping the ordeal. On the hottest day of summer there was the boilingtea, with the hot muffins, and the rich, indigestible cake, exactly asthey had appeared amidst the ice and snows of January; and theaccompanied recital hardly varied more. It was a positive relief tohear that the chimney had smoked, or the parrot had had a fit.
Once a year Agnes departed on a holiday, handing over the keys toMargot, who meekly promised to follow in her footsteps; and then,heigho! for a fortnight of Bohemia, with every arrangement upside down,and appearing vastly improved by the change of position. Instead of teain the drawing-room, two easy-chairs on the balcony overlooking thePark; cool iced drinks sipped through straws, and luscious dishes offruit. Instead of Agnes, stiff and starched and tailor-made, a radiantvision in muslin and laces, with a ruffled golden head, and distractinglittle feet peeping out from beneath the frills.
"Isn't this fun?" cried the vision. "Don't you feel quite frivolous andContinental? Let's pretend we are a newly-married couple, and you adoreme, and can't deny a thing I ask! There was a blouse in Bond Streetthis morning... Sweetest darling, wouldn't you like me to buy it to-morrow, and show me off in it to your friends? I told them to send ithome on approval. I knew you couldn't bear to see your little girlunhappy for the sake of four miserable guineas!"
This sort of treatment was very agreeable to a worn-out City man, and asa pure matter of bargaining, the blouse was a cheap price to pay for therefreshment of that cool, restful hour, and the pretty chatter whichsmoothed the tired lines out of his face, and made him laugh and feelyoung again.
Another night Mr Vane would be decoyed to a rendezvous at Earl's Court,when Margot would wear the blouse, and insist upon turning round thepearl band on her third finger, so as to imitate a wedding-ring, lookingat him in languishing fashion across the table the while, to the delightof fellow-diners and his own mingled horror and amusement. Then theywould wander about beneath the glimmer of the fairy-lights, listening tothe band, as veritable a pair of lovers as any among the throng.
As summer approached, Mr Vane's thoughts turned to these happyoccasions, and it strengthened his indignation against his son torealise that this year a cloud had arisen between himself and hisdearest daughter. Margot had openly ranked herself against him, whichwas a bitter pill to swallow, and, so far from showing an inclination torepent as the prescribed time drew to a close, the conspirators appearedonly to be the more determined. Long envelopes were continually beingdispatched to the post, to appear with astonishing dispatch on thefamily breakfast-table. The pale, wrought look on Ronald's face as hecaught sight of them against the white cloth! No parent's heart couldfail to be wrung for the lad's misery; but the futility of it added tothe inward exasperation. Thousands of men walking the streets of Londonvainly seeking for work, while this misguided youth scorned a safe andsecure position!
The pent-up irritation exploded one Sunday evening, when the presence ofEdith and her husband recalled the consciousness of yet anotherdisappointment. Mr Vane had made his own way, and, after the manner ofsuccessful men, had little sympathy with failure. The presence of thetwo pale, dejected-looking young men filled him with impatient wrath.At the supper-table he was morose and irritable, until a chance remarkset the fuse ablaze.
"Yes, yes! You all imagine yourselves so clever nowadays that you canafford to despise the experience of men who knew the world before youwere born! I can see you look at each other as I speak! I'm not blind!I'm an out-of-date old fogey who doesn't know what he is talking about,and hasn't even the culture to appreciate his own children. Because onehas composed a bundle of rhymes that no one will publish, he must needsassume an attitude of forbearance with the man who supplies the breadand butter! I've never been accustomed to regard failure as an instanceof superiority, but no doubt I am wrong--no doubt I am behind thetimes--no doubt you are all condemning me in your minds as a blunderingold ignoramus! A father is nothing but a nuisance who must be toleratedfor the sake of what can be got out of him."
He looked round the table with his tired, angry eyes. Jack Martin satwith bent head and lips pressed tightly together, repressing himself forhis wife's sake. Edith struggled against tears. Agnes served the saladdressing and grunted approval. Margot, usually so pert and ready ofretort, stared at the cloth with a frown of strained distress. OnlyRonald faced him with steady eyes.
"That is not true, father, and you know it yourself!"
"I know nothing, it appears! That's just what I say. Why don't youundertake my education? You never show me your work; you take theadvice of a child like Margot, and leave me out in the cold, and thenexpect me to have faith enough to believe you a genius without a word ofproof. You want to become known to the public? Very well, bring downsome of that precious poetry and read it aloud to us now! You can't saythen that I haven't given you a chance!"
It was a frightful prospect! The criticism of the family is always anordeal to the budding author, and the moment was painfully unpropitious.It would have been as easy for a bird to sing in the presence of thefowler. Ronald turned white to the lips, but his reply came asunwavering as the last.
"Do you think you would care to hear even the finest poetry in the worldread aloud to-night? Mine is very far from the best. I will read it toyou if you wish, but you must give me a happier opportunity."
Agnes laughed shortly.
"Shilly-shally! I can't understand what opportunity you want. If it'sgood, it can't be spoilt by being read one day instead of another; ifit's bad, it won't be improved by waiting. This is cherry-pie, andthere is some tipsy cake. Edith, which will you have?"
Edith would have neither. She was still trembling with woundedindignation against her father for that cruel hit at her husband. Shesat pale and silent, vowing never to enter the house again until Jack'sfortunes were restored; never to accept another penny from her father'shands. Sh
e was comparatively little interested in the discussion aboutpoetry. Ron was a dear boy; she would be sorry if he were disappointed,but Jack was her life, and Jack was working for bread!
If she had followed the moment's impulse, she would have risen and leftthe room, and though better counsel prevailed, she could not control thespice of temper which made the cherry-pie abhorrent.
Jack, as a man, saw no reason why he should deny himself the mitigationsof the situation; he helped himself to cream and sifted sugar withleisurely satisfaction, and sensibly softened in spirit. After all,there was a measure of truth in what the old man said, and his bark wasworse than his bite. If his own boy, Pat, took it into his head to gooff on some scatter-brain prank when he came of age, it would be a bigtrouble, or if later on he came a cropper in business-- Jack waited fora convenient pause, and then deftly turned the conversation to politics,and by the time that cheese was on the table, he and his father-in-lawwere discussing the mysteries of the last Education Bill with thesatisfaction of men who hold similar views on the inanities of theopposite party. Later on they bade each other a friendly good-night;but Edith went straight from the bedroom to the street, and clungtightly to her husband's arm as they walked along the pavement oppositethe Park, enjoying the quiet before entering the busy streets.
"We'll never come again!" she cried tremulously. "We'll stay at home,and have a supper of bread and cheese and love with it! You shan't betaunted and sneered at by any man on earth, if he were twenty times myfather! What an angel you were, Jack, to keep quiet, and then talk asif nothing had happened! I was choking with rage!"
"Poor darling!" said Jack Martin tenderly. "You take things too much toheart. It's rough on you, but you must remember that it's rough on theold man too. You are his eldest child, and the beauty of the family.He hoped great things for you, and it is wormwood and gall to his proudspirit to see you struggling along in cheap lodgings. We can't wonderif he explodes occasionally. It's wonderful that he is as civil to meas he is; he has put me down as a hopeless blunderer!"
There was a touch of bitterness in the speaker's voice, for all hisbrave assumption of composure, and his wife winced at the sound. Sheclung more tightly to his arm, and raised her face to his with eagercomfort.
"Don't mind what he says! Don't mind what any one says. I believe inyou. I trust you! The good times will come back again, dear, and wewill be happier than ever, because we shall know how to appreciate them.Even if we were always poor, I'd rather have you for my husband thanthe greatest millionaire in the world!"
"Thank God for my wife!" said Jack Martin solemnly.
Big Game: A Story for Girls Page 5
