Big Game: A Story for Girls

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  REVELATIONS.

  At sight of Margot the Chieftain first beamed delight, and then screwedhis chubby face into an expression of concern.

  "Halloa! What's up? You look pretty middling doleful!" cried he,casting an eloquent glance towards the inn windows, then lowering hisvoice to a stage whisper, "Macalisteritis, eh? Too much stuffy parlourand domestic reminiscences? Never mind! Pack clouds away, and welcomeday! The sun is shining, and I have a packet of bull's eyes for you inone pocket and a budget of letters in another. No, you don't! Not onesingle one of them to read in the house--come and sit on a stone by thetarn, and we'll suck peppermints and read 'em together. Wonderful howmuch better you'll feel when you've had a good blow of fresh air. I wasprancing mad when I went out this afternoon, but now--a child might playwith me!"

  He threw out his short arms with his favourite sweeping gesture, hiscoat flapped to and fro in the breeze, he stepped out with such a jauntytread on his short broad feet, that at sight of him Margot's depressionvanished like smoke, and she trotted along by his side with willingfootsteps.

  "That's better! That's better! Never saw you look melancholy before,and never want to again... `Shocking disappearance of dimples! A younglady robbed of her treasures! Thief still at large! Consternation inthe neighbourhood!' Eh! How's that? Young women who have been endowedwith dimples should never indulge in low spirits. It's a criminaloffence against their neighbours. Where's your brother?"

  Margot laughed at the suddenness of the question. It was one of theChieftain's peculiarities to leap upon one like this, taking oneunawares, and surprising thereby involuntary revelations.

  "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "Over the hills and far away,I suppose--studying them in a new aspect. He loved them yesterday inthe rain; to-day he felt sure that it would clear, and he wanted to seethe mists rise. He does so intensely love studying Nature."

  "Humph?"

  Margot looked at him sharply, her head involuntarily assuming adefensive tilt.

  "What does `Humph' mean, pray?"

  "Just exactly and precisely what it says!"

  "It doesn't sound at all flattering or nice."

  "Probably not. It wasn't intended to be."

  "Mr Elgood, how can you! What can you have to say about Ron that isn'tto his credit? I thought you liked him! I thought you admired him!You must see--you _must_--that he is different from other boys of hisage. So much more clever, and thoughtful, and appreciative!"

  "That's where the pity comes in! It's pitiful to see a lad like thatmooning away his time, when he ought to be busy at football or cricket,or playing tricks on his betters. What business has he to appreciateNature? Tell me that! At twenty--is it, or only nineteen?--he ought tobe too much engrossed in exercising his muscles, and letting off steamgenerally, to bother his head about effects of sun and mist. Sun andmist, indeed! A good wholesome ordinary English lad doesn't care a tossabout sun or mist, except as they help or hinder his enjoyment ofsport!"

  "Ronald is not an `ordinary English boy'!"

  "Hoity-toity! Now she's offended!" The Chieftain looked at hiscompanion's flushed cheeks with twinkling eyes, not one whit daunted byher airs of dignified displeasure. "Don't want me to say what isn'ttrue, do you? He's a nice lad--a very nice lad, and a clever one intothe bargain, though by no means the paragon you think him. That's whyI'm sorry to see him frittering away his youth, instead of making haywhile the sun shines. He'll be old soon enough. Wake up some finemorning to find himself with a bald head and stiff joints. Then he'llbe sorry! Wouldn't bother my head about him if I didn't like the lad.Have a peppermint? It will soothe your feelings."

  The parcel of round black bull's eyes was held towards Margot iningratiating fashion. It was impossible to refuse, impossible tocherish angry feelings, impossible to do anything but laugh and be happyin the presence of this kindest and most cheery of men. Margot took thepeppermint, and sucked it with frank enjoyment the while she sat by thetarn reading her letters. Having received nothing from home for severaldays, the same post had now brought letters from her father, Edith, andAgnes, to say nothing of illustrated missives from the two smallnephews. Mr Vane's note was short, and more an echo of her own lastletter than a record of his own doings.

  "Glad to know that you like your surroundings--pleased to hear that theweather keeps fine--hope you will enjoy your excursion," etcetera,etcetera.

  Just at the end came a few sentences which to the reader's quick witswere full of hidden meaning.

  "Agnes is taking the opportunity of your absence to organise a secondspring cleaning. It seems only the other day since we were upsetbefore. I dined at the club last night. It is difficult to know whatto do with oneself on these long light evenings.--I would run away overSunday, if I could think of any place I cared to go to... Town seemsvery empty."

  "Poor dear darling!" murmured Margot sympathetically, at which theChieftain lifted his eyes to flash upon her a glance of twinklingamusement. He made no spoken comment, however, but returned to theperusal of his own correspondence, while Margot broke open the envelopeof Agnes's letter.

  Two sheets of handwriting, with immense spaces between both words andlines--"My dear Margot," as a beginning--"Your affectionate sister,Agnes Mary Vane," as a conclusion. Thrilling information to the effectthat the charwoman was coming on Friday. Complaints of the late arrivalof the sweep. Information requested concerning a missing mat which wasrequired to complete a set. Mild disapproval of the Nag's Head Inn. "Icannot understand what you find to rave about in such quarters." A sighof impatience and resignation was the tribute paid to this letter, andthen Margot settled herself more comfortably on the stone, and preparedto enjoy a treat--a real heart-to-heart talk with her beloved eldestsister.

  Edith had the gift of sympathy. Just as Agnes never understood, Edithalways seemed able to put herself in another's place, and enter intothat person's joys and griefs. She herself might be sad and downcast,but in her darkest hour she could always rejoice in another's goodfortune, and forget her own woes in eager interest and sympathy. Now,sitting alone in the dreary lodging-house sitting-room in OxfordTerrace, she was able mentally to project herself into the far-offHighland glen, and to feel an ungrudging joy in the pleasure of others.Never a hint of "How I envy you! How I wish I were there!" Not amention of "I" in obtruding, shadow-like fashion from first to last, butinstead, tender little anecdotes about the boys; motherly solicitude fortheir benefit, and humble asking of advice from one younger and lessexperienced than herself; an outpouring of tenderness for her husband,and of a beautiful and unbroken trust and belief, which failure waspowerless to shake.

  "Jack is working like a slave trying to build up the ruins of the oldbusiness. It is difficult, discouraging work, and so far the resultsare practically nil, but they will come. Something will come! More andmore I feel the conviction in my heart that all this trouble andupheaval have been because God has some better thing in store for usboth. We have only to wait and be patient, and the way will open.--Idon't want to be rich, only just to have enough money to live simply andquietly. We are so rich in each other's companionship that we canafford to do without luxuries. Last night we had a dinner of herbs--literally herbs--a vegetarian feast costing about sixpence halfpenny,but with such lots of love to sweeten it, and afterwards we went out fora stroll into the Park, and I wore the hat you trimmed, and Jack madelove to me. We _were_ happy! I saw people looking at us with enviouseyes. They thought we were a pair of lovers building castles in theair, instead of an old married couple with two bouncing boys, having theworkhouse in much nearer proximity than any castle--but they were rightto envy us all the same. We have the best thing!"

  The letter dropped on to Margot's knee, and she sat silent, gazingbefore her with shining eyes, her face softened into a beautifultenderness of expression. For some time she was unconscious that hercompanion had returned his own letters to his coat pocket, and was
lyingalong the ground, his head resting upon his hand, watching her with avery intent scrutiny; but when at last her eyes were unconsciously drawntowards him, she spoke at once, as if answering an unspoken question.

  "What a wonderful thing love is!"

  The Chieftain's light eyebrows were elevated in interrogation.

  "In connection with the `dear darling' previously mentioned, if one mayask?"

  "That was my father. I love him dearly, but just now I was thinking ofthe other sort of love. This letter is from my eldest sister. She wasa beautiful girl, and could have married half a dozen rich men if shehad wished, but she chose the poorest of them all, a dear, good,splendid man, who has been persistently unsuccessful all the waythrough. Everything--financially speaking, I mean,--has been againsthim. They have had continual anxiety and curtailment, until at lastthey have had to let their pretty house and go into dingy lodgings. Myfather is very down on Jack. He is a successful man himself, and don'tyou think it needs a very fine nature to keep up faith in a person whoseems persistently to fail? But my sister never doubts. She loves herhusband more, and idealises him more, than on the day they weremarried."

  "And you call that man unsuccessful?"

  Margot hardly recognised the low, earnest tones: her quick glancedownward surprised a spasm of pain on the chubby face, which she hadalways associated with unruffled complacency. It appeared that herealso lay a hidden trouble, a secret grief carefully concealed from theworld.

  "Isn't that rather a misuse of the word? A man who has gained and keptsuch a love can never be called a failure by any one who understands thetrue proportions of life. With all his monetary losses he is rich...And she is rich also... Richer than she knows."

  Margot's hand closed impulsively on Edith's letter and held it towardshim.

  "Yes, you are right. Read that, and you will see how right you are.There are no secrets in it--its just a word-photograph of Edith herself,and I'd like you to see her, as you understand so well. She's mydearest sister, whom I admire more than anybody in the world."

  Mr Elgood took the letter without a word, and read over its contentsslowly once, and then, even more slowly, a second time. When at last hehad finished he still held the sheet in his hands, smoothing it out withgentle, reverent fingers.

  "Yes!" he said slowly. "I can see her. She is a beautiful creature. Ishould like to know her in the flesh. You must introduce us to oneanother some day. I haven't come across too many women like that in mylife. It would be an honour to know her, to help her, if that werepossible." He sighed, and stretching out his hand laid the letter onMargot's knee. "You are right, Miss Bright Eyes, love is a wonderfulthing!"

  Margot glanced at him with involuntary, girlish curiosity, theinevitable question springing to her lips before Prudence had time toorder silence.

  "Do you--have you--did you ever--"

  The Chieftain laughed softly.

  "Have I ever been in love, you would ask! What do you take me for,pray? Am I such a blind, cold-hearted clod that I could go through theworld for forty-five years and keep my heart untouched? Of course Ihave loved. I do love! It was once and for ever with me--"

  "But you are not--"

  "Married? No! She died long ago; but even if she had lived she was notfor me. She would have been the wife of another man; a good fellow; Ithink she would have been happy. As it is, we remember her together.She was a bright, sunshiny creature who carried happiness with herwherever she went... To have known her is the comfort of our lives--notthe grief. We have lived through the deep waters, and can now rejoicein her gain... Do you know there is something about yourself which hasreminded me of her several times! That is one reason why I like beingwith you, and am interested in your life. I should like you to think ofme as a friend, and come to me for help if you were ever in need ofanything that I could give."

  The colour rushed into Margot's cheeks, and her heart beat withsuffocating quickness. Here was the opportunity for which she hadlonged, offered to her without any preliminary effort or contriving onher own part! The place, the time, the person were all in readiness,waiting for her convenience. If through cowardice or wavering sheallowed the moment to pass, she could never again hope for another suchopening. Already the Chieftain was watching her with surprise andcuriosity, the softness of the last few minutes giving place to theusual alert good-humour.

  "Hey? Well! What is it? What's the trouble? Out with it! Anything Ican do?"

  "Mr Elgood," said Margot faintly, "you are very good, very kind; I ammost grateful to you. I hope you _will_ help me, but first there issomething I must say... I--I have been deceiving you from thebeginning!"

  "What's that?" The Chieftain sat up suddenly and stared at her beneathfrowning brows. "Deceiving me? _You_? I don't believe a word of it!What is there to deceive me about, pray? You are not masquerading undera false name, I suppose? Not married, for instance, and passingyourself off as single for some silly school-girl freak?"

  "Oh no! Oh no! Everything that I have told you about myself is true,absolutely true."

  "I knew it. You are not the sort that could act a lie. What's all thefuss about, then?"

  "What I have told you is true, but--but--I have not told you _all_!"

  "I should think not, indeed! Who expected that you should? I am not atall sure that I care to hear it."

  "Oh, but--I want to tell you!"

  The Chieftain chuckled with amusement. He was evidently comfortablyconvinced of the non-importance of the forthcoming revelations, andMargot's courage suffered another ebb as she returned his unsuspiciousglance.

  "I--we--we knew that you were staying at the Nag's Head!"

  The Chieftain cocked a surprised eyebrow, startled but unresentful.

  "You knew that we were here, before you arrived, and met us in theflesh? Is that so? I wonder how you heard! I make it a rule to keepmy holiday plans as secret as possible, for the very good reason that aholiday _is_ a holiday, and one wants a change of companionship as wellas scene. How in the world did you hear that we were bound forGlenaire? I'm curious!"

  Margot's eyelids fell guiltily, but Nature had generously endowed thesesame lids with long black lashes, the points of which curled up in amanner distractingly apparent when shown in contrast with a flushed pinkcheek; so it happened that instead of being hardened by the sight, theChieftain drew a few inches nearer, and smiled with genial approval.

  "Well, out with it! _How_ did you hear?"

  "I--asked!"

  "Asked?" The brow became a network of astonished wrinkling. "Youasked? Whom did you ask? And why? What did you know about us, to giveyou interest in our comings or goings? This grows curiouser andcuriouser! I imagined that we were as absolute strangers to you as youwere to us."

  "It--it--there was the magazine--it was because of the magazine."

  "Oh, indeed! You knew the name through the magazine! I understand!"The Chieftain straightened himself, and the laugh died out of his eyes.For the first time in the history of their short acquaintance Margot sawhis face set in firm, hard lines, the business face which had been leftat home, together with the black coats and silk hats of City wear, andseeing it, trembled with fear. But it was too late to retreat; forbetter or worse she was bound to go forward and complete her half-finished revelations.

  "I wanted to get to know your brother, because he is the editor of the_Loadstar_, and I had heard people say that he was the most powerfulliterary man in London; that if he chose to take up any one who wasbeginning to write he could do more to help than any one else. We knowno literary people at home, and I wanted to. Badly!"

  "I see! Just so. Written a novel, and want help to get it into print,"returned the Chieftain slowly. He had drawn down his lips into anexpression of preternatural gravity, but the hard look had disappeared.The murder was out, and he was not angry; he might pretend to be, butMargot was too sharp-witted to be frightened by a pretence.

  She drew a sigh of
relief as she replied--

  "No, indeed. Couldn't to save my life. It's--Ron! I was thinking ofhim, not of myself. He is a poet!"

  The Chieftain groaned aloud, as if in pain.

  "Oh, I know you won't believe it, but he is! He writes wonderful poems.Not rhymes, but poems; beautiful poems that live in your mind. He willbe another Tennyson or Browning when he is a little older."

  The Chieftain groaned again, a trifle more loudly than before.

  "It's true! It really is true. You must have seen yourself that he isdifferent from other boys of his age. You heard him reeling off thoseimpromptu lines the other day, and said how clever they were! I haveseen you looking at his face when he has been thinking out some idea. Iknew what he was doing, and you didn't; but you guessed that he wasdifferent from ordinary people."

  "I saw that he was mooning about something, and wondered if he was rightin the head! If he'd been my boy, I should have taken care to keep hisnose so close to the grindstone that he would have no time to moon!Poet, indeed! Didn't you tell me that your father was a successfulbusiness man? What is he about, to countenance such nonsense?"

  "He doesn't!" replied Margot sadly. "No one does but me, and that's whyI had to act. Father agrees with you. He doesn't care for books, andlooks down upon literary men as poor, effeminate sort of creatures, whoknow nothing of the world. He is ashamed that his only son writesverses. Ron detests the idea of business, but he has had to promisefather that he would go into his office if at the end of a year he hadhad no encouragement to persevere in literature. But how is a youngunknown poet to make himself known? The magazines announce that theycan accept no unsolicited poetical contributions; the publishers laughat the idea of bringing out a book by a man of whom no one has heard. Aboy might be a second Shakespeare, but no one would believe in him untilthey had first broken his heart by their ridicule and unbelief. Theyear is out in September, so matters were getting desperate, when atlast I--thought of this plan! I felt sure that if a man who was a realjudge of literary power met Ron face to face, and got to know him, hewould realise his gifts, and be willing to give him a chance. It was nouse trying in London in the midst of the full pressure of work, but inthe country everything is different. I knew a man who knew a man in theoffice of the _Loadstar_, and asked him to find out your brother'splans--"

  As she was speaking Margot was conscious of a succession of stifledchuckles which her companion vainly tried to suppress. The Chieftain'samusement had evidently overmastered his threatened displeasure, andwhen at length she paused, he burst into an irresistible guffaw oflaughter, rubbed his hands together, and cried gleefully--

  "Stalked him! Stalked him! Poor old George! Big game, and no mistake.Ran him to earth... Eh, what? Bravo, bravo, Miss Bright Eyes! Youare a first-class conspirator."

  He laughed again and again, with ever-increasing merriment, laughed tillhis eyes disappeared in wrinkles of fat, till the tears streamedhelplessly down his cheeks. His portly form shook with the violence ofhis merriment; he kicked the air with his short, fat feet.

  Margot stared at this strange exhibition in an amazement, whichgradually changed into annoyance and outraged dignity; so that when atlast the Chieftain sat up to mop his eyes with a large silk pocket-handkerchief, he beheld a very dignified young lady sitting by his sidein a position of poker-like rigidity, with her head tilted to anexpressive angle.

  "Sorry!" he panted hastily. "Sorry I smiled. A compliment, you know,if you look at it in the right light. It's such an uncommonly goodidea, and so original. `The Stalking of the Editor'--eh? Well, nowthat you have made such a rattling good beginning, why don't you go onand prosper? Here you are; there he is; the field is your own. Whydon't you go in and win?"

  Margot's face fell, and her haughty airs vanished, as she turned towardshim a pair of widely-opened eyes, eloquent with plaintive surprise.

  "But I can't! How can I, when he runs away the moment I appear? I madeRon go fishing with him one day, but he went off and left him alone, andnow it's no use persuading any more. Ron says it is only waste of time!As for me, I have hardly spoken a word to him all this time, though Ifeel that if I did really know him, I--" she hesitated, knitting herbrows, and pursing her soft red lips--"I could make him understand! Idecided at last to confide in you, because you have been so kind andfriendly to us from the first that I felt sure you would be willing tohelp. You will, won't you? Even if personally you don't approve of aliterary career, will you give Ron a chance of living his life in hisown way? If your brother approved of his writings, and helped him to abeginning, even the very smallest beginning, father would be satisfiedthat he was not wasting his time."

  The Chieftain clasped his hands around his knees, and sat staring at herwith thoughtful gaze. His eyes rested upon the clear childlike eyes,the sweet lips, the broad, honest brow, as though studying them in a newlight, and with regard to some problem suddenly presented to the mind.Whatever was the question waiting to be decided, the answer was self-evidently favourable, for his eyes lightened, he stretched out animpetuous hand, and laid it upon her arm.

  "Right!" he cried heartily. "Right! I'll help you! The lad's a goodlad, and a clever lad; but what I do will be for your sake, not his!You are a dear girl! The dearest girl I have ever met--save one! Forthe sake of the bit of her that lives again in you, I am at yourservice. You shall have your chance. From to-day forward I will see toit that George makes a member of our party wherever we go. He has doneenough writing; it is time that he began to play. Make him play, MissVane! He has been old all his life; teach him to be young! He is thebest fellow in the world, but he is fast asleep. Wake him up! There isjust one condition, and that is, that you leave your brother and hisscribblings alone for the time being! Don't mention them, or anyquestion of the sort, but be content just to show yourself to George,your own bright, natural girl-self, as you have shown it to me. Learnto know one another, and forget all about the boy. His turn will comelater on! You promise?"

  "Ye-es!" faltered Margot shyly. "Yes, I do; but you must promise too--that you will, that you won't, won't let your brother think--"

  The Chieftain touched her arm once more, with a gesture of kindlyreassurement.

  "Don't you worry, little girl! He shall have no thoughts about you thatare not altogether chivalrous and true. It's not you who are going tomove in this matter, remember! You've given it over into my hands; itis I who am to pull the strings. No, you needn't thank me. It strikesme that we are going to work out pretty even over this business. If youwant help for your brother, I need it just as badly for mine. I haverealised for a long time that he needed a medicine which no doctor couldsupply." He looked into her face with a sudden radiant smile. "Itstrikes me I might have searched a very long time before finding any oneso eminently fitted to undertake his cure!"