The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton Part 30

"Well, really," he said, "I don't see anything to worry about in what you have told me."

"Don't you!" Ellen replied. "Well, just you listen to me and answer my question. I left Alf alone with you while I changed my--while I looked after the was.h.i.+ng the day you came, and what I want to know is, did you give him one of those things that you talked to me about?"

"I certainly did not," Burton answered.

Then a light broke in upon him. Ellen saw the change in his face.

"Well, what is it?" she asked sharply. "I can see you know all about it."

"There were the two beans you threw out of the window," he said. "He must have picked up one."

"Beans, indeed!" Ellen replied, scornfully. "Do you mean to tell me that a bean would work all this mischief in the child?"

"I happen to know that it would."

"Comes of picking up things in the street!" Ellen exclaimed. "I'll give it him when I get back, I will!"

"You must forgive me," Burton said, "but I really don't see what you have to complain about. From what you tell me, I should consider the boy very much improved."

"Improved!" Ellen repeated. "An unnatural little impudent scallywag of a child! You don't think I want a schoolmaster in knickerbockers about the place all the time? Found fault with my clothes yesterday, hid some of the ornaments in the parlor, and I caught him doing a sketch of a woman the other day with not a shred of clothes on. Said it was a copy of some statue in the library. It may be your idea of how a boy nine years old should go on, but it isn't mine, and that's straight."

Burton sighed.

"My dear Ellen," he said, "we do not look at this matter from the same point of view, but fortunately as you will say, unfortunately from my point of view, the change in Alfred is not likely to prove lasting. You will find in another few weeks that he will be himself again."

"Don't believe it," Ellen declared. "He's as set in his ways now as a little old man."

Burton shook his head.

"It won't last, I know it."

"Lasts with you all right!" she snapped.

Burton opened his little silver box.

"It lasts with me only as long as these little beans last," he replied.

"You see, I have only two left. When they are gone, I shall be back again."

"If you think," Ellen exclaimed, "that you're going to march into Clematis Villa just when you feel like it, and behave as though nothing has happened, all I can say, my man, is that you're going to be disappointed! You've kept away so long you can keep away for good. We can do without you, me and Alf."

Burton still held the box in his hand.

"I suppose," he ventured slowly, "I couldn't persuade you to take one?"

Ellen rose to her feet. She threw the scarf around her neck, b.u.t.toned her gloves, and shook out her skirt. She picked up the satchel which she had been carrying and prepared to depart.

"If you say anything more to me about your beastly beans," she said, "I'll lose my temper, and that's straight. Can you tell me how to bring little Alf to himself again? That's all I want to know."

"Time will do that, unfortunately," Burton a.s.sured her. "Where is he this afternoon?

"It's his half-holiday," Ellen replied, in a tone of disgust, "and where do you think he's gone? Gone to a museum to look at some statues! The schoolmaster called for him. They've gone off together. All I can say is that if he don't turn natural again before long, you can have him.

He don't belong to me no longer."

"I am willing to take the responsibility," Burton replied, "if it is necessary. Will you let me give you some tea?"

"I want nothing from you except my weekly money that the law provides for," Ellen answered fiercely. "You can keep your tea. And mind what I say, too. It's no use coming down to Clematis Villa and talking about the effect of the bean having worn off and being yourself again. You seem pretty comfortable here and you can stay here until I'm ready for you. Oh, bother holding the door open!" she added, angrily. "I hate such tricks! Get out of the way and let me pa.s.s. I can let myself out.

More fool me for coming! I might have known you'd have nothing sensible to say."

"I'm afraid," Burton admitted, "that we do rather look at this matter from different points of view, but, as I told you before, you will find very soon that Alfred will be just the same as he used to be."

"If he don't alter," Ellen declared, looking back from the door, "you'll find him here one day by Carter Patterson's, with a label around his neck. I'm not one for keeping children about the place that know more than their mothers. I give him another three weeks, and not a day longer. What do you think was the last thing he did? Went and had his hair cut--wanted to get rid of his curl, he said."

"I can't blame him for that," Burton remarked, smiling. "I never thought it becoming. Will you shake hands, Ellen, before you go?"

"I won't!" she replied, drawing up her skirt in genteel fas.h.i.+on. "I want nothing to do with you. Only, if he don't alter, well, just you look out, for you'll find him on your doorstep."

She departed in a "Lily of the Valley" scent and little fragments of purple fluff. Burton threw himself into an easy-chair.

"If one could only find the tree," he muttered to himself. "What a life for the boy! Poor little chap!"

CHAPTER XXI

AN AMAZING TRANSFORMATION

The novel which was to bring immortal fame and, incidentally, freedom from all financial responsibilities, to Burton, came back within a week, with a polite note which he was at first inclined to accept as some consolation until he found that it was stereotyped. Within a few hours it was despatched to another firm of publishers, taken at random from the advertis.e.m.e.nt columns of the Times. An hour or two afterwards Alfred arrived, with no label around his neck, but a veritable truant.

Of the two he was the more self-possessed as he greeted his amazed parent.

"I am sorry if you are angry about my coming, father," he said, a little tremulously. "Something seems to have happened to mother during the last few days. Everything that I do displeases her."

"I am not angry," Burton declared, after a moment's amazed silence.

"The only thing is," he added, glancing helplessly around, "I don't know what to do with you. I have no servants here and only my one little bed."

The child smiled. He appeared to consider these matters unimportant.

"You eat things sometimes, I suppose, daddy?" he said, apologetically.

"I left home before breakfast this morning and it took me some time to find my way here."

"Sit down for five minutes," Burton directed him, "and I'll take you out somewhere."

Burton was glad to get into the privacy of his small bedroom and sit down for a moment. The thing was amazing enough when it had happened to himself. It was, perhaps, more amazing still to watch its effect upon Mr. Waddington. But certainly this was the most astounding development of all! The child was utterly transformed. There was no sign of his mother's hand upon his clothes, his neatly brushed hair or his s.h.i.+ny face. His eyes, too, seemed to have grown bigger. Alfred had been a vulgar little boy, addicted to slang and immoderately fond of noisy games. Burton tried to call him back to his mind. It was impossible to connect him in any way with the child whom, through a crack in the door, he could see standing upon a chair the better to scrutinize closely the few engravings which hung upon the wall. Without a doubt, a new responsibility in life had arrived. To meet it, Burton had a little less than two pounds, and the weekly money to send to Ellen within a few days. He took Alfred out to luncheon.

"I am afraid," he said, beginning their conversation anew, "that even if I am able to keep you with me for a short time, you will find it exceedingly dull."

"I do not mind being dull in the least, father," the boy replied.

"Mother is always wanting me to play silly games out in the street, with boys whom I don't like at all."

"I used to see you playing with them often," his father reminded him.