Harley Greenoak's Charge Part 34

The change of tone, the change of att.i.tude were in keeping, and d.i.c.k found himself in a sort of "standing at attention" rigidity, as small Jacky Waybridge came lounging down the garden path, a catapult in his hand. We fear that d.i.c.k came near wis.h.i.+ng he had left that unwelcome urchin to the sharks on a former occasion, but that in such case he himself would not now be here--with Hazel.

"Been shooting any birds, Jacky?" said d.i.c.k. "Look. Just over there I saw a rare clump of mouse-birds light just now; over there, just this side of the mealie land."

The spot indicated would take the small intruder fairly out of sight.

"No good, catapult's broken."

"Why don't you go to the house and get another?"

"They're all broken. Mr Selmes, couldn't you mend it for me?"

"I'll try. Let's see. Ah, got a bit of _reimpje_ about you?"

The youngster felt in his pockets.

"No, I haven't," he said.

"Well, you'd better cut away to the house and get one," said d.i.c.k.

There is a modic.u.m of cussedness, sometimes vague, sometimes more p.r.o.nounced, inherent in most children.

This one had his share of it. He was fond of Hazel, and attached to his rescuer, yet there was something about the two which had aroused his infantile curiosity. When he saw them alone together--which he did pretty frequently--a sort of instinct to watch them would come uppermost in his unformed mind, and this was upon him now. So he said--

"Never mind about the catapult, Mr Selmes. I'm tired. I'll sit and talk to you and Hazel."

"Well, what shall we talk about, Jacky?" said d.i.c.k, making a virtue of necessity.

"Oh, let's go on talking about--what you were talking about while I came."

This was funny. The two looked at each other.

"But that wouldn't interest you in the least, Jacky," answered the girl.

"In fact, you wouldn't understand it."

The sharp eyes of the youngster were full upon her face, and did not fail to notice that she changed colour slightly. When he himself had done something which he ought not to have done, and was taxed with it, he would change colour too; wherefore now he drew his own deductions.

What could Hazel have been doing that came within that category?

"Never mind," he said. "I won't tell. No, I won't."

"Won't tell?" repeated Hazel. "Won't tell what, Jacky?"

"I won't tell," was all they could get out of him. d.i.c.k Selmes burst out laughing.

"Before you can 'tell' anything, kid, you must first of all have something to tell," he said. "You've been talking a lot of bosh. Now, I think we'd better go in, for it must be getting on for dinner-time."

The two got up, and as they strolled along beneath the high quince hedge, hanging out round fruit, like the b.a.l.l.s upon a Christmas tree, both hoped for an opportunity of at any rate satisfactorily closing their conversation. But it was not to be. That little wretch stuck to them like their shadow, nor did either want to inflame his curiosity by telling him positively to clear.

"Then it is to be conditional," d.i.c.k said, just before they reached the door.

"That's the word."

"On the terms named?"

"Exactly on the terms named."

"Good. I accept them--except as to the one-sided part of the business."

"That, too, I insist upon," she answered, with a smile and a bright nod, as she left him.

Alone, for a brief s.p.a.ce, d.i.c.k Selmes went over in his mind the interview, so untowardly and exasperatingly interrupted, and was obliged to admit to himself that his love and admiration for Hazel Brandon were, if possible, deepened and intensified. Her beauty and bright, sweetness of disposition had fascinated and captured him, but now he had awakened to the fact that she possessed a rare depth of character indeed. He knew now that she cared for him--yes, and that very deeply; he had read it in the course of that interview by several unmistakable signs. Yet she had deliberately, and of set purpose insisted upon that conditional delay. It showed a worldly wisdom, a knowledge of human nature beyond his own, he was constrained to admit; and in every way it was creditable to her. Of the obstacle he made entirely light, for it was in reality no obstacle at all except for the period of waiting involved.

And over himself some change had come. What was it? He felt a gravity he had never felt before. The old, thistledown, light-hearted recklessness seemed to have left him. His mind, attuned to a new and set purpose, seemed to have altered, to have solidified. And yet, realising this development, he rejoiced in it. He would not have foregone it for the world. Henceforward his was a new being.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

SIGNS AND OMENS.

"Which way shall we go?" said Hazel. "Shall we ride over to Komgha?"

"I vote we go bang in the other direction," answered d.i.c.k Selmes. "The towns.h.i.+p's all clatter and dust--and altogether abominable. Mrs Waybridge was an angel of light when she cropped up and dragged me out of it."

"Yes, you wanted some dragging, didn't you?" was the somewhat mischievous rejoinder.

"As if I knew. Good Lord! what a narrow thing it was. And there I was, cudgelling my muddy brains for some excuse, because I thought you were staying in the town."

The two were on horseback. They had started off for an afternoon ride together, all undecided as to where they should go. But there was one place d.i.c.k Selmes was resolved they should not go to--unless Hazel particularly wanted to, and somehow he did not think she would--and that was the towns.h.i.+p. It was full of his own s.e.x, and he wanted the girl all to himself, to-day at any rate. He had a lively recollection of the Christmas gathering which he had not enjoyed, for the reason that then he never could get her all to himself. He had voted them a set of unmitigated bores, and, rare thing indeed with him, had become almost irritable. Yet if ever any one was what is known as a "man's man," that was d.i.c.k Selmes. Given the absence of Hazel on that festive occasion, he would have voted them all thundering good fellows. But-- circ.u.mstances alter cases.

Since the understanding of that morning, and the compact entered into between them, a more restful feeling had come over these two; a feeling as though they belonged to each other; and though some patience was needed, at any rate there was an end to uncertainty.

"We might go round by old Umjuza's kraal and Sampson's store," suggested d.i.c.k, "unless you would like to look anybody up. There are the Paynes, for instance."

"No; I don't want to see any one. We'll keep to the veldt."

"Them's my sentiments," cried d.i.c.k, gaily, emphasising the said gaiety by a swish of his whip that caused his steed to prance and snort. His wounded arm was quite healed by now. "What a difference there is about the veldt here; no jolly old koorhaans crowing and squawking--or a buck every now and then jumping up under your feet, not even an odd pair of blue cranes. Only those silly old bromvogels, and they wouldn't be there either, but that even John Kafir won't eat _them_."

A pair of the great black hornbills were strutting among the spa.r.s.e mimosa on the opposite slope, emitting their deep, booming grunt. But although deficient in game, the veldt was fair and pleasant to the eye, with its roll of sunlit plain and round-topped hills, and if the crowing of koorhaans or the grating cackle of the wild guinea-fowl were wanting, the cooing of doves, and the triple call of the hoepoe from the bush-grown kloofs made soft music on the slumbrous calm.

"You'll never stand English life after this, d.i.c.k."

"Oh yes. We can always come out here again for change. There's more variety of sport in England; in fact, there's something going all the year round. What do you think, dear? The dad talks about putting me up for Parliament soon."

"A very sensible plan too."

"But I can't spout. And I'm pretty certain I'd promise the crowd anything it asked for. Whether it would get it is another thing."

Hazel laughed, but she there and then mentally resolved that Sir Anson's wish should meet with fulfilment--in certain contingencies, that is.

"What a rum thing it is to feel one's self out of leading-strings again," went on d.i.c.k. "But I wonder when old Greenoak will turn up here and give me marching orders, like he did at Haakdoorn. I shan't obey this time. Though, I was forgetting, I shall have to give them to myself."