Mr. Bingle Part 24

Frederick was causing them no little anxiety. The boy wasn't eating well. He was beginning to look a bit peaked. Dr. Fiddler was puzzled.

He could not discover anything wrong, and yet could not account for the listlessness that had come over the lad during the past few weeks.

As a matter of fact, Frederick was in love--quite desperately in love.

The object of his adoration was the beautiful Miss Fairweather. No doctor in the world could have properly diagnosed the youngster's case, for the simple reason that Frederick's disease was a perfectly healthy one, and when you confront a doctor with anything in the nature of health you stump him completely. He doesn't know what to do about it.

Nevertheless, Dr. Fiddler--being a great man and entirely ignorant of Frederick's complaint--gave him castor oil.

Now this same Dr. Fiddler undoubtedly had been in love at the tender age of twelve. What man is there to-day who was not desperately afflicted at that age, and who is there among us that has forgotten the experience? Who is there among us, past the age of thirty, who cannot tell without an instant's hesitation, the name of the mature young lady who first a.s.sailed his susceptibilities? Who can honestly say that he doesn't remember the school-teacher, or the choir-singer who taught the Sunday-school cla.s.s, or the lady who came to visit mother and went away engaged to a friend of father's, or the nurse who queened it over the house when mother was ill and who devoted entirely too much time to the new baby? There is always one full-grown, lamentably old young lady in the life of every boy, and her name is imperishable. It is invariably MISS Somebody-or-other. No man can recall the Christian name of his first love for the very good reason that he never knew it. The universal lady is always MISS So-and-so. Even the most ardent of twelve-year-olds never forgets that his heart's desire is a lady whose years demand the most respectful consideration. Dr. Fiddler, having loved and lost, should have appreciated the tender pa.s.sion that took away Frederick's appet.i.te and made of him a melancholy sufferer. What Frederick needed was the moral support of a physician who would recommend and supply a quick and deadly poison with which Mr. Richard Flanders could be permanently squashed.

Melissa was his only friend and comforter. The children, and the servants who were not too busily engaged with their own affairs, openly scoffed at the love-sick young gentleman. Wilberforce sustained a b.l.o.o.d.y nose in retaliation and Watson, being a special offender, met with a painful and unaccountable accident one day while pa.s.sing between the kitchen and the milk-house. A full-sized brick dropped from heaven knows where--(it must have come from heaven judging by the way it felt)--and as Watson's hat happened to be directly in the path of its descent the unfortunate footman was unable to tease Frederick for the better part of two days immediately thereafter and had to have six st.i.tches taken in his head besides. Oddly enough, the only place from which a brick was found to be missing was in the walk leading to the stables, and b.u.t.ts, being a thrifty soul, filled up the vacant spot with the heaven-sent subst.i.tute, having found on investigation that it fitted the vacuum perfectly. It was Melissa who kept Watson from taking out a warrant for young Master Frederick. She spoke very sharply to the damaged footman about something that had completely escaped the notice of Mr. Bingle, who, being no smoker, wouldn't have missed them if Watson had taken a whole handful of cigars a day instead of two or three twice a week the year round.

The privileged maid had read love stories from the time she was ten years old up to the beginning of her affair with Diggs the butler. The pleasant discovery that the mighty Diggs had taken a s.h.i.+ne to her quite destroyed all of her interest in romance as it is written. She was not long in finding out that the people who write love-stories are not to be depended upon for accuracy in the depiction of pa.s.sion. Diggs gave her an entirely new idea of manly devotion. Instead of adhering to the well-known and well-preserved formulas set down by the fictionists he behaved in a perfectly astonis.h.i.+ng manner. He became acutely bashful and apprehensive, so much so, in fact, that for a while Melissa imagined that Mr. Bingle had given him notice because of the mistletoe episode on Christmas Eve. The poor fellow seemed to be dodging her all the time. And when she came upon him suddenly or unexpectedly he always began winding his watch and talking about the extraordinary resemblance she bore to a girl he had once known in England. The shock, therefore, was tremendous when Diggs asked her if she thought she could ever learn to care for him in THAT way. It was almost a week before Melissa could think of an answer to this astonis.h.i.+ng question. It was "yes."

And so, having but recently suffered the surprise of her life, Melissa rushed to the succour of young Frederick. She whispered words of encouragement into the ear of the despairing youngster, and urged him to stand by his guns.

"You never can tell what is going to happen," she said. "Look at me, for instance. What could have been more miraculous than the thing that happened to me, Freddie? Who could have ever dreamed of Mr. Diggs falling in love with me? An important person like him falling heels over head in love with the likes of me! Can you beat it? Well, that's what I mean when I say you never can tell. You just keep a stiff upper lip, Freddie--and grow a little, of course--and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if you conquered the proud Miss Fairweather's haughty heart. Nothing--NOTHING on G.o.d's earth would surprise me now. Go in and win, Freddie. Of course, she is about twelve years older'n you are at present, but as time goes on she'll be getting younger. We always do.

By the time you are thirty you will have caught up to her, I can tell you that. Take Mr. Diggs, for instance; he thinks I am only twenty-six.

He says it's a crime for a man of his age--he's thirty-seven--to be making eyes at a soft young thing like me. He knows I'm only twenty-six, but what he don't know is that I was born nearly ten years before he even starts to counting. Now, in a very few years you will be twenty. Well, by that time she will be only eight years older than you are. You see, women don't put on years as rapidly as men. It's a peculiar trick of nature. I don't suppose there is another living creature in all G.o.d's dominion that lives as long as a woman does before it can get past thirty. Take Miss Stokes, the nurse, for instance. She's been nearly nine years going from twenty-seven to twenty-nine. So there you are. You just keep on growing up, Freddie--you needn't hurry, either--putting on a year every twelve months, and before you know it you'll be six months older than Miss Fairweather. Then--"

"Yes, but how about this big Flanders?" protested Frederick. "He's already grown-up and--"

"Nothing to it," said Melissa, "He hasn't got any money. He can't give her diamonds and fine raiment. He's got to ask her to wait till he's able to marry, hasn't he? Well, while she's about it, why shouldn't she wait for you? It all amounts to the same thing. You'll be able to marry her just as soon as he is. Now, don't be discouraged. Cheer up."

"You're awfully good, Melissa," said Frederick gloomily.

"And what's more, don't let 'em guy you about her. Mr. Diggs don't let any one guy him about me, you can bet. And say, if you can manage to sneak one of Mr. Bingle's razors out of his room some day, I'll shave you. There's nothing like getting your whiskers started early."

"Gee, Melissa, will you?"

"Like a shot. Let me feel your chin. Why, I swear to goodness, there's something there already. It's--"

"Honest, Melissa? Do you really mean it? I thought it was only fuzz."

"Fuzz your granny," said Melissa stoutly. "In a couple of months you could get a beard like a billy goat if you shaved regular."

"I don't want chin whiskers. I want a moustache."

"And in the meantime," went on Melissa with rare diplomacy, "you may see some one else that you like better than Miss Fairweather. That very frequently happens to a fellow when he's busy trying to get a beard."

"Do you think she likes Mr. Flanders, Melissa?" A great deal depended on her answer. That was to be seen by the expression in his young blue eyes.

"Certainly," said she promptly. "Everybody likes him. I like him. So does your ma and so does your pa. That's nothing to go by. Why, I'll bet you like him yourself. He's a fine fellow."

"Do you think he's very good looking?"

"In a way, yes," said Melissa, musingly. "I shouldn't call him quite perfect, however."

"Do you think he's as good-looking as Diggs?"

"I used to think so, but--Now, that reminds me: if you ever say a word to anybody about Mr. Diggs and me being enamoured of each other, I'll have nothing more to do with you--not a thing, d'you understand? It's a secret. Your pa and ma are not to know about it until we get ready to announce our engagement."

"I'll never tell," promised the young lover.

"And here's another thing: Don't you ever let on to Mr. Diggs that I'm over twenty-six. If you do, I'll tell your pa that you're using his razor, and--well, say, that would be a mortification for you. Miss Fairweather would never get over laughing at you. Do you know, I'm awfully sorry for Mr. Flanders. He is a fine fellow, and it will break his heart if you get her away from him, Freddie. It seems too bad for a rich young gentleman like you to be pitted against a poor, struggling newspaper man whose heart is afire with--"

"Oh, gee, Melissa, don't talk like that," cried Frederick in distress.

"I DO like him, and I don't want him to ever be unhappy."

"That's the way to talk," she cried warmly. "That's regular n.o.bility.

Let's give him an equal chance, Freddie. If he can win, all well and good. We'll take our medicine. If he loses, why he can take his."

"I wish I was as old as he is," mourned Frederick.

"Poor fellow," sighed Melissa, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.

"I DO feel sorry for him. I hate to see a fine, honourable gentleman's heart busted as you are likely to bust his for--"

"Oh, goodness!" gulped Frederick, his soul filled with pity for the unfortunate Flanders. He suppressed a sniffle, and then, after a moment consumed in re-ordering his emotions, went on brightly: "Of course, if she loves him, Melissa, I shall be the first to wish him joy. That's the kind of fellow I am."

"I wonder," mused Melissa, "if that's the kind of a fellow he'd be if some other fellow won his lady love away from him in a fair contest?"

It so happened that Mr. Flanders placed a diamond-ring upon the third finger of Miss Fairweather's left hand that same afternoon, and it also happened that the starry-eyed young lady submitted to a tender embrace immediately afterward. But a fortnight pa.s.sed before Frederick, pale and wan with the anguish that lay in his young soul, could command the courage to go up to his big rival and wish him joy. For two weeks his heart had bled, for, be it also recorded, young Frederick happened to be lurking unseen in the library when the ring was pa.s.sed. He saw the big man take the slim, adored princess in his arms, and he saw her face upturned to greet the lips that came down to meet her's in--Alas! Poor Frederick!

Right bravely he accosted Mr. Flanders one day as the brisk young man came swinging up the drive on his way from the railway station.

Flanders usually came at three in the afternoon. This habit was known to Frederick. He also knew that the tall conqueror spent an hour with Mr. Bingle before Miss Fairweather descended from the school-room. In fact, every movement of Mr. Flanders from the instant he appeared on the estate to the moment he left it in a dash for the train, was known to the small victim of the green-eyed devil.

On this momentous occasion he resolutely laid in wait for Mr. Flanders near the lodge-gates. He had steeled himself against the bitterest moment in his life.

"h.e.l.lo," he said, suddenly stepping out of the shrubbery and confronting the pedestrian, who brought himself up with a jerk.

"h.e.l.lo," said Richard. "Getting the air?"

"I want to speak to you, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick, with immense gravity.

"Come along then, lad, because I'm in a rush. I have to catch the five-ten in to-day."

"I wish you wouldn't take such long steps." Flanders obligingly reduced his stride so that the boy was not forced to run to keep up with him.

"I cut lessons, sir, to have a word with you. I just want to wish you good luck and joy, Mr. Flanders. You have won the heart and hand of the fairest lady in the land."

Flanders stopped in his tracks. "I say, youngster, that's--that's corking of you." He was blus.h.i.+ng. "I had no idea that you children were on to us, so to speak. Thank you, Freddie."

"I have been on to you, Mr. Flanders, from the beginning. She is the loveliest lady--" he swallowed hard--"in the world, and I just wanted to tell you that if you don't treat her well I'll--I'll--well, you'll see."

Flanders was not smiling. He understood boys. He laid his big hand on the little fellow's st.u.r.dy shoulder and said, very seriously:

"I consider myself most fortunate, old chap, in having the advantage of you in years. If you were my own age, I should have stood small chance of winning the loveliest lady in the world. Shake hands, Freddie. I shall treat her well, my lad. If I fail in any particular I hope you'll take a shot at me on sight. I'm sorry, too, my boy."

"That's all right, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick bravely. "I bend the knee to a worthy rival, sir. I--I--" The words trailed off into indistinct murmurings, for he had completely forgotten the rest of the high-sounding sentences supplied for this very encounter by the helpful Melissa. She had written them out for him and he had learned them by heart. And now they failed him!

Flanders allowed his grip to tighten on the boy's shoulder. "You will get over it, Freddie. I had a similar affliction when I was your age.

It was pretty rough, but I pulled through."