Quicksilver Part 41

"I wish it was time to go," he said to himself. "I am so miserable here."

"Now, go along there," said Edgar sharply. "Go on!"

The boy seemed to have a donkey in his mind's eye just then, for he thrust and struck at Dexter savagely, and then hastily threw down the stick, as an angry glow was gathering in his visitor's countenance. For just then there was a step heard upon the gravel.

"Ah, Eddy, my darling," said a voice; and Lady Danby walked languidly by, holding up a parasol. "At play, my dear?"

She did not glance at Dexter, who felt very solitary and sad as the lady pa.s.sed on, Master Eddy throwing himself on the gra.s.s, and picking it off in patches to toss toward the water till his mother was out of sight, when he sprang up once more, and picked the stick from where he had thrown it upon a bed.

As he did this he glanced sidewise, and then stood watching for a few minutes, when he made a playful kind of charge at his visitor, and drove the point of the stick so vigorously against his back that the cloth gave way, making a triangular hole, and causing the owner no little pain.

"Don't," cried Dexter appealingly; "you hurt ever so. Let's play at some game."

"I'm going to," cried Edgar, with a vicious laugh. "I'm going to play at French and English, and you're the beggarly Frenchman at Waterloo.

That's the way to charge bayonets. How do you like that, and that, and that!"

"Not at all," said Dexter, trying hard to be good-humoured.

"Then you'll have to like it, and ever so much more, too. Get up, blackguard. Do you hear?"

Dexter rose and retreated; but, with no little agility, Edgar got before him, and drove him toward the water, stabbing and lunging at him so savagely, that if he had not parried some of the thrusts with his hands his face must have been torn.

Edgar grew more and more excited over his work, and Dexter received a nasty dig on one hand, another in the cheek, while another grazed his ear.

This last was beyond bearing. The hurt was not so bad as several which he had before received; but, perhaps from its nearness to his brain, it seemed to rouse Dexter more than any former blow, and, with an angry cry, he s.n.a.t.c.hed at and caught the stick just as it came near his face.

"Let go of that stick! Do you hear?" cried Edgar.

For response Dexter, who was now roused, held on tightly, and tried to pull the stick away.

"Let go," cried Edgar, tugging and s.n.a.t.c.hing with all his might.

Dexter's rage was as evanescent as it was quick. It pa.s.sed away, and as his enemy made another furious tug at the stick Dexter suddenly let go, and the consequence was the boy staggered back a few yards, and then came down heavily in a sitting position upon the gra.s.s.

Edgar sat and stared for a few moments, the sudden shock being anything but pleasant; but, as he saw Dexter's mirthful face, a fit of rage seized him, and, leaping up, he resumed his attack with the stick.

This time his strokes and thrusts were so malicious, and given with so decided a desire to hurt his victim as much as was possible, that, short of running away, Dexter had to do everything possible to avoid the blows.

For the most part he was successful; but at last he received so numbing a blow across the arm that he quivered with pain and anger as he sprang forward, and, in place of retreating, seized the stick, and tried to wrest it away.

There was a brief struggle, but pretty full of vigour.

Rage made Edgar strong, and he fought well for his weapon, but at the end of a minute's swaying here and there, and twistings and heavings innumerable, Edgar's arms felt as if they were being torn from his body, the stick was wrenched away, and as he stood scarlet with pa.s.sion, he saw it whirled into the air, to fall with a loud splash into the river.

Edgar ground his teeth for a moment or two, and then, as white with anger as his adversary was red, he flew at him, swaying his arms round, and then there was a furious encounter.

Edgar had his own ideas about fighting manoeuvres, which he had tried again and again upon his nurse in bygone times, and upon any of the servants with whom he had come in contact. His arms flew round like flails, or as if he had been transformed into a kind of human firework, and for the next five minutes he kicked, scratched, bit, and tore at his adversary; the next five minutes he was seated upon the gra.s.s, howling, his nose bleeding terribly, and the crimson stains carried by his hands all over his face.

For Dexter was not perfect: he had borne till it was impossible to bear more, and then, with his anger surging up, he had fought as a down-trodden English boy will sometimes fight; and in this case with the pluck and steadiness learned in many a school encounter, unknown to Mr Sibery or Mr Hippetts, the keen-eyed and stern.

Result: what might be expected. Dexter felt no pain, only an intense desire to thrash the virulent little tyrant who had scratched his face, kicked his s.h.i.+ns, torn at his hair--it was too short still for a good hold--and, finally, made his sharp, white teeth meet in his visitor's neck.

"Served you right!" muttered Dexter, as he knelt down by the river, and bathed his hands and face before dabbing them dry with his pocket-handkerchief. "No business to treat me like that."

Then, as he stood rubbing his face--very little the worse for the encounter--his anger all pa.s.sed away, and the consequences of his act dawned upon him.

"Look here," he said; "it was all your fault. Come to the water; that will soon stop bleeding."

He held out his hand, as he bent over the fallen tyrant, meaning to help him to rise, when, quick as lightning, Edgar caught the hand proffered to him and carried it to his teeth.

Dexter uttered a cry of pain, and shook him off, sending him backwards now upon the gra.s.s, just as a shadow fell across the contending boys, and Sir James stood frowning there.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

MASTER EDDY "HOLLERS WAHOO!"

"What is the meaning of this!" cried Sir James furiously.

Dexter was speechless, and he shrank back staring.

Edgar was ready with an answer. "He's knocking me about, pa. He has done nothing but knock me about ever since he came."

"Oh!" cried Dexter in a voice full of indignant astonishment. "I didn't. He begun it, and I didn't, indeed."

"Silence, sir!" cried Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones.

"How dare you tell me such a falsehood? I saw you ill-using my son as you held him down."

"Why, he had got hold of my hand!" cried Dexter indignantly.

"Got hold of your hand, sir? How dare you? How dare you, sir, I say?

I've a great mind to--"

Sir James did not finish his speech, but made a gesture with the walking-cane he carried; and just then there was a loud hysterical shriek.

For Lady Danby had realised the fact that something was wrong from the part of the garden where she was promenading, parasol in hand, and she came now panting up, in the full belief that some accident had happened to her darling, and that he was drowned.

"Eddy, Eddy!" she cried, as she came up; and then as soon as she caught sight of his anything but pleasant-looking countenance, she shrieked again wildly, and flung herself upon her knees beside him. "What is it?

What is it, my darling?" she sobbed, as she caught him to her heart.

"That horrid boy! Knocking me about," he cried, stopping his howling so as to deliver the words emphatically; and then looking at his stained hands, and bursting into a howl of far greater power than before.

"The wretch! The wretch!" cried Lady Danby. "I always knew it. He has killed my darling."

At this dire announcement Edgar shook himself free from his mother's embrace, looked at his hands again, and then in the extremity of horror, threw himself flat upon his back, and shrieked and kicked.

"O my darling, my darling!" cried Lady Danby.