Cursed be the treasure
When I arrived on the scene for breakfast the Captain was somewhat
surprised to see me. "Back again?" he cried.
I looked at Jenny and answered, "I'm not going to school any more."
The Captain laughed uproariously; but Jenny said, "You'll stay at
school with me. Daddy'll teach us."
I thought then that school had prospects of interest for a boy.
CHAPTER XVI
ABOU
For a few days I was so happy that I believe I had even forgotten my
father. The Captain was immensely amused at the decided way in which I
had established myself as one of the household, and when I told him I
had no intention of returning to Rancey Bridge he chuckled delightedly
to himself as though at some secret joke, and then in a whisper
confided to me that he too had run away from school, nodding his head
at me and winking shrewdly.
But I wasn't allowed unlimited freedom, for Jenny and I had to sit at
a table for a couple of hours every morning reading and writing, or
listening to the Captain's instructions in geography or history, or
whatever it was that he happened to pitch on. And when the big hand
of the clock drew round to the second hour we weren't too eager to
run away, for the Captain's teaching was more like story-telling than
the kind of stuff I had been used to at Rancey Bridge. I think it was
effective enough in its own way; for though I wasn't his pupil for
very long, yet in those few days I began to get a definite picture of
the course of English history and the ways of the world beyond the
seas. With a longer course I dare say I should have grown wise enough
in matters of international trade, and the bearing of geographical
conditions on the life of the world; for these were the Captain's
favourite themes.
Still, interesting as I found all this, when once free of the
class-room and out among the ruins with Jenny I didn't give much
thought to what I had learnt. My whole soul was absorbed in play. And
pretending to be investigating, rather than guiding, I took Jenny to
every nook and corner of the old place, except indeed into the secret
passage; for as a matter of fact I hadn't yet learnt how to open the
door, though remembering Abou's long key I could guess that one of the
little holes in the pitted surface of the wall was the entrance to the
lock. All this, I say, had to be done as though everything were a fresh
discovery to me, for I knew I mustn't let Jenny or her father know that
I had lived there before. Anything which might conceivably involve
my father had to be avoided, though I didn't imagine for one minute
that the Captain's fate and my father's were in any manner interwoven;
except indeed that they both seemed to be under the shadow of an
invisible foe, and sometimes I wondered whether it was the same enemy
that was pursuing them so ruthlessly.
I soon found that Jenny had a fierce little heart; indeed I had
discovered that on the first afternoon. But the days I now spent with
her revealed her to me more and more vividly. Her fierceness was of a
type that I appreciated and even admired. She never sulked when she
couldn't have her own way. Her anger was the anger of an antagonist,
not of a spoilt darling. We played our games indeed as though our whole
strength and cunning were pitted against each other. We didn't play for
the mere fun of the thing, but to win; and neither gave nor expected
quarter. This was the sort of play I relished. There was a sting and a
fervour in it that so far I had never known; for my father of course
had always outmatched me, and if ever I outwitted him it seemed as a
sort of concession to my weakness. But now we were both on our mettle;
and the evenings found us weary to exhaustion with the exertions of our
unending struggle.
It was during one of these games that I suddenly came across Worthing.
He caught a flying glimpse of me as I was diving for shelter into a
bush, and called severely, "Tommy, come here."
"Hush!" I whispered, creeping out.
"I want to speak to you," he went on sharply.
"Go to the haunted room," I said, and slipped away, making a circuit to
avoid Jenny who was stalking me.
At length I reached the haunted room, and found Worthing awaiting me.
I remembered then that I hadn't given a thought to my friend all these
days. "Worthing!" I cried, and would have taken his hands in mine, but
he clasped them firmly behind his back.
"What sort of a little fool do you think you're making of yourself?" he
asked me coldly.
I explained rather confusedly that I had left school.
"That story won't do for the officers," he replied.
"The officers?" I questioned blankly.
"They're after you. You might have guessed that. And you know the
penalty of running away."
"I know most of the penalties," I replied with unusual bitterness for
me.
"Well, then, you'd better come back quickly," he said.
"They'll need wild horses to get me there," I declared.
For a while he surveyed me pityingly, then turned on his heel and made
for the door, saying, "Well, I give you up."
"Worthing," I cried, catching him by the arm, "don't go like this."
He merely swung round and faced me.
"Look here," I went on, "you're my friend, aren't you? Well, come and
live here with me. It's simply splendid, I tell you."
He gave a short little laugh, and said, "Thanks; no." And again he was
going. But at the door he turned, and in a more relenting tone added,
"Tommy, your heart's in the right place, but it's too big; and there's
no room for brains."
And just then Jenny came leaping into the room, and collided with him
full tilt.
He fell back a step and looked at her, while for her part she stood
motionless gazing at him, much as she had done at her first meeting
with me.
"Jenny, this is Worthing," I said.
"Worthing?" she enquired.
"He's my friend, Worthing Bright," I explained.
"I don't like him," she said.
Worthing stood silent, and I couldn't read what was passing in his
mind; but he looked stiff and scornful. I was troubled, and said, "But
you must like him, Jenny; he's my friend."
"I won't like him," she declared with emphasis.
"But, Jenny!" I protested.
Worthing cut in coldly, "I don't see the need at all." And turning to
Jenny he went on, "If you don't like me, perhaps you may learn to fear
me."
"If I could fear you," she answered defiantly, "I should like you too."
They gazed fiercely at each other, and I stood helpless; for I seemed
to be between two elemental forces. Their eyes were electric in their
intensity of antagonism. The combat passed beyond me. My nature was too
lax and mild for such a strain of hate.
Then Worthing turned to me, and his words cut me like a bitter wind.
"So, Tommy!" he said. "Already!... These creatures lure us from our
duty soon enough. It's to be expected. But already!... I can't even
wish you joy."
Now all this was an enigma to me, but the tone of his voice and the
look of his eyes were worse than a whip.
"Worthing!" I exclaimed, conscious that somehow I had roused his scorn
as well as his anger. "What is it? Why will you quarrel with me like
this? I want to be friends."
"You'd better keep your Jenny," he threw at me; and was gone.
We were left alone.
Jenny said emphatically, "That boy hates me. He wants to take you from
me. But I won't let you go."
"Of course not," I said mazedly.
We were soon back at our game; but for a time my heart was heavy. I
couldn't understand Worthing's bitter rebuke. After all he was three
years my senior, he had been to London; he had had some experience of
the world and the world's literature beyond the romantic diet I had
been fed on.
I must have played with only half my heart, for Jenny frequently chided
me, and at last ran off in a huff declaring I wanted to leave her and
join my friend. She stressed the word contemptuously, and told me to
go. I was troubled, for this was the first real quarrel we had had.
Other tiffs had merely been incident to the antagonism of our games. I
followed her, but she would have none of me, and locked herself in her
room. I sat down moodily and wondered what to do. For a while I felt
angry at her unreasonableness, and once rose half intending to obey her
and return to school. But the knowledge that if I did so I should be
saying good-bye to Sunset Towers for many a long day came as a check
to my peevish anger. Moreover, I half expected to receive a message
from my father; for the first signs of summer were on the trees, and
summer without a spell at the _Dolphin_ was unthinkable. So I mustn't
get myself imprisoned at Rancey Bridge. Now above all times freedom was
essential. The thought that if my father did reappear and signal for me
there would be a stormy parting from Jenny gave me a momentary pang.
But I dismissed it as an unwelcome consideration.
Presently I was aware of some one approaching, and looking up saw
Abou standing above me. This was almost the first time I had seen him
since that first eventful afternoon; and it was certainly the first
time I had seen him so close at hand. Occasionally I caught a fleeting
glimpse of him moving like a shadow about the house, but usually he was
nowhere to be seen, and I thought of him cloistered in the secret room
ministering to the strange malady of the Captain. He wasn't needed to
attend our table at meals, for a woman came from the village each day
to do the necessary cooking and cleaning.
He stood quietly before me, waiting, it seemed, for me to speak. But as
I hadn't sent for him and didn't know in the least what he wanted, I
remained silent, looking at him.
His face seemed wonderfully peaceful. His eyes indeed were like deep
pools, very still and quiet. But little of his features could be seen
because of his huge black beard and whiskers. I noticed he was dusky,
and wondered of what nationality he was; but I couldn't decide. There
was something Eastern in his hovering deference, still waiting for me
to speak; but I couldn't think he was Indian, nor Malay, and certainly
not Chinese.
At last I said, "Well, Abou?"
That was all he needed. I suppose it wouldn't have been respectful had
he spoken before being addressed.
"Miss Jenny sent me," he said in that wonderful soft voice I had heard
once before. "She say, Master Tommy may speak with her if he wish."
There was more than a suggestion of a foreign accent in his words, but
he seemed to have mastered the language exceptionally well.
"Oh, thank you, Abou," I cried, springing up; and would have been off.
But he said, "Master Tommy, big boy must forgive little girl. She very
sorry, I think; but she not say so. Master Tommy will forgive her, yes?"
"Oh, yes, Abou, yes," I called out to him as I ran off.
And that was not the only time his mediation was of use to us. For
sometimes it was my turn to hunt him out and send him on an embassy
of reconciliation to Jenny; and always he would tell me in his gentle
way, till at last the words began to sink into my heart like a memory,
"Big boy forgive little girl, Master Tommy," or "How silly, now, when
all should be happy, to say unkind thing." Indeed Abou filled a unique
corner in my heart, and I loved the strange mysterious peacemaker
whose voice was so kind and soothing; and I thought I understood how
it was that the Captain found him of comfort in the dark moods that
occasionally swooped down upon him.
For I soon found I had fallen into a strange family. The Captain was
as kind to me as my own father, and I could see his affection glow
from his eyes as they rested broodingly upon me, though always there
was that little twinkle of amusement playing about them even at their
solemnest. Yet I never felt quite at ease, for again and again I saw