Chapter X: Brought to Book

Edgar had heard the accusation his father had brought against Roger, and he had noted the crimson flush which had spread over the latter's countenance when his word had been disbelieved, and he was uneasily conscious that there would have to be a day of reckoning between his cousin and himself sooner or later. He knew he had been cowardly in allowing his father to think Roger had joined him in cigarette smoking, and he wished now he had not held his tongue upon the point.

"I must manage to square Roger, somehow," he thought, "but it won't be easy. I could see he was awfully angry that father didn't believe him; he's so very particular about telling the truth."

The two boys did not meet for several days, however; but one morning Edgar was sent by his mother with a note to Mrs. Trent, inviting Polly and Roger to spend the following afternoon at the Rookery. His heart beat fast and unevenly as he stood on the doorsteps of his relations' house in Princess Street and rang the bell, for he dreaded giving the explanation he knew Roger would be certain to demand from him; but, much to his relief of mind, when Louisa opened the door, she informed him that his young cousins had gone out with Miss Trent and only his aunt was at home. He was shown into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Trent came to him; and whilst she was reading his mother's note, he watched her, thinking how sweet and pretty she looked, for he always admired and liked Aunt Mary.

Mrs. Trent promptly accepted the invitation for her children which her sister-in-law's note contained, and she talked to the little boy for a short while; but he seemed in a hurry to leave, so she did not detain him long. The fact was, he was glad to have missed Roger, and wanted to get away before his cousins' return.

Now, it so happened that Roger, coming out of a shop with his sister and Cousin Becky, caught sight of Edgar, homeward bound, and pointed him out to his companions.

"I want to speak to him particularly," he said. "May I run and overtake him, Cousin Becky?"

"Do, my dear," she answered; "but Polly and I will not wait for you as we have several more errands to execute."

Accordingly, Roger went after Edgar; but he only kept him in sight and did not overtake him till he had left the town and turned into the suburban road which led to the Rookery, then he ran up to him, shouting: "Hi! Stop! Stop!"

Edgar started violently, for he had had no idea of the proximity of his cousin; he glanced around with a somewhat alarmed expression on his face as he said in a hurried tone:

"I've just come from Princess Street. You and Polly are to come to tea with me to-morrow."

"Who says so?" Roger inquired bluntly.

"Aunt Mary. I took a note to her from mother."

"You'll like to come, won't you?" And Edgar regarded the other more than a trifle anxiously.

"I don't know. Look here, Edgar! What did your father mean the other day by saying I smoked, and why didn't you speak up for me? Had you made out to him that I had been smoking cigarettes with you that afternoon I was at the Rookery, when he and Aunt Janie were away?"

"No, on my honour I had not," was the emphatic response.

"Then, what did he mean?" Roger demanded. "He believed I had been smoking. Did you know he thought so?"

"I—I—"

"Oh, speak out!" cried Roger, greatly irritated; "don't stammer like a baby!"

"Well, don't get angry, then. You needn't look at me so—so furiously. I've done nothing to injure you. It was like this. Father found out I'd been smoking; at first I wouldn't own to it, but afterwards I did, and he was awfully angry. But it was a Sunday, and mother stood up for me, so there wasn't nearly such a row as I'd expected." Edgar paused for a minute, then continued with heightened colour. "Of course, father imagined, as you had been with me and there were several cigarettes gone from the case—I'd taken them; I thought he wouldn't notice—that you'd been smoking, too, and—and—"

"And you didn't tell him I hadn't?"

"No-o-o," Edgar was obliged to admit, "I—I didn't tell him one way or the other."

"Why didn't you?" Roger was actually shaking with anger, the colour had fled from his cheeks, and his eyes were alight with passion.

"Because—because father would have been angrier if he'd known you hadn't smoked too," faltered Edgar. "Oh, Roger, I didn't tell a lie about it, I only held my tongue."

"And let Uncle John believe that I—that I—"

Roger's voice failed him, so intense was his indignation. He had been trying to keep his temper under control, but now it gained the mastery over him, and, flinging himself upon Edgar, almost choking with rage, he began to belabour him with his clenched fists. Edgar was no coward physically, whatever he was morally, and he was on the defensive in a moment. In a few minutes the two boys were engaged in a fierce fight, and, being equally matched as to height and weight, there is no saying how it might have terminated had not the sound of wheels warned the combatants to desist. Panting and dishevelled, they stood aside to allow the vehicle to pass; but, instead of doing so, it drew up, and, looking to see the reason, Roger was shocked to see his aunt's carriage, and his aunt herself in it with two lady visitors.

"Good gracious, boys!" cried Mrs. Marsh. "What is the meaning of this? Edgar, what has happened? Why, my darling, you are covered in dust, your clothes are torn, and —oh, surely you have not been fighting? Roger, you naughty boy—"

"I am not more naughty than Edgar," interrupted Roger, "not nearly so naughty if it comes to that, for I'm not a mean beast like he is." He was far too angry to pick his words.

"How dare you use such language," began Mrs. Marsh, looking surprised and shocked, for she had always considered her nephew a well-mannered little boy, but he broke in again:

"We've been fighting," he said passionately, "and I began it, and if you hadn't come up I'd have licked him. Of course you'll take his part, Aunt Janie, you always do, but he knows he deserves a good thrashing. I'll have nothing more to do with him, although he is my cousin, and I won't go near the Rookery again."

"I suppose you've quarrelled," said Mrs. Marsh, glancing from her visitors, who appeared highly entertained and evidently regarded the scene in the light of a joke, to her son's downcast countenance. "What have you fallen out about? How could you so far forget yourself, Edgar, as to fight in the road?"

"You mustn't blame him for that, Aunt Janie," said Roger quickly, "for I made him fight. I hit him first."

"But why?" questioned Mrs. Marsh, looking more and more mystified. "I don't understand. Oh, I hope neither of you is much hurt! And, oh dear—" with sudden alarm in her tone—"here comes your father, Edgar! Oh, John," she proceeded as her husband came up, "do find out what has happened to make the boys quarrel! They've been fighting."

"So I perceive," Mr. Marsh replied dryly; "you'd better drive on, my dear, and I'll see to the youngsters. Now," he said sternly, as the carriage passed on, "what have you two to say for yourselves? What is the meaning of all this? I thought you were good friends."

"Friends!" echoed Roger in accents of deep disgust. "He's been no friend to me, letting you believe I smoked with him when I never even touched the cigarettes. I said I wouldn't tell he'd been smoking—it was no business of mine—and I didn't, but I never thought he'd treat me so shabbily. I've finished with him now," he continued bitterly, as he brushed down his clothes with his hands and picked up his cap from the dusty road, "and I'll never—"

"Stop!" commanded Mr. Marsh, "Don't make rash vows, Roger. Do you mean to assert that you did not smoke with Edgar?"

"I did not," Roger answered firmly. "Ask him before me, and he'll tell you the truth."

"What have you to say, Edgar?" Mr. Marsh looked anxiously at his son.

"Roger did not smoke with me, father," was the low-spoken response. "I never said so."

"But you permitted me to think so. I am ashamed of you, Edgar. Roger, my boy, I owe you an apology for doubting your word, you must forgive me that I did not accept it," and Mr. Marsh laid his hand kindly on his nephew's shoulder as he spoke. "Edgar owes you an apology, too, for his cowardly and ungenerous treatment of you," he supplemented.

"Oh, it's all right, Uncle John, so long as you don't believe I told you a lie," Roger said hurriedly. "I'll settle it with Edgar another day."

"No, no, settle it now, and have done with it. I am quite satisfied you told me the truth," and Mr. Marsh sighed as he glanced at his son, who did not dare lift his shamed eyes from the ground, though he murmured a few words of apology to his cousin.

After that, Mr. Marsh insisted that the two boys should shake hands, which they did, reluctantly on Roger's part; and then he seized Edgar by the arm, and marched him home in silence. Arrived at the Rookery, Mr. Marsh took his son into the study, where Mrs. Marsh joined them, anxious to learn the cause of the boys' quarrel. In a few words Mr. Marsh explained everything to her; but when she would have tried to excuse Edgar's conduct, he would not allow her to do so. "There is no excuse for him," he said, "and he knows it. He has behaved in a false, cowardly fashion towards his cousin, and I am heartily ashamed of him."

"I—I have been very unhappy about it," faltered Edgar; and there was no doubt that he spoke the truth, for since the morning he had gone primrose gathering with Polly and Roger his conscience had continually pricked him. "And—and I don't believe Roger will ever forgive me; he said he would never come to the Rookery again, and he's sure to keep his word."

"What explanation shall I give our visitors as to the cause of the disgraceful scene in the road?" asked Mrs. Marsh with a sigh.

"Tell them the truth—don't beat about the bush," advised her husband. "Say Edgar was the one in fault."

"It is most unfortunate this has occurred, for I have asked Polly and Roger to spend the afternoon here to-morrow," she said regretfully. "Are they coming, Edgar?"

"Aunt Mary promised they should come, mother, but I don't suppose they will now."

"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Marsh. "I will speak to their father and tell him what has happened, and he will set things right. Roger has a real grievance and has cause to be indignant, but I want him and Edgar to be friends. Your brother is as straight as a line, Janie, and it seems his son is the same. Now go to your visitors, my dear; I have a few words to say to Edgar alone."

It astonished Edgar to see how deeply his conduct had affected Mr. Marsh, who seemed more grieved than angry. That touched the little boy, who was really much attached to the father who had always been so indulgent to him, and he promised that he really would endeavour to act as well as speak truly in the future. When, ten minutes later, he left the study and ran upstairs to his bedroom to prepare for luncheon—which, under the circumstances would be somewhat of an ordeal that day—his eyes were blind with tears, and his father's parting words rang again and again in his ears:

"Be true, my boy, whatever happens be true, and then I shall be able to feel confidence in you. Don't ever again give me occasion to be ashamed of my son."