Chapter XIX: Roy's Imprudence

Roy went the round of a good many returned acquaintances that morning, finding out, as he went, from one and another where next to direct his steps.

He discovered Franklyn and Carey without difficulty, and in time learnt where the Curtises had bestowed themselves. From each and all the same tale was told him as to Denham. Captain Ivor's kindness and generosity towards those who had been in difficulties—and their number was not small—formed a general theme.

"What we should have done, but for him—!" was an expression which occurred again and again. Roy no longer wondered that he had been "cleared out" to his last sou. He did his best to encourage the grateful outpourings, asking questions at every pause.

He had twelve o'clock lunch with the Woodgates, finding himself at some distance from home, with his task not accomplished. By this time he was much excited, and rather off his balance.

The Curtises came next, last on his round. Roy hunted out the rooms in which they had taken refuge, and again heard a good deal about Denham, as well as about their own doings during the last few months.

"I say, I don't think you've got into very nice quarters," he said, surveying the walls.

"Best we can afford, old man. By and by we hope to change. I want to start painting again, and one must have a good light. Got a new idea in my mind."

"You won't take the trouble to copy that, anyhow," remarked Roy, pointing at a good-sized plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood on the mantelpiece. "I wouldn't keep the wretched thing there, if I were you."

"My dear boy, it's from no sort of devotion to the original, I assure you. But what's to be done? Our landlady is a flaring red-hot Bonapartist. Raved about him for an hour this morning to my wife,—didn't she, dear?"

"I told her politely that I should like him better if he would kindly allow us to go home," added Mrs. Curtis.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't suit her views, if we got rid of the Emperor, and put King George instead. Take care, Roy. Look out."

Roy was standing by the table, on which lay a little heap of wood-chips. Curtis always had something in hand,—either painting or moulding or carving. If no other occupation presented itself, he would content himself with whittling a piece of wood into scraps; and apparently this had been his last occupation. Roy took up a chip, aimed carefully at the bust, and flung it.

"Missed, by half an inch! I'll try again. That's right. Hit him fair and square on the nose."

Roy was in a wild mood, delighted to find some vent for his happiness, and not to be easily checked. He aimed chip after chip at that self-contained face of world-wide fame, sometimes hitting, sometimes missing. When for the third time he succeeded in touching the nose, he was hilariously delighted. "Bravo, bravo!" he cried. "Down with the old fellow! Á bas l'Empéreur!"

"Sh-h! Roy, be careful. You'll certainly get yourself into trouble."

"All right. Nobody here but ourselves. I say, I wish I could do this to the real individual. Wouldn't it be a game worth playing? Á bas the old chap. Down with Nap!"

Roy's excitement went beyond bounds. He seized a solid ball belonging to the baby, and aimed with precision.

"Á bas! Empéreur!"

Down came the bust, with a crash, into the fender, and was smashed.

Roy stood still, suddenly conscious of having done a very silly thing, and a shriek sounded in his rear. The door had just been opened, the landlady had appeared, and she was now shaking her fists, and executing a dance of rage.

"I say, Roy,—stop! Don't go on fooling like this. You'll get us all into trouble." Curtis spoke roughly, realising in a moment that matters might become serious. "Tell her you mean nothing by it."

"Mean nothing! But of course I do mean—"

"Roy! Will you hold your tongue? Stop this foolery!"

Roy obeyed; while the woman, shaking her fists, continued to pour out a torrent of abuse, in the midst of which occurred several times the ominous word, "gendarmes."

Curtis went nearer to her and spoke in his quietest tones.

"Madame is mistaken," he said. "Nothing is intended. Monsieur is but a boy, and Monsieur was but in jest."

"It is an insult to l'Empéreur! It shall be made known," screamed the other.

"I beg of you to hear me. It is no insult. This gentleman had no wish, none whatever, to break the figure. He did but aim at it in jest—as English Messieurs love to do. Not because it was a bust of the Emperor, but to have something to aim at," explained Curtis.

He might as well have addressed himself to the winds.

"A jest!—and as to the Emperor! Truly a fit subject for a jest. But the thing shall be known. M. le Général Wirion shall hear. Ah-ha and we shall see what the gendarmes will say to Monsieur's little jest! Eh-he, Monsieur,—I know a thing or two as to les Anglais, I can tell you. And my ornament that is broken—broken all in pieces—"

"Madame shall have full value for that."

Roy felt in his pockets. "I've only five francs here. But it can't be worth more."

"You won't get off with the mere market value of the thing," Curtis replied in English. "I have five, and not a sou besides in the house at this moment. Here—offer her the ten."

Roy's hand was thrust contemptuously aside.

"Non, vraiment! Dix francs! Does Monsieur think ten francs will pay for that?"—tragically pointing towards the fragments in the fender. "An image of the Emperor! Non, Monsieur! I go to the General."

"How much?" Curtis tried to make her say.

She gesticulated furiously, and declined payment. It was an insult to the Emperor. Did Monsieur imagine that money would wipe out that? Did Monsieur suppose that she cared only for her own loss?—bah!—nothing of the kind, though Madame was a widow, and could ill afford to lose anything. But this was a profound matter. Madame had a duty to perform, and incontestably she would perform it.

With which declaration the irate landlady disappeared.

"That's awkward," Curtis said seriously. "She is the first of the sort that I have come across yet. We had a nice little landlady at Valenciennes. Roy, you had better be off sharp. She may not know your name."

"And leave you to bear the blame for what I've done! I'm not so mean!"

"It's not meanness. She may cool down when she does not see you, and I must make another attempt. Of course I know that your father will pay anything in reason to get you out of the difficulty. Be off, Roy."

"But she knows my name well enough. She has seen me before, I'm sure."

"All the more reason why you shouldn't stay here. Get home as fast as you can, and tell your father at once. Don't put off. I hope it will come to nothing; but Wirion is certain not to lose his chance of putting on the screw, and squeezing money out of your people. Run off, as fast as you can. I'll tackle her again."

Roy obeyed, by this time rather serious. "I wonder what does come over a fellow sometimes to make him make a fool of himself," he cogitated.