Chapter II: It Was Will

In the heat of temper old John turned on his heel, and abruptly left the auction room without reporting his opinion or impressions of Will to Robert Staunton.

Robert, in his office, sat waiting the result of the interview. He waited till the clock pointed to lunch hour. Then, curious as to the cause of the prolonged absence of his friend, he opened the door noiselessly, and looked out. There was no sign of John or of the “staff.” Robert lifted his voice and called: “_Will!_”

There was no answer.

He called “_Henry!_”

There was no Henry about, either.

“Will’s up to some of his games, I know,” Robert said to himself. “Slipped Dashwood home for dinner, I bet. That’s where I’ll find them,” and, turning to a basin that sat under a brass tap in a corner of his little den, he proceeded to wash his hands.

“About five minutes to catch the tram,” he murmured, glancing at the clock, when suddenly the door, as though a heavy horse troubled with mange had rubbed against it, burst in and revealed old John, with solemn, set countenance, standing like the statue of Captain Cook upon the threshold.

Robert experienced a pleasant surprise at the unexpected appearance of his country friend.

“Where the deuce have you been all the time?” he said, giving his hands a final rub in the towel. “Why, I was just going to run off home to hunt you up. I made sure Will had put you up to playing some joke on me——”

Then, as he adjusted the towel in its place: “What do you think of Will? How did you get on with him, John? Do you think you can make a farmer of him?”

“_Robert!_” began old John, in tones of sorrow mingled with anger, “Ah dersent want to saay nothink whatsoomever abaht yower son; let thet be oonderstud clear atween us, oncet an’ for ever!”

Robert opened his eyes and stared as though he had been hit with something.

“Ah dersent thenk,” old John continued, “thet he’s a credit to yow, Robert, or thet yow, as his faither, has been a credit overmooch to him.”

Robert was a man of quick temper, and there was a lot of conceit and false city pride about him.

“_What!_” he said, staring at old John as though he couldn’t believe what he had heard.

“Just what Ah sez, an’ nothink more, an’ nothink less,” replied the other, with firmness.

Robert was satisfied he had heard correctly.

“To _h—l_ with you,” he shouted, upsetting his office stool by the excited motion he made with his hands, the noise of which made a fitting accompaniment to his outburst of temper. “Would you insult me and my son—an’—an’—an’ in my own _office_? It’s like your d—— cheek! And I won’t stand it, not from _you_ Dashwood, nor from _anyone_! I wouldn’t stand it from the King of England! By heavens I wouldn’t; and I’m an Englishman, as good an Englishman as was ever _born_!” He thumped the table hard with his soft, flabby fist. Then, puffing and blustering like a whale, glared at old John.

“Ah insults _no one_!” old John roared back, squaring his shoulders and standing his ground. “Do you hear _thet_?” (a dramatic pause). “Ah insults _no one_, Robert Staunton! But what Ah thenks Ah means to say, and——”

“You _won’t_!” Robert interrupted furiously. “You _won’t_! By heavens you won’t; not in _my_ office!”

“Ah _will_” yelled old John, “an’ Ah will say it here, an’——”

“You d— well _won’t_, I say,” howled Robert, shoving his face close into John’s. “If you utter one more word you’ll go out of here—by—by—by——”

In his fury the right word failed him. “_Dashwood!_” he bellowed in a higher key, “don’t you compel me to strike you, or by my soul look here!” He seized a chair with both hands and waved it over old John’s head. At the same moment Will, who meanwhile had returned to his desk, overhearing the noise, stealthily approached the open door of his parent’s private office, and stood, a silent spectator of the quarrel.

“Don’t yow do anythink you’ll be sorry for, Robert Staunton!” roared old John, without flinching from the uplifted chair.

“Get out of here, then,” roared the other.

“When Ah’m ready!” said old John.

“Well, get ready, set, go!” came suddenly from Will, and with a violent pull of old John’s coat-tails he dragged him to the broad of his back and made a great noise with him on the floor.

Old John was never more surprised in his life than when he found himself on the floor. With the howls of an enraged animal he struggled to his feet and pursued Will round the auction room. For a moment or two it was all joy to Will. He gloried in the exhilarating sport of evading capture, and chuckled as he dodged in and out and round about bags and bales and miscellaneous cargo.

“Scotch him, Spider,” He shouted to the message boy, who chanced to return to his post just in time to share in the excitement. “Scotch him!”

The message boy seemed to understand well enough what Will required of him, but, like a growing pup that experiences for the first time a desire to take part in the frolics of older dogs, he hesitated and frisked nervously about in the one spot whenever old John shuffled past him. Once he made a half-hearted attempt to seize hold of old John, but courage seemed to fail him.

“Scotch him, darn it, Spider!” Will cried again, then slipped on a banana peel, and sprawled on the floor.

“Yow yoong dug!” cried old John, “Ah’ve got yer now!” and with open hands bent down to scoop him up.

“Yer fritent scowser, Spider!” Will yelled. “Scotch him!”

The messenger danced about like a chained monkey for a second or two, then finally rushed forward and shoved old John hard in the rear while he was in the act of stooping. Instead of securing his assailant old John fell head first over him, and made more noise than the dropping of several hundredweights of iron dumb-bells upon the boards. Will was relieved; and, struggling to his feet, he hopped away on one leg, and disappeared. The message boy had dived out in advance of him.

Old John rose and glared all about, then brushed himself with his hands. He groaned several times, then approached Robert’s office door again.

“What Ah coomed here to say te yow, Robert Staunton, wer’ this,” he said, doggedly. “If you dersent keep a taht rein on thet there son o’ yow’n, he’ll get ’n into trouble one o’ these days! Gud day!”

Then, turning away, he went into the street, and made for his hotel.

* * * * *

Will, delighted with the turn things had taken, frisked into his father’s office to glean further information about the quarrel.

“Did you ever in your life hear such infernal impudence?” puffed the parent, his passion not one bit abated, “for a d— pumpkin man like that to come here and insult me in my own office!”

“I’m blest if I could make out what the deuce had gone wrong when I heard yer both slingin’ off,” said Will, cheerfully, and added: “He wanted to deal it out to you, did he, dad?”

“He wouldn’t deal much to me, I’ll warrant!” and the burly produce man walked savagely round his dingy little den.

“I made sure yer was goin’ to spread him out with th’ furniture,” Will ventured, with a grin.

But other thoughts began to occupy the mind of the parent.

“What did _you_ say to him?” he demanded, turning suddenly upon Will, and fixing him with angry eyes. “Did you say anything to offend Dashwood?”

“_Me?_” and Will struck a surprised attitude. “Offend Mister Dashwood? Why, I didn’t know he _was_ Mister Dashwood!”

“That’s not answering the question I asked you! Did you say anything, or do anything to him at all?” and the parent lifted his voice in a way that made Will start.

“Oh, I spoke to him, of course, when he spoke to me,” Will answered slyly.

“What th’ devil was it you said to him, then?” demanded the parent.

“What was it I said to him?” Will repeated, sparring for time.

“Yes!” and the parent clenched his fists.

“Oh, he just asked me how produce was going, and——”

“And what?”

“Well, he said something er—about—er——”

“About what?” loudly from the parent.

“Er—about _farming_.”

“What about farming?”

“Well, I think” (hesitating) “that he asked me if I’d care to go on a farm!”

Robert felt he was on the right track for a solution of the trouble, and yelled at the top of his voice:

“And what th’ devil did you say in answer to that; out with it!”

“Oh, I said it would be just the glassy marble—the sort of thing I’d like to be at, that is, as near as I can remember.” Will was a brilliant liar.

Robert was baffled. He felt convinced of his son’s innocence, and old John’s attitude was surrounded with deeper mystery than before.

“An’ that was all he said to you?” he asked, in a calm mood.

“He went away then,” said Will, committing more perjury, “and I never saw him any more till I see you going to wooden him with the furniture.”

“Curious!” reflected the parent, “d— curious!” and, seating himself in his chair, sat thinking the matter over.

Will lost no time getting out of the office. It was too warm an atmosphere for Will’s frame of mind just then.

“The boss is in a devil of a pelt,” he informed the message boy, whom he encountered on his way in with a letter that had arrived for the “firm.” “Be careful what y’ say, Spider, if he asks anything, or he’ll sack y’ sure as yer livin’!”

If there was one thing in this world that the message boy dreaded more than another it was the thoughts of losing his five shillings a week. And, whenever the bare possibility of such a disaster was even suggested to Henry, painful visions of the distraction and penury his mother would be reduced to in consequence rose up before him and disturbed his peace of mind.

“Who’s that from?” his employer growled, as the boy nervously placed the letter before him on the table.

He ventured no reply, but commenced a hasty retreat.

“Henry, come here!” and Robert called him back.

Henry’s heart went cold, and he returned, looking pale as death, and trembling like a captured hare.

“H’m!” mumbled Robert, as he finished reading the letter. Then, putting the document aside and turning to the boy:

“Oh, I wanted to ask you, Henry, if by any chance you happened to say anything to Mr. Dashwood when he was in this morning that annoyed him, though I don’t think you did, did you?”

Henry went to pieces.

“It wasn’t me, sir!” he blubbered, “it—it was _Will_!” then he opened his mouth and bawled as though he were being tortured with hot coals and molten lead.

Robert sprang from his chair.

“It was Will, was it?” he repeated.

“Y-y-yes!” howled Henry.

“Now, don’t be afraid, I’m not going to say anything to you, Henry; just be quiet and tell me what you know about it.”

“He—he” (sob) “he” (another sob) “he—he” (several sobs) “threw—threw” (some more sobs) “a onion at—at—him.”

“_Who?_ At Mr. Dashwood? _Will_ did?” Robert gasped. “By heavens!”

“Y-y-yes, s’!” moaned Henry.

“_That’s_ it, is it! Th’ d— young liar!” The outraged parent bit his lip. “I see it all now! Th’ confounded young blackguard!”

Then addressing Henry again:

“Just tell Will to come here; I want to see him.”

But Will, who had been listening at the door, made off, and, on reaching the street, turned and shook his fist threateningly at the message boy.