MIGHT VERSUS RIGHT.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXVII, Issue 1373, 20 August 1895, Page 2

MIGHT VERSUS RIGHT.

1 [copyright.]

[two instalments appear in this day’s issue ] +•*■■* ■ —- BY JULIA HACK, Author of “ Tlx,' Boggart o’ th’ Mill,” “GlenGordon , Sfc, Chapter XL Thou li"St des.Till'd A lint friend conlinp : ever nolo. When love beeins tn sicten nnd decay. It useth nn enforced ceremony. —Shakespeare. Beware the fury of a patient man. —Drtden. No rumour of Elsie’s engagement had yet reached Frank Armitage; but he was not without warnings of the blow fate held in store for him. He had seen Elsie bub once since the Priory picnic, and then she had, he thought, pointedly avoided him. Ho was, in consequence, much discouraged, but not despairing. As long as Elsie remained unwon, he would never give up the hope of winning her, and being a young man of sanguine temper, he soon persuaded himself that he had been mistaken. Business, or more likely charity, took her into that cottage, just when ho hoped for the delight of meeting her; or perhaps she was shy—a possibility which filled lus heart with a tumult of fond and baseless fancies. But unfortunately for Frank’s peace of mind, Elsie was not the on'y one who seemed to shun him. Bertie was changed, unaccountably changed. He had never entered the cottage since that fatal picnic, and when they met, his manner was cold and constrained. This conduct would have disquieted Frank less had it not been accompanied by a corresponding and equally mysterious change of behaviour towards Sam Dodd. A week ago that young exquisite had been an object of constant ridicule toßeitie; a target for the shafts of his boyish wit. Now they were always together, and seemed, suddenly, to have become bosom friends. What did this portend ? One evening a parcel of books was sent from the Vicarage. It was neatly tied up, and addressed in Bertie’s handwriting, “Returned with thanks.” Books had always been freely exchanged between the friends, but they had been borrowed and returned in person; in fact, a book to lend had been one of Frank’s excuses for an evening call at the Vicarage. Was this formal parcel a hint that, for the future, such impromptu visits were to cease ? Frank sat turning over the obnoxious parcel in a troubled, anxious manner, which soon attracted the attention of the mother, whose one thought and aim in life was her “ boy.” His pleasure was her pleasure, and his pain a pang keener far than he could x*ealise; for what do children know of the love which has warmed and comforted them from the hour of their earliest remembrance P Like sunbeams which give colour to the world, it is all around them ; but they perceive it not till the cold shadows of life chill their hearts, and draw them towards the familiar warmth and cheer which has ever been tbeir own. “ Who brought this parcel, mother ? ” he inquired, with the irritability caused by secret anxiety. “ Little Polly Slater left it on her way from school,” replied Mrs. Armitage, with a troubled glance at her son’s frowning brow. So then, Bertie had been at the trouble to take the parcel to the school, rather than bring it himself to the cottage. Frank’s frown deepened, and he sighed heavily as he took the books out of the wrapping. His mother stole up to his side, and timidly smoothing back his hair, kissed his forehead. She asked no question, for she was a' wise little woman in her way, and never sought to force a confidence; only the sympathy which overflowed in her warm, motherly heart must needs find some mute form of expression. “Ah ! sweet mother,” said Frank, smiling up at her anxious face, “ it is some l hing to have one friend in this hard world who will never tux*n the cold shoulder to me.” “ Much thee knows of ‘ cold shoulders,’ my dear one,” protested the little woman with gentle indignation. “ Thou, who hast so many friends! All men speak well of my boy, and truly no one better deserves praise; though I fear my so saying savours somewhat of pride.” Frank laughed drearily. 1 “ Vain little mother! tby wicked pride will have a fall. 1 fear I have offended Bertie Vere—how, I cannot imagine; but the fact x*emains.” “Impossible, my dear,” remonstrated Mi’s. Armitage, her soft eyes kindling as she spoke. “ Bertie hath ever been a wellconducted boy; I cannot think it of him. 1 Thou art over-sensitive, my son.” ! “I think not, mother,” said Frank, soberly. “Thou must not expect every one to see with thy partial eyes,” and he sighed. “ Thei*e has been something odd about him for several days; be has more than once refused to take a walk with me, and never says a word about my going into the Vicarage ; then these hooks.” i “I see nothing alarming in the fact of | his returning thy books, Frank,” said his mother, bent upon comforting him if she could. “ I was pleased to see them neatly wrapped up. It is, perchance, a sign that he is becoming more orderly; truly there is room for improvement.” Frank shook his head. “ See, mother, what they are: books for study—books that he really needs; he has not half got through them, idle laddie I No, this lias not been done without a motive; he has not the courage to tell me so in words, but he means me to understand that my visits are to cease,” “But why should he do so?” asked the little Quakeress, her face flushed with indignation, and her eyes all aflame. “ Verily it seemeth to mo an ungr iteful, uncourteous action, totally without excuse or motive.” ! “Nay, little mother, thou art wrong,” said Frank, leaning back in his chair with a gesture of weariness which went to his mother’s heart. “There is both motive and excuse. I don’t blame Bertie. The dear lad would never have thought of such a thing had he been left alone; he has been weak, but what can one expect of a boy of fifteen, so utterly inexperienced ? This is the work of a far older hand; 1 am convinced that Sam Dodd hath got hold of the lad, and is using him as a tool to suit his own purposes.” “ Thou’rt uncharitable, Frank,” said his mother, reprovingly. “ Why should thou think that Sam Dodd would wish to do thee an injury ? ” ; “I don’t think it, mother, I know it,” returned Frank, rising and beginning to pace the room. “ It is no use mincing matters; he hates me and I hate him. The only difference between us is that I should like to thrash him in the broad light of day, and he would like to trip me up on the sly. He prefers to hit me by proxy; poor Bertie is pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for him. Of course he does not know it. He thinks, no jloubt, that he is showing a fine spirit of

independence. W hat chance could such a ■jimp e lad have in the hands of a cunning, clever fellow like Sam Dodd ? ” Mrs. Armitage did not at once reply, in spite of her warm, motherly sympathy, sho was shocked to hear Frank openly express a desire to chastise his enemy. Violence was terrible in her eyes. A moment later, Frank remembered this with a feeling of comical dismay. What was to be done ? He could not unsay his words, they were undeniably true; but something must be said to comfort his dear little mother. “Forgive me, mater darling,” he exclaimed, throwing himself down upon the rug at her feet; “ what a barbarian I am ! 1 go pouring out my woes into thy patient ears, and forget how I am trampling upon thy tender heart. How doth it happen that thou, of all people, should have such a selfish son ? ” I “ Thou’rt not selfish, my son,” returned his mother, smiling tenderly upon him. “ Is it not my chief comfort that thou dost tell me thy troubles? Would that 1 could help thee, my darling! Alas, I can but feel for thee! But, Frank dear, thou’lt forgive me if I tell thee how unhappy it makes me that thou shouldst harbour thoughts of hatred and vengeance. Thou’rt young, my son, and cannot know where such thoughts lead. Oain, thee knows,” and her voice trembled, “ Cain was jealousof his brother; that was the beginning.” Frank looked thoughtful. “ Thou’rt right, dear mother,” he replied, presently. “ The fact is, there is something of the wild beast in us all; all vien at least,” he added, with a tender smile at his gentle tittle raonitress. “ Women are angels; men, something very different. It is }uite true that I am jealous of Sam Dodd; true, too, that I have a desire to take the law into my own hands, which might lead me into mischief; but I will be cautious, darling, for thy sake,” ho continued, kissing her hands ; “ I will keep the wild beast chained,” His mother smiled at him with tender pride; it was always a surprise toiler that this big, high-spirited son of hors shou'd submit to her admonitions. “I cannot think, my darling, that thou canst have any ne d to be jea'ous of such a one as Sam Dodd.” “ That emphasis is hardly flattering to the absent Sam, mother,” returned he, laughing; “but, indeed, I have cause; he has any number of advantages which I do not possess—money, position, and good looks.” “Nay, my dear,”said his mother, with a grave air of moderation, “ I should be sorry indeed to excite thy vanity; we all know that mere beauty is valueless; still, thee knows, as a simple matter of fact, I can imagine no one so blind as to think Sam Dodd better looking than thou.” “ Dear little mother ! ” said Frank, a smile lighting up his rugged features, “ thy spectacles are indeed rosecoloured ! ” “ Maybe, Frank,” replied his mother, with dignity. “ Looks are a matter of taste; but why dost thou talk of his position ? Mr. Dodd was but a servant in thy father’s employ; nay, for that matter, he owes his fortune altogether to thy family. Money cannot alter that fact. Oh, Frank ! if she cares so much for money, she cannot be worthy of thy love.” This was her first open reference to Frank’s love; now it had slipped out unawares, and she glanced timidly at him, blushing like a girl. “Not worthy of my love!” he echoed. “ Ah ! mother*, do not say that. It is I who am unworthy. Thou dost not know how loving and true-hearted she is. But I dare not trust myself to speak of her. If she marries Sam Dodd ” —his face whitened as he spoke—“it will not be for his money, of that I am certain; it would be contrary to her nature. If she marries, it will be because she loves, and who can blame her for that ? ” Mrs. Armitage drew in her lips, and eld herself very straight; hut she refrained from speech. “ Mother,” continued Frank, “ Mr, Dodd spoke to-day of taking me into partnership. It will soon be three years since I undertook the management of the money department of the business, and I fancy I know as much about it now as he does.” “ That is good news, my darling,” said his mother, smiling. “ Doubtless Samuel Dodd doth feel it to be an act of simple justice to thy father’s son; a due return for the favour shown to him in his youth. And thou, dear son, thou dost well deserve thy good fortune.” Frank sighed. What fortnno could be good unless shared by Elsie/;' A presentiment of evil lay heavily upon his heart. Well was it for Frank that he was in some slight degree prepared for misfortune. It was characteristic of Sam that he chose himself to tell his rival of his appi’oaching marriage. It was his moment of triumph, and he determined to make the most of it. In his interview with Elsie there had been small satisfaction, winner though he was. Indeed, he had then been far more conscious of defeat than victory. But there was no sign of humiliation upon his face as he entered the office, and seated himself where he could command a good view of Frank’s countenance. “ Busy as usual, Armitage ” he said in a condescending manner. “ You are quite the model working bee of the hive, while I am—a —what shall I say ?—drone, I’m afraid.” And he tapped his polished boot with his riding-whip, and ran his jewelled fingers through his glossy black curls. Frank looked up with an air of annoy, ance, but a glance at his companion warned him that he meant to be insulting, so he resolved to disappoint him by keeping his temper. “ Oh, work is a pleasure to me,” he said, carelessly. “ Ah, you don’t say so, now! ” returned Sam, insolently. “ Curious case of what pious folk call ‘ the back fitted to the burden.’ Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, maliciously. Frank made no reply. He went on writing with perfect composure, “ However, I daresay you have no objection to a holiday now and then, in spite of your industry,” continued Sam, fixing his black eyes upon him mercilessly. “We shall shut up shop on my weddingday, so you and your beloved ledger must part company for once.” He was disappointed. His victim’s face was still calm and passionless. Was the fellow made of stone ? Ho could not tell that, to Frank, the office seemed to be standing upon its head, and that a dull roar of many waters filled liis cars. Perhaps the very suddenness of tbe shock helped him to maintain his composure. “You are fortunate, Mr. Dodd,” he said, as soon as he could command his voice. “ Yes; I suppose I am,” returned Sam, in a languid, affected voice, “though I might have done much better, don’t you know. I have good reason to believe that Miss Talbot would not have said ‘ no’ to me; but I pride myself upon being a man of honour, and having perhaps given poor little Elsie some reason to think I admired her, I felt that—a —I could not well hack out. She would have cried her pretty eyes out if I had.” Still no sign of suffering—not the

• quiver of an eyelid. Sam felt his victory ! -was not complete without some sign of I defeat/ on the part of his enemy. He I would rouse him somehow, “ I see you think I am throwing myself away,” he said, with a languid drawl. “But what’s a fellow to do—the poor little girl is not much to boast of, certainly; i but you see she had set her heart ” What more he might have said is unknown. He wished to arouse Frank, and he succeeded. He found himself suddenly in a grasp so powerful that he felt like a reed in the trunk of an elephant. Frank bad seized him by his collar and was shaking him much as a mastiff shakes an impudent lap-dog. “You date to speak of Miss Yore in that insolent manner! ”he said, in a low, vibrating voice. “ You cur—you hound —you despicable villain! Let me hear you say another disrespectful word of her, and I’ll break every bone in your miserable little body. Ho you hear?” He gave him another mighty shake, and then kicked him clean through the office door into the mill yard. It was but one kick,yet it sufficed to land the bridegroomelect head and shoulders into a pool of soft mud, which had recently been swept up from the yard. He arose choking and trembling with rage. “ I’ll pay you for this,” he gasped, almost inarticulate with passion. “ As you like, and as soon as you like,” returned Frank, calmly, and he sat down to his desk again! But there were no curious eyes upon him now, and his pen was motionless. Chapter XTT. FRANK walked home with a ringing step and an unwonted fire in his grey eyes. He wore by no means the aspect of a crushed and disappointed man; and yet the news of Sam’s approaching marriage had robbed him of all chance of future happiness. It was a blow; but then he had thrashed the man who dealt the blow, and what young man of twentyfour is superior to that consolation ? The exercise, too, had all the exhilarating charm of novelty, and the fact that it was likely to prove an expensive luxury only added to the excitement. H’S mother was watching for him. Sam having carefully informed Mrs. Gimlet of his engagement, the news spread like wild-fire. Mrs. Armitage heard it, and her heart ached for her son. “ I see thou hast heard all about it. dear mother,” he said, as he entered “ Ho not distress thyself on my account; I can bear it.” He stooped to kiss her check. “ As to that, my darling,” she faltered. “ when thy heart is wounded, mine cannot be at ease. Would that I could help thee!” . ■ Frank threw himself into a chair, his head bent upon his hands. “ I could have borne it better; nay, I could even be glad, for her sake, if only he were worthy of her love. She doth not know him; how should she, poor child ? She hath no chance of happiness—none!” “ She doth not deserve happiness,” cried Mrs. Armitage, with an irrepressible burst of indignation; “she hath chosen the things of this world.” “ That doth not sound like thee, dear mother,” said Frank. “No, no; if it is thy wish to help me, darling, do not begin by blaming her —poor, innocent, confiding child. That’s what maddens me,” he cried, with sudden fire; “ those children have been like reeds in the hands of that unscrupulous man. How hath he done it ?—what deceitful means hath he used P Mother, could’st thou not go to her? She might confide in thee ” “Hear son, how could I?” said the gentle little woman, appealingly; “ thou dost not think.” “ True, I see it would not do,” answered Frank, dejectedly; “ but thou could’st write to her, mother—a kind, loving letter, like thyself.” Mrs. Armitage promised; too glad to escape the suggested call to make any objection to the letter, though in truth she found it no easy task. She could find no pity in her heart for the girl who had dealt her son so cruel a blow. The most entire confidence existed between Frank and his mother. It was his habit to tell her everything. His encounter with Sam was sure to displease her ; yet he would have told her about it, even if he had not been certain that the very next morning would bring vengeance in the form of dismissal. Mrs. Armitage was a Quakeress down to the tips of her fingers, and held rigidly to the theory of meekness under injury. To retaliate, to use violence, was in her eyes a sin. Had she not even held up Cain as a warning to Frank when he showed a carnal desire to use the weapons Nature had bestowed upon him ? But it is possible to be inconsistent, even if one is a staunch Quakeress. When she heard the history of Sam’s conduct, the cowardly insolence of his speech about Elsie, the deliberate cruelty of his attack upon her boy, indignation got the better of theory. Her cheek flushed, and her soft eyes kindled angrily. “Indeed, my son,” she said, hastily, “ I see not how thou could’st do otherwise. Surely it is God’s will that the wicked should be punished. Houbtlesa the Lord put strength into thine arm.” Frank repressed a smile, and glanced comically at his right boot; but he was glad his mother took this unexpected view of the matter, and would not risk displeasing her by any frivolous remarks on the subject of kicks in general, or of one mighty kick in particular. It was soon apparent that Sam did not choose to revenge himself in the way Frank expected. When he went to the mill the next day old Mr. Dodd spoke to him with his usual kindness, and it was evident he knew nothing of his son’s disaster. Sam was absent, but that was not unusual. Hid he mean to forgive the injury? Frank knew better. A mean, cowardly nature never forgives. The fire of wounded vanity may smoulder long, but it is sure to break forth sooner or later. The fact was that Sam had made up his mind to keep silent on the subject, because he did not care to acknowledge that he had been shaken and kicked like a pickpocket. As for his revenge—that could wait. [CONTINUED ‘ ELSEWIIEim.]