Astonby’s Surprising Pupil.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue II, 9 January 1904, Page 57

Astonby’s Surprising Pupil.

KOT ONE OK THE OLD-FASHIONED KIND. ‘Now. Air A’oyse,” Addington Brown’s Uncle Silas had said to the .Vicar of Astonby, when arranging for Addington’s installation at the vicarage with the other live young gentlemen there in the receipt of an oldfashioned education. “1 want you to work the classic side of the boy as hard as you can. He’s quite scientific enough by nature, and. ahem—well, I suppose I may say also by inherited family instincts. Quite, indeed.” Uncle Silas smiled. Air Voyse raised his eyebrows at that smile. There was in it a certain reticence and pride (mingled) which piqued him. But Uncle Silas continued briskly: “We’ll say no more about it, however. Fill him with Latin and Greek, my dear sir, and—and —-my wife wishes me to say he has rather a delicate throat. Women are like that, aren’t t hey ?” And then they both smiled together. "I quite understand, quite,” said the Vmar. “1 can assure you Airs Voyse will take the lad’s throat in hand as czalously as I will endeavour to—to nourish his intellect—on the classic side- Aly wife, Air Brown, really loves a delieale boy, in the abstract. She—” “Oh, but Addington is not exactly that,” said Uncle Silas. “Excuse the Interruption. It is only that he poisoned pis system a few months ago in experimenting with my chemicals, and it RWs left a certain predisposition to sore throats. That is all. And now I will run for my I rain.” This was Addington Brown's introduction to the Astonby establishment. Ho was a tall, quiet lad, with a singularly lofty forehead and an air of snlfeommand, and at times remoteness

from his surroundings, which interested the other five boys extraordinarily. The other fire were the Vicar’s two sons, Peter and Samuel, Tony Apswell, Daniil Hunter and Sir Bartholomew Trotter. Tony Apsweii was the master spirit of the little circle hitherto. It was Tony who had in six weeks crushed all the "‘baronetieal humbug” out of Trotter, and even taught Barty that he was almost to be pitied for being a baronet at the tender age of 13. And it was Tony who set to work to test Addington, to see if that dreamy, yet luminous stare in his eyes, and resolute indifference to trifles were frauds like Barty’s unfortunate inheritance of a title. The things Addington had to put up with, from chopped horsehair on his sheets and in his flannels, to mysteriously accidental bangs on the head from the football in the vicarage paddock! He bore them all with a patience that was as sublime as it was exasperating. Though he tossed about a good deal at night, he didn’t complain in the morning. Even when he got hot at football and seemed to scratch and nudge his shoulders painfully, he made no remark. And all lie said one afternoon when, four times in half an hour, the football had come at him hard between the nape of-his neck and crown, was this, “It’s queer how I'm always getting in its way.” Addington had a bedroom to himself. It was one of the points he had insisted upon with his uncle- And there were drawers and a cupboard in the bedroom which he locked the first evening (after he had emptied his boxes), and kept locked. “My dear boy.” Mrs Voyse had said to him at the end of the first week, “give me the keys of the cupboard. It wants dusting.” “Oh, no, Mrs Voyse. it doesn’t, thank you.” ho. replied. “I’ll see to it.” Mrs Voyse f ried again, but again Addington blocked her. “I promise you solemnly. Mrs Voyse,” he said, “that I'll never keep grub there.” “But w]iy. my dear, should you keep it locked, then!” “Oh—well!” And then Addington looked at her. as she said to her husband, “as if lie were fifty and I was only sixteen,” and remarked with a sort of dry politeness, “I hope I’m old enough to be trusted with an empty cupboard, Mrs Voyse. Don’t you think so!” To Air Voyse, who was shrewd to mark the social relationships of his pupils, all ibis was in its way amusing. He rated Addington as an uncommon boy, as touching his character, though deplorably backward in his Latin and Greek. From Tony, with whom he was on very gracious terms, he got an opinion that there wasn’t sueh a chap in the world as Addington Brown—“So different from oilier fellows, don’t you know, sir, though not at. all a bad-hearted fellow, you know.” And this, too, pleased Mr Voyse. But when eighteen days had passed, Mr Voyse had a sudden and most disquieting shock. There was an explosion in the night. It happened between twelve and one o’clock. Every soul in the building was awakened, and there was soon a patter of bare feet on both the bedroom storeys of the vicarage, with something like shrieks from the two housemaids, whose room was over Addington’s. “Is it an — earthquake, dad!” asked Samuel Voyse when, candle in hand, the Vicar came, white-faced, into the main landing. The Vicar had thought so at first. But now lie smelt something. “Where’s Brown!” he asked. Addington appeared opportunely, in his trousers and shirt. “So sorry,” he said, with the utmost calmness. “I—l’ve blown my window frame out. I ought to have known better. It serves mo right for attempting anything without proper appliances. I’ll make all the reparation possible, of course; and—there won’t be any more of. it. That I promise.” The Vicar winked rapidly several times during this speech. Then he sent nil tho household back to bed, and went into Addington’s room. “Come!” he said to Addington, and he shut the door. What exactly occurred inside no one knew except Addington and the Vicar. Even Mrs Voyse could get nothing out of her husband beyond these words: “That boy has dared to defy me. I—

I must see what is to be done.” And it was noticeable that the next morning, in class and at weals, be had a new kind of look for Addington Brown and an unusual severity of tone, both of which seemed to trouble Addington not at all. Of course the other five boys were furiously inquisitive about it all. But Addington kept his own counsel. “Do you mean to say you won’t tell us!” asked Tony, fiercely, after many futile minutes. Addington contemplated Tony as if he were a statue devoid of mind. “My dear Apswell, you wouldn’t understand a single syllable of it,” he said. “Besides, I as good as promised old Voyse to keep it a secret. He’s as ignorant as the rest of you. “Oh, well, sorry! I didn’t mean that. But just drop the subject, there’s a good chap!” 11. This began a three days’ estrangement between the other five and Addington. They carried it on just as long as they could, but three days formed the limit. And then they forget it all, for Addington himself did not crow about his secret as some fellows would have done. Besides, they were sorry for him. He had a whole book of A’irgil as an imposition; and of course the carpenter’s account for that window was to go down in his bill. But Air. A’oyse’s mouth was always firm, and he seemed always to wear a bad frown now when he looked at Addington. As for Mrs. A’oyse, she had to be content with the key of Addington’s dormitory cupboard. This hajl nothing in it now, except a few scientific books and some clothes. And the maids were left free to believe that it was an earthquake which had unsettled them so startlingly on that particular night. Matters were thus when one morning there arrived a visitor from Addington, a most celebrated person, the sight of whose card made. Mr. Voyse gasp when it was brought with the request to seo Alaster Addington Brown. Mr. Voyse exchanged a few words with the gentleman, who seemed teased by a pensive smile, which disturbed the Vicar, and, of course, Addington was then summoned into the drawing-room. And there the A’icar left him.

For a whole hour they stayed in conversation. Mrs. Voyse eame in for a moment to make the great man’s acquaintance, but she met with no encouragement to stay. The great man talked about the weather and scenery to her, and did it as if he were vastly bored, and would be so much obliged if she would go away. And so she did go away. And the next

minute the two were hard at work discussing as before. The worst of all was when the draw-ing-room door opened, and Mrs. Voyse heard these words: “No, no, I don’t want to see these .»ood people again, my boy. Let me slip off by myself. And remember (lowering his voice), we rely upon you. It’s ridiculous that you should waste your time here, but, of course, as an infant in the eye of the law—Well, good-bye, mv dear lad, and do take care of yourself.” . . “All right,” said Addington simply. After which (in the midst of Mrs Voyse’s paralysis of wonder and indignation what must the great man do but shuffle on tiptoe to the front door and rush down the drive as if he were a criminal. When Mrs Voyse appeared with a rosy face and angry eyes, Addington was standing thoughtfully, with his head on one side, looking at a print of the Battle of Waterloo. “Has he gone?” asked Mrs Voyse. “Oh, yes,” said Addington calmly. “I was to give you his compliments, Mrs Voyse. He’s so sorry he had to catch that train. At least, that’s what he said. I suppose I must go back to that Greek prose business.” This with a shrug and contemptuous smile which just about finished Mrs Voyse. She had never known such a boy. She gazed after him. but said nothing. HI. It was a half-holiday in the fourth week of Addington’s residence at Astonby, and Addington was, for him, unusually excited aboUJt something. He had shown it by gross stupidity in class. And now, directly after school, he went to the Vicar in his study. “I want —that is, sir, I suppose,” he said resignedly, “it’s no good my asking for an exeat to-day, to go to town? I could sleep at my uncle’s.” Mr Voyse was staggered. “I shouldn’t think of such a thing. Brown,” he said. “I myself am going to London this afternoon, but in any case —oh, of course not. Go away and play.” Addington nodded and went. He said nothing to anyone, but an hour after the Vicar had gone to town, he also went to town, having left a note for Mrs Voyse, apologising for his eon duct and hoping to be back late that night or early in the morning. “It is an important engagement,” he said in the note. Of Mrs Voyse’s emotions when she read that letter, nothing adequate can be said. Of course, she was furious. And she continued furious until, at 11 o’clock, her husband returned, accompanied by Addington. Then Mrs Voyse found her tongue, only io be interrupted by the Vicar. “Wait, my dear,” he said, smiling, “and you Brown, my dear lad. go to bed at once.” Addington obeyed, with a sleepy “good-night” for both of them. And the whole of the next half hour was devoted by Mr Voyse to an account of his experiences at a learned society in Albemarle-street, whither he had gone with a friend to hear

Well, it turned out to be to hear Addington Brown read a paper on “The Martian Atmosphere—a Theory.” And that famous scientific gentleman who had called the other day at the vicarage was in the chair. “The lad has, it seems, already made the most remarkable discoveries in his uncle’s laboratory and—and—he was brought to me as much to distract his

brain as anything else. My dear, that paper of Brown’s was a revelation of the boy’s powers!” The next morning Addington had a re quest to mak*> of the Vicar, who helped him to cold meat at breakfast before any of the other boys. “Would you mind, sir, forgetting all about last nfigHt—'while I’m here? I mean, you know, -treating me as before?

Young Apswell is so—so inquisitive.” They smiled at each other on terms of equality at last. “Very well, my boy,” said Mr Voyse. “Very well. I quite understand. S’ou may therefore, if you like, go o" with your impositions at once. Brown.” Addington nodded. “All right, sir,” he said. “That’ll stop them questioning.”