Cashel Byrons Profession | Page 4

him curiously.
"All about your being on the stage, I mean," said Cashel. "You
complain of my fighting; but I should have a precious bad time of it if I
didn't lick the chaff out of some of them."

Mrs. Byron smiled doubtfully to herself, and remained silent and
thoughtful for a moment. Then she rose and said, glancing at the
weather, "I must go now, Cashel, before another shower begins. And
do, pray, try to learn something, and to polish your manners a little.
You will have to go to Cambridge soon, you know."
"Cambridge!" exclaimed Cashel, excited. "When, mamma? When?"
"Oh, I don't know. Not yet. As soon as Dr. Moncrief says you are fit to
go."
"That will be long enough," said Cashel, much dejected by this reply.
"He will not turn one hundred and twenty pounds a year out of doors in
a hurry. He kept big Inglis here until he was past twenty. Look here,
mamma; might I go at the end of this half? I feel sure I should do better
at Cambridge than here."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Byron, decidedly. "I do not expect to have to
take you away from Dr. Moncrief for the next eighteen months at least,
and not then unless you work properly. Now don't grumble, Cashel;
you annoy me exceedingly when you do. I am sorry I mentioned
Cambridge to you."
"I would rather go to some other school, then," said Cashel, ruefully.
"Old Moncrief is so awfully down on me."
"You only want to leave because you are expected to work here; and
that is the very reason I wish you to stay."
Cashel made no reply; but his face darkened ominously.
"I have a word to say to the doctor before I go," she added, reseating
herself. "You may return to your play now. Good-bye, Cashel." And
she again raised her face to be kissed.
"Good-bye," said Cashel, huskily, as he turned toward the door,
pretending that he had not noticed her action.

"Cashel!" she said, with emphatic surprise. "Are you sulky?"
"No," he retorted, angrily. "I haven't said anything. I suppose my
manners are not good enough, I'm very sorry; but I can't help it."
"Very well," said Mrs. Byron, firmly. "You can go, Cashel. I am not
pleased with you."
Cashel walked out of the room and slammed the door. At the foot of
the staircase he was stopped by a boy about a year younger than
himself, who accosted him eagerly.
"How much did she give you?" he whispered.
"Not a halfpenny," replied Cashel, grinding his teeth.
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed the other, much disappointed. "That was beastly
mean."
"She's as mean as she can be," said Cashel. "It's all old Monkey's fault.
He has been cramming her with lies about me. But she's just as bad as
he is. I tell you, Gully, I hate my mother."
"Oh, come!" said Gully, shocked. "That's a little too strong, old chap.
But she certainly ought to have stood something."
"I don't know what you intend to do, Gully; but I mean to bolt. If she
thinks I am going to stick here for the next two years she is jolly much
mistaken."
"It would be an awful lark to bolt," said Gully, with a chuckle. "But,"
he added, seriously, "if you really mean it, by George, I'll go too!
Wilson has just given me a thousand lines; and I'll be hanged if I do
them."
"Gully," said Cashel, his eyes sparkling, "I should like to see one of
those chaps we saw on the common pitch into the doctor--get him on
the ropes, you know."

Gully's mouth watered. "Yes," he said, breathlessly; "particularly the
fellow they called the Fibber. Just one round would be enough for the
old beggar. Let's come out into the playground; I shall catch it if I am
found here."

II

That night there was just sufficient light struggling through the clouds
to make Panley Common visible as a black expanse, against the lightest
tone of which a piece of ebony would have appeared pale. Not a human
being was stirring within a mile of Moncrief House, the chimneys of
which, ghostly white on the side next the moon, threw long shadows on
the silver-gray slates. The stillness had just been broken by the stroke
of a quarter past twelve from a distant church tower, when, from the
obscurity of one of these chimney shadows, a head emerged. It
belonged to a boy, whose body presently wriggled through an open
skylight. When his shoulders were through he turned himself face
upward, seized the miniature gable in which the skylight was set, drew
himself completely out, and made his way stealthily down to the
parapet. He was immediately followed by another boy.
The