Chatterbox | Page 8

somewhat to my disappointment, Aunt Marion entered the room as I spoke, wearing the dress in which she went to church on Sundays.
'I have often heard of you, Captain Knowlton,' she said, as he rose from his chair, 'although I have never seen you before.'
'Oh, well,' he answered, 'I have been in India the last five years! I came home last week, and from a few words I heard at the club, I gathered that poor Frank Everard's boy----'
Aunt Marion's cheeks flushed, and she held her head a little further back.
'I have done the best I could for him,' she exclaimed.
'I am certain of that,' he continued; 'but, anyhow, I made inquiries, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in discovering your address. Perhaps,' he added, glancing in my direction, 'you would not mind sparing me a few minutes alone.'
To my great disgust, she told me to run away, so that I returned to the damp passage, which was now deserted by Jane. After waiting there what seemed a long time, I saw Captain Knowlton on the stairs. After bidding me good-bye, he let himself out of the house.
'Aunt Marion!' I cried, before there was time to reach the sitting-room, 'he says that Father saved his life!'
'Well, Jack, he said what was quite true.'
'But,' I continued, 'why did Captain Knowlton call father "poor Frank Everard?" Was he really poor?'
Aunt Marion sighed before she answered.
'Goodness knows, he ought not to have been,' she said. 'Your father had a lot of money when he came of age, but he was foolish enough to spend it all, and the consequence was that nothing remained for your mother, or for you when she died.'
'Hasn't Captain Knowlton any money either?' I asked.
'He has lately come into a large fortune,' she said; and then she told me that he had promised to come again at the same hour to-morrow morning, and take me out with him.
Captain Knowlton seemed so satisfactory in every way that the mere prospect of walking in the street by his side was enticing. I lay awake that night a long time, wondering where he would take me.
When I awoke the next morning, Aunt Marion said I was to put on my best clothes (which were nothing to boast of), and insisted on washing me herself, putting a quantity of soap into my eyes, oiling my hair, and, in short, doing her best in readiness for Captain Knowlton's arrival.
'Well, Jack, are you ready?' he asked, as he entered our room.
'Rather!' I answered.
'Have you got a handkerchief?' said Aunt Marion, and I drew it from my jacket as proof.
'Come along, then,' cried Captain Knowlton, and I rejoiced to see that he had kept his hansom at the door.
The first stoppage on that eventful morning was at the hair-dresser's, where I sat in a high chair, enveloped in a loose cotton wrapper, while Captain Knowlton smoked a cigarette and a man cut my hair, after which we went to a tailor's, where I was measured for two suits of clothes. Having visited a hatter's and a hosier's in turn, we entered a large restaurant, sitting down one on each side of a small table, Captain Knowlton leaning across it and reading the bill of fare aloud for my benefit.
'I think I will have roast turkey,' I said, after prolonged consideration, and I accordingly had it, with the accompaniment of sausage and bread sauce, to say nothing of the sweets and the ice which followed. But even what Captain Knowlton described as luncheon, and what I regarded as a kind of king of dinners, was eclipsed by what came afterwards, for we were driven to a theatre, where a comic opera was being played; and at seven o'clock that evening a very tired and sleepy boy, with his right hand tightly clenched on a half-sovereign in his jacket pocket, was deposited on the steps of the house in Acacia Road.
During the next few weeks Captain Knowlton was a frequent visitor, while, for my own part, I wished that he would come every day. One afternoon he arrived in the rain and stayed to tea.
'Now, Jack,' he said, setting down his empty cup, 'I should like to hear you read.'
But as I was bringing one of our small collection of books from the sideboard, he called me away.
'No, none of that,' he cried, with a laugh; 'something you have never seen before. Try the newspaper.'
Although I appeared to win approval by my reading of the extremely uninteresting leading article, he shook his head at the sight of my handwriting, whilst he seemed to be astounded by my total ignorance of Latin and French.
'The fact is,' he said, 'it is high time you went to boarding-school!'
Before he left the house that afternoon he had another private conversation with Aunt Marion,