None Other Gods | Page 3

bread and butter three years ago,
before either of them had learned manners. This had consisted in the
fastening up in separate brown-paper parcels innumerable pieces of
bread and butter, addressing each with the name of the Reverend Junior
Dean (who had annoyed Frank in some way), and the leaving of the
parcels about in every corner of Cambridge, in hansom cabs, on seats,
on shop-counters and on the pavements--with the result that for the
next two or three days the dean's staircase was crowded with messenger
boys and unemployables, anxious to return apparently lost property.
Then there had been the matter of the flagging of a fast Northern train
in the middle of the fens with a red pocket-handkerchief, to find out if
it were really true that the train would stop, followed by a rapid retreat
on bicycles so soon as it had been ascertained that it was true; the
Affair of the German Prince traveling incognito, into which the Mayor
himself had been drawn; and the Affair of the Nun who smoked a short
black pipe in the Great Court shortly before midnight, before gathering
up her skirts and vanishing on noiseless india-rubber-shod feet round

the kitchen quarters into the gloom of Neville's Court, as the horrified
porter descended from his signal-box.
Now many minds could have conceived these things; a smaller number
of people would have announced their intention of doing them: but
there were very few persons who would actually carry them all out to
the very end: in fact, Jack reflected, Frank Guiseley was about the only
man of his acquaintance who could possibly have done them. And he
had done them all on his own sole responsibility.
He had remembered, too, during the past week, certain incidents of the
same nature at Eton. There was the master who had rashly inquired,
with deep sarcasm, on the fourth or fifth occasion in one week when
Frank had come in a little late for five-o'clock school, whether
"Guiseley would not like to have tea before pursuing his studies."
Frank, with a radiant smile of gratitude, and extraordinary rapidity, had
answered that he would like it very much indeed, and had vanished
through the still half-open door before another word could be uttered,
returning with a look of childlike innocence at about five-and-twenty
minutes to six.
"Please, sir," he had said, "I thought you said I might go?"
"And have you had tea?"
"Why, certainly, sir; at Webber's."
Now all this kind of thing was a little disconcerting to remember now.
Truly, the things in themselves had been admirably conceived and
faithfully executed, but they seemed to show that Frank was the kind of
person who really carried through what other people only talked
about--and especially if he announced beforehand that he intended to
do it.
It was a little dismaying, therefore, for his friend to reflect that upon the
arrival of the famous letter from Lord Talgarth--Frank's father--six days
previously, in which all the well-worn phrases occurred as to
"darkening doors" and "roof" and "disgrace to the family," Frank had

announced that he proposed to take his father at his word, sell up his
property and set out like a prince in a fairy-tale to make his fortune.
* * * * *
Jack had argued till he was sick of it, and to no avail. Frank had a parry
for every thrust. Why wouldn't he wait a bit until the governor had had
time to cool down? Because the governor must learn, sooner or later,
that words really meant something, and that he--Frank--was not going
to stand it for one instant.
Why wouldn't he come and stay at Barham till further notice? They'd
all be delighted to have him: It was only ten miles off Merefield, and
perhaps--Because Frank was not going to sponge upon his friends.
Neither was he going to skulk about near home. Well, if he was so
damned obstinate, why didn't he go into the City--or even to the Bar?
Because (1) he hadn't any money; and (2) he would infinitely sooner go
on the tramp than sit on a stool. Well, why didn't he enlist, like a
gentleman? Frank dared say he would some time, but he wanted to
stand by himself a bit first and see the world.
"Let's see the letter again," said Jack at last. "Where is it?"
Frank reflected.
"I think it's in that tobacco-jar just behind your head," he said. "No, it
isn't; it's in the pouch on the floor. I know I associated it somehow with
smoking. And, by the way, give me a cigarette."
Jack tossed him his case, opened the pouch, took out the letter, and read
it slowly through again.
"Merefield Court, "near Harrogate. "May 28th, Thursday.
"I am ashamed of you,