The Grim Smile of the Five Towns | Page 2

as a treat, to celebrate his
convalescence, and that he, Horace, would carry him downstairs. Mrs
Carpole was delighted with the idea, and Sidney also, except that
Sidney did not want to be carried downstairs--he wanted to walk down.
'I think it will be better for him to walk, Horace dear,' said Mrs Carpole,
in her thin, plaintive voice. 'He can, quite well. And you know how
clumsy you are. Supposing you were to fall!'

Horace, nevertheless, in pursuance of his programme of being uncle to
Sidney, was determined to carry Sidney. And carry Sidney he did,
despite warnings and kickings. At least he carried him as far as the turn
in the steep stairs, at which point he fell, just as his stepmother had
feared, and Sidney with him. The half-brothers arrived on the ground
floor in company, but Horace, with his eleven stone two, was on top,
and the poor suffering little convalescent lay moveless and insensible.
It took the doctor forty minutes to bring him to, and all the time the
odour of grilled herrings, which formed part of the uneaten tea, made
itself felt through the house like a Satanic comment on the spectacle of
human life. The scene was dreadful at first. The agony then passed.
There were no bruises on the boy, not a mark, and in a couple of hours
he seemed to be perfectly himself. Horace breathed again, and thanked
Heaven it was no worse. His gratitude to Heaven was, however,
slightly premature, for in the black middle of the night poor Sidney was
seized with excruciating pains in the head, and the doctor lost four
hours' sleep. These pains returned at intervals of a few days, and
naturally the child's convalescence was retarded. Then Horace said that
Airs Carpole should take Sidney to Buxton for a fortnight, and he paid
all the expenses of the trip out of his savings. He was desolated, utterly
stricken; he said he should never forgive himself. Sidney improved,
slowly.

II
After several months, during which Horace had given up all his limited
spare time to the superintendence of the child's first steps in knowledge,
Sidney was judged to be sufficiently strong to go to school, and it was
arranged that he should attend the Endowed School at the Wedgwood
Institution. Horace accompanied him thither on the opening day of the
term--it was an inclement morning in January--and left the young
delicate sprig, apparently joyous and content, to the care of his masters
and the mercy of his companions. But Sidney came home for dinner
weeping--weeping in spite of his new mortar-board cap, his new satchel,
his new box of compasses, and his new books. His mother kept him at
home in the afternoon, and by the evening another of those terrible
attacks had supervened. The doctor and Horace and Mrs Carpole once
more lost much precious sleep. The mysterious malady continued.

School was out of the question.
And when Sidney took the air, in charge of his mother, everybody
stopped to sympathize with him and to stroke his curls and call him a
poor dear, and also to commiserate Mrs Carpole. As for Horace,
Bursley tried to feel sorry for Horace, but it only succeeded in showing
Horace that it was hiding a sentiment of indignation against him. Each
friendly face as it passed Horace in the street said, without words,
'There goes the youth who probably ruined his young stepbrother's life.
And through sheer obstinacy too! He dropped the little darling in spite
of warnings and protests, and then fell on the top of him. Of course, he
didn't do it on purpose, but--'
The doctor mentioned Greatorex of Manchester, the celebrated brain
specialist. And Horace took Sidney to Manchester. They had to wait an
hour and a quarter to see Greatorex, his well-known consulting- rooms
in John Dalton Street being crowded with imperfect brains; but their
turn came at last, and they found themselves in Greatorex's presence.
Greatorex was a fat man, with the voice of a thin man, who seemed to
spend the whole of his career in the care of his fingernails.
'Well, my little fellow,' said Greatorex, 'don't cry.' (For Sidney was
already crying.) And then to Horace, in a curt tone: 'What is it?'
And Horace was obliged to humiliate himself and relate the accident in
detail, together with all that had subsequently happened.
'Yes, yes, yes, yes!' Greatorex would punctuate the recital, and when
tired of 'yes' he would say 'Hum, hum, hum, hum!'
When he had said 'hum' seventy-two times he suddenly remarked that
his fee was three guineas, and told Horace to strengthen Sidney all he
could, not to work him too hard, and to bring him back in a year's time.
Horace paid the money, Greatorex