The Wharf by the Docks | Page 8

his ordinary manner, which failed almost as completely as the first had done.
There was another short pause. Dudley, without looking again at his friend, examined his hand, saw that it was now clean, and replaced the soiled handkerchief in his pocket. He seemed by this time to be thoroughly at his ease, but Max was not deceived.
"Of course not," said Dudley, quickly. "I only meant that--considering"--he paused, and seemed to be trying to recollect something--"considering what took place down at Datton yesterday and how anxious your father seemed to be rid of me--"
"But what has my father got to do with me, as far as you are concerned, Dudley, eh?" said Max.
There had come upon him suddenly such a strong impression that his friend was in some awful difficulty, some scrape so terrible as to make him lonely beyond the reach of help, that Max, who was a good-hearted fellow and a stanch friend, spoke with something which might almost be called tenderness:
"We've always been chums, now, haven't we? And a row between you and Doreen, or between you and my father, wouldn't make any difference to me. I--I suppose you don't mean to give me the cold shoulder for the future, eh?"
Dudley had turned his back upon him, and was standing on the hearth-rug, looking down at the fire, in an attitude which betrayed to his friend the uneasiness from which he was suffering. It was an attitude of constraint, as different as possible from any in which Max had ever seen him.
Another pause. Dudley seemed unable on this occasion to give a simple answer to a simple question without taking thought first. At last he laughed awkwardly and half turned toward Max.
"Why, of course not," said he, but without heartiness. "Of course not. Though it will be rather awkward, mind, for us to see much of each other just at first, after my having got kicked out like that, won't it?"
The tone in which Max answered betrayed considerable surprise and perplexity.
"Kicked out!" he exclaimed. "My father said he hardly got a word out before you took yourself off in a huff."
Dudley turned round quickly and faced him this time, with a sullen look of defiance on his dark face.
"Well, the wise man doesn't wait to be kicked out," said he. "He removes himself upon the slightest hint that such a proceeding on his part would be well received."
"You were a little too quick on this occasion," replied Max, dryly, "for my father has got himself into hot water, and mother had a fit of crying, while Doreen--"
Something made Max hesitate to tell his friend how Doreen had taken his desertion. Max himself was ready to stand by his friend, whatever difficulties the latter might be in. But Doreen, his lovely sister, must have a lover without reproach.
At the mention of the girl's name there came a slight change over Dudley's face--a change which struck the sensitive Max and touched him deeply. Dudley took a step in the direction of his bedroom, and pulled out his watch. As he did so a railroad ticket jerked out of his pocket with the watch and fell to the ground.
Max saw it fall, but before he could pick it up or draw attention to it his ideas were diverted by Dudley's next words:
"Well, you '11 excuse me, old chap. I've got to see a friend off by the midnight train to Liverpool."
As he spoke Dudley turned, with his hand on the door, to cast a glance at Max. He seemed to be asking himself what he should tell the other. And then he took a step toward his friend and began an explanation, which, as his shrewd eyes told him, Max required.
"The fact is that I got into the way of a beastly accident at Charing Cross just now. Woman run over--badly hurt. Got myself covered with blood. Ugh!"
Max was convinced that the shudder was genuine, although he had doubts--of which he was ashamed--about the tale itself.
And how did that explain the proposed journey?
Dudley went on:
"I've only just got time to change my clothes and make myself decent. See you in a day or two. Sorry I can't stay and have a pipe with you and one of our 'hard-times' suppers."
He was on the point of disappearing into the inner room, when Max stopped him.
"Oh, but you can," said he. "I have something particular to say to you, and I can wait till you come back, if it's two o'clock, and I can bring in the supper myself."
Dudley frowned impatiently, and again he cast at Max the horrible, furtive look which had been his first greeting.
"That's impossible," said he, quickly. "I may have to go on to Liverpool myself. Good-night."
And he shut himself into the bedroom.
Max felt cold all over. After a