The Danger Mark. Chambers Robert William

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СКАЧАТЬ Oh, no, no, no. You can fight Scott if you like, and your sister and I will have such fun watching you. Will you?"

      His nurse was calling him to descend, in tones agitated and peremptory; the boy hesitated, scowled at Scott, looked uncertainly at Geraldine, then shot a hasty and hostile glance at the interior of the mysterious Seagrave estate. Curiosity overcame him; also, perhaps, a natural desire for battle.

      "Yes," he said to Scott, "I'll come back and punch your head for you."

      And very deftly, clinging like a squirrel to the pendant wistaria, he let himself down into the street again.

      The Seagrave twins, intensely excited, watched them as far as Fifth Avenue, then rapidly drawing on their shoes and stockings, scrambled down to the shrubbery and raced for the house. Through it they passed like a double whirlwind; feeble and perfunctory resistance was offered by their nurses.

      "Get out of my way!" said Geraldine fiercely; "do you think I'm going to miss the first chance for some fun that I've ever had in all my life?"

      At the same moment, through the glass-sheeted grill Scott discovered two small figures dashing up the drive to the porte-cochère. And he turned on Lang like a wild cat.

      Lang, the man at the door, was disposed to defend his post; Scott prepared to fly at him, but his sister intervened:

      "Oh, Lang," she pleaded, jumping up and down in an agony of apprehension, "please, please, let them in! We've never had any friends." She caught his arm piteously; he looked fearfully embarrassed, for the Seagrave livery was still new to him; nor, during his brief service, had he fully digested the significance of the policy which so rigidly guarded these little children lest rumour from without apprise them of their financial future and the contaminating realisation undermine their simplicity.

      As he stood, undecided, Geraldine suddenly jerked his hand from the bronze knob and Scott flung open the door.

      "Come on! Quick!" he cried; and the next moment four small pairs of feet were flying through the hall, echoing lightly across the terrace, then skimming the lawn to the sheltering shrubbery beyond.

      "The thing to do," panted Scott, "is to keep out of sight." He seized his guests by the arms and drew them behind the rhododendrons. "Now," he said, "what's your name? You, I mean!"

      "Duane Mallett," replied the boy, breathless. "That's my sister, Naïda. Let's wait a moment before we begin to fight; Naïda and I had to run like fury to get away from our nurse."

      Naïda was examining Geraldine with an interest almost respectful.

      "I wish they'd let me dress like a boy," she said. "It's fun, isn't it?"

      "Yes. They don't let me do it; I just did it," replied Geraldine. "I'll get you a suit of Scott's clothes, if you like. I can get the boxing-gloves at the same time. Shall I, Scott?"

      "Go ahead," said Scott; "we can pretend there are four boys here." And, to Duane, as Geraldine sped cautiously away on her errand: "That's a thing I never did before."

      "What thing?"

      "Play with three boys all by myself. Kathleen—who is Mrs. Severn, our guardian—is always with us when we are permitted to speak to other boys and girls."

      "That's babyish," remarked Duane in frank disgust. "You are a mollycoddle."

      The deep red of mortification spread over Scott's face; he looked shyly at Naïda, doubly distressed that a girl should hear the degrading term applied to him. The small girl returned his gaze without a particle of expression in her face.

      "Mollycoddles," continued Duane cruelly, "do the sort of things you do. You're one."

      "I—don't want to be one," stammered Scott. "How can I help it?"

      Duane ignored the appeal. "Playing with three boys isn't anything," he said. "I play with forty every day."

      "W-where?" asked Scott, overwhelmed.

      "In school, of course—at recess—and before nine, and after one. We have fine times. School's all right. Don't you even go to school?"

      Scott shook his head, too ashamed to speak. Naïda, with a flirt of her kilted skirts, had abruptly turned her back on him; yet he was miserably certain she was listening to her brother's merciless catechism.

      "I suppose you don't even know how to play hockey," commented Duane contemptuously.

      There was no answer.

      "What do you do? Play with dolls? Oh, what a molly!"

      Scott raised his head; he had grown quite white. Naïda, turning, saw the look on the boy's face.

      "Duane doesn't mean that," she said; "he's only teasing."

      Geraldine came hurrying back with the boxing-gloves and a suit of Scott's very best clothes, halting when she perceived the situation, for Scott had walked up to Duane, and the boys stood glaring at one another, hands doubling up into fists.

      "You think I'm a molly?" asked Scott in a curiously still voice.

      "Yes, I do."

      "Oh, Scott!" cried Geraldine, pushing in between them, "you'll have to hammer him well for that–"

      Naïda turned and shoved her brother aside:

      "I don't want you to fight him," she said. "I like him."

      "Oh, but they must fight, you know," explained Geraldine earnestly. "If we didn't fight, we'd really be what you call us. Put on Scott's clothes, Naïda, and while our brothers are fighting, you and I will wrestle to prove that I'm not a mollycoddle–"

      "I don't want to," said Naïda tremulously. "I like you, too–"

      "Well, you're one if you don't!" retorted Geraldine. "You can like anybody and have fun fighting them, too."

      "Put on those clothes, Naïda," said Duane sternly. "Are you going to take a dare?"

      So she retired very unwillingly into the hedge to costume herself while the two boys invested their fists with the soft chamois gloves of combat.

      "We won't bother to shake hands," observed Scott. "Are you ready?"

      "Yes, you will, too," insisted Geraldine; "shake hands before you begin to fight!"

      "I won't," retorted Scott sullenly; "shake hands with anybody who calls me—what he did."

      "Very well then; if you don't, I'll put on those gloves and fight you myself."

      Duane's eyes flew wide open and he gazed upon Geraldine with newly mixed emotions. She walked over to her brother and said:

      "Remember what Howker told us that father used to say—that squabbling is disgraceful but a good fight is all right. Duane called you a silly name. Instead of disputing about it and calling each other names, you ought to settle it with a fight and be friends afterward.... Isn't that so, Duane?"

      Duane seemed doubtful.

      "Isn't it so?" she repeated fiercely, stepping so swiftly in front of him that he jumped back.

      "Yes, СКАЧАТЬ