The Complete Works of Frances Hodgson Burnett. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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СКАЧАТЬ were thinking very hard. In The Rat’s eyes there was a kind of desperate adoration. He did not know what he should do when this man turned and walked away from him. It would be as if the sun itself had dropped out of the heavens—and The Rat had not thought of what the sun meant before.

      But Loristan did not turn and walk away. He looked deep into the lad’s eyes as if he were searching to find some certainty. Then he said in a low voice, “You know how poor I am.”

      “I—I don’t care!” said The Rat. “You—you’re like a king to me. I’d stand up and be shot to bits if you told me to do it.”

      “I am so poor that I am not sure I can give you enough dry bread to eat—always. Marco and Lazarus and I are often hungry. Sometimes you might have nothing to sleep on but the floor. But I can find a PLACE for you if I take you with me,” said Loristan. “Do you know what I mean by a PLACE?”

      “Yes, I do,” answered The Rat. “It’s what I’ve never had before—sir.”

      What he knew was that it meant some bit of space, out of all the world, where he would have a sort of right to stand, howsoever poor and bare it might be.

      “I’m not used to beds or to food enough,” he said. But he did not dare to insist too much on that “place.” It seemed too great a thing to be true.

      Loristan took his arm.

      “Come with me,” he said. “We won’t part. I believe you are to be trusted.”

      The Rat turned quite white in a sort of anguish of joy. He had never cared for any one in his life. He had been a sort of young Cain, his hand against every man and every man’s hand against him. And during the last twelve hours he had plunged into a tumultuous ocean of boyish hero-worship. This man seemed like a sort of god to him. What he had said and done the day before, in what had been really The Rat’s hours of extremity, after that appalling night—the way he had looked into his face and understood it all, the talk at the table when he had listened to him seriously, comprehending and actually respecting his plans and rough maps; his silent companionship as they followed the pauper hearse together—these things were enough to make the lad longingly ready to be any sort of servant or slave to him if he might see and be spoken to by him even once or twice a day.

      The Squad wore a look of dismay for a moment, and Loristan saw it.

      “I am going to take your captain with me,” he said. “But he will come back to Barracks. So will Marco.”

      “Will yer go on with the game?” asked Cad, as eager spokesman. “We want to go on being the ‘Secret Party.’”

      “Yes, I’ll go on,” The Rat answered. “I won’t give it up. There’s a lot in the papers to-day.”

      So they were pacified and went on their way, and Loristan and Lazarus and Marco and The Rat went on theirs also.

      “Queer thing is,” The Rat thought as they walked together, “I’m a bit afraid to speak to him unless he speaks to me first. Never felt that way before with any one.”

      He had jeered at policemen and had impudently chaffed “swells,” but he felt a sort of secret awe of this man, and actually liked the feeling.

      “It’s as if I was a private and he was commander-in-chief,” he thought. “That’s it.”

      Loristan talked to him as they went. He was simple enough in his statements of the situation. There was an old sofa in Marco’s bedroom. It was narrow and hard, as Marco’s bed itself was, but The Rat could sleep upon it. They would share what food they had. There were newspapers and magazines to be read. There were papers and pencils to draw new maps and plans of battles. There was even an old map of Samavia of Marco’s which the two boys could study together as an aid to their game. The Rat’s eyes began to have points of fire in them.

      “If I could see the papers every morning, I could fight the battles on paper by night,” he said, quite panting at the incredible vision of splendor. Were all the kingdoms of the earth going to be given to him? Was he going to sleep without a drunken father near him?

      Was he going to have a chance to wash himself and to sit at a table and hear people say “Thank you,” and “I beg pardon,” as if they were using the most ordinary fashion of speech? His own father, before he had sunk into the depths, had lived and spoken in this way.

      “When I have time, we will see who can draw up the best plans,” Loristan said.

      “Do you mean that you’ll look at mine then—when you have time?” asked The Rat, hesitatingly. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

      “Yes,” answered Loristan, “I’ll look at them, and we’ll talk them over.”

      As they went on, he told him that he and Marco could do many things together. They could go to museums and galleries, and Marco could show him what he himself was familiar with.

      “My father said you wouldn’t let him come back to Barracks when you found out about it,” The Rat said, hesitating again and growing hot because he remembered so many ugly past days. “But—but I swear I won’t do him any harm, sir. I won’t!”

      “When I said I believed you could be trusted, I meant several things,” Loristan answered him. “That was one of them. You’re a new recruit. You and Marco are both under a commanding officer.” He said the words because he knew they would elate him and stir his blood.

      XII

“ONLY TWO BOYS”

      The words did elate him, and his blood was stirred by them every time they returned to his mind. He remembered them through the days and nights that followed. He sometimes, indeed, awakened from his deep sleep on the hard and narrow sofa in Marco’s room, and found that he was saying them half aloud to himself. The hardness of the sofa did not prevent his resting as he had never rested before in his life. By contrast with the past he had known, this poor existence was comfort which verged on luxury. He got into the battered tin bath every morning, he sat at the clean table, and could look at Loristan and speak to him and hear his voice. His chief trouble was that he could hardly keep his eyes off him, and he was a little afraid he might be annoyed. But he could not bear to lose a look or a movement.

      At the end of the second day, he found his way, at some trouble, to Lazarus’s small back room at the top of the house.

      “Will you let me come in and talk a bit?” he said.

      When he went in, he was obliged to sit on the top of Lazarus’s wooden box because there was nothing else for him.

      “I want to ask you,” he plunged into his talk at once, “do you think he minds me looking at him so much? I can’t help it—but if he hates it—well—I’ll try and keep my eyes on the table.”

      “The Master is used to being looked at,” Lazarus made answer. “But it would be well to ask himself. He likes open speech.”

      “I want to find out everything he likes and everything he doesn’t like,” The Rat said. “I want—isn’t there anything—anything you’d let me do for him? It wouldn’t matter what it was. And he needn’t know you are not doing it. I know you wouldn’t be willing to give up anything СКАЧАТЬ