That Boy Of Norcott's - Charles James Lever

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stood still for a minute or two, and sniffed the air, and then gave one wild bound and headlong plunge, as though he were going straight into the earth; after which he looked timidly about him, and then walked slowly along in the track worn by the others.

      “He's far quieter than the last time I saw him,” said Hotham.

      “He's gettin' more sense every day, sir,” replied George; “he don't scratch his head with his hind-leg now, sir, and he don't throw hisself down neither.”

      “He has n't given up biting, I see,” said Cleremont.

      “No, sir; and they tell me them breed never does; but it's only play, sir.”

      “I'll give you six months before you can call him fit to ride, George.”

      “My name ain't Spunner, sir, if the young gent as come yesterday don't back him in six weeks' time.”

      “And is it for the boy Norcott intends him?” asked Cleremont of Hotham.

      “So he told me yesterday; and though I warned him that he hadn't another boy if that fellow should come to grief, he only said, 'If he's got my blood in him, he 'll keep his saddle; and if he has n't, he had better make room for another.'”

      “Ain't he a-going beautiful now?” cried George, as the animal swung slowly along at a gentle trot, every step of which was as measured as clockwork.

      “You 'll have to teach the youngster also, George,” said Hotham. “I 'm sure he never backed a horse in his life.”

      “Nay, sir, he rode very pretty indeed when he was six years old. I didn't put him on a Shelty, or one of the hard-mouthed 'uns, but a nice little lively French mare, that reared up the moment he bore hard on her bit; so that he learned to sit on his beast without holdin' on by the bridle.”

      “He's a loutish boy,” said Cleremont to the Captain. “I 'll wager what you like they'll not make a horseman of him.”

      “Ecoles says he's a confounded pedant,” said the other; “that he wanted to cap Horace with him at breakfast.”

      “Poor Bob! that was n't exactly his line; but he 'd hold his own in Balzac or Fred Soulié.”

      “Oh, now I see what Norcott was driving at when he said, 'I wanted the stuff to make a gentleman, and they 've sent me the germ of a school-usher.' I said, 'Send him to sea with me. I shall be afloat in March, and I 'll take him.'”

      “Well, what answer did he make you?”

      “It was n't a civil one,” said the other, gruffly. “He said, 'You misapprehend me, Hotham. A sea-captain is only a boatswain in epaulettes. I mean the boy to be a gentleman.'”

      “And you bore that?”

      “Yes. Just as well as you bore his telling you at dinner on Sunday last that a Legation secretary was a cross between an old lady and a clerk in the Customs.”

      “A man who scatters impertinences broadcast is only known for the merits of his cook or his cellar.”

      “Both of which are excellent.”

      “Shall I send him in, sir?” asked George, as he patted the young horse and caressed him.

      “Well, Eccles,” cried Hotham, as the tutor lounged lazily tip, “what do you say to the mount they 're going to put your pupil on?”

      “I wish they 'd wait a bit I shall not be ready for orders till next spring, and I 'd rather they 'd not break his neck before February or March.”

      “Has Norcott promised you the presentation, Bob?”

      “No. He can't make up his mind whether he 'll give it to me or to a Plymouth Brother, or to that fellow that was taken up at Salford for blasphemy, and who happens to be in full orders.”

      “With all his enmity to the Established Church, I think he might be satisfied with you,” said Cleremont.

      “Very neat, and very polite too,” said Eccles; “but that this is the Palace of Truth, I might feel nettled.”

      “Is it, by Jove?” cried Hotham. “Then it must be in the summer months, when the house is shut up. Who has got a strong cigar? These Cubans of Norcott's have no flavor. It must be close on luncheon-time.”

      “I can't join you, for I 've to go into town, and get my young bear trimmed, and his nails cut. 'Make him presentable,' Norcott said, and I 've had easier tasks to do.”

      So saying, Eccles moved off in one direction, while Hotham and Cleremont strolled away in another; and I was left to my own reflections, which were not few.

       Table of Contents

      I was made “presentable” in due time, and on the fifth day after my arrival made my appearance at the dinner-table. “Sit there, sir,” said my father, “opposite me.” And I was not sorry to perceive that an enormous vase with flowers effectually screened me from his sight. The post of honor thus accorded me was a sufficient intimation to my father's guests how he intended me to be treated by them; and as they were without an exception all hangers-on and dependants—men who dined badly or not at all when uninvited to his table—they were marvellously quick in understanding that I was to be accepted as his heir, and, after himself, the person of most consideration there.

      Besides the three individuals I have already mentioned, our party included two foreigners—Baron Steinmetz, an aide-de-camp of the King, and an Italian duke, San Giovanni. The Duke sat on my father's right, the Baron on mine. The conversation during dinner was in French, which I followed imperfectly, and was considerably relieved on discovering that the German spoke French with difficulty, and blundered over his genders as hopelessly as I should have done had I attempted to talk. “Ach Gott,” muttered he to himself in German, “when people were seeking for a common language, why did n't they take one that all humanity could pronounce?”

      “So meine ich auch, Herr Baron,” cried I; “I quite agree with you.”

      He turned towards me with a look of-positive affection, on seeing I knew German, and we both began to talk together at once with freedom.

      “What's the boy saying?” cried my father, as he caught the sounds of some glib speech of mine. “Don't let him bore you with his bad French, Steinmetz.”

      “He is charming me with his admirable German,” said the Baron. “I can't tell when I have met a more agreeable companion.”

      This was, of course, a double flattery, for my German was very bad, and my knowledge on any subject no better; but the fact did not diminish the delight the praise afforded me.

      “Do you know German, Digby?” asked my father.

      “A little—a very little, sir.”

      “The fellow would say he knew Sanscrit if you asked him,” whispered Hotham to Eccles; but my sharp ears overheard him.

      “Come, that's better than I looked for,” said my father. “What do you say, Eccles? Is there stuff there?”

      “Plenty, Sir Roger; enough and to spare. I count on Digby to do me great credit yet.”

      “What career do you mean your son to follow?” asked the Italian, while he nodded to me over his wine-glass in most civil recognition.

      “I'll not make a sailor of him, like that sea-wolf yonder; nor a diplomatist, like my silent friend in the corner. Neither shall he be a soldier till British armies begin to do something better than hunt out illicit stills and protect process-servers.”

      “A politician, perhaps?”

      “Certainly

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