he was on his way to his uncle’s house in Mornington Crescent, where he found dinner waiting for him, and though it was only cold, it was made pleasant by the handmaid’s smile.
Tom began a long evening all alone over another law-book, and at last, with his head aching, and a dull, weary sense of depression, he went up to the bedroom which he shared with his cousin, jumped into his own bed as soon as he could to rest his aching head, and lay listening to a street band playing airs that sounded depressing and sorrowful in the extreme, and kept him awake till he felt as if he could never drop off, and cease hearing the rumble of omnibuses and carts.
Then all at once Mr Tidd came and sat upon his head, and made it ache ten times worse, or so it seemed – Mr Tidd being the author of one of the books his uncle had placed in his hands to read.
He tried to force him off, but he would not stir, only glared down at him laughing loud, and then mockingly, till the torture seemed too much to be borne; and in an agony of misery and despair he tried to escape from the pressure, and to assure his torturer that he would strive hard to master the book. But not a word could he utter, only lie there panting, till the eyes that glared looked close down into his, and a voice said —
“Now then, wake up, stupid. Don’t be snoring like that.”
Chapter Three
Tom Blount started up in bed confused and staring. He was only half awake, and it was some time before he could realise that it was his cousin, who had come back from his trip boisterous and elated, and who had been playing him some trick as he lay there asleep.
“Well, what are you staring at, old torpid?” cried Sam, as he now began to divest himself slowly of his coat and vest.
“I – that is – have been asleep,” stammered Tom.
“Asleep? Yes, and snoring loud enough to bring the plaster off the ceiling. Why, you must have been gorging yourself like a boa-constrictor, and been sleeping it off. Come, wake up, bumpkin, you’re half stupid now.”
“I’m quite awake, Sam. Had a pleasant day? I say, were you sitting on my head?”
“Was I doing what?” cried Sam. “No, I wasn’t; but you want some one to sit upon you to bring you to your senses. Wake up; I want to talk.”
Tom tried to rub the last traces of his drowsiness out of his eyes, and now sat up watching his cousin, who, after taking off collar and tie, unfastened his braces, and then, as if moved by a sudden thought, he tied the aforesaid suspenders about his waist. Then, grinning to himself, he stooped down, untied his Oxford shoes, pushed them off, took up one, and shouting “Play!” bowled it sharply at Tom where he sat up in bed on the other side of the room.
It was a bad shot, for the shoe whizzed by the lad’s side, and struck the scroll-work of the iron bedstead with a sharp rap, and fell on the pillow.
“Play again!” cried Sam, and he sent the second shoe spinning with a vicious energy at the still confused and sleepy boy.
This time the aim was excellent, and Tom was too helpless to avoid the missile, which struck him heavily, the edge of the heel catching him on the chin, and making him wince.
“Well played – well bowled!” cried Sam, laughing boisterously. “I say, bumpkin, that’s the way to wake you up.”
Tom’s face grew dark, and the hand which he held to his injured face twitched as if the fingers were trying to clench themselves and form a fist for their owner’s defence; but the boy did not stir, only sat looking at his cousin, who now struck an attitude, made two or three feints, and then dashed forward hitting out sharply, catching Tom in the chest, and knocking him backward so heavily that it was his crown now that struck the scroll-work of the bed.
“That’s your sort, countryman,” cried Sam. “How do you like that style?”
“Don’t! Be quiet, will you,” said the boy in a suffocated voice, as he sat up once more.
“What for?” cried Sam. “Here, get up and have a round with the gloves. I feel as if I can hit to-night. It’s the rowing. My arms are as hard as wood.”
“No; be quiet,” said Tom huskily. “They’ll hear you down-stairs.”
“Let ’em,” said Sam, chuckling to himself as he dragged open a drawer, and brought out a couple of pairs of boxing-gloves, two of which he hurled with all his might like a couple of balls at his cousin’s head.
But the boy was wide-awake now, and caught each glove in turn, letting it fall afterwards upon the bed before him.
“Now then, shove ’em on,” cried Sam, as he thrust his own hands into the gloves he held. “Look sharp, or I’ll knock you off the bed.”
“No, no,” cried Tom; “don’t be so absurd. How can I when I’m undressed?”
“Put on your trousers then. D’yer hear? Be quick now, or you’ll have it.”
“You’ll have uncle hear you directly if you don’t be quiet.”
“You’ll have him hear you go off that bed lump if you don’t jump out and get ready. Now then, are you going to begin?”
“No,” said Tom sturdily. “I’m going to sleep.”
He snuggled down in his place and drew the clothes up to his ear, but they did not stay there, for Sam began his attack, bounding forward and bringing the padded gloves thud, thud, down upon his cousin’s head, as if bent upon driving it down into the pillow.
Tom sat up again quickly with his teeth set, and his eyes flashing.
“Will you be quiet?” he cried in a low, half-suffocated voice.
“Will you put on those gloves?” cried Sam.
“No; I’m not going to make such a fool of myself at this time of night,” said Tom.
“Lie down then,” cried Sam, and hitting out again cleverly he knocked his cousin back on to the pillow, following it up with other blows, each having the same result, for Tom struggled up again and again.
“Now, will you get up?” cried Sam.
“No,” said Tom hoarsely; and down he went once more.
“You’d better jump up and do as I tell you, or it will be the worse for you.”
“You’d better leave me alone before you get my temper up.”
“Temper, bumpkin? Yes, you’d better show your teeth. Take that, and that, and that.”
Tom did take them – heavy blows delivered with the soft gloves, but all falling hard enough to inflict a good deal of pain, and make the boy draw his breath hard.
“That’s your sort,” continued Sam, who danced about by the side of the bed, skilfully delivering his blows upon his defenceless cousin, and revelling in the pleasure he found in inflicting pain. “That’ll knock some sense into your thick head, and so will that, and that, and that, and – Oh!”
Sam had gone too far, for after trying all he could to avoid the blows, Tom suddenly gathered himself together and shot out of bed full at his cousin’s breast, sending him down heavily in a sitting
