In Clive's Command. Herbert Strang
Was that prosperous and well-mounted gentleman your brother?"
"Certainly. He is Richard Burke, and leases the Wilcote farm."
"Noble pair of brothers!" exclaimed Diggle, seizing Desmond's reluctant hand. "I congratulate you, my friend. What a brother! I stopped him to ask the time of day. But permit me to say, friend Desmond, you appear somewhat downcast; your countenance hath not that serenity one looks for in a lad of your years. What is the trouble?"
"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Desmond curtly; he was vexed that his face still betrayed the irritation of the morning.
"Very well," said Diggle with a shrug. "Far be it from me to probe your sorrows. They are nothing to me, but sure a simple question from a friend--"
"Pardon me, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond impulsively, "I did not mean to offend you."
"My dear boy, a tough-hided traveler does not easily take offense. Shall we walk? D'you know, Master Desmond, I fancy I could make a shrewd guess at your trouble. Your brother--Richard, I think you said?--is a farmer, he was born a farmer, he has the air of a farmer, and a well-doing farmer to boot. But we are not all born with a love for mother earth, and you, meseems, have dreamed of a larger life than lies within the pin folds of a farm. To tell the truth, my lad, I have been studying you."
They were walking now side by side along the Newport road. Desmond felt that the stranger was becoming personal; but his manner was so suave and sympathetic that he could not take offense.
"Yes, I have been studying you," continued Diggle. "And what is the sum of my discovery? You are wasting your life here. A country village is no place for a boy of ideas and imagination, of warm blood and springing fancy. The world is wide, my friend: why not adventure forth?"
"I have indeed thought of it, Mr. Diggle, but--"
"But me no buts," interrupted Diggle, with a smile. "Your age is--"
"Near sixteen."
"Ah, still a boy; you have a year ere you reach the bourne of young manhood, as the Romans held it. But what matters that? Was not Scipio Africanus--namesake of the ingenuous youth that serves me--styled boy at twenty? Yet you are old enough to walk alone, and not in leading strings--or waiting maybe for dead men's shoes."
"What do you mean, sir?" Desmond flashed out, reddening with indignation.
"Do I offend you?" said Diggle innocently. "I make apology. But I had heard, I own, that Master Desmond Burke was in high favor with your squire; 'tis even whispered that Master Desmond cherishes, cultivates, cossets the old man--a bachelor, I understand, and wealthy, and lacking kith or kin. Sure I should never have believed 'twas with any dishonorable motive."
"'Tis not, sir. I never thought of such a thing."
"I was sure of it. But to come back to my starting point. 'Tis time you broke these narrow bounds. India, now--what better sphere for a young man bent on making his way? Look at Clive, whom you admire--as stupid a boy as you could meet in a day's march. Why, I can remember--"
He caught himself up, but after the slightest pause, resumed:
"Forsan et haec ohm meminisse juvabit. Look at Clive, I was saying; a lout, a bear, a booby--as a boy, mark you; yet now! Is there a man whose name rings more loudly in the world's ear? And what Robert Clive is, that Desmond Burke might be if he had the mind and the will. You are going farther? Ah, I have not your love of ambulation. I will bid you farewell for this time; sure it will profit you to ponder my words."
Desmond did ponder his words. He walked for three or four hours, thinking all the time. Who had said that he was waiting for the squire's shoes? He glowed with indignation at the idea of such a construction being placed upon his friendship for Sir Willoughby.
"If they think that," he said to himself, "the sooner I go away the better."
And the seed planted by Diggle took root and began to germinate with wonderful rapidity. To emulate Clive!--what would he not give for the chance? But how was it possible? Clive had begun as a writer in the service of the East India Company; but how could Desmond procure a nomination? Perhaps Sir Willoughby could help him; he might have influence with the Company's directors. But, supposing he obtained a nomination, how could he purchase his outfit? He had but a few guineas, and after what Diggle had said he would starve rather than ask the squire for a penny. True, under his father's will he was to receive five thousand pounds at the age of twenty-one. Would Richard advance part of the sum? Knowing Richard, he hardly dared to hope for such a departure from the letter of the law. But it was at least worth attempting.
Chapter 4: In which blows are exchanged; and our hero, setting forth upon his travels, scents an adventure.
That same day, at supper, seeing that Richard was apparently in good humor, Desmond ventured to make a suggestion.
"Dick," he said frankly, "don't you think it would be better for all of us if I went away? You and I don't get along very well, and perhaps I was not cut out for a farmer."
Richard grunted, and Mrs. Burke looked apprehensively from one to the other.
"What's your idea?" asked Richard.
"Well, I had thought of a writership in the East India Company's service, or better still, a cadetship in the Company's forces."
"Hark to him!" exclaimed Richard, with a scornful laugh. "A second Clive, sink me! And where do you suppose the money is to come from?"
"Couldn't you advance me a part of what is to come to me when I am twenty-one?"
"Not a penny, I tell you at once, not a penny. 'Tis enough to be saddled with you all these years. You may think yourself lucky if I can scrape together a tenth of the money that'll be due to you when you're twenty-one. That's the dead hand, if you like; why father put that provision in his will it passes common sense to understand. No, you'll have to stay and earn part of it, though in truth you'll never be worth your keep."
"That depends on the keeper," retorted Desmond, rather warmly.
"No insolence, now. I repeat, I will not advance one penny! Go and get some money out of the squire, that is so precious fond of you."
"Richard, Richard!" said his mother anxiously.
"Mother, I'm the boy's guardian. I know what it is. He has been crammed with nonsense by that idle knave at the Four Alls. Look'ee, my man, if I catch you speaking to him again, I'll flay your skin for you."
"Why shouldn't I?" replied Desmond. "I saw you speaking to him."
"Hold your tongue, sir. The dog accosted me. I answered his question and passed on. Heed what I say: I'm a man of my word."
Desmond said no more. But before he fell asleep that night he had advanced one step further towards freedom. His request had met with the refusal he had anticipated. He could hope for no pecuniary assistance; it remained to take the first opportunity of consulting Diggle. It was Diggle who had suggested India as the field for his ambition; and the suggestion would hardly have been made if there were great obstacles in the way of its being acted on. Desmond made light of his brother's command that he should cut Diggle's acquaintance; it seemed to him only another act of tyranny, and his relations with Richard were such that to forbid a thing was to provoke him to do it.
His opportunity came next day. Late in the afternoon he met Diggle, as he had done many times before, walking in the fields, remote from houses. When Desmond caught sight of him, he was sauntering along, his eyes bent upon the ground, his face troubled. But he smiled on seeing Desmond.
"Well met, friend," he said; "leni perfruor otio--which is as much as to say--I bask in idleness. Well, now, I perceive in your eye that you have been meditating my counsel. 'Tis well, friend Desmond, and whereto has your meditation arrived?"
"I