Part 7 (1/2)
Hark! There they are again. I wish they would sound a little louder.”
A distinct increase in the sound was noticeable. ”Oh, isn't it perfectly wonderful? Now, what have you to say?”
Aunt Charlotte stood agape. It was no use pretending she didn't hear them. They were as unmistakable as knocks at a front door.
”What jugglery is this?” she demanded, in an angry tone.
”Really, dear auntie, I am not a conjurer,” replied Austin, as he sank back upon his cus.h.i.+ons. ”That was what I heard last night. But of course _you_ don't believe in such absurdities. It's only your fancy after all, you know.”
”'Tain't _my_ fancy, anyhow,” put in old Martha, speaking for the first time. ”I heard 'em plain enough. 'Tis the 'good people,' for sure.”
”Hold your tongue, do!” cried Aunt Charlotte in sore perplexity. ”Good people, indeed!--the devil himself, more likely. I tell you what it is, Austin----”
”Why, I thought you weren't superst.i.tious!” observed Austin, in a tone of most exasperating surprise. Three gentle knocks, running off into a ripple of pattering explosions, were then heard in a farther corner of the room. ”There, don't you hear them laughing at you? Thank you, dear people, whoever you are, that was very kind. And it was awfully sweet of you to save me from those bricks last night. It _was_ good of them, wasn't it, auntie dear?”
”If all this devilry goes on I shall take serious measures to stop it,” gasped Aunt Charlotte, who was almost frightened to death. ”I cannot and will not live in a haunted house. It's you who are haunted, Austin, and I shall go and see the vicar about it this very day. It's an awful state of things, positively awful. To think that you are actually holding communication with familiar spirits! The vicar shall come here at once, and I'll get him to hold a service of exorcism. I believe there is such a service, and----”
”Oh, do, do, _do_!” screamed Austin, clapping his hands with delight.
”What fun it would be! Fancy dear Mr Sheepshanks, in all his tippets and toggery, ambling and capering round poor me, and trying to drive the devil out of me with a broomful of holy water! That's a lovely idea of yours, auntie. Lubin shall come and be an acolyte, and we'll get Mr Buskin to be stage-manager, and you shall be the pew-opener.
And then I'll empty the holy-water pot over dear Mr Sheepshanks' head when he's looking the other way. You _are_ a genius, auntie, though you're too modest to be conscious of it. But you're very ungrateful all the same, for if it hadn't been for----”
”There, stop your ribaldry, Austin, and get up,” said Aunt Charlotte, impatiently. ”The sooner we're all out of this dreadful room the better. And let me tell you that you'd be better employed in thanking G.o.d for your deliverance than in turning sacred subjects into ridicule.”
”Thanking G.o.d? Why, not a moment ago you said it was the devil!”
exclaimed Austin. ”How you do chop and change about, auntie. You can't possibly expect me to be orthodox when you go on contradicting yourself at such a rate. However, if you really must go, I think I _will_ get up. It must be long past eight, and I want my breakfast awfully.”
The day so excitingly ushered in turned out a busy one. As soon as he had finished his meal, Austin pounded off to invoke the immediate presence of Mr Snewin the builder, and before long there was a mighty bustle in the house. The furniture had all to be removed from the scene of the disaster, the bed cleared of the _debris_, preparations made for the erection of light scaffolding for repairing the roof, and Austin himself installed, with all his books and treasures, in another bedroom overlooking a different part of the garden. It was all a most enjoyable adventure, and even Aunt Charlotte forgot her terrors in the more practical necessities of the occasion. Just before lunch Austin s.n.a.t.c.hed a few minutes to run out and gossip with Lubin on the lawn. Lubin listened with keen interest to the boy's picturesque account of his experiences, and then remarked, sagely nodding his head:
”I told you to be on the look-out, you know, Master Austin. Magpies don't perch on folks' window-sills for nothing. You'll believe me a little quicker next time, maybe.”
For once in his life Austin could think of nothing to say in reply. To ask Lubin to explain the connection between magpies and misadventures would have been useless; it evidently sufficed for him that such was the order of Nature, and only a magpie would have been able to clear up the mystery. Besides, there are many such mysteries in the world.
Why do cats occasionally wash their heads behind the ear? Clearly, to tell us that we may expect bad weather; for the bad weather invariably follows. These are all providential arrangements intended for our personal convenience, and are not to be accounted for on any cut-and-dried scientific theory. Lubin's erudition was certainly very great, but there was something exasperating about it too.
So Austin went in to lunch thoughtful and dispirited, wondering why there were so many absurdities in life that he could neither elucidate nor controvert. He decided not to say anything to Aunt Charlotte about Lubin's magpie sciolisms, lest he should provoke a further outburst of the discussion they had held in the morning; he had had the best of that, anyhow, and did not care to compromise his victory by dragging in extraneous considerations in which he did not feel sure of his ground. Aunt Charlotte, on her side, was inclined to be talkative, taking refuge in the excitement of having work-men in the house from the uneasy feelings which still oppressed her in consequence of those frightening raps. But now that the haunted room was to be invaded by friendly, commonplace artisans from the village, and turned inside out, and almost pulled to pieces, there was a chance that the ghosts would be got rid of without invoking the aid of Mr Sheepshanks; a reflection that inspired her with hope, and comforted her greatly.
”You know you're a great anxiety to me, Austin,” she said, as, refreshed by food and wine, she took up her knitting after lunch. ”I wish you were more like other boys, indeed I do. I never could understand you, and I suppose I never shall.”
”But what does that matter, auntie?” asked Austin. ”I don't understand _you_ sometimes, but that doesn't make me anxious in the very least.
Why you should worry yourself about me I can't conceive. What do I do to make you anxious? I don't get tipsy, I don't gamble away vast fortunes at a sitting, and although I'm getting on for eighteen I haven't had a single action for breach of promise brought against me by anybody. Now _I_ think that's rather a creditable record. It isn't everybody who can say as much.”
”I want you to be more _serious_, Austin,” replied his aunt, ”and not to talk such nonsense as you're talking now. I want you to be sensible, practical, and alive to the sober facts of life. You're too dreamy a great deal. Soon you won't know the difference between dreams and realities----”
”I don't even now. No more do you. No more does anybody,” interrupted Austin, lighting a cigarette.
”There you are again!” exclaimed Aunt Charlotte, clicking her needles energetically. ”Did one ever hear such rubbish? It all comes from those outlandish books you're always poring over. If you'd only take _my_ advice, you'd read something solid, and sensible, and improving, like 'Self Help,' by Dr Smiles. That would be of some use to you, but these others----”
”I read a whole chapter of it once,” said Austin. ”I can scarcely believe it myself, but I did. It's the most immoral, sordid, selfish book that was ever printed. It deifies Success--success in money-making--success of the coa.r.s.est and most materialistic kind. It is absolutely unspiritual and degrading. It nearly made me sick.”
”Be silent!” cried Aunt Charlotte, horrified. ”How dare you talk like that? I will not sit still and hear you say such things. Few books have had a greater influence upon the age. Degrading? Why, it's been the making of thousands!”