Read Ebook: The Queen's Scarlet The Adventures and Misadventures of Sir Richard Frayne by Fenn George Manville Smith A Monro Illustrator

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Ebook has 2700 lines and 74157 words, and 54 pages

"Oh, did he?" cried Mark Frayne, catching up the nearest thing, which was the model his cousin had been making, and hurling it at the offender, but without effect, for Jeremiah Brigley already had the door open and darted out; the panel receiving the model instead of his head.

Sir Richard Frayne sprang to his feet to save his model, but too late; it fell, shivered, to the carpet, and the new-comer burst into a roar of laughter.

"I don't see anything to grin at," said his cousin, indignantly.

"Not you!" said the other, letting himself down on to the keyboard of the piano with a loud musical crash, and laughing heartily all the time. "Why don't you get on with your work? Anyone would think you were in training for a cat-gut scraper at a low theatre instead of for an officer and a gentleman."

"Mark, old chap," said Sir Richard, good-humouredly, as, with rather a rueful look, he picked up his broken model, "every man to his taste. I like music; you like dogs."

"Yes; and they make a precious sight better music than ever you do. Soldier! Pooh! You haven't the heart of a cockroach in you. Thank goodness, you'll soon have to do your exam. That'll open your eyes, and I shall be glad of it. If I were you, I'd try for an engagement in a band somewhere, for you'll never get a commission."

"Perhaps not," said Sir Richard, quietly. "But what's the matter with you, old chap? Been having a row with Draycott?"

"Draycott's a bumptious, pedantic old fool. Fancies he knows everything. A brute!"

"Take a couple of pills, Mark; your liver's out of order."

"Put an angel's liver out of order to be here! I won't put up with much more of it, and so I'll tell him. I shall dress as I like, and do as I like, even if I haven't got a handle to my name. Sir Richard, indeed!-- a pattern for me to follow! Next time the fat old idiot say's that to me, I'll throw the books at his head."

"Oh, that's it, is it?"

"Yes; that's it, is it!" cried Mark Frayne in an angry tone. "I tell you I'm sick of it!"

"Nonsense! What had you been doing?" said Richard, fighting down a feeling of resentment, and looking smilingly at his cousin.

"What's that to you?" growled Mark.

"Not much; but I wanted to help the lame dog over the stile."

"Look here," cried Mark, fiercely; "none of that. If you want to insult me, say so right out, and then I shall know what you mean. None of your covert allusions."

Richard Frayne laughed outright, and his cousin took a step forward menacingly.

"Why, what has come to you?" cried the former. "Don't be so peppery. I want to help you, if I can."

"Do you?" cried Mark, eagerly. "There, I'm sorry I spoke so sharply. That brute Simpson has been writing to Draycott."

"Simpson, the tailor? What has he got to write about?"

Mark Frayne scowled, and gave a kick out with his leg, but did not answer.

"Have you been running a bill with him?"

Mark nodded.

"Then why don't you pay it?"

"Why don't I pay it?" snarled Mark. "Am I a baronet with plenty of money?"

"'Tisn't a bill for clothes," said Mark, sulkily, and he picked up a book, opened it, and threw it impatiently across the room, making his cousin wince a little.

"What then? Surely you haven't been such a fool as to borrow money of him?"

"Yes, I have been such a fool as to borrow money of him," cried Mark, savagely. "I couldn't help being short; he offered it to me, and, of course, I took it. So would you."

"No, I shouldn't," said Richard, quietly. "He did write to offer me money once--when I first came, and I refused it, and haven't been in his shop since."

"But then we're not all such good young men as you are, Dick," sneered Mark. "I did take it, and the brute has been running up interest and renewing, as he calls it, and gammoning me into ordering fresh clothes. He made this beastly jacket, and all sorts of things that don't fit; and now, because I'm not ready to pay his swindling bill and the wretched paper, he has been threatening, and ended by writing to old Draycott."

"Pay him then, and have done with him."

"Will you help me?"

"Of course, if I can."

"If you can! Why, you can, if you like."

"I don't know about that," said the other, good-humouredly; "I've been spending a good deal of money in music things lately."

"Bosh! you can get me out of the hole, if you like."

"How much do you owe him?"

Mark threw the end of his cigarette with all his force into the fireplace, and ground his teeth for a few moments before muttering between them--

"Eighty-four pounds, or so!"

"What?"

"Eighty-four pounds," snarled Mark. "Do you want me to shout it for everyone to know?"

"But how could you get into his debt to that extent?"

"But he would not have written to Draycott unless you had been disagreeable to him."

"Oh! wouldn't he? He threatened to a year ago, when it wasn't so much. It was when he found out I'd been getting some togs from London. I expect he pumped it out of that idiot Jerry Brigley. But I'm not going to sit here exposing my affairs. Will you help me to get out of the hole?"

Richard Frayne was silent for a time, and then he said quietly--

"I can't, Mark."

"What? Why, you said you would."

"Yes, but I thought it meant lending you four or five pounds. I have no more till my quarter comes round."

"Till your quarter comes round," sneered Mark; "anyone would think he had his wages then. Here, no nonsense, Dick; you said you would help me."

"I did, but I can't."

Mark made an angry gesture, but he mastered himself and turned to his cousin.

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