第77章

Philip was not her favourite of the two pupils: he was less obliging than Tom, who was made useful in many ways.Still his father paid more than Mr Tulliver did, and she meant him to feel that she behaved exceedingly well to him.Philip, however, met her advances towards a good understanding very much as a caressed mollusc meets an invitation to show himself out of his shell.Mrs Stelling was not a loving, tender-hearted woman: she was a woman whose skirt sat well, who adjusted her waist, and patted her curls with a preoccupied air when she inquired after your welfare.These things, doubtless, represent a great social power, but it is not power of love - and no other power could win Philip from his personal reserve.

He said, in answer to her question, `My toothache came on and made me hysterical again.'

This had been the fact once, and Philip was glad of the recollection - it was like an inspiration to enable him to excuse his crying.He had to accept eau-de-cologne, and to refuse creosote in consequence, but that was easy.

Meanwhile Tom, who had for the first time sent a poisoned arrow into Philip's heart, had returned to the carriage-house, where he found Mr Poulter with a fixed and earnest eye, wasting the perfections of his sword exercise on probably observant but inappreciative rats.But Mr Poulter was a host in himself; that is to say, he admired himself more than a whole army of spectators could have admired him.He took no notice of Tom's return, being too entirely absorbed in the cut and thrust - the solemn one, two, three, four - and Tom, not without a slight feeling of alarm at Mr Poulter's fixed eye and hungry-looking sword which seemed impatient for something else to cut besides the air, admired the performance from as great a distance as possible.It was not until Mr Poulter paused and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, that Tom felt the full charm of the sword exercise, and wished it to be repeated.

`Mr Poulter,' said Tom, when the sword was being finally sheathed, `Iwish you'd lend me your sword a little while to keep.'

`No, no, young gentleman,' said Mr Poulter, shaking his head decidedly, `you might do yourself some mischief with it.'

`No, I'm sure I wouldn't - I'm sure I'd take care and not hurt myself.

I shouldn't take it out of the sheath much, but I could ground arms with it, and all that.'

`No, no, it won't do, I tell you, it won't do,' said Mr Poulter, preparing to depart.`What 'ud Mr Stelling say to me?'

`O, I say, do, Mr Poulter! I'd give you my five-shilling piece, if you'd let me keep the sword a week.Look here!' said Tom, reaching out the attractively large round of silver.The young dog calculated the effect as well as if he had been a philosopher.

`Well,' said Mr Poulter, with still deeper gravity, `you must keep it out of sight, you know.'

`O yes, I'll keep it under the bed,' said Tom, eagerly, `or else at the bottom of my large box.'

`And let me see, now, whether you can draw it out of the sheath without hurting yourself.'

That process having been gone through more than once, Mr Poulter felt that he had acted with scrupulous conscientiousness and said, `Well, now, Master Tulliver, if I take the crown-piece, it is to make sure as you'll do no mischief with the sword.'

`O no, indeed, Mr Poulter,' said Tom delightedly handing him the crown-piece, and grasping the sword, which, he thought, might have been lighter with advantage.

`But if Mr Stelling catches you carrying it in,' said Mr Poulter, pocketing the crown-piece provisionally while he raised this new doubt.

`O he always keeps in his upstairs study on Saturday afternoons,' said Tom, who disliked anything sneaking, but was not disinclined to a little stratagem in a worthy cause.So he carried off the sword in triumph mixed with dread - dread that he might encounter Mr or Mrs Stelling - to his bedroom, where, after some consideration, he hid it in the closet behind some hanging clothes.That night he fell asleep in the thought that he would astonish Maggie with it when she came - tie it round his waist with his red comforter, and make her believe that the sword was his own and that he was going to be a soldier.There was nobody but Maggie who would be silly enough to believe him, or whom he dared allow to know that he had a sword.And Maggie was really coming next week, to see Tom before she went to a boarding-school with Lucy.

If you think a lad of thirteen would not have been so childish, you must be an exceptionally wise man, who, although you are devoted to a civil calling, requiring you to look bland rather than formidable, yet never, since you had a beard, threw yourself into a martial attitude and frowned before the looking-glass.It is doubtful whether our soldiers would be maintained if there were not pacific people at home who like to fancy themselves soldiers.War, like other dramatic spectacles, might possibly cease for want of a `public.'