CHAPTER XI.

THE BROTHERS TALBOYS.

It is ten o'clock on one of those warm balmy mornings which in this erratic climate of ours sometimes come upon us in the month of February. The bushes and hedges, and even some of the young trees, lacking experience and knowledge, allow themselves to be deluded into the idea that spring is coming, and are making feeble attempts at budding. They are apparently ignorant of the fact that the next frost will cut off the too venturesome little sprouts, and breathing upon them with its chilling breath reduce them all to the little brown lifeless-looking twigs that they were before the week's spell of mild weather had turned their heads. Even the rose trees, in which the garden of "The Rosery" abounds, show signs here and there of succumbing to the seductively balmy air, and it is with real grief that the two little old gentlemen, who are trotting round the garden taking their usual after-breakfast constitutional, shake their heads at these unlooked-for symptoms of frivolity in their much-cherished pets, murmuring plaintively:

"The blossoms will not be half so fine this year; this will weaken them dreadfully."

These two little old gentlemen are none other than the Messrs. E. and B. Talboys alluded to in the advertisement of the nine-roomed house to let, and owners of the same. In appearance and manners they are almost exactly alike, being in point of fact twins; the only noticeable difference being that one, Mr. Edward, is in all points a little more strongly developed than his brother, Mr. Benjamin. Mr. Edward is perhaps a trifle the taller of the two, but as he is at the same time also a trifle stouter the difference in height is hardly if at all perceptible. Both have good, benevolent faces; but here again is the slight, very slight, difference referred to. Both brothers have bright blue eyes; but while Mr. Benjamin's have the mild, limpid expression which tells of the more placid nature beneath, Mr. Edward's have a keenness, amounting at times almost to a glitter, which is entirely absent in those of his brother. Both have the same perfect aquiline nose; and while the mouth and chin in both faces are equally good in a measure, the curves of Mr. Edward's mouth, and the slight extra squareness of his chin, testify to his having the stronger character. The same thing is to be noticed in the matter of dress; for although the brothers are always dressed exactly alike, they appear to wear their clothes differently. Both have high shirt collars, but there is, or appears to be, always less starch in those of Mr. Benjamin; and while his cravat is tied in a modest little bow, which has a trick of being always either a little to the left or the right of the stud which fastens the collar in front, Mr. Edward's is always tied with the greatest precision, the end of one loop protruding exactly the same distance from the middle of the collar as the other. There are also little creases and folds to be sometimes detected in Mr. Benjamin's coat, which never by any chance can be discovered in that of his brother. Mr. Benjamin walks with a slight limp, owing to an accident which had occurred years ago when they were young men. Both the old gentlemen, therefore, carry a stout black walking-stick, with a gold knob at the top. The subject of this accident is a sore one to both brothers, and it is without exception the only one upon which they have ever been known to disagree.

A cricket match in which both brothers were playing was being held on the village cricketing ground. Edward was batting, and his brother was fielding close to the opposite wicket. The rays of the setting sun were streaming down upon the field, right in the very eyes of the batsman; and as the ball came swiftly bounding towards him straight as a dart from the practised hand of the bowler, it seemed to Edward's dazzled sight that there were two balls instead of one to claim his attention. With a feeling of desperation he rushed, so to speak, at the ball; but in the flurry he received it on the edge of his bat, and sent it flying with the strength for which he was envied by the whole field exactly in the opposite direction to that he intended. It was a few seconds before he noticed that the other wicket was deserted, and that nearly all the men were clustered round one who was stretched upon the grass at their feet. With a terrible fear at his heart he strode across to the little throng, to find, to his grief and horror, that it was indeed his brother lying helpless before him. Though nearly fainting with agony Benjamin was in the wildest state of anxiety that the truth should be kept from his brother as to his having been unwittingly the cause of his broken ankle, the pain of which was rendering him half unconscious as he leant back, faint and white, in the arms of the wicket-keeper.

"Don't let him know it!" he gasped, unconscious of the fact that his brother was standing close beside him; "let him think I slipped--and--fell. You see the sun was in my--eyes--or I would have seen it--coming; I ought to have got out of the way. Don't let him know--don't let--" and with these words he fainted, and was carefully carried from the ground by his sympathetic friends, Edward being still too much stunned to take any active part in the proceedings. Ever since that hot early evening in August it had been a subject of discussion between the brothers as to whether the sun could possibly set in two places at once, each one being perfectly convinced that he himself had been standing opposite to its dazzling rays.

Only two days ago the brothers Talboys had met Honor and Molly Merivale by appointment at "The Rookery," as the house they had been advertising was called. Old Mr. Hobson had come down with the girls, rightly thinking that there should be someone older than Honor present on such an important occasion as taking a new house.

"You cannot be expected to understand anything about bad drainage, damp, and such things, my dear," he had said to Honor, "and it will do me good to run down into the country for an hour or two; so let us consider it settled that I go with you and Miss Molly whenever it is convenient for you to fix a day. No--not a word of thanks, my dear; I am only too glad to be of use to the children of my dear old friend, your father."

And so at the appointed time Mr. Ned and Mr. Ben, waiting about for their possible new tenants, passing now in now out of the quaint-looking old house, were not a little surprised to see bearing down upon them from the road, two young ladies, an old gentleman who was walking by their side, and four youths, or more correctly speaking two youths and two boys, who made a sort of straggling procession in single file. For at the last moment, when Honor, Molly, and Hugh Horton were just starting with old Mr. Hobson, Dick, accompanied by Regy and Alick, suddenly arrived upon the scene, determined to look over the new house also.

"Why, bless my soul, Brother Ben!" exclaimed Edward, planting his stick firmly on the ground and looking with undisguised dismay at the troupe now entering the gate, "these boys can never all belong to the family. Why, why--they will make havoc of the garden before they have been a week in the place."

"I do not suppose they _all_ belong to the family," mildly responded Brother Ben, "and even if they do they may turn out to be quiet, well-disposed lads enough."

And of that the boys themselves gave ample proof, so polite and respectful were they to the two old gentlemen, whose minds being now relieved on the score of the possible if not probable destruction of the garden, soon found themselves chatting away with them and showing them about (as Mr. Ben said afterwards to his brother) "as if they were our own boys, you know." The house proved to be a thoroughly old-fashioned, rambling place, although small as to the actual number of rooms. There were long passages with deep capacious cupboards, "which would have made delightful store-closets, if we only had anything to store," whispers Honor to Molly with a sigh. Upstairs were the funniest old-fashioned bed-rooms, with two steps leading up to one and three down into another, and so on. Altogether there were five bed-rooms on that floor, and two attics above which had not been included in the advertisement, and which Honor, who, followed by Molly, had crept up the few steep steps which led to them, declared to be "lovely!" partly on account of the odd nooks and corners caused by the roof, which seemed to slope in half a dozen different ways, and partly from the fine and extensive view to be obtained from the window in each attic. But on speaking of these attics to the brothers they shook their heads, and Mr. Ned, who was always spokesman, said:

"My dear young ladies, we did not include them in the number of rooms mentioned, because we consider them to be uninhabitable. If they should prove to be of any use we shall indeed be glad; but I would recommend their not being used as sleeping-rooms, as we fear--nay, we feel sure, of there being not a few mice already in possession, to say nothing of spiders. Is it not so, Brother Ben?"

Mr. Ben nodded, folded his hands over his stick and glancing up at the chimneys of the said attics, murmured, "Surely, surely!" his invariable reply to any of his brother's statements.

The good old men had been much distressed and interested on hearing from Mr. Hobson, who took them aside for the express purpose, some of the sad circumstances of Mr. Merivale's sudden death, and the ruin which had come upon his family as upon so many others. This they had of course heard of, and when, from two or three little remarks that the old clerk let drop respecting his late employer, they found that he was the James Merivale who had been at the same school with them, their delight knew no bounds.

"You see, my dear sir," cried Mr. Ned, excitedly pinning Mr. Hobson by the button-hole, "it places things in such a totally different light. The fact of our having known the father of these young ladies when a boy enables us to render them many little services which we might otherwise perhaps have hesitated to offer. To be sure," he added, looking doubtfully at his brother, "James Merivale was a very little chap when he came to Dr. Gurney's; you remember, Ben, he entered the school much about the time that you and I were leaving--not before I had thrashed the bully of the school in his service though. Ah!" continued the old gentleman, chuckling to himself, "Tom Yates was the boy; don't you recollect, Ben? He remembered _me_ for many a long day, I reckon. There was another big lad in our form, too, who detested Yates as much as we did--Arthur Villiers (poor fellow, he's gone too). I remember giving him the tip to keep an eye on the youngster after we left; bless you, Yates daren't lay a finger on anyone when Villiers was by. A cowardly lump of humanity he was, like all bullies. Eh, Ben?"

And so the old men ran on; and the girls and Mr. Hobson were as pleased with them as the brothers were with the unaffected natural manners of Honor and Molly. So now the two brothers are in the garden, as has been said, looking at their plants and watching for the postman; and at length their minds are set at rest by the appearance of that ancient individual, and they eagerly seize the letter (the only one this morning) which he holds towards them. It is, in fact, neither more nor less than the expected letter from the Merivales, which is to decide whether or not they will take "The Rookery."

Hastily tearing it open Mr. Ned proceeds to read it aloud for the benefit of his brother, who is nevertheless looking over his shoulder.

"There!" he says as he folds it up and puts it into his pocket with a little sigh of gratification, "I thought they _would_ take it, Brother Ben; but I am really sorry we asked as much as twenty pounds rent, under all the very sad circumstances, because, you see, Ben, fifteen pounds would be five pounds less! A mere nothing to us one way or the other; but a great deal, I expect, to them, poor things. It wouldn't have done, however, to run the risk of hurting their feelings in the matter, and perhaps fifteen pounds a year is rather a low figure for a house like 'The Rookery.'

"Dear me! dear me! How sad, to be sure, to be thrown in an hour, as one may say, from affluence into poverty; for poverty it is, Brother Ben, you may take my word for it. But now really, brother, we must not stand gossiping here like this when there are a thousand and one little things to see to up at the house before the family takes possession. You really are a terrible old chatterbox, Ben, when you once get a start."

And Brother Ned, who as usual has been keeping the conversation exclusively to himself, shakes his head and his stick at quiet old Ben, as together they pass out of the garden gate and trot down the road towards "The Rookery."