CHAPTER XXXII. PHILIP DOES NOT FEEL HAPPY
At supper time Philip seemed so sober and preoccupied that his mothersaid:
"What ails you, Philip?"
"Nothing. What makes you ask?"
"I thought you were looking unusually sober."
"I suppose it is because I have a headache," answered the boy.
It was not a falsehood, for the burden upon his mind had actually givenhim a slight headache.
"You'd better let me mix you some chamomile tea," said Mrs. Ross, withwhom this was a specific against more than one bodily disability.
"No, thank you," answered Philip, with an involuntary grimace; for, inhis younger days, when it was useless to resist, he had more than oncehad an opportunity of learning how far from agreeable chamomile tea wasto the taste. "It doesn't ache much. It will be better soon."
"The tea will cure you immediately, my son."
"I won't take it," said Philip, roughly.
"Don't speak in that way to your mother, Philip," said his father, reprovingly.
"Do you ever let her give you chamomile tea, father?"
"No," smiled the Colonel, "I don't require it."
"Nor I; and, if I did, I prefer the headache."
"I am not sure whether I don't agree with you," said his father, smilingagain.
When supper was over, Philip lounged about restlessly. Nothing could bedone as yet – nothing, indeed, till his father had retired and was fairlyasleep – and, in the meantime, he had to wait in suspense.
He strolled out to the stable without any definite object to take himthere. He was in an unquiet, irritable frame of mind, which was likelyto exhibit itself on the smallest provocation.
A boy of seventeen, Tom Calder by name, was employed by Colonel Ross tolook after his two horses and attend to any errands or light duties thatmight be required about the house.
Philip, as he entered the stable, saw Tom sitting on a kitchen chair, which had been transferred to the stable, engaged in reading a weeklypaper.
"What are you doing there, Tom?" he demanded, in an imperious tone.
If Philip had asked in a civil tone, Tom would have answered him withcivility, but the boy's tone was offensive, and Tom was too spirited tobear it.
"What's that to you, Phil?" he retorted.
"You'll find out what it is!" answered Philip, angrily.
"That's just what I'm wanting to do."
"And don't you presume to call me Phil, either."
"Why – isn't it your name?"
"Yes; but it isn't for you to call me by it."
"What am I to call you, now?"
"You can call me Master Philip, or Mr. Philip."
"Ho! ho! It's a joke you're playing on me!"
"No, it isn't. It is your duty to treat me with respect. But you haven'tanswered my question."
"What is it?"
"What are you doing there?"
"Reading a paper. Can't you see for yourself?"
"That isn't what my father pays you for. Go right to work."
"Shure, you want me to work day and night! That's what Tom Calder won'tdo for no man last of all for a boy like you!"
"If you ain't careful, my father will send you away."
"If he does, I'll get another place soon," said Tom, indifferently.
"You're an impudent loafer!"
"The same to yourself," said Tom, indifferently.
After a little further altercation, Philip walked off in dudgeon. It wasclear that he couldn't bully Tom.