Of course， he didn’t do it on purpose， but—’
The doctor mentioned Greatorex of Manchester， the celebratedbrain specialist. And Horace took Sidney to Manchester. They hadto wait an hour and a quarter to see Greatorex， his well-knownconsulting-rooms in John Dalton Street being crowded withimperfect brains； but their turn came at last， and they foundthemselves in Greatorex’s presence. Greatorex was a fat man，with the voice of a thin man， who seemed to spend the wholeof his career in the care of his fingernails.
‘Well， my little fellow，’ said Greatorex， ‘don’t cry.’ （ForSidney was already crying.） And then to Horace， in a curt tone：
‘What is it？’
And Horace was obliged to humiliate himself and relatethe accident in detail， together with all that had subsequentlyhappened.
‘Yes， yes， yes， yes！’ Greatorex would punctuate the recital，and when tired of ‘yes’ he would say ‘Hum， hum， hum， hum！’
When he had said ‘hum’ seventy-two times he suddenlyremarked that his fee was three guineas， and told Horace tostrengthen Sidney all he could， not to work him too hard， andto bring him back in a year’s time.
Horace paid the money， Greatorex emitted a final ‘hum"，and then the stepbrothers were whisked out by an expeditiousfootman. The experience cost Horace over four pounds andthe loss of a day’s time. And the worst was that Sidney had aviolent attack that very night.
School being impossible for him， Sidney had intermittentinstruction from professors of both sexes at home. But helearnt practically nothing except the banjo. Horace had tobuy him a banjo： it cost the best part of a ten-pound note；still， Horace could do no less. Sidney’s stature grew rapidly；his general health certainly improved， yet not completely； healways had a fragile， interesting air. Moreover， his deafnessdid not disappear： there were occasions when it was extremelypronounced. And he was never quite safe from these attacksin the head. He spent a month or six weeks each year inthe expensive bracing atmosphere of some seaside resort，and altogether he was decidedly a heavy drain on Horace’sresources. People were aware of this， and they said that Horaceought to be happy that he was in a position to spend moneyfreely on his poor brother. Had not the doctor predicted， beforethe catastrophe due to Horace’s culpable negligence， that Sidneywould grow into a strong man， and that his deafness wouldleave him？ The truth was， one never knew the end of thoseaccidents in infancy！ Further， was not Sidney’s sad conditionslowly killing his mother？ It was whispered about that， since thedisaster， Sidney had not been QUITE sound mentally. Was notthe mere suspicion of this enough to kill any mother？
And， as a fact， Mrs Carpole did die. She died of quinsy，doubtless aggravated by Sidney’s sad condition.
Not long afterwards Horace came into a small fortune fromhis maternal grandfather. But poor Sidney did not come intoany fortune， and people somehow illogically inferred thatHorace had not behaved quite nicely in coming into a fortunewhile his suffering invalid brother， whom he had so deeplyharmed， came into nothing. Even Horace had compunctionsdue to the visitations of a similar idea. And with part of thefortune he bought a house with a large garden up at Toft End，the highest hill of the hilly Five Towns， so that Sidney mighthave the benefit of the air. He also engaged a housekeeperand servants. With the remainder of the fortune he obtained apartnership in the firm of earthenware manufacturers for whomhe had been acting as highly-paid manager.
Sidney reached the age of eighteen， and was most effectiveto look upon， his bright hair being still curly， and his eyesa wondrous blue， and his form elegant； and the question ofSidney’s future arose. His health was steadily on the up grade.
The deafness had quite disappeared. He had inclinationstowards art， and had already amused himself by painting somebeautiful vases. So it was settled that he should enter Horace’sworks on the art side， with a view to becoming， ultimately，art director. Horace gave him three pounds a week， in orderthat he might feel perfectly independent， and， to the same end，Sidney paid Horace seven-and-sixpence a week for board andlodging. But the change of life upset the youth’s health again.
After only two visits to the works he had a grave recurrence ofthe head-attacks， and he was solemnly exhorted not to applyhimself too closely to business. He therefore took several halfholidaysa week， and sometimes a whole one. And even whenhe put in one of his full days he would arrive at the works threehours after Horace， and restore the balance by leaving an hourearlier. The entire town watched over him as a mother watchesover a son. The notion that he was not QUITE right in the pategradually died away， and everybody was thankful for that，though it was feared an untimely grave might be his portion.
III
She was a nice girl： the nicest girl that Horace had ever metwith， because her charming niceness included a faculty ofbeing really serious about serious things—and yet she could bedeliciously gay. In short， she was a revelation to Horace. Andher name was Ella， and she had come one year to spend someweeks with Mrs Penkethman， the widowed headmistress of theWesleyan Day School， who was her cousin. Mrs Penkethmanand Ella had been holidaying together in France； their arrivalin Bursley naturally coincided with the reopening of the schoolin August for the autumn term.
Now at this period Horace was rather lonely in his largehouse and garden； for Sidney， in pursuit of health， had gone offon a six weeks’ cruise round Holland， Finland， Norway， andSweden， in one of those Atlantic liners which， translated likeEnoch without dying， become in their old age ‘steam-yachts"，with fine names apt to lead to confusion with the private yachtof the Tsar of Russia. Horace had offered him the trip， andHorace was also paying his weekly salary as usual.