Where are you going to? he inquired with a voice of the last time of asking, and halted resolutely.
Richard now broke his silence to reply, Anywhere.
Anywhere! Ripton took up the moody word. But aint you awfully hungry? he gasped vehemently, in a way that showed the total emptiness of his stomach.
No, was Richards brief response.
Not hungry! Riptons amazement lent him increased vehemence. Why, you havent had anything to eat since breakfast! Not hungry? I declare Im starving. I feel such a gnawing I could eat dry bread and cheese!
Richard sneered: not for reasons that would have actuated a similar demonstration of the philosopher.
Come, cried Ripton, at all events, tell us where youre going to stop.
Richard faced about to make a querulous retort. The injured and hapless visage that met his eye disarmed him. The lads nose, though not exactly of the dreaded hue, was really becoming discoloured. To upbraid him would be cruel. Richard lifted his head, surveyed the position, and exclaiming Here! dropped down on a withered bank, leaving Ripton to contemplate him as a puzzle whose every new move was a worse perplexity.
CHAPTER III
Among boys there are laws of honour and chivalrous codes, not written or formally taught, but intuitively understood by all, and invariably acted upon by the loyal and the true. The race is not nearly civilized, we must remember. Thus, not to follow your leader whithersoever he may think proper to lead; to back out of an expedition because the end of it frowns dubious, and the present fruit of it is discomfort; to quit a comrade on the road, and return home without him: these are tricks which no boy of spirit would be guilty of, let him come to any description of mortal grief in consequence. Better so than have his own conscience denouncing him sneak. Some boys who behave boldly enough are not troubled by this conscience, and the eyes and the lips of their fellows have to supply the deficiency. They do it with just as haunting, and even more horrible pertinacity, than the inner voice, and the result, if the probation be not very severe and searching, is the same. The leader can rely on the faithfulness of his host: the comrade is sworn to serve. Master Ripton Thompson was naturally loyal. The idea of turning off and forsaking his friend never once crossed his mind, though his condition was desperate, and his friends behaviour that of a Bedlamite. He announced several times impatiently that they would be too late for dinner. His friend did not budge. Dinner seemed nothing to him. There he lay plucking grass, and patting the old dogs nose, as if incapable of conceiving what a thing hunger was. Ripton took half-a-dozen turns up and down, and at last flung himself down beside the taciturn boy, accepting his fate.
Now, the chance that works for certain purposes sent a smart shower from the sinking sun, and the wet sent two strangers for shelter in the lane behind the hedge where the boys reclined. One was a travelling tinker, who lit a pipe and spread a tawny umbrella. The other was a burly young countryman, pipeless and tentless. They saluted with a nod, and began recounting for each others benefit the daylong-doings of the weather, as it had affected their individual experience and followed their prophecies. Both had anticipated and foretold a bit of rain before night, and therefore both welcomed the wet with satisfaction. A monotonous betweenwhiles kind of talk they kept droning, in harmony with the still hum of the air. From the weather theme they fell upon the blessings of tobacco; how it was the poor mans friend, his company, his consolation, his comfort, his refuge at night, his first thought in the morning.
Better than a wife! chuckled the tinker. No curtain-lecturin with a pipe. Your pipe ant a shrew.
That be it! the other chimed in. Your pipe doant mak ye out wi all the cash Saturday evenin.
Take one, said the tinker, in the enthusiasm of the moment, handing a grimy short clay. Speed-the-Plough filled from the tinkers pouch, and continued his praises.
Penny a day, and there yare, primed! Better than a wife? Ha, ha!
And you can get rid of it, if ye wants for to, and when ye wants, added tinker.
So ye can! Speed-the-Plough took him up. And ye doant want for to. Leastways, tother case. I means pipe.
And, continued tinker, comprehending him perfectly, it dont bring repentance after it.
Not nohow, master, it doant! AndSpeed-the-Plough cocked his eyeit doant eat up half the victuals, your pipe doant.
Here the honest yeoman gesticulated his keen sense of a clincher, which the tinker acknowledged; and having, so to speak, sealed up the subject by saying the best thing that could be said, the two smoked for some time in silence to the drip and patter of the shower.
Ripton solaced his wretchedness by watching them through the briar hedge. He saw the tinker stroking a white cat, and appealing to her, every now and then, as his missus, for an opinion or a confirmation; and he thought that a curious sight. Speed-the-Plough was stretched at full length, with his boots in the rain, and his head amidst the tinkers pots, smoking, profoundly contemplative. The minutes seemed to be taken up alternately by the grey puffs from their mouths.
It was the tinker who renewed the colloquy. Said he, Times is bad!
His companion assented, Sure-ly!
But it somehow comes round right, resumed the tinker. Why, look here. Wheres the good o moping? I sees it all come round right and tight. Now I travels about. Ive got my beat. Casion calls me tother day to Newcastle!Eh?
Coals! ejaculated Speed-the-Plough sonorously.
Coals! echoed the tinker. You ask what I goes there for, mayhap? Never you mind. One sees a mort o life in my trade. Not for coals it isnt. And I dont carry em there, neither. Anyhow, I comes back. Londons my mark. Says I, Ill see a bit o the sea, and steps aboard a collier. We were as nigh wrecked as the prophet Paul.
Awhos him? the other wished to know.
Read your Bible, said the tinker. We pitched and tossedtaint that game at sea tis on land, I can tell ye! I thinks, down were a-goingsay your prayers, Bob Tiles! That was a night, to be sure! But Gods above the devil, and here I am, ye see. Speed-the-Plough lurched round on his elbow and regarded him indifferently. Dye call that doctrin? He beant alays, or I shoont be scrapin my heels wi nothin to do, and, whats warse, nothin to eat. Why, look heer. Lucks luck, and bad lucks the con-trary. Varmer Bollop, tother day, hass rick burnt down. Next night his granrys burnt. What do he tak and go and do? He takes and goes and hangs unsel, and turns us out of his employ. God warnt above the devil then, I thinks, or I cant make out the reckonin.
The tinker cleared his throat, and said it was a bad case.
And a darnd bad case. Ill tak my oath ont! cried Speed-the-Plough. Well, look heer! Heers another darnd bad case. I threshed for Varmer Blaize Blaize o Beltharpe afore I goes to Varmer Bollop. Varmer Blaize misses pilkins. He swears our chaps steals pilkins. Twarnt me steals em. What do he tak and go and do? He takes and tarns us off, me and another, neck and crop, to scuffle about and starve, for all he keers. God warnt above the devil then, I thinks. Not nohow, as I can see!
The tinker shook his head, and said that was a bad case also.
The tinker shook his head, and said that was a bad case also.
And you cant mend it, added Speed-the-Plough. Its bad, and there it be. But Ill tell ye what, master. Bad wants payin for. He nodded and winked mysteriously. Bad has its wages as wells honest work, Im thinkin. Varmer Bollop I dont owe no grudge to: Varmer Blaize I do. And I shud like to stick a Lucifer in his rick some dry windy night. Speed-the-Plough screwed up an eye villainously. He wants hittin in the wind,jest where the pocket is, master, do Varmer Blaize, and hell cry out O Lor! Varmer Blaize will. You wont get the better o Varmer Blaize by no means, as I makes out, if ye doant hit into him jest there.
The tinker sent a rapid succession of white clouds from his mouth, and said that would be taking the devils side of a bad case. Speed-the-Plough observed energetically that, if Farmer Blaize was on the other, he should be on that side.
There was a young gentleman close by, who thought with him. The hope of Raynham had lent a careless half-compelled attention to the foregoing dialogue, wherein a common labourer and a travelling tinker had propounded and discussed one of the most ancient theories of transmundane dominion and influence on mundane affairs. He now started to his feet, and came tearing through the briar hedge, calling out for one of them to direct them the nearest road to Bursley. The tinker was kindling preparations for his tea, under the tawny umbrella. A loaf was set forth, oh which Riptons eyes, stuck in the edge, fastened ravenously. Speed-the-Plough volunteered information that Bursley was a good three mile from where they stood, and a good eight mile from Lobourne.
Ill give you half-a-crown for that loaf, my good fellow, said Richard to the tinker.
Its a bargain; quoth the tinker, eh, missus?
His cat replied by humping her back at the dog.
The half-crown was tossed down, and Ripton, who had just succeeded in freeing his limbs from the briar, prickly as a hedgehog, collared the loaf.
Those young squires be sharp-set, and no mistake, said the tinker to his companion. Come! well to Bursley after em, and talk it out over a pot o beer. Speed-the-Plough was nothing loath, and in a short time they were following the two lads on the road to Bursley, while a horizontal blaze shot across the autumn and from the Western edge of the rain-cloud.
CHAPTER IV
Search for the missing boys had been made everywhere over Raynham, and Sir Austin was in grievous discontent. None had seen them save Austin Wentworth and Mr. Morton. The baronet sat construing their account of the flight of the lads when they were hailed, and resolved it into an act of rebellion on the part of his son. At dinner he drank the young heirs health in ominous silence. Adrian Harley stood up in his place to propose the health. His speech was a fine piece of rhetoric. He warmed in it till, after the Ciceronic model, inanimate objects were personified, and Richards table-napkin and vacant chair were invoked to follow the steps of a peerless father, and uphold with his dignity the honour of the Feverels. Austin Wentworth, whom a soldiers death compelled to take his fathers place in support of the toast, was tame after such magniloquence. But the reply, the thanks which young Richard should have delivered in person were not forthcoming. Adrians oratory had given but a momentary life to napkin and chair. The company of honoured friends, and aunts and uncles, remotest cousins, were glad to disperse and seek amusement in music and tea. Sir Austin did his utmost to be hospitable cheerful, and requested them to dance. If he had desired them to laugh he would have been obeyed, and in as hearty a manner.
How triste! said Mrs. Doria Forey to Lobournes curate, as that most enamoured automaton went through his paces beside her with professional stiffness.
One who does not suffer can hardly assent, the curate answered, basking in her beams.
Ah, you are good! exclaimed the lady. Look at my Clare. She will not dance on her cousins birthday with anyone but him. What are we to do to enliven these people?
Alas, madam! you cannot do for all what you do for one, the curate sighed, and wherever she wandered in discourse, drew her back with silken strings to gaze on his enamoured soul.
He was the only gratified stranger present. The others had designs on the young heir. Lady Attenbury of Longford House had brought her highly-polished specimen of market-ware, the Lady Juliana Jaye, for a first introduction to him, thinking he had arrived at an age to estimate and pine for her black eyes and pretty pert mouth. The Lady Juliana had to pair off with a dapper Papworth, and her mama was subjected to the gallantries of Sir Miles, who talked land and steam-engines to her till she was sick, and had to be impertinent in self-defence. Lady Blandish, the delightful widow, sat apart with Adrian, and enjoyed his sarcasms on the company. By ten at night the poor show ended, and the rooms were dark, dark as the prognostics multitudinously hinted by the disappointed and chilled guests concerning the probable future of the hope of Raynham. Little Clare kissed her mama, curtsied to the lingering curate, and went to bed like a very good girl. Immediately the maid had departed, little Clare deliberately exchanged night, attire for that of day. She was noted as an obedient child. Her light was allowed to burn in her room for half-an-hour, to counteract her fears of the dark. She took the light, and stole on tiptoe to Richards room. No Richard was there. She peeped in further and further. A trifling agitation of the curtains shot her back through the door and along the passage to her own bedchamber with extreme expedition. She was not much alarmed, but feeling guilty she was on her guard. In a short time she was prowling about the passages again. Richard had slighted and offended the little lady, and was to be asked whether he did not repent such conduct toward his cousin; not to be asked whether he had forgotten to receive his birthday kiss from her; for, if he did not choose to remember that, Miss Clare would never remind him of it, and to-night should be his last chance of a reconciliation. Thus she meditated, sitting on a stair, and presently heard Richards voice below in the hall, shouting for supper.
Master Richard has returned, old Benson the butler tolled out intelligence to Sir Austin.
Well? said the baronet.
He complains of being hungry, the butler hesitated, with a look of solemn disgust.
Let him eat.
Heavy Benson hesitated still more as he announced that the boy had called for wine. It was an unprecedented thing. Sir Austins brows were portending an arch, but Adrian suggested that he wanted possibly to drink his birthday, and claret was conceded.
The boys were in the vortex of a partridge-pie when Adrian strolled in to them. They had now changed characters. Richard was uproarious. He drank a health with every glass; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes brilliant. Ripton looked very much like a rogue on the tremble of detection, but his honest hunger and the partridge-pie shielded him awhile from Adrians scrutinizing glance. Adrian saw there was matter for study, if it were only on Master Riptons betraying nose, and sat down to hear and mark.
Good sport, gentlemen, I trust to hear? he began his quiet banter, and provoked a loud peal of laughter from Richard.
Ha, ha! I say, Rip: Havin good sport, gentlemen, are ye? You remember the farmer! Your health, parson! We havent had our sport yet. Were going to have some first-rate sport. Oh, well! we havent much show of birds. We shot for pleasure, and returned them to the proprietors. Youre fond of game, parson! Ripton is a dead shot in what Cousin Austin calls the Kingdom of would-have-done and might-have-been. Up went the birds, and cries Rip, Ive forgotten to load! Oh, ho!Rip! some more claret.Do just leave that nose of yours alone.Your health, Ripton Thompson! The birds hadnt the decency to wait for him, and so, parson, its their fault, and not Rips, you havent a dozen brace at your feet. What have you been doing at home, Cousin Rady?