Chapter Fifteen.I have an Idea.The work was started the next morning, and for a fortnight or so everything went on in the smoothest manner possible. The men were quite cheerful and good-tempered, doing their tasks and taking their wages, and though we kept our regular watch nothing disturbed us in the slightest degree.“An’ so you fun ’em in the wheel-pit, did you, Mester Jacob?” said Gentles to me one dinner-hour as he sat by his grindstone eating his bread and meat off a clean napkin spread over his knees.“Yes,” I said, looking at him keenly.“But how came you to find ’em, mester?”I told him.“Did you, now?” he cried, shutting his eyes and grinning. “Think o’ that! Why, I put you up to the eels, and so I might say it was me as found the bands, only you see it was not you nor yet me—it was the eel.”He nearly choked himself with laughing, but my next words sobered him, and he sat up looking painfully solemn and troubled of face.“I’ll be bound you know who threw those bands into the water, Gentles,” I said.One of his eyes quivered, and he looked at me as if he were going to speak. He even opened his mouth, and I could see his tongue quivering as if ready to begin, but he shut it with a snap and shook his head.“Don’t tell any stories about it,” I said; “but you do know.”“Don’t ask me, mester,” he cried with a groan. “Don’t ask me.”“Then you do know,” I cried.“I don’t know nowt,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Why, man alive, it wouldn’t be safe for a chap like me to know owt. They’d put a brick round my neck and throw me in the watter.”“But you do know, Gentles,” I persisted.“I don’t know nowt, I tell ’ee,” he cried angrily. “Such friends as we’ve been, Mester Jacob, and you to want to get me into a scrarp.”“Why, Gentles!” I cried. “If you know, why don’t you speak out like a man?”“’Cause I’m a man o’ peace, Mester Jacob, and don’t want to harm nobody, and I don’t want nobody to harm me. Nay, I know nowt at all.”“Well, I think you are a contemptible coward, Gentles,” I said warmly. “You’re taking my uncles’ money and working on their premises, and though you know who has been base enough to injure them you are not man enough to speak.”“Now don’t—don’t—don’t, my lad,” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “Such friends as we’ve been too, and you go on like that. I tell ’ee I’m a man of peace, and I don’t know nowt at all. On’y give me my grinstone and something to grind—that’s all I want.”“And to see our place blown up and the bands destroyed. There, I’m ashamed of you, Gentles,” I cried.“But you’ll be friends?” he said; and there were tears in his eyes.“Friends! How can I be friends,” I cried, “with a man like you?”“Oh dear, oh dear!” I heard him groan as I left the workshop; and going to Piter’s kennel I took off his collar and led him down to the dam to give him a swim.He was a capital dog for the water, and thoroughly enjoyed a splash, so that before the men came back he had had a swim, shaken himself, and was stretched out in the sunshine under the wall drying himself, when, as I stooped to pat him, I noticed something about the wall that made me look higher in a hurried way, and then at the top, and turn off directly.I had seen enough, and I did not want to be noticed, for some of the men were beginning to come back, so stooping down I patted Piter and went off to the office.As soon as the men were well at work I went into one of the sheds, where there were two or three holes under the benches where the rats came up from the dam, and where it was the custom to set a trap or two, which very rarely snared one of the busy little animals, though now and then we did have that luck, and Piter had the pleasure of killing the mischievous creature if the trap had not thoroughly done its work.I soon found what I wanted—an old rusty spring trap with its sharp teeth, and, shaking off the dust, I tucked it under my jacket and strolled off to the smith’s shops, where I found Pannell hammering away as hard as ever he could.He was making reaping-hooks of my uncles’ patent steel, and as I stood at the door and watched him I counted the blows he gave, and it was astonishing how regular he was, every implement taking nearly the same number of blows before he threw it down.“Well, Pannell,” I said, “arn’t you sorry to have to work so hard again?”He whisked a piece of hot steel from his forge and just glanced at me as he went on with his work, laying the glowing sparkling steel upon the anvil.“Sorry!”—bang—“no”—bang—“not a”—bing, bang,bang—“not a”—bang, bang, bing, bang, bang—“bit of it.”That was how it sounded to me as he worked away.“Wife”—bang—“bairns”—bing, bang, bang, bing, chinger, chinger, bing, bang—“eight”—bang—“of ’em. I hate”—bang—“to do”—bang—“nowt”—bang—“but”—bang—“smoke all”—bang—“day.”“I say, Pannell,” I said, after glancing round and seeing that we were quite alone, “how came you to throw our bands in the wheel-pit?”“What!” he cried, pincers in one hand, hammer in the other; and he looked as if he were going to seize me with one tool and beat me with the other. “Yah! Get out, you young joker! You know it warn’t me.”“But you know who did it.”Pannell looked about him, through the window, out of the door, up the forge chimney, and then he gave me a solemn wink.“Then why don’t you speak?”The big smith took a blade of steel from the fire as if it were a flaming sword, and beat it into the reaping-hook of peace before he said in a hoarse whisper:“Men’s o’ one side, lad—unions. Mesters is t’other side. It’s a feight.”“But it’s so cowardly, Pannell,” I said.“Ay, lad, it is,” he cried, banging away. “But I can’t help it. Union says strike, and you hev to strike whether you like it or whether you don’t like it, and clem till it’s over.”“But it’s such a cowardly way of making war, to do what you men do.”“What they men do, lad,” he whispered.“What you men do,” I repeated.“Nay, they men,” he whispered.“You are one of them, and on their side, so what they do you do.”“Is that so?” he said, giving a piece of steel such a hard bang that he had to repeat it to get it into shape.“Of course it is.”“Well, I s’pose you’re right, lad,” he said, thoughtfully.“Why don’t you tell me, then, who threw the bands in the wheel-pit, so that he could be discharged?”“Me! Me tell! Nay. Look at that now.”Thatwas a piece of steel spoiled by the vehemence of his blows, and it was thrust back into the fire.“I will not say who gave me the information,” I said.He shook his head.“Nobody shall ever know that you told me.”He took a little hook he was forging and made a motion with it as if I were a stalk of wheat and he wanted to draw me to him.“Lad,” he said, “man who tells on his mate aren’t a man no longer. Iama man.”We stood looking at each other for some time, and then he said in his rough way:“It aren’t no doing o’ mine, lad, and I don’t like it. It aren’t manly. One o’ the mesters did owt to me as I didn’t like I’d go up to him and ask him to tek off his coat like a man and feight it out, or else I’d go away; but man can’t do as he likes i’ Arrowfield. He has to do what trade likes.”“And it was the trade who threw our bands away, and tried to blow us up, and half-poisoned me and Piter.”“Hah!” he said with a sigh. “That’s it, lad.”“Ah, well, I didn’t expect you’d tell me, Pannell,” I said, smiling.“You see I can’t, my lad. Now can I?”“No; it wouldn’t be honourable. But I say, Pannell, I mean to do all I can to find out who plays us these dirty tricks.”The big smith looked about him before speaking again.“Don’t, my lad,” he whispered. “Yow might get hurt, and I shouldn’t like that i’deed.”“Oh, I won’t get hurt!” I said. “Look here, Pannell, do you see this?”“Ay, lad. Trap for the rats. I’ve sin scores on em.”“We set them to catch the rats,” I said, hesitating a moment or two before making my venture. “I say, Pannell,” I said, “we’re very good friends you and I.”“Course we are, lad; for a Londoner you’re quite a decent chap.”“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “Well, on the quiet, I want you to do me a favour.”“Long as it aren’t to tell on my mates, lad, I’ll do owt for you. There!”Thattherewas as emphatic as a blow from his hammer on the anvil.“I thought you would, Pannell,” I said. “Well, look here. My uncles are as good and kind-hearted men as ever lived.”“And as nyste to work for as ever was,” said Pannell, giving an emphatic bang on his work as he hammered away.“Well, I’m very fond of them,” I said.“Nat’rally, lad, nat’rally.”“And as I know they’re trying to do their best for everybody who works for them, as well as for themselves, so as to find bread for all—”I stopped just then, for the big smith’s face was very red, and he was making a tremendous clangour with his hammer.“Well,” I said, “it worries me very much to see that every now and then a big rat gets to their sack of wheat and gnaws a hole in it and lets the grain run out.”“Where do they keep their wheat?” said Pannell, leaving off for awhile.“Here,” I said.“Ah! There’s part rats about these here rezzywors,” he said, thoughtfully. “Why don’t you set that trap?”“Because it isn’t half big enough—not a quarter big enough,” I said; “but I wish to catch that rat, and I want you to make me a big trap-like this, only four times as large, and with a very strong spring.”“Eh?”“I want to set that trap, and I want to catch that, great cowardly rat, and I want you to make me a trap that will hold him.”“Eh?”“Don’t you understand?” I said, looking at him meaningly as he stood wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.“Yow want to set a trap to catch the big rat as comes and makes a hole in the mester’s sack.”“Yes,” I said. “I want to catch him.”“What! Here about the works?”“Yes,” I said. “Now do you see?”Poof!Pannell gave vent to a most curious sound that was like nothing so much as one that might have been emitted if his forge bellows had suddenly burst. To give vent to that sound he opened his mouth wide, clapped his hands on his leather apron, and bent nearly double.“Why, Pannell!” I exclaimed.Poof! He stamped first one leg on the black iron dust and ashes, and then the other, going round his anvil and grumbling and rumbling internally in the most extraordinary manner.Then he looked me in the face and exploded once more, till his mirth and the absurdity of his antics grew infectious, and I laughed too.“And you’re going to set a big trap to catch that there”—poof—“that theer very big rat, eh?”“Yes,” I said, “if I can.”“And you want me,” he whispered, with his eyes starting with suppressed mirth, “to make you that theer big trap.”“Yes.”“Then I’ll do it,” he whispered, becoming preternaturally solemn. “Stop! ’Tween man an’ man you know.”He held out his great black hard hand, which I grasped.“On my honour, Pannell, I’ll never tell a soul that you made the trap, not for ten years, or twenty, if you like.”“That’s enough,” he said, giving his leg a slap. “Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw! Here, give us the model. When dyer want it, lad?”“As soon as ever you can get it made, Pannell.”He looked at me with his face working, and scraping a hole in the ashes he buried the trap, seized hammer and pincers, and worked away again, but stopped every now and then to laugh.“I say,” he said suddenly, “it’ll sarve ’em right; but if they knowed as I did it they’d wait for me coming home and give me the knobsticks. Ay, that they would.”“But they will not know, Pannell,” I said. “It’s our secret, mind.”“Hey, but I’d like to see the rat i’ the trap!” he whispered, after exploding with another fit of mirth.“Let’s have the trap first,” I said. “I don’t know that I shall catch him then.”“What are you going to bait with?” he said between two fierce attacks upon a piece of steel.“Oh, I have not settled that yet!”“I’ll tell ’ee,” he whispered with his face working. “Bait it with a wheel-band.”He roared with laughter again, and if I had had any doubts before of his understanding that I wanted a very strong man-trap, I had none now.
The work was started the next morning, and for a fortnight or so everything went on in the smoothest manner possible. The men were quite cheerful and good-tempered, doing their tasks and taking their wages, and though we kept our regular watch nothing disturbed us in the slightest degree.
“An’ so you fun ’em in the wheel-pit, did you, Mester Jacob?” said Gentles to me one dinner-hour as he sat by his grindstone eating his bread and meat off a clean napkin spread over his knees.
“Yes,” I said, looking at him keenly.
“But how came you to find ’em, mester?”
I told him.
“Did you, now?” he cried, shutting his eyes and grinning. “Think o’ that! Why, I put you up to the eels, and so I might say it was me as found the bands, only you see it was not you nor yet me—it was the eel.”
He nearly choked himself with laughing, but my next words sobered him, and he sat up looking painfully solemn and troubled of face.
“I’ll be bound you know who threw those bands into the water, Gentles,” I said.
One of his eyes quivered, and he looked at me as if he were going to speak. He even opened his mouth, and I could see his tongue quivering as if ready to begin, but he shut it with a snap and shook his head.
“Don’t tell any stories about it,” I said; “but you do know.”
“Don’t ask me, mester,” he cried with a groan. “Don’t ask me.”
“Then you do know,” I cried.
“I don’t know nowt,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Why, man alive, it wouldn’t be safe for a chap like me to know owt. They’d put a brick round my neck and throw me in the watter.”
“But you do know, Gentles,” I persisted.
“I don’t know nowt, I tell ’ee,” he cried angrily. “Such friends as we’ve been, Mester Jacob, and you to want to get me into a scrarp.”
“Why, Gentles!” I cried. “If you know, why don’t you speak out like a man?”
“’Cause I’m a man o’ peace, Mester Jacob, and don’t want to harm nobody, and I don’t want nobody to harm me. Nay, I know nowt at all.”
“Well, I think you are a contemptible coward, Gentles,” I said warmly. “You’re taking my uncles’ money and working on their premises, and though you know who has been base enough to injure them you are not man enough to speak.”
“Now don’t—don’t—don’t, my lad,” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “Such friends as we’ve been too, and you go on like that. I tell ’ee I’m a man of peace, and I don’t know nowt at all. On’y give me my grinstone and something to grind—that’s all I want.”
“And to see our place blown up and the bands destroyed. There, I’m ashamed of you, Gentles,” I cried.
“But you’ll be friends?” he said; and there were tears in his eyes.
“Friends! How can I be friends,” I cried, “with a man like you?”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” I heard him groan as I left the workshop; and going to Piter’s kennel I took off his collar and led him down to the dam to give him a swim.
He was a capital dog for the water, and thoroughly enjoyed a splash, so that before the men came back he had had a swim, shaken himself, and was stretched out in the sunshine under the wall drying himself, when, as I stooped to pat him, I noticed something about the wall that made me look higher in a hurried way, and then at the top, and turn off directly.
I had seen enough, and I did not want to be noticed, for some of the men were beginning to come back, so stooping down I patted Piter and went off to the office.
As soon as the men were well at work I went into one of the sheds, where there were two or three holes under the benches where the rats came up from the dam, and where it was the custom to set a trap or two, which very rarely snared one of the busy little animals, though now and then we did have that luck, and Piter had the pleasure of killing the mischievous creature if the trap had not thoroughly done its work.
I soon found what I wanted—an old rusty spring trap with its sharp teeth, and, shaking off the dust, I tucked it under my jacket and strolled off to the smith’s shops, where I found Pannell hammering away as hard as ever he could.
He was making reaping-hooks of my uncles’ patent steel, and as I stood at the door and watched him I counted the blows he gave, and it was astonishing how regular he was, every implement taking nearly the same number of blows before he threw it down.
“Well, Pannell,” I said, “arn’t you sorry to have to work so hard again?”
He whisked a piece of hot steel from his forge and just glanced at me as he went on with his work, laying the glowing sparkling steel upon the anvil.
“Sorry!”—bang—“no”—bang—“not a”—bing, bang,bang—“not a”—bang, bang, bing, bang, bang—“bit of it.”
That was how it sounded to me as he worked away.
“Wife”—bang—“bairns”—bing, bang, bang, bing, chinger, chinger, bing, bang—“eight”—bang—“of ’em. I hate”—bang—“to do”—bang—“nowt”—bang—“but”—bang—“smoke all”—bang—“day.”
“I say, Pannell,” I said, after glancing round and seeing that we were quite alone, “how came you to throw our bands in the wheel-pit?”
“What!” he cried, pincers in one hand, hammer in the other; and he looked as if he were going to seize me with one tool and beat me with the other. “Yah! Get out, you young joker! You know it warn’t me.”
“But you know who did it.”
Pannell looked about him, through the window, out of the door, up the forge chimney, and then he gave me a solemn wink.
“Then why don’t you speak?”
The big smith took a blade of steel from the fire as if it were a flaming sword, and beat it into the reaping-hook of peace before he said in a hoarse whisper:
“Men’s o’ one side, lad—unions. Mesters is t’other side. It’s a feight.”
“But it’s so cowardly, Pannell,” I said.
“Ay, lad, it is,” he cried, banging away. “But I can’t help it. Union says strike, and you hev to strike whether you like it or whether you don’t like it, and clem till it’s over.”
“But it’s such a cowardly way of making war, to do what you men do.”
“What they men do, lad,” he whispered.
“What you men do,” I repeated.
“Nay, they men,” he whispered.
“You are one of them, and on their side, so what they do you do.”
“Is that so?” he said, giving a piece of steel such a hard bang that he had to repeat it to get it into shape.
“Of course it is.”
“Well, I s’pose you’re right, lad,” he said, thoughtfully.
“Why don’t you tell me, then, who threw the bands in the wheel-pit, so that he could be discharged?”
“Me! Me tell! Nay. Look at that now.”
Thatwas a piece of steel spoiled by the vehemence of his blows, and it was thrust back into the fire.
“I will not say who gave me the information,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Nobody shall ever know that you told me.”
He took a little hook he was forging and made a motion with it as if I were a stalk of wheat and he wanted to draw me to him.
“Lad,” he said, “man who tells on his mate aren’t a man no longer. Iama man.”
We stood looking at each other for some time, and then he said in his rough way:
“It aren’t no doing o’ mine, lad, and I don’t like it. It aren’t manly. One o’ the mesters did owt to me as I didn’t like I’d go up to him and ask him to tek off his coat like a man and feight it out, or else I’d go away; but man can’t do as he likes i’ Arrowfield. He has to do what trade likes.”
“And it was the trade who threw our bands away, and tried to blow us up, and half-poisoned me and Piter.”
“Hah!” he said with a sigh. “That’s it, lad.”
“Ah, well, I didn’t expect you’d tell me, Pannell,” I said, smiling.
“You see I can’t, my lad. Now can I?”
“No; it wouldn’t be honourable. But I say, Pannell, I mean to do all I can to find out who plays us these dirty tricks.”
The big smith looked about him before speaking again.
“Don’t, my lad,” he whispered. “Yow might get hurt, and I shouldn’t like that i’deed.”
“Oh, I won’t get hurt!” I said. “Look here, Pannell, do you see this?”
“Ay, lad. Trap for the rats. I’ve sin scores on em.”
“We set them to catch the rats,” I said, hesitating a moment or two before making my venture. “I say, Pannell,” I said, “we’re very good friends you and I.”
“Course we are, lad; for a Londoner you’re quite a decent chap.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “Well, on the quiet, I want you to do me a favour.”
“Long as it aren’t to tell on my mates, lad, I’ll do owt for you. There!”
Thattherewas as emphatic as a blow from his hammer on the anvil.
“I thought you would, Pannell,” I said. “Well, look here. My uncles are as good and kind-hearted men as ever lived.”
“And as nyste to work for as ever was,” said Pannell, giving an emphatic bang on his work as he hammered away.
“Well, I’m very fond of them,” I said.
“Nat’rally, lad, nat’rally.”
“And as I know they’re trying to do their best for everybody who works for them, as well as for themselves, so as to find bread for all—”
I stopped just then, for the big smith’s face was very red, and he was making a tremendous clangour with his hammer.
“Well,” I said, “it worries me very much to see that every now and then a big rat gets to their sack of wheat and gnaws a hole in it and lets the grain run out.”
“Where do they keep their wheat?” said Pannell, leaving off for awhile.
“Here,” I said.
“Ah! There’s part rats about these here rezzywors,” he said, thoughtfully. “Why don’t you set that trap?”
“Because it isn’t half big enough—not a quarter big enough,” I said; “but I wish to catch that rat, and I want you to make me a big trap-like this, only four times as large, and with a very strong spring.”
“Eh?”
“I want to set that trap, and I want to catch that, great cowardly rat, and I want you to make me a trap that will hold him.”
“Eh?”
“Don’t you understand?” I said, looking at him meaningly as he stood wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.
“Yow want to set a trap to catch the big rat as comes and makes a hole in the mester’s sack.”
“Yes,” I said. “I want to catch him.”
“What! Here about the works?”
“Yes,” I said. “Now do you see?”
Poof!
Pannell gave vent to a most curious sound that was like nothing so much as one that might have been emitted if his forge bellows had suddenly burst. To give vent to that sound he opened his mouth wide, clapped his hands on his leather apron, and bent nearly double.
“Why, Pannell!” I exclaimed.
Poof! He stamped first one leg on the black iron dust and ashes, and then the other, going round his anvil and grumbling and rumbling internally in the most extraordinary manner.
Then he looked me in the face and exploded once more, till his mirth and the absurdity of his antics grew infectious, and I laughed too.
“And you’re going to set a big trap to catch that there”—poof—“that theer very big rat, eh?”
“Yes,” I said, “if I can.”
“And you want me,” he whispered, with his eyes starting with suppressed mirth, “to make you that theer big trap.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll do it,” he whispered, becoming preternaturally solemn. “Stop! ’Tween man an’ man you know.”
He held out his great black hard hand, which I grasped.
“On my honour, Pannell, I’ll never tell a soul that you made the trap, not for ten years, or twenty, if you like.”
“That’s enough,” he said, giving his leg a slap. “Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw! Here, give us the model. When dyer want it, lad?”
“As soon as ever you can get it made, Pannell.”
He looked at me with his face working, and scraping a hole in the ashes he buried the trap, seized hammer and pincers, and worked away again, but stopped every now and then to laugh.
“I say,” he said suddenly, “it’ll sarve ’em right; but if they knowed as I did it they’d wait for me coming home and give me the knobsticks. Ay, that they would.”
“But they will not know, Pannell,” I said. “It’s our secret, mind.”
“Hey, but I’d like to see the rat i’ the trap!” he whispered, after exploding with another fit of mirth.
“Let’s have the trap first,” I said. “I don’t know that I shall catch him then.”
“What are you going to bait with?” he said between two fierce attacks upon a piece of steel.
“Oh, I have not settled that yet!”
“I’ll tell ’ee,” he whispered with his face working. “Bait it with a wheel-band.”
He roared with laughter again, and if I had had any doubts before of his understanding that I wanted a very strong man-trap, I had none now.
Chapter Sixteen.Something for me.Rash—cruel—unwise. Well, I’m afraid it was all those, but I was only a boy, and I was stung by the injustice and cowardly cruelty of the outrages perpetrated on us by the men who earned their bread in our works; and hence it was, that, instead of feeling any compunction in doing what I proposed, I was delighted with the idea, and longed for an opportunity to put it in force.I was, then, very eager to begin, for the present calm, I felt sure, was only going before the storm, and after what I had found out I was anxious to be ready.Pannell did not keep me waiting long.Two days after I had made my plans with him I went into his smithy, and in answer to my inquiring look he said, in a heavy, unmoved way:“Theer’s summut for you hung up i’ the forge chimney. She goes hard, but theer’s a steel bar ’long wi’ her as you can prise down the spring till she’s set. On’y mind thysen, lad—mind thysen.”“And will it hold a man, Pannell?” I cried.“Ay; this here’s noo pattern. I haven’t got into it yet I’ve got a rare lot of ’em to do.”“But tell me,” I whispered, “will it?”“Think this here noo steel’s better than owd fashion stoof?” he said.“Bother the steel!” I said, speaking lower still. “I want you to tell me whether—”“Bull-poop’s gettin’ too fat, Mester Jacob,” said Pannell. “Don’t give ’im so much meat. Spoils a dorg. Give un bones as he can break oop and yeat. That’s the stoof for dorgs. Gives un such a coat as never was.”“Will you tell me?” I began, angrily.“Nay, I wean’t tell thee nowt,” he growled. “I’ve telled thee enew as it is. Tek it when I’m not here, and good luck to thee!”I could get no more from him, for he would not say another word about the trap, so I waited impatiently for the night so that I might smuggle it from the forge chimney into my desk.When the time came it was quite absurd how many hindrances there were to my little task. I did not want to set it that night. I only wanted to get it in safety to my desk; but first there were men hanging about the smithies as if they were watching me; then there were my uncles; and lastly, there was Gentles, who made signs that he wished to speak to me, and I didn’t care to say anything to the sleek, oily fellow, who only wanted to what he called make it up.At last, though, everyone had gone but Uncle Jack, who was busy writing a letter or two, and I was to wait for him, and we were going back together.I slipped off to the smithy, and just as I was half-way there I turned quickly round, feeling quite cold, and as if I was found out, for I heard a curious yawning noise behind me.It was only Piter, who looked up in my face and gave his tail a wag, and then butted his great head against my leg, holding it tightly there as if it was so heavy that he was glad to give it a rest.I went on at once impatiently, and Piter’s head sank down, the dog uttering a low, discontented whine on being left. I glanced up at the wall, half expecting to see some one looking over and watching me; then up at the windows, fearing that one of the men might still be left.But all was perfectly quiet, and though I half anticipated such an accident there was no one seated on the top of either of the great chimney-shafts in the neighbourhood watching me with a telescope.I had a few more absurdly impossible ideas of this kind as I went along the yard, feeling horribly guilty and ready to give up my undertaking. The very silence and solitariness of the place startled me, but I went on and turned in at the open door of the smithy where Pannell worked, and breathed more freely as I looked round and saw that I was alone.But to make sure I stepped up on to the work-bench and looked out of the window, but there was nothing but the dam to be seen there, and I leaped down and climbed on to the forge, with the coal-dust crushing under my feet, gave a last glance round, and was about to peer up the funnel-like, sheet-iron chimney, when there was a loud clang, and I bounded down, with my heart beating furiously.I stamped my foot directly after and bit my lips angrily because I had been such a coward, for I had moved a pair of smiths’ tongs when I stepped up, and they had slid off on to the ground.“I’m doing what I ought not to do,” I said to myself as I jumped on to the forge again, “but now I’ve gone so far I must go on.”I peered up in the dark funnel and could see nothing, but I had come prepared, and striking a match I saw just before me, resting on a sooty ledge, the object of my quest.I lifted it down, astounded at its size and weight, and found that it was an exact imitation of the rat-trap, but with blunt teeth, and a short steel lever with a point like a crowbar was attached to it by means of a bit of wire.It was enormous, and I quite trembled at the idea of carrying it to the office; but after a sharp glance out of the doorway I took hold of the trap by the iron chain bound round it, and walked quickly to my own place, hoping that even if I had been seen, the watcher would not have been able to make out what I was carrying.There was not much room to spare when I had laid the great trap in my desk, the lid of which would only just shut down over it; but once safely there, and with the key in the lock ready for me to turn if I heard steps, I had a good look at my treasure.I was nervous now, and half repentant, for the instrument looked so formidable that I felt that I should not dare to use it.I had a good look though, and found that it was very complete with chain and ring, and that the lever had a head to it like a pin, evidently so that after it had been used, it could be placed through the ring at the end of the chain, and driven down to act as a peg in the ground.I had hardly arrived at all this when I heard Uncle Jack’s cough, and hastily closing the desk and locking it, I went to meet him.“Sorry to keep you waiting so long, my boy,” he said; “but I wanted to send word to your father how we are going on.”It was on the second night that I put my plan into practice.I had thought it all well out, and inspected my ground, which was just below the wall, pretty close to the edge of the dam, where I had seen some marks which had made me suspicious.So as soon as Uncle Bob had gone to lie down, and I had begun my half of the watch, I fastened up Piter, took out my heavy trap, carried it down to the edge of the dam, and carefully felt the wall for the place I had marked by driving in a little nail.I soon found it, placed my trap exactly beneath it, and wrenching down the spring by means of the lever, I tried to set it.I had practised doing this in my own place, and could manage it pretty well, but in the darkness and excitement that troubled me now, it proved to be an exceedingly difficult job. Twice I managed to get it set, and was moving away when it went off with a startling clang that made me jump, and expect to see Uncle Bob come running out, especially as the dog set up a furious bark.I quieted Piter though each time, and went and tried again till I managed my task, having to take great care that I did not hoist myself with my own petard, for it was a terribly dangerous engine that I was setting, though I did not think so then.It was now set to my satisfaction, and being quite prepared with a big hammer, my next task was to drive in the lever like a peg right through the ring and up to the head, so that if I did catch my bird, there would be no chance of his getting away.I felt about in the dark for a suitable place, and the most likely seemed to be just at the extent of the five feet of chain, which reached to the edge of the dam, where, between two of the big stones of the embankment, I fancied I could drive in the lever so that it could not be drawn out.So taking the steel bar with the sharp edge I ran it through the ring, directed the point between two blocks of stone, and then began to drive.As I said I was well prepared, having carefully thought out the whole affair, and I had bound several thicknesses of cloth over the head of the hammer like a pad so as to muffle the blows, and thus it was that I was able to drive it home without much noise.At first it went in so easily that I was about to select a fresh place, but it soon became harder and firmer, and when I had done and felt the head it was quite immovable, and held the ring close down to the stones.My idea had been to cover the trap with a handful or two of hay, but it was so dark that I thought I would leave it, as it was impossible to see it even from where I looked. I left it, meaning to come the next morning and set it free with a file, for I did not want to take up the peg, and I could get another for lever and join the chain with a strong padlock the next time.It was about eleven o’clock when I had finished my task, and I did not know whether to be pleased or alarmed. I felt something like a boy might who had set a bait at the end of a line to catch a crocodile, and was then very much alarmed for fear he should have any luck.I crept away and waited, thinking a great deal about Piter, and what would be the consequences if he walked over the trap, but I argued that the chances were a hundred thousand to one against his going to that particular spot. Besides, if I left him chained up Uncle Bob was not likely to unloose him, so I determined to run the risk, and leave the trap set when I went off guard.The time went slowly by without any alarm, and though I went now and then cautiously in the direction of my trap it had not been disturbed, and I came away more and more confident that it was in so out of the way a part of the yard that it might be there for weeks unseen.I felt better after this, and at the appointed time called Uncle Bob, who took his watch, and when he called me in the morning the wheel was turning, and the men were coming up to their work.“I thought you were tired, Cob, so I let you lie till the last moment.”I was so stupid and confused with sleep that I got up yawning; and we were half-way back home before, like a flash, there came to me the recollection of my trap.I could not make an excuse and go back, though I tried hard to invent one; but went on by my uncle’s side so quiet and thoughtful that he made a remark.“Bit done up, Cob! You ought to have another nap after dinner.”“Oh, I’m all right, uncle,” I said, and I went on home with him to have steel-traps for breakfast and think of nothing else save what they had caught.For I felt perfectly sure that someone had come over the wall in the night—Stevens I expected it would prove to be—and had put his foot right in the trap, which had sprung, caught him by the leg, and cut it right off, and I felt sure that when I got back I should find him lying there where he had bled to death.The next thing that struck me was that I was a murderer, and that I should be tried and condemned to death, but respited and sentenced to transportation for life on account of my youth.With such thoughts as these rushing through my brain it was not likely that I should enjoy the breakfast with the brown and pink ham so nicely fried, and the eggs that were so creamy white, and with such yolks of gold.I didnotenjoy that breakfast, and I was feverishly anxious to get back to the works, and though first one and then another advised me to go and lie down, I insisted upon going.I was all in a tremble as I reached the gate, and saw old Dunning’s serious face. I read in it reproach, and he seemed to be saying to me, “Oh, how could you do it?” Seemed, for what he did say was, “Nice pleasant morning, Mester Jacob!”I told a story, for I said, “Yes, it is,” when it was to me the most painful and miserable morning I had ever experienced; but I dared not say a word, and for some time I could not find an opportunity for going down the yard.Nobody ever did go down there, unless it was to wheel a worn-out grindstone to a resting-place or to carry some broken wood-work of the machinery to throw in a heap. There was the heap of coal and the heap of slack or coal-dust, both in the yard; but those who fetched the coal and slack fetched them from this side, and they never went on the other.The last time I could recall the men going down there to the dam, was when we threw in Piter to give him a bath.Piter! Had he been let loose? The thought that had come of him was startling, but easily set right, for there was the bull-dog fast asleep in his kennel.Then there was Stevens!The thought was horrible. He ought to be in the grinding-shop, and if he were not—I knew!It would have been easy to go and look, but I felt that I could not, and I walked back to the gate and spoke to old Dunning.“All the men come yet?” I said.“No, Mester Jacob, they hevn’t all come yet,” he said.I dare not ask any more. All had not come, and one of those who had not come was, of course, Stevens, and he was lying there dead.I walked back with Dunning’s last words ringing in my ears.“Ain’t you well, Mester Jacob?”No, I was not well. I felt sick and miserable, and I would have given anything to have gone straight down the yard and seen the extent of the misery I had caused.Oh! If I could have recalled the past, and undone everything; but that was impossible, and in a state of feverish anxiety I went upstairs to where the men were busy at lathe and dry grindstones, to try and get—a glimpse of my trap, as I hoped I could from one of the windows.To my horror there were two men looking out, and I stopped dumb-foundered as I listened for their words, which I knew must be about the trapped man lying there.“Nay, lad,” said one, “yow could buy better than they at pit’s mouth for eight shillings a chaldron.”Oh, what a relief! It was like life to me, and going to one window I found that they could only see the heap of coals.From the other windows there was no better view. Even from the room over the water-wheel there was no chance of a glimpse of the trap.I could not stop up there, for I was all of a fret, and at last, screwing up my nerves to the sticking point, I went down determined to go boldly into the grinder’s shop, and see if Stevens was there.What an effort it was! I have often wondered since whether other boys would have suffered what I did under the circumstances, or whether I was a very great coward.Well, coward or no, I at last went straight into the grinder’s shop, and there was the plashing rumble of the great water-wheel beyond the door, the rattle of the bands and the whirr and whirl and screech of the grindstones as they spun round, and steel in some form or other was held to their edge.There were half a dozen faces I knew, and there was Gentles ready to smile at me with his great mouth and closed eyes.But I could only just glance at him and nod, for to my horror Stevens’ wheel was not going, and there was no one there.I felt the cold sweat gather all over my face, and a horrible sensation of dread assailed me; and then I turned and hurried out of the building, so that my ghastly face and its changes should not be seen.For just then I saw Stevens rise up from behind his grindstone with an oil-can in his hand—he had been busy oiling some part or other of the bearings.
Rash—cruel—unwise. Well, I’m afraid it was all those, but I was only a boy, and I was stung by the injustice and cowardly cruelty of the outrages perpetrated on us by the men who earned their bread in our works; and hence it was, that, instead of feeling any compunction in doing what I proposed, I was delighted with the idea, and longed for an opportunity to put it in force.
I was, then, very eager to begin, for the present calm, I felt sure, was only going before the storm, and after what I had found out I was anxious to be ready.
Pannell did not keep me waiting long.
Two days after I had made my plans with him I went into his smithy, and in answer to my inquiring look he said, in a heavy, unmoved way:
“Theer’s summut for you hung up i’ the forge chimney. She goes hard, but theer’s a steel bar ’long wi’ her as you can prise down the spring till she’s set. On’y mind thysen, lad—mind thysen.”
“And will it hold a man, Pannell?” I cried.
“Ay; this here’s noo pattern. I haven’t got into it yet I’ve got a rare lot of ’em to do.”
“But tell me,” I whispered, “will it?”
“Think this here noo steel’s better than owd fashion stoof?” he said.
“Bother the steel!” I said, speaking lower still. “I want you to tell me whether—”
“Bull-poop’s gettin’ too fat, Mester Jacob,” said Pannell. “Don’t give ’im so much meat. Spoils a dorg. Give un bones as he can break oop and yeat. That’s the stoof for dorgs. Gives un such a coat as never was.”
“Will you tell me?” I began, angrily.
“Nay, I wean’t tell thee nowt,” he growled. “I’ve telled thee enew as it is. Tek it when I’m not here, and good luck to thee!”
I could get no more from him, for he would not say another word about the trap, so I waited impatiently for the night so that I might smuggle it from the forge chimney into my desk.
When the time came it was quite absurd how many hindrances there were to my little task. I did not want to set it that night. I only wanted to get it in safety to my desk; but first there were men hanging about the smithies as if they were watching me; then there were my uncles; and lastly, there was Gentles, who made signs that he wished to speak to me, and I didn’t care to say anything to the sleek, oily fellow, who only wanted to what he called make it up.
At last, though, everyone had gone but Uncle Jack, who was busy writing a letter or two, and I was to wait for him, and we were going back together.
I slipped off to the smithy, and just as I was half-way there I turned quickly round, feeling quite cold, and as if I was found out, for I heard a curious yawning noise behind me.
It was only Piter, who looked up in my face and gave his tail a wag, and then butted his great head against my leg, holding it tightly there as if it was so heavy that he was glad to give it a rest.
I went on at once impatiently, and Piter’s head sank down, the dog uttering a low, discontented whine on being left. I glanced up at the wall, half expecting to see some one looking over and watching me; then up at the windows, fearing that one of the men might still be left.
But all was perfectly quiet, and though I half anticipated such an accident there was no one seated on the top of either of the great chimney-shafts in the neighbourhood watching me with a telescope.
I had a few more absurdly impossible ideas of this kind as I went along the yard, feeling horribly guilty and ready to give up my undertaking. The very silence and solitariness of the place startled me, but I went on and turned in at the open door of the smithy where Pannell worked, and breathed more freely as I looked round and saw that I was alone.
But to make sure I stepped up on to the work-bench and looked out of the window, but there was nothing but the dam to be seen there, and I leaped down and climbed on to the forge, with the coal-dust crushing under my feet, gave a last glance round, and was about to peer up the funnel-like, sheet-iron chimney, when there was a loud clang, and I bounded down, with my heart beating furiously.
I stamped my foot directly after and bit my lips angrily because I had been such a coward, for I had moved a pair of smiths’ tongs when I stepped up, and they had slid off on to the ground.
“I’m doing what I ought not to do,” I said to myself as I jumped on to the forge again, “but now I’ve gone so far I must go on.”
I peered up in the dark funnel and could see nothing, but I had come prepared, and striking a match I saw just before me, resting on a sooty ledge, the object of my quest.
I lifted it down, astounded at its size and weight, and found that it was an exact imitation of the rat-trap, but with blunt teeth, and a short steel lever with a point like a crowbar was attached to it by means of a bit of wire.
It was enormous, and I quite trembled at the idea of carrying it to the office; but after a sharp glance out of the doorway I took hold of the trap by the iron chain bound round it, and walked quickly to my own place, hoping that even if I had been seen, the watcher would not have been able to make out what I was carrying.
There was not much room to spare when I had laid the great trap in my desk, the lid of which would only just shut down over it; but once safely there, and with the key in the lock ready for me to turn if I heard steps, I had a good look at my treasure.
I was nervous now, and half repentant, for the instrument looked so formidable that I felt that I should not dare to use it.
I had a good look though, and found that it was very complete with chain and ring, and that the lever had a head to it like a pin, evidently so that after it had been used, it could be placed through the ring at the end of the chain, and driven down to act as a peg in the ground.
I had hardly arrived at all this when I heard Uncle Jack’s cough, and hastily closing the desk and locking it, I went to meet him.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long, my boy,” he said; “but I wanted to send word to your father how we are going on.”
It was on the second night that I put my plan into practice.
I had thought it all well out, and inspected my ground, which was just below the wall, pretty close to the edge of the dam, where I had seen some marks which had made me suspicious.
So as soon as Uncle Bob had gone to lie down, and I had begun my half of the watch, I fastened up Piter, took out my heavy trap, carried it down to the edge of the dam, and carefully felt the wall for the place I had marked by driving in a little nail.
I soon found it, placed my trap exactly beneath it, and wrenching down the spring by means of the lever, I tried to set it.
I had practised doing this in my own place, and could manage it pretty well, but in the darkness and excitement that troubled me now, it proved to be an exceedingly difficult job. Twice I managed to get it set, and was moving away when it went off with a startling clang that made me jump, and expect to see Uncle Bob come running out, especially as the dog set up a furious bark.
I quieted Piter though each time, and went and tried again till I managed my task, having to take great care that I did not hoist myself with my own petard, for it was a terribly dangerous engine that I was setting, though I did not think so then.
It was now set to my satisfaction, and being quite prepared with a big hammer, my next task was to drive in the lever like a peg right through the ring and up to the head, so that if I did catch my bird, there would be no chance of his getting away.
I felt about in the dark for a suitable place, and the most likely seemed to be just at the extent of the five feet of chain, which reached to the edge of the dam, where, between two of the big stones of the embankment, I fancied I could drive in the lever so that it could not be drawn out.
So taking the steel bar with the sharp edge I ran it through the ring, directed the point between two blocks of stone, and then began to drive.
As I said I was well prepared, having carefully thought out the whole affair, and I had bound several thicknesses of cloth over the head of the hammer like a pad so as to muffle the blows, and thus it was that I was able to drive it home without much noise.
At first it went in so easily that I was about to select a fresh place, but it soon became harder and firmer, and when I had done and felt the head it was quite immovable, and held the ring close down to the stones.
My idea had been to cover the trap with a handful or two of hay, but it was so dark that I thought I would leave it, as it was impossible to see it even from where I looked. I left it, meaning to come the next morning and set it free with a file, for I did not want to take up the peg, and I could get another for lever and join the chain with a strong padlock the next time.
It was about eleven o’clock when I had finished my task, and I did not know whether to be pleased or alarmed. I felt something like a boy might who had set a bait at the end of a line to catch a crocodile, and was then very much alarmed for fear he should have any luck.
I crept away and waited, thinking a great deal about Piter, and what would be the consequences if he walked over the trap, but I argued that the chances were a hundred thousand to one against his going to that particular spot. Besides, if I left him chained up Uncle Bob was not likely to unloose him, so I determined to run the risk, and leave the trap set when I went off guard.
The time went slowly by without any alarm, and though I went now and then cautiously in the direction of my trap it had not been disturbed, and I came away more and more confident that it was in so out of the way a part of the yard that it might be there for weeks unseen.
I felt better after this, and at the appointed time called Uncle Bob, who took his watch, and when he called me in the morning the wheel was turning, and the men were coming up to their work.
“I thought you were tired, Cob, so I let you lie till the last moment.”
I was so stupid and confused with sleep that I got up yawning; and we were half-way back home before, like a flash, there came to me the recollection of my trap.
I could not make an excuse and go back, though I tried hard to invent one; but went on by my uncle’s side so quiet and thoughtful that he made a remark.
“Bit done up, Cob! You ought to have another nap after dinner.”
“Oh, I’m all right, uncle,” I said, and I went on home with him to have steel-traps for breakfast and think of nothing else save what they had caught.
For I felt perfectly sure that someone had come over the wall in the night—Stevens I expected it would prove to be—and had put his foot right in the trap, which had sprung, caught him by the leg, and cut it right off, and I felt sure that when I got back I should find him lying there where he had bled to death.
The next thing that struck me was that I was a murderer, and that I should be tried and condemned to death, but respited and sentenced to transportation for life on account of my youth.
With such thoughts as these rushing through my brain it was not likely that I should enjoy the breakfast with the brown and pink ham so nicely fried, and the eggs that were so creamy white, and with such yolks of gold.
I didnotenjoy that breakfast, and I was feverishly anxious to get back to the works, and though first one and then another advised me to go and lie down, I insisted upon going.
I was all in a tremble as I reached the gate, and saw old Dunning’s serious face. I read in it reproach, and he seemed to be saying to me, “Oh, how could you do it?” Seemed, for what he did say was, “Nice pleasant morning, Mester Jacob!”
I told a story, for I said, “Yes, it is,” when it was to me the most painful and miserable morning I had ever experienced; but I dared not say a word, and for some time I could not find an opportunity for going down the yard.
Nobody ever did go down there, unless it was to wheel a worn-out grindstone to a resting-place or to carry some broken wood-work of the machinery to throw in a heap. There was the heap of coal and the heap of slack or coal-dust, both in the yard; but those who fetched the coal and slack fetched them from this side, and they never went on the other.
The last time I could recall the men going down there to the dam, was when we threw in Piter to give him a bath.
Piter! Had he been let loose? The thought that had come of him was startling, but easily set right, for there was the bull-dog fast asleep in his kennel.
Then there was Stevens!
The thought was horrible. He ought to be in the grinding-shop, and if he were not—I knew!
It would have been easy to go and look, but I felt that I could not, and I walked back to the gate and spoke to old Dunning.
“All the men come yet?” I said.
“No, Mester Jacob, they hevn’t all come yet,” he said.
I dare not ask any more. All had not come, and one of those who had not come was, of course, Stevens, and he was lying there dead.
I walked back with Dunning’s last words ringing in my ears.
“Ain’t you well, Mester Jacob?”
No, I was not well. I felt sick and miserable, and I would have given anything to have gone straight down the yard and seen the extent of the misery I had caused.
Oh! If I could have recalled the past, and undone everything; but that was impossible, and in a state of feverish anxiety I went upstairs to where the men were busy at lathe and dry grindstones, to try and get—a glimpse of my trap, as I hoped I could from one of the windows.
To my horror there were two men looking out, and I stopped dumb-foundered as I listened for their words, which I knew must be about the trapped man lying there.
“Nay, lad,” said one, “yow could buy better than they at pit’s mouth for eight shillings a chaldron.”
Oh, what a relief! It was like life to me, and going to one window I found that they could only see the heap of coals.
From the other windows there was no better view. Even from the room over the water-wheel there was no chance of a glimpse of the trap.
I could not stop up there, for I was all of a fret, and at last, screwing up my nerves to the sticking point, I went down determined to go boldly into the grinder’s shop, and see if Stevens was there.
What an effort it was! I have often wondered since whether other boys would have suffered what I did under the circumstances, or whether I was a very great coward.
Well, coward or no, I at last went straight into the grinder’s shop, and there was the plashing rumble of the great water-wheel beyond the door, the rattle of the bands and the whirr and whirl and screech of the grindstones as they spun round, and steel in some form or other was held to their edge.
There were half a dozen faces I knew, and there was Gentles ready to smile at me with his great mouth and closed eyes.
But I could only just glance at him and nod, for to my horror Stevens’ wheel was not going, and there was no one there.
I felt the cold sweat gather all over my face, and a horrible sensation of dread assailed me; and then I turned and hurried out of the building, so that my ghastly face and its changes should not be seen.
For just then I saw Stevens rise up from behind his grindstone with an oil-can in his hand—he had been busy oiling some part or other of the bearings.
Chapter Seventeen.My Travelling Companion.Somehow or another I could not get to that trap all that day, and night came, and still I could not get to it.I tried, but unless I had wanted to draw people’s attention to the fact that I had something there of great interest, I could not go.Even at leaving time it was as bad, and I found myself in the position that I must either tell one of my uncles what I had done, or leave the trap to take its chance.I chose the latter plan, and calling myself weak coward, went home, arguing to myself that no one would go in the spot where I had placed the trap, but some miscreant, and that it would serve him right.To my utter astonishment, directly after tea Uncle Dick turned to me.“Cob,” he said; “we have a special letter to send to Canonbury to your father, and a more particular one to bring back in answer, so we have decided that you shall take it up. You can have three or four days’ holiday, and it will be a pleasant change. Your mother and father will be delighted to see you, and, of course, you will be glad to see them.”“But when should I have to go?” I said.“To-night by the last train. Quarter to eleven—You’ll get to London about three in the morning. They expect one of us, so you will find them up.”“But—”“Don’t you want to go?” said Uncle Jack severely.“Yes,” I said; “but—”“But me no buts, as the man said in the old play. There, get ready, boy, and come back to us as soon as you can. Don’t make the worst of our troubles here, Cob.”“No, no,” said Uncle Dick, “because we are getting on famously as soon as we can manage the men.”“And that we are going to do,” said Uncle Bob. “I say I wish I were coming with you.”“Do, then,” I cried.“Get out, you young tempter! No,” said Uncle Bob. “Go and take your pleasure, and have pity upon the three poor fellows who are toiling here.”I was obliged to go, of course, but I must tell them about the trap first.Tellthem! No, I could not tell Uncle Dick or Uncle Jack. I was afraid that they would be angry with me, so I resolved to speak to Uncle Bob before I went—to take him fully into my confidence, and ask him to move the trap and put it safely away.It is so easy to make plans—so hard to carry them out.All through that evening I could not once get a chance to speak to Uncle Bob alone; and time went so fast that we were on our way to the station, and still I had not spoken. There was only the chance left—on the platform.“Don’t look so solid about it, Cob,” said Uncle Jack. “They’ll be delighted to see you, boy, and it will be a pleasant trip. But we want you back.”“I should think we do,” said Uncle Dick, laying his great hand on my shoulder and giving me an affectionate grip.“Yes, we couldn’t get on without our first lieutenant, Philosopher Cob,” said Uncle Bob.I tried to look bright and cheerful; but that trap had not got me by the leg—it seemed to be round my neck and to choke me from speaking.What was I to do? I could not get a chance. I dare not go away and leave that trap there without speaking, and already there was the distant rumble of the coming train. In a few minutes I should be on my way to London; and at last in despair I got close to Uncle Bob to speak, but in vain—I was put off.In came the train, drawing up to the side of the platform, and Uncle Bob ran off to find a comfortable compartment for me, looking after me as kindly as if I had been a woman.“Oh,” I thought, “if he would but have stayed!”“Good-bye, my lad!” said Uncle Dick. “Take care of yourself, Cob, and of the packet,” whispered Uncle Jack.I was about to slap my breast and say, “All right here!” but he caught my hand and held it down.“Don’t,” he said in a low half-angry voice. “Discretion, boy. If you have something valuable about you, don’t show people where it is.”I saw the wisdom of the rebuke and shook hands. “I’ll try and be wiser,” I whispered; “trust me.” He nodded, and this made me forget the trap for the moment. But Uncle Bob grasped my hand and brought it back.“Stand away, please,” shouted the guard; but Uncle Bob held on by my hand as the train moved.“Take care of yourself, lad. Call a cab the moment you reach the platform if your father is not there.”“Yes,” I said, reaching over a fellow-passenger to speak. “Uncle Bob,” I added quickly, “big trap in the corner of the yard; take it up at once—to-night.”“Yes, yes,” he said as he ran along the platform. “I’ll see to it. Good-bye!”We were off and he was waving his hand to me, and I saw him for a few moments, and then all was indistinct beneath the station lamps, and we were gliding on, with the glare and smoke and glow of the busy town lighting up the sky.It had all come to me so suddenly that I could hardly believe I was speeding away back to London; but once more comfortable in my mind with the promise that Uncle Bob had made to take up the trap, I sat back in the comfortable corner seat thinking of seeing my father and mother again, and of what a series of adventures I should have to relate.Then I had a look round at my fellow-passengers, of whom there were three—a stout old gentleman and a young lady who seemed to be his daughter, and a dark-eyed keen-looking man who was seated opposite to me, and who held a newspaper in his hand and had a couple of books with him.“I’d offer to lend you one,” he said, touching his books and smiling; “but you couldn’t read—I can’t. Horrible lights.”Just then a heavy snore from the old gentleman made the young lady lean over to him and touch him, waking him up with a start.The keen-looking man opposite to me raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly, shading his face from the other occupants with his newspaper.Three or four times over the old gentleman dropped asleep and had to be roused up, and my fellow-passenger smiled good-humouredly and said:“Might as well have let him sleep.”This was in a whisper, and he made two or three remarks to me.He seemed very much disposed to be friendly and pointed out the lights of a distant town or two.“Got in at Arrowfield, didn’t you?” he said at last.I replied that I did; and it was on the tip of my tongue to say, “So did you,” but I did not.“I’m going on to London,” he said. “Nasty time to get in—three in the morning. I hate it. No one about. Night cabs and milk carts, police and market wagons. People at the hotel always sleepy. Ah! Here we are at Westernbow.”For the train was stopping, and when it did draw up at the platform the old gentleman was roused up by the young lady, and they got out and left us alone.“Ha! Ha!” said my companion, “that’s better. Give us room to stretch our legs. Do you bet?”“No,” I said, “never.”“Good, lad! Don’t; very bad habit. I do; I’ve lots of bad habits. But I was going to say, I’ll bet you an even half-crown that we don’t have another passenger from here to London.”“I hope we shall not,” I said as I thought of a nap on the seat.“So do I, sir—so do I,” he said, nodding his head quickly. “I vote we lie down and make the best of it—by and by. Have a cigar first?”“Thank you; I don’t smoke,” I said.“I do. Will you excuse me if I have a cigar? Not a smoking carriage—more comfortable.”I assured him that I should not mind; and he took out a cigar, lit it, and began to smoke.“Better have one,” he said. “Mild as mild. They won’t hurt you.”I thanked him again and declined, sitting back and watching him as he smoked on seeming to enjoy his cigar, and made a remark or two about the beautiful night and the stars as the train dashed on.After a time he took out a flask, slipped off the plated cup at the bottom, and unscrewed the top, pouring out afterward some clear-looking liquid.“Have a drink?” he said, offering me the flask-cup; but I shook my head.“No, thank you,” I said; and somehow I began thinking of the water I had drunk at the works, and which had made me so terribly sleepy.I don’t know how it was, but I did think about that, and it was in my mind as he said laughingly:“What! Not drink a little drop of mild stuff like that? Well, you are a fellow! Why it’s like milk.”He seemed to toss it off.“Better have a drop,” he said.I declined.“Nonsense! Do,” he cried. “Do you good. Come, have a drink.”He grew more persistent, but the more persistent he was the more I shrank from the cup he held in his hand; and at last I felt sorry, for he seemed so kind that it was ungracious of me to refuse him so simple a request.“Oh, very well!” he said, “just as you like. There will be the more for me.”He laughed, nodded, and drank the contents of the cup before putting the screw-top on the flask, thrusting it in his breast-pocket, and then making a cushion of his railway wrapper he lay at full length upon the cushion, and seemed to compose himself to sleep.It was such a good example that, after a few minutes’ silence, I did the same, and lay with my eyes half-closed, listening to the dull rattle of the train, and thinking of the works at Arrowfield, and what a good job it was that I spoke to Uncle Bob about the trap.Then I hoped he would not be incautious and hurt himself in letting off the spring.I looked across at my fellow-traveller, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, and the sight of his closed eyes made mine heavy, and no wonder, for every other night I had been on guard at the works, and that seemed to shorten my allowance of sleep to a terrible degree.I knew there could be no mistake, for I was going as far as the train went, and the guard would be sure to wake me up if I was fast asleep.And how satisfactory it seemed to be lying there on the soft cushions instead of walking about the works and the yard the previous night. I was growing more and more sleepy, the motion of the train serving to lull me; and then, all at once, I was wide-awake staring at the bubble of glass that formed the lamp in the ceiling, and wondering where I was.I recollected directly and glanced at my fellow-traveller, to see that he was a little uneasy, one of his legs being off the seat; but he was breathing heavily, and evidently fast asleep.I lay watching him for a few minutes, and then the sweet restful feeling mastered me again, and I went off fast asleep. One moment there was the compartment with its cushions and lamp with the rush and sway of the carriage that made me think it must be something like this on board ship; the next I was back at the works keeping watch and wondering whether either of the men would come and make any attempt upon the place.I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but all at once, without moving, I was wide-awake with my eyes closed, fully realising that I had a valuable packet of some kind in my breast-pocket, and that my fellow-traveller was softly unbuttoning my overcoat so as to get it out.I lay perfectly still for a moment or two, and then leaped up and bounded to the other side of the carriage.“There, it is of no use,” said my fellow-traveller; “pull that letter out of your pocket and give it to me quietly or—”He said no more, but took a pistol out of his breast, while I shrank up against the farther door, the window of which was open, and stared at him aghast.“Do you hear?” he said fiercely. “Come; no nonsense! I want that letter. There, I don’t want to frighten you, boy. Come and sit down; I sha’n’t hurt you.”The train was flying along at forty miles an hour at least, and this man knew that the packet I had was valuable. How he knew it I could not tell, but he must have found out at Arrowfield. He was going to take it from me, and if he got it what was he going to do?I thought it all over as if in a flash.He was going to steal the packet, and he would know that I should complain at the first station we reached; and he would prevent this, I felt sure. But how?There was only one way. He had threatened me with a pistol, but I did not think he would use that. No; there was only one way, and it was this—he would rob me and throw me out of the train.My legs shook under me as I thought this, and the light in the carriage seemed to be dancing up and down, as I put my right arm out of the window and hung to the side to keep myself up.All this was a matter of moments, and it seemed to be directly after my fellow-passenger had spoken first that he roared out, “Do you hear, sir? Come here!”I did not move, and he made a dash at me, but, as he did, my right hand rested on the fastening of the door outside, turned the handle, and clinging to it, I swung out into the rushing wind, turning half round as the door banged heavily back, when, by an instinctive motion, my left hand caught at anything to save me from falling, grasped the bar that ran along between door and door, and the next moment, how I know not, I was clinging to this bar with my feet on the foot-board, and my eyes strained back at the open door, out of which my fellow-passenger leaned.“You young idiot, come back!” he roared; but the effect of his words was to make me shrink farther away, catching at the handle of the next door, and then reaching on to the next bar, so that I was now several feet away.The wind seemed as if it would tear me from the foot-board, and I was obliged to keep my face away to breathe; but I clung to the bar tightly, and watched the fierce face that was thrust out of the door I had left.“Am I to come after you?” he roared. “Come back!”My answer was to creep past another door, to find to my horror that this was the last, and that there was a great gap between me and the next carriage.What was I to do? Jump, with the train dashing along at such a rate that it seemed as if I must be shaken down or torn off by the wind.I stared back horror-stricken and then uttered a cry of fear, as the window I had just passed was thrown open and a man leaned out.“I’ll swear I heard someone shout,” he said to a travelling companion, and he looked back along the train. “Yes,” he continued, “there’s someone three compartments back looking out. Oh, he’s gone in now. Wonder what it was!”Just then he turned his head in my direction, and saw my white face.I saw him start as I clung there just a little way below him to his right, and within easy reach, and, for I should think a minute, we stared hard at each other.Then he spoke in a quiet matter-of-fact way.“Don’t be scared, my lad,” he said; “it’s alright. I can take hold of you tightly. Hold fast till I get you by the arms. That’s it; now loose your right hand and take hold of the door; here pass it in. That’s the way; edge along. I’ve got you tight. Come along; now the other hand in. That’s the way.”I obeyed him, for he seemed to force me to by his firm way, but the thought came over me, “Suppose he is that man’s companion.” But even if he had been, I was too much unnerved to do anything but what he bade me, so I passed one hand on to the window-frame of the door, then edged along and stood holding on with the other hand, for he had me as if his grasp was a vice, and then his hands glided down to my waist. He gripped me by my clothes and flesh, and before I could realise it he had dragged me right in through the window and placed me on the seat.Then dragging up the window he sank back opposite to me and cried to a gentleman standing in the compartment:“Give me a drop of brandy, Jem, or I shall faint!”I crouched back there, quivering and unable to speak. I was so unnerved; but I saw the other gentleman hand a flask to the bluff-looking man who had saved me, and I saw him take a hearty draught and draw long breath, after which he turned to me.“You young scoundrel!” he cried; “how dare you give me such a fright!”I tried to speak, but the words would not come. I was choking, and I believe for a minute I literally sobbed.“There, there, my lad,” said the other kindly, “You’re all right. Don’t speak to him like that now, Jordan. The boy’s had a horrible scare.”“Scare!” said the big bluff man; “and so have I. Why, my heart was in my mouth. I wouldn’t go through it again for a hundred pounds. How did you come there, sir?”“Let him be for a few minutes,” said the other gently. “He’ll come round directly, and tell us.”I gave him a grateful look and held out my wet hand, which he took and held in his.“The boy has had a terrible shock,” he said. “He’ll tell us soon. Don’t hurry, my lad. There, be calm.”I clung to his hand, for he seemed to steady me, my hand jerking and twitching, and a curious sensation of horror that I had never felt before seeming to be upon me; but by degrees this passed off, the more quickly that the two gentlemen went on talking as if I were not there.“I’m so much obliged,” I said at last, and the big bluff man laughed.“Don’t name it,” he said, nodding good-humouredly. “Five guineas is my fee.”I shivered.“And my friend here, Doctor Brown, will have a bigger one for his advice.”“He’s joking you, my lad,” said the other gentleman smiling. “I see you are not hurt.”“No, sir,” I said; “I—”The trembling came over me again, and I could not speak for a minute or two, but sat gazing helplessly from one to the other.“Give him a drop of brandy,” said the big bluff man.“No, let him be for a few minutes; he’s mastering it,” was the reply.This did me good, and making an effort I said quickly:“A man in the carriage tried to rob me, and I got on to the foot-board and came along here.”“Then you did what I dare not have done,” said the one who dragged me in. “But a pretty state of affairs this. On the railway, and no means of communicating.”“But there are means.”“Tchah! How was the poor lad to make use of them? Well, we shall have the scoundrel, unless he gets out of the train and jumps for it. We must look out when we stop for taking the tickets. We shall not halt before.”By degrees I grew quite composed, and told them all.“Yes,” said my big friend, “it was very brave of you; but I think I should have parted with all I had sooner than have run such a risk.”“If it had been your own,” said the other gentleman. “In this case it seems to me the boy would have been robbed, and probably thrown out afterwards upon the line. I think you did quite right, my lad, but I should not recommend the practice to anyone else.”They chatted to me pleasantly enough till the train began at last to slacken speed preparatory to stopping for the tickets to be taken, and at the first symptom of this my two new friends jumped up and let down the windows, each leaning out so as to command a view of the back of the train.I should have liked to look back as well, but that was impossible, so I had to be content to sit and listen; but I was not kept long in suspense, for all at once the quieter and more gentlemanly of my companions exclaimed:“I thought as much. He has just jumped off, and run down the embankment. There he goes!”I ran to the side, and caught a glimpse of a figure melting away into the darkness. Then it was gone.“There goes all chance of punishing the scoundrel,” said the big bluff man, turning to me and smiling good-temperedly. “I should have liked to catch him, but I couldn’t afford to risk my neck in your service, young man.”I thanked him as well as I could, and made up my mind that if my father was waiting on the platform he should make a more satisfactory recognition of the services that had been performed.This did not, however, prove so easy as I had hoped, for in the confusion of trying to bring them together when I found my father waiting, I reached the spot where I had left my travelling-companions just in time to see them drive off in a cab.
Somehow or another I could not get to that trap all that day, and night came, and still I could not get to it.
I tried, but unless I had wanted to draw people’s attention to the fact that I had something there of great interest, I could not go.
Even at leaving time it was as bad, and I found myself in the position that I must either tell one of my uncles what I had done, or leave the trap to take its chance.
I chose the latter plan, and calling myself weak coward, went home, arguing to myself that no one would go in the spot where I had placed the trap, but some miscreant, and that it would serve him right.
To my utter astonishment, directly after tea Uncle Dick turned to me.
“Cob,” he said; “we have a special letter to send to Canonbury to your father, and a more particular one to bring back in answer, so we have decided that you shall take it up. You can have three or four days’ holiday, and it will be a pleasant change. Your mother and father will be delighted to see you, and, of course, you will be glad to see them.”
“But when should I have to go?” I said.
“To-night by the last train. Quarter to eleven—You’ll get to London about three in the morning. They expect one of us, so you will find them up.”
“But—”
“Don’t you want to go?” said Uncle Jack severely.
“Yes,” I said; “but—”
“But me no buts, as the man said in the old play. There, get ready, boy, and come back to us as soon as you can. Don’t make the worst of our troubles here, Cob.”
“No, no,” said Uncle Dick, “because we are getting on famously as soon as we can manage the men.”
“And that we are going to do,” said Uncle Bob. “I say I wish I were coming with you.”
“Do, then,” I cried.
“Get out, you young tempter! No,” said Uncle Bob. “Go and take your pleasure, and have pity upon the three poor fellows who are toiling here.”
I was obliged to go, of course, but I must tell them about the trap first.
Tellthem! No, I could not tell Uncle Dick or Uncle Jack. I was afraid that they would be angry with me, so I resolved to speak to Uncle Bob before I went—to take him fully into my confidence, and ask him to move the trap and put it safely away.
It is so easy to make plans—so hard to carry them out.
All through that evening I could not once get a chance to speak to Uncle Bob alone; and time went so fast that we were on our way to the station, and still I had not spoken. There was only the chance left—on the platform.
“Don’t look so solid about it, Cob,” said Uncle Jack. “They’ll be delighted to see you, boy, and it will be a pleasant trip. But we want you back.”
“I should think we do,” said Uncle Dick, laying his great hand on my shoulder and giving me an affectionate grip.
“Yes, we couldn’t get on without our first lieutenant, Philosopher Cob,” said Uncle Bob.
I tried to look bright and cheerful; but that trap had not got me by the leg—it seemed to be round my neck and to choke me from speaking.
What was I to do? I could not get a chance. I dare not go away and leave that trap there without speaking, and already there was the distant rumble of the coming train. In a few minutes I should be on my way to London; and at last in despair I got close to Uncle Bob to speak, but in vain—I was put off.
In came the train, drawing up to the side of the platform, and Uncle Bob ran off to find a comfortable compartment for me, looking after me as kindly as if I had been a woman.
“Oh,” I thought, “if he would but have stayed!”
“Good-bye, my lad!” said Uncle Dick. “Take care of yourself, Cob, and of the packet,” whispered Uncle Jack.
I was about to slap my breast and say, “All right here!” but he caught my hand and held it down.
“Don’t,” he said in a low half-angry voice. “Discretion, boy. If you have something valuable about you, don’t show people where it is.”
I saw the wisdom of the rebuke and shook hands. “I’ll try and be wiser,” I whispered; “trust me.” He nodded, and this made me forget the trap for the moment. But Uncle Bob grasped my hand and brought it back.
“Stand away, please,” shouted the guard; but Uncle Bob held on by my hand as the train moved.
“Take care of yourself, lad. Call a cab the moment you reach the platform if your father is not there.”
“Yes,” I said, reaching over a fellow-passenger to speak. “Uncle Bob,” I added quickly, “big trap in the corner of the yard; take it up at once—to-night.”
“Yes, yes,” he said as he ran along the platform. “I’ll see to it. Good-bye!”
We were off and he was waving his hand to me, and I saw him for a few moments, and then all was indistinct beneath the station lamps, and we were gliding on, with the glare and smoke and glow of the busy town lighting up the sky.
It had all come to me so suddenly that I could hardly believe I was speeding away back to London; but once more comfortable in my mind with the promise that Uncle Bob had made to take up the trap, I sat back in the comfortable corner seat thinking of seeing my father and mother again, and of what a series of adventures I should have to relate.
Then I had a look round at my fellow-passengers, of whom there were three—a stout old gentleman and a young lady who seemed to be his daughter, and a dark-eyed keen-looking man who was seated opposite to me, and who held a newspaper in his hand and had a couple of books with him.
“I’d offer to lend you one,” he said, touching his books and smiling; “but you couldn’t read—I can’t. Horrible lights.”
Just then a heavy snore from the old gentleman made the young lady lean over to him and touch him, waking him up with a start.
The keen-looking man opposite to me raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly, shading his face from the other occupants with his newspaper.
Three or four times over the old gentleman dropped asleep and had to be roused up, and my fellow-passenger smiled good-humouredly and said:
“Might as well have let him sleep.”
This was in a whisper, and he made two or three remarks to me.
He seemed very much disposed to be friendly and pointed out the lights of a distant town or two.
“Got in at Arrowfield, didn’t you?” he said at last.
I replied that I did; and it was on the tip of my tongue to say, “So did you,” but I did not.
“I’m going on to London,” he said. “Nasty time to get in—three in the morning. I hate it. No one about. Night cabs and milk carts, police and market wagons. People at the hotel always sleepy. Ah! Here we are at Westernbow.”
For the train was stopping, and when it did draw up at the platform the old gentleman was roused up by the young lady, and they got out and left us alone.
“Ha! Ha!” said my companion, “that’s better. Give us room to stretch our legs. Do you bet?”
“No,” I said, “never.”
“Good, lad! Don’t; very bad habit. I do; I’ve lots of bad habits. But I was going to say, I’ll bet you an even half-crown that we don’t have another passenger from here to London.”
“I hope we shall not,” I said as I thought of a nap on the seat.
“So do I, sir—so do I,” he said, nodding his head quickly. “I vote we lie down and make the best of it—by and by. Have a cigar first?”
“Thank you; I don’t smoke,” I said.
“I do. Will you excuse me if I have a cigar? Not a smoking carriage—more comfortable.”
I assured him that I should not mind; and he took out a cigar, lit it, and began to smoke.
“Better have one,” he said. “Mild as mild. They won’t hurt you.”
I thanked him again and declined, sitting back and watching him as he smoked on seeming to enjoy his cigar, and made a remark or two about the beautiful night and the stars as the train dashed on.
After a time he took out a flask, slipped off the plated cup at the bottom, and unscrewed the top, pouring out afterward some clear-looking liquid.
“Have a drink?” he said, offering me the flask-cup; but I shook my head.
“No, thank you,” I said; and somehow I began thinking of the water I had drunk at the works, and which had made me so terribly sleepy.
I don’t know how it was, but I did think about that, and it was in my mind as he said laughingly:
“What! Not drink a little drop of mild stuff like that? Well, you are a fellow! Why it’s like milk.”
He seemed to toss it off.
“Better have a drop,” he said.
I declined.
“Nonsense! Do,” he cried. “Do you good. Come, have a drink.”
He grew more persistent, but the more persistent he was the more I shrank from the cup he held in his hand; and at last I felt sorry, for he seemed so kind that it was ungracious of me to refuse him so simple a request.
“Oh, very well!” he said, “just as you like. There will be the more for me.”
He laughed, nodded, and drank the contents of the cup before putting the screw-top on the flask, thrusting it in his breast-pocket, and then making a cushion of his railway wrapper he lay at full length upon the cushion, and seemed to compose himself to sleep.
It was such a good example that, after a few minutes’ silence, I did the same, and lay with my eyes half-closed, listening to the dull rattle of the train, and thinking of the works at Arrowfield, and what a good job it was that I spoke to Uncle Bob about the trap.
Then I hoped he would not be incautious and hurt himself in letting off the spring.
I looked across at my fellow-traveller, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, and the sight of his closed eyes made mine heavy, and no wonder, for every other night I had been on guard at the works, and that seemed to shorten my allowance of sleep to a terrible degree.
I knew there could be no mistake, for I was going as far as the train went, and the guard would be sure to wake me up if I was fast asleep.
And how satisfactory it seemed to be lying there on the soft cushions instead of walking about the works and the yard the previous night. I was growing more and more sleepy, the motion of the train serving to lull me; and then, all at once, I was wide-awake staring at the bubble of glass that formed the lamp in the ceiling, and wondering where I was.
I recollected directly and glanced at my fellow-traveller, to see that he was a little uneasy, one of his legs being off the seat; but he was breathing heavily, and evidently fast asleep.
I lay watching him for a few minutes, and then the sweet restful feeling mastered me again, and I went off fast asleep. One moment there was the compartment with its cushions and lamp with the rush and sway of the carriage that made me think it must be something like this on board ship; the next I was back at the works keeping watch and wondering whether either of the men would come and make any attempt upon the place.
I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but all at once, without moving, I was wide-awake with my eyes closed, fully realising that I had a valuable packet of some kind in my breast-pocket, and that my fellow-traveller was softly unbuttoning my overcoat so as to get it out.
I lay perfectly still for a moment or two, and then leaped up and bounded to the other side of the carriage.
“There, it is of no use,” said my fellow-traveller; “pull that letter out of your pocket and give it to me quietly or—”
He said no more, but took a pistol out of his breast, while I shrank up against the farther door, the window of which was open, and stared at him aghast.
“Do you hear?” he said fiercely. “Come; no nonsense! I want that letter. There, I don’t want to frighten you, boy. Come and sit down; I sha’n’t hurt you.”
The train was flying along at forty miles an hour at least, and this man knew that the packet I had was valuable. How he knew it I could not tell, but he must have found out at Arrowfield. He was going to take it from me, and if he got it what was he going to do?
I thought it all over as if in a flash.
He was going to steal the packet, and he would know that I should complain at the first station we reached; and he would prevent this, I felt sure. But how?
There was only one way. He had threatened me with a pistol, but I did not think he would use that. No; there was only one way, and it was this—he would rob me and throw me out of the train.
My legs shook under me as I thought this, and the light in the carriage seemed to be dancing up and down, as I put my right arm out of the window and hung to the side to keep myself up.
All this was a matter of moments, and it seemed to be directly after my fellow-passenger had spoken first that he roared out, “Do you hear, sir? Come here!”
I did not move, and he made a dash at me, but, as he did, my right hand rested on the fastening of the door outside, turned the handle, and clinging to it, I swung out into the rushing wind, turning half round as the door banged heavily back, when, by an instinctive motion, my left hand caught at anything to save me from falling, grasped the bar that ran along between door and door, and the next moment, how I know not, I was clinging to this bar with my feet on the foot-board, and my eyes strained back at the open door, out of which my fellow-passenger leaned.
“You young idiot, come back!” he roared; but the effect of his words was to make me shrink farther away, catching at the handle of the next door, and then reaching on to the next bar, so that I was now several feet away.
The wind seemed as if it would tear me from the foot-board, and I was obliged to keep my face away to breathe; but I clung to the bar tightly, and watched the fierce face that was thrust out of the door I had left.
“Am I to come after you?” he roared. “Come back!”
My answer was to creep past another door, to find to my horror that this was the last, and that there was a great gap between me and the next carriage.
What was I to do? Jump, with the train dashing along at such a rate that it seemed as if I must be shaken down or torn off by the wind.
I stared back horror-stricken and then uttered a cry of fear, as the window I had just passed was thrown open and a man leaned out.
“I’ll swear I heard someone shout,” he said to a travelling companion, and he looked back along the train. “Yes,” he continued, “there’s someone three compartments back looking out. Oh, he’s gone in now. Wonder what it was!”
Just then he turned his head in my direction, and saw my white face.
I saw him start as I clung there just a little way below him to his right, and within easy reach, and, for I should think a minute, we stared hard at each other.
Then he spoke in a quiet matter-of-fact way.
“Don’t be scared, my lad,” he said; “it’s alright. I can take hold of you tightly. Hold fast till I get you by the arms. That’s it; now loose your right hand and take hold of the door; here pass it in. That’s the way; edge along. I’ve got you tight. Come along; now the other hand in. That’s the way.”
I obeyed him, for he seemed to force me to by his firm way, but the thought came over me, “Suppose he is that man’s companion.” But even if he had been, I was too much unnerved to do anything but what he bade me, so I passed one hand on to the window-frame of the door, then edged along and stood holding on with the other hand, for he had me as if his grasp was a vice, and then his hands glided down to my waist. He gripped me by my clothes and flesh, and before I could realise it he had dragged me right in through the window and placed me on the seat.
Then dragging up the window he sank back opposite to me and cried to a gentleman standing in the compartment:
“Give me a drop of brandy, Jem, or I shall faint!”
I crouched back there, quivering and unable to speak. I was so unnerved; but I saw the other gentleman hand a flask to the bluff-looking man who had saved me, and I saw him take a hearty draught and draw long breath, after which he turned to me.
“You young scoundrel!” he cried; “how dare you give me such a fright!”
I tried to speak, but the words would not come. I was choking, and I believe for a minute I literally sobbed.
“There, there, my lad,” said the other kindly, “You’re all right. Don’t speak to him like that now, Jordan. The boy’s had a horrible scare.”
“Scare!” said the big bluff man; “and so have I. Why, my heart was in my mouth. I wouldn’t go through it again for a hundred pounds. How did you come there, sir?”
“Let him be for a few minutes,” said the other gently. “He’ll come round directly, and tell us.”
I gave him a grateful look and held out my wet hand, which he took and held in his.
“The boy has had a terrible shock,” he said. “He’ll tell us soon. Don’t hurry, my lad. There, be calm.”
I clung to his hand, for he seemed to steady me, my hand jerking and twitching, and a curious sensation of horror that I had never felt before seeming to be upon me; but by degrees this passed off, the more quickly that the two gentlemen went on talking as if I were not there.
“I’m so much obliged,” I said at last, and the big bluff man laughed.
“Don’t name it,” he said, nodding good-humouredly. “Five guineas is my fee.”
I shivered.
“And my friend here, Doctor Brown, will have a bigger one for his advice.”
“He’s joking you, my lad,” said the other gentleman smiling. “I see you are not hurt.”
“No, sir,” I said; “I—”
The trembling came over me again, and I could not speak for a minute or two, but sat gazing helplessly from one to the other.
“Give him a drop of brandy,” said the big bluff man.
“No, let him be for a few minutes; he’s mastering it,” was the reply.
This did me good, and making an effort I said quickly:
“A man in the carriage tried to rob me, and I got on to the foot-board and came along here.”
“Then you did what I dare not have done,” said the one who dragged me in. “But a pretty state of affairs this. On the railway, and no means of communicating.”
“But there are means.”
“Tchah! How was the poor lad to make use of them? Well, we shall have the scoundrel, unless he gets out of the train and jumps for it. We must look out when we stop for taking the tickets. We shall not halt before.”
By degrees I grew quite composed, and told them all.
“Yes,” said my big friend, “it was very brave of you; but I think I should have parted with all I had sooner than have run such a risk.”
“If it had been your own,” said the other gentleman. “In this case it seems to me the boy would have been robbed, and probably thrown out afterwards upon the line. I think you did quite right, my lad, but I should not recommend the practice to anyone else.”
They chatted to me pleasantly enough till the train began at last to slacken speed preparatory to stopping for the tickets to be taken, and at the first symptom of this my two new friends jumped up and let down the windows, each leaning out so as to command a view of the back of the train.
I should have liked to look back as well, but that was impossible, so I had to be content to sit and listen; but I was not kept long in suspense, for all at once the quieter and more gentlemanly of my companions exclaimed:
“I thought as much. He has just jumped off, and run down the embankment. There he goes!”
I ran to the side, and caught a glimpse of a figure melting away into the darkness. Then it was gone.
“There goes all chance of punishing the scoundrel,” said the big bluff man, turning to me and smiling good-temperedly. “I should have liked to catch him, but I couldn’t afford to risk my neck in your service, young man.”
I thanked him as well as I could, and made up my mind that if my father was waiting on the platform he should make a more satisfactory recognition of the services that had been performed.
This did not, however, prove so easy as I had hoped, for in the confusion of trying to bring them together when I found my father waiting, I reached the spot where I had left my travelling-companions just in time to see them drive off in a cab.