‘Ah tinkle, ah tinkle, ah tinkle tang,It’s not foor your part nor mah part’At ah ride the stang,But foor you, Geordie Robertson, who his wife did bang.’
‘Ah tinkle, ah tinkle, ah tinkle tang,
It’s not foor your part nor mah part
’At ah ride the stang,
But foor you, Geordie Robertson, who his wife did bang.’
Scarcely had he ended when the shrill trebles of the boys took up the wondrous tale, and in antiphony chanted their response:
‘Up wiv a bump and down wiv a bangGans Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang;A bump an’ a bang for his deed sae wrang,An’ we’ll larn him a lesson for ever sae lang.’
‘Up wiv a bump and down wiv a bang
Gans Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang;
A bump an’ a bang for his deed sae wrang,
An’ we’ll larn him a lesson for ever sae lang.’
Then, to the full chorus, with completeorchestra of flute and fife, trombone and triangle, tin whistle and ‘sarpint,’ brass pot, pan, and saucepan-lids, the entire procession moved slowly onward.
Mary’s eyes burned bright with exultation as she marched along in the crowd, not letting a single incident of the spectacle escape her notice, and as she watched she too joined in the chorus of ‘Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang’ without restraint.
The sound of the familiar voice roused the victim from the stupor into which the hustling, peltings, and shoutings had reduced him.
‘Thoo ——,’ he yelled, as he caught sight of her; ‘then it’s thoo that’s at the bottom o’ this? By, but if Aa wes free Aa’d——’ But a stalk of cabbage thrown at a venture by a small boy on the skirts of the crowd here impeded his utterance, and Mary’s voice rang out perhaps more triumphantly than before.
The ‘fancy’ wife, meanwhile, who had atfirst discreetly retired from public view and looked on at the procession from a distance, had shortly after joined the noisy throng, moved thereto by a sense of isolation, and also by a certain smouldering compunction. She looked around her irresolutely; she felt she had acted precipitately; certainly she was not deriving any advantage from the proceedings, whereas her rival was the leader of the revelry, dancing, clapping her hands, and carrying on like a ‘Maypole lass.’
At this moment Mary inadvertently brushed against her, and in a moment the ‘fancy’ wife turned upon her like a spitfire. Clenching her fists and shouting vituperations, she tried to seize her by the hair. Foiled in this by an adroit swerve of Mary’s under the ‘stang,’ she turned her fury upon Geordie’s bearers, and with such success that to defend themselves they were forced to lower the pole to the ground. ‘Noo, Geordie,’ cried she, promptly thrusting the wooden weapon into his hands, ‘mak’ playwiv it, my man, ho-way,’ and Geordie, realizing he was now free, lunged furiously in all directions, and scattered the crowd like chaff before him.
Steered by his ‘fancy’ wife, a way grew clear about them, and Geordie marched slowly, unsteadily forward, bearing the ‘stang’ like a battering-ram straight in front of him, down the remaining length of the Row, accompanied at a respectful distance by a rabble of the smaller urchins.
Right on past his house he went, out into the darkness beyond, and over the bridge at the end of the village, still tightly grasping the ‘stang’ himself, and tightly grasped in his turn by his ‘fancy’ wife.
The last train to Oldcastle happened to pass above the bridge at that moment, and a head leant far out through a carriage window.
‘Ay!’ a clear voice sounded, with a touch of derision on the night air—‘Ay! that’s right, haud him tight, for he wants it badlies.’
Quaker John was one of the best known figures in the small seaport town of Old Quay. Short of stature, heavy of tread, always quietly attired in a black suit, which varied not in cut from year to year; indeed, the same suit had once been known to do duty for three years together, till his wife one day, so ’twas said, handed them over to the chimney-sweep in mistaken identity. You might have told that he was of Puritan descent some yards away, but the ‘letter of the law’ in him had been softened down by the kindly genius of the old-fashioned Quaker. A genial twinkle lay in hiding at the back of his steadfast eye, and a smile was always ‘at heel’ beside his big and honest mouth.
A broad and spectacled nose completed the portrait of one in whom the harmlessness as of a dove did not of necessity efface the wisdom of the serpent. At least, so said Yankee Bill, who read character ‘at sight’; but then, Bill was a disciple of that cynical logic which proclaims not only all priests to be humbugs, but all men immersed in business who make pretensions to piety to be hypocrites or fools.
He had happened to pass along the street one ‘fourth-day’ morning as John came out of the meeting-house, and overheard him address a remark about business to a Quaker friend at his side, and thereafter was merciless in ridicule. ‘John’s patent incubator,’ he styled the meeting-house, ‘for plot-hatching,’ and pretended to be afraid of doing business with him on Wednesday afternoons for fear of being ‘skinned.’
Bill was a waif from the seas who had somehow been thrown up at Old Quay a few years back, and having ‘prospected around’and ‘pegged out a claim’ for himself in the indiscriminate region of commission business, life insurance, advertising agencies, secretaryships, and other nebulous formative processes, was now almost as well-known a figure in the town as Quaker John himself.
The chief foundation in any abiding friendship is a certain diversity of temperament which those who wondered at the mutual liking that had sprung up between the retiring stockbroker’s clerk and the worldly Yankee had evidently overlooked. To John the American’s audacity was a perpetual delight, tempered by occasional Puritan scruples as to whether he was justified in associating with so hardened an unbeliever. To Bill Coody the Quaker’s reposefulness and quiet self-sufficiency were both a sleeping-draught and irritant.
Nothing delighted him more than to get a rise out of John; but John was hard to catch, and even when craftily inveigled into atheological argument, was extremely chary of entering into definite statements. Even when his position was most hotly assailed by the other, who made unsparing use of theargumentum ad hominem, reinforced by a store of malicious anecdotes of religious ‘professors’ all the world over, John never lost his temper, but mildly suggested that his antagonist was an Anarchist in disguise.
John himself, though immersed in business which some of the ‘plain people’ have been used to look askance at, lived after the simple fashion of the straiter sect.
After his day’s work at the office, where as head clerk much responsibility lay on his shoulders, he would go straight home and employ his leisure on fine days in his garden, and on wet days in his library, for John was not only a book-collector, but also a reader.
One pipe of tobacco he allowed himself before going to bed on week days and two on ‘first-days,’ and flavoured his tobacco witha chapter of ‘George,’ as he styled in affectionate intimacy his favourite author (Mr. Meredith) on week-days, but a portion of Barclay’s ‘Apology’ on ‘first-day’ evenings.
One evening John was sitting reading as usual, when the maid-servant came in to say that Mr. Coody wished to have a few words with him. ‘Very well,’ replied her master, laying aside ‘George’ with a sigh, and wondering what business Bill might have on hand to come at such an untimely hour.
In came his friend as unceremoniously as ever, and, sitting himself down on the sofa, drew vigorously at his cheroot for a minute or two before entering upon the topic that had brought him thither.
‘Look here, John,’ he exclaimed all at once, ‘you’re a confidential cuss, I guess, and I’ve got a scheme on hand that will “scoop the boodle” if properly carried out; and what I want to know is, whether your people will take a hand in it or no. It’s a certain thing, and will go ahead like a runawaybuggy anyway; but the less friction the better, so that if your people will grease the wheels a bit, so much the better for them and all consarned.’
‘Tell me precisely what it is,’ replied John cautiously, ‘then I may be able to offer an opinion; but, of course, I can’t say off-hand whether the firm will entertain the idea or not.’
‘Waal,’ replied Bill, ‘I guess you’re the firm pretty often, for your bosses are generally away huntin’ or shootin’ or foolin’ around somewhere; anyway, your advice is generally listened to, I guess. Waal, to come to business. I’m fixin’ up a new store on the most modern principles. I sell everything cheaper than anybody else anywhere in this little country of yours; any bloomin’ thing that’s asked for, why, it’s there, delivered free to any part of the United Kingdom. Everybody comes along—Noah’s Ark on a wet day ain’t in it for the pushin’ there’ll be at our doors once we get opened out—and,another thing, everybody gets made into an automatic shareholder; for profits have to lie till they reach £5, when each man, woman, and child gets a share given them, will they, nill they—and you bet, John, they will. I tell you, the thing’s fixed up, and is goin’ to give Old Quay shocks. Why, I’m buyin’ up here and there bankrupt stocks enough to bust the place with—pianners, hardware, bicycles, rose-trees, fam’ly Bibles, rat-traps—every taste will be suited, for I tell you cosmopolitanism ain’t in it with Bill Coody. I tell you I’ll be in a position to bust every single bicycle dealer in this little one-hoss place; every pianner dealer can shut up shop when I get started. Why, there won’t be a pitman in Northumberland who hasn’t got a demi-grand Eureka B. C. piano in his house in another three weeks’ time, and every colliery village will have its Bayreuth Festival with “Canny Dog Cappie” and “Weel may the keel row” tinklin’ away down each row.’
‘But think of the poor shopkeeper!’ John interrupted, aghast at this slaughter of the innocents.
‘Now, John,’ expostulated Bill, as one who reproves a child for foolishness, ‘it’s not “first-day,” and you ain’t “in meeting,” so stick to business, ifyouplease. Waal, the thing’s got to go, as I’m sayin’, and the only question is, are your people goin’ to join in or no? If not, I bust their little donkey go-cart of Supply Stores which they set up a few years back in South Street “for the mutual encouragement of thrift and the supply of the best articles at first-hand cost” as the prospectus says, combinin’ philanthropy and five per cent, plus their commission on floatin’ the shop. Now, I know how much they have in it, your bosses. J. B. has 10,000 shares, and young T. he has 5,000 out of a total of 30,000, so they’re the largest shareholders in the concern, but Bill Coody has shares in it, too, John, he or his nominees. Likely you’ve noticed the shares have beenjumpin’ up a bit lately and been wonderin’ what the jooce was up, eh?’
‘Yes,’ responded John quietly, endeavouring to conceal any disquietude he might feel; ‘yes, I’ve noticed that.’
‘Waal, we’ve got enough to bust their shop up pretty well, and if your people don’t come into my showyard I’ll give their shares away with a pound of tea,’ and here he pulled out a handful of certificates from his trousers’ pocket and flourished them in John’s face, which was gradually growing longer as the other unrolled his arguments.
‘But how did you get the necessary capital?’ John inquired after a pause, professional curiosity piqued at this unexpected revelation of means.
‘Waal,’ replied the American, as he carelessly lit another cheroot, expectorating with relish into John’s carefully-trimmed fire, ‘I’ll tell you straight out, for I’m one of them that goes straight to the point—fibbin’ ain’t in it with truthfulness, and bluffin’s no goodwhen the cards are on the table. Waal, I bank with the Old Bank here, and decent enough people they are, too, but a trifle slow, so no sooner did the Joint Stock Bank open out a new branch in Old Quay than in I go, and I says, “Look here, boss, I want £5,000 of the ready, and I’ll bring you business,” I says. Well, the boss rubs his hands in butter, and he says, “Sartinly, sartinly, Mr. Coody, we know your name well, sir; most happy to oblige, I’m sure, and much obliged if you could introduce us to a few of your friends,” so after a bit more palaver and a deposit of some shares the deal’s done. Waal, down the street goes Bill Coody, and into the parlour of the Old Bank, and says to the partners straight out: “Now, look here, gentlemen, there’s no beatin’ about the bush with me, and no frivolity in matters of business, and what I want is £5,000 straight down, which is the figure I’ve just been offered by the new Joint Stock Bank over the way. Now I like your style,” I says,“and I should be sorry to leave you; but sentiment’s not my style of doin’ business, so there you have it.” Waal, the old gentleman looked at me over his spectacles, same way as you do, John, and under his spectacles also, and offers me a pinch of snuff, while he and his partner waggle their heads together in a far-off corner of the room. Waal, after a bit more palaver and a little “pi” jaw thrown in gratis about the evils of speculatin’, and a hope that a strange bank will not interfere with mutual friendly business relations, that deal’s done, and Bill Coody has £10,000 to draw upon by feedin’-time that morning.
‘Waal, John, I think you’ll have the hang of it now, and will be able to advise your bosses as to what’s best for them and the community, too, at large, and I want an answer—a regular business-like document—signed, sealed, and delivered, by this time to-morrow night, for there’s a shipload of my goods in already and lyin’ at the quay, and I can’t let the thing dry-rot while twothickheads worry the situation out and try to tinker up a mind between them. So fix it up for them, John, yourself. Ta-ta; I must be off. There’s a chap waitin’ for me at the club on business.’ And rising as he spoke, he went as unceremoniously as he came, leaving a trail of rank tobacco that was as penetrating to John’s nostrils as his communications had been to his intellect.
John lit his pipe again, which had gone out as he listened to Bill’s scheme, and thought for a while how ‘George’ would have dealt with the situation; how his penetrating intellect would have pierced through Bill’s armour-plating, and revealed the naked artificer within.
Ah! if ‘George’ had only been there for five minutes, several of the questions that were troubling him might have received instant solution. He could not feel certain how far Bill meant business with his store. It was not all bluff, of course; but how muchof it was bluff, how much business, he could not of himself determine.
It might be that he wanted to be bought off at a price, or be offered a post upon the directorate, or was merely a ‘bull’ of the shares. However, one thing was certain: there must be no shilly-shallying. Either Bill must be squared or he must be defied.
That was the question for him to determine. No doubt, from a strictly business point of view, the chief matter to be considered was which of the two courses was likely to prove most beneficial to his principals; but the thought of the poor shopkeepers was present in John’s mind, and operated largely in influencing his mind in the direction of defiance. There was poor old Mrs. S——, for example, who kept herself and two grandchildren on the proceeds of a small florist’s business, once her son-in-law’s. What would happen to her if Bill were to flood the town with rose-trees at a shilling the dozen?
To-morrow was Saturday, and Bill demandedan answer by the evening. The next day being ‘first-day,’ he would have to satisfy his conscience—that ‘still small voice’ which, even in the silence of the meeting, interrogated him severely on his dealings during the past week, and permitted no subterfuge or evasive answer—and it was useless to think he could do so by pleading that he was only a subordinate, not an official, in this affair of the store. Well, so be it. It must be defiance, then—war to the knife—if Bill was in earnest; for to offer to put him on the directorate of the supply stores would merely mean setting up Bill’s store under the old title.
John sat late as he pondered over the situation. Suddenly one of the Articles of Association of the stores flamed within the chamber of his brain, and a twinkle shone in his eye, as he reflected that it should enable him to mate Bill’s cleverness at the very outset.
Bill had quoted from the prospectus, buthe had evidently overlooked the Articles of Association, and John chuckled to himself delightedly as he recalled Article 5.
Shortly after seven next morning John might have been observed taking the air upon the quay, casting shrewd glances as he passed along. He had some suspicions concerning the amount of value of Bill’s consignment of pianos, family Bibles, etc., and he thought he might possibly discover something for himself if he saw what vessels were lying at the quay.
There was a green-hulled brigantine from Norway lying alongside, but she was full of battens and pit-props; a steam-collier lay next, but she must simply be waiting there for stores or sailing orders. A tramp came next, apparently from America, by the labels on some of her packages that the cranes were already swinging overhead.
This, then, must be Bill’s consignment, for there was nothing else in the river or at the quay that John could see that could possiblyhave anything on board for Bill or his stores.
As he stood there immersed in thought, a figure appeared on the deck above him, and, leaning his arms on the taffrail, regarded the scene below him with a gloomy air. ‘The skipper,’ thought John, as he noted his blue broadcloth and peaked cap, and on the spur of a sudden inspiration immediately accosted him.
‘Fine morning, captain. I happen to have heard a rumour to the effect that you were wanting an offer for your cargo. If so, I might possibly get you an offer from a friend of mine—at a reasonable figure, of course.’
‘Waal,’ replied the other slowly, ‘I guess I’m ready for a deal, as the consignees are bust up, and only 25 per cent. of the freight paid for; but it’s not a knock-out, I tell ye, for I’ve had a bid already for the lot.’
‘Was it from a man they call Bill Coody, by any chance?’ asked John, with a fine carelessness.
‘Waal,’ replied the skipper, as he turned his quid, ‘his name’s nothin’ to me, so long as he has the ready. Mr. Cash is the gent I do business with; but if my memory sarves me right, I think Bill Coody was the name on his pasteboard.’
‘What precisely is the cargo?’ queried John. ‘Is it dry-store goods—organs, pianos, and such like commodities?’
‘Ay, that’s about what it is—all the sort o’ fixin’s that make a harmonious home for the retired commercial gent—organs, melodeons, brick-a-bacs, articles of virtoo and amusement combined; and a fine variety of wood goods besides. Waal, if you’re for a deal you must be sharp about it, for I’ve to fix up with Mr. Coody by ten o’clock this mornin’, and I leave again this afternoon, havin’ just signed a fresh charter party for a cargo of fireclay bricks. So name your figure, plank down the cash, and I’m ready to deal.’
‘Well, what did Mr. Coody offer you?’ asked John pertinently.
‘Three hundred pounds in bank notes,’ replied the skipper; ‘but I’ll take £400 to clear; and dirt cheap, too, when you think o’ what a nest o’ nightingales your fam’ly and friends will be at ten dollars a head.’
‘Thank you,’ said John, as he moved away; ‘I’ll just go round and have a talk with my friend, and will let you know the result before ten o’clock.’
‘Right,’ replied the captain, cutting himself a fresh plug of tobacco; ‘£400 down, coin o’ the realm, before ten, mind ye, and your friend’s set up for life with a “house beautiful” that Solomon in all his glory and Mrs. Sheba couldn’t have fixed up better between them.’
‘What a curious, profane, hard-featured set of men these Americans are!’ thought John, as he stepped briskly away in the direction of his senior partner’s house. ‘Why, the mind of that skipper is exactly of the same temper as Bill’s; his features are as irregular, even his voice has the sametwanging, nasal habit. However, he means business evidently, and I think I can persuade Mr. William to buy up his cargo, which will put, I imagine, a pretty stiff spoke in Bill’s wheel.’
Within a quarter of an hour John was on Mr. William’s doorstep, and ten minutes afterwards was explaining the strategical position to the senior partner in his dressing-gown. ‘Certainly, John,’ said Mr. William slowly, after listening attentively to John’s recital; ‘we couldn’t possibly have Coody on our Board; it wouldn’t do at all. Why, he’s a mere adventurer, and his method of under-cutting, “busting” people up, etc., would bring discredit upon our firm and have a bad effect upon our business. No, it’s quite evident, John, as you say, that we can’t square him—as to how far he means business, I don’t know. I incline to think he is bluffing us; but there isn’t time to find out how much he has up his sleeve; and if we buy up this cargo we trump his ace, you think, and canmake a profit out of it ourselves at the stores after? Well, I daresay you’re right, John; and, after all, £400 won’t ruin us. We buy his cargo, and as he can’t “bear” the shares, he’ll be like a chained dog showing his teeth, but doing no damage. Yes, I think it is an excellent idea, John,’ Mr. William said in conclusion, ‘and if you’ll wait one minute I’ll give you the cheque for £400.’
By ten o’clock that morning John had completed his defences; the cargo was bought; he held an indemnity against any claims from the skipper and owners of the goods in question; he had made an inquiry at the Old Bank, and now was sitting down at the office to write a short note marked ‘private’ to Bill, to tell him it was to be ‘war to the knife.’
‘And I may tell thee, Bill, that thee had better give in with a good grace; for, in the first place, thee cannot sell the shares below par—videthe Articles of Association, paragraph 10—and, in the second, we havebought up thy cargo; and, finally, I feel assured that stores managed on thy suggested lines would never bring a blessing with them. Thou saidst it was to be “war to the knife,” but we hope thee will think better of it, for thy sake more than for our own,’ and with a friendly warning John finished his letter, and despatched it by hand to ‘William Coody, Esq.’
Late that afternoon, just as John was leaving the office, a letter was brought to him in Bill’s handwriting. It ran as follows:
‘Ta-ta, John, I’m off, you quaint, cocked-hat old Puritan Precisian; but I couldn’t leave without having tried a fall with you first, and, on totting it up, I think Bill Coody’s just had a trifle the best of the mêlée. If I’d got on to the stores, I’d have stayed in this derned little one-hoss place, but those all-fired articles[21]upset that cart.I’ll allow you that, John; but I have you, my boy, over that little cargo of mine. Why, the whole show was a got-up job, the cargo saw-dust, salvage stocks worth £20 at an outside figure. The skipper, being a pal of mine, lent me his duds, this morning, for I knew you’d be down there sniffing and spectacling about with the morning’s sunrise, and I had the show ready for you, John, to walk into, and in you walked like blue blazes. The £400 will about pay for my trouble, and for the premiums on the store shares. Your principals will have to buy the shares back from the banks—they mustn’t buy below par, though, John—you remind them of that.‘I’ve sold my biz., and am off with my pal, the skipper, this moment. No time to handshake. Ta-ta, John, and bear no malice. Stick to piety and 5 per cent., and don’t buy up bankrupt cargoes, and you’ll be Lord Mayor of Old Quay before you’re finished. So long, your pardner,
‘Ta-ta, John, I’m off, you quaint, cocked-hat old Puritan Precisian; but I couldn’t leave without having tried a fall with you first, and, on totting it up, I think Bill Coody’s just had a trifle the best of the mêlée. If I’d got on to the stores, I’d have stayed in this derned little one-hoss place, but those all-fired articles[21]upset that cart.
I’ll allow you that, John; but I have you, my boy, over that little cargo of mine. Why, the whole show was a got-up job, the cargo saw-dust, salvage stocks worth £20 at an outside figure. The skipper, being a pal of mine, lent me his duds, this morning, for I knew you’d be down there sniffing and spectacling about with the morning’s sunrise, and I had the show ready for you, John, to walk into, and in you walked like blue blazes. The £400 will about pay for my trouble, and for the premiums on the store shares. Your principals will have to buy the shares back from the banks—they mustn’t buy below par, though, John—you remind them of that.
‘I’ve sold my biz., and am off with my pal, the skipper, this moment. No time to handshake. Ta-ta, John, and bear no malice. Stick to piety and 5 per cent., and don’t buy up bankrupt cargoes, and you’ll be Lord Mayor of Old Quay before you’re finished. So long, your pardner,
‘Bill Coody.’
The Vale of the Frolic in the far west of Northumberland had always been a favourite retreat of mine. As I trudged the London pavements in the dog-days before the Law Courts rose, my heart panted for the green hills and the sweet silences of remotest Frolicdale.
The chiefest charm of the vale perhaps for me lay in the fact that it was a track untrodden by the tourist, resembling the maid of the waters of Dove in this—that it was one which, as yet, there were ‘few to know, and very few to love.’
It was a pastoral, sheep-raising countryside, inhabited by shepherds almost entirely, who were at the same time farmers also, fortheir tenure was something after themétayerorder.
There was nothing to mar the quaint and antique flavour of existence. The post, like our lifeboat institution, was here supported by voluntary contributions. If anyone were ‘gannin’ up the wattor,’ well and good; he would take the letters with him. If not, then they were left at the schoolmaster’s till called for. Newspapers, again, with the exception of a weeklyCourantor aScots Mail, were, like the woodcock, but ‘occasional visitors’ in that region; and when it is added that the house I usually stayed at was situated eighteen miles from a terminus of a slow branch line of the North British Railway Company, it will be evident that the ordinary tourist had a very poor chance of putting in an appearance in that favoured region.
I was recalling all these little details with infinite gusto as I sat down at my desk to write to my friend the Presbyterian ministerand schoolmaster of Fair-Green Haugh, suggesting a visit from myself a week ahead.
The answer came just in time for me to pack up and start within the week.
‘I am sorry to say,’ wrote my friend in conclusion, ‘that my accommodation is somewhat limited this summer, as I have had to give up my small sanctum to a protégé of mine, who, though he has just been discharged from gaol, will yet, I feel assured, become a highly useful and respectable member of society.
‘I know your kind heart, my friend,’ he continued, ‘and feel sure you will not regret a temporary lack of comfort in so good a cause. You can always use the schoolroom, as it is holiday time, for reading, writing and smoking.’
‘Heavens!’ I murmured to myself, as I took in the monstrous situation; ‘fancy having to spend my vacation trying to improve an infernal burglar! He knowsmy kind heart, he says. Well, it only proves the truth of the poet’s lines:
‘“Not e’en the dearest heart, and next our own,Knows half the reasons why we smile or cry.”
‘“Not e’en the dearest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reasons why we smile or cry.”
I wonder,’ I soliloquized, ‘whether he is of the heavy, hang-dog, dropped-jaw type—the knifing variety, in brief—or the other species—the shifty-eyed, chinless, quick but evil brained sort. On the whole, I prefer the first, for if he cannot control his temper, at any rate you know where you are with him, whereas with the latter you never can tell what he may be up to.’
Anyway, it was exasperating, for here had I been congratulating myself upon the sweet security of my proposed retreat, only to discover at the last moment that I was destined to become co-warder of a criminal.
However, it was no use making myself miserable before the time, and as I was at any rate now free from the choking London atmosphere I could revel in the thought of fresh country air, liberty and leisure.
I stayed the night at Heathtown (famous for the church wherein Bernard Gilpin, ‘the apostle of the north,’ stayed the hot Borderers from feud), and, drawing the heather-honeyed air deep into my lungs, felt my strength so renewed that the thoughts of shifting the ticket-of-leave gentleman if he didn’t, in North-country phrase, ‘keep a civil tongue in his heid and behave hissel’ respectable,’ positively inspired me with pleasure.
The postman in his cart was, as it chanced, going up to the little village, styled a ‘toon,’ where the last post and telegraph-office this side of Scotland is situated, and insisted upon giving me a ‘cast’ so far upon my road.
‘No, nowse is changed ava,’ he replied, in answer to my query, ‘syne ye were last here, save belikely that we are aal a year older, an’ that Farmer Newton’s missus was brought tae bed wi’ anither bairn a month ago last Saterday. Ye’ll mind she had her fourth bairn the last time ye were here, an’ Farmer Newton, he says he’ll just hae tae turn priest,an’ get the Sixstanes livin’,[22]an’ there, ye ken, the Queen sends ye a ten-pound note for every addition tae yor fam’ly; an’ though there might not be ower muckle profit in it, it wud help tae keep the pot a-boiling, says he. But I’m thinkin’ mysel’,’ continued my informant reflectively, ‘that if Farmer Newton were tae give up shootin’ an’ huntin’ sae muckle, an’ took a turn at farmin’, he’d have a less reason for complaining.’
And so we passed the time away, he regaling me with all the domestic gossip of the countryside, I interrupting him now and again to point out the historical objects of interest on either hand of us; for, like all true countrymen, though he knew every stick and stone by the wayside, he was entirely ignorant of the past history of his vale.
We were now close on the village where my driver ended his stage, and it suddenly occurred to me to inquire, as I thanked himfor his kindness to myself, if he knew anything of my friend’s protégé at the Fair Green Haugh.
‘Well,’ he replied slowly, ‘I have heard as hoo he has ta’en up wi’ a convick or gaol-bord o’ that description. Wey, I canna tell. He’d muckle better hae getten’d hissel’ marrit; an’ sartinly we divvn’t want that sort o’ specie up this wattor-side. We hevn’t muckle gear belike, but we prefer tae keep wor ain. He’ll be ain o’ the lifting kind likelies, the same as thae moss-troopin’ fellers ye were crackin’ on aboot enoo whae divvn’t seem ivvor tae hae heard on the fifth commandment. Ye’ll be weel employed this holiday-time o’ yors wi’ lookin’ efter him, I’s warn’d. But yo’re a lawyer chap,’ he continued, ‘an’ dootless ye’ll find an excuse tae shift him wi’. Put on yor wig, an’ nae doot but it will tarrify him.’
I thanked the speaker for his advice somewhat ruefully, for his words exactly fitted my own presentiment.
Having bade adieu to my postman friend,and arranged for my heavier luggage to be sent forward in the next carrier’s cart that might be going ‘up the wattor,’ I set out across the hills to The Nook on Fair Green Haugh with my knapsack on my back.
Two hours’ walking brought me within view of The Nook, and as I paused at the top of the brae to drink in the well-beloved aspect of the small ‘bigging’ that sheltered in the green coign between Windy Law and Blind Burn side, I noticed the figure of a man carrying a small child in his arms.
I knew most of the inhabitants of the vale by sight, but the aspect of the individual in question was unknown to me. It was scarcely likely he could be a shepherd’s extra hand, for the washing and shearing time was over, and a tramp in the ordinary sense of the term would have been, to quote from the ornithologists, a ‘rare and occasional visitor.’ Besides, he had not the appearance of a tramp; he walked with an easy boldness, apparently playing with the child as hestrolled, for as I drew nearer I could hear the child’s voice gleefully crying, ‘Again, again; do it again, funny man.’
As I drew nearer I looked at the stranger with interest, and noted that he was a well-made, active fellow, of good proportions. His face was slightly scarred, as though from small-pox, but not unpleasantly; it was as if the disease, suddenly repenting of spoiling a bright and healthful countenance, had incontinently left him for another victim.
His eyes blue, his teeth, splendidly regular, were clean and white as a hound’s. Glancing at the child, I discovered her to be Maggie, the six-year-old child of Tom Hedley, the herd at Fulhope Law, so I went straight up to her and asked for a kiss as usual. ‘No,’ said the diminutive flirt archly, holding her head backwards; ‘no kiss for zoo. I’s got a new man noo,’ and forthwith she buried her curls in his neck. ‘He’s a nice funny man,’ she continued in another moment, peeping forth from her hiding-place, ‘an’he’s got nae mair hair on his heid than oor little puppy-dog at home.’
I glanced at her captor, and noting his cropped crown, jumped to a sure conclusion as to his identity. ‘Why, ’tis none other,’ thought I, ‘than the protégé.’ Possibly he read my thoughts; at any rate, releasing one arm, he lifted his hand to a salute, smiling, meanwhile, in the most affable way in the world. I nodded ‘Good afternoon,’ and learning that the minister was within and waiting my arrival, turned my steps to the house.
After our first greetings were over he commenced to apologize again for the limited space at my disposal, but he was certain that when once I had got to know his ‘protégé,’ I should think no more about it. ‘He is a beautiful character,’ he concluded enthusiastically, ‘one could tell that at a glance by the way in which children take to him.’
‘I met him outside just a moment ago,’ I replied, ‘and he certainly seems to havewon little Maggie’s heart, but from my recollection of her half a dozen “sweeties” would explain that feat. And after all,’ I continued judicially, ‘some of the greatest ruffians that ever lived were extremely fond of children. There was Herod, of course, but he was the exception that proves the rule.’
‘Ah,’ sighed my friend, ‘that terrible London atmosphere! How it cankers the human affections! The theory of the law, I believe, is that every man should be considered innocent till he has been proved guilty; but you lawyers, reversing this in practice, hold every man guilty till he prove his innocence.’
‘How about his hair?’ I inquired rather unkindly.
‘His hair?’ my friend queried, with a puzzled expression. ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ he continued almost immediately, endeavouring to shed asoupçonof a smile over his seriously earnest countenance. ‘But don’t notice that, please, or you may makehim reckless. For now is the critical time,’ he added solemnly, with the professional manner of a physician making his diagnosis; ‘if he gets safely over this his cure may be regarded as practically assured.
‘The great thing is to believe in a man, to cultivate little by little his sense of self-respect; by “believing men to be better than they are,” one may even, as has been so well said, “make them better than they are.” In England we have always gone on a wrong principle; we worship success, worldly success, far too much, and have scant sympathy with the unfortunate. My friend outside says that he stole a leg of mutton for his starving daughter. The result is he cannot now get a situation, and his daughter has been taken from him, and is now in a home. Well, if the man be treated with contumely, he may very likely despair and give up all hope of improvement. Treat him well, on the other hand, and you may yet turn him into a useful citizen.’
‘You put a premium on wrong-doing,’ said I, as I shook my head at his argument, smiling, however, at the impassioned face before me.
His high, narrow forehead with the ruffled upstanding hair betrayed the enthusiast; the broad, refined, and eager lips marked a perennial emotion within; his eyes, notwithstanding their wonderful clarity, had a far-away look in the depths of them; a spare form, thin wrists, and shrunken hands completed the presentation of the idealistic, mystical, Don Quixote type of human nature.
While I thus reflected, my friend continued to pour out fresh instances proving satisfactorily to any non-prejudiced mind the correctness of his theory.
‘But what are you going to do with him?’ I asked eventually, ‘for after all that is the important thing. I mean, his being here with you may be very nice for him, but it doesn’t teach him a trade, and you can’t afford to keep him, I know, for long.’
‘First of all,’ eagerly began my friend, ‘I propose to keep him long enough to re-instate him in his self-respect; secondly, to study his temperament and character thoroughly in order to discover what line of life he is best suited for, and then to get him some appropriate situation. That is the programme, and, I think, a quite practical and satisfactory one. There is no “pauperizing” here, you see; it is simply giving a man a fair chance. And now,’ he continued briskly, ‘come out and inspect the garden.’
The protégé, it appeared, had been making himself useful therein, which my friend thought was a highly encouraging sign, ‘for,’ said he, ‘no bad man ever cared for gardening.’
The next few days I spent contentedly in absolute idleness, now strolling up the waterside, now smoking and reading peacefully in the little arbour behind the herbaceous border. I had almost forgotten the existenceof mybête-noir; he showed, indeed, a most commendable readiness to efface himself as much as possible from observation, and when I chanced to pass him he seemed rather to avoid me than to seek my company. ‘Good-morning,’ I would say, if I happened to come out of the house before breakfast for a stroll, and find him chopping firewood, ‘lovely weather, and looks like lasting, I think.’
‘Ay,’ he would usually reply, with a hurried touch to his cap, ‘it’s canny weather,’ then muttering something about being busy, would incontinently hurry into the house. I took this as a sign of grace, and was quite favourable to the mode of intercourse thus established. But my host, I could see, was pained at my apparent lack of interest in his protégé; so the next day, finding Blythe engaged in tying up the suckers of the honeysuckle to the trellis of the arbour, I went boldly up to him, determined to try and draw him out.
‘Well, and how do you like the country?’ I inquired. ‘A pleasant change after town life, eh?’
He gave me a quick, suspicious glance in return, then muttering, ‘Ay, dootless,’ again devoted himself to his occupation.
I tried again, but, meeting with no encouragement, became, I am bound to confess, a little nettled, as though with an insubordinate witness. The happy insouciance I thought to have marked in him at our first encounter had vanished, and ‘’Tis the knifing variety, after all,’ I murmured to myself, and fell to scrutinizing him somewhat severely. There was something about him that somehow seemed familiar to me. I determined to probe, and see if he would wince.
‘Possibly you don’t care about the country?’ I suggested smoothly; ‘towns, perhaps, attract you more. York, for example, is a nice town, and, by chance, say September 30 for a little business in the vicinity, eh?’
He looked me full in the face at this, avery ugly smile curving his lips, as he replied abruptly, ‘What is it you’re wanting?’
‘I don’t know that I want anything for myself,’ said I, somewhat elated at the success of my conjecture, ‘but I should like fair play for my friend inside. Pheasants are scarce hereabouts, but possibly other things might come in useful. I needn’t specify,’ I continued airily, ‘to a gentleman of your intelligence; ’twould be superfluous.’
For reply he made a bound at me, head down, and both fists outstretched. It was as the rush of the bull for the matador’s flag, and my bound aside just saved me from his charge, though his right fist touched me on the chest and sent me staggering backward.
He turned, and came again; this time I had more space for manœuvre, and the memory of an old fencing trick, learned in Angelo’s school of arms, swift as a flashlight, lit within my brain. I leant forward as though to meet him like a boxer, then, as he rushed upon me, turned quickly sideways,fencing fashion, and slipped half a foot backward. He missed me by a hand’s breadth; a reek of tobacco touched me hotly on the cheek; another moment and I had leapt forward on a late ‘time thrust,’ and caught my antagonist neatly just behind the ear. I had been unable to put any strength into the blow, but it proved to be enough to upset his poise. He staggered, stooped, and then fell headlong on the path, scarce having time to break his fall with hand or arm.
He lay there for a moment or two, apparently half-dazed; then, slowly picking himself up, leant back with folded arms against an apple-tree, and surveyed me with a sort of sulky resignation.
‘Well, you’ve got the better o’ me again,’ said he; ‘you’ve the luck on your side, nae doot. “Bing lay your shero,”’ I overheard him mutter to himself under his breath, which, taken in conjunction with his name, amply sufficed to confirm my conjecture of his gipsyorigin. ‘What is ’t ye want wi’ me?’ he continued, in a louder voice.
‘As I said before,’ I replied slowly, seating myself upon a wooden bench in front of the arbour, ‘I only require fair play for my friend within. A man of the world like yourself can easily deceive him, even to the half of his kingdom; and if he has a fancy to cure the leopard of his spots or whitewash the Ethiopian—or perhaps I might say the “Egyptian” rather—I would like the process to be as inexpensive as possible to him—you understand?’ I queried of my opposite, smiling as I spoke; for I had the whip-hand of him undoubtedly, and to be unpleasant politely is part of the lawyer’s art.
‘To put the matter more clearly still,’ I continued, for he had made no response to my suggestion, ‘I think a week of fresh air and quiet seclusion in the country should be enough for any man of active habits after a period of enforced leisure; the hair, moreover, grows quickly in a country retreat,as Joshua’s messengers found of old, and, briefly, what I would advise is a moonlight flitting.’
Pleased with the brevity of my peroration, I took my cigarette-case from my pocket, and, having selected a cigarette, carefully proceeded to light it with the utmost deliberation.
I had taken my eyes off him for the moment, partly in order to ascertain if the cigarette were properly alight, partly to perfect the illusion ofsang froid; and dearly I paid for my rashness, for with a bound he was upon me.
I ducked; but it was too late, and over I went backward, my enemy a-top of me, crash through the arbour on to the stone flagging within.
I was stunned, I suppose, for a minute or so, for I lay there wondering what had happened, and annoyed that a wasp, as I thought, should have stung me in the neck. In another moment I had discovered thatthe smart was due to a bit of live cigarette-ash that had chanced to drop inside my collar in my fall, and I tried to put up a hand to remove it. To my disgust, I found my hands were knotted tightly together; my legs, too, were bound, and, as I turned my head, my eyes met those of my enemy, sitting beside me on a low stool.
‘The gadgi’ (viz., ‘gorgio,’ or man of non-gipsy race) ‘is but a fool in his pride and self-conceit,’ said he; ‘he is but a tortoise, for all his pushkin’s (hare) gallop at the start.’
This was what I heard him saying as I recovered consciousness, and as I knew that gipsies always hide their origin, and refrain from their language in the presence of the ‘gorgios,’ I felt certain he must be labouring under great excitement, and momentarily expected to see him out with his knife and finish me there and then. Here he stooped, and I thought my hour had come, but apparently it was only to pick up my fallen cigarette. Pinching off the blackened end,he put it between his lips, and, lighting it at the other end, drew in deep breaths of tobacco-smoke.
‘I don’t wonder you enjoy it,’ said I, as I watched his proceedings with an intense annoyance; ‘successful theft is pleasant to a tchor (thief), I presume?’
‘And who’s the tchor in the end,’ retorted he—‘you or me? Speak, little gutterwhelp from the toon, that art paid to lie at so many bars (sovereigns) the lie. Your kind take a man’s money, plead so ill that at the finish the “stande” (gaol) has him, while the big thief’s left behind in court wi’ a white wig on, an’ a smile on his ugly moi (mouth). Who’s the tchor, then?’ he repeated with a leer, as he blew a cloud of smoke in the air. ‘I ’low ye got me nabbed at York ’Sizes, but it wesn’t yor doin’, ’twas that dirty Jack Spraggon, who turned informer an’ legged me that time. Why, ye pink-eyed toon’s-spawn, if I’d my rights, an’ things were as they aince was, I’d hang ye tae thenearest tree. Look there,’ he cried, as, stirring me with his foot, he drew up his coat-sleeve and thrust a tattoed wrist over my eyes—‘look there, d’ye ken what that is?’
I gazed with interest, for it was evidently an heraldic coat, excellently well punctured in his flesh.
‘A lion rampant within a tressure fleury counter fleury, by Jove! debruised by a bar sinister,’ I murmured aloud.
My thoughts went back at a bound to memories of the ‘Gaberlunzie Man’ of the ballad, the errant James V., and ‘ane louit Johnnie Faa, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt,’ but all I said was, ‘Still, people don’t boast of an illegitimate origin nowadays.’
‘Illegitimate!’ he cried angrily; ‘I’ll teach ye manners, ye ——’ but here a step sounded on the path outside, and in another moment my host peered in at the doorway.
‘Tut—tut—tut,’ said my friend, removing his glasses from his nose in his agitation,‘dear, dear! what can have happened? Speak, Ned; explain, Will.’
My adversary rose to his feet, saluted our interrogator somewhat shamefacedly, and, pointing to myself, replied, ‘He wes sae impiddent wi’ me I’d just tae teach him a lesson, but nae harm’s done.’
‘Oh,’ cried my little friend, and he positively wrung his hands in his distress, ‘but you shouldn’t,’ and here he looked at us reproachfully in turn. Then a happy thought seemed to rise in his brain. ‘We must forget all about this unhappy occurrence,’ cried he; ‘we will not inquire into it, but will shake hands all round, and begin afresh.’
So saying he immediately knelt down, undid my bandages, and helped me to rise from the floor. ‘Now,’ he cried, and seized hold of our respective hands.
‘Well,’ said my antagonist, ‘I bear no malice, but keep yor tongue a bit civiler i’ future.’
‘And refrain from pheasants and legs of mutton,’ I nearly retorted, but stayed my tongue in time, and the three of us shook hands promptly all round, as desired. I was willing enough to shake hands because I felt I had been in error in taunting my antagonist, but I was not prepared for the reproof my host had in store for me, as he put his arm through mine, and led me away for a stroll up the brae.
‘Oh, how could you do it?’ he said. ‘You must have stung him beyond endurance, and you promised, you remember, to respect him.’
‘I only told him the truth,’ I replied sulkily. ‘As a matter of fact, I recognised in him the first individual I ever had the pleasure of getting convicted—at York Assizes—pheasant-poaching, stoning a keeper, etc. One’s first conviction is like one’s first love—one can’t forget it.’
‘Ah, but if it is so, that is just an incident in that past career of his which is quite deadand buried now; you see yourself how annoyed he was at your bringing it up against him. Of course, his conduct was inexcusable,’ he hastily added, suddenly remembering doubtless that he was my host, ‘but this vigour of resentment proves to my mind the genuineness of his repentance.’
It was hopeless to argue, so I turned the subject, inwardly resolving that I would leave on the morrow.
After supper that evening I went outside to smoke, and there lingered long, enjoying the soft, luminous northern twilight.
The murmur of the stream in the valley trembled amidst the silence of the night, as of some old monk telling his beads in the solitude of a vast cathedral. Suddenly a discordant singing sounded down the vale. ‘Some roysterer,’ thought I with disgust. ‘I suppose there must have been a wedding or some festivity of that sort.’
The sounds rose and fell fitfully, but grew gradually louder. It was evident someonewas coming ‘up the wattor,’ and I waited to see who the disturber of our quiet could be.
The last corner had apparently been turned, for now I could hear the voice distinctly. ‘The protégé again, by Jove!’ I groaned.
I meditated instant flight, but a fit of laughter caught me, and I stayed. Out of the gray twilight a toper lurched up to the gate on which I leant, and, steadying himself, momentarily peered into my face.
‘No malish, little Wool-shack, eh?’ quoth he with a grin. Then, becoming confidential, he leant forward and whispered, ‘Drink ye for a “bar,” turn an’ turn about,’ producing as he spoke a most suspicious-looking black bottle.
‘Look here,’ said I, ‘why did you come to this place?’
‘It’s a free-sh country,’ replied my opposite solemnly, ‘an’ wanderin’s my trade, an’ the wee big bairn upstairs, he’s ta’en a sort o’ woman’s fancy for us. Noo, Wull Blythe’slike his ancient forbears, royal Wull Faa, an’ the lave, an’ he cannot say nae to a woman, though he’ll ne’er tak’ a look frae a man.’
‘Well, good-night,’ I said, ‘and don’t wake the big bairn upstairs.’
It was some time before I finished packing, and after that was done I sat down and had another pipe by the window. I was just dozing off when a smell of burning seemed to creep in upon my nostrils, and the atmosphere grew thicker to my sub-consciousness.
‘It can’t be anything,’ I murmured inwardly, and tried to recede still further into the dark grove of sleep, but a step outside my door effectually roused me.
A light gleamed upon me. ‘Come, my friend, come quick; I fear the house is on fire,’ cried my host at the doorway; ‘throw on a coat, wet your blankets, and follow me upstairs at once with them.’
I rushed upstairs headlong some few seconds after, and stumbled over a prostrate form on the small garret landing, a reek ofwhisky giving me assurance of its identity. I rose hastily, and passed into the room beyond, where, amidst heavy smoke-wreaths, I perceived my host, now beating burning bedding with his hands, and again stamping with his feet upon smouldering coverings on the floor.
I did my best to help him, and we succeeded shortly in getting the better of the conflagration. After emptying buckets of water over bed and bedding, we waited for some minutes to ascertain if any hidden fire lingered anywhere.
‘I think it will be all right now,’ said my host; ‘but come, we must look after my poor friend outside—I fear he is badly burned. Poor fellow, he was lying in bed stupefied with the smoke. I suppose he must have fallen asleep reading, and the candle must have set fire somehow to the bed-clothes or curtain.’
He had scarcely finished speaking when he swayed suddenly, and before I could reachout an arm, had fallen to the ground in a dead faint. I lifted him up and carried him downstairs at once, and found that he was rather severely burnt about the hands.
After I had restored him to consciousness as best I could and dressed his hurts, I proceeded, at my friend’s earnest entreaty, to look after the protégé, who was still lying prostrate on the garret landing; absolutely unconscious and hopelessly intoxicated.
He was badly burnt on one arm, and scorched down one side of his body. Appearances seemed to show that he must have thrown off the counterpane and blankets on to the floor, that there they must have become ignited either from his fallen pipe or candle, and eventually have set fire to one side of the bed.
The doctor had to be sent for, and for a week the protégé was kept in bed; when he did come down again he was as contrite as possible, and I carefully avoided all mention of the disaster, for I had a dim feeling ofguilt in the matter, suspecting that he went down the valley that evening to the alehouse in consequence of his excitement at his triumph over myself.
Now that he was about again, and my friend too was quite restored, I determined to depart, and the next morning went down early to the Frolic to enjoy a last bathe.
I was sitting on a shelf of rock above a deep pool, drying myself slowly after my swim, when I heard sounds below me. Looking out from my shelter, I saw Blythe, who appeared to be about to follow my example. His procedure, however, was curious; for first he cast his cap upon the waters, then carefully deposited what looked to me like a Bible on his coat on the bank, and, finally, having looked about him stealthily, took off his shoes and proceeded to ford the burn.
‘He’s off,’ I thought to myself, then cried to him, ‘Holloa! what’s up?’
He stood stock-still in mid-stream like onepetrified, then, perceiving me, waded slowly to shore.
‘Noo, don’t ye blab tae Mistor Rutherford,’ he said, as he came close up underneath where I was standing. ‘I’s awa aff. I cannot stay, but I doot the little man will be sair troubled aboot it, sae let him think on as that I’m drooned, wi’ the Bible there tae show I’s a convarted character, for he’s been one tae many for Blythe, an’ I wud’na like him tae grieve ower my disappointing him. I cam’ for a bit fun, but it’s turning tae seriousness noo, an’ I can’t bide any mair, that’s a sartinty.’
I don’t know whether I acted wrongly or not, but I fell in with his view of the situation, and when I had finished my dressing he had already stolen out of sight.
I stayed on another week after this, and during that time successfully concealed my connivance at the protégé’s flight.
The discovery of his cap and coat was considered proof of his having been drowned,and the Bible, borrowed from himself for the occasion, provided at once a consolation for my friend and a rebuke to my scepticism.
I spent a night in Oldcastle on my way back to town, and chance took me through one of the most thickly populated, though not most aristocratic, quarters of the city. It was a fine night, and I had prolonged my stroll unconsciously. Suddenly the swing-door of a public-house was thrown back violently, and a man came hurtling through, and fell with a thud on the pavement beside me; a face peered through the aperture of the doors for a moment, and in a flash I recognised it.
The gentleman who had been thus ignominiously ‘chucked out’ slowly pulled himself together, collected his faculties and his hat with difficulty, uttered some violent and abusive epithets, then slowly staggered off down the street with drunken dignity.
I went inside the aforesaid doors. My eyes had not deceived me, for there was theprotégé behind the counter in his new capacity of barman and ‘chucker out.’ He signed to me to follow him into the ‘snug,’ and there confided to me that he had got a permanent job for the first time in his life.
‘Here,’ said he, ‘is a bar’ (sovereign); ‘send it along tae Mister Rutherford, an’ tell him I’s alive an’ hearty, an’ that I canna rest till I’s paid for the blankets an’ beddin’ I burnt the other week. Mind,’ says he, ‘ye’re not tae say where I am, but tell him I’ve a situation, an’s givin’ satisfaction.’
‘Well,’ thought I to myself, as I returned to my hotel, ‘if my friend hasn’t reformed the protégé, he has come at all events as near to success as is good for the ordinary mortal.’