About this book

The Gay Adventure: A Romance

Richard Bird

thought, "what a shame to lie in bed till ten o'clock. Why haven't I tried this jape sooner? This is the sort of time when one thinks of the country and hates London. If only there was a train here I'd go away for a day or two and try it." An idea struck him and he smiled. "Well, here is a station. It might be amusing to go and see if there is a train starting for anywhere. I think I will. I'll make a vow to take a ticket by the first train available and get out wherever the country looks interesting. That at any rate will be something new." He entered Euston station at a quarter to five. A sleepy ticket-clerk told him that the first train went at five-seven, and asked whither he meant to travel. "Oh, give me a ticket that costs five shillings," said Tony: "I don't much care. No, dear fellow, I'm not mad, and I've not been drinking. A five-bob ticket, please." The clerk complied with an ill-used air. Tony received his ticket and went to find the train. As he laid his hand on the door of a first-class compartment it occurred to him to look at the ticket. It was a third-class. Instead of being annoyed, Tony laughed. "A night of thrills!" he murmured: "I haven't traveled third for years. Is there any chance of my having fellow travelers? I should doubt it." There were some ten minutes before the train was due to start, and Tony occupied the time in looking out of the window. There was not much to engage his attention, save a few porters handling newspapers and other parcels, but presently a man appeared making for the train. Tony glanced at him with a languid curiosity. The newcomer was dressed in a correct morning suit and silk hat. He also carried gloves and a stick. But though he looked like a gentleman and carried himself with an air, Tony's eye detected signs of poverty. The coat was shiny, and the hat, though carefully brushed, had little luster. "What the deuce is he doing here at this time, and in such clothes?" thought Tony. Then he burst into a noiseless laugh. "The pot and kettle!" he reflected, chuckling: "I had forgotten that I am still in evening dress!" He sank back in the seat to laugh at himself more thoroughly, and the man in the silk hat passed by the window. He made his way into the next compartment, and unfortunately there was no corridor. Tony was debating whether or not it was worth while to get out and join the stranger on the off chance of learning something new, when the whistle went. But before the train had begun to move, a face appeared at the opposite window. A man was climbing up the footboard from the line. The next moment the door was opened, the man entered, shut the door behind him and sat down. He was a man of some fifty years, dressed rather oddly. His bowler hat and overcoat were good, but he wore no collar. Tony looked at him contentedly; after all, this walk was producing experiences. "Good morning," he said mildly: "do you usually enter a train on the off side? I ask merely from vulgar curiosity." The man laughed, panting a little from his exertions. He did not look like a criminal; indeed he appeared distinctly meek. He seemed happy, too. "No," he replied. "This is the first time in my life. I am going on a holiday. May I in return ask you if you usually travel in evening dress in the morning?" Tony smiled. "No; I too am going on a holiday." "To Shereling?" asked the man amiably. "I don't know." "You don't know." "No; I was dull. So I took the five-shilling ticket and the first train. I have no notion where I shall get out." "What a splendid idea!" cried the other enthusiastically, much to Tony's astonishment. "Most of us are so bound by convention that we plot and plan for weeks: often we even go where we don't want to." "Why?" The other hesitated. "Domestic pressure," he said with a smile. "You seem an understanding sort of chap, so I don't mind telling you that. This year--last night, to be candid--I resolved to burst my shackles for a time. Certain ... events ... hastened my decision. I am going to Shereling. I left in rather a hurry--you see I have no collar. I suppose I shall have to wait till we get to Shereling now before I can buy one." "There's no hosiery department on the train," said Tony: "railway companies are very unimaginative. If there were, I'd buy a decent suit to travel in. Do tell me why you came in in that unconventional way." "Sorry," said the man, "but I can't do that. It's all right, you know: I have a ticket." "Of course," agreed Tony politely, and relapsed into musing. Here was a perfect windfall with enormous possibilities. Decidedly he must not lose sight of his new companion; he would get out at Shereling, too. Tony studied him from half-shut eyes: he looked a decent little chap--almost jolly ... rather like a schoolboy off for a holiday, expecting some excellent pleasure and glorying in the prospect. Also, he was mysterious and secretive, though to outward appearance he was a prosperous business man in a small way--a head clerk or under-manager perhaps. There was something in his face, too, an innocent zest, that appealed to the blase young man. "Yes, old cock," thought Tony, "I must freeze on to you, whether you like it or not." After a silence the old cock began to crow, and soon there was a brisk conversation in progress. They talked chiefly of trivial things, but held each other's interest nevertheless. Tony's outlook and the newcomer's were wide asunder, as also were their experiences. It was the elder man who asked most of the questions, the younger who was responsible for the answers. But they found a bond of union in a Pepysian interest in the novel and unusual, though each approached it from a different standpoint. Tony was a master of external knowledge and sought for something fresh; the other, a babe, welcomed the stalest facts as discoveries from a new world. "I wish," he said, and with a sigh, "that we were going to travel together for a while." Tony's heart leaped. "You are an interesting young man ... but no! that is impossible--it would never do." Tony did not reply. He felt sure that the fish was almost hooked, but he did not wish to spoil things by seeming too eager. But he resolved that ere the journey came to an end he would land his fish and spend a few days in his company. He did not think there would be a slackening of the interest: if there were, why, he could easily go back to town. Meanwhile---- The train pulled up. "Hallo!" said the elderly man. "This train is billed as a non-stop to Shereling. Why on earth----" He leaned out of the window and beckoned the guard. "What's the matter?" he asked. "The strike," the guard answered. "You see, sir, there are ten or fifteen thousand men on strike here just now, and it seems they've got a little out of 'and." "But what," asked Tony's companion, effectually filling the window,--"what has that to do with the trains? Why----" "You see, sir," continued the guard with an apologetic air, "they've got a bit out of 'and. I don't know the rights of it--they do say they're underpaid, though the employers say they spend their wages on whippet-racing. Anyway, they're out----" "But the _railway_, man. What----" The guard coughed. "Some of them's a bit 'asty, sir, likewise uncontrollable. It seems that they broke into the publics about midnight and 'ave been making a night of it, so to speak. They've sent for the soldiers, but they 'aven't arrived yet. And they've tore up some of the track. The breakdown gang is repairing it, but it will be an hour or so before we can get on." "D'you hear that?" "Rather," said Tony, getting up. "Let's go and have a look. I've never seen a raging mob." "Better not, sir," advised the guard. "The town's not safe." "They may listen to me," said Tony with simple grandeur. He turned to his companion. "Do you feel like playing with fire?" The little man's eyes sparkled and he breathed quickly. He hesitated a moment with natural caution. Then---- "Yes," he said briefly. "Dash it! I--I feel as if I were beginning to live!" Tony laughed and opened the door. The guard sighed. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "don't say I didn't warn you. Anyhow, I'd advise you to leave your money behind and your watches, too." "The man's a perfect Solon," said Tony, feeling in his trousers pocket. "Here, guard, seven pounds three ... and a watch. If I perish, you may keep them, but remember that the watch needs winding night and morning." The guard gazed dumbly at the evening dress. Then he turned to the other man, "You anything, sir?" "N--nothing that matters," was the confused reply. "Come on! let's make a move!" "Broke!" thought Tony. "But he hasn't tried to touch me yet. What a day out!" CHAPTER X HOW TO DRESS ON NOTHING A YEAR The two men left the station and began to walk sharply toward the town, which was close at hand. The first street they entered was deserted, but evidence of the strike lay open to the shamed sky. Lamps, it is true, still stood erect, but their glass was shattered; missiles and rubbish littered the roadway, shop-windows had not a pane left whole, and here and there makeshift screens of boards replaced or protected the windows. It was a scene of ruin, complete and piteous. The most curious feature was that not a soul was in the street: everything was still and lonely. In the next street a similar spectacle met them--ruin and solitude. In a third, the same. In a fourth, the same. It was as if a battle had taken place, or rather as if the town had been sacked and cleared by an invading army, which had passed on like a destroying angel, leaving signs of its progress, and signs alone. "This is deuced odd," was Tony's comment--"deuced odd. The ruin does not surprise, for everything is possible in this age of Socialism. But is the spirit of curiosity dead? If so, _that_ will be 'the end of all things.' Surely everybody can not be murdered or afraid to come out. Surely we shall light upon at least one brand from the burning--some pathetic, interesting, interested spectator. If it were but a man drunk in the gutter...." "Yes, it's rum," agreed his companion. "But listen! I think I hear a noise over there to the right. Shall we go and see?" Tony stopped, friendliness in his heart. "I think you're right," he said. "But look here! Judging by what we've seen, these chaps won't stick at trifles. Personally I don't much care what happens, so long as I can get interested; but you're different--you're an older man. Hadn't you better try the station?" The little man blushed. "Damn it, sir!" he began, and then stopped. "I beg your pardon--I haven't sworn these twenty years, but I feel somehow different to-day. What I mean is that I'm not a graybeard yet, and if you can be interested, I can. Come on!" "All right," said Tony, warming to him. "Awfully sorry I said that. I say, you _are_ a sportsman----" The other blushed again, but this time with pleasure. "Thank you. That is the second time I have been called a sportsman within twenty-four hours. I ... I rather like it, Mr.----. By the way, have you any objection to telling me your name?" "Not a bit, if you'll tell me yours." The little man considered a moment, and then---- "My name is Hedderwick," he said frankly. "I feel I can trust you to keep your own counsel." "Of course. Mine is Tony Wild." They had been walking quickly in the direction of the noise, which every minute became clearer. At last, guided by their ears, they entered a street where their curiosity was satisfied. At the farther end was a seething crowd of men, a few women, and a rabble of gutter children. They were the strikers, or some of them, all excited and not a few