The Yeoman Adventurer
pack of cards as he spoke, and, with the words, he flung them in my face.
At most of the tables play stopped, and the players there became silently
intent on this new game where the stakes ran highest of all. It meant a
fight, a fight between an expert swordsman and a man who knew nothing of
the craft. To such a fight there could be but one end.
Tiverton was beside himself. "She'll never forgive me!" he muttered, and
I looked amusedly at him and whispered, "Who? The nabobess?"
He was the highest in rank there, and as such a court of appeal and a
sort of master of the ceremonies.
"My Lord Tiverton," said I aloud, "I am, as you know, a recent arrival in
town from the Americas and other outlandish places, and, naturally enough
under these circumstances, I am not clear on some points."
"It's clear you've been swiped across the face," broke in Sir Patrick Gee.
"Hold your tongue, sir!" said Tiverton, looking quietly at him. "Proceed,
Mr. Wheatman!"
It made me smile again, tight as the corner was, to see the play-acting
spirit creeping over him. He was beginning to enjoy himself.
"Therefore, my lord, I should like to ask you a few questions," I
continued.
"Certainly, sir," he replied, with great impressiveness, taking snuff in
great style while he awaited my questioning.
"Is there any doubt that I am the insulted person?"
"None whatever," he replied. "My Lord Brocton insulted you wantonly and
deliberately."
"Then, my lord Marquess, I may be wrong, but I think I have the right of
choosing the place, the time, and the weapons."
"Certainly, Mr. Wheatman," he answered.
"Then if I choose to say, 'On the banks of the Susquehanna, ten years
hence, with tomahawks,' so it must be?"
A wave of scornful laughter went round the room as the question passed
from mouth to mouth. Even the most ardent gamblers left their play to join
the circle around us. English even in their vices, they took a fight for
granted, but were up in a moment to see some fun.
The Marquess was disconcerted. He obviously felt that I was about to
reflect on him in the gravest way; that, in short, I was backing out. He
would be tarnished by the dishonour that had driven me out of the world of
gentlemen.
"I think," said he, "that would be overstraining the privileges of an
insulted gentleman."
"Run away, farmer!" bellowed Sir Patrick raucously.
Tiverton looked disdainfully at him. "You may like to know, my lords and
gentlemen," he said, as grandly as if he were reciting a set piece from
the stage, "that on the night of his arrival from Boston my friend was
rudely insulted in the Strand by a certain person." Here he stopped,
whirled round on the hulking scoundrel, and added grimly to him, "I shall
finish the story unless you leave the room at once."
Gee thought better of it and slipped off like a disturbed night-prowler.
"Thank you, my lord," said I very humbly, "for your decision. I hope my
unavoidable ignorance entitles me to try again."
"Certainly," said he, but with unmistakable uncertainty.
I looked round the intent curious circle of faces and then at Brocton. On
his face and in his cruel eyes there were the same gloating anticipations
that were there when, in Marry-me-quick's cottage, he thought he was
bending Margaret to his foul will. You could have heard a card drop in
that crowded room.
My time had come to the tick. Stretching myself taut, I said slowly and
distinctly, "Here. Now. Fists."
Brocton went limp and ghastly. I strode up to him, took him, unresisted,
by the scruff of the neck, and then said curtly, "Open the door, Tiverton."
The willing little Marquess ran delightedly to do my bidding, and I
kicked my lord Brocton into the kennel and out of my life.
Next morning I went round to Tiverton's as usual, and while he was at
breakfast, and we were starting our usual round of talk, in came Sir James
Blount, a stranger at such an hour.
"Have you heard the news?" he asked abruptly.
"What news?" asked Tiverton, rather sour at being cheated out of his
morning's consolatory grumble with me.
"Mr. Freake has declared that Miss Waynflete is to be his sole heiress,"
he replied.
I had to thump Tiverton to prevent him being choked by something that
went the wrong way. We had an excited talk about the news, which Sir James
had received direct from Master Freake, which settled it as a fact beyond
dispute or change. Margaret was now the most desirable match in London
from every point of view. Blount went away quite pleased with the stir he
had made.
"Henry! Henry!" yelled Tiverton as soon as we were alone, and in came his
man hastily. "Henry! What the devil do you mean by putting me into these
old rags? Damme! I look like a chairman. Go and get some decent things
out, you old rascal! I'm to call on the greatest lady in London town."
He hurried off after his servant, and I heard him singing and shouting
over his second toilet. I crept miserably out of the house and made my way
to the mews. The ostler saddled my horse, a beautiful chestnut mare which
Master Freake had given me, and I rode out of town, deep in thought.
Mechanically, I went the way we had intended to go, and found myself at
last on the heights that overlook London from the north. Then I pulled up.
The towers of the Abbey stood out nobly against the steel-blue sky.
Within their shadow was Master Freake's house where, by now, Tiverton
would not have pleaded his love in vain. I saw her there, in the splendid
room she always dimmed with her greater splendour, the exquisite Marquess
at her feet, happy in possession of the pearl of great price. Over this
vision a shadow came, and I saw the house-place at the Hanyards, with our
widowed Kate alone in her sorrow. Her flame-red hair was white as snow and
tears of blood were on her cheeks. Donald's farewell, _Weird mun hae
way_, boomed in my ears like a dirge. With a sigh that was near of kin
to a sob, I pulled the mare round and urged her northwards, northwards and
homewards.
In my fear and trembling I shirked everything, doing childishly and more
than childishly. I was not on Sultan, and when I rode out of Lichfield I
hugged that simple fact to my heart. So much of my dream had at least not
come true, and I gave the lie to more of it by leaving the high road and
wandering devious ways till, within four or five miles of home, I left
even the by-ways and kept to the fields. So keen was I on my little
stratagems that I rode over the Upper Hanyards without once recalling the
fact that it was now mine as it had been my father's before me. About four
o'clock on a December day, just over a year since leaving home, I leaped
the mare over a hedge and was at the old gate.
More of the dream was untrue. The winter sun was dropping down to the
hill-tops like a great carbuncle set in gold, and the Hanyards was all
aglow in its flaming rays. The gate was open, so that I could at least
begin by pitching into Joe Braggs for his negligence, and the windows of
the house-place shimmered a welcome because of the cheerful blaze within.
Not a soul stirred. I jumped down, threw the reins over the gate-post,
and walked stealthily into the yard and up to the window. Still not a soul
stirred.
I peeped in.
There was our Kate, leaning lovingly over my chair, pillowed as she had
never pillowed it for me, and in the chair was clearly a man, for I could
see his stockings and breeches stretching comfortably past her skirts. She
laughed merrily at something said, and then stooped and kissed the person
in the chair.
This was woman's faith! With a great clatter, I strode into the porch,
thrust open the door, and stepped in. There was a shout of delight, a
babble of, "It's our Noll! It's our Noll!" and Kate leaped into my arms
and rained kisses on me.
The man followed her, slowly and feebly, leaning heavily on a stick. When
he turned his face so that the firelight showed him up, my legs sank
beneath me and my knees knocked together. It was Jack, dear old Jack,
nothing but the shadow of himself, but still Jack right enough, and his
hand was in mine.
"Run, Kit!" he cried. "Get some wine! The lad's overcome. God bless you,
old Noll, how are you?"
Kate ran off into the parlour, where our wine was stored.
"Jack!"
"Hello, Noll!"
"I thought I'd killed you."
"Was it you?" he asked, all amazed at my self-accusation.
"Yes," I faltered.
"By gom, Noll, you did give me a sock!"
He heard Kate tripping back with the wine, and put his finger on his lips
for a warning. And that was the first and last remark Jack Dobson made on
the subject.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN
It took me to cure Jack. I administered one dose of medicine and he at
once began to fill out and get strong and chesty in a manner almost
absurd, whereon there was much twitting of our Kate who, in her old way,
rated me soundly in public and crept up to me in private, and kissed me
and wept gladly in the most approved maiden-like style.
This was the way of it. I sent Joe Braggs into Stafford the day after I
got home to fetch out Master Dobson, and had him alone in my room. True he
was as near and grasping as ever, but I saw even this side of him in a new
light now, for he had been near and grasping for Jack. He was rather
uncertain when we met; glad enough, of course, to see an old friend back
again safe and sound, but dubious on the main point.
"Master Dobson," said I, "your Jack desires to wed our Kate."
"So he tells me," said he dolefully, rubbing his thin finger under the
edge of his bob-wig to scratch his perplexed head.
"She is an excellent young woman, and a comely," said I, grinning at him.
"Undoubtedly," he conceded.
"But, as the head of the family, Master Dobson, I offer no objection to
the proposal." Much it would have mattered if I had, but I always take
credit when and while I can.
"It's very kind of you, Ol ... Mr. Wheatman," said he, "but...."
"Yes," said I encouragingly.
"But there's what I may call the material side of the matter to be
considered. My son's bride should be suitable from the business point of
view."
"I've been considering that point, Master Dobson. It is undoubtedly
important. Jack's a careless young dog, and I'm sure our Kate is just the
woman he wants from a business point of view. She'll keep an eye on every
meg in his pockets."
"Tut, tut!" said he, stirred to action, as I knew he would be. "You
mistake me completely. My son will not be wanting in this world's gear and
he must have a wife to match."
"I see," said I. "One with something substantial in her pocket."
"Precisely," said he.
"Well, Master Dobson, if our Kate is willing to marry your Jack, a point
on which I can offer only a conjecture, she will marry him with five
thousand pound in her pocket."
He sat bolt upright and stared at me with his mouth wide open.
We fetched them in, mother coming with them, and the old man there and
then gave them his blessing. Kate ran into mother's arms, while Jack wrung
my hand and danced for joy. Afterwards he ate the most astonishing dinner
imaginable, loudly asseverating that he was as right as nine-pence and
sick of slops.
My coming back made a great noise all over our countryside. Of what I had
actually done there was no knowledge whatsoever. The tale went that I had
been to America and found a goldmine, and come home and bought back the
lost Hanyards. Acute sceptics in barbers' shops and market ordinaries
advanced the opinion that it must have been a very little goldmine, but
they were unable to substitute any other explanation and so fell into
contempt. The tale suited me and I never contradicted it. In a world where
a man who has travelled to London is a person of consideration and renown,