He let the basket swing down and just passed his right hand forward,
seeming only to brush the assailant's ankle--in fact it was the merest
touch, but sufficient to upset the equilibrium of a kicker on one leg,
and the next moment Lance Distin was lying on his back in a perfect
tangle of brambles, out of which he scrambled, scratched and furious,
amidst a roar of laughter from his companions.
"You beggar!" he cried, with his dark eyes flashing, and a red spot in
each of his sallow cheeks.
"Keep off!" cried the mushroom bearer, backing away. "Lay hold of him,
Gilmore--Aleck!"
The lads addressed had already caught at the irate boy's arms.
"Let go, will you!" he yelled. "I'll let him know."
"Be quiet, or we'll all sit on you and make you."
"I'll half kill him--I'll nearly break his neck."
"No, don't," said the boy with the basket, laughing. "Do you want your
leave stopped? Nice you'd look with a pair of black eyes."
"You can't give them to me," roared the lad, passionately, as he still
struggled with those who held him, but giving them little trouble in
keeping him back.
"Don't want to. Served you right. Shouldn't have tried to kick over my
basket. There, don't be in such a temper about that."
"I'll pay you for it, you miserable cad!"
"Don't call names, Distie," said the lad coolly. "Those who play at
bowls must expect rubbers. Let him go, boys; he won't hurt me."
It was a mere form that holding; but as the detaining pair loosened
their hold, Lance Distin gave himself a violent wrench, as if he were
wresting himself free, and then coloured to the roots of his hair, as he
saw the laugh in his adversary's eyes.
"Distie's got no end of Trinidad sun in him yet.--What a passionate
fellow you are, Cocoa. I say, these are good, really. Come home with
me and have breakfast."
Lance Distin, son of a wealthy planter in the West Indies, turned away
scornfully, and the others laughed.
"Likely," said Fred Gilmore, showing his white teeth. "Why, I wouldn't
poison a cat with them."
"No," said Aleck Macey; "I know."
"Know what?"
"It's a dodge to make a job for his uncle, because the doctor can't get
any practice."
"Don't want any," said the lad, good-humouredly. "If he did, he'd go
back to Savile Row."
"Not he," snarled Distin, pausing in his occupation of removing thorns
from his jacket. "Killed all his patients, and was obliged to run away
into the country."
"That's it!" said Vane Lee, with a laugh. "What a clever chap you are,
Distie; at least you would be if your tongue wasn't quite so sharp.
There, shake hands, I didn't mean to hurt you."
He stretched out rather a dirty hand, at which the young Creole gave a
contemptuous glance, looked at his own white fingers, and thrust them
into his pockets.
"Ah, well, they are dirty," said Vane, laughing. "No, they're not.
It's only good old English soil. Come on. Uncle will be glad to see
you, and then we'll all walk up to the Rectory together."
_Crick_!
Distin struck a match, and, with a very haughty look on his thin face,
began to puff at a cigarette which he had taken from a little silver
case, Vane watching him scornfully the while, but only to explode with
mirth the next moment, for the young West Indian, though he came from
where his father's plantations produced acres of the pungent weed, was
not to the manner born, and at the third draw inhaled so much acrid
smoke that he choked, and stood coughing violently till Vane gave him a
hearty slap on his back.
Down went the cigarette, as Distin made a bound forward.
"You boor!" he coughed out; and, giving the lad a malevolent look, he
turned haughtily to the others.
"Are you fellows coming home to breakfast?"
He did not pause for an answer, but walked off sharply in the direction
of the Rectory, a quarter of a mile from the little sleepy town.
"Oh, I say," cried Vane, in a tone full of remorse, "what an old
pepper-pot he is! I didn't mean to upset him. He began it,--now,
didn't he?"
"Yes, of course," said Gilmore. "Never mind. He'll soon come round."
"Oh, yes," said Macey. "I shouldn't take any notice. He'll forget it
all before night."
"But it seems so queer," said the lad, taking out and examining one of
his mushrooms. "I just came out for a walk, and to pick some of these
to have cooked for breakfast; and just as I've got a nice basketful, I
come upon you fellows, and you begin to chaff and play larks, and the
next moment I might have been knocking all the skin off my knuckles
against Distin's face, if I hadn't backed out--like a coward," he added,
after a pause.
"Oh, never mind," said the others.
"But I do mind," cried the lad. "I want to be friends with everyone. I
hate fighting and quarrelling, and yet I'm always getting into
hot-water."
"Better go and get your hands in now--with soap," said Macey, staring at
the soil-marks.
"Pooh! a rinse in the water-cress stream would take that off. Never
mind Distin: come home, you two."
"No, not this morning," said Gilmore.
"I won't ask you to taste the mushrooms: honour bright."
"Wouldn't come if you did," said Macey, with a merry laugh on his
handsome face. "Old Distie would never forgive us if we came home with
you now."
"No," said Gilmore; "he'd keep us awake half the night preaching at you.
Oh! here's old Syme."
"Ah, gentlemen, good-morning," said a plump, florid clergyman with
glittering glasses. "That's right, walk before breakfast. Good for
stamina. Must be breakfast time though. What have you got there, Lee?"
"Fungi, sir."
"Hum! ha!" said the rector bending over the basket. "Which? Fungi,
soft as you pronounce it, or Fungi--Funghi, hard, eh?"
"Uncle says soft, sir," said Vane.
"Hum--ha--yes," said the rector, poking at one of the vegetable growths
with the forefinger of his gloved hand. "He ought to know. But,
_vulgo_, toadstools. You're not going to eat those, are you?"
"Yes, sir. Will you try a few?"
"Eh? Try a few, Lee? Thanks, no. Too much respect for my gastric
region. And look here; hadn't you better try experiments on Jamby's
donkey? It's very old."
"Wouldn't be any good, sir. Nothing would hurt him," said Vane,
laughing.
"Hum! ha! Suppose not. Well, don't poison one of my pupils--yourself.
Breakfast, gentlemen, breakfast. The matutinal coffee and one of
Brader's rolls, not like the London French, but passably good; and there
is some cold stuffed chine."
"Cold stuffed chine!" said Vane, as he walked in the other direction.
"Why, these will be twice as good--if Martha will cook 'em. Nasty
prejudiced old thing!"
Ten minutes later he reached a gate where the remains of a fine old
avenue leading up to a low mossy-looking stone house, built many
generations back; and as he neared it, a pleasant odour, suggestive of
breakfast, saluted his nostrils, and he went round and entered the
kitchen, to be encountered directly by quite an eager look from its
occupant, as he made his petition.