The first sound she heard was a horse’s trotting as some one rode
away down the hill. There was a jumble of interjections, groans, and
arguments, amid which she distinguished her vagabond’s voice. He was at
least not slain! She sent up a swift prayer of grateful joy, and called
him again. He replied with a guarded question.
“Who’s calling?”
“I--I,” she answered. “What is it?”
“An accident. Nobody hurt.”
Following the direction of his voice, she came upon him seated on a
stone, with another man standing beside him. He addressed her formally.
“Madam, do not be alarmed. There has been an accident. This gentleman
is a constable. He was--er--under the impression that he ought to shoot
me, and did so without waiting for explanations.”
“Oh, dear--oh....”
He interrupted again, as quickly as he could get his breath.
“I presume the shots wakened you, or, if you were not asleep, alarmed
you. It was most charitable of you to run to the assistance of the
wounded.”
“Wounded!”
“Slightly. One favour only--let me ask. May we come in for a moment and
find out the extent of the damage? I am sure the officer will assist in
binding up the wounds he has made. We will trouble you for only a few
moments.”
She understood that she was to moderate her anxiety. Her vagabond did
not mean to let their former acquaintance be known to the village
sleuth who might gossip it about the valley.
“Can the constable carry you in?”
“_No_, ma’am! nor hi wouldn’t _try_ it!” came out of the night, with
indignant emphasis and a cockney accent as thick as the darkness.
“No need, officer. It’s my shoulder that is hit. If I may come in....”
“Hi might as well tell yer that, w’erever you go, _Hi_ goes with yer,
as Ruth she says to Nay-homy in the Scriptur’; cos w’y? Cos you’re
hunder arrest, that’s w’y.”
“Thank you for the explanation. I might have thought you were following
me from sheer affection.”
“Oh, don’t jest!” Rosamond pleaded. “It may be dreadfully serious. I
will run in ahead and find some linen to make bandages--and telephone
for the doctor.” She ran up the road toward her gate, not heeding his
protests against the doctor.
Dr. Wells’s office- and horse-boy, Peter, answered the telephone
almost immediately. He slept in the office downstairs for that purpose.
Dr. Wells was wont to say that while Peter never _woke_ up, when the
bell rang, he always _got_ up and took the name fairly correctly,
stumbled to his master’s door and repeated it, and then, after
harnessing the horse, rolled back to bed without knowing that he had
been up. When vagabond and constable entered Villa Rose, Peter was
even then rapping on the doctor’s chamber door and saying the name of
“Mearely.”
Rosamond scurried hither and thither producing soft linen and lotions,
safety pins and needle and thread, cotton batting and smelling salts,
until the end of the big table looked like a peep into a hospital. To
all protests she answered:
“Don’t talk! Don’t talk! Save your strength.”
The ball had furrowed the fleshy part of his left arm just below the
shoulder. Rosamond was obliged to remove his coat, cut the sleeve of
his shirt, and bathe and dress the wound herself without assistance
from the constable. That worthy stood by, twirling a battered straw hat
and staring open-eyed and open-mouthed at the contents of the living
room. He refused point blank to take any surgical responsibility.
“Hi’m a constable, and Hi ain’t no bloomin’ doctor. Hi drills ’oles in
yer; Hi don’t stop ’em hup again,” was his pithy and definite retort,
when besought to put the pins in the bandage while Mrs. Mearely held
it secure. In the end she was obliged to tie it, achieving quite a
pretty bow-knot which she spread out daintily and patted into place,
feeling a natural pride in it which she was not inclined to conceal.
While refusing to put a finger to the business, himself, the constable
was willing to make remarks and to offer criticisms, such as:
“Hi’ve ’eard of gangrene a-settin’ in hafter a shot. Hi shouldn’t be
surprised if ’e’d take to gangrene, ’im bein’ of that dark, bilious
complexion. A dark-skinned man is bound to be a bilious man. Hi never
knowed it to fail.”
Or:
“If Hi’d ben doin’ the job, Hi’d ’ave done it very different. But hit’s
not my place to nuss. Wot’s your name (’nyme’ he called it), by the
w’y?”
“Mrs. Mearely.” shortly. She already detested that constable.
He was a broad, slow person of forty or more, with a dragging
walk that, at first sight, seemed to be lameness; but save for
self-importance and a weary disgust at the world, his limbs were
whole. His head was as large as the average headstone, and of somewhat
the same shape; and though it was not of the same material, it was
thicker and looked as hard. He wore a gray linen duster, soiled and
much crumpled, from which he occasionally filliped bits of dried mud
with his thumb nail. He spoke in the deliberate, very positive accents
of a man who knows he has never made a mistake of any kind, even by
accident, in all his life. He forbore to argue with Mrs. Mearely when
she accused him of a callous soul, anent the bandaging. He simply put
back the flap of his duster and polished his badge with his cuff. The
inference was plain. She might _have_ riches; but he _was_ the _Law_.
“Why doesn’t Dr. Wells come? I am so frightened about you!” She burst
out presently, after the Law had expressed more of his uncomforting
views.
“But it’s nothing,” the victim protested.
“Oh, yes it is--it _is_! It’s a dreadful wound. It--it bled!”
“It’s only a graze on the shoulder. You have done everything needful.”
“Oh, no--I don’t know how to attend to it _properly_. If _only_ the
doctor would come! Don’t they c-cauterize--wounds?” She stammered over
the word, as she was not sure of it. “I--I--think I’ve read of that.
And sew them up with silk?--to--to prevent people from bleeding to
death?”
Her eyes were big and tearful with alarm.
“Please don’t be so troubled. It is only a trifle. You need not have
sent for the doctor at all.” He turned his head to hide the flicker of
amusement which he could not restrain.
“Oh, don’t talk!” she urged. “You haven’t the strength to waste. Ought
I to telephone again? Oh, dear! Dr. Wells’s boy is so stupid. Perhaps
he hasn’t told the doctor the right name--sent him off somewhere else.
And--and--you’ll bleed to death before he--he--comes to sew you up with
silk.” She wept.
“No--no, dear lady. Don’t be distressed. I’m all right.”
“Aw! ’E’ll do, I guess. Nuthin’ more’n a scratch; but wot a goin’-on
habout it!” The constable was disgusted.
Rosamond turned on him, angrily.
“What do _you_ know about it? It is all your fault! You might have
_killed_ him!”
This had far from the desired effect.
The constable replied proudly, looking from one to the other for
admiration:
“Hif it was my juty Hi’d ’ave _’ad_ ter kill ’im.” He put the straw hat
on his head with an air.
“Duty! How dare you shoot a man just because you see him alone on the
road at night!”
“Yes, ma’am. But, you see, ma’am, constable Gardner and me, we was sent
out to-night to look for a tramp. That’s hon account of some busybody
thinkin’ they seen ’im ’ereabouts this very hevenin’. So they tells the
chief, and ’e sends us, me an’ Gardner,--my nyme bein’ Marks, Halfred
Marks, Halfred Marks” (he touched his hat-brim to each in turn). “An’
so we comes beatin’ hit along hup the valley. An’ w’en Hi seen ’im on
the porch....”
Rosamond made an exclamation of alarm.
“You--you saw...?”
“Be careful,” her patient whispered.
“Yes, ma’am. I seen ’im standin’ on the railin’ as I come up the road.
And, considerin’ the time o’ night, hit looked queer--_to me_.” His
expression defied them to criticise his angle of vision.
“Why--why ...” Mrs. Mearely began, feeling for words that eluded her.
The vagabond came to her aid.
“Naturally--naturally--sergeant....”
The Law’s regard became more affable.
“Hi hain’t the sergeant, sir--thankin’ you kindly jest the same. Seein’
a man on the railin’ at that time o’ night....”
She interrupted, nervously:
“It couldn’t have been so very late....”
“Sh!” came the warning from behind her.
Slowly and laboriously, Mr. Marks took from his pocket a large,
open-faced silver watch, attached to a short loop and bow of bright,
cherry-coloured ribbon.
“Three-twelve; nigh on three-fifteen,” he said, after a prolonged
examination.
“But it was not three, _then_!”
“Hi didn’t say _three_, ma’am. Hi said three-twelve. Three-thirteen it
is now, bein’ as time an’ tide waits for no man. Must a’ben two-thirty,
any’ow--nearer two forty-five.” Preparing to return the watch to his
pocket, he noticed the other man gazing at its cherry bow. “Hi see
you’re hadmirin’ of _this_. It’s one of Mrs. Marks’s ’appy touches. She
‘as a good bit of sentiment, Mrs. Marks ’as--on haccount of marryin’
_late_ in life. Hi recommends Mrs. Marks as a wife; or hany spinster
that’s standin’, so to speak, hon the doorsill of the lonesome forties,
for, w’en they _gets_ took up by a man, they’re very grateful an’
supine. So as Hi was sayin’, seein’ ’im on the railin’ at that time of
night, Hi thought Hi’d see wot was hup!”
“Naturally, officer: of course.”
“So Hi starts hup the bank with Gardner; an’ jest then--bump!--the
feller jumps an’ lands on my ’ead, and we goes down a-rollin’ into the
road, with Gardner hafter us. Gardner, ’e picks ’isself hup an’ ’oofs
it for the station, never carin’ for me; but that’s hall reg’lar,
’cause _’e_ goes hoff juty at two-thirty. That’s ’ow Hi knowed wot
time it wos--haccount of Gardner leavin’ me in the ditch an’ ’oofin’
it for the station. Hi’d jest come _hon_ juty; so Hi ’as to pick
myself hup--an’ make it ’ot for _’im_,” indicating the wounded man in
the chair. “So Hi spits hout a mouthful of sand-pebbles back hon to
the road (where they’d houghter of stayed hin the first place) an’ I
_yells_ at ’im: ‘’Alt!’ says Hi. But off ’e goes,” His wooden face took
on an aggrieved look like a boy’s when left behind in a race.
Rosamond exclaimed angrily:
“You should have let him go. You had no right to shoot!”
“Hi’ll shoot hany man wot jumps on my ’ead--’specially _at that time o’
night_!” He spoke as one positively within his rights. “’Ow was Hi to
know ’e was your ’usband, ma’am?”
“My--my...?” she gasped.
“’Specially as hit was in the dark. But hi wouldn’t a-knowed if hit ’ad
ben in the light. Now, if you’ll give me the nyme, ma’am, Hi’ll be hoff
and make my report to the chief.” He brought a large tablet notebook
and pencil out of his pocket. Rosamond looked at the vagabond, her face
blank with dismay.
“Report? Oh-h--you mustn’t....”
“You needn’t report this, officer,”--quickly coming to her rescue--“I
have no complaint to make. It was purely an accident.”
“Oh yes! _purely_ an accident; not of the _least_ importance!” she
emphasized, snatching gratefully at the straw.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. Hi’ll take his nyme jes’ the syme, as a
matter of juty.”
There was a pause in which two disconcerted persons faced each other
with perplexed looks.
“Certainly--certainly--er--but I am not this lady’s husband....”
“Then--wot is she makin’ such a goin’ hon habout yer for?” severely.
“Well--I--er--I’m--her chauffeur.”
“Yes!” she echoed, almost sobbing in her relief. “Yes! he’s the
chauffeur.”
The impromptu motorist continued:
“You see--er--there was a party this evening and I drove some of the
guests home--er--I had just returned. So--er--that was how it happened
I was so late--two-forty-five I think you said, by the cherry-ripe
timepiece.”
“Yes! that was it,” Rosamond assisted cheerfully. Her chauffeur!
Wonderful vagabond! How cleverly he had extricated her from a
problem which, in Roseborough, could have had but one--and that a
fatal--termination.
“Wot Hi’d like to know is, w’y was you standin’ on the porch railin’
w’en Hi was comin’ hup the road?” Mr. Marks, it appeared, had an
unfortunate memory for details.
“Oh, that?” with a _dégagé_ air. “When you were coming up the
road?--er--. Was _that_ what I heard? I was in here to--er--to get a
bite of supper--see, there are the plates on the table--when--hist!--I
heard something--something suspicious. I listened.” He paused
dramatically. Marks nodded, all agog. “Er--it was a _noise_!” He felt
his inventive powers weakening. Marks nodded again, wisely.
“’Earin’ a noise is wot makes hany man suspicious.”
“Er--I thought it might be a tramp. So I climbed on the railing--er--to
see better. I thought I saw a man--a tramp--climbing up the bank.
So--of course--I jumped on him!” His manner declared that to leap from
a high rail down upon the heads of tramps, was a tenet he had held from
childhood.
“W’en you saw hit were a horfcer of the law--w’y didn’t you ’alt w’en
Hi _said_ ’alt?”
“Oh--that?” casually; he considered: “Well, you see, I was so
frightened when I saw that I had apparently attacked a constable--I
lost my head and....”
“You nearly lost _me my_ ’ead--a-jumpin’ on it like a fancy ’igh diver
on a rollin’ wave.” He accosted Rosamond, formally, pointing his pencil
at her. “And your nyme’s ‘Mearely,’ you say, ma’am? Hi’d oughter know
but Hi hain’t been on the county force more’n three years an’ it takes
me a whiles to get hacquainted. My motto, as Hi says hit to myself a
’undred times a day, is ‘Slow and careful, Halfred.’ ‘_Mrs._ Mearely,’
you said?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mearely. Hawthorne Road.”
He bit his pencil carefully and indited.
“Hi knows the _road_ hall right--an’ hafter this Hi’ll _stick_ to
it--if hall the King’s ’orses an’ hall the King’s men is a-standin’
on the porch railin’. Let ’em stand there, Hi say. And see ’ow they
like it! Good-night, ma’am.” He put away his note book and pencil and
started slowly toward the door. The vagabond waved him a pleasant
farewell.
“There’ll be no complaint from me. Good-night sergeant.”
Mr. Marks retraced his few deliberate steps.
“Hi hain’t the sergeant, thankin’ you kindly. Hi ought to be. But to
_hought_ hain’t to is--as Hi tells Mrs. Marks--she bein’ hambitious.
Beggin’ your pardon, there’s a little matter Hi’d like to arsk
your hadvice about. An’ that his: Might you ’ave ’ad a confederate
houtside?” He gestured with his thumb.
“A confederate?” in surprise.
“No. Hi suppose not” disappointedly. “You bein’ the shoofer, Hi
couldn’t say wot you’d want of a confederate. But Hi could a-swore Hi
saw a ’eavy-set lookin’ man hon the ’illside habove me w’en Hi started
hup to inquire wot you was doin’ hon that there railin’. That’s wot I
fired the second shot for, w’en I got hup from hunder your boots. But
my eyes not bein’ the best, Hi couldn’t swear hif it was a man hor
a strayed cow, hor a juniper bush. But Hi took a pot shot at wot Hi
_thought_ it was; and hit seemed to me like Hi ’eard a groan. Hit might
’ave been a cow. Did you groan?”
“Moo--oo. Like that?”
Marks studied the sound.
“Hi carn’t say Hi reco’nize hit. Hi do wish Hi was a better ‘and at
’ittin wot Hi shoots at. That’s halways _been_ a failin’ o’ mine.
Look, in your hown case--just a _bit_ of a _scratch_, that’s hall--and
me a-’oldin’ on to your coat-tails at the time. It’ud _count_ for a
_miss_. Hit’s very ’umiliatin’ to a horfcer. At that, it might ’ave
been a juniper bush. Good-night, sir.”
He surveyed his victim from the doorway in a peevish fashion and
muttered:
“Hi do wish my aim was better. Hi do wish that.”
“Oh, _good-night_!” Rosamond cried in uncontrollable exasperation.
Constable Marks took out his watch.
“Good-_mornin’_, _Hi_ should say.” Without undue haste he put his watch
away, touched his hat, first to one, then to the other, and moved off
along the verandah.
“Thank heaven he’s gone! Oh Vagabond, I wish the doctor would come! If
only Blake were here to help you to bed.”
The vagabond was on his feet, rocking in a gale of laughter which only
main force had silenced until the constable’s exit.
“I’m not going to bed! For a bit of a scratch like this? Never.
Besides, I might miss something. Oh, human nature! How rich it is, how
glorious!”
“Oh! don’t laugh like that. It exerts you too much. You must be so
weak.” She tried to induce him to sit down again among the pillows of
the armchair.
“I’m not weak!”--he denied the charge as if it affronted him--“only
perishing for a drink of water.”
“There is ice-water in the cooler on the dining-room table. I’ll bring
you a glass.” She was flitting away to get it, but he intercepted her.
“Indeed, you shall not! You must not wait on me any more. I’m neither a
cripple--nor royalty. Oh, by the way”--he closed the dining room door
again and came back to her--“Who is Blake? You mentioned a Blake just
now.”
“He’s the coachman. Why?”
He laughed.
“You are sure he’s not the chauffeur?”
“No,” she smiled.
“To think I should have to be a chauffeur after all!” He threw out
his hands with the surrendering gesture of one who has ceased to defy
destiny. “Didn’t I tell you society’s greatest need was chauffeurs?
See how I arose, instinctively, to meet the demand. Your chauffeur,
madam--I mean ma’am.”
“It is _so_ lucky that you thought of that!” she replied; then they
both laughed again, in delight, as well as mirth, because they shared
so entertaining a secret unknown to all the world.
“But I warn you, never let me drive your automobile if you value your
life. I am a chauffeur in name only.”
“Never fear,” she answered gaily. “I don’t require your services. I
have no automobile--except a little electric; and I drive that myself.”
“Wise woman! If you could only drive your ‘little electric’ of life as
cleverly!”
She tossed her head, spiritedly.
“I’ve never had an accident!”
He challenged this.
“Because you never turn any other roads than the smooth paths of Mrs.
Mearely’s walled enclosure--where there are no fascinating dangers. At
least, not for _you_.”
Though she smiled, her answer was only half humorous.
“But what happens to people who try to escape from the safe
enclosures?--Those, I mean, who won’t live the way others want them to?”
“Ah!” he cried. “They make one glorious blind leap for freedom....”
“And land on--‘the ’ead of the Law,’” she retorted.
“_Break_ its head! The sooner the better” smilingly.
“They can’t,” she replied, gravely; though the light his coming had
put into her eyes, like new candles, was still there. “The law is too
strong. It brings them back again--wounded!” She pointed to the bandage.
When he answered, there was a defiant ring in his voice that was not
all pretence. All his gypsying past was calling to him to guard himself
against the unconscious power of the little lady of the museum whose
shining eyes told so frankly that her heart had set out on the great
search.
“A pin-scratch on the skin of my shoulder! That’s all that the talons
of social law have been able to do to _this_ vagabond. I go to drink to
liberty--and the open road--in a bumper of ice-water.”
He departed with a dramatic flourish. As the door closed behind him,
Rosamond indulged in a long, delicious sigh, thinking what a marvellous
end her Wonderful Day was coming to, and slipped into the big chair he
had vacated. On the stand just beside the chair, which was placed close
to the end of the settee, the bowl and linen strips were still in view.
She rose and gathered them up. The bowl still held some water. She ran
to the verandah rail and emptied it. Seeing a towel, another sponge
and a roll of batting on the big table, she picked up these various
items, and patted them into the bowl preparatory to putting them safely
out of sight until the doctor should arrive and perhaps need them.