THE BAD HALF CROWN.
He began by comparing himself to the bad half-crown, which always finds
its way back, but which has no right to expect a warm welcome on its
return. "Were it not," said he, "that I feel myself to be pretty near
the end of my earth's journey, I could not have the face to tell you my
story at all. But I feel that I am worn out, and don't think it likely
that I shall ever leave this room except for the grave. You shall know
everything, even more fully than I have ever known it myself until
within the last few hours. They say that when a man is nearing his end
he sees more clearly than at any other time of his life. For my part I
now see for the first time that I have never been anything but a
worthless lout from my cradle. I have never been fit to walk alone, and
if health and strength were to come back to me I should not be one whit
better than I have hitherto been. I don't know whether I ever told you
that I have a streak of gipsy blood in my veins. My grandmother was a
Romany, picked up by my grandfather on Wandsworth Common. I don't offer
this fact as any excuse for my conduct, but I have sometimes thought
that it may have something to do with the pronounced vagabondism which
has always been one of my most distinctive features. So long as I was
at home in my father's house he kept me from doing anything very
outrageous, but I was always a creature of impulse, ready to enter into
any hair-brained scheme without counting the cost. I never looked a
week ahead in my life. It was sufficient for me if the present was
endurable, and if the general outlook for the future promised something
new. My coming to this country in the first place was a mere impulse,
inspired by a senseless liking for adventure and a wish to see strange
faces and scenes. My taking Squire Harrington's farm was an impulse,
very largely due to its proximity to Lapierre's, who is a jolly
landlord and knows how to make his guests comfortable. I had no special
aptitude for farm life; no special desire to get on in the world; no
special desire to do anything except pass the time as pleasantly as I
could, without thought or care for the future. And as I have fully made
up my mind to make a clean breast of it, I am going to tell you
something which will make you despise me more than you ever despised me
yet. When I married you I did so from impulse. Don't mistake me. I
liked you better than any other woman I had ever seen. I liked your
pretty face, and your gentle, girlish ways. I knew that you were good,
and would make an excellent wife. But I well knew that I had no such
feeling towards you as a man should have towards the woman whom he
intends to make the companion of his life--no such feeling, for
instance, as I have for you at this moment. Well, I married you and we
lived together as happily as most young couples do. I knew that I had a
good wife, and you didn't know, or even suspect, what a brainless,
heartless clod you had for your husband. Our married life glided by
without anything particular happening to disturb it. But the thing
became monotonous to me, and I had the senseless vagabond's desire for
change. We did fairly well on the farm, but once or twice I was on the
point of proposing to you that we should emigrate to the Western
States. I began to drink more than was good for me, and two or three
times when I came home half-sees over you reproached me, and looked at
me in a way I didn't like. This I inwardly resented, like the besotted
fool I was. It seemed to me that you might have held your tongue. The
feeling wasn't a very strong one with me, and if it hadn't been for
that cursed four hundred pounds, things might have gone on for some
time longer. Of course I kept all this to myself, for I was at least
sensible enough to feel ashamed of my want of purpose, and knew that I
deserved to be horsewhipped for not caring more for you and baby.
"The legacy from my father, if properly used, would have placed us on
our feet. With a farm of my own, I might reasonably hope to become a
man of more importance in our community than I had been. For a time
this was the only side of the picture that presented itself to my mind.
I began to contemplate myself as a landed proprietor, and the
contemplation was pleasant enough. I bought the farm from Squire
Harrington in good faith, and with no other intention than to carry out
the transaction. When I left home on the morning of that 17th of July,
I had no more intention of absconding than I now have of running for
Parliament. The idea never so much as entered my mind. The morning was
wet, and it seemed likely that we should have a rainy day. I was in a
more loaferish mood than usual, and thought I might as well ride to
town to pass the time. The hired man, whose name I have forgotten, was
not within call at the moment, so I went out to the stable to saddle
Black Bess for myself. Then I found that the inner front padding of the
saddle had been torn by rats during the night, and that the metal plate
was exposed. To use it in that state would have galled the mare's back,
and it was necessary to place something beneath it. I looked about me
in the stable, but saw nothing suitable, so I returned into the house
to get some kind of an old cloth for the purpose. If you had been there
I should have asked for what I wanted, but you were not to be seen, and
when I called out your name you did not answer. Then, in a fit of
momentary stupid petulance, I went into the front bedroom, opened my
trunk, and took out the first thing that came uppermost. I should have
taken and used it for what I wanted just then, even if it had been a
silk dress or petticoat; but it happened to be a coat of my own. I took
it out to the stable, placed it under the saddle, and rode off. Before
reaching the front gate I saw how it was that you had not answered my
call, for, as you doubtless remember, you were out in the orchard with
baby in your arms, at some distance from the house. I nodded to you as
I rode past, little thinking that years would elapse before I should
see you again.
"I suppose you know all about how I spent the day. I had a bit of a
quarrel with the clerk at the bank, and that put me out of humor. I had
not intended to draw the money, but to leave it on deposit till next
morning.
"Shuttleworth's ill-tempered remarks nettled me. I took the notes in a
huff, and left the bank with them in my pocket. I ought to have had
sense enough to ride home at once, but I went to the Peacock and
muddled myself with drink. I felt elated at having such a large sum of
money about me, and carried on like a fool and a sot all afternoon. I
didn't start for home till a few minutes before dark. Up to that moment
the idea of clearing out had never presented itself to my mind. But as
I cantered along the quiet road I began to think what a good time I
could have with four hundred pounds in my pocket, in some far-off place
where I was not known, and where I should be free from incumbrances of
every kind.
"In the half-befuddled condition in which I then was, the idea quickly
took possession of my stupid imagination. I rode along, however,
without coming to any fixed determination, till I reached Jonathan
Perry's toll-gate. I exchanged a few words with him, and then resumed
my journey. Suddenly it flashed upon me that, if I was really going to
make a strike for it, nothing was to be gained by delaying my flight.
What was the use of going home? If I ever got there I should probably
be unable to summon up sufficient resolution to go at all. Just then I
heard the sound of a horse's feet advancing rapidly down the road. An
impulse seized me to get out of the way. But to do this was not easy.
There was a shallow ditch along each side of the road, and the fence
was too high for a leap. Before I could let down the rails and betake
myself to the fields the horseman would be on the spot. As I cast rapid
glances this way and that, I came in front of the gateway of the lane
leading down by the side of Stolliver's house to his barnyard. As it
happened, the gate was open. On came the horse clattering down the
road, and not a second was to be lost if I wished to remain unseen. I
rode in, dismounted, shut to the gate, and led my mare a few yards down
the lane to an overhanging black cherry tree, beneath which I ensconced
myself. Scarcely had I taken up my position there when the horse and
his rider passed at a swift trot down the road. It was too dark for me
to tell at that distance who the rider was, but, as you shall hear, I
soon found out. I stood still and silent, with my hand on Bess's mane,
cogitating what to do next. While I did so, Stolliver's front door
opened, and he and his boys walked out to the front fence, where the
old man lighted his pipe. Then I heard the horse and his rider coming
back up the road from the tollgate. In another moment the rider drew up
and began to talk to Stolliver. I listened with breathless attention,
and heard every word of the conversation, which related to myself. I
feared that Bess would neigh or paw the ground, in which case the
attention of the speakers would have been drawn to my whereabouts. But,
as my cursed fate would have it, the mare made no demonstration of any
kind, and I was completely hidden from view by the darkness and also by
the foliage of the cherry tree under which I stood. The horseman, as
you probably know, was Lapierre, who had been despatched by you to
bring me home. This proceeding on your part I regarded, in my then
frame of mind, in the light of an indignity. A pretty thing, truly, if
I was to be treated as though I was unable to take care of myself, and
if my own wife was to send people to hunt for me about the
neighborhood! I waited in silence till Lapierre had paid his second
visit to the toll-gate and ridden off homewards. Still I waited, until
old Stolliver and his boys returned into the house. Then I led the mare
as softly as I could down the lane, and around to the back of the barn,
where we were safe from observation.
"I chuckled with insane glee at having eluded Lapierre, and then I
determined on a course of action. Like the egotistical villain I was, I
had no more regard for your feelings than if you had been a stick or a
stone. You should never suspect that I had wilfully deserted you, and
should be made to believe that I had been murdered. Having formed my
plans, I led the mare along the edges of the fields, letting down the
fences whenever it was necessary to do so, and putting them carefully
up again after passing through. I made my way down past the rear end of
John Calder's lot, and so on to the edge of the swamp behind Squire
Harrington's. Bess would take no harm there during the night and would
be found safe enough on the morrow. I removed the bit from her mouth,
so that she could nibble the grass, and left the bridle hanging round
her neck, securing it so that she would not be likely to trip or throw
herself. I showed far more consideration for her than I did for the
wife of my bosom. I removed the saddle so that she could lie down and
roll, if she felt that way disposed. I took the coat I had used for a
pad, and carried it a short distance into the swamp and threw it into a
puddle of water. I deliberated whether I should puncture the end of my
finger with my jack-knife and stain my coat with the blood, but
concluded that such a proceeding was unnecessary. I knew that you would
be mystified by the coat as you knew quite well that I had not worn it
when I left home in the morning. Then I bade farewell to poor Bess,
and, unaccountable as it may seem to you, I was profoundly touched at
parting from her in such a way. I embraced her neck and kissed her on
the forehead. As I tore myself away from her I believe I was within an
ace of shedding tears. Yet, not a thought of compunction on your
account penetrated my selfish soul. I picked my way through the swamp
to the fourth concession, and then struck out across unfrequented
fields for Harborough station, eight miles away.
"The moon was up, and the light shone brightly all the way, but I
skulked along the borders of out-of-the-way fields, and did not
encounter a human being. As I drew near the station I secreted myself
on the dark side of an old shed, and lay in wait for the first train
which might stop there. I did not have to remain more than about half
an hour. A mixed train came along from the west, and as it drew up I
sprang on the platform of the last car but one. To the best of my
knowledge nobody saw me get aboard. I was not asked for my ticket until
the train approached Hamilton, when I pretended that I had lost it, and
paid my fare from Dundas, where I professed to have boarded the train.
I got off at Hamilton, and waited for the east-bound express, which
conveyed me to New York."