"Now look here, Dick, old fellow, I'm afraid I'm going to be a great
nuisance to you. You're so easy-going, that with this money of yours--
to use your sea-going terms--you'll be all amongst the sharks; every one
will be making a set at you. 'Pon my soul, I've been miserable ever
since I won that four pound ten. The best thing we can do is to see one
another seldom, for if I stay with you I shall always be boring you
about some foolish bit of extravagance, and getting into hot water with
the friends who take a fancy to you."
"My dear Frank," said Trevor, smoking away in the most unruffled
fashion, "you will oblige me very much by letting that be the
clearing-up shower as far as talk of leaving me is concerned. It is
quite right. Here have I been to sea, middy and man, for twelve years;
and now I come back to England a great helpless baby of a fellow, game
for everybody. You think I'm a fool. Well, I am not over-wise; but my
first act ashore here was the looking-up of a tried old schoolfellow,
whose purse I've often shared, and who never once left me in the lurch--
and," he added, slowly and meaningly, "who never will leave me in the
lurch. Am I right?"
Frank Pratt turned one sharp, quick flash upon the speaker, and that was
enough.
"Thanky, sir," cried the shoeblack, spinning up the sixpence he had
received.
The friends turned towards one of the omnibuses about to make a start
for the course.
"Beg parding, sir," said a voice, "just a speck left on your coat, sir!"
And the man who had received the shilling for the brushing began to
"ciss" once more.
"That'll do, sir! That's the next 'bus, sir! Good luck to you for a
real gent, sir," he added; and then in a whisper, "Back White Lassie!"
Trevor turned sharply round, just time enough to encounter a most
knowing wink, and the man was gone.
"Dick, I'm afraid that's a trap," said Pratt, gazing after the man.
"Better not bet at all; but if you do, I don't think I should go by what
that fellow says. Well, come along. Eh? what?"
"Consequential-looking old chap in that barouche, I said;" and Trevor
pointed to where a carriage had drawn up by the railway hotel, the owner
having posted down from town--"regular type of the old English
gentleman."
"Now, if we are to get on together, Dick," said Pratt, plaintively,
"don't try to humbug me in that way. Don't hoist false colours."
"Humbug you?--false colours?"
"Yes, humbug me. Now, on your oath, didn't you think more of the two
ladies in the barouche than of the old gentleman?"
"Without being on my oath--yes, I did; for I haven't seen a pretty girl
for three years. Get up first."
"After you," was the response.
And directly after the friends were mounted on the knifeboard of a great
three-horse omnibus, brought down expressly for the occasion.
The vehicle was soon loaded in a way that put its springs to the test,
for the exact licenced number was not studied upon that day. There was
a fair sprinkling of gentlemen, quiet, businesslike professionals, and
decent tradesmen with a taste for sport; but the railway company having
run cheap special trains, London had sent forth a few representative
batches of the fancy, in the shape of canine-featured gentlemen "got up"
expressly for the occasion, with light trousers, spotted neckerchiefs,
velvet coats, and a sign in the breast of their shirt or tie in the
shape of a horseshoe pin. It is impossible to sit in such company
without wondering whether the closely cropped hair was cut at the
expense of the country; and when a quiet, neutral-looking man, sitting
amongst them, accidentally clicks something in his pocket, you may know
all the time that it is the lid of a tobacco-box, or a few halfpence,
but you are certain to think of handcuffs.
You cannot pick your companions on an omnibus bound from a little
country station to the scene of a steeplechase, and Richard Trevor and
his friend soon found that they were in luck; for in addition to the
regular racing attendants, London had sent down a pleasant assortment of
those sporting gentlemen who used to hang about London Bridge Station on
the morning when an event was to "come off," police permitting, some
forty miles down the line.
In the hurry of climbing up, Pratt had not noticed the occupants of the
vehicle but as soon as they had taken their seats he was for descending
again, and he turned to whisper his wishes to his friend.
"All comes of being in such a plaguy hurry, Frank. Always take
soundings before you come to an anchor. Never mind now, though the
onions are far from agreeable."
The words had hardly left his lips, when a man on his left turned
sharply, and asked why he hadn't ordered his "kerridge," subsiding
afterwards into a growl, in which the word "sweeps" was plainly to be
made out.
This acted as the signal for a little light chaff, and remarks began to
fly about the dress of the friends. Moses Brothers and Whitechapel hags
were mentioned, counter-jumping playfully alluded to, and permissions to
be out for the day; and then a battery of exceedingly foul pipes came
into play, emitting odours resembling anything but those of Araby the
Blest, and driving Frank Pratt to ask his friend, in self-defence, for a
cigar.
"Giv's that there light," said an individual on his right--a gentleman
in velveteen coat, tight trousers, and eyes of so friendly a nature that
they seemed ever seeking each other's society, and trying to burrow
beneath the bridge of their owner's flat nose. He had no whiskers nor
beard, but a great deal of mouth and chin, spotted all over with tiny
black dots. His massive neck was swathed in a great belcher kerchief,
with ample but useful ends; for besides supplying warmth, one was used
occasionally to supply the lack of nutriment, and be nibbled by the
owner's great horse-teeth.
Trevor took the vesuvian from his friend, and politely passed it to the
man, who leered, grinned, stuffed it into his pipe-bowl, holding it
there as he puffed for a few moments, and then, winking at a companion,
he pitched the little incandescent globe upon Pratt's light overcoat.
Pratt started, flushed angrily, and brushed the vesuvian from his coat,
but not until it had burned there a round black spot. But he said
nothing; his face only twitched a little, as he began to make remarks
about the country they were passing.
"Hillo!--eo--eo!" came from behind, as the omnibus slowly lumbered
along; the driver drew a little on one side, and the open carriage, with
its post-horses, that they had seen by the railway hotel, began slowly
to pass, with the two young men eagerly scanning the occupants.
"Look at that old cock in the buff weskit," said some one on the
omnibus--a sally which was followed by roars of laughter, as an elderly
gentleman, of portly, magisterial aspect, half started from the back
seat, filming and frowning in utter astonishment at so ribald an attack
on his dignity.
"Going to ask us to lunch, guv'nor?" laughed a third.
"That's Brighamy Young and his three wives," cried some one else.
"Tell the postboy to go a little faster, Edward," the old gentleman
called out to a footman on the box.
"Do you hear, Edward? Why don't you go on faster, Edward?--eh, Edward?"
cried the first speaker, while the old gentleman leaned forward to speak
to one of the young ladies opposite, who was evidently somewhat
agitated; while, to make matters worse, the omnibus driver had whipped
up his horses, and the great vehicle kept on thundering along abreast of
the barouche.
This fresh movement was the signal for a volley from the fellow on
Trevor's right; and he now made himself especially conspicuous, kissing
his hand, and evidently goading the old gentleman into a state of
apoplexy. A scene was evidently brewing, and something unpleasant must
have inevitably occurred, had not, almost at one and the same moment,
Pratt whispered a word or two in French to his friend, and the postboy
given his horses a few cuts, which made them start forward with such
energy that the barouche was soon out of sight.
"You're about right, Frank," Trevor said, leaning back; "it is not worth
notice."
"P'raps you'll just use about as much of this here 'bus as you pays
for," said the man seated dos-a-dos to him, and whom he had slightly
pressed.
Trevor started forward; for the remark was unpleasantly made, and
qualified with offensive adjectives. Pratt looked anxious, and would
gladly have finished the distance on foot; but to stop the omnibus, and
get down, would probably have made bad worse--especially as Trevor only
smiled, and sat up quite erect.
"He've been taking more than his share of the 'bus ever since he got
up," said the black-looking gentleman on the right, pressing closer to
Trevor. "Keep yer own side, will yer?"
Very pale and quiet, Richard Trevor edged a little more towards his
companion; but this was only the signal for renewed insult, the
knifeboard being in possession of the fellow's friends.
"Where are you a-scrowging to?" said the fellow on Pratt's left.
And then, acting in concert, he and his companions forced the little
barrister closer to his friend.
"Here, let's speak to the driver," said Trevor, quietly; but there was a
dull red spot in each cheek.
"No, no!" said Pratt. "It's not much further; don't let us have a row."
"Mind your pockets, then," muttered Trevor.
"Ah, just as I thought," said the fellow who had been ringleader
throughout. "They're a talking about pockets--button up, gents."
Here followed a roar of laughter, and a few more witticisms of a similar
character were fired off. Then, seeing how patiently the two friends
bore it all, a fresh crowding was tried, and one of the most offensive
of the fellows called out to the man in velveteens--
"Why don't you leave off, Barney?"
"Tain't me," said Barney, grinning hugely; "it's these here two swell
mob blokes."
There was another roar of laughter, which culminated in a shriek of
delight when Barney of the black muzzle removed his pipe from his mouth,
and designedly spat upon Trevor's glossy boot.
The young man started as if he had been stung; but there was a quiet,
firm pressure of his arm, and he said, in French--
"Is it much further to the course?"
As he spoke, he quietly drew a white cambric handkerchief from his
pocket, carefully removed all trace of the disgusting offence from his
boot, and threw the handkerchief into the road, following it up by
lighting a fresh cigar.
"My! what a pity!" said the fellow, sneeringly, as he watched with
curiosity the young man's action. "I am sorry. Wouldn't you like the
handkerchief--again?"
And he pointed to a boy who had just picked it up from the road.
The pressure was again upon Trevor's arm, but he did not speak, and the
only movement was a slight twitching about the muscles of the face.
What more insult might have followed it is impossible to say, for the
omnibus now stopped at a gate, and the occupants began to scramble off.
Trevor rose, and waited for the gentleman called Barney to get down.
But he remained; so Trevor stepped over him, and Pratt was about to
follow, when the fellow thrust out his legs, and the young man tripped,
staggered, and would have fallen from the omnibus but for the strong arm
of his friend.
"Get down first," said Trevor.
"No, no--never mind," said Pratt, catching his arm.
"Get down first," said Trevor, as if he were on the quarter-deck.
"There's nothing to be gained by it," whispered Pratt.
"I'll come directly," was the reply; and facing round upon the fellow,
who had risen, he looked him full in his closely-set eyes, face close to
face, as he said, quietly--
"I think I shall know you again, my friend."
Before the fellow had recovered from his surprise, Trevor stepped
lightly down, took Pratt's arm in an easy-going, familiar way, and the
friends joined the string of people crossing the fields.
"Thank goodness!" said Pratt; "I do hate a row. You must be on the
losing side. Lost anything?"
"No," said Trevor, thoughtfully. "But if that fellow had been at sea
with me, and behaved like that--"
"You'd have had him flogged?"
"No," said Trevor, "I'd have pitched him overboard."
"Overboard?"
"Yes," said Trevor, with his face once more all smiles--"and fished him
out!"
Volume 1, Chapter IV.