TELLS OF MY ADVENTURES AT THE FAIR
A hoarse clamour upon the air, shouts, laughter, the bray of horns,
throbbing of drums, clashing of cymbals and tinkling of bells: a
pandemonium that deafened me, a blatant uproar that shocked and
distressed me as I stood, amid the hurly-burly of the fair--in it, not
of it--staring about me for some glimpse of Diana or the Tinker who
had vanished amid the surging crowd hours ago, it seemed, and whom I
had sought vainly ever since.
Thus I wandered, lost and none too happy, amid a jumble of carts and
waggons, carriages and country wains, of booths and stalls and tents;
amid a restless, seething crowd of people who pushed and strove more
or less good-naturedly. Among all these unfamiliar sights and sounds I
ranged disconsolate, awed by the vast concourse, deafened by the
universal uproar, and not a little disgusted by the coarse humour and
rough horse-play of this truly motley throng.
On I went, a lost soul, pushed and jostled; past rows of gaudy tents
and shows, each with its platform before it, where men and women, in
outlandish livery and spangled tights, danced and sang, cracked broad
jokes, beat drums, blew horns, or strove to out-roar each other in
crying up their respective wares and wonders. One in especial drew my
notice,--a stout, bull-necked Stentor in mighty cocked hat, whose
brassy voice boomed and bellowed high above the din, so that I paused
to observe him in wondering disgust.
"In meat alone--in meat alone!" he roared. "Will eat 'is weight in
meat alone! The famous and fab'lous Franko o' Florence, the
fire-eatin', flame-swallerin', fat feller as weighs thirty-two stone
if a hounce--seein's believin'--and all for a tanner--a tanner!
Sixpence an' no more! Come and see Franko the fattest feller o'
Florence as will eat fire, devour glass and swaller swords, and all
for sixpence--for sixpence! See Franko as will dance ye a hornpipe,
breakdown or double-shuffle wi' helegance and hease, bein' nippy, neat
and nimble though weighin' thirty-two stone, seein's believin'--and
all for a tanner--a tanner! Walk up, ladies and gents, an' don't be
shy; walk up an' shake 'ands wi' Franko the fab'lous fat feller as can
sing ye, dance ye, tell fortun's, forecast the future, cast
'orrer-scopes, strike na-tivities or stand on 'is 'ead--and all for
sixpence--for sixpence!"
In this fashion, or much like it, he held forth tirelessly until,
chancing to meet my wide-eyed gaze, he immediately singled me out for
his remarks thus:
"Wot O, my Lord, wot O! You in the nobby 'at an' patched
unmentionables--wot O! Walk up, Tom-noddy, my lord, walk up and spend
a tanner; never mind your breeches, walk up an' see the stoopendious
fat feller as could swaller ye, breeches, patches, 'at an' all, an'
never blink a heyelid--a man as can swaller 'is wight in meat
alone--in meat alone!
Walk up, my lord, an' see Franko
Breeches or no, my lord, breeches or no!"
This sorry and meaningless jingle set the immediate crowd in a roar. I
became an object for ribald laughter and cheers; I was pushed and
hustled, albeit good-naturedly enough, but none the less to my great
annoyance, so that I made all haste to wriggle away and, espying a
narrow lane between these canvas booths and tents, I slipped into it,
took to my heels and turning a sharp corner in full career, came thus
upon an ancient man who sat upon a box, puffing serenely at a long
pipe and who, despite my so sudden appearance, merely glanced at me
with a pair of keen, bright eyes and wished me "Good-day." Hereupon I
stopped and, because I had very nearly upset him, took off my hat,
bowed, and humbly craved his pardon; at this he gave me a second and
keener glance and uncovering his white head, returned my salute with
grave punctilio.
He was a slight, spare old man habited in shabby garments of a quaint,
old-world fashion, but in his upright carriage was an impressive
dignity, in his vigorous gestures, quick eyes and strongly marked,
resolute features an air of command, a latent power very arresting.
"I fear I startled you, sir!" said I.
"I am not readily startled," he answered, "though indeed this very
afternoon I was beset by gipsy rogues hereabouts and rescued from
their clutches by a young Amazon of a remarkable beauty and a rare
intelligence. Youth is ever impetuous, though I trust your so
passionate speed does not argue depredations upon your neighbour's
goods; you are not a runaway pickpocket, I hope?"
"Indeed, no, sir!" I answered, and briefly narrated the reason of my
flight.
"Hum!" ejaculated the aged person and sat puffing his pipe and
regarding me with such close scrutiny that I grew a little uneasy.
"I trust that you believe me, sir?" said I.
"Entirely, sir!" he answered with a quick, decisive nod. "For I
perceive that you are a gentleman. Therefore, if you have the time and
inclination, pray sit down and let us talk awhile."
"Willingly, sir," said I, seating myself upon the grass, "for it is at
least quieter here, and I will confess the crowd with its tumultuous
turmoil and sordid vulgarity offends me greatly."
"Indeed, sir!" said my companion. "And yet it is simply to listen to
what you term offensive and vulgar turmoil that I am here. For, sir,
yonder clamour, being inarticulate, may speak infinitely to such as
hearken understandingly, being one of Nature's awful voices, a very
symphony of Life. Heard separately, each sound is an offence, I admit,
but blent thus together they become akin to the incessant surge of
ocean, the roar of foaming cataracts, the voice of some rushing,
mighty wind, and these are the elemental music of God."
"Indeed, sir," said I, "sitting here with you sufficiently remote from
the crowd's too-familiar contact, I can begin to appreciate the wisdom
of your remarks."
"Yet you speak a little disdainfully, I think, sir! But what is there
more proper to the contemplation of a philosopher than a concourse of
human beings? How compelling its interest, how infinite its variety!
The good rub shoulders with the evil, the merry with the sad, the
murderer with his victim, each formed alike yet each different--"
All at once as I listened, my attention was distracted by a face that
projected itself suddenly through the canvas of an adjacent tent, an
evil, stealthy face with narrowed eyes that watched us furtively a
while and was suddenly gone; my companion espied it also, it seemed,
for he sighed a little impatiently. "Tush, young sir!" said he. "Will
you allow the face of a peeping rogue to alienate your mind from a
conversation that promises to become interesting?"
"But sir," said I, rising somewhat hurriedly, "this place is
suggestively lonely; I think we were wiser to retire--"
"Go if you will, young sir," broke in my strange companion a little
grimly, "hasten away by all means, but I remain here."
"As you will, sir," I answered and sat down again, though careful to
keep my eyes in the one direction.
"Sir," continued the aged person, "I have seen much of men and cities,
I have journeyed in the desolate places of the world, but--"
Uttering a warning cry, I sprang to my feet as three men appeared,
desperate-seeming fellows who approached us with a very evident
intention: but suddenly, as I watched them in sweating panic, I heard
a sharp click behind me, and immediately they halted all three, their
ferocious looks smitten to surprised dismay--and glancing over my
shoulder I beheld the aged person still puffing serenely at his pipe
but with his slender right hand grasping a small, silver-mounted
pistol levelled at our would-be aggressors across his knee. And there
was something very terrible, I thought, in his imperturbable serenity.
"Rogues! Rascals!" sighed he. "To rob is sinful, to disturb the
excogitations of philosophers is blasphemous. I found it necessary to
shoot one of your sort recently--and why not again?"
At this the three began to whine while the ancient person hearkened
and puffed his pipe, viewing them with eyes of scorn.
"Oh, begone!" said he. "See you do not trouble me again, lest I prove
better citizen next time and rid the country of you once and for all."
Scarcely had the words left his lips than the cowed ruffians made off
so hastily that they might have vanished into thin air.
"And now, sir," said my companion, carefully uncocking the pistol ere
he pocketed it, "let us continue our so agreeable conversation. A
crowd of humans, sir, to my mind is a mystery deep as ocean, sublime
as the starry firmament, for who shall divine the thoughts, hopes,
passions and desires animating its many various and component
entities? Moreover, though composed of many different souls, it may
yet possess but one in common, to be swayed to mirth and anger, lifted
to a reverent ecstasy or fired to bloody vengeance and merciless
destruction. What is there can give any just conception of a mystery
so complex?"
"Surely nothing, sir," said I.
"Nay, young sir, therein I venture to think you are wrong, for we
possess a divine joy, a soul medium, a very gift of God and we call
it,--music, sir. To such as have ears, music is the speech of Gods, of
the Infinite, soaring far above mere words, revealing the unconceived,
speaking forth the unthinkable."
"And what, sir, is the unthinkable?" I questioned.
"That which flashes upon a man's consciousness without the labour of
thought, an intimate cognizance of--What the devil is it now,
Atkinson?" he broke off so suddenly that I started and, glancing up,
beheld an extremely neat, grave, sedate personage who removed his hat
to bow, and advancing deferentially, stooped sleek head to murmur
discreetly in my aged companion's ear.
"Tell 'em I'm engaged; bid 'em be hanged--no, say I'll come!" The
grave personage bowed again and moved sedately off.
"Young sir," sighed my companion, rising, "I have found you
particularly interesting, your arguments well-founded, your views on
music particularly arresting. It grieves me, therefore, to depart, but
duty calls. Pray oblige me with your arm, for I am a little lame. A
bullet, sir!" he volunteered as he limped beside me. "A shattered
knee-cap to remind me of my vivid youth, an awkward limp to keep in my
mind the lovely cause--aha, she was all clinging tenderness and plump
as a partridge then. I was her Eugenio and she my Sacharissa--a
withered crone to-day, sir, and, alas, most inelegantly slim, I
hear--bones, a temper, an eagle's beak and nut-cracker chin! Aye,
me--what changes time doth ring--_eheu! fugaces!_"
"And what of--him, sir, your opponent?" I ventured to ask.
"Was necessitated to buy himself a new hat, seeing I'd peppered the
one he wore, young sir."
Now at this moment, my gaze chancing to be turned earthwards, I espied
a pair of elegant though very dirty boots that strode us-wards,
jingling their spurs in oddly familiar manner; therefore I glanced up,
beholding in turn white buckskin breeches, flowered waistcoat,
bottle-green coat with twinkling silver buttons, the frill of an ample
shirt-front and above, the square, dimpled chin, shapely nose and
resolute blue eyes of my uncle George who, flourishing off his hat,
advanced towards us, his handsome face beaming in cheery welcome.
"Well met, my Lord!" he exclaimed, grasping the ancient person's hand.
"You've heard the fight's off?"
"Is it, George? I grieve!"
"Yes, it seems Jerningham's man Croxton--The 'Thunderbolt'--fell foul
of a harmless-looking customer on his way here, and who should it be
but Jessamy himself. So they fought there instead of here, and The
'Thunderbolt's' bolt is shot, sir--and that's the dooce of it--the
whole thing's a bite!"
"Bite indeed, George!" agreed his lordship, shaking white head until
his shabby hat toppled. "Though, to be sure, my money is on Jessamy.
But indeed the affair slipped my memory--old age, George! However,
Fortune was so kind as to send me this young gentleman, a youth of
remarkably sound ideas, Sir George; his conception of the ethics of
music, for instance--"
My uncle George glanced at me, stared, uttered an unintelligible sound
and fell back, gaping.
"How are you, Uncle George!" said I, and removing my shapeless hat, I
bowed.
"Ha?" exclaimed his lordship. "You would seem to be acquainted with
each other! Pray, George, have the goodness to introduce us."
"My lord, this--this is my nephew, Peregrine--young dog--"
"What, poor Jack's boy?"
"The same, sir. Peregrine, his lordship, the Earl of Wyvelstoke.
Nephew Peregrine took it into his head to see the world, sir--and this
is how he does it!"
"Admirable!" exclaimed his lordship. "Indeed, Mr. Vereker, should you
protract your stay in these parts, I shall hope to repeat the pleasure
of this afternoon and hear more of your musical concepts. Good-bye t'
ye, George!"
And limping to a light carriage that stood adjacent, the slender,
shabby figure climbed in with the aid of the assiduous Atkinson, and
drove away.
"Well, upon my soul, Peregrine," exclaimed my uncle, removing his hat
to ruffle his brown curls, "a precious pickle you look, b'gad! Where
in the world--what under heaven--your breeches, Perry--that
unspeakable--if only Julia could see you now. Oh, the dooce!"
Such were his more or less coherent expressions as his astonished gaze
took in the various items of my appearance. Then all at once he
laughed and down came his great hands upon my shoulders. "B'gad,
Perry, I love ye for 'em, lad; dooce take me if I don't!" he
exclaimed. "Those breeches now--where did you find 'em?"
"Sir, they were bestowed by one Galloping Jerry, a highwayman."
My words produced all the effect I had anticipated; the hat fell from
his lax grasp and lay unheeded, while my uncle stared at me in
speechless surprise. "These garments, sir," I continued, lowering my
voice mysteriously, "are merely a disguise, for it seems there was a
possibility of my being apprehended as Galloping Jerry's accomplice.
Allow me to return your hat, sir."
My uncle George clutched it and made a kind of gurgling sound in his
throat.
"However," I continued, "I am anxious to exchange these things for
others less conspicuously hideous and should esteem it a kindness if
you would advance the necessary money for it, for sir, I am
penniless."
"Ha--your highwayman cove robbed you, of course!"
"He did, Uncle, but had the extraordinary magnanimity to restore all
he'd taken. My money, sir, went in the--the purchase of a gipsy
maiden--"
"Hey--gipsy--a woman--d'ye mean--you--"
"A young gipsy girl, Uncle."
"Good God!" he ejaculated faintly and, sinking upon the shaft of the
empty cart behind him, he fanned himself feebly with his hat.
"Peregrine," said he, shaking grave head at me, "your aunt Julia is
right--a wonderful woman! Poetry is your line, after all--books--romances,
lad--imagination--"
"You think I am romancing, sir?"
"Aye, though I call it 'gammoning.'"
"Sir, you affront me!"
"No offence, Perry," said he kindly. "You just can't help it--comes
natural to you--like a gamecock fights. What other marvels have you
seen?"
"A tinker, Uncle."
"Hum! Anything else?"
"I saw Jessamy Todd fight the big fellow at the 'Ring o' Bells' this
morning and--"
"What?" cried my uncle, on his feet in a moment. "You saw Jessamy
fight? Oh, begad, Perry--why couldn't you say so before?"
"You believe this, then, sir?"
"I do. Tell me all about it. I've heard rumours--they say it was a
clean knockout--"
"The big man was indeed rendered quite unconscious, Uncle--"
"And you saw? Out with it, Perry lad!"
"But sir," I enquired, a little disdainfully, "why all this stir about
a vulgar brawl?"
"Vulgar brawl, begad--"
"Well, a brutal bout at fisticuffs with a ruffian--"
"Heavens and earth, boy," exclaimed my uncle, in growing indignation,
"don't ye know you were privileged to see one of the very greatest
fighters of any time, school or--oh, b'gad--"
"You mean Jessamy Todd, sir?"
"Of course I do. And what's more--Tom Croxton, The 'Thunderbolt'--the
man who forced Jessamy to fight--was a plant--"
"Now pray, Uncle George, how may a great, hulking ruffian even faintly
resemble any such thing?"
At this my uncle gasped, stared, shook his head, jingled his spurs and
finally spoke:
"In Heaven's name, don't pretend you're so infernal green, Perry! The
'Thunderbolt' is a fighting man from Lambeth, a tough customer who's
won a fight or so lately and thought he could beat anything on two
pins. So we were bringing him down here, hoping to match him with
Jessamy, or, failing him, some other good man. But the fool, not
knowing Jessamy, get's himself thrashed, and the whole thing's a
flam."
"Jessamy has given up the game, Uncle."
"I know, but he loves it still. And you saw the fight! Tell me of
it--no, wait--the others must hear." So saying, my uncle George hooked
his powerful arm in mine and led me whither he would. By devious ways
we went, to avoid the crowd; dodging behind empty caravans and
waggons, skirting booths and tents until we came on one greater than
all the rest, a huge canvas structure into which he brought me
forthwith. The place was empty except for some scant few persons
grouped about a stage whereon two fellows, naked to the waist, their
fists swathed in what I believe are termed 'muffles', dodged and
ducked, feinted or smote each other with great spirit and gusto until
one of them, reeling from a flush hit, sat down with sudden violence
and remained in this posture to blink and get his breath.
"Dooce--take me--Tom!" exclaimed this individual, in breathless
reproach. "Your--infernal mug's--hard as--iron!"
"Craggy, my lord!" answered the other hoarsely. "Cragg by name an'
Craggy by natur', my lord!"
Thither my uncle George led me, his spurs jingling, whereupon the
spectators turned to salute him and stare at me, among whom I
recognised my uncle Jervas.
"What, George," enquired one, "ha' you found Jessamy?"
"No!" answered my uncle, slapping me on the shoulder. "But the next
best thing, Devenham--"
"And a demned queer-looking thing it is, George!" added the recumbent
gentleman, viewing me with a pair of blue eyes, one of which exhibited
signs of recent punishment.
"None the less, Jerny," answered uncle George, "it is my nephew.
Gentlemen, I have the honour to present Mr. Peregrine Vereker! Nephew,
in the floored Corinthian with the damaged ogle, you will remark
Richard, Marquis of Jerningham; on my right, Viscount Devenham; on my
left, Sir Peregrine Beverley; before you Major Dashwood, Mr. Wemyss
and your affectionate uncle Jervas. And now, gentlemen all, my nephew
will tell you that he comes fresh from witnessing the defeat of
Jerningham's unfortunate champion The 'Thunderbolt' at the hands of
the unconquerable Jessamy Todd!"
"Aha!" cried the Marquis, springing lightly to his feet and muffling
naked torso in gaudy dressing-gown; and next moment he and the others
were thronged about me vociferous for knowledge.
For a moment I stood looking round upon the ring of clean-cut, eager
faces, tongue-tied and somewhat non-plussed; but seeing with what
unaffected and hearty good will they greeted me, nor heeded my
disfiguring attire, I made my bow and plunged into a full and
particular relation of Jessamy Todd's encounter with the man Tom. As
my narrative progressed, the interest of my audience waxed, and I was
gratified and stimulated by a ripple of excitement and hushed
exclamations which, as I ended, swelled to a ringing cheer for Jessamy
Todd. Thereafter my hand was shaken heartily by one and all, with many
laudations on my descriptive powers, in the midst of which my uncle
Jervas touched me on the shoulder and, bowing my adieux, I took my
departure and thus presently found myself in the open air walking,
rather sheepishly, between my two relatives.
Once beyond eyeshot of the curious, my uncle Jervas paused and fell
back a step, the better to behold me, peering through his glass at
each individual article of my attire and murmuring such ejaculations
as:
"Astounding! Astonishing! Amazing!"
"Tells me he had 'em of a highwayman, Jervas!" volunteered uncle
George.
"A most distressing vision!" sighed my uncle Jervas. "A positive
walking disgust! And yet--hum!"
"And a very creditable pair o' black eyes, Jervas."
"True, George! Our youth has been observing life at close quarters, it
seems."
"B'gad--he has so, brother!" chuckled uncle George.
"Tells me he's spent all his money on women!"
My uncle Jervas very nearly dropped his eyeglass.
"Now--'pon my everlasting--" his voice failed and he gazed at me quite
dumbfounded for once.
"Think o' Julia!" said uncle George, with a kind of groan. "Think
of--'Ode to a Throstle'--poor Julia--sweet soul!" My two uncles turned
from my indignant form to regard each other; then, all at once, the
grim lips of my uncle Jervas twitched, quivered to a flash of white
teeth, but his laughter was drowned by uncle George's cachinnations
where he stood on one leg, slapping at the other brawny thigh until
the dust flew.
"Sirs," said I, folding my arms and glancing from one to other
disdainfully, "your mirth is as unwarranted as unseemly! The money in
question was expended in the service of--of one who--whose need was
instant and great. I have the honour to bid you good-bye!"
But, as I turned, my uncle Jervas laid his hand on my arm, a white,
elegant hand strangely out of place on my rough and weather-beaten
coat-sleeve.
"Pray accept our sincerest apologies, Peregrine," said he. Now at this
I glanced up in wondering surprise, for in the touch of this slim
hand, in voice and look, I had an indefinable sense of comradeship
that thrilled me with sudden pride.
"My dear Uncle," I exclaimed, grasping his hand, "pray trust me always
to remember that I am a Vereker also."
"B'gad, and there ye have it, Jervas; couldn't ha' put it better
yourself!"
"And pray, sirs, how is my dear and best of aunts?"
At this question my uncle Jervas pursed his lips in a soundless
whistle and smoothed snowy shirt-frill with caressing fingers.
"Perry," said uncle George, removing his hat to ruffle his curls,
"you've heard of bears robbed of cubs, of the Hyr--what's-a-name
tiger--"
"Hyrcanian, George!" murmured uncle Jervas.
"Well, they're playful pets in comparison. How is your aunt? B'gad,
Perry, my lad, that's precisely the dooce of it, d'ye see!"
"She--she is very well, I hope?" faltered I.
"Assuredly!" answered my uncle Jervas. "But being the--ah--truly
feminine creature she is, your remarkable aunt, with more or less
reason, has leapt to the conclusion that we are the cause of what she
terms your 'desertion', and is a little incensed against us--"
"Incensed, d'ye call it, Jervas?" exclaimed uncle George. "A little
incensed is it--oh, b'gad!"
"And declines to see or hold communications with us--"
"And when she does, she--she don't!" added uncle George. "Last time I
ventured to call, she looked over me, and under me, and round me, and
through me but never--at me. Dooced trying y' know, Perry!"
"And most disappointing!" said I. "My dream that you--one of you might
comfort her--"
"Was a damned piece of impertinence!" murmured my uncle Jervas, his
aesthetically pallid cheek tinged with unusual colour. "Your aunt
knows her own mind and has grieved, raged, wept, languished and
advertised for you in her thorough fashion--"
"Offers five hundred pounds for your recovery, lad!" added uncle
George.
"Which," continued uncle Jervas, "is a fair sum of money, the natural
consequence being that the poor, sweet soul has been plagued by all
manner of people, day and night, eagerly endeavouring to restore waifs
and strays of both sexes and all ages, so much so that your uncle and
I were compelled to call in and suppress such notices as had
appeared--here is one!" From his pocket uncle Jervas took a handbill
which he unfolded and passed to me; whereon I read this:
L500. LOST. REWARD.
MR. PEREGRINE VEREKER
AGED 19.
Here followed a most minute and painfully accurate description of my
garments and person; and below, these words:
WHEREAS: my loved nephew, PEREGRINE VEREKER, acting upon the
PERNICIOUS & EVIL COUNSEL of certain CRUEL and HEARTLESS advisers,
fled from home and his only TRUE FRIEND on the night of the 10th.
inst: the above L500 will be paid to such person or persons who
shall return him safe and unharmed or give such information as shall
lead to his happy recovery and restoration to the loving care of
JULIA CONROY.
"Great heaven!" I exclaimed, crumpling the document angrily. "It reads
as if I were some pet animal!"
"Precisely!" murmured my uncle Jervas. "As you seemed likely to
become, nephew. None the less, the document evinces something of your
aunt's desire for your return, and it is easy to imagine her gratitude
when I shall restore you to her arms--"
"Hold hard, Jervas!" exclaimed my uncle George, clutching my left arm.
"'Twas I found him!"
"But consider, my dear George," sighed my uncle Jervas, laying elegant
hand upon my right shoulder, "I bear the brunt of her blame, as
usual--"
"But damme, Jervas--"
"But pray reflect further, dear George; I am, alas, slightly your
senior and, as such, claim the right--"
"But my dear uncles," I interrupted at this juncture, "pray remark
that I have no intention of returning home for some time."
"Oh, indeed, nephew?" sighed my uncle Jervas, his slim hand tightening
a little. "May one venture to ask why?"
"I know!" sighed uncle George. "Women, Jervas--feminine spells, poor
lad!"
"For one thing," I answered patiently, "because I have decided to
become a tinker for a while."
"Hum!" murmured my uncle Jervas. "A useful trade, but scarcely one I
should have chosen for you--still--"
"And there he is, at last!" exclaimed uncle George suddenly, and
beckoned with imperious hand; thus, glancing whither he looked, I
espied Jessamy Todd and, with a sudden twist, I broke away and ran to
meet her who walked at Jessamy's side.
"O Diana!" I exclaimed, "I have been looking for you all afternoon.
Come!" And taking her hand, I led her up to my astonished uncles.
"Sirs," said I, "it is my privilege to introduce my friend Diana, whom
I hope to marry as soon as possible."
For a long moment after I had spoken, Diana stood, shapely head aloft,
fronting their amazed scrutiny in proud and sullen defiance; when at
last she spoke, her voice sounded all untroubled and serene.
"I know," said she, nodding, "I know what's in your minds--you'm
thinking as I ain't fit for him! Well, my fine gentlemen, he shouldn't
marry me, even if he loved me--which he don't, or I loved him--which I
don't and never shall!" Then without so much as a glance in my
direction, she turned and sped away.
But I was not to be left thus, for, escaping uncle George's
restraining clutch, I followed her; glancing back, I saw my uncle
Jervas, white, impressive hand on Jessamy's shoulder, speaking very
earnestly to him and with his keen gaze fixed on myself.
It was amid the jostling traffic of the booths that I found her; she
was standing before a stall devoted to the sale of gauds and finery,
but espying me she made off and I, intent on pursuit, was wriggling my
way through the crowd when rose a sudden cry of "Thieves! Robbery!
Stop thief!" Rough hands seized me and, checked thus rudely in full
career, I was swung around to confront a small, fierce-eyed fellow who
cursed and swore, hopped and flourished his fists under my nose in
very threatening and unpleasant manner.
"V'ere is it, ye young wagabone?" he demanded in shrill accents.
"V'ere is it? As fine a lady's lookin'-glass as ever vas, a genuine
hantique framed in solid silver an' worth its weight in gold. V'at ha'
ye done wi' it, you desp'rit, thievin' young willin', you?"
Now it was upon my lips to indignantly deny so vile an accusation, but
the words were arrested by a sudden, horrid thought, a dreadful
suspicion, for in this moment I remembered Diana had passed this way
very recently and, calling to mind the unfortunate predilection for
appropriating the goods of others which she had termed "prigging," I
knew a sudden shame on her account and therewith a sick fear lest she
be caught with the damning evidence of guilt upon her.
Thus, despite the fierce hands that grasped me and the bony knuckles
that obtruded themselves painfully into the nape of my neck, I stood
mute, profoundly unheedful of the little man's excited capering,
whirling fists and threats of condign punishment.
By reason of the little man's excited antics and high-pitched threats
and wailings, we were very soon the centre of a pushing, inquisitive
throng; faces peered at me, fists were shaken and voices reviled me,
in especial one, that of an evil-faced man whose narrow eyes seemed
vaguely familiar. Every moment the hostile demonstrations of the crowd
grew more threatening until suddenly, and to my inexpressible comfort,
above the angry clamour arose a voice peculiarly rich and musical.
"Give way, friends, give way--yon lad's a friend o' mine--give way!"
The ring about me was split apart by the forward thrust of a sinewy
shoulder, and Jessamy appeared with Diana close beside him. "Why,
what's the trouble, brother?" he enquired.
"Thievin'--robbery, that's what!" cried the little man, capering
higher than ever. "Stole me silver-framed mirror, 'e 'as, the young
wagabone--a genuine hantique worth its weight in hemeralds--stole me
mirror and don't deny it, neither--!"
"Who says he stole it?" demanded Jessamy. "Did any o' ye see him
commit the fact?" At this the small man blinked, and the two that held
me stared upon each other a little at a loss.
"Who says my friend stole your vallybles--come!" demanded Jessamy.
"Why, we all says so!" cried the little man. "An' he can't deny
it--and no more 'e don't, neither!"
"However," said Jessamy, "my friend ain't stole your mirror, friend."
"Then 'oo 'as?" demanded the little man, capering again.
"Why--him, for sure!" said Diana suddenly, pointing at the narrow-eyed
fellow who, blenching before her fierce look, turned to flee. "It's
Hooky Sam!" she cried, and in that moment leapt upon him. Ensued a
moment's scuffling and Diana sprang away, the stolen mirror in her
hand. "Here's your trinket!" she cried, tossing it to its gaping
owner. "Next time it's stole, don't go blaming the wrong one."
Hereupon my captors loosed me and turned to seize the real culprit
but, profiting by the momentary confusion, he ducked and squirmed,
wriggled and dived under and between such arms and hands as made to
stay him and, breaking free, took to his heels, and the crowd, losing
all interest in us, betook itself to the chase, shouting and hallooing
in joyous pursuit.
"And now, friend," said Jessamy, addressing the small man, who danced
and capered no more but stood somewhat crestfallen, "'twould be well
done, I think, to ask my young friend's pardon." The which he did and
I little heeding, all my looks being for Diana, who stared back at me;
and meeting her clear-eyed scrutiny, I felt my cheeks flushing
guiltily and turned to grip Jessamy's hand and to thank him for his
trust and friendship.
"But why," demanded Diana, "why did you let 'em think it was you?"
Now here, having no answer ready, I adopted her own method.
"Just because!" said I.