The station-master had just appeared on the platform in readiness for
the train when the half-dozen waiting passengers began to dance wildly
and run to and fro.
"Hi! Fire!" yelled a man in corduroys. "Station's afire!"
"Where?" cried the station-master. "What the----"
"It's the cloak-room!" yelled Joe, the porter. "That chap----"
"Get the key--quick!"
"Fire!" yelled the man in corduroys.
"Fire!" roared a ploughboy and a man with a gun.
The station-master ran up to the door, thumped at it, and shouted,
while the porter, who had doubled along the platform and back again,
cried, "Open the door!"
"Where's the key?" roared the station-master. "Gimme the key!"
"Get the key!" yelled the man in corduroys.
"Key, key! Fire!" shouted the ploughboy and the man with the gun.
"You've got it!" cried the porter. "You didn't gimme----"
"I gave it you!" shouted the station-master, dancing and waving his
arms.
"You didn't!"
"Water!" yelled the man in corduroys.
"Water, water!" shouted the ploughboy and the man with the gun.
A blue haze of smoke hovered over the platform as the London train ran
in, and in two minutes the driver and stoker, guards, and a score of
passengers joined the excited crowd. From every carriage heads
appeared, and a medley of voices said--
"It's a fire!"
"I've got it!" said the voice of the station-master, huskily, as he
rushed forward in his shirt-sleeves and fumbled at the lock of the
cloak-room.
"Stand back there!" cried the man in corduroys, as Joe ran up slopping
two pails of water over the feet of the passengers, followed by the
ploughboy and the man without his gun slopping two more each.
"Stand back!" yelled a dozen voices.
The lock turned, the doors flew open and out came a cloud of smoke.
With it came George Early, just in time to miss a deluge. Two lady
passengers got their feet wet and shrieked, and no fewer than six men
swore volubly in the approved custom of their own locality.
George, being about the only one inclined to leave the fire to take
care of itself, immediately, under cover of the smoke, made for the
station exit.
His object was to get safely out of sight and leave no clue to his
whereabouts.
The station stood in an isolated position a good two miles from the
nearest village, and George Early's only avenue of escape was a narrow
road bordered by high hedges. He looked round quickly, just as a youth,
attracted by the commotion, left his bicycle and hurried on to the
platform. Without hesitation the fugitive borrowed the machine, and
went off down the road at top speed. Halfway he turned to see how
matters were progressing in the rear, and descried three figures
following at a rapid pace on foot. George didn't need to look twice to
see who they were.
At the first bend of the road he swung the bicycle over a hedge and
abandoned it. Turning off at a right angle he ran along under cover of
another hedge bordering a meadow, and was just about to congratulate
himself on having eluded his pursuers, when a shout of discovery went
up.
Off went George again, over a smooth green towards a clump of trees.
Loud cries now sounded in the rear, and the fugitive, turning to
discover the cause of them, saw the three men wildly gesticulating. He
hesitated a moment, but as they still followed he started off again.
The cause of the row was now apparent: his pursuers were signalling to
some men in the fields ahead of him to bar his passage. It was evident
that they meant to do so from the way they began to form a ring.
"I'm surrounded," thought George, slowing down. He looked about him for
a last chance, and swore at his slender opportunities. Nothing
presented itself but a tall old oak.
To be surrounded and taken like a runaway convict was too galling;
George made for the tree and prepared to climb. His breath was nearly
done, but he easily reached the lower branches, and by the time a ring
of twenty men had reached the vicinity, was able to pull himself nearly
to the top.
"What's he done?" asked a farm labourer, as Gray and his colleagues in
a profuse state of perspiration joined the group.
"We're after him," said Busby.
"You needn't tell us that, mate," said another man. "What do yer want
him for?"
"Set fire to the railway station," said Gray.
"Liar!" came a voice from the clouds.
"Go up after him," said Parrott, pushing Busby forward.
"Let Jimmy go," said Busby.
"Keep 'em off," said George. "They're after my money!"
Gray came forward promptly and said, "A sovereign for the first man who
fetches him down!"
"Two pound each to the men who hold 'em while I get away," yelled
George.
A faint cheer from the labourers. "Look here," cried Gray; "he can't
pay you! I'll give five pounds to the man who brings him down."
George booed and dropped a branch on Gray's head. "I'm after them
quids," said a strapping farm-hand, throwing off his coat and
clambering up the tree.
"Pull him down!" cried George. "You'll all get in gaol for this if
you're not careful."
Another man followed the first one, and a third followed the second.
"Five pound to the one who gets him," yelled Gray, encouragingly.
George tore off a branch and hit out at the first man as he came within
reach. The man grew angry and grabbed at George's leg. Missing it, he
clutched at the tree, and received a boot on his fingers. The howl that
followed unnerved the third man, who descended in haste on to Parrott's
shoulders.
George now climbed out to the end of a branch and worried the man that
was overhauling him.
"You'll get six months for this," he said in a terrible voice.
"Come on," said the man, "you'd better give in. I've got you fair."
"Come a bit further," said George, now on the end of the branch.
The second man, who had been manoeuvring by a different route, now
appeared and made a grab at George's collar. The first man, fearful of
losing his prize, did the same. George clutched at both, and the next
moment, with a mighty crack, the branch gave way, and the three went
tumbling down through the lower branches.
The first man picked himself up and rubbed his leg; the second man
swore, gazed ruefully at a tear in his trousers, and sucked a bleeding
thumb; George lay quite still.
The three men from Fairbrothers' ran forward.
"Here you are!" said one of the labourers. "Now, where's the five
pound?"
"Hold on!" said the second man. "We brought him down together! That's
half each!"
Gray looked down at the still form of his late master and turned white.
George was lying just as he had fallen, with blood trickling from a
scratch across the forehead.
"You've done something now!" said Gray. "You've killed him!"
"What!" said the first man in a whisper.
"He's done for!" said Gray, anxious to avoid paying now that affairs
had taken a serious turn.
Number Two gave one look at George, then edged out of the crowd and
bolted.
"It seems to me," said a man with black whiskers, "that it's you
fellows who've done this chap to death, hunting him like a wild beast,
and then trying to put the blame on to honest working men."
The crowd murmured approval at this speech, and Gray knelt down and
tried to rouse Mrs. Early's husband.
"He's breathing!" he said. "Fetch some water!"
"Can't get no water here," said Black Whiskers. "Better take him down
the village afore he pegs out."
"Take him down to the village," chimed in the others.
The ex-legatees, being in the minority, and not knowing what else to
do, assisted in carrying George as directed. Three of the men
accompanied them, the others returning to their work.
The procession moved slowly, and eventually came in sight of a
red-brick house.
"That's the parson's," said one of the men. "We'll take him there; he's
a bit of a doctor."
The parson received the insensible man graciously, and heard the story
of the accident. George was carried into the library and laid on a
sofa, and after a brief examination the parson said he believed the
case was not very serious, but that the patient must remain where he
was for the present.
"You are staying in the village?" he said, looking somewhat
unfavourably at Gray and his companions.
"We're not," said Gray. "But we shall stay now to hear how he gets on."
"Very well," said the clergyman. "I shall be pleased to give you
information of his progress. Meanwhile, you need not consult a doctor.
I think I can manage the case."
The vicar was one of those men with a smattering of medical knowledge,
insufficient to enable him to cure anybody, but sufficient to give him
a wild anxiety to want to. He shut the door softly on the three men and
returned to the library.
"Strange!" he muttered. "I can find no symptoms of this man having had
a heavy blow, and the state of unconsciousness is different from the
ordinary."
"Perhaps it's shock, pa," said his daughter, who had ventured to take a
look at George.
"True. Very likely. Perhaps you are right, my dear."
He felt George's pulse and examined the scratch on his forehead, which
was clearly but a trivial hurt.
"Perhaps you are right, my dear. But come along. I'll get you to go
down to the town for me and get a prescription made up."
As they left the library George's right eyelid flickered slightly, as
their footsteps echoed down the passage the lid began to open, and by
the time all sound of them had ceased it was lifted to its fullest
extent. The left eyelid followed the right one, and George Early lay
with both eyes open. Then his head moved slowly, and his eyes having
cautiously surveyed the room, his features broke into a broad smile.
Whether or not George's tongue would have begun to wag will never be
known, for at that moment footsteps sounded outside the door, and the
vicar entered. He found the patient as he had left him.
"He's coming to, I think; there seems to have been a slight movement,"
he murmured.
George's face twitched, and he uttered a faint--a very faint--groan.
"Ah!" said the vicar, as if it was the pleasantest sound in the world,
"I thought so--I thought so!"
By the time that the vicar's daughter returned George was fully
conscious, but evidently still suffering from shock.
"I won't use that now, my dear," said her father. "I think we can
effect a cure by simpler methods. Do you feel any pain?" he said to
George.
There was no response, and George appeared to be unconscious that any
one was speaking.
"He doesn't hear you, pa," said the vicar's daughter.
"Do you feel any pain?" said the parson in a mild shout.
There was no response.
"His hearing's affected by the shock," said the vicar, wisely. "I've
known such cases, though they are rare."
He motioned to George to attract his attention, and repeated the
question. George looked in a scared sort of way, and put his hand to
his ear. The vicar shouted loudly, then louder still.
George shook his head, and made a feeble motion for the question to be
written down.
"It's as I thought," said the vicar to his daughter that evening. "The
sudden shock has brought on complete deafness and a temporary paralysis
of the faculties. He must stay here to-night, and we shall see how he
has progressed to-morrow."
"Will his friends in the village take him away, papa?"
"I don't think so. He has intimated to me that they are undesirable
men, and my private opinion is that they are up to no good. I've
written to the address of a doctor friend of his, who will come down
to-morrow, and with whom I shall be interested to discuss the
peculiarities of the case. It is a most singular occurrence."
"Very, pa," said his daughter.
On the morrow George was in much the same state as previously, so far
as hearing was concerned; his sight also appeared to be affected. The
fall had not, however, in any way injured his appetite, for he managed
to eat a hearty breakfast. The vicar nodded his head, and said that he
had known such cases before; it was as he thought. To the inquiries of
Gray and the others he sent word that the invalid was progressing
favourably, but could not converse with visitors.
George's friend, the doctor, arrived about midday. He proved to be one
John Cattermole, a Walworth chemist, to whom George, in his clerking
days, had applied occasionally for relief in bodily ailments, and very
frequently for assistance in pecuniary difficulties. In the hour of
prosperity George had not forgotten Cattermole, and now, when the tide
of fortune had turned against him, he knew that his call for help would
be answered. The friendly chemist arrived hot and dusty, in a frock
coat and silk hat much the worse for wear.
"A clever man," thought the parson; "has the utter disregard of
appearances common to genius."
He greeted him warmly.
"You will agree with me, I think, that it is a most remarkable
occurrence," said the vicar, when they eventually visited George, who
sat in the library staring at a bookcase.
"I do," said Cattermole, laconically.
The vicar continued to pour forth his opinions, and relate instances of
cases he had known, during which harangue George managed to apprise his
friend of the state of affairs by a most unmistakable wink. Being thus
informed, Cattermole became more amiable, and begged a private
interview with the patient for a special examination.
"I think he will agree with me, my dear," said the vicar to his
daughter; "he is one of the most enlightened men I have ever met, and
one of the few who seemed to attach any weight to my opinion."
"He didn't say much, pa."
"It is not what he said, my dear; it's the way he looked and listened.
You don't understand clever men as I do."
A quarter of an hour elapsed, and Cattermole left the library.
"It is shock," he said quietly.
"As I thought," said the vicar.
"Exactly," said the other; "you have treated the case perfectly."
"My dear sir----"
"I mean it," said Cattermole, smiling. "Now I wonder if you could
supply me with some bandages? And perhaps you have such a thing as a
green shade for the eyes. Both hearing and sight are affected, but
there is no danger in travelling. We shall return to town immediately."
"My dear sir, I have all you require. And you must allow me--I insist
on ordering the carriage for you."
When George Early emerged from the parsonage to enter the carriage his
head was enveloped in bandages, covered by a black silk neck-cloth. A
green shade covered his eyes. The shock had evidently affected his
limbs also, for he moved very slowly, supported on one side by the
vicar, and on the other by Cattermole.
Both accompanied him to the station, and it was perhaps due to the
grave nature of the report that morning that they performed the journey
without interruption from the discharged trio. Those worthies, on
hearing later that George had left, abused the parson shamefully, and
pointed out to the station-master that such a dunderhead as himself
ought not to be allowed on any station down the line.
The sight of George and his bandages had stopped the station-master's
tongue; and while he described the fire scare, and how it proved to be
nothing, to the vicar, he kept the story of the prisoner's misdeeds in
the cloak-room, and the heavy claim for damages he should prefer
against him, to himself. Seeing how friendly the vicar was with the
young man, it was not his business to injure himself by interfering.
The company would claim in due course.
George and his doctor friend went off in a first-class carriage,
accompanied by the hearty wishes of the vicar. That worthy man grasped
George's inanimate hand, and shook it warmly, exchanged a few pregnant
remarks with Cattermole, and waved a good-bye with his handkerchief.
Even Joe and the station-master touched their hats as the train
departed.
The conspirators allowed themselves to get well out of hearing, and
then George pulled off the green shade and roared. Cattermole took it
up, and roared too.