The partridges were lying well, springing up in fine coveys from the
turnips, or from corn-sheaves on the stubble, or in twos and threes, as
the coveys were broken up. A soft haze hung over the fair English
landscape, with its green meadow or golden stubble and vernal woodland,
the latter hardly beginning to show the gorgeous wealth of autumn colour
which would soon enwrap it; for it was the Glorious First.
"By Jove, Greenoak," said Sir Anson Selmes, "we thought we'd got a few
record bird-shots this side of the water. But even they don't touch
you. Why, man, I don't believe you've let a bird go by this morning;
all killed dead too--no runners."
The two were walking together, gun on shoulder, an old and favourite
pointer of Sir Anson's trotting at their heels. The morning's shoot was
over and they were making for the spot where, in the cool shade of a
spreading tree, luncheon was laid out and waiting. About half a field
off our friend Dick was converging on the rendezvous, with the keepers
and dogs, apparently engaged in animated converse with the former.
"Oh, as to that, Sir Anson, you couldn't miss a bird with a gun like
this," was the modest reply; the gun being, in fact, one of a valuable
pair which had been sprung upon Harley Greenoak as a surprise present
from Dick and his father conjointly.
"And as to that," rejoined the latter, "there are a good many men who'd
miss a good many birds with a gun like that or any other. But how
things shape themselves. When I turned the lad over to you, I knew he'd
find plenty of adventure, and perhaps some risk, but the last thing I
ever dreamed of him finding was a bride--and such a bride--ha-ha! And
the daughter of an old brother officer of mine, at that. Why, I had
almost forgotten Brandon's very existence."
"Well, when I saw how things were tending, it gave me some anxious
times, I allow," said Greenoak, "recognising that fathers are fathers,
and naturally like to have a say in such matters. All the same, I tell
you candidly, Sir Anson, that from the first I thought Dick would be
extremely lucky if ever he managed to bring that off."
"And you thought right. Lucky dog indeed. Why, the girl is a
treasure."
It was even as the old gentleman had said. He had held an Army
commission in his younger days, and he and Hazel's father had been
subalterns together. But the latter, tired of waiting for his step, had
exchanged into a regiment ordered to the Cape on active service, and at
the close of hostilities had sold out, married, and settled down as a
colonist, and a very fairly successful one he became. All this had come
out in the course of Dick's engagement, and Sir Anson, delighted at the
prospect of once more foregathering with his former comrade-in-arms, had
concluded to take a run out and look into matters himself. His welcome
had been all that he could have desired, and Hazel won the old man's
heart--even as she had won that of his son--on sight. Thus everything
ran on oiled wheels, culminating in a big wedding at the nearest
district town, at which nothing would satisfy Dick but that Harley
Greenoak should officiate as his best man. And the latter, ruefully
comic over the incongruity of the _role_ in his case, was obliged to
comply.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hallo, dad!" now sang out Dick, as they all met at the rendezvous.
"Has Greenoak been `wiping your eye,' or is it t'other way on?"
"No, certainly not the other way on, Dick," was the answer. "Greenoak's
a record. But--hasn't Hazel come yet?"
"N-no. Wait though--oh--yes. There she is. I hear wheels."
A minute later and a neat dog-cart drove up, halting at a gate on the
further side of the field. Hazel had alighted before Dick could get
there, and as the pair returned together, laughing and talking, the two
older men watched them, each with his own particular form of
satisfaction at his heart.
"What a couple they make," said Greenoak, more to himself than to the
other. But it was overheard and heartily seconded.
Hazel was looking lovely in her fresh, plain, summer costume, which set
off her dark, piquante beauty to perfection.
"Good sport?" she cried merrily. "Ah, yes, rather," as her eyes fell
upon the rows of "little brown birds" laid out upon the grass with a few
hares and a rabbit or two. Then, still laughing and talking, she set to
work, aided by Dick, to extract and lay out the contents of the hampers,
and soon there was popping of champagne corks, and the glasses creamed
with their fizzing contents, and all fell to with a good appetite.
"There's something very restful about this English scenery," remarked
Greenoak, gazing dreamily out over the rich meadowland and soft,
towering foliage, to where, away in the distance, the gables and
chimneys of the Hall were irregularly glimpsed.
"Yes, and to-day might almost be an African day," said Dick. "It's so
still and lovely, and cloudless."
"Oh, talking of Africa," cried Hazel, "I've just got a lot of news--mail
letters--came soon after you had started. Dick--Mr Greenoak--what do
you think? Elsie is going to be married!"
"No!" shouted Dick; and he threw back his head and roared. "Oh, that's
good. Who to?"
"I don't remember the man, but he was one of the party who came to our
rescue that night. He's got a farm in the Chalumna district."
"He didn't see the play she made with that axe," laughed Dick. "That
might have scared him off--eh?"
"Perhaps that constituted the attraction, Dick," said Sir Anson.
"Useful sort of wife to have, you know, in such a troublesome
neighbourhood."
"She says that now her `bairn' has left her--that's me," went on
Hazel--"she might as well look out for herself. And so--she did."
"What a howling joke!" cried Dick. "Good old Elsie! We'll ship her out
no end of a tea-service--and things--eh, dad? What other news, dear?"
"The Commandant has resigned."
"Pity, fine old boy the Commandant. Why did he chuck?"
"He couldn't pull with the present Government. They hampered him too
much."
"Beastly shame! They don't know a good man when they've got him. Who
succeeds him--Chambers?"
"No, they've put in another man. Mr Ladell has been promoted
Inspector. Oh--and that man who helped you in that absurdly foolhardy
adventure, Dick--Sketchley--has been made a sergeant. That's all the
F.A.M. Police news."
"That part's good, anyway. What about the Commandant? Hasn't he got
anything better?"
"There's some talk of giving him Basutoland."
"Oh, well, that's not so bad. The fine old chap'll have lots of time to
hunt butterflies and lizards up there."
"They say there's likely to be trouble up there," went on Hazel. "Now,
Mr Greenoak, what will South Africa do without its `providence'?"
"Yes. I knew that," said Greenoak, ignoring the last question. "The
Commandant and I have often talked it over as more than a possibility."
"Then you'll be there, old chap," cried Dick. "Oh, for certain you'll
be there."
"Maybe. I'm thinking of returning soon."
"Not until you've had some pheasant shooting, Greenoak," said Sir Anson.
"I swear you shan't go from here till you've had some pheasant
shooting, and that won't be just yet. So you're anchored for the
present, you see. Now," he went on, "fill the glasses. I'm going to
propose a toast. Here it is. `All our good friends across the water,
coupled with the name of Harley Greenoak.'"
The latter looked, if he could look such a thing, a trifle nervous.
"I can't make a speech, Sir Anson," he said, when they had drunk it.
"Well, since I took charge of Dick there, I discovered more than once
the truth of what you told me at the time. He certainly has an amazing
aptitude for getting into holes, but then he manages to get himself out
again." ("Or you do it for him, old chap," interrupted Dick.) "Well,
then, as you have coupled your toast with the name of Harley Greenoak, I
reply by proposing another toast, and that is `Harley Greenoak's
Charge.'"
"Here, Dick," said Sir Anson, "open another bottle or so, and give the
men a brimming bumper apiece. They must drink this toast too. I forgot
in the other case, but they can drink Greenoak's health as a toast to
itself afterwards."
The keepers and watchers, who were eating their lunch under a tree a
little way apart, were called up and duly supplied with the invigorating
sparkle. Then the health was drunk with enthusiasm--
"Harley Greenoak's Charge!"
The End.