THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE
They reached the sunny stretch of parade in time to see the young
chestnut that had excited Bunny's interest being coaxed along the edge
of the water by his rider. The animal was covered with froth, and
evidently in a ferment of nervous excitement. The man who rode him sat
loosely in the saddle as if the tussle in progress were of very minor
importance in his estimation. He kept the fretting creature's head
turned towards the water, however, and at intervals he patted the
streaming neck and spoke a few words of encouragement.
At Bunny's request his chair was drawn to the edge of the parade, and
from here he and Maud watched the progress of the battle. A battle of
wills it undoubtedly was, though there was nothing in the man's attitude
to indicate any strain. He was obviously one who knew how to bide his
time, thick-set, bull-necked, somewhat bullet-headed, with a face of
even redness and a short, blunt nose that looked aggressively confident.
"Wonder if he'll do it," said Bunny.
Maud wondered too, realizing that the task would be no easy one. The
horse was plainly on edge with apprehension, and her sympathies went out
to him. Somehow she did not want to see him conquered. In fact, not
greatly admiring the physiognomy of his rider, she hoped the horse would
win.
Stepping with extreme daintiness, as if he expected the ground to open
and swallow him, the animal sidled past, and she caught the gleam of a
wicked eye as he went. There was mischief mingled with his fear. He
evidently was not feeling particularly kindly disposed towards the man
who rode him. The loose seat of the latter made her wonder if he were
wholly aware of this.
"He'll be thrown if he isn't careful," she said, half to herself and
half to Bunny, who was watching with the keenest interest.
"Hope he'll tumble into the water," said Bunny, who enjoyed dramatic
situations.
The pair had passed them and were continuing their sidling progress
along the beach. The man still appeared preoccupied, the horse still
half-frightened, half-mischievous. Some fifty yards they covered thus;
then the figure in the saddle slowly stiffened. Aware of an impending
change of treatment, the animal began to jib with his head in the air.
An odd little thrill went through Maud, a feeling as of electricity in
the air. It was almost a sensation of foreboding. And then clean and
grim as a pistol-shot, she heard the crack of a whip on the creature's
quivering flank.
It was a well-earned correction, deliberately administered, one stinging
cut, delivered with a calculation that knew exactly where to strike.
But the horse, a young animal, leapt into the air as if he had been shot
indeed, and landing again almost on the same spot began forwith to
buck-jump in frenzied efforts to free himself of the task-master whose
lash was so unerring.
The whip descended again with absolute precision. It looked almost like
a feat of jugglery to Maud's fascinated eyes. The horse uttered a
furious squeal. He was being forced, literally forced, into the hated
water, and he knew it, set himself with all the fiery unreason of youth
to resist, and incidentally to receive a punishment none the less
painful on account of its extreme deliberation.
As for his rider, he kept his seat without apparent effort. He kept his
temper also to all outward appearance. He even in the thick of the
struggle abandoned force and tried coaxing again. It was only when this
failed that it seemed to the watching girl that a certain quality of
implacability began to manifest itself. His movements were no less
studied, but they seemed to her to become relentless. From that moment
she knew with absolute certainty that there could be but one end to the
struggle.
Some dim suspicion of the same thing must have penetrated the animal's
intelligence also, for almost from the same moment he seemed to lose
heart. He still bucked away from the water and leapt in futile frenzy
under the unsparing whip; but his fury was past. He no longer tried to
fling his rider over his head. He seemed to be fighting to save his
pride rather than for any other reason.
But his pride had to go. Endurance had its limits, and his smooth,
clipped flanks were smarting intolerably. Very suddenly he gave in and
walked into the water.
It foamed alarmingly round his legs, and he started in genuine terror
and tried to turn; but on the instant a hand was on his neck, a square,
sustaining hand that patted and consoled.
"Now, don't be a fool horse any longer!" said his conqueror. "Don't you
know it's going to do you good? Go on and face it!"
He went on, splashing his rider thoroughly, first in sheer nervousness,
later in undisguised content.
He came out of the water some five minutes later, a wiser and
considerably less headstrong youngster than he had entered it, and
walked serenely along the edge as if he had been accustomed to it all
his life. When the spreading foam washed round his hoofs, he did not so
much as lay an ear. He had surrendered his pride, and he did not seem
to feel the sacrifice.
"A beastly tame ending!" said Bunny in frank disappointment. "I hoped
the fellow was going to break his neck."
The horseman was passing immediately below them. He looked up, and Maud
coloured a guilty scarlet, realizing that he had overheard the remark.
He had the most startlingly bright eyes she had ever seen. They met
hers with a directness that seemed to pierce straight through her, and
passed on unblinkingly to the boy in the long chair. There was something
lynx-like in the straight regard, something so deliberately intent that
it seemed formidable. His clean-shaven, weather-beaten face had an
untamed, primitive look about it, as of one born in the wilderness. His
mouth was rugged rather than coarse, but it was not the mouth of
civilization.
Bunny, who was not easily daunted, looked hard back at him, with the
brazen expression of one challenging a rebuke. But the horseman refused
the challenge, passing on without a word.
"I'm tired," said Bunny, in sudden discontent. "Let's go back!"
When he spoke in that tone, he was invariably beyond coaxing. Maud
turned the chair without protest, and prepared to make that exhausting
ascent.
"How slow you are to-day!" said Bunny peevishly. "I hate this beastly
hill. You make me go up it on my head!"
The slant was certainly acute. Maud murmured sympathy. "I would pull
you up if I could," she said.
"You've never even tried," said Bunny.
He was plainly in an exacting mood. Her heart sank a little lower.
"It's no use trying, darling," she said. "I know I can't. But I won't
take a minute longer over it than I can help."
"You never do anything decently," said Bunny in disgust.
Maud made no rejoinder. She bent in silence to her task.
Bunny could not see her face, and she strove desperately to control her
panting breath.
"You puff like a grampus," the boy said discontentedly.
There came the quick fall of a horse's hoofs behind them, and Maud bent
her flushed face a little lower. She did not want to meet that piercing
regard again. But the hoof-beats slackened behind her, and a voice
spoke--a voice so curiously soft that at the first sound she almost
believed it to be that of a woman.
"Say! That's too heavy a job for you."
She paused--it was inevitable--and looked round.
In the same moment he slid to the ground--a square, sturdy figure,
shorter than she had imagined him when he was in the saddle, horsey of
aspect, clumsy of build, possessing a breadth of chest that seemed to
indicate vast strength.
Again those extremely bright eyes met hers, red-brown, intensely alive.
She felt as if they saw too much; they made her vividly conscious of her
hot face and labouring heart. They embarrassed her, made her resentful.
She was too breathless to speak; perhaps she might not have done so in
any case. But he did not wait for that. He pushed forward till he stood
beside her.
"You take my animal!" he said. "He's quiet enough now."
She might have refused, had she had time to consider. But he gave her
none. He almost thrust the bridle into her hands, and the next moment
he had taken her place behind the invalid-chair and begun briskly to
push it up the hill.
Maud followed, leading the now docile horse, divided between annoyance
and gratitude. Bunny seemed struck dumb also, though whether with
embarrassment or merely surprise she could not tell.
At the top of the steep ascent the stranger stopped and faced round.
"Thanks!" he said briefly, and took his horse back into his own keeping.
Maud stood, feeling shy and awkward, while he set his foot in the
stirrup. Then, ere he mounted, with a desperate effort she spoke.
"It was very kind of you. Thank you very much."
Her voice sounded coldly formal by reason of her extreme discomfiture.
She would have given a good deal to have avoided speaking altogether.
But the man stopped dead and looked at her as though she had attempted
to detain him.
"You've nothing to thank me for," he said, in that queer, soft voice of
his. "As I said before, it's too heavy a job for you. You'll get a
groggy heart if you keep on with it."
There was no intentional familiarity in the speech; but it made her
stiffen instinctively.
"It was very kind of you," she repeated, and with a bow that was even
more freezingly polite than her words she turned to the chair and
prepared to walk on.
But at this point Bunny suddenly found his voice in belated
acknowledgment of the service rendered. "Hi! You! Stop a minute!
Thanks for pushing me up this beastly hill!"
The stranger was still standing with his foot in the stirrup; but at the
sound of Bunny's voice he took it out again and came to the boy's side,
leading his horse.
"What a beauty!" said Bunny, admiringly. "Let me touch him, I say!"
"Oh, don't!" Maud said nervously. "He looked so savage just now."
"He's not savage," said the horse's owner, and pulled the animal's nose
down to Bunny's eager, caressing hand.
The creature was plainly suspicious. He tried to avoid the caress, but
his master and Bunny were equally insistent, and he finally submitted.
"He's not savage," his rider said again. "He's only young and a bit
heady; wants a little shaping--like all youngsters."
Bunny's shrewd eyes flashed him a rapid glance, meeting the red-brown
eyes deliberately scrutinizing him. With a certain blunt courage that
was his, he tackled the situation.
"I say, did you hear what I said down on the parade?"
The man smiled a little, still watching Bunny's red face. "Did you mean
me to hear?" he enquired.
"No," said Bunny, staring back, half-fascinated and half-defiant.
"All right then. I didn't," the horseman said.
Bunny's expression changed. He smiled; and when he smiled his lost
youth looked out of his worn face. "Good for you!" he said. "I say, I
hope we shall see you again some time."
"If you are here for long, you probably will," the man made answer.
"Do you live here?" Bunny's voice was eager. His eyes sparkled with
interest.
The man nodded. "Yes, I'm a fixture. And you?"
"Oh, we're going to be fixtures too," said Bunny. "This is my sister
Maud. I am Sir Bernard Brian."
Maud's ready blush rose burningly. She fidgeted to be gone. Bunny's
swaggering announcement made her long to sink through the earth. She
dreaded to hear his listener laugh, even looked up in surprise when no
laugh came.
He was surveying Bunny with that same unblinking regard that had
disconcerted her. The slight smile was still on his face, but it was
not a derisive smile.
After a moment he said, "My name is Bolton--Jake Bolton. Think you can
remember that?"
"What are you?" said Bunny, with frank curiosity.
"I?" The faint smile suddenly broadened, showing teeth that were large
and very white. "I am a groom," the horseman said.
"Are you?" The boy's eyes opened wide. "Then you're not a mister!" he
said.
"Oh no, I'm not a mister!" There was certainly a laugh in the womanish
voice this time, but it held no open ridicule. "I'm plain Jake Bolton.
You can call me Bolton or Jake--which ever you like. Good day, Sir
Bernard!"
He backed his horse with the words, and mounted.
Maud did not look at him. She felt too overwhelmed. Moreover, she was
sure--painfully sure--that he looked at her, and she thought there must
be at least amusement in his eyes.
With relief she heard him turn his horse and trot down the hill. He had
not even been going their way, then. Her face burned afresh.
"What a queer fish!" said Bunny. "Hullo! What are you so red about?"
"I wish you wouldn't tell people your title," she said. "They only
laugh."
"He didn't laugh when I told him," said Bunny. "And why shouldn't I?
I've a right to it."
He would not see her point she knew. But she made an attempt to
explain. "He would have liked to call himself a gentleman," she said.
"But--he didn't."
"That's quite different," said Bunny loftily. "He knows he isn't one."
Maud abandoned the argument then, because--though it was against her
judgment--she found that she wanted to agree.