The most tangible result of the aquatic performance was that Gage,
through his long immersion, caught a bad chill, and had to take to his
bed. Peckover, who was none the worse for the trying twenty minutes
(having probably been too frightened to think of catching cold), was
summoned to his lordship's bedroom, and there passed a particularly
uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
"It is all your idiotic fault that I'm stuck away here," the patient
declared wrathfully. "That ass of a doctor says he won't let me get up
for a week. A fine lot of fun I'm getting out of the title up to now.
And I'm paying you a hundred pounds for a week in bed. As though it
matters when I'm between the blankets whether I'm a lord or a
solicitor's clerk. A peerage only counts when you've got your boots
on."
"I'm very sorry, old man," said Peckover contritely. "But I don't see
that you can blame me."
"I do blame you," Gage burst out. "Why couldn't you do as I told you,
instead of dodging about like a fool and nearly bringing us both to our
death!"
"You might make allowances," urged Peckover, "for a chap's feelings,
when he finds himself for the first time in cold water with his clothes
on."
"Bah!" Gage returned scornfully. "You've no pluck. And you spoilt the
whole show. Well, it will have to stand, anyhow; I'm not going to let
you make a fool of me again, whatever you may do with yourself. Now
perhaps you will put your mind to carrying through the dry land part of
the trick. If you don't I'll chuck you back your beggarly title, and
get on without it. It hasn't done much for me yet."
"What do you want me to do?"
"While I'm lying here," Gage answered in an aggrieved tone, "you've got
to make the most of the rescue. I reckon neither of us wants to play
the joke over again."
"Not me," Peckover agreed heartily.
"Well, then, the least you can do is to make out what a splendid rescue
it was, and that I'm a first-class hero, and that you're going to
recognize the fact by making over to me a big slice of your fortune.
D'you see? If I'm not a hero there can be no point in your solid
admiration and gratitude. So rub it well in."
"All right," Peckover promised.
"You may as well," Gage proceeded, "send for the lawyer chap from
Bunbury and have a deed drawn up, settling, say, a couple of hundred
thousand on me, it won't mean much as between you and me, but it will
impress the local public; and I tell you I mean to have a good bit of
glory to pay for this beastly cold. Now, do it at once and do it with
a snap, or I shall find a better use for five thousand a year than a
cold-catching title."
Thus admonished, Peckover carried out his instructions with a will, and
in a very few hours the _soi-disant_ Lord Quorn's heroic act promised
fair to be an undying tradition for the country-side. In fact,
Peckover, in his anxiety to retain his desirable income, rather overdid
the business, and so much so that one or two cynical spirits were
goaded into making question whether the life so saved was really, apart
from the income it might have left behind, quite worth the value its
owner evidently set upon it. Still, that mattered nothing to Peckover,
who was not thin-skinned, at least on dry land.
The _Bunbury Bulletin_ devoted a column and three quarters to the
"Romantic and Heroic Incident at Staplewick Park," and told its
breathless readers in unusually and adjectively gorgeous language how a
distinguished young Colonial of immense wealth was the guest with the
newly succeeded Lord Quorn at Staplewick Towers, temporarily in the
occupation of Colonel and Lady Agatha Hemyock; how he had, while
fishing in the justly celebrated and admired lake in the beautiful
park, overbalanced himself in making a cast, had fallen into deep
water, and he being in imminent risk of drowning, how the gallant young
nobleman, worthy descendant of a line of heroes and otherwise
distinguished ancestors, had plunged in and with great difficulty and
after unheard-of exertions rescued his friend. The writer having fully
described the occurrence, with a minuteness of detail only possible
from the pen of one who was not there, proceeded to give the respective
lineage and achievements of rescued and rescuer, while the interstices
in the thrilling narrative were filled up with topographical,
historical and picturesque notes by way of local colour; items which
were kept ready for use in the event of anything worthy of description
happening at Staplewick, from a chimney on fire to a royal visit.
Great as was the sensation which the highly coloured account created,
it may be safely asserted that by none was it read with more consuming
interest than by Mr. Purvis, the farmer, and Mr. Fanning, the butcher.
Their traditional and rooted belief in the infallibility of the
newspaper press received a shock from which it never recovered. But
when their astonished perusal reached the last and most sensational
paragraph, in which it was stated "on the best authority" that the
grateful millionaire had, as a mark of his esteem, admiration and
gratitude, settled a considerable fortune, "a sum which, it was an open
secret, might be represented by a two and five noughts," on his
deliverer, their sensations became of a complicated character that
defied analysis. Anyhow, the result was that they met to discuss the
matter, and the outcome of the meeting was that next morning they
proceeded to the Towers and sought an interview with the supposititious
millionaire.
Peckover felt somewhat uncomfortable when the visitors were announced.
In his exuberance in making the most of a sham rescue he had overlooked
the spectators, or at least had regarded them as negligible factors in
the episode.
After a few words of disingenuous congratulation, Mr. Fanning came to
the point. He and Mr. Purvis had seen it stated, doubtless correctly,
in the local paper that Mr. Gage had in his gratitude, etc., rewarded
his purported rescuer in more than princely fashion. And Mr. Fanning
and Mr. Purvis, whilst not withholding their meed of admiration from
his lordship, whose illness they deplored, and who had, they generously
admitted, done the best he could, were anxious to know where they came
in, and could only say that it was hard for them to express in words
their joint and several disappointment at being mentioned in connexion
with the affair only in the roles of casual spectators. Whereas, Mr.
Fanning urged with a suggestion of latent heat, it was they who brought
the accident to its comparatively happy termination; but for them and
the parts they played, he, Mr. Fanning, did not think they would that
day be having the pleasure of addressing Mr. Gage, or at any rate he,
Mr. Gage, the advantage of being in a position to listen to them; the
depressing inference being obvious.
As Peckover had by this time come to take a more comfortable and even
jocular view of the affair, he was not inclined to give more notice to
the claim than seeing in it evidence that the bogus rescue had deceived
its witnesses. Moreover, as a Cockney, he had not much opinion of or
consideration for the feelings of a farmer and a country butcher.
"Oh, I don't think you did much," he replied off-handedly.
"Begging your pardon, sir," Mr. Fanning maintained, "we did everything,
if the lives of yourself and his lordship count for anything."
"You didn't risk your lives," Peckover argued.
"We did, begging your pardon, sir."
"What, in three feet six inches of water?"
"How," urged Mr. Fanning, "were we to know the depth? We were prepared
to go much deeper."
"I dare say," returned Peckover incredulously. "But as you didn't that
doesn't come into the account. You did a lot of shouting, I admit, and
nearly knocked my head off by flinging that infernal oar at me as
though you thought you were harpooning a whale. Well, what do you
want?"
Mr. Fanning's face was lowering, and that of Mr. Purvis was overspread
by a foolish grin of disappointment. Certainly matters were not
turning out as they had anticipated on their walk to the Towers. They
were being rudely awakened from their dreams of returning to their
respective homes rich men.
Mr. Fanning paused for a moment, as collecting, so to say, his routed
forces for a final charge. "Well, sir," he said, bluntly now and with
a note of repressed indignation; "putting myself aside for the moment,
I should like to ask, seeing what you are doing for his lordship,
whether my friend Mr. Purvis' efforts on your behalf are not to meet
with suitable recognition. It was Mr. Purvis who, with me, kept our
presence of mind when matters looked black; it was Mr. Purvis who,
under my direction, ran with splendid promptitude to the boathouse; it
was Mr. Purvis who fetched out all there was to fetch, the oar and the
rope, and, under my directions, lashed the one to the other; it was Mr.
Purvis who, at my suggestion, and at imminent risk to himself, first
made sure of his lordship when his lordship was totally exhausted.
Yes."
Mr. Fanning paused, and drew a murrey-coloured handkerchief lightly
across his heated brow. Mr. Purvis, with the reticence of conscious
desert, stood eyeing Peckover with an expression which suggested, that
if that unsympathetic person was not duly impressed by the catalogue of
his achievements, he ought to be, and that if he, Purvis, failed to
obtain due reward for the same he would be content to leave his claim
to the judgment of posterity, but at the same time would much prefer an
immediate and more material recognition.
"It was Mr. Purvis," resumed the butcher, "accompanied and assisted by
your humble servant, who at considerable risk, I may say, great risk,
since I am no swimmer----"
"Nor ain't I," interjaculated Purvis, thankfully, as looking to his
ignorance to increase the figure of his recompense.
"Anyhow," continued Fanning, rather put off his eloquence by the
interruption, "we risked it. We risked it. And we are husbands of
wives and fathers of families."
Mr. Fanning, who was said to be in the habit of knocking his wife about
after an evening at the _Pigeons_, became, for a butcher, almost
touching, and Mr. Purvis, whose wife ruled him with a copper-stick on
the rare occasions when her tongue failed, experienced no difficulty in
looking intensely married.
"It was Mr. Purvis, guided and sustained by me, who pushed out for you,
sir, and----"
"It was Mr. Purvis, directed by you, who nearly sliced the top of my
head off," Peckover interposed flippantly.
"Your rescue," pursued Fanning, ignoring the interruption, "was no
light matter. It was the stiffest job I've ever been concerned in,
though I must say I never expected to have to bring the fact home to
the gentleman most interested in it."
"Well," said Peckover curtly, "what did you expect?"
"Leave it to you, sir," Purvis replied promptly, shrewdly fearing the
effect his friend's verbosity might have upon the ultimate figure.
But Mr. Fanning would have his say. "Putting aside, sir, the risk of
life we ran, to say nothing of the most valuable existence which it has
been our privilege to prolong, I may mention that I was wearing on the
occasion a bran new pair of boots which are now good for nothing, quite
ruined, sir; I had on likewise my best market-day gaiters and breeches
ditto; added to which the tails of my coat and the sleeves were so
saturated that my missus can do nothing with 'em. And I believe I am
correct in stating that Mr. Purvis' wearing apparel was greatly
deteriorated."
He turned towards Purvis for corroboration. That worthy man gave an
assenting nod. "Ain't been able to get into my breeches since, nor my
boots, nor my gaiters," he asserted painfully.
Peckover made a rapid calculation based on the price-tickets he had
studied during the luncheon hour in the windows of various
establishments in Cheapside. "All right," he said graciously, "I shall
be happy to present you with five pounds apiece; that is one pound
seventeen for the damage and three guineas each for your trouble."
For a few moments a sepulchral silence reigned in the room. Then Mr.
Fanning's mouth slowly opened, as though the machinery, brought to a
sudden stop, was just set going again. But all he could say was:
"Five pounds apiece?"
So profound was his emotion that for the moment Peckover was at a loss
as to the real effect of his offer.
"As a mark of my high appreciation of your services, and taking into
consideration that we did not know the depth of water was only three
foot six, I shall be pleased to make it guineas," Peckover announced,
in as grand a manner as he knew how to assume.
Mr. Fanning threw up his hands and turned to Mr. Purvis, an incarnation
of despair. "Five guineas! Five!" he gasped.
"The gentleman's joking," was all Purvis could say.
"No, I really mean it," said Peckover with princely condescension. "I
absolutely refuse to reward your services at any lower figure, however
much less your modesty may feel them to be really worth. I said five
guineas and I mean five guineas, and not a shilling less than five
guineas apiece shall you have."
Mr. Fanning was now reduced to a state of abject helplessness. "Five
guineas! five guineas!" was his cry. "While the man who had to be
rescued himself--by us, by us--gets a sum running into six figures.
It's something to be a lord."
"A poor look-out for respectable farmers and tradesmen," put in Purvis.
"What," demanded Peckover, in well-feigned surprise, "aren't you
satisfied?"
"Not exactly," Fanning answered feelingly.
"Well," returned Peckover, "I consider five guineas very good pay for
ten minutes' work in preventing two gentlemen from drowning in three
foot six of water."
"It's an insult," Fanning maintained.
"Oh, well," retorted Peckover, "I won't insult you. Good-day."
But neither Mr. Fanning nor Mr. Purvis had any intention of leaving
heroism to be its own reward. They made a simultaneous movement to
intercept their insulter as he moved towards the door.
"Don't misunderstand us, sir," said Fanning, tempering with a nice
sense of dignity his demand for justice. "We are poor men, and if five
guineas apiece is really all you are disposed to offer us, why, our
duty to our families is to accept it."
"Ah, I thought you'd come to your senses," observed Peckover with a
grin. "Five guineas isn't to be sneezed at."
"I've done a lot of sneezing for it," replied Fanning, "and so has Mr.
Purvis. We both got bad colds from the wetting."
"Well, you can't expect me to pay you for having a cold in the head,"
returned Peckover, with more flippancy than justice. "Here's your
bonus."
He took out the money and paid them, with the full intention of
recovering the same from his friend and patron upstairs. Messrs.
Fanning and Purvis received the inadequate solatium in a due spirit of
protest. The crackle of the notes in their bucolic fingers woke them
from their dreams of affluence, and as they gazed with sorrow on the
legend thereon the fact was established that five, not five thousand,
was the figure at which their heroism was assessed, and that if justice
was to be found in the world her habitat was not Staplewick Towers.
With the departure of the dissatisfied pair Peckover threw himself into
a chair and laughed for some minutes as he recalled, one after another,
the salient points of the serio-comic interview. He had his
limitations and deficiencies, but a certain sense of humour was not
among them, and the logical consequence of that magnificently absurd
rescue and reward appealed to it strongly.
"Oh, I'm in for a fine time at last," he chuckled, in unrestrained
enjoyment of his new state of existence. "What a bit of luck! I'm
going to be in clover for the rest of my days. Tal ra, ra! It's
immense!" He jumped up and began, in pure joyousness, to dance a
double shuffle. In the midst of his saltatory abandon he suddenly
stopped. The light in the room had become sensibly diminished.
Pirouetting round to the window to ascertain the cause, he saw bulking
therein the huge figure of a man who was watching his caperings with a
threatening eye.