A NEW LEAF
"The Duke of St. Osmund's and Mr. Claude Lafont left town yesterday for
Maske Towers, the family seat near Devenholme." So ran the announcement
in the morning papers of the next day but one. And the Duke was actually
exploring his inheritance when it appeared.
Overnight the pair had arrived too late to see much more than the lofty,
antique hall and the respective rooms in which they were to sup and
sleep; but the birds awoke Jack in the early morning, and he was up and
out before seven o'clock.
As yet he had seen little that attracted him within, and at this hour he
felt a childish horror of the dark colossal canvases overhanging the
grand staircase and the hall; like the sightless suits of armour
standing blind sentinel below, they froze him with the look of lifeless
life about the grim, gigantic figures. He was thankful to see one of the
great double doors standing open to the sun; it let him out into a
portico loftier than the hall; and folding his arms across a stone
balustrade, the whilom bushman looked forth between Corinthian columns
like the masts of a ship, and was monarch of all he beheld.
A broad and stately terrace ran right and left below; beyond and below
this, acres of the smoothest, greenest sward were relieved by a few fine
elms, with the deer still in clusters about their trunks. The lawn
sloped quietly to the verdant shores of a noble lake; sun and dew had
dusted the grass with silver; sun and wind were rippling the lake with
flakes of flame like leaping gold-fish; and across the water, on the
rising ground, a plantation of young pines ran their points into the
radiant sky. These trees appealed to the Duke more than anything he had
seen yet. His last bush hut had been built among pines; and such is the
sentimental attraction of the human heart towards a former
condition--better or worse, if it be but beyond recall--that the Duke of
St. Osmund's had to inspect that plantation before anything else.
Leaving the Towers behind him, unnoticed and indeed forgotten, he
crossed the lawn, skirted the lake, and plunged amid the pine-trees as
his impulse spurred him. But on his way back, a little later, the mellow
grandeur of that ancient pile broke in upon him at last, and he stood
astounded in the wet grass, the blood of possession running hot in his
veins.
The historic building stretched on this side for something like a
quarter of a mile from end to end. Here the blue sky sank deep between
turret and spire, and there it picked out a line of crumbling
battlements, or backed the upper branches of an elm that (from this
point) cut the expanse of stone in two. It had grown out of many
attempts in as many ages; thus, besides architectural discrepancies for
the eyes of the few, the shading of the walls was as finely graduated as
that of an aging beard, but the prevailing tint was a pearly gray, now
washed with purple, and exquisitely softened by the tender haze still
lingering in the dewy air. And from every window that Jack could see,
flashed a morning sun; for as he stood and looked, his shadow lay in
front of him along the milky grass.
To one extremity of the building clung an enormous conservatory,
likewise ablaze from dome to masonry; at the other, the dark hues of a
shrubbery rested the eye; but that of the Duke was used to the sunlit
desert, and not readily dazzled. His quick glance went like a bullet
through the trees to a red gable and the gilt hands of a clock just
visible beyond. On the instant he recovered from his enchantment, and
set off for the shrubbery at a brisk walk; for he had heard much of the
Maske stables, and evidently there they were.
As he was in the shrubbery, the stable clock struck eight after a
melodious chime sadly spoilt by the incessant barking of some small dog;
the last stroke reverberated as he emerged, and the dog had the morning
air to itself, to murder with its hideous clamour. But the Duke now saw
the exciting cause, and it excited _him_; for he had come out opposite
the stable-yard gates, which were shut, but from the top of which, with
its lame paw lifted, a vertical tail, and a back like a hedgehog asleep,
his own yellow cat spat defiance at an unseen foe. And between the barks
came the voice of a man inciting the dog with a filthy relish.
"Set him off, Pickle! Now's your time. Try again. Oh, blow me, if you
can't you can't, and I'll have to lend you a hand."
And one showed over the gate with the word, but the fingers grabbed the
air, for Jack had snatched his pet in the nick of time. He was now busy
with the ring of the latch, fumbling it in his fury. The breath came in
gusts through his set teeth and bristling beard. One hand clasped the
yellow cat in a fierce caress; the other knotted into a fist as the gate
flew open.
In the yard a hulking, smooth-faced fellow, whose pendulous under-lip
had dropped in dismay, changed his stare for a grin when he saw the
Duke, who was the smaller as well as the rougher-looking man of the two;
for he had not only come out without his collar, which he discarded
whenever he could; but he had clapped on the old bush wideawake because
Claude was not up to stop him.
"Well, and who are you?" began the other cheerfully.
"You take off your coat and I'll show you," replied Jack, with a
blood-thirsty indistinctness. "I'm a better man than you are, whoever I
am; at least we'll have a see!"
"Oh, will we?" said the fellow. "And you're the better man, are you?
What do _you_ think?" he added, turning to a stable-boy who stood handy
with thin brown arms akimbo, and thumbs in his belt.
"I wonder 'oo 'e thinks 'e is w'en 'e's at 'ome?" said the lad.
Jack never heard him. He had spied the saddle-room door standing open.
In an instant he was there, with the small dog yelping at his heels; in
another, he had locked the door between cat and dog, pocketed the key,
and returned to his man, stripping off his own coat and waistcoat as he
came. He flung them into a corner, and after them his bush hat.
"Now let's see you take off yours! If you don't," added Jack, with a big
bush oath, "I'll have to hide you with it on!"
But man and boy had been consulting while his back was turned, and Jack
now found himself between the two of them; not that he gave the lad a
thought.
"Look you here; I'll tell you who _I_ am," said the man. "My name's Matt
Hunt, and Matt can fight, as you wouldn't need telling if you belonged
to these parts. But he don't take on stray tramps like you; so, unless
you hook it slippy, we're just going to run you out o' this yard quicker
than you come in."
"Not till I've shown you how to treat dumb animals----"
"Then here goes!"
And with that the man Hunt seized one of Jack's arms, while the
stable-boy nipped the other from behind, and made a dive at Jack's
pocket for the saddle-room key. But a flat-footed kick sent the lad
sprawling without harming him; and the man was driven so hard under the
nose that he too fell back, bearded with blood.
"Come on!" roared Jack. "And you, my boy, keep out of the light unless
you want a whipping yourself!"
He was rolling up the sleeves from his tanned and furry arms. Hunt
followed suit, a cascade of curses flowing with his blood; he had torn
off his coat, and a wrist-button tinkled on the cement as he caught up
Jack in his preparations. His arms were thicker than the bushman's,
though white and fleshy. Hunt was also the heavier weight, besides
standing fully six feet, as against the Duke's five-feet-nine when he
held himself up. Nor was there any lack of confidence in the dripping,
hairless, sinister face, when the two men finally squared up.
They fell to work without niggling, for Jack rushed in like a bull,
leading most violently with his left. It was an inartistic start; the
big man was not touched; but neither did he touch Jack, who displayed,
at all events, a quick pair of legs. Yet it was this start that steadied
the Duke. It showed him that Hunt was by no means unskilled in the use
of his hands; and it put out of his head everything but the fight
itself, so that he heard no more the small tike barking outside the
saddle-room door, hitherto his angriest goad. Some cool sparring
ensued. Then Hunt let out from the shoulder, but the blow was avoided
with great agility; then Jack led off again, but with a lighter touch,
and this time he drew his man. The blows of the next minute it was
impossible to follow. They were given and returned with enormous
virulence. And there was no end to them until the big man tripped and
fell.
"See here," said Jack, standing over him; "that was my cat, and I'd got
to go for you. But if you've had enough of this game, so have I, and
we'll cry quits."
He was sucking a cut lip as he spoke. The other spat out a tooth and
blundered to his feet.
"Quits, you scum? Wait a bit!"
And they were at hotter work than ever.
Meanwhile the yard was filling with stable-men and gardeners, who were
in time to see Hunt striding down on his unknown adversary, and the
latter retreating in good order; but the stride quickened, ending in a
rush, which the Duke eluded so successfully that he was able to hit Hunt
hard on the ear as he passed.
It was afterwards a relief to the spectators to remember how they had
applauded this effort. To the Duke their sympathy was a comfort at the
time; though he no more suspected that his adversary was also his most
unpopular tenant, than the latter dreamt of his being the Duke.
Hunt let out a bellow of pain, staggered, and resumed his infuriate
rush; but his punishment was now heavier than before. He had lost both
wind and head, and he was losing pluck. One of his eyes was already
retiring behind folds of livid flesh; and a final blow under the nose,
where the first of all had been delivered, knocked him howling into the
arms of a new-comer, who disengaged himself as Hunt fell.
"What, Claude, is that you?" cried the Duke; and a flood of new
sensations so changed his voice, that Hunt looked up from where he lay,
a beaten, bleeding, blubbering mass. But in the silent revelation of
that moment there was at first no sound save the barking of the
fox-terrier outside the saddle-room door. This had never ceased. Then
the coachman's pipe fell from his mouth and was smashed.
"My God!" said he. "It's his Grace himself!"
He had driven the Duke from Devenholme the night before.
"The Duke of St. Osmund's!" exclaimed Hunt from the ground. He had been
shedding blood and tears indifferently, and now he sat up with a slimy
stare in his uninjured eye.
"Yes, that's right," said Jack, with a nod to the company. "So now you
all know what to expect for cruelty to cats, or any other dumb animals;
and don't you forget it!"
He put on his coat and went over to the saddle-room. Claude followed
him, still at a loss for words. And Hunt's dog went into a wild ecstasy
as the key was put into the lock.
"Hold him," said Jack. "The dog's all right; and I lay his master'll
think twice before he sets him on another cat o' mine."
"Come away," said Claude hoarsely; "for all our sakes, come away before
you make bad worse!"
"Well, I will. Only hold him tight. That's it. Poor little puss,
then--poor old Livingstone! Now I'm ready; come along."
But Hunt was in their path; and Jack's heart smote him for the mischief
he had done, though his own lower lip was swollen like a sausage.
"So you're the new Duke of St. Osmund's," said Hunt, with a singular
deliberation. "I wasn't to know that, of course; no, by gosh, not
likely!"
"Well, you know it now," was the reply. "And--and I'm sorry I had to hit
you so hard, Hunt!"
"Oh, don't apologise," said Hunt, with a sneer that showed a front tooth
missing. "Stop a bit, though; I'm not so sure," he added, with a glance
of evil insight.
"Sure of what?"
"Whether you oughtn't to apologise for not hitting a man of your own
age!"
"Take no notice of him," whispered Claude strenuously; but he obtained
none himself.
"Nonsense," said the Duke; "you're the younger man, at all events."
"Am I? I was born in '59, _I_ was."
"Then according to all accounts you're the younger man by four years."
"By--four--years," repeated Hunt slowly. "So you was born in '55! Thank
you; I shall make a note of that, you may be sure--your Grace!"
And Hunt was gone; they heard him whistling for his tike when he was
himself out of sight, and the dog went at last. Then the coachman
stepped forward, cap in hand.
"If you please, your Grace, that man was here without my knowledge. He's
always putting in his nose where he isn't wanted; I've shifted him out
of this before to-day; and with your Grace's permission, I'll give
orders not to have him admitted again."
"Who is he?" said Jack. "A tenant or what?"
"Only a tenant, your Grace. Matt Hunt, they call him, of the Lower Farm;
but it might be of Maske Towers, by the way he goes on!"
"He took a mighty interest in my age," remarked the Duke. "I never asked
to look at _his_ fangs--but I think you'll find one of them somewhere
about the yard. No; I'm not fond of fighting, my lads. Don't you run
away with that idea. But there's one thing I can't and won't suffer, and
that's cruelty to animals. You chaps in the stables recollect that! And
so good-morning to you all."
Claude led the way through the shrubbery in a deep depression. The
guilty Duke took his arm with one hand, while with the other he hugged
the yellow cat that was eying the shrubbery birds over its master's
shoulder, much as the terrier had eyed it.
"My dear old boy," said Jack, "I'm as sorry as sorry for what's
happened. But I couldn't help myself. Look at Livingstone; he'd have
been a stiff 'un by this time if I hadn't turned up when I did; so
naturally there was a row. Still I'm sorry. I know it's a bad beginning;
and I remember saying in the train that I'd turn over a new leaf down
here. Well, and so I will if you give me time. Don't judge me by this
morning, Claude. Give me another chance; and for God's sake don't look
like that!"
"I can't help it, Jack," replied Claude, with a weary candour. "I'm
prepared for anything now. You make me a year older every day. How do I
know what you'll do next? I think the best thing I can do is to give you
up as a bad job."