CHAPTER IV.
Jimmy's acquaintance with Spennie Blunt had developed rapidly in thefew days following their first meeting. Spennie had called nextmorning to repay the loan, and two days later had invited Jimmy tocome down to Shropshire with him. Which invitation, Jimmy, bored withLondon, had readily accepted. Spike he had decided to take with him inthe role of valet. The Bowery boy was probably less fitted for thepost than any one has ever been since the world began; but it wouldnot do to leave him at Savoy Mansions.
It had been arranged that they should meet Spennie at Paddingtonstation. Accompanied by Spike, who came within an ace of lookingalmost respectable in new blue serge, Jimmy arrived at Paddington witha quarter of an hour to spare. Nearly all London seemed to be at thestation, with the exception of Spennie. Of that light-haired andhearted youth there were no signs. But just as the train was about tostart, the missing one came skimming down the platform and hurledhimself in. For the first ten minutes he sat panting. At theconclusion of that period, he spoke.
"Dash it!" he said. "I've suddenly remembered I never telegraphed hometo let 'em know what train we were coming by. Now what'll happen isthat there won't be anything at Corven to meet us and take us up tothe abbey. And you can't get a cab. They don't grow such things."
"How far is it to walk?"
"Five solid miles. And uphill most of the way. And I've got a badfoot!"
"As a matter of fact," said Jimmy, "it's just possible that we shallbe met, after all. While I was waiting for you at Paddington I heard aman asking if he had to change for Corven. He may be going to theabbey, too."
"What sort of a looking man?"
"Tall. Thin. Rather a wreck."
"Probably my Uncle Thomas. Frightful man. Always trying to roast achap, don't, you know. Still, there's one consolation. If it is UncleThomas, they'll have sent the automobile for him. I shouldn't thinkhe'd ever walked more than a hundred yards in his natural, not at astretch. He generally stays with us in the summer. I wonder if he'sbringing Aunt Julia with him. You didn't see her, I suppose, by anychance? Tall, and talks to beat the band. He married her for hermoney," concluded Spennie charitably.
"Isn't she attractive, either?"
"Aunt Julia," said Spennie with feeling, "is the absolute limit. Waittill you see her. Sort of woman who makes you feel that your hands arethe color of a frightful tomato and the size of a billiard table, ifyou know what I mean. By gad, though, you should see her jewels. It'sperfectly beastly the way that woman crams them on. She's got one ropeof pearls which is supposed to have cost forty thousand pounds. Lookout for it to-night at dinner. It's worth seeing."
Jimmy Pitt was distressed to feel distinct symptoms of a revival ofthe Old Adam as he listened to these alluring details. It was trying areformed man a little high, he could not help thinking with someindignation, to dangle forty thousand pounds' worth of pearls beforehis eyes over the freshly turned sods of the grave of his past. It wasthe sort of test which might have shaken the resolution of the oldestestablished brand from the burning.
He could not keep his mind from dwelling on the subject. Even the factthat--commercially--there was no need for him to think of such thingscould not restrain him. He was rich now, and could afford to behonest. He tried to keep that fact steadily before him, but instinctwas too powerful. His operations in the old days had never beenconducted purely with an eye to financial profit. He had collectedgems almost as much for what they were as for what they could bring.Many a time had the faithful Spike bewailed the flaw in an otherwiseadmirable character, which had induced his leader to keep a portion ofthe spoil instead of converting it at once into good dollar bills. Ithad had to go sooner or later, but Jimmy had always clung to it aslong as possible. To Spike a diamond brooch of cunning workmanship wasmerely the equivalent of so many "plunks". That a man, otherwise morethan sane, should value a jewel for its own sake was to him aninexplicable thing.
Jimmy was still deep in thought when the train, which had been takingitself less seriously for the last half hour, stopping at stations ofquite minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle,halted again. A board with the legend "Corven" in large letters showedthat they had reached their destination.
"Here we are," said Spennie. "Hop out. Now what's the betting thatthere isn't room for all of us in the bubble?"
From farther down the train a lady and gentleman emerged.
"That's the man. Is that your uncle?" said Jimmy.
"Guilty," said Spennie gloomily. "I suppose we'd better go and tacklethem. Come on."
They walked up the platform to where Sir Thomas stood smoking ameditative cigar and watching in a dispassionate way the efforts ofhis wife to bully the solitary porter attached to the station into afrenzy. Sir Thomas was a very tall, very thin man, with cold eyes, andtight, thin lips. His clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit oneman in a thousand. They were the best part of him. His generalappearance gave one the idea that his meals did him little good, andhis meditations rather less. His conversation--of which there was nota great deal--was designed for the most part to sting. Many years'patient and painstaking sowing of his wild oats had left him atfifty-six with few pleasures; but among those that remained he rankedhigh the discomfiting of his neighbors.
"This is my friend Pitt, uncle," said Spennie, presenting Jimmy with amotion of the hand.
Sir Thomas extended three fingers. Jimmy extended two, and thehandshake was not a success.
At this point in the interview, Spike came up, chuckling amiably, witha magazine in his hand.
"P'Chee!" said Spike. "Say, Mr. Chames, de mug what wrote dis piecemust ha' bin livin' out in de woods for fair. His stunt ain't writin',sure. Say, dere's a gazebo what wants to get busy wit' de heroine'sjools what's locked in de drawer in de dressin' room. So dis mug, whatdo youse t'ink he does? Why----"
"Another friend of yours, Spennie?" inquired Sir Thomas politely,eying the red-haired speaker with interest.
"It's----"
He looked appealingly at Jimmy.
"It's only my man," said Jimmy. "Spike," he added in an undertone, "tothe woods. Chase yourself. It's not up to you to do stunts on thisbeat. Fade away."
"Sure," said the abashed Spike, restored to a sense of his position."Dat's right. I've got wheels in me coco, that's what I've got, comin'buttin' in here. Sorry, Mr. Chames. Sorry, gents. Me for the tallgrass."
He trotted away.
"Your man seems to have a pretty taste in literature," said Sir Thomasto Jimmy. "Well, my dear, finished your chat with the porter?"
Lady Blunt had come up, flushed and triumphant, having left thesolitary porter a demoralized wreck.
"I'm through," she announced crisply. "Well, Spencer? How are you?Who's this? Don't stand gaping, child. Who's your friend?"
Spennie explained with some incoherence that his name was Pitt. Hisuncle had shaken him; the arrival of his aunt seemed to unnerve himcompletely.
"Pleased to meet you," snapped Lady Blunt. "Spencer, where are yourtrunks? Left them behind, I suppose? No? Well, that's a surprise. Tellthat porter to look after them. If you have any trouble with him,mention it to me. _I'll_ make him jump around. Where's the automobile?Outside? Where? Take me to it."
Lady Blunt, when conversing, resembled a Maxim gun more than anythingelse in the world.
"I'm afraid," said Spennie in an abject manner, as they left thestation, "that it will be rather a bit of a frightful squash--what Imean to say is, I hardly think we shall all find room in the auto. Isee they have only sent the small one."
Lady Blunt stopped short, and fixed him with a glittering eye.
"I know what it is, Spencer," she said. "You never telegraphed to yourmother to tell her what time you were going to arrive."
Spennie opened his mouth feebly, but apparently changing his mind,made no reply.
"My dear," said Sir Thomas smoothly, "we must not expect too much ofSpennie."
"Pshaw!" This was a single shot from the Maxim.
The bai
ted youth looked vainly for assistance to Jimmy.
"But--er--aunt," said Spennie. "Really, I--er--I only just caught thetrain. Didn't I, Pitt?"
"What? Oh, yes. Got in just as it was moving."
"That was it. I really hadn't time to telegraph. Had I, Pitt?"
"Not a minute."
"And how was it you were so late?"
Spennie plunged into an explanation, feeling all the time that he wasmaking things worse for himself. Nobody is at his best in the matterof explanations if a lady whom he knows to be possessed of a firmbelief in the incurable weakness of his intellect is looking fixedlyat him during the recital. A prolonged conversation with Lady Bluntalways made him feel exactly as if he were being tied into knots.
"All this," said Sir Thomas, as his nephew paused for breath, "isvery, very characteristic of our dear Spennie."
Our dear Spennie broke into a perspiration.
"However," continued Sir Thomas, "there's room for either you or----"
"Pitt," said Jimmy. "P--i double t."
Sir Thomas bowed.
"In front with the chauffeur, if you care to take the seat."
"I'll walk," said Jimmy. "I'd rather."
"Frightfully good of you, old chap," whispered Spennie. "Sure youdon't mind? I do hate walking, and my foot's hurting fearfully."
"Which is my way?"
"Straight as you can go. You go to the----"
"Spennie," said Sir Thomas suavely, "your aunt expresses a wish toarrive at the abbey in time for dinner. If you could manage to come tosome arrangement about that seat----"
Spennie climbed hurriedly into the automobile. The last Jimmy saw ofhim was a hasty vision of him being prodded in the ribs by LadyBlunt's parasol, while its owner said something to him which, judgingby his attitude, was not pleasant.
He watched them out of sight, and started to follow at a leisurelypace. It certainly was an ideal afternoon for a country walk. The sunwas just hesitating whether to treat the time as afternoon or evening.Eventually it decided that it was evening, and moderated its beams.After London, the country was deliciously fresh and cool. Jimmy felt,as the scent of the hedges came to him, that the only thing worthdoing in the world was to settle down somewhere with three acres anda cow, and become pastoral.
There was a marked lack of traffic on the road. Once he met a cart,and once a flock of sheep with a friendly dog. Sometimes a rabbitwould dash out into the road, stop to listen, and dart into theopposite hedge, all hind legs and white scut. But except for these hewas alone in the world.
And gradually there began to be borne in upon him the conviction thathe had lost his way.
It is difficult to judge distance when one is walking, but itcertainly seemed to Jimmy that he must have covered five miles by thistime. He must have mistaken the way. He had certainly come straight.He could not have come straighter. On the other hand, it would bequite in keeping with the cheap substitute which served Spennie Bluntin place of a mind that he should have forgotten to mention someimportant turning. Jimmy sat down by the roadside.
As he sat, there came to him from down the road the sound of a horse'sfeet, trotting. He got up. Here was somebody at last who would directhim.
The sound came nearer. The horse turned the corner; and Jimmy saw withsurprise that it bore no rider.
"Hullo!" he said. "Accident? And, by Jove, a side saddle!"
The curious part of it was that the horse appeared in no way a wildhorse. It did not seem to be running away. It gave the impression ofbeing out for a little trot on its own account, a sort of equineconstitutional.
Jimmy stopped the horse, and led it back the way it had come. As heturned the bend in the road, he saw a girl in a riding habit runningtoward him. She stopped running when she caught sight of him, andslowed down to a walk.
"Thank you _so much_," she said, taking the reins from him. "Oh,Dandy, you naughty old thing."
Jimmy looked at her flushed, smiling face, and uttered an exclamationof astonishment. The girl was staring at him, open-eyed.
"Molly!" he cried.
"Jimmy!"
And then a curious feeling of constraint fell simultaneously upon themboth.
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