Peregrine's Progress

by Jeffery Farnol

  CHAPTER XI

  WHICH PROVES BEYOND ALL ARGUMENT THAT CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN

  I awoke very stiff and sore and full of a black, oppressive melancholydespite the bright sunshine that poured in at every crack and creviceof the old barn. To this depression was added sudden dread as Irecalled the incidents of last night and how (albeit unwittingly) Ihad favoured the escape of a desperate outlaw, thus placing myself indanger of arrest and possible imprisonment.

  At this horrid thought I started up in great perturbation untilobserving thus my clumsy shoes, thick stockings and other garments ofmy rustical disguise, my apprehensions abated somewhat and I sat downagain to ponder gloomily on my future course.

  And now leapt Memory to tempt me, for I must needs think of my auntwho, viewed from my present deep of misery and loneliness, seemed likesome goddess very high and remote. I yearned bitterly for thatpassionate, if somewhat tyrannic, devotion to my every need andcomfort, and for the serene, untroubled haven her love and merepresence had ever afforded me.

  With the money in my possession I had but to charter a horse orvehicle and in a few hours should be with her again, safe from allfears and dangers, secure from all further hardships. Moved by thisthought, I rose to eager feet, but remembering the keen, critical eyesand aggressive chin of my uncle Jervas, I sat down again.

  I remained thus some considerable time, torn between these conflictingemotions until at last, clenching my hands, I determined I would go onand persevere in the adventure at all hazards; though I must confess Icame to this final decision more from pride and fear of ridicule thanstrength of character.

  I remember I had just arrived at this conclusion that was to sovitally affect and change my after life, when the door of the barncreaked suddenly open and a man appeared who, espying me where I satcrouched among the hay, stooped to view me over. For a moment Iblinked, dazzled by the sun-glare, then I saw him for a tall, bony manwith a long nose and a ferrety eye.

  "Come out o' that!" quoth he, fondling the lash of an ugly-lookingwhip he carried. "Who give you leave to snore in my barn? Come out ofit!"

  "Sir," said I, rising and saluting him with a somewhat haughty bow, "Iregret to have trespassed upon your property, but when I remind you oflast night's dreadful storm and further inform you that I was lost,you will, I am sure--"

  "Come out of it--d'ye hear!" he repeated more angrily then before."And don't try coming any o' your imperence wi' me, my lad--come, outye go!"

  "Willingly!" said I disdainfully. "Permit me first to assure you thatif my sheltering in this barn has caused any damage to your property,I will reimburse you to any reasonable--"

  "Get out--ye damned young thieving gipsy!" he roared, and cut at mefiercely with his whip; whereupon, forgetting dignity and all else inthe sharp, unaccustomed pain, I took to my heels nor did I stop untilI was safe beyond pursuit and out of sight of the scene of myhumiliation.

  This incident (though I could have wept for very indignation) servedbut to make me the more fixed in my resolution to follow the course Ihad marked out for myself, come what might.

  My present worldly possessions amounted to some fourteen pounds and avaluable gold watch, thanks to the highwayman's gratitude; moreover Iremembered Anthony's promise to meet me at Tonbridge and this cheeredme greatly. To Tonbridge I would go and there await his coming.

  Musing thus, I was aroused by the hoof strokes of a horse and,glancing up, beheld a plump man on plump steed ambling towards me downthe lane. Waiting until he was sufficiently near, I stepped into theroad and saluted him.

  "Good-day, sir!" said I. "Pray pardon my detaining you, but thisneighbourhood is strange to me. Will you therefore have the kindnessto direct me to Tonbridge?"

  The plump man eyed me over, damned my impudence, and rode off withnever another word, leaving me to stare after him mute withindignation and surprise; and so to plod on, racking my brain todiscover in what particular I could have offended.

  I was yet busied on this perplexing problem when I espied apleasant-faced fellow leaning over a gate; him I accosted thus:

  "Sir, I am a stranger hereabouts and should esteem it a kindness ifyou would direct me to Tonbridge." The man stared, open-mouthed, andhardly had I finished speaking than he threw back his head and laughedloudly.

  "Sir, why do you laugh?" I demanded, a little stiffly.

  "Good lad!" he grinned. "Ye be a play-actor, for sure?"

  "Certainly I am--not! Pray how may I get to Tonbridge?"

  "Why, like Gammer Perkins' old sow," he grinned, "one leg afore t'other! I bean't sich a green 'un as ye think."

  "Thank you for nothing!" said I sharply.

  "Oh, ye can't make a fule of I!" quoth he, grinning.

  "No," I retorted, "Nature has done so already!"

  This seemed to tickle him mightily for some reason.

  "By gum, but you be a rare un, ecod!" he cried, slapping his leg."Gi'e us some more, lad--I'd rayther laugh than eat any day--sing us asong--step us a jig, will 'ee? Come, I don't mind payin' for 't. I dulove a good laugh an' I'll pay. I don't mind spendin' a penny--no b'gum, 'ere's a groat--there y' are! Now tip us a song or jig--come!"Saying which, he tossed the four-penny piece into the road at my feet.Now at this I grew angry beyond words, but he was a large man, so Iturned on indignant heel and left him leaning over the gate to starefrom me to the despised coin and back again in open-mouthedwonderment.

  And now, as I trudged on, my mind was exercised on the question as towhether this part of the world was peopled only by ill-temperedbullies, surly wretches, or bovine fools. So came I to a place wherethe ways divided and I was deliberating which to follow when I heard ashrill whistling and glancing about, beheld a large woman who talkedvery fast and angrily to a small man, who whistled extremely loud andshrill, heeding her not in the least. Being come to where I stood, theman paused and stopped his whistling.

  "O laddie," quoth he, jerking grimy thumb at his companion, "will ye'ark to this brimstone witch--been clackin' away all along fromSevenoaks, she 'ave! Gimme a tanner an' she's yourn--saythrippence--say a penny!" At this the woman started to berate himagain and he to whistling.

  "Pardon me," said I, when at last I might make myself heard, "will yoube so obliging as to tell me the way to Tonbridge?"

  "Look at 'im, Neddy, look at 'im!" cried the virago, stabbing bonyfinger at me. "Tell 'im t' close 'is trap or it's twist 'is yeres Iwill. Tell 'im 'e can't make fun o' we--"

  "Make fun of you!" exclaimed I, falling back a pace, aghast at thesuggestion. "Indeed nothing was further from my intent! Believe me, mygood woman, I--"

  "Don't ye dare go callin' me ye 'good woman' in them breeches an' yeshirt all tore! An' look at ye 'at--I seen better on a scarecrow, I'ave! You're trash apeing y'r betters--poor trash, that's wot you are!Good woman indeed! You tell 'im wot we think of 'im, Neddy--tell 'implain an' p'inted!" Instantly the little man set thumb to nose and,spreading his fingers, wagged them at me in a highly offensive manner,at the same time ejaculating the one word:

  "Walker!"

  Which done, he nodded, the woman scowled, and so they left me.

  So here it was, then, the answer to this perplexing riddle--myclothes! Mechanically I took off my hat and examined it as I had nottroubled to do hitherto and saw it for a shapeless monstrosity fadedto the colour of dust and with more than one hole in crown and brim.Truly I (like the woman) had seen better on many a scarecrow. I nowstooped to survey as much of my person as possible--my thick andclumsy shoes, my rough stockings, the old, cord breeches thatdisfigured me, hideous in themselves and rendered more so by numerousdarns and ill-contrived patches. Here then, as it seemed, was theexplanation for the brutality, surliness and odious familiarity I hadbeen subjected to; for my voice and manner being out of all keepingwith my appearance, I must naturally become an object of suspicion,coarse merriment, or aversion.

  Here I must needs begin to realise and justly appreciate how very muchI had owed in the past to the excellence of my tailor, for, clothed inthe
dignity of broadcloth and fine linen I had unconsciously lived upto them and walked serene, accustomed to such deference as theyinspired and accepting it as my due; but stripped of these sartorialaids and embellishings, who was to recognise the aristocrat? Nay, hisvery airs of birth and breeding, his customary dignity of manner wouldbe of themselves but matter for laughter. To strive for dignity insuch a hat was to be ridiculous and peering down at the cord breeches,stockings and shoes, I knew that these henceforth must govern mybehaviour. But how adapt myself to these debasing atrocities? Thisquestion proving unanswerable, I determined to buy other clothes atthe first opportunity.

  On I tramped, rejoicing in the peaceful solitude of these leafy bywaysthough, as the day advanced, conscious of a growing thirst andprodigious hunger. At last I espied an inn before me and hurriedforward; but an inn meant people, folk who would talk andstare--remembering which, I paused, despite my hunger, andhalf-fearing to enter the place by reason of my clothes. As I stoodthus, viewing the inn shyly and askance, a man stepped from the opendoorway and came striding towards me, a jovial-faced, full-bodied manwho, catching my eye, nodded good-humouredly, whereupon I ventured toaddress him.

  "If you please, sir," said I, touching my hat respectfully (as such ahat should be touched), "can you tell me the way to Tonbridge?"

  "I can, my lad, I can!" quoth he, crossing muscular hands on thehandle of the thick stick he carried. "But Tonbridge is a goodish stepfrom here and you look tired, my lad, peaked and pale about the gills.Are ye hungry?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Ha, thought so! Must eat beef--beef's the thing! d'ye like beef,hey?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "How about pudding-steak and kidney pudding--d'ye like that?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Good lad! So do I! Just had some in the 'Artichoke' yonder--all hot!Go and do likewise, my poor lad! Say Squire sent ye--and eat hearty!"As he spoke he reached into a pocket of his smallclothes, took out ashilling, pressed it into my hand, nodded and strode away.