The Revellers

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER V

  "IT IS THE FIRST STEP THAT COUNTS"

  Mrs. Saumarez and Angele returned to The Elms, but Martin had to foregoaccompanying them. He knew that--with Bible opened at the Third Book ofKings--John Bolland was waiting in a bedroom, every downstairs apartmentbeing crowded.

  He ran all the way along the village street and darted upstairs,striving desperately to avoid even the semblance of undue haste. Bollandwas thumbing the book impatiently. He frowned over his spectacles.

  "Why are ye late?" he demanded.

  "Mrs. Saumarez asked me to walk with her through the village," answeredMartin truthfully.

  "Ay. T' wife telt me she was here."

  The explanation served, and Martin breathed more freely. The readingcommenced:

  "Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat.

  "Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat."

  Martin, with his mind in a tumult on account of the threatened escapade,did not care a pin what method was adopted to restore the feeblecirculation of the withered King so long as the lesson passed offsatisfactorily.

  With rare self-control, he bent over the, to him, unmeaning page, andacquitted himself so well in the parrot repetition which he knew wouldbe pleasing that he ventured to say:

  "May I stay out a little later to-night, sir?"

  "What for? You're better i' bed than gapin' at shows an' listenin' tedrunken men."

  "I only ask because--because I'm told that Mrs. Saumarez's little girlmeans to see the fair by night, and she--er--would like me to be withher."

  John Bolland laughed dryly.

  "Mrs. Saumarez'll soon hev more'n eneuf on't," he said. "Ay, lad, ye canstay wi' her, if that's all."

  Martin never, under any circumstances, told a downright lie, but hefeared that this was sailing rather too near the wind to be honest. Thenature of Angele's statement was so nebulous. He could hardly explainoutright that Mrs. Saumarez was not coming--that Angele alone would bethe sightseer. So he flushed, and felt that he was obtaining therequired permission by false pretense. He could have pulled Angele'spretty ears for placing him in such a dilemma, but with a man so utterlyunsympathetic as Bolland it was impossible to be quite candid.

  He had clear ideas of right and wrong. He knew it was wrong for Angeleto come out unattended and mix in the scene of rowdyism which thevillage would present until midnight. If she really could succeed inleaving The Elms unnoticed, the most effectual way to stop her was togo now to her mother or to one of the Misses Walker and report herintention. But this, according to the boy's code of honor, was to playthe sneak, than which there is no worse crime in the calendar. No. Hewould look after her himself. There was a spice of adventure, too, inacting as the chosen squire of this sprightly damsel. Strong-minded ashe was, and resolute beyond his years, Angele's wilfulness, her quicktongue, the diablerie of her glance, the witchery of her elegant littleperson, captivated heart and brain, and benumbed the inchoate murmuringsof conscience.

  Oddly enough, he often found himself comparing her with Elsie Herbert, agirl with whom he had never exchanged a word, and Angele Saumarezinvariably figured badly in the comparison. The boy did not know thenthat he must become a man, perhaps soured of life, bitter withexperience, before he would understand the difference between respectand fascination.

  With housewife prudence, Mrs. Bolland hailed him as he was passingthrough the back kitchen.

  "Noo, then, Martin, don't ye go racketin' about too much in your bestclothes. And mind your straw hat isn't blown off if ye go on one o' themwhirligigs."

  "All right, mother," he said cheerfully, and was gone in a flash.

  Two hours must elapse before Angele could appear. Jim Bates, who bore nomalice, stood treat in gingerbread and lemonade out of the largessebestowed by Mrs. Saumarez. Martin, carried away by sight of a championboxer who offered a sovereign to any local man under twelve stone whostood up to him for three two-minute rounds, spent sixpence in securingseats for himself and Jim when the gage of combat was thrown down byhis gamekeeper friend.

  There was a furious fight with four-ounce gloves. The showman discoveredquickly that Velveteens "knew a bit." Repeated attempts to "out" himwith "the right" on the "point" resulted in heavy "counters" on theribs, and a terrific uppercut failed because of the keeper's quicksight.

  The proprietor of the booth, who acted as timekeeper, gave every favorto his henchman, but at the end of the third round the professional wasmore blown than the amateur. The sovereign was handed over with apparentgood will, both showmen realizing that it might be money well spent. Andit was, as the black eyes and swollen lips among the would-be pugilistsof Elmsdale testified for many days thereafter.

  Martin, who had never before seen a real boxing match, was entranced.With a troop of boys he accompanied the two combatants to the door ofthe "Black Lion," where a fair proportion of the sovereign was soonconverted into beer.

  George Pickering had witnessed the contest. Generous to a fault, hestarted a purse to be fought for in rounds inside the booth. Wanting apencil and paper, he ran upstairs to his room--he had resolved to stayat the inn for a couple of nights--and encountered Kitty Thwaites on thestairs.

  She carried a laden tray, so he slipped an arm around her waist, and shewas powerless to prevent him from kissing her unless she dropped thetray or risked upsetting its contents. She had no intention of doingeither of these things.

  "Oh, go on, do!" she cried, not averting her face too much.

  He whispered something.

  "Not me!" she giggled. "Besides, I won't have a minnit to spare tillclosin' time."

  Pickering hugged her again. She descended the stairs, laughing and veryred.

  The boys heard something of the details of the proposed Elmsdalechampionship boxing competition. Entries were pouring in, there being nofee. George Pickering was appointed referee, and the professional namedas judge. The first round would be fought at 3 P.M. next day.

  The time passed more quickly than Martin expected; as for his money, itsimply melted. Tenpence out of the shilling had vanished before herealized how precious little remained wherewith to entertain Angele. Shesaid she would have "plenty of money," but he imagined that a walkthrough the fair and a ride on the roundabout would satisfy her. Noteven at fourteen does the male understand the female of twelve.

  A few minutes before eight he escaped from his companions and strolledtoward The Elms. The house was not like the suburban villa which standsin the center of a row and proudly styles itself Oakdene. It was hiddenin a cluster of lordly elms, and already the day was so far spent thatthe entrance gate was invisible save at a few yards' distance.

  The nearest railway station was situated two miles along this very road.A number of slow-moving country people were sauntering to the station,where the north train was due at 9:05 P.M. Another train, that from thesouth, arrived at 9:20, and would be the last that night. A full moonwas rising, but her glories were hidden by the distant hills. There wasno wind; the weather was fine and settled. The Elmsdale Feast was luckyin its dates.

  Martin waited near the gate and heard the church clock chime the hour.Two boys on bicycles came flying toward the village. They were theBeckett-Smythes. They slackened pace as they neared The Elms.

  "Wonder if she'll get out to-night?" said Ernest, the younger.

  "There's no use waiting here. She said she'd dodge out one evening forcertain. If she's not in the village, we'd better skip back before we'remissed," said the heir.

  "Oh, that's all right. Pater thinks we're in the grounds, and therewon't be any bother if we show up at nine."

  They rode on. The quarter-hour chimed, and Martin became impatient.

  "She was humbugging me, as usual," he reflected. "Well, this time I'mpleased."

>   An eager voice whispered:

  "Hold the gate! It'll rattle when I climb over. They've not heard me. Icrept here on the grass."

  Angele had changed her dress to a dark-blue serge and sailor hat. Thiswas decidedly thoughtful. In her day attire she must have attracted agreat deal of notice. Now, in the dark, neither the excellence of herclothing nor the elegance of her carriage would differentiate her toomarkedly from the village girls.

  She was breathless with haste, but her tongue rattled on rapidly.

  "Mamma _is_ ill. I knew she would be. I told Francoise I had a headache,and went to bed. Then I crept downstairs again. Miss Walker nearlycaught me, but she's so upset that she never saw me. As for Fritz, if Imeet him--poof!"

  "What's the matter with Mrs. Saumarez?" asked Martin.

  "Trop de cognac, mon cheri."

  "What's that?"

  "It means a 'bit wobbly, my dear.'"

  "Is her head bad?"

  "Yes. It will be for a week. But never mind mamma. She'll be all right,with Francoise to look after her. Here! You pay for everything. There'sten shillings in silver. I have a sovereign in my stocking, if we wantit."

  They were hurrying toward the distant medley of sound. Flaring napthalamps gave the village street a Rembrandt effect. Love-making couples,with arms entwined, were coming away from the glare of the booths. Theirforms cast long shadows on the white road.

  "Ten shillings!" gasped Martin. "Whatever do we want with tenshillings?"

  "To enjoy ourselves, you silly. You can't have any fun without money.Why, when mamma dines at the Savoy and takes a party to the theaterafterwards, it costs her as many pounds. I know, because I've seen thechecks."

  "That has nothing to do with it. We can't spend ten shillings here."

  "Oh, can't we? You leave that to me. Mais, voyez-vous, imbecile, areyou going to be nasty?" She halted and stamped an angry foot.

  "No, I'm not; but----"

  "Then come on, stupid. I'm late as it is."

  "The stalls remain open until eleven."

  "Magnifique! What a row there'll be if I have to knock to get in!"

  Martin held his tongue. He resolved privately that Angele should be homeat nine, at latest, if he dragged her thither by main force. The affairpromised difficulties. She was so intractable that a serious quarrelwould result. Well, he could not help it. Better a lasting break thanthe wild hubbub that would spring up if they both remained out till theheinous hour she contemplated.

  In the village they encountered Jim Bates and Evelyn Atkinson,surrounded by seven or eight boys and girls, for Jim was disposingrapidly of his six shillings, and Evelyn bestowed favor on him for thenonce.

  "Hello! here's Martin," whooped Bates. "I thowt ye'd gone yam (home).Where hev ye----"

  Jim's eloquence died away abruptly. He caught sight of Angele and wasabashed. Not so Evelyn.

  "Martin's been to fetch his sweetheart," she said maliciously.

  Angele simpered sufficiently to annoy Evelyn. Then she laughedagreement.

  "Yes. And won't we have a time! Come on! Everybody have a ride."

  She sprang toward the horses. Martin alone followed.

  "Come on!" she screamed. "Martin will pay for the lot. He has heaps ofmoney."

  No second invitation was needed. Several times the whole party swunground with lively yelling. From the roundabouts they went to the swings;from the swings to the cocoanut shies. Here they were joined by theBeckett-Smythes, who endeavored promptly to assume the leadership.

  Martin's blood was fired by the contest. He was essentially a boyforedoomed to dominate his fellows, whether for good or evil. He pitchedrestraint to the winds. He could throw better than either of the youngaristocrats; he could shoot straighter at the galleries; he coulddescribe the heroic combat between the boxer and Velveteens; he wouldswing Angele higher than any, until they looked over the crossbar aftereach giddy swirl.

  The Beckett-Smythes kept pace with him only in expenditure, Jim Batesbeing quickly drained, and even they wondered how long the village ladcould last.

  The ten shillings were soon dissipated.

  "I want that sovereign," he shouted, when Angele and he were ridingtogether again on the hobby-horses.

  "I told you so," she screamed. She turned up her dress to extricate themoney from a fold of her stocking. The light flashed on her white skin,and Frank Beckett-Smythe, who rode behind with one of the Atkinsongirls, wondered what she was doing.

  She bent over Martin and whispered:

  "There are _two_! Keep the fun going!"

  The young spark in the rear thought that she was kissing Martin; he waswild with jealousy. At the next show--that of a woman grossly fat, whoallowed the gapers to pinch her leg at a penny a pinch--he paid with hislast half-crown. When they went to refresh themselves on ginger-beer,Martin produced a sovereign. The woman who owned the stall bit it,surveyed him suspiciously, and tried to swindle him in the change. Shefailed badly.

  "Eleven bottles at twopence and eleven cakes at a penny maketwo-and-nine. I want two more shillings, please," he said coolly.

  "Be aff wid ye! I gev ye seventeen and thruppence. If ye thry anny uvyer tricks an me I'll be afther askin' where ye got the pound."

  "Give me two more shillings, or I'll call the police."

  Mrs. Maguire was beaten; she paid up.

  The crowd left her, with cries of "Irish Molly!" "Where's Mick?" andeven coarser expressions. Angele screamed at her:

  "Why don't you stick to ginger-beer? You're muzzy."

  The taunt stung, and the old Irishwoman cursed her tormentor as ablack-eyed little witch.

  Angele, seeing that Martin carried all before him, began straightway toflirt with the heir. At first the defection was not noted, but when sheelected to sit by Frank while they watched the acrobats the new swaintook heart once more and squeezed her arm.

  Evelyn Atkinson, who was in a smiling temper, felt that a crisis mightbe brought about now. There was not much time. It was nearly teno'clock, and soon her mother would be storming at her for not havingtaken herself and her sisters to bed, though, in justice be it said,the girls could not possibly sleep until the house was cleared.

  Ernest Beckett-Smythe was her cavalier at the moment.

  "We've seen all there is te see," she whispered. "Let's go and have adance in our yard. Jim Bates can play a mouth-organ."

  Ernest was a slow-witted youth.

  "Where's the good?" he said. "There's more fun here."

  "You try it, an' see," she murmured coyly.

  The suggestion caught on. It was discussed while Martin and Jim Bateswere driving a weight up a pole by striking a lever with a heavy hammer.Anything in the shape of an athletic feat always attracted Martin.

  Angele was delighted. She scented a row. These village urchins were impsafter her own heart.

  "Oh, let's," she agreed. "It'll be a change. I'll show you the Americantwo-step."

  Frank had his arm around her waist now.

  "Right-o!" he cried. "Evelyn, you and Ernest lead the way."

  The girl, flattered by being bracketed publicly with one of the squire'ssons, enjoined caution.

  "Once we're past t' stables it's all right," she said. "I don't supposeFred'll hear us, anyhow."

  Fred was at the front of the hotel watching the road, watching KittyThwaites as she flitted upstairs and down, watching George Pickeringthrough the bar window, and grinning like a fiend when he saw thatsomewhat ardent wooer, hilarious now, but sober enough according to hisstandard, glancing occasionally at his watch.

  There was a gate on each side of the hotel. That on the left led to theyard, with its row of stables and cart-sheds, and thence to a spaciousarea occupied by hay-stacks, piles of firewood, hen-houses, and all themiscellaneous lumber of an establishment half inn, half farm. The gateon the right opened into a bowling-green and skittle-alley. Behind theselay the kitchen garden and orchard. A hedge separated one section fromthe other, and entrance could be obtained to either from the back door
of the hotel.

  The radiance of a full moon now decked the earth in silver and black; inthe shade the darkness was intense by contrast. The church clock struckten.

  Half a dozen youngsters crept silently into the stable yard. Angelekicked up a dainty foot in a preliminary _pas seul_, but Evelyn stoppedher unceremoniously. The village girl's sharp ears had caught footstepson the garden path beyond the hedge.

  It was George Pickering, with his arm around Kitty's shoulders. He wastalking in a low tone, and she was giggling nervously.

  "They're sweetheartin'," whispered a girl.

  "So are we," declared Frank Beckett-Smythe. "Aren't we, Angele?"

  "Sapristi! I should think so. Where's Martin?"

  "Never mind. We don't want him."

  "Oh, he will be furious. Let's hide. There will be such a row when hegoes home, and he daren't go till he finds me."

  Master Beckett-Smythe experienced a second's twinge at thought of thegreeting he and his brother would receive at the Hall. But here wasAngele pretending timidity and cowering in his arms. He would not leaveher now were he to be flayed alive.

  The footsteps of Pickering and Kitty died away. They had gone into theorchard.

  Evelyn Atkinson breathed freely again.

  "Even if Kitty sees us now, I don't care," she said. "She daren't tellmother, when she knows that we saw her and Mr. Pickerin'. He ought tohave married her sister."

  "Poof!" tittered Angele. "Who heeds a domestic?"

  Someone came at a fast run into the yard, running in desperate haste,and making a fearful din. Two boys appeared. The leader shouted:

  "Angele! Angele! Are you there?"

  Martin had missed her. Jim Bates, who knew the chosen rendezvous of theAtkinson girls, suggested that they and their friends had probably goneto the haggarth.

  "Shut up, you fool!" hissed Frank. "Do you want the whole village toknow where we are?"

  Martin ignored him. He darted forward and caught Angele by the shoulder.He distinguished her readily by her outline, though she and the restwere hidden in the somber shadows of the outbuildings.

  "Why did you leave me?" he demanded angrily. "You must come home atonce. It is past ten o'clock."

  "Don't be angry, Martin," she pouted. "I am just a little tired of thenoise. I want to show you and the rest a new dance."

  The minx was playing her part well. She had read Evelyn Atkinson's soul.She felt every throb of young Beckett-Smythe's foolish heart. She wasquite certain that Martin would find her and cause a scene. There wasdeeper intrigue afoot now than the mere folly of unlicensed frolic inthe fair. Her vanity, too, was gratified by the leading role she filledamong them all. The puppets bore themselves according to theirtemperaments. Evelyn bit her lip with rage and nearly yielded to a wildimpulse to spring at Angele and scratch her face. Martin was white withdetermination. As for Master Frank, he boiled over instantly.

  "You just leave her alone, young Bolland," he said thickly. "She camehere to please herself, and can stay here, if she likes. I'll see tothat."

  Martin did not answer.

  "Angele," he said quietly, "come away."

  Seeing that he had lived in the village nearly all his life, it waspassing strange that this boy should have dissociated himself socompletely from its ways. But the early hours he kept, his love ofhorses, dogs, and books, his preference for the society of grooms andgamekeepers--above all, a keen, if unrecognized, love of nature in allher varying moods, an almost pagan worship of mountain, moor, andstream--had kept him aloof from village life. A boy of fourteen does notindulge in introspection. It simply came as a fearful shock to find thedaughter of a lady like Mrs. Saumarez so ready to forget her socialstanding. Surely, she could not know what she was doing. He wasundeceived, promptly and thoroughly.

  Angele snatched her shoulder from his grasp.

  "Don't you dare hold me," she snapped. "I'm not coming. I won't comewith you, anyhow. Ma foi, Frank is far nicer."

  "Then I'll drag you home," said Martin.

  "Oh, will you, indeed? I'll see to that."

  Beckett-Smythe deemed Angele a girl worth fighting for. In any case,this clodhopper who spent money like a lord must be taught manners.

  Martin smiled. In his bemused brain the idea was gaining ground thatAngele would be flattered if he "licked" the squire's son for her sake.

  "Very well," he said, stepping back into the moonlight. "We'll settle itthat way. If _you_ beat _me_, Angele remains. If _I_ beat _you_, shegoes home. Here, Jim. Hold my coat and hat. And, no matter what happens,mind you don't play for any dancing."

  Martin stated terms and issued orders like an emperor. In the hour ofstress he felt himself immeasurably superior to this gang of urchins,whether their manners smacked of Elmsdale or of Eton.

  Angele's acquaintance with popular fiction told her that at this stageof the game the heroine should cling in tears to the one she loved, andimplore him to desist, to be calm for her sake. But the riot in herveins brought a new sensation. There were possibilities hithertounsuspected in the darkness, the secrecy, the candid brutality of thefight. She almost feared lest Beckett-Smythe should be defeated.

  And how the other girls must envy her, to be fought for by the two boyspre-eminent among them, to be the acknowledged princess of this villagecarnival!

  So she clapped her hands.

  "O la la!" she cried. "Going to fight about poor little me! Well, Ican't stop you, can I?"

  "Yes, you can," said one.

  "She won't, anyhow," scoffed the other. "Are you ready?"

  "Quite!"

  "Then 'go.'"

  And the battle began.