Kitabı oku: «Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One», sayfa 2

In Pall Mall

“Voilà! – the pilot-fish and the shark!”

The words were spoken by an individual idly smoking a cigar on the steps of that gloomy-looking pile in Pall Mall known as the Peripatetics. He was the being that, go where he would, uneducated people would set down as belonging to the division Swell; for there was ton and aristocrat in the fit of his clothes and every curve of his body. Women would have called his black moustache and beard handsome, and spoken of his piercing eyes, high white forehead, and wonderful complexion; but Podger Pratt – that is to say, Frank Pratt – said more than once he had never seen a barber’s dummy that was his equal. He said it in a very solemn way; and when it came to the ears of the gentleman in question, he denounced Podger Pratt as a disgusting little cad, and the next time they met at the club Captain Vanleigh asked Pratt what he meant by it.

“What did I mean?” said Pratt, in a serious, puzzled tone of voice. “What did I mean? – oh, just what I said. It’s a fact.”

Captain Vanleigh stood glaring at him as if trying to pierce the imperturbable crust of solemnity on the speaker’s face; but Pratt remained as solemn as a judge, and amidst an ill-suppressed tittering, the Captain stalked from the room, saying to his companion —

“The fellow’s a fool – an ass – little better than an idiot!”

As for Podger Pratt, he looked innocently round the room as if asking the meaning of the laugh, and then went on with his paper.

But that was months before the present day, when Captain Vanleigh, gracefully removing his cigar from between his white teeth, said —

“Voilà! the pilot-fish and the shark!”

“The sucking-fish and the porpoise, I should say,” remarked his companion, a fair young fellow, dressed evidently upon the other’s model. “What big fellow Dick Trevor has grown!”

“You’re right, Flick; sucking-fish it is. That fat, little, briefless barrister will fatten still more on Dick Trevor’s chequebook. Ah, well, Flicky, it is a wise ordination of Providence that those men who have the largest properties are the biggest fools.”

“Ya-as, exactly,” said Flick, otherwise Sir Felix Landells. “I daresay you’re right, Van; but don’t quite see your argument. I s’pose may call ’self a wealthy man?”

“No rule without an exception, my dear boy; you are one of the exceptions. Odd, though, isn’t it, how we have all been thrown together after four years?”

“Yes, ’tis odd; but think it’s dooced nice of Dick to look us up as he has. You’ll make one of the party, of course?”

“Well, I don’t know. Certainly, town is empty. These sailor fellows are rather rough, though.”

“Oh, come down. Besides, it’s in the country.”

“Such an infernal distance! – but there, perhaps I will.”

As they stood talking, there came slowly sauntering along the pave a well-built young fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, and fining rapidly down to the loins. He seemed to convey the idea that he was rolling up to you on the deck of a ship with a sea on, and he carried his hands as if it might be necessary at any moment to throw them out to seize belaying pin or handrail. He was well dressed; but there was a certain easy freedom in the fit of his garments, and a loose swing pervading all, much in contrast with the natty, fashionable attire of the friends, whom he saluted with a pleasant smile lighting up his bronzed face and clear grey eyes. His hair was crisp, curly, and brown, seeming rather at war with the glossy new hat he wore, and settled more than once upon his head as he listened to the remarks of the little dapper-looking man at his side – Podger, otherwise Frank, Pratt, of the Temple.

Pratt was a solemn, neutral-looking fellow; but none the less he was keen and peculiar, even though, to use his own words, he had been born without any looks at all.

“There’s the wolf, Dick,” said Pratt, as they approached the club. “Who’s that with him? Ah, might have known – the lamb.”

“You seem to have kept up the old school tricks, Frank,” said Trevor, “and I suppose it gets you into hot water sometimes. Bad habit giving nicknames. We shouldn’t stand it at sea.”

“It breaks no bones,” said the other, quietly, “and seems to do me good – safety-valve for my spleen. How odd it is, though, that we four should be thrown together again in this way!”

“I was thinking the same; but I don’t see why we should call things odd when we have shaped them ourselves. I was cruising about for days to find you all out.”

“Well, it’s very kind of you, Dick,” said Pratt. “And let me see – I’ve won four pounds ten and six of you during the last week at pool and whist. Dick, you’re quite a godsend to a poor fellow. Look here, new gloves – ain’t had such a pair for a month.”

“By the way,” said Trevor, “is Vanleigh well off?”

“He was,” said Pratt – “came in for a nice property. How he stands now I can’t say.”

“And Landells?”

“Landells has a clear nine thousand a year; but I’ve seen hardly anything of them lately. Poole dresses them; and how could you expect such exquisites to seek the society of a man who wears sixteen-shilling pantaloons, dines on chops, reads hard, and, when he does go to a theatre, sits in the pit? By Jove, Dick, you would have laughed one night! I did – inside, for there wasn’t a crease in my phiz. They cut me dead. I was sitting in the front row in the pit, and as luck or some mischievous imp would have it, they were placed in two stalls in the back row, exactly in front of me, so that I could inhale the ambrosial odours from Flick Landells’ fair curls the whole evening.”

“Snobbish – wasn’t it?” said Dick.

“Just half,” said Pratt. “Landells is a good chap at heart; but society is spoiling him. He came to my chambers the very next day, with a face like a turkey-cock, to ask me if it was I that he saw at the theatre. I looked at him out of the corner of one eye, and he broke down, and asked my pardon like a man. Swore he wouldn’t have minded a bit, if Van hadn’t been with him. It’s all right, Dick; I can read Felix the Unhappy like a book.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Trevor, as they reached the steps, “it is settled for Wednesday, of course?”

“Well,” said Landells, hesitating, “I – er – I – er – ”

“Oh, you must come, Flick,” said Trevor; “we’ve got all our old days to go over, and I’ve ordered the yacht round. Vanleigh, help me to persuade him.”

“You might come,” said Vanleigh, in a half-injured tone.

“Oh, I’ll go if you are going,” said Sir Felix, hastily; and then, correcting himself – “if you both really wish it.”

“That’s right,” said Trevor; “take pity on my seafaring ignorance. I shall want some company down at the old place. Pratt has promised.”

“Indeed!” said Vanleigh, fixing his glass in one eye. “I thought last night he couldn’t leave his reading?”

“Obliged to yield, like you, to the force of circumstances,” said Pratt, “and give way to our old friend’s overwhelming hospitality. But you needn’t mind, Van, old fellow, I won’t disgrace you. Look here,” he said, taking off his hat and speaking loudly, “new tile, fourteen bob – couldn’t afford a Lincoln and Bennett; brand-new gloves, two-and-three; and I’ve ordered one of Samuel Brothers’ tourist suits for the occasion.”

“My dear fellow,” said the Captain, after a look of disgust at Sir Felix, “I really do not want to know the extent of your wardrobe. In fact, mine is at your service – my valet – er – I beg your pardon, Trevor.”

“I say, don’t take any notice of that solemn little humbug,” said Trevor, laughing; “you know what he always was. I – oh, my God!”

The exclamation was involuntary, for just at that moment a hansom cab was driven sharply out of the turning leading to Saint James’s Square, the horse shied – Pratt afterwards swore it was at Vanleigh’s eyes – and in another instant would have stricken down a faded-looking woman, who seemed to be crossing towards the club steps, but for the act of a passer-by.

The act was as quick as thought. With a bound he caught the woman, swung her round, and was struck by the horse full on the shoulder, to reel for a few yards with his burden, and then roll over and over in the muddy road.

The cabman pulled sharp up, and leapt off his perch with a face white as ashes, in an instant, while Trevor and Pratt ran to the fallen pair – the former to raise the woman, and carry her scared and trembling to the club steps, where Vanleigh stood looking as scared as the sufferer, while Pratt helped the gentleman to rise.

“Take me away, please; let me go – away,” said the woman, shivering with fear.

“Are you hurt?” said Trevor, with his arm still round her.

“No, no; not hurt – only let me go.”

“I couldn’t help it, gen’lemen,” began the cabman.

“No, confound you! – it was an accident, worse luck!” said the principal sufferer, “or you should have caught it sharply, Mr Nine-hundred-and-seventy-six. Here’s a pretty mess I’m in!”

“Very sorry, sir,” said the cabman, – “but – ”

“There, that’ll do. Is the lady hurt?”

“No, no,” said the woman, hastily, and she glanced timidly at Vanleigh, and then at Pratt, who was watching her keenly.

Just then a four-wheeler, which Trevor had hailed, came up, and he handed her in.

“Where shall he drive you?” said Trevor, as he slipped half-a-crown in the driver’s hand.

“Twenty-seven, Whaley’s Place, Upper Holloway,” said the woman, in an unnecessarily loud voice; and the cab was driven off.

“Thank you,” said the muddy stranger, holding out a very dirty hand to Trevor, who grasped it heartily.

“Worse disasters at sea,” he said, smiling.

“Yes,” said the other, looking hard in his face, “so I suppose; but then you do get an action for damages, or insurance money. I don’t insure my clothes,” he said, looking ruefully at his muddy garments, and then at those of the man who had served him. “I say, that was very kind of you, though.”

“Nonsense!” said Trevor, laughing in the bright, earnest, middle-aged face before him. “Come into the club, and send for some fresh things.”

“Thanks, no,” said the stranger, “I’ll get back to my rooms. I must have something out of somebody, so I’ll make cabby suffer.”

The cabman rubbed his ear, and looked blue.

“You’ll drive me home, cabby?” said the stranger.

“That I will, sir, for a week,” said the man, eagerly.

“We may as well exchange cards,” said the stranger, pulling out a case, and putting a muddy thumb upon the top card. “There you are – John Barnard, his mark,” he said, laughing. “Thanks once more. I’ll stick your card in here with mine; and now good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Trevor, frankly; and they shook hands.

“I shall know your face again.”

Saying which, after a curious stare in Trevor’s face, the stranger climbed into the cab, the driver touched up his horse, and the two street boys and the crossing-sweeper, who had been attracted to the scene, were about to separate, when the latter pounced upon something white and held it up to Pratt.

“Did yer drop this ’ere, sir?”

“No,” said Pratt, looking at the muddy note; “but here is sixpence – it is for one of my friends.”

Directly after, to the disgust of the two exquisites, Trevor, soiled from head to foot, was laughing heartily at the rueful aspect of Frank Pratt as he entered the hall.

“Look here,” he said, dolefully, as he held out his muddy gloves. “Two-and-three; and brand-new to-day. Van,” he added, with a peculiar cock of one eye, “have you a clean pair in your pocket?”

“No,” said Vanleigh, coldly. “You can get good gloves in the Arcade; but not,” he added, with a sneer, “at two-and-three.”

“Thanks,” said Pratt; “but I am not a simple Arcadian in my ideas. Oh, by the way, Van, here’s a note for you which somebody seems to have dropped.”

Vanleigh almost snatched the muddy note, which was directed in a fine, lady’s hand; and there was a curious pinched expression about his lips as he took in the address.

“Ah, yes; thanks, much,” he drawled. “Very kind of you, I’m shaw. By the way, Trevor, dear boy,” he continued, turning to his friend, “hadn’t you better send one of the fellows for some things, and then we might walk on to the Corner if you had nothing better to do? Try a suit of mine; those don’t fit you well.”

“No, I’ll keep to my own style,” said Trevor, laughing. “I don’t think I could quite manage your cut.”

Then nodding merrily in answer to the other’s rather disgusted look, he sent a messenger to his hotel, and strolled off to one of the dormitories, while Frank Pratt went into the reading-room, where the others had walked to the window, took up a newspaper, furtively watching Captain Vanleigh and his friend, in the expectation that they would go; but, to his great annoyance, they stayed on till Trevor reappeared, when Vanleigh, with his slow dawdle, crossed to him.

“What are you going to do this afternoon, dear boy?”

“Well, I was thinking of what you said – running down to the Corner to look at a horse or two. Things I don’t much understand.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Vanleigh. “You’ll come, won’t you, Flick?”

“Delighted, quite!” was the reply, very much to Pratt’s disgust – the feeling of disgust being equally shared by Vanleigh, when he saw “that gloveless little humbug” get up to accompany them.

No matter what the feelings were that existed, they sent for a couple of cabs, and a few minutes after were being trundled down Piccadilly towards what is still known as “The Corner” where that noble animal the “’oss” is brought up and knocked down day by day, in every form and shape – horses with characters, and horses whose morals are bad; right up through park hacks and well-matched high steppers, greys, chestnuts, roans and bays, well-broken ladies’ steeds, good for a canter all day, to the very perfection of hunters up to any weight – equine princes of the blood royal, that have in their youth snuffed the keen air of the Yorkshire wolds; mares with retrousse noses and the saucy look given by a dash of Irish blood. Racers, too, are there, whose satin skins, netted with veins, throb with the blue blood that has come down from some desert sire, who has been wont in fleet career to tear up the sand of Araby like a whirlwind, spurn it behind his hoofs, and yet, at the lightest touch of the bit, check the lithe play of his elastic limbs at the opening of some camel or goat-hair tent, where half a dozen swarthy children are ready to play with it, and crawl uninjured about its feet – the mother busily the while preparing the baken cakes and mares-milk draught for her Bedouin lord.

First Encounters

“Clean yer boots? Brush down, sir?”

“Why can’t yer leave the gent alone? I spoke fust, sir.”

“Here y’are, sir – out of the crowd, sir.”

Sixpence to be earned, and a scuffle for it, with the result that Richard Trevor stood a little out of the stream of passengers, stoically permitting a gentleman in an old red-sleeved waistcoat to “ciss-s-s” at him, as he brushed him most carefully down with an old brush, even though he was not in the slightest degree dusty.

“Now, look here, Dick, if I’m to go trotting about at your heels like a big dog, I shall bite at everybody who tries to rob you. I shan’t stand by and see you fleeced. Is there something in salt water that makes you sailors ready to part with your money to the first comer?”

The speaker was Frank Pratt, as he drew his friend away towards one of the omnibuses running that day from Broxford Station to where a regular back and heart-breaking bit of country had been flagged over for a steeplechase course.

“You shall do precisely as you like, Frank,” was the quiet reply.

“Very good, then – I will. Now, look here, Dick; you have now, I suppose, a clear income of twelve thousand a year?”

“Yes, somewhere about that.”

“And you want to fool it all away?”

“Not I.”

“Well, there was a specimen. You gave that fellow a shilling for brushing your coat that was not dirty.”

“Poor devil, yes! He tried to earn it honestly, and we don’t get such luxuries at sea.”

“As honestly as Van earned forty sovs. of you after we left Tatt’s yesterday.”

“Don’t understand you, Franky,” said Trevor, with a twinkle of the eye, as he allowed himself to be caught by a shoeblack, and placed a slightly soiled boot upon his stand.

“Tut!” ejaculated Pratt. “There you go again. What a fellow you are, Dick! What I meant was that horse of his. You gave him a cheque for a hundred for it.”

“Yes, I did, Franky.”

“He gave sixty for it last week.”

Trevor winced slightly, and said quietly —

“Dealer’s profit; and he understands horses. Try another cigar, Frank.”

Pratt took another cigar, lit it, and said, quietly —

“Now look here, Dick, old fellow, I’m afraid I’m going to be a great nuisance to you. You’re so easy-going, that with this money of yours – to use your sea-going terms – you’ll be all amongst the sharks; every one will be making a set at you. ’Pon my soul, I’ve been miserable ever since I won that four pound ten. The best thing we can do is to see one another seldom, for if I stay with you I shall always be boring you about some foolish bit of extravagance, and getting into hot water with the friends who take a fancy to you.”

“My dear Frank,” said Trevor, smoking away in the most unruffled fashion, “you will oblige me very much by letting that be the clearing-up shower as far as talk of leaving me is concerned. It is quite right. Here have I been to sea, middy and man, for twelve years; and now I come back to England a great helpless baby of a fellow, game for everybody. You think I’m a fool. Well, I am not over-wise; but my first act ashore here was the looking-up of a tried old schoolfellow, whose purse I’ve often shared, and who never once left me in the lurch – and,” he added, slowly and meaningly, “who never will leave me in the lurch. Am I right?”

Frank Pratt turned one sharp, quick flash upon the speaker, and that was enough.

“Thanky, sir,” cried the shoeblack, spinning up the sixpence he had received.

The friends turned towards one of the omnibuses about to make a start for the course.

“Beg parding, sir,” said a voice, “just a speck left on your coat, sir!” And the man who had received the shilling for the brushing began to “ciss” once more.

“That’ll do, sir! That’s the next ’bus, sir! Good luck to you for a real gent, sir,” he added; and then in a whisper, “Back White Lassie!”

Trevor turned sharply round, just time enough to encounter a most knowing wink, and the man was gone.

“Dick, I’m afraid that’s a trap,” said Pratt, gazing after the man. “Better not bet at all; but if you do, I don’t think I should go by what that fellow says. Well, come along. Eh? what?”

“Consequential-looking old chap in that barouche, I said;” and Trevor pointed to where a carriage had drawn up by the railway hotel, the owner having posted down from town – “regular type of the old English gentleman.”

“Now, if we are to get on together, Dick,” said Pratt, plaintively, “don’t try to humbug me in that way. Don’t hoist false colours.”

“Humbug you? – false colours?”

“Yes, humbug me. Now, on your oath, didn’t you think more of the two ladies in the barouche than of the old gentleman?”

“Without being on my oath – yes, I did; for I haven’t seen a pretty girl for three years. Get up first.”

“After you,” was the response.

And directly after the friends were mounted on the knifeboard of a great three-horse omnibus, brought down expressly for the occasion.

The vehicle was soon loaded in a way that put its springs to the test, for the exact licenced number was not studied upon that day. There was a fair sprinkling of gentlemen, quiet, businesslike professionals, and decent tradesmen with a taste for sport; but the railway company having run cheap special trains, London had sent forth a few representative batches of the fancy, in the shape of canine-featured gentlemen “got up” expressly for the occasion, with light trousers, spotted neckerchiefs, velvet coats, and a sign in the breast of their shirt or tie in the shape of a horseshoe pin. It is impossible to sit in such company without wondering whether the closely cropped hair was cut at the expense of the country; and when a quiet, neutral-looking man, sitting amongst them, accidentally clicks something in his pocket, you may know all the time that it is the lid of a tobacco-box, or a few halfpence, but you are certain to think of handcuffs.

You cannot pick your companions on an omnibus bound from a little country station to the scene of a steeplechase, and Richard Trevor and his friend soon found that they were in luck; for in addition to the regular racing attendants, London had sent down a pleasant assortment of those sporting gentlemen who used to hang about London Bridge Station on the morning when an event was to “come off,” police permitting, some forty miles down the line.

In the hurry of climbing up, Pratt had not noticed the occupants of the vehicle but as soon as they had taken their seats he was for descending again, and he turned to whisper his wishes to his friend.

“All comes of being in such a plaguy hurry, Frank. Always take soundings before you come to an anchor. Never mind now, though the onions are far from agreeable.”

The words had hardly left his lips, when a man on his left turned sharply, and asked why he hadn’t ordered his “kerridge,” subsiding afterwards into a growl, in which the word “sweeps” was plainly to be made out.

This acted as the signal for a little light chaff, and remarks began to fly about the dress of the friends. Moses Brothers and Whitechapel hags were mentioned, counter-jumping playfully alluded to, and permissions to be out for the day; and then a battery of exceedingly foul pipes came into play, emitting odours resembling anything but those of Araby the Blest, and driving Frank Pratt to ask his friend, in self-defence, for a cigar.

“Giv’s that there light,” said an individual on his right – a gentleman in velveteen coat, tight trousers, and eyes of so friendly a nature that they seemed ever seeking each other’s society, and trying to burrow beneath the bridge of their owner’s flat nose. He had no whiskers nor beard, but a great deal of mouth and chin, spotted all over with tiny black dots. His massive neck was swathed in a great belcher kerchief, with ample but useful ends; for besides supplying warmth, one was used occasionally to supply the lack of nutriment, and be nibbled by the owner’s great horse-teeth.

Trevor took the vesuvian from his friend, and politely passed it to the man, who leered, grinned, stuffed it into his pipe-bowl, holding it there as he puffed for a few moments, and then, winking at a companion, he pitched the little incandescent globe upon Pratt’s light overcoat.

Pratt started, flushed angrily, and brushed the vesuvian from his coat, but not until it had burned there a round black spot. But he said nothing; his face only twitched a little, as he began to make remarks about the country they were passing.

“Hillo! – eo – eo!” came from behind, as the omnibus slowly lumbered along; the driver drew a little on one side, and the open carriage, with its post-horses, that they had seen by the railway hotel, began slowly to pass, with the two young men eagerly scanning the occupants.

“Look at that old cock in the buff weskit,” said some one on the omnibus – a sally which was followed by roars of laughter, as an elderly gentleman, of portly, magisterial aspect, half started from the back seat, filming and frowning in utter astonishment at so ribald an attack on his dignity.

“Going to ask us to lunch, guv’nor?” laughed a third.

“That’s Brighamy Young and his three wives,” cried some one else.

“Tell the postboy to go a little faster, Edward,” the old gentleman called out to a footman on the box.

“Do you hear, Edward? Why don’t you go on faster, Edward? – eh, Edward?” cried the first speaker, while the old gentleman leaned forward to speak to one of the young ladies opposite, who was evidently somewhat agitated; while, to make matters worse, the omnibus driver had whipped up his horses, and the great vehicle kept on thundering along abreast of the barouche.

This fresh movement was the signal for a volley from the fellow on Trevor’s right; and he now made himself especially conspicuous, kissing his hand, and evidently goading the old gentleman into a state of apoplexy. A scene was evidently brewing, and something unpleasant must have inevitably occurred, had not, almost at one and the same moment, Pratt whispered a word or two in French to his friend, and the postboy given his horses a few cuts, which made them start forward with such energy that the barouche was soon out of sight.

“You’re about right, Frank,” Trevor said, leaning back; “it is not worth notice.”

“P’raps you’ll just use about as much of this here ’bus as you pays for,” said the man seated dos-à-dos to him, and whom he had slightly pressed.

Trevor started forward; for the remark was unpleasantly made, and qualified with offensive adjectives. Pratt looked anxious, and would gladly have finished the distance on foot; but to stop the omnibus, and get down, would probably have made bad worse – especially as Trevor only smiled, and sat up quite erect.

“He’ve been taking more than his share of the ’bus ever since he got up,” said the black-looking gentleman on the right, pressing closer to Trevor. “Keep yer own side, will yer?”

Very pale and quiet, Richard Trevor edged a little more towards his companion; but this was only the signal for renewed insult, the knifeboard being in possession of the fellow’s friends.

“Where are you a-scrowging to?” said the fellow on Pratt’s left.

And then, acting in concert, he and his companions forced the little barrister closer to his friend.

“Here, let’s speak to the driver,” said Trevor, quietly; but there was a dull red spot in each cheek.

“No, no!” said Pratt. “It’s not much further; don’t let us have a row.”

“Mind your pockets, then,” muttered Trevor.

“Ah, just as I thought,” said the fellow who had been ringleader throughout. “They’re a talking about pockets – button up, gents.”

Here followed a roar of laughter, and a few more witticisms of a similar character were fired off. Then, seeing how patiently the two friends bore it all, a fresh crowding was tried, and one of the most offensive of the fellows called out to the man in velveteens —

“Why don’t you leave off, Barney?”

“Tain’t me,” said Barney, grinning hugely; “it’s these here two swell mob blokes.”

There was another roar of laughter, which culminated in a shriek of delight when Barney of the black muzzle removed his pipe from his mouth, and designedly spat upon Trevor’s glossy boot.

The young man started as if he had been stung; but there was a quiet, firm pressure of his arm, and he said, in French —

“Is it much further to the course?”

As he spoke, he quietly drew a white cambric handkerchief from his pocket, carefully removed all trace of the disgusting offence from his boot, and threw the handkerchief into the road, following it up by lighting a fresh cigar.

“My! what a pity!” said the fellow, sneeringly, as he watched with curiosity the young man’s action. “I am sorry. Wouldn’t you like the handkerchief – again?”

And he pointed to a boy who had just picked it up from the road.

The pressure was again upon Trevor’s arm, but he did not speak, and the only movement was a slight twitching about the muscles of the face.

What more insult might have followed it is impossible to say, for the omnibus now stopped at a gate, and the occupants began to scramble off. Trevor rose, and waited for the gentleman called Barney to get down. But he remained; so Trevor stepped over him, and Pratt was about to follow, when the fellow thrust out his legs, and the young man tripped, staggered, and would have fallen from the omnibus but for the strong arm of his friend.

“Get down first,” said Trevor.

“No, no – never mind,” said Pratt, catching his arm.

“Get down first,” said Trevor, as if he were on the quarter-deck.

“There’s nothing to be gained by it,” whispered Pratt.

“I’ll come directly,” was the reply; and facing round upon the fellow, who had risen, he looked him full in his closely-set eyes, face close to face, as he said, quietly —

“I think I shall know you again, my friend.”

Before the fellow had recovered from his surprise, Trevor stepped lightly down, took Pratt’s arm in an easy-going, familiar way, and the friends joined the string of people crossing the fields.

“Thank goodness!” said Pratt; “I do hate a row. You must be on the losing side. Lost anything?”

“No,” said Trevor, thoughtfully. “But if that fellow had been at sea with me, and behaved like that – ”

“You’d have had him flogged?”

“No,” said Trevor, “I’d have pitched him overboard.”

“Overboard?”

“Yes,” said Trevor, with his face once more all smiles – “and fished him out!”