Henry Milner Rideout

“ Corsant drove away these indecorous fancies. A crick in the back was his reward, and both legs went to sleep, for the pew, a narrow shelf of hard old oak, cut him to the haunch bone. He grew restless. Moreover, Grayland had promised to meet him before church, to bring his jacket, and had failed. This fog outside threatened to become rain. Altogether the world was too much for him. ”

“ Into the sombre oak-paneled walls.
"Well, here you are," said Grayland; then looked sharply at his guest. "What's wrong?"
"One moment. I can't—I can't find the words." Leonard stood In a daze. "Wait till my eyes get house broken."
As they did so, he became aware of other objects in the room—dark portraits along the panels, dull gilding touched with firelight, the backs of tall books, a staircase that mounted under a pointed arch. But these and all details were lost in one overwhelming impression, a whole stranger than any of its parts, because not strange at all. ”

“ A memorial clock in a dumpy little tower, staring blear-eyed through fog, rang the half hour past ten as he crossed the square. Few persons were abroad. In belated stillness and gloom, a kind of Black Monday reigned.
To gain variety in his return, Leonard chose another route; but for three hours of good tramping he saw no more than the green borders along its way, the same hedge, the same branches of elm, ash, thorn, or beech, the same margin of field continually repeated through a world of smoky drift and dampness. ”

“ Leonard made his painter fast to a root, but disregarded the invitation, and stood musing in the rain.
"I've half a mind to buy the good ship Rose," he declared, "for a souvenir. George, who is the prettiest girl you ever saw? She's a young witch, lives among bluebells, and gave me this." He held out a wet, crumpled green leaf, the fern tip. "You know her. What's her name?"
Grayland viewed him askance with wicked black eyes.
"No weather for daydreams, this. In with you! Come in. Under the paraploo, my son!" And hooking arms, George elbowed him up the bank. ”

“ Leonard thought he knew that voice. Later, glancing round, he saw Grayland's long frame relaxed in an attitude of patience.
The last man in church and nearest the door, George leaned his head on the rear wall and pointing his thin beak of nose upward, dreamily studied the rafters. He looked like a black wolf, too lazy to harm the sheepfold.
They met outside the churchyard.
"You singing about Gabriel," said Leonard as they walked on, "after robbing him! What were you in a church for by daylight?"
"Does a man no harm to chin-chin joss now and then," replied the heathen, grinning. ”

“ George lighted a time-blackened brier pipe, and smoked thoughtfully while his friend read the letter, first to himself, then aloud:
My dear Mr, Leonard Corsant: It was a pleasant surprise to learn whose jacket I had been wearing, and I hope we shall meet again soon. Grayland, who brings you this hurried note, will explain that I am off to town for a few days. If it is not asking you to bore yourself too much, won't you come up and camp here meanwhile? A dull enough house, but you might find it interesting in spots. Grayland would look after you well. ”

“ The channel grew deeper, in pools motionless to the eye. Leonard could now row. He came slowly past a point where beech woods ran down to the water, when suddenly a voice hailed him.
"Oh, I say! Could you help me for a moment?"
It was a girl's voice, near by. He looked over his shoulder. Stranded, close ahead, lay a varnished boat like his own, bearing the red oar blades of Ashkettle and the name Rose. She was empty. He ran ashore below her and jumped out. ”

“ Why, there's not a cloud in the sky."
Grayland laughed.
"The sheep are all gobbling their breakfast," said he, "as if to catch a train. Skylarks a-singing wet, too. And right there by your feet"—he pointed down at the cat, who hooked her paw rhythmically over one ear—"see Old Lady Maltee scrub her face for rain. No common sunshiny wash, that; no lick and promise, but solid work. Your garden will be wet before evening, sure. I've a chit here for you, sir."
He offered an unsealed envelope.
"Come into the garden, Maud," said Leonard, taking it. "I'd like to talk with you. Have you time?" ”

“ EARLY next morning, as Leonard came out from breakfast, he found Mrs. Merle, her Maltese cat, the bullfinch, and the bull terrier forming a family group on the doorstep. In bright sunshine near by George Grayland stood talking.
"Yes, we'll have rain. Good morning, sir." He glanced up and made a slight motion with one hand, a forward snap of the forefinger. Most men would have failed to see, or disregarded; but Corsant happened to know it for an old sign, which inquires: "How are you?" ”

“ Leonard repeated.
Grayland shook his head. Mirth and chagrin seemed to underlie the frown with which he kept his countenance.
"No telling," he grunted. "I don't know all the young women round here—been away too long."
"You were talking horse with her at the White Hart, less than a fortnight ago."
"No," said George blandly; "couldn't have done. Never was there in my life."
"But man, I saw and heard you!"
"Daydreaming again." George started forward. "Impossible! Flat! Never knew a girl whose opinion of a horse was worth listening to." ”

“ Here within arm's reach stood George's polecat, the man who had gone sneering through Gino's café in Sword Street.
Next moment, cool and swift, he was rummaging in the jacket. Leonard, with great indignation, saw his own belongings pulled out, scanned, then by flying fingers transferred into the pockets of the stained yellow coat alongside.
"Smiling, are you?" thought the young man. "You'll smile other side your mouth in half a jiffy." He sat still, waiting. The pickpocket entered the room on tiptoe. "Psst! Kamsa!" He startled the chubby one with a whisper. "Our man's here in this house!" ”

“ Grayland had no such scruple. He read carefully from date to signature.
"Tender," he growled; and again, "Tosh!" His lips curled scornfully round the pipestem. "Some women will take up with anything. Well," he concluded, folding the pages away, "It meant a lot to her, poor fool, but nothing to me. My chief had better study it. What's your next trick, Houdini?"
Corsant passed over to him a sheet of parchmentlike paper, blank on one side, covered on the other with line upon line of queer marks, and stamped in one corner with a bright red thumb print. ”

“ He struck a match, and by its flame looked—so rapidly that Corsant could but just follow his glances—at the intruding tuft of mimosa, the top of the window frame, its outer edge, the catch, and the hinges.
"Lately cut. Leaves have had no time to wilt." George blew out match and closed window. "Catch pried down from outside. With my ax, dare say. Hinges oiled, catch oiled, bough laid across all proper. No, son. They'd never take such pains if they weren't coming back. Our friends, think you? I'd give a thick un to be sure it was them."
"Fork out," said Leonard. "Because I think I know." ”

“ You are somebody else." George leaned his umbrella under a portrait, and left it to form a brown puddle like prune juice on the floor. "Nothing to worry about, then."
He stripped off Leonard's coat, spread it over the high back of a chair to dry, brought a footstool, bade him sit between the andirons, fetched an old loo table, swung down Its top and bolted it, then with long silent strides was gone from the room. Leonard, his back steaming in the grateful blaze, hugged his knees upon the footstool and wondered. ”

“ My lad, you never did a better hand's turn than yesterday's at the Bottle of Hay." He snatched up his ax, spun it dangerously in the air, and caught it like a drum major. "Now," he cried with joyful emphasis, "we know! Come on upstairs!"
They stood in the paneled room, and the fire, generously rebuilt, was blazing high, before they spoke again. Each man had remained busy with his own thoughts. Leonard put on his jacket, now dry and warm.
"You didn't lock that door after us, below," said he.
"A-purpose," George replied. "Our friends will call again. ”

“ A dreary, slack woman, neither old nor young, dragged herself forward from some lurking hole. "Good evening, sir. What can I get you?"
Leonard paused on the threshold. He took a kind of shamefaced compassion on her at first glance, a helpless being, foredoomed. Besides, the next food would be some ten miles farther. A long course of Chinese inns had left him hardened.
"Whatever you have best, please."
Resigning himself, he hung up jacket and cap on a peg in the vestibule. ”

“ At times this drift brought with it a sound or two: sheep bleated far aloft, harness leather creaked near by, a plowman upbraided his trampling horses, a dog barked in the distance, a sea gull miaowled overhead. ”

“ Leonard bent forward. Aslant through his good practicable cranny he spied, in the vestibule, a rather tall man angrily pulling off his coat. His motions, though energetic, were stiff and muscle-bound. While tossing the garment over a peg, the stranger beheld Laurence Corsant's old ruddy-brown tweed hanging there. ”

“ After so tidy a street, this interior was downright scandal. Round the greasy wainscot ran a black frieze of smudge where heads had lolled; glutinous rings marked every table top, shining like the trail of a slug ”

“ Grayland rose, and tucked the sheet of paper carefully into a pocket, which he buttoned.
"It goes home now this minute for the chief. I'll stow her in safe hiding." He stooped to the grass, and assembled the parts of his pipe. "Will you come along? Old man Merle can fetch your bags and stuff in his cart."
"They're not quite ready for moving," replied Leonard. "Suppose I pack and join you later?"
"Right-ho! But this can't wait," said the other, turning to go. "Remember, from now till further notice you're Laurence Corsant." ”

“ Good reason why. Expect him any day. He's a dirty fighter, and dangerous. Well, so'm I. Nothing would suit my book better——"
Grayland's powerful and shapely hands grappled some imaginary bulk, wrenched it in two, and cast away the pieces.
"But I can't always be on deck. And with Laurence Corsant sick as he is, needing rest—well, I'm off. Here's your coat. That beast may be prowlin' round the house now."
They rose. Leonard unbuttoned and was removing his namesake's jacket, when suddenly he stopped, and pulled it on again. ”