CHAPTER II
BELOW THE BELT
Something less than a mile up the river they came upon an old-fashionedgabled cottage of red brick, standing back a few yards from the leftbank. The walls were half-covered with Virginia creeper; a purpleclematis climbed over the porch and round a sign-board bearing thewords, "Ferry Inn." Beyond it, on rising ground some little distanceaway, glowed the red-tiled roofs of a straggling village. A ferry boat,or rather punt, lay alongside of a narrow landing-stage.
The lads tied the boat to a post, and stepped on to the planking. Atthe closed door of the inn, standing with legs wide apart, was a little,round man whose jolly, rubicund, clean-shaven face and twinkling eyesbespoke good humour and a contented soul. He was bare-headed, inshirt-sleeves, and wore an apron. His brown, straight hair wasobviously a wig. In front of him stood a group of villagers.
"'Tis past opening time, I tell 'ee," one of them was saying. "I cantell by the feel of my thropple."
"'Twould be always opening time if you trusted to that, Mick," said thelandlord, with a laugh. "I go by my watch." He pulled out with somedifficulty from the tight band of his apron a large silver timepiece."There you are; three minutes to the hour."
"Well, I reckon you be three minutes slow, and so you could swear to ifso be----"
A slight jerk of the landlord's head caused the rustic to look along theroad to the right. Strolling towards the inn was the village policeman.
"He's had me fined once, and I didn't deserve it," the landlordremarked. "And there's another who'd like to catch me tripping."
His eyes travelled beyond the policeman, and rested on a thin,loose-jointed man with a stubbly fair moustache and a close-cut beard,who was hurrying to catch up with the constable.
"Ay, Sammy Blevins do have a nature for such," said another of therustics. "'Tis my belief he'll be caught tripping himself one o' thesedays."
"Ay, and Constable Hardstone too," said the first. "Birds of a feather.They be thick as thieves, they two, and no friends o' yours, Joe. Well,I bain't the man to glory in a friend's tribulation, and so you may keepyour door shut till three minutes past."
"Say, when is this blamed door opening?"
The loud, hoarse voice caused a general turning of heads. From roundthe corner of the inn sauntered, somewhat unsteadily, his hands in hispockets, a big burly fellow whose red waistcoat, tight leather breeches,and long gaiters proclaimed some connection with horseflesh. His accentwas nasal, but there was an undefinable something in his pronunciationthat suggested a European rather than an American origin. A long, fairmoustache drooped round the corners of a wide, straight mouth; hisclean-shaven cheeks were thin and hard; his pale-blue eyes heavy-liddedand watery. The rustics appeared to fall back a little as he approached.He leant one shoulder against a post of the porch, and scowled at thelandlord, attitude and gesture indicating that, so far from needingrefreshment, he had anticipated the opening of the door.
"All in good time, Mr. Jensen," said the landlord, placably. "Law'slaw, you know."
"Law!" scoffed the man. "I'm sober. I want a lemon-squash. See, ifyou don't open that door---- Ah! I guess you know me."
The landlord, consulting his watch, had turned, and now threw open thedoor leading into the bar. The foreigner entered behind him, and wasfollowed by the villagers one by one. A pleasant-faced, motherly womancame out into the porch, and looked inquiringly at the three lads. Theywalked up from the landing-stage, where they had lingered watching thescene.
"Can we have some tea?" asked Warrender.
"Ay sure," replied the woman. "They told me as three young gemmen hadcome up along in boat, and I says to myself 'tis tea, as like as not.Sit 'ee down at thikky table, and I'll bring it out to 'ee."
"We're pretty hungry," said Armstrong. "What can you give us?"
"Why, there 'tis--I've nothing but eggs and bacon."
"Glorious!" said Pratt. "Two eggs apiece, and bacon to match."
"Ay, I know what young gemmen's appetite be," said Mrs. Rogers, smilingas she bustled away.
They sat down at a table placed outside the window. Within they sawRogers, the landlord, energetically pulling ale for his customers. Hehad laid aside his snuff-coloured wig, revealing a scalp perfectly bald.
While they were awaiting their meal, a girl, dressed in white, riding abicycle, came along the road on the far side of the river, and,dismounting at the landing-stage, rang her bell continuously as asummons to the ferryman. An old weather-beaten man emerged from theback premises of the inn, touched his hat, hobbled down to his boat, andslowly poled it across. The girl wheeled her bicycle on to it, chattedto the old man while he recrossed the river, paid him with a silver coinand smiling thanks, and, having remounted, sped on towards the village.
"Why didn't I bring up my banjo?" said Pratt, dolefully. "Of course, Ican sing without accompaniment.
"There's no sunbeam as bright as your smile, There's no gold like the sheen of your hair----
but you do want the one-two-tum, one-two-tum to get the full effect,don't you, eh?"
"You sentimental owl!" exclaimed Armstrong, laughing. "Here comes ourtea."
They had finished their meal, and were leaning back comfortably in theirchairs, when the drone of talk within the inn was suddenly broken byvoices raised in altercation. The clamour subsided for a moment underthe landlord's protest, but burst forth again. There was a noise ofscuffling, then two men appeared in the doorway, struggling together inthe first aimless clinches of a fight. They stumbled over the step;behind them came the villagers in a group, some of them makinghalf-hearted attempts by word and act to separate the combatants.These, reaching the open, shook off restraint, swung their arms as if toclear a space, and, after a preliminary feint or two, rushed upon eachother.
Warrender and his friends got up; were there ever schoolboys, evensixth-formers and prefects, who were not interested in a fight? Theantagonists were not unequally matched. Height and weight were on theside of the foreigner, but his opponent, apparently a young farmer,though slighter in build, had clear eyes and a healthy skin, contrastingwith the other's well-marked signs of habitual excess.
The rustics formed up on one side, looking on stolidly. The three ladsmoved round until they faced the inn door. On the step stood thelandlord with arms akimbo. His wife came behind him, slapped his wig onto his head, and retreated.
For a minute or two the combatants, displaying more energy than science,employed their arms like erratic piston-rods, hitting the air more oftenthan each other's body. Armstrong's lip curled with amusement as hewatched them. Then they appeared to realise that they had started tooprecipitately, and drew apart to throw off their coats and recover theirwind.
"What's the quarrel?" asked Warrender, in the brief interval, of thenearest bystander.
"Furriner chap he said as the Germans be better fighters than usEnglishmen, and that riled Henery Drew, he having the military medal andall. You can see the ribbon on his coat."
Stripped to their shirts, the combatants faced each other. They sparredwarily for a moment, then the farmer darted forward on his toes, landeda blow on the foreigner's nose, between the eyes, and, springing backout of reach, just escaped his opponent's counter.
"One for his jib!" murmured Armstrong.
The blow, and the subdued applause of the rustic onlookers, enraged theforeigner. Swinging his bulk forward he bore down on the slighterEnglishman, appeared to envelop him, and for a few seconds the two menseemed to be a tangle of whirling arms. Suddenly Armstrong sprangtowards them, shouting, "Foul blow!" At the same moment the farmerreeled, and the foreigner, following up his advantage, dealt him afurious body-blow that dropped him flat as a turbot. Angry cries brokefrom the crowd, but, before the slower-witted rustics could act,Armstrong dashed between Jensen and the prostrate man.
"You hound!" he cried. "You'll deal with me now."
One arm was alr
eady out of its sleeve, but before he could fling off hisblazer the foreigner charged upon him like an infuriated bull.Armstrong sidestepped, threw his blazer on the ground, and stood firmly,ready to meet the next onrush.
"THE FOREIGNER CHARGED UPON HIM LIKE AN INFURIATEDBULL."]
The big man topped him by a couple of inches, and bore down as if tosmother him by sheer weight. He shot out a long arm; Armstrong ducked,and quick as lightning got in a counter-hit that took the foreigner bysurprise and caused him to draw back an inch or two. Armstrong saidafterwards that he ought to be shot for mis-timing the blow, which hehad expected to crack the man's wind-box. Already breathing fast, theforeigner perceived that his only chance of winning was to strike atonce. He lowered his head and swung out his left arm in a lusty driveat Armstrong's ribs. It was an opening not to be missed by a skilledboxer. With left foot well forward and body thrown slightly back,Armstrong dealt him a smashing right upper-cut on the point of the chin.The man collapsed like a nine-pin, and measured his six feet two on theground.
"Jolly good biff, old man!" cried Pratt. "Won't somebody cheer?"
The rustics were smiling broadly, but their satisfaction at the close ofthe battle found no more adequate mode of expression than a prolongedsigh and a cry: "Sarve en right!" The farmer, however, a little paleabout the gills, had risen to his feet, and, approaching Armstrong,said--
"Thank 'ee, sir. 'Twas a rare good smite as ever I see, and I take itkind as a young gentleman should have----"
"Oh, that's all right," Armstrong interrupted, slipping on his blazer."He should have fought fair."
"True. A smite in the stummick don't give a man a chance. I feelqueerish-like, and I'll get Joe Rogers to give me a thimbleful, and thenshail home-along. That's my barton, on the hill yonder, and if so beyou're stopping hereabout, I'll be main glad to supply you and yourfriends with milk _and_ cream."
Assisted by two of his cronies, the farmer walked into the inn, the restof the crowd hanging about and casting sheepish glances of admiration atArmstrong.
"You'll come in and take a drop of summat, sir?" inquired the landlord.
"No, thanks," replied Armstrong. "You might have a look at that fellow,will you?"
"And can you give us beds to-night?" asked Warrender.
"Ay sure, the missus will see to that."
"Very well; we'll just go on to the village and get a thing or two, andcome back before closing time. You'll give an eye to our boat?"
The innkeeper having promised to set the ferryman in charge of the boat,the three struck into the road.
No Man's Island Page 3
