The Toll-Gate
Page 30
“Oh, no, I won’t! I’m tired of gatekeeping!” John replied. “Besides, I don’t like you, and I don’t feel at all inclined to oblige you.”
“Oblige—Well—But someone must stay here!”
“That’s all right, old bubble!” said Chirk. “I’ll mind it for you! But don’t you waste no time sending a new man, because it wouldn’t suit me to stop here for long. Gatekeeping is low, and I’m a man o’ substance!”
“Now I am going to suffer a Spasm!” uttered Rose.
Mr. Willitoft did not look to be any too well satisfied with this solution to his problem, but since nothing better offered he was obliged, however ungraciously, to acquiesce. He then mounted into the gig, and was driven back to Crowford. Stogumber, pausing only to tell John that he would be returning later, followed him; and Mr. Babbacombe was at last free to deliver himself of his free and unflattering estimate of his best friend’s character.
“Well, of all the infamous things!” protested John. “I never asked you to look after the gate today! Why the devil didn’t you leave it to the boy? Where is Ben?”
“You may well ask!” said Mr. Babbacombe. “All I know is that he was here when I arrived, over an hour ago! I went in to wait for you, and he must have gone off then, for I hadn’t been in the dashed place above fifteen minutes when some fellow out here started shouting gate! By the time he’d shouted it a dozen times, I could have strangled him! Told him so. In fact, we had a bit of a turn-up.”
“Do you mean to tell me you’ve been fighting everyone who wanted to pass through the gate?” demanded John.
“No, not everyone. I planted that fellow a facer, but that’s all.”
“Except for telling the doctor’s man that you had something better to do than to keep on opening the gate,” interpolated Nell, with a mischievous look. “And I made that right! I’m afraid Ben seized the opportunity to play truant, John.”
“Young varmint! He probably slipped off to help the ostler groom your horses, Bab. That’s what he wanted to do, when I made him stay here.”
“What?” ejaculated Mr. Babbacombe, in lively dismay.
“Oh, don’t be afraid! He’s very good with horses. With all animals, Huggate tells me. I shall have to try if I can induce one of my tenant-farmers to take charge of him until he’s old enough to work under Cocking,” John said, wrinkling his brow. “I wonder—”
“If it’s all the same to you, Soldier,” interrupted Chirk, “seeing as his dad’s hopped the twig, and his brother ain’t likely to want him, even if he was to come home, which I daresay he won’t, I’ll take young Ben, and bring him up decent. He’s a likely lad, and if it hadn’t been for him opening the door to me the very first night I see you, Soldier, I never would have seen you, and, consequent, I wouldn’t be setting up for myself respectable, nor marrying Rose neither. So, if Rose ain’t got no objection, we’ll take Benny along with us.”
“Certainly we will!” Rose said, a martial light in her eye. “Many’s the time, since his mother died, I’ve wanted to give him a good wash, poor little fellow, and mend his clothes, and teach him his manners!”
“Well, he may not relish that overmuch,” said John, grinning, “but there’s no doubt he’d far rather be with Jerry than with me.”
“John,” said Nell, who had been frowning at the horses, “why have you brought those two horses here? That brown belongs to my cousin, and the bay is Coate’s!”
“Well, yes, dearest! The thing is—but let us go into the house! At least, I must stable Beau first!”
“I’ll do that,” said Chirk. “And since I’m going to stay here, I’ll take Mollie too.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Nell, “Rose should go with you to explain the matter to Huggate.”
“I think she should,” agreed the Captain. “And then come into the house, Jerry, so that we may drink both your healths!” He ushered his wife and his friend in as he spoke, and when he had them both safely inside the kitchen, said bluntly: “There’s a great deal I shall have to tell you presently, but for the moment only one thing of importance! Both Coate and Stornaway are dead.”
Nell could only blink at him, but Mr. Babbacombe was in no mood to submit to such treatment, and said, with a good deal of asperity: “Oh, they are, are they? Then you may dashed well tell us how that came about, and what you had to do with it, Jack! I can tell only by looking at you that you’ve been up to some harebrained fetch, so out with it!”
“Oh, later, later, Bab!” the Captain said, frowning at him. “What I need is beer!”
“Very well,” said Nell, removing from his grasp the tankard he had picked up from the shelf. “I will draw you some beer, but not one sip shall you have until you do as Mr. Babbacombe bids you! He is very right! And if you suppose, sir, that you can walk in with a graze on your forehead, blood on your waistcoat, and a lame foot, without explaining to me how you came by all these things, you will very soon learn better!”
“Good God, I’ve married a shrew!” said the Captain, playing for time, while he mentally expunged from his story certain features, and materially revised others.
“John, how did my cousin come by his death?”
“He was shot when Coate’s gun exploded.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No, Nell. On my word as a gentleman I did not!”
“I shouldn’t have cared a button if you had,” she said calmly. “Did you kill Coate?”
“Coate broke his neck—falling on a natural rock-stair. I wish you will let me have my beer!”
She looked enquiringly at Mr. Babbacombe. “You know him much better than I do: do you think he did kill Coate?”
“Of course he did!” said Mr. Babbacombe scornfully. “Knew it the instant he told us the fellow was dead! Probably didn’t kill your cousin, though. Didn’t seem to have any such notion in his head when he talked to me about it.”
She gave the Captain his beer, and, taking his free hand, lifted it to her cheek. “I wish Grandpapa had known!” she said simply. “He would have been so delighted! Now tell us, if you please, John, just how it all happened!”
The End.
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