Chapter III.
TWO GUINEAS.
Though the wind hummed among the chimneys and on the back of the roof,on either side of the lamp over the gateway the maples stood in the leeand waved their boughs gently, shedding a leaf now and then in somedeflected gust. Beyond and to the left stretched a dim avenue, also ofmaples; and at the end of this, as he reached the gate, the boy couldspy the lights of the fair.
There was no risk at all of losing his way.
He stepped briskly forth and down the avenue. Where the trees ended,and with them the high wall enclosing the inn's stable-yard, the windrushed upon him with a whoop, and swept him off the side-walk almost tothe middle of the road-way. But by this time the lights were close athand. He pressed his little hat down on his head and battled his waytowards them.
The first booth displayed sweetmeats; the next hung out lines ofsailors' smocks, petticoats, sea-boots, oilskin coats and caps, thatswayed according to their weight; the third was no booth but a woodenstore, wherein a druggist dispensed his wares; the fourth, also of wood,belonged to a barber, and was capable of seating one customer at a timewhile the others waited their turn on the side-walk. Here--his shantyhaving no front--the barber kept them in good humour by chatting to alland sundry while he shaved; but a part of the crowd had good-naturedlydrifted on to help his neighbour, a tobacco-seller, whose stall hadsuffered disaster. A painted wooden statue of a Cherokee Indian layface downward across the walk, as the wind had blown it: bellying foldsof canvas and tarpaulin hid the wreck of the poor man's stock-in-trade.Beyond this wreckage stood, in order, a vegetable stall, anothersweetmeat stall, and a booth in which the boy (who cared little forsweetmeats, and, moreover, had just eaten his macaroon) took much moreinterest. For it was hung about with cages; and in the cages were birdsof all kinds (but the most of them canaries), perched in the dull lightof two horn lanterns, and asleep with open, shining eyes; and in themidst stood the proprietor, blowing delightful liquid notes upon abird-call.
It fascinated Dicky; and he no sooner assured himself that the birdswere really for sale--although no purchaser stepped forward--than therecame upon him an overmastering desire to own a live canary in a cage andteach it with just such a whistle. (He had often wondered at the thingsupon which grown-up folk spent their money to the neglect of thisworld's true delights.) Edging his way to the stall, he was summoning upcourage to ask the price of a bird, when the salesman caught sight himand affably spared him the trouble.
"Eh! here's my young lord wants a bird. . . . You may say what youlike," said he, addressing the bystanders, "but there's none like thegentry for encouragin' trade. . . . And which shall it be sir? Here's agreen parrot, now, I can recommend; or if your Honour prefers a birdthat'll talk, this grey one. A beauty, see! And not a bad word in hisrepertory. Your honoured father shall not blame me for sellin' you aswearer."
The boy pointed to a cage on the man's right.
"A canary? . . . Well, and you're right. What is talk, after all, tocompare with music? And chosen the best bird of my stock, you have; thepick of the whole crop. That's Quality, my friends; nothing but thebest'll do for Quality, an' the instinct of it comes out young."The man, who was evidently an eccentric, ran his eye roguishly over thefaces behind the boy and named his price; a high one--a very high one--but one nicely calculated to lie on the right side of publicreprobation.
Dicky laid his guinea on the sill. "I want a whistle, too," he said,"and my change, please."
The bird-fancier slapped his breeches pockets.
"A guinea? Bless me, but I must run around and ask one of my neighboursto oblige. Any of you got the change for a golden guinea about you?" heasked of the crowd.
"We ain't so lucky," said a voice somewhere at the back. "We don'tcarry guineas about, nor give 'em to our bastards."
A voice or two--a woman's among them--called "Shame!" "Hold yourtongue, there!"
Dicky had his back to the speaker. He heard the word for the first timein his life, and had no notion of its meaning; but in a dim way he feltit to be an evil word, and also that the people were protesting out ofpity. A rush of blood came to his face. He gulped, lifted his chin,and said, with his eyes steady on the face of the blinking fancier,--
"Give it back to me, please, and I will get it changed."
He took the coin, and walked away resolutely with a set white face.He saw none of the people who made way for him.
The bird-fancier stared after the small figure as it walked away intodarkness. "Bastard?" he said. "There's Blood in that youngster, thoughhe don't face ye again an' I lose my deal. Blood's blood, however yecome by it; you may take that on the word of a breeder. An' you oughtto be ashamed, Sam Wilson--slingin' yer mud at a child!"
The word drummed in the boy's ears. What did it mean? What was thesneer in it? "Brat!" "cry-baby," "tell-tale," "story-teller," thesewere opprobrious words, to be resented in their degree; and all but thefirst covered accusations which not only must never be deserved, butobliged a gentleman, however young, to show fight. But "bastard"?
He felt that, whatever it meant, somehow it was worse than any; thathonour called for the annihilation of the man that dared speak it; thatthere was weakness, perhaps even poltroonery, in merely walking away.If only he knew what the word meant!
He came to a halt opposite the drug store. He had once heard Dr.Lamerton, the apothecary at home, described as a "well-to-do" man.The phrase stuck in his small brain, and he connected the sale of drugswith wealth. (How, he reasoned, could any one be tempted to sell waresso nasty unless by prodigious profit?) He felt sure the drug-sellerwould be able to change the guinea for him, and walked in boldly.His ears were tingling, and he felt a call to assert himself.
There was a single customer in the store--a girl. With some surprise herecognised her for the girl who had beaten the flame out of the curtain.
She stood with her back to the doorway and a little sidewise by thecounter, from behind which the drug-seller--a burly fellow in a suit ofblack--looked down on her doubtfully, rubbing his shaven chin while heglanced from her to something he held in his open palm.
"I'm askin' you," he said, "how you came by it?"
"It was given to me," the girl answered.
"That's a likely tale! Folks don't give money like this to a girl inyour position; unless--"
Here the man paused.
"Is it a great deal of money?" she asked. There was astonishment in hervoice, and a kind of suppressed eagerness.
"Oh, come now--that's too innocent by half! A guinea-piece is aguinea-piece, and a guinea is twenty-one shillings; and twenty-oneshillings, likely enough, is more'n you'll earn in a year outside o'your keep. Who gave it ye?"
"A gentleman--the Collector--at the Inn just now.
"Ho!" said the drug-seller, with a world of meaning.
"But if," she went on, "it is worth so much as you say, there must besome mistake. Give it back to me, please. I am sorry for troublingyou." She took a small, round parcel from her pocket, laid it on thecounter, and held out her hand for the coin.
The drug-seller eyed her. "There must be some mistake, I guess," saidhe, as he gave back the gold piece. "No, and you can take up yourpacket too; I don't grudge two-pennyworth of salve. But wait a momentwhile I serve this small customer, for I want a word with youlater. . . . Well, and what can I do for you, young gentleman?" heasked, turning to Dicky.
Dicky advanced to the shop-board, and as he did so the girl turned andrecognised him with a faint, very shy smile.
"If you please," he said politely, "I want change for this--if you canspare it."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the man, staring. "What, _another?_"
"The bird-seller up the road had no change about him. And--and, if youplease," went on Dick hardily, with a glance at the girl, "she hurt herhands putting out a fire just now. I expect my father gave her themoney for that. But she must have burnt her hands _dreffully!_"--Dickyhad not quite outgrown his infantil
e lisp--"and if she's come for stuffto put on them, please I want to pay for it."
"But I don't want you to," put in the girl, still hesitating by thecounter.
"But I'd _rather_ insisted Dicky.
"Tut!" said the drug-seller. "A matter of twopence won't break eitherof us. Captain Vyell's boy, are you? Well, then, I'll take yourcoppers on principle."
He counted out the change, and Dicky--who was not old enough yet to dosums--pretended to find it correct. But he was old enough to haveacquired charming manners, and after thanking the drug-seller, gave thegirl quite a grown-up little bow as he passed out.
She would have followed, but the man said, "Stay a moment. What's yourname?"
"Ruth Josselin."
"Age?"
"I was sixteen last month."
"Then listen to a word of advice, Ruth Josselin, and don't you takemoney like that from fine gentlemen like the Collector. They don't giveit to the ugly ones. Understand?"
"Thank you," she said. "I am going to give it back;" and slipping theguinea into her pocket, she said "Good evening," and walked swiftly outin the wake of the child.
The drug-seller looked after her shrewdly. He was a moral man.
Ruth, hurrying out upon the side-walk, descried the child a few paces upthe road. He had come to a halt; was, in fact, plucking up his courageto go and demand the bird-cage. She overtook him.
"I was sent out to look for you," she said. "I oughtn't to have wastedtime buying that ointment; but my hands were hurting me. Please, youare to come home and change your clothes for dinner."
"I'll come in a minute," said Dicky, "if you'll stand here and wait."
He might be called by that word again; and without knowing why, hedreaded her hearing it. She waited while he trotted forward, nervinghimself to face the crowd again. Lo! when he reached the booth, all thebystanders had melted away. The bird-seller was covering up his cageswith loose wrappers, making ready to pack up for the night.
"Hello!" he said cheerfully. "Thought I'd lost you for good."
He took the child's money and handed the canary cage across the sill;also the bird-whistle, wrapped in a scrap of paper. Many times in thecourse of a career which brought him much fighting and some little fame,Dicky Vyell remembered this his first lesson in courage--that if youwalk straight up to an enemy, as likely as not you find him vanished.
But he had not quite reached the end of his alarms. As he took thecage, a parrot at the back of the booth uplifted his voice andsquawked,--
"No prerogative! No prerogative! No prerogative!"
"You mustn't mind _him_," said the bird-seller genially. "He's like thecrowd--picks up a cry an' harps on it without understandin'."
Master Dicky understood it no better; but thanked the man and ran off,prize in hand, to rejoin the girl.
They hurried back to the Inn. At the gateway she paused.
"I let you say what was wrong just now," she explained. "Your fatherdidn't give me that money for putting out the fire."
Here she hesitated. Dicky could not think what it mattered, or why hervoice was so timid.
"Oh," said he carelessly, "I dare say it was just because he liked you.Father has plenty of money."