第79章 CHAPTER XXXII WILDERNESS(2)
"He was always a dark horse, Foliot: It 's always the dark horses that get let in for this kind of thing"; and there was a sound as though he licked his lips.
"They say," said the voice of the host, "he never gives you back a greeting now. Queer fish; they say that she's devoted to him."Coming so closely on his meeting with this lady, and on the dream from which he had awakened, this conversation mesmerised the listener behind the hedge.
"If he gives up his huntin' and his shootin', I don't see what the deuce he 'll do; he's resigned his clubs; as to his chance of Parliament---" said the voice of Mabbey.
"Thousand pities," said Sir James; "still, he knew what to expect.""Very queer fellows, those Foliots," said the Commodore. "There was his father: he 'd always rather talk to any scarecrow he came across than to you or me. Wonder what he'll do with all his horses; Ishould like that chestnut of his."
"You can't tell what a fellow 'll do," said the voice of Mabbey--"take to drink or writin' books. Old Charlie Wayne came to gazin' at stars, and twice a week he used to go and paddle round in Whitechapel, teachin' pothooks--""Glennie," said Sir James, "what 's become of Smollett, your old keeper?""Obliged to get rid of him." Shelton tried again to close his ears, but again he listened. "Getting a bit too old; lost me a lot of eggs last season.""Ah!" said the Commodore, "when they oncesh begin to lose eggsh ""As a matter of fact, his son--you remember him, Sir James, he used to load for you?--got a girl into trouble; when her people gave her the chuck old Smollet took her in; beastly scandal it made, too. The girl refused to marry Smollett, and old Smollett backed her up.
Naturally, the parson and the village cut up rough; my wife offered to get her into one of those reformatory what-d' you-call-'ems, but the old fellow said she should n't go if she did n't want to. Bad business altogether; put him quite off his stroke. I only got five hundred pheasants last year instead of eight."There was a silence. Shelton again peeped through the hedge. All were eating pie.
"In Warwickshire," said the Commodore, "they always marry--haw--and live reshpectable ever after.""Quite so," remarked the host; "it was a bit too thick, her refusing to marry him. She said he took advantage of her.""She's sorry by this time," said Sir James; "lucky escape for young Smollett. Queer, the obstinacy of some of these old fellows!""What are we doing after lunch?" asked the Commodore.
"The next field," said the host, "is pasture. We line up along the hedge, and drive that mustard towards the roots; there ought to be a good few birds.""Shelton rose, and, crouching, stole softly to the gate:
"On the twelfth, shootin' in two parties," followed the voice of Mabbey from the distance.
Whether from his walk or from his sleepless night, Shelton seemed to ache in every limb; but he continued his tramp along the road. He was no nearer to deciding what to do. It was late in the afternoon when he reached Maidenhead, and, after breaking fast, got into a London train and went to sleep. At ten o'clock that evening he walked into St. James's Park and there sat down.
The lamplight dappled through the tired foliage on to these benches which have rested many vagrants. Darkness has ceased to be the lawful cloak of the unhappy; but Mother Night was soft and moonless, and man had not despoiled her of her comfort, quite.
Shelton was not alone upon the seat, for at the far end was sitting a young girl with a red, round, sullen face; and beyond, and further still, were dim benches and dim figures sitting on them, as though life's institutions had shot them out in an endless line of rubbish.
"Ah!" thought Shelton, in the dreamy way of tired people; "the institutions are all right; it's the spirit that's all---""Wrong?" said a voice behind him; "why, of course! You've taken the wrong turn, old man."He saw a policeman, with a red face shining through the darkness, talking to a strange old figure like some aged and dishevelled bird.
"Thank you, constable," the old man said, "as I've come wrong I'll take a rest." Chewing his gums, he seemed to fear to take the liberty of sitting down.
Shelton made room, and the old fellow took the vacant place.
"You'll excuse me, sir, I'm sure," he said in shaky tones, and snatching at his battered hat; "I see you was a gentleman"--and lovingly he dwelt upon the word--"would n't disturb you for the world. I'm not used to being out at night, and the seats do get so full. Old age must lean on something; you'll excuse me, sir, I 'm sure.""Of course," said Shelton gently.
"I'm a respectable old man, really," said his neighbour; "I never took a liberty in my life. But at my age, sir, you get nervous;standin' about the streets as I been this last week, an' sleepin' in them doss-houses--Oh, they're dreadful rough places--a dreadful rough lot there! Yes," the old man said again, as Shelton turned to look at him, struck by the real self-pity in his voice, "dreadful rough places!"A movement of his head, which grew on a lean, plucked neck like that of an old fowl, had brought his face into the light. It was long, and run to seed, and had a large, red nose; its thin, colourless lips were twisted sideways and apart, showing his semi-toothless mouth;and his eyes had that aged look of eyes in which all colour runs into a thin rim round the iris; and over them kept coming films like the films over parrots' eyes. He was, or should have been, clean-shaven.
His hair--for he had taken off his hat was thick and lank, of dusty colour, as far as could be seen, without a speck of grey, and parted very beautifully just about the middle.
"I can put up with that," he said again. "I never interferes with nobody, and nobody don't interfere with me; but what frightens me"--his voice grew steady, as if too terrified to shake, is never knowin' day to day what 's to become of yer. Oh, that 'a dreadful, that is!""It must be," answered Shelton.