Part 40 (1/2)

”Yes,” said the tramp. ”I told you I did.” Then interestedly, ”What might your name be?”

Jones repeated the magic formula to see the effect.

”I am the Earl of Rochester.”

”Lord Rochester. Thought I knew your face. Lost half a quid over your horse runnin' at Gatwood Park last Spring twel' months. 'White Lady'

came in second to 'The Nun,' half a quid. I'd made a bit on 'Champane Bottle' in the sellin' plate. Run me eye over the lists and picked out 'White Lady.' Didn't know nothin' abaht her, said to a fren', 'here's my fancy. Don't know nothin' abaht her, but she's one of Lord Rawchester's, an' his horses run stright'--That's what I said--'His horses run stright' and give me a stright run boss with a wooden leg before any of your fliers with a dope in his belly or a pullin' jockey on his back.

But the grown' did her, she was beat on the post by haff an 'eck, you'll remember. She'd a won be two lengths, on'y for that bit o' soggy grown'

be the post. That grown' want over-haulin', haff a shower o' rain, and boss wants fins and flippers instead o' hoofs.”

”Yes,” said Jones, ”that's so.”

”A few barra' loads o' gravel would put it rite,” continued the other, ”it ain't fair on the hosses, and it ain't fair on the backers, 'arf a quid I dropped on that mucky bit o' grown'. Last Doncaster meetin' I was sayin' the very same thing to Lor' Lonsdale over the Doncaster Course. I met him, man to man like, outside the ring, and he handed me out a cigar. We talked same as you and me might be talkin' now, and I says to him: 'What we want's more money put into drains on the courses.

Look at them mucky farmers they way they drains their land,' said I, 'and look at us runnin' hosses and layin' our bets and let down, hosses and backers and all, for want of the courses bein' looked after proper.'”

He tapped the dottle out of his pipe, picked up the bundle, and rose grumbling.

Then he led the way in the direction of Northbourne.

It was a little after three o'clock now, and the day was sultry. Jones, despite his other troubles, was vastly interested in his companion. The height of Rochester's position had never appeared truly till shown him by the farmer and this tramp. They knew him. To them, without any doubt, the philosophers and poets of the world were unknown, but they knew the Earl of Rochester, and not unfavourably.

Millions upon millions of the English world were equally acquainted with his lords.h.i.+p, he was most evidently a National figure. His unconventionality, his ”larks,” his lavishness, and his horse racing propensities, however they might pain his family, would be meat to the legions who loved a lord, who loved a bet, who loved a horse, and a picturesque spendthrift.

To be Rochester was not only to be a lord, it was more than that. It was to be famous, a national character, whose picture was printed on the retina of the million. Never had Jones felt more inclined to stick to his position than now, with the hounds on his traces, a tramp for his companion, and darkness ahead. He felt that if he could once get to London, once lay his hands on that eight thousand pounds lying in the National Provincial Bank, he could fight. Fight for freedom, get lawyers to help him, and retain his phantom coronet.

He had ceased to fear madness; all that dread of losing himself had vanished, at least for the moment. Hoover had cured him.

Meanwhile they talked as they went, the tramp laying down the law as to rights over commons and waste lands, seeming absolutely to forget that he was talking to, or supposed to be talking to, a landed proprietor. At last they reached the white ribbon that runs over the cliffs from Sandbourne to Northbourne and beyond.

”Here's the road,” said the tramp, ”and I'll be takin' leave of your lor's.h.i.+p. I'll take it easy for a bit amongst them bushes, there's no call for me to hurry. I shawnt forget meetin' your lor's.h.i.+p. Blimy if I will. Me sittin' there under that hedge an' thinkin' of that half quid I dropped over 'White Lady' and your lor's.h.i.+p comin' along--It gets me!”

Up to this moment of parting he had not once Lords.h.i.+pped Jones.

Jones, feeling in his pocket, produced the half sovereign, which, with five pounds one and nine pence made up his worldly wealth at the moment.

He handed it over, and the tramp spat on it for luck.

Then they parted, and the fugitive resumed his way with a lighter pocket but a somewhat lighter heart.

There are people who increase and people who reduce one's energy, it is sometimes enough to look at them without even talking to them. The tramp belonged to the former cla.s.s. He had cheered Jones. There was nothing particularly cheery in his conversation, all the same the effect had been produced.

Now, along the cliff road and coming from the direction of Northbourne a black speck developed, resolving itself at last into the form of an old man carrying a basket. The basket was filled with apples and Banbury cakes. Jones bought eight Banbury cakes and two apples with his one and nine pence, and then took his seat on the warm turf by the way to devour them. He lay on his side as he ate and cursed Hoover.

To lie here for an hour on this idyllic day, to watch the white gulls flying, to listen to the whisper of the sea far below, what could be better than that? He determined if ever he should win freedom and money to return here for a holiday.

He was thinking this, when, raised now on his elbow, he saw something moving amongst the bushes and long gra.s.s of the waste lands bordering the cliff road.

It was a man, a man on all fours, yet moving swiftly, a sight natural enough in the deer-stalking Highlands, but uncanny on these Wess.e.x downs.

Jones leaving four Banbury cakes uneaten on the gra.s.s, sprang to his feet, so did the crawling one.