Part 9 (2/2)

”Oh,” said the man addressed, with a laugh, ”every one knows my name-- Jim Jarrocks they calls me.”

”Well, Jim, here's your sovereign, and you've fairly won it.”

”Thank'ee, sir,” said Jim; ”and so has Will Gittins here, if I'm not mistaken.”

”How do you mean?” asked Saunders; ”the sovereign was offered to the best man.”

”Them's not the terms of the advertis.e.m.e.nt,” said Jim, taking the newspaper out of his pocket. ”Here it is: 'I promise to give one sovereign to any man who shall beat me in a mile race, a high jump, and firing at a mark.' Now, I've done it and won my sovereign, and Will Gittins has done it and won his sovereign too.”

It was even so. Two had fairly won the prize. So Walter, not with the best grace, felt in his purse for a second sovereign, which he handed to the other winner; and the two men walked away from the place of meeting arm in arm.

”Walter,” said Gregson earnestly and apologetically as they left the ground, ”I never meant this nor thought of it. I can't let you be out of pocket this second sovereign; you must allow me to give it you back.”

But Walter declined it, spite of earnest remonstrance and pressure on his friend's part. ”No,” he said; ”I've got myself into a nice mess by my folly; but what I've undertaken I mean to carry out, and take my own burdens upon myself.” And so, notwithstanding the applause and fine speeches showered on him by his friends, Walter returned home considerably crestfallen and out of spirits, the only thing that comforted him being a sort of half conviction that he had shown a considerable degree of moral courage in the way in which he had stuck to and carried out his engagement.

As for Mr Huntingdon, his mortification was extreme when there appeared in the next issue of the county paper a full description of the contest, from which it appeared that his favourite son had been beaten in a public trial of skill by Jim Jarrocks, well-known all over the county as the most reckless poacher and unblus.h.i.+ng profligate anywhere about, and had thus given encouragement to a man who was constantly before the magistrates for all sorts of minor breaches of the law. However, he felt that he must make the best of it, and he therefore spoke of it among his friends as a bit of foolish practical joking on his son's part, in which he had burned his fingers pretty severely, and which would therefore, he had no doubt, read him a lesson to avoid anything of the sort in the future.

As for Walter himself, he was only too glad to keep silent on the matter, and let it die out; and so were the family generally. There was one, however, from whom Walter looked for sympathy, and even for a measure of approbation--this was his aunt. In the evening, after the article in the county paper on his challenge and its results had been read with severe comments by his father at the breakfast-table, he found Miss Huntingdon sitting alone in the summer-house. Having cut two or three small slips off a laurel, he brought them to her, and, as he sat down by her side, said, half mournfully, half playfully, ”Auntie, I want you to make me a laurel crown or chaplet of these.”

”Indeed, Walter; what for?”

”That I may wear it as a reward from you, and a token of victory in moral courage.”

”Well, but, my dear boy, if the laurels are to be looked at as a reward from myself, I cannot crown you till I am satisfied that you have won them.”

”Exactly so, auntie; now that is just what I am going to show you.”

”Do so, dear boy, and I shall be only too rejoiced to make the chaplet, and to place it with my own hands on your head.”

”Well then, dear aunt, you have heard all about this wretched business of the race; you may be sure that it has made me feel very small and very foolish.”

”I can quite understand that,” said Miss Huntingdon; ”and I have felt very sorry for you in the matter; but I hope it may turn out for good, and make you a little more cautious.”

”I hope so too, auntie; but this is not the point with me just now. I want to get credit, from you at any rate, for a little bit, perhaps only a very little bit, of moral heroism or courage.”

”Well, Walter?”

”Ah, now, auntie, that 'well' didn't sound well. I'm afraid I shan't get much credit or encouragement from you.”

”Let me hear all about it, dear boy,” said his aunt kindly.

”Why then, you see, I made a foolish offer, and might have backed out of it; and if I had done so I should have pleased my father and saved my money, and not have encouraged one of the biggest scamps going, and have been spared a lot of chaffing and ridicule. But you see I had given my word, though it was only half a word after all, for I never dreamed that Gregson would have taken me up as he did. But rather than break my word, I stood by what I had promised, and got all sorts of bother and trouble by doing so. Now, wasn't that something like moral courage?

Don't I deserve my laurels?”

”It was something _like_ it,” replied his aunt gravely.

”Is that all, auntie? Wasn't it the thing itself? You know there has been no dash or mere impulse here. I've had a deal of patience and forbearance to exercise, and these are quite out of my line.”

”Yes, I see that; but then, Walter--”

”But then, Aunt Kate, it wasn't moral courage after all.”

<script>