Part 26 (2/2)
At Three Bridges they had lunch, in an old-fas.h.i.+oned hotel called the George. Muchross cut the sirloin, filling the plates so full of juicy meat that the ladies protested. Snowdown paid for champagne, and in conjunction with the wine, the indelicate stories which he narrated made some small invasion upon the reserve of the bar-girls; for their admirers did not dare forbid them the wine, and could not prevent them from smiling. After lunch the gang was photographed in the garden, and Muchross gave the village flautist half a ”quid,” making him promise to drink their healths till he was ”blind.”
”I never like to leave a place without having done some good,” he shouted, as he scrambled into his seat.
This sentiment was applauded until the sensual torpor of digestion intervened. The clamour of the coach lapsed into a hush of voices.
The women leaned back, drawing their rugs about their knees, for it was turning chilly, arms were pa.s.sed round yielding waists, hands lay in digestive poses, and eyes were bathed in deep animal indolences.
Conversation had almost ceased. The bar-girls had not whispered one single word for more than an hour; Muchross had not shouted for at least twenty minutes; the only interruption that had occurred was an unexpected stopping of the coach, for the off-leader was pulling d.i.c.ky so hard that he had to ask Jem to take the ribbons, and now he snoozed in the great whip's place, seriously incommoding Snowdown with his great weight. Suddenly awaking to a sense of his responsibility Muchross roared--
”What about the milk-cans?”
”You'd better be quick,” answered Jem, ”we shall be there in five minutes.”
One of the customs of the road was a half-crown lottery, the winning member to be decided by the number of milk-cans outside a certain farm-house.
”Ease off a bit, Jem,” bawled Muchross. ”d.a.m.n you! give us time to get the numbers out.”
”It ain't my fault if you fall asleep.”
”The last stage was five miles this side of Cuckfield, you ought to know the road by this time. How many are we?”
”Eight,” shouted d.i.c.ky, blowing the blatant horn. ”You're on, Jem, aren't you? Number two or three will get it; at this time of the year milk is scarce. Pa.s.s on the hat quick; quick, you devil, pa.s.s it on.
What have you got, Kitty?”
”Just like my luck,” cried Muchross; ”I've got eight.”
”And I've seven,” said Snowdown; ”never have I won yet. In the autumn I get sevens and eights, in the summer ones and twos. d.a.m.n!”
”I've got five,” said Kitty, ”and Mike has got two; always the lucky one. A lady leaves him four thousand a year, and he comes down here and rooks us.”
The coach swept up a gentle ascent, and Muchross shouted--
”Two milk-cans! Hand him over the quid and chuck him out!”
The downs rose, barring the sky; and they pa.s.sed along the dead level of the weald, leaving Henfield on their right; and when a great piece of Gothic masonry appeared between some trees, Mike told Kitty how it had been once John Norton's intention to build a monastery.
”He would have founded a monastery had he lived two centuries ago,”
said Harding; ”but this is an age of concessions, and instead he puts up a few gargoyles. Time modifies but does not eradicate, and the modern King Cophetua marries not the beggar, but the bar-maid.”
The conversation fell in silence, full of consternation; and all wondered if the two ladies in front had understood, and they were really bar-maids. Be this as it may, they maintained their unalterable reserve; and with suppressed laughter, Mike persuaded d.i.c.ky, who had resumed the ribbons, to turn into the lodge-gates.
”Who is this Johnny?” shouted Muchross. ”If he won't stand a drink, we don't want none of his blooming architecture.”
”And I wouldn't touch a man with a large pole who didn't like women,”
said Laura. At which emphatic but nave expression of opinion, the whole coach roared;--even the bar-girls smiled.
”Architecture! It is a regular putty castle,” said Kitty, as they turned out of an avenue of elms and came in view of the house.
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