Part 72 (2/2)
Tom Dina.s.s did not come back for the money Colonel Pendarve had ordered to be paid him, but he started off the very next day, as if he had shaken the Ydoll dust from off his feet, and made for the Plymouth road.
The news was brought to Sam Hardock at the mine by Harry Vores, and Sam chuckled and rubbed his hands as he went and told the two lads.
”Gone, and jolly go with him, Mr Gwyn, sir. We're well quit of him. I was going to warn you to keep Grip always with you, for I have heared say that he swore he'd have that dog's life; but perhaps it was all bounce. Anyhow he's gone, and I'm sure I for one shall feel a bit relieved to be without him.”
Gwyn said very little, but he thought a great deal for a few minutes about how much better it would have been if Sam Hardock had treated Dina.s.s with a little more amiability. He quite forgot all about the matter for three days, and then he had fresh news, for Sam Hardock came to him chuckling again.
”It's all right, sir,” he said.
”What is--the pumping?”
”Tchah!--that's all right, of course, sir; I mean about Tom Dina.s.s.
Harry Vores' wife has just come back from staying at Plymouth, and she saw Tom Dina.s.s there. He won't come back here. Do you know, sir, I've got a sort o' suspicion that he broke Grip's legs.”
”Eh! Why do you think that?” said Gwyn, starting. ”Did anybody suggest such a thing?”
”No, sir; but he always hated the dog, and he might have done it, you know.”
”Oh, yes, and so might you,” said Gwyn, testily.
”Me, sir?”
”Yes, or anybody else. Let it rest, Sam. Grip's legs are quite well again.”
”That's what you may call snubbing a chap,” said Hardock to himself as he went away. ”Well, he needn't have been quite so chuff with a man; I only meant--Well, I am blessed!”
Sam Hardock said ”blessed,” but he looked and felt as if it were the very opposite; and he hurried back to the office where Gwyn had just been joined by Joe, who had been back home to see how his father was getting on, for he was suffering from another of his fits.
Hardock thrust his head in at the door, and without preface groaned out,--
”You'd better go and chain that there dog up, sir,” and he nodded to where the animal he alluded to had made himself comfortable on the rug.
”Grip? Why?” said Gwyn.
”He's back again, sir.”
”Who is?” said Gwyn, though he felt that he knew.
”Tom Dina.s.s, sir. Talk about bad s.h.i.+llings coming back--why, he's worse than a bad sixpence.”
”Then it was him I saw crossing the moor toward the Druid Stones,” said Joe.
”Then why didn't you say so?” cried Gwyn, sourly.
”Because I wasn't sure.”
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