Humphrey Bold | Page 6

Joe Punchard had done to Cyrus Vetch,
and the terrible things I had heard the alderman threaten against him,
she laughed and said I was too tender hearted for a boy, and Joe
Punchard would be none the worse for a basting, and a deal more to the
same tune, which almost broke through my determination to say
nothing of what had caused the mischief; for, after all, Dick Cludde and
Cyrus Vetch were my schoolfellows, and, in my day; for one boy to tell
on another was the unpardonable sin.
My father came in soon after, and when he heard so much of the story
as I had told Mistress Pennyquick he drew his fingers through his beard
and said in his quiet way: "To be sure, barrels were not made for that
kind of vetch!"
And then we sat down to supper. We had hardly begun when there
came a smart rap on the door, and, with the freedom of our country
manners, in walked a visitor. My heart gave a jump when I saw it was
none other than Captain Galsworthy, the gentleman with whom Mr.
Vetch had been in converse at the bridge.
We knew the captain well; he was, in a way, one of the notable persons

of our town. We boys looked on him with a vast admiration and
reverence, not so much for his title--for there are captains and captains,
and I have known some who have done little in the matter of feats of
arms--as because he bore on his lean and rugged countenance marks
which no one could mistake. A deep scar seamed his right temple, and
on one of his cheeks were several little black pits which we believed to
be the marks of bullets. He spoke but rarely of his own doings, and
until he came to Shrewsbury a few years before this he had been a
stranger to the town: but it was commonly reported that he had been in
the service of the Czar of Muscovy, and since that potentate was ever
unwilling that any officer who had once served him should leave him
(save by death or hanging), it was supposed that the captain had made
his escape. He lived alone in a little cottage on the Wem road, and, not
being too plentifully endowed with this world's goods, he eked out his
competency by giving lessons in fencing, both with singlesticks and
swords.
Well, in comes the captain, cocking a twinkling eye at me, lays on the
table the cane without which he never went abroad, and, placing a chair
for himself at the table, says:
"'Tis to be hoped we are not in for a ten years' Trojan war, Master
Humphrey."
Though I understood nothing of his meaning, I knew he made reference
to the recent escapade, and I felt mightily uncomfortable. My father
looked from one to the other, but did not break his silence.
"They haven't put you to the Iliads yet, I suppose," says the captain,
helping himself to a mug of our home-brewed cider, "but you know,
neighbor Ellery, 'twas an apple that set the Greeks and Trojans by the
ears, and 'tis apples, or rather the want of 'em, that is like to put discord
between some of our families hereabout."
"You speak in riddles, Captain," says my father at last; "and why are
you eying Humphrey in that quizzical way?"
"Why, bless my soul, don't you know? I thought it had been half over

the county by this."
"I know that that 'prentice lad Punchard hath half-killed young Vetch,
and richly deserves what he will no doubt get tomorrow."
"And is that all? Have you told only half your story, Humphrey?"
This direct question made me still more uncomfortable, especially as
my father's eyes were sternly bent upon me. He hated lies, and half
truths still more, and I could see that he was dimly suspecting me of a
complicity in Joe Punchard's action to which I had not confessed. But
Captain Galsworthy was a shrewd old man, and he saw at once how the
matter stood.
"No peaching, eh, lad?" he said kindly. "I've an inquisitive turn of mind,
and after that performance with the barrel--and it was a monstrous
comical sight, Ellery, to see the little alderman skip out of the way
when the barrel made straight for his shins, but not so funny when he
pulls at the shock head sticking out and finds it belongs to his own
son--after that performance, I say, I caught young Dick Cludde by the
ear, and made him tell me the story. And it begins with apples--like this
excellent cider of yours, Ellery."
He quaffed a deep draught and leaned back in his chair, giving me
another friendly wink. The