Jack of Both Sides | Page 8

it. When I'm grown-up I sha'n't have to kiss anybody, and that'll be jolly. I shall never, never kiss at all, only shake hands or bow, like Escombe does."
"Top-peen, you did keess me once time, last week!" The Hare was timidly reproachful now.
Toppin stood still and coloured.
"Yes, I did. Because you bovvered me to, and--and you'd jumped in after me!"
"And shallent you--not ever--keess me once time more?"
"Oh--well--look here! Perhaps when it's your birthday, if we get somewhere quite secret, where nobody can possibly see us, I--I'll let you have one--a quick one!"
"T-thanks you!" said the grateful Hare.
"It's 'thanks', or else 'thank you'," corrected Toppin.
The Hare took no notice. He only tucked his arm affectionately into Toppin's, knowing that he was keeping within his rights in doing so. Toppin could say nothing. Arm-in-arm is quite correct and English!
"I have som-ting to say. Zat Armitage--he did not ought to be gone chasing paper. He is bad! I hate him, don' like him!"
"Why?" enquired Toppin, with wide-open eyes.
"Be-cause he try to drown you. I am--what is it?--to re-venge it!"
"What awful rot you talk!" said Toppin. "He only did what I told him, same as you would have done."
"Oh no, he had ver' wickedness. Ever'body say he had. I am telling many--one after one, by secret! And he is a debboy. Zey are more angry for zat. So much better!"
"Rubbish!" cried Toppin impatiently. "You've no business to tell anyone anything. And you're looking fierce and ugly, Hare. Do put Armitage out of your head, and come and have a see-saw!"
The chase, meanwhile, had opened well. The track was unmistakable to begin with, and it led right away from the town into the free country. The pack of hounds spun gaily along at full tilt, and many a machine was travelling at a pace it had not known for years. Every now and then there was a small collision, ending generally in a tumble; but if anyone was hurt, he kept it to himself, for all remounted and rode on, and nobody waited behind to make enquiries.
Of course there were any amount of false alarms, shouts and shrieks, wavings and ringings, and Simmons's toot-toot sometimes went unheard in the hubbub. Mr. Anderson grew quite boyishly excited, and kept bawling, "Come on, you fellows, come on! Buck up! We'll run them down yet!" And it is probable that Mr. West might have had a word to say had he seen the pace at which the willing hounds obeyed.
After one of the collisions above-mentioned, Grey, who was not a good rider, and happened to be the last of the pack, came upon Cadbury, dismounted, by the roadside.
"What's up?" he cried, as he swayed laboriously past.
"Oh, that you, Grey? Get down, there's a good fellow, and hold my bike a jiffey. I'll tow you up the next hill, if you will. Thanks so much! I had a spill just now, and my handlebar's got slewed round, and I can't keep it straight and right it at the same time."
The spanner had to be hunted out, the screw loosened, and the bar straightened; and thus a little time was occupied.
"Bother it! They're out of sight!" cried Cadbury when both were once more ready to mount. "I suppose we shall see Andy tooling back soon, to whip in the lazy pups! Never mind, I'll keep you company. Don't you burst your wind! We'll take it quietly."
"How they do yell! They've lost the trail," remarked Grey. "Hi! I say, there's paper down this lane; look--and it has a bit of Green's writing on it. You bet this is the true trail, and that the hares only scooted along the main road a bit farther, on purpose to mislead."
"You may be right. Anyhow, let's try our luck. It's downhill, so we can put on steam. What sport if they all have to turn round, and find we're in front instead of behind! Mind, old chappie, I'm passing on your right ... wait for you ... below!"
The last words came faintly back; Cadbury had passed Grey like a streak of lightning, his feet up, and his hands in his pockets.
There was a turn in the lane farther down, so that Grey for a minute lost sight of his comrade. He looked carefully ahead as he rounded it, to see if the end of the descent were near. The hill only grew steeper, but the end was a good deal nearer than he thought.
A half-grown chicken, startled by his silent approach, sprang out of the hedge and fluttered in front of his wheel, clucking madly. Grey pealed his bell, but it had no effect on the distracted chicken, which seemed bent on destruction. He clutched his brake; it would not work. There came a stifled squawk, and a slight bump!
In affright and agitation, Grey