The Broad Highway | Page 6

and nobly done; have turned their feet homewards to pass their
latter days amid their turnips and cabbages, beating their swords into
pruning-hooks, and glad enough to do it.
"Peter," said he suddenly.
"Sir?" said I.
"You never saw your father to remember, did you?"
"No, Sir Richard."
"Nor your mother?"
"Nor my mother."

"Poor boy--poor boy!"
"You knew my mother?"
"Yes, Peter, I knew your mother," said Sir Richard, staring very hard at
the chair again, and I saw that his mouth had grown wonderfully tender.
"Yours has been a very secluded life hitherto, Peter," he went on after a
moment.
"Entirely so," said I, "with the exception of my never-to-be-forgotten
visits to the Hall."
"Ah, yes, I taught you to ride, remember."
"You are associated with every boyish pleasure I ever knew," said I,
laying my hand upon his arm. Sir Richard coughed and grew suddenly
red in the face.
"Why--ah--you see, Peter," he began, picking up his riding whip and
staring at it, "you see your uncle was never very fond of company at
any time, whereas I--"
"Whereas you could always find time to remember the lonely boy left
when all his companions were gone on their holidays--left to his books
and the dreary desolation of the empty schoolhouse, and echoing
cloisters--"
"Pooh!" exclaimed Sir Richard, redder than ever. "Bosh!"
"Do you think I can ever forget the glorious day when you drove over
in your coach and four, and carried me off in triumph, and how we
raced the white-hatted fellow in the tilbury--?"
"And beat him!" added Sir Richard.
"Took off his near wheel on the turn," said I.
"The fool's own fault," said Sir Richard.

"And left him in the ditch, cursing us!" said I.
"Egad, yes, Peter! Oh, but those were fine horses and though I say it, no
better team in the south country. You'll remember the 'off wheeler'
broke his leg shortly after and had to be shot, poor devil."
"And later, at Oxford," I began.
"What now, Peter?" said Sir Richard, frowning darkly.
"Do you remember the bronze vase that used to stand on the
mantelpiece in my study?"
"Bronze vase?" repeated Sir Richard, intent upon his whip again.
"I used to find bank-notes in it after you had visited me, and when I hid
the vase they turned up just the same in most unexpected places."
"Young fellow--must have money--necessary--now and then," muttered
Sir Richard.
At this juncture, with a discreet knock, the butler appeared to announce
that Sir Richard's horse was waiting. Hereupon the baronet, somewhat
hastily, caught up his hat and gloves, and I followed him out of the
house and down the steps.
Sir Richard drew on his gloves, thrust his toe into the stirrup, and then
turned to look at me over his arm.
"Peter," said he.
"Sir Richard?" said I.
"Regarding your walking tour--"
"Yes?"
"I think it's all damned tomfoolery!" said Sir Richard. After saying
which he swung himself into the saddle with a lightness and ease that

many younger might have envied.
"I'm sorry for that, sir, because my mind is set upon it."
"With ten guineas in your pocket!"
"That, with due economy, should be ample until I can find some means
to earn more."
"A fiddlestick, sir--an accursed fiddlestick!" snorted Sir Richard. "How
is a boy, an unsophisticated, hot-headed young fool of a boy to earn his
own living?"
"Others have done it," I began.
"Pish!" said the baronet.
"And been the better for it in the end."
"Tush!" said the baronet.
"And I have a great desire to see the world from the viewpoint of the
multitude."
"Bah!" said the baronet, so forcibly that his mare started; "this comes of
your damnable Revolutionary tendencies. Let me tell you, Want is a
hard master, and the world a bad place for one who is moneyless and
without friends."
"You forget, sir, I shall never be without a friend."
"God knows it, boy," answered Sir Richard, and his hand fell and rested
for a moment upon my shoulder. "Peter," said he, very slowly and
heavily, "I'm growing old--and I shall never marry--and sometimes,
Peter, of an evening I get very lonely and--lonely, Peter." He stopped
for a while, gazing away towards the green slopes of distant Shooter's
Hill. "Oh, boy!" said he at last, "won't you come to the Hall and help
me to spend my money?"

Without answering I reached up and clasped his hand; it was the hand
which held his whip, and I noticed how tightly he gripped the handle,
and wondered.
"Sir Richard," said I at last, "wherever I go I shall treasure the
recollection of this moment, but--"
"But, Peter?"
"But, sir--"
"Oh, dammit!" he exclaimed, and set spurs to his mare. Yet once he
turned in his saddle