The Buccaneer Farmer | Page 2

but if you don't
want to be an outsider, you must do like the rest, and I understood you
expected me to make friends among our own set. We can't be shabby."
He struck the right note, for Osborn was not clever and perhaps his
strongest characteristic was his exaggerated family pride.

"You had enough and I paid your debts not long since," he said. "In fact,
you have had more than your share, with the consequence that Grace
gets less than hers." He knitted his brows as he indicated the
house-master's curt letter. "Then, you have given a stranger an
opportunity for writing to me like this."
Gerald, knowing his father's humor, saw he was getting on dangerous
ground.
"Brown's a dry old prig, sir. Nothing sporting about him; he's hardly a
gentleman."
Osborn was seldom logical and now his annoyance was rather
concentrated on the master who had written to him with jarring
frankness than on the extravagant lad.
"His letter implies it," he agreed and then pulled himself up. Gerald
was clever and no doubt meant to divert his thoughts. "After all, this
doesn't matter," he went on. "I'll pay these bills, but if you get into debt
at Woolwich, you had better not come home. I have enough trouble
about money, and your allowance is going to be a strain. There's
another thing: Carter, who hasn't had your advantages, got in as a prize
cadet."
Gerald smiled. "He hasn't got his commission. Old Harry means well,
but he's not our sort, and these plodding, cramming fellows seldom
make good officers."
"An officer must pay his mess bills, whether he's good or bad," Osborn
rejoined. "If you go into the Horse Artillery, there won't be much
money left when you have settled yours, so it might be prudent to begin
some self-denial now. Anyhow, if you get into debt again, you know
the consequences."
He raised his hand in dismissal and walked to the window when the lad
went out. He had not taken the line he meant to take, but Gerald often,
so to speak, eluded him. The lad had a way of hinting that they
understood one another and Osborn vaguely suspected that he worked

upon his prejudices; but he was a sportsman. He had pluck and knew
what the Osborn traditions demanded. In fact, Gerald might go far, if he
went straight.
Then Osborn thought he needed a drink, and after ringing a bell he sat
down by the window with the tray and glass a servant brought. It was
significant that he had given no order; the servants knew what the bell
meant. When he had drained the glass he vacantly looked out. Boggy
pasture and stony cornfields ran back from the tarn. Here and there a
white farmstead, surrounded by stunted trees, stood at the hill foot;
farther back a waterfall seamed the rocks and yellow grass with threads
of foam; and then a lofty moor, red with heather, shut off the view.
The land was poor at the dale head, but there was better below, where
the hills dropped down to the flat country, and, with the exception of
Ashness farm, all was Osborn's, from Force Crag, where the beck
plunged from the moor, to the rich bottoms round Allerby mill.
Unfortunately, the estate was encumbered when he inherited it, and he
had paid off one mortgage by raising another. He might perhaps have
used other means, letting his sporting rights and using economy, but
this would have jarred. The only Osborn who bothered about money
was his wife, and Alice was parsimonious enough for both. Money was
certainly what his agent called tight; but as long as he could give his
friends some shooting and a good dinner and live as an Osborn ought to
live, he was satisfied. Still, Gerald must have his chance at Woolwich
and this needed thought. Osborn felt he would like another drink, but
glanced at his watch and saw that his visitors would arrive in a few
minutes.
They were punctual and Osborn got up when his agent and another man
came in. Hayes was tall, urbane, and dressed with rather fastidious
neatness; Bell was round-shouldered and shabby. He had a
weather-beaten skin, gray hair, and small, cunning eyes. Osborn
indicated chairs and sat down at the top of the big table. He disliked
business and knew the others meant to persuade him to do something
he would sooner leave alone. This would have been impossible had he
not needed money.

"Mr. Bell wishes to know if his tender for the Slate Company's haulage
is approved," Hayes began. "His traction engine is suited for the work
and he is prepared to buy a trailer lurry, which we would find useful in
the dale. Mechanical transport would be