The Gentleman | Page 4

wrong."
He resumed his rowing, and continued with the same surprising
dignity.
"I bred that orse; I broke that orse; I loved that orse."
The tide of the boy's being set back with a shock.
"O!" he cried. "O ... I didn't mean ... I really...."
"That's all right, sir," came the other's smothered voice. "I know you
didn't."
He swallowed, and his face grew rigid. Then a light broke all about it.
"But there!" with husky pride. "He won't bear me no grudge--will you,
old man?" with a hoarse burst of tenderness, flinging his arm towards
the bank, where the dead horse's girths glimmered still in the dusk. "He
know'd I wouldn't have asked it of him, only I had to. That's my old
orse! that's my Robin!--Never asked no questions. Just took and died
and did his duty without the talkin. Maybe some of us might learn a bit
from him."
Taking a great bandana from his pocket, he blew his nose like the
report of a pistol.

"A'ter all," he said, with touching solemnity, "he died for his country,
did my Robin--same as Abercromby at Alexandrya."
III
Behind them on the hill a clock struck eight.
The riding-officer held up his hand.
"Ark!" he cried. "It was going seven in Ditchling as I pelted down the
Beacon. Gallop! gallop! gallop! There's ne'er another orse in England
could ha done it, with big Jerry Ram bumpin on his back all the way;
danged if there be!"
He thumped his knee.
"King George ought to know on it! He died for him. Fair lay down to it,
belly all along the ground. Might ha know'd he was on the King's
business, and the Gentleman with two minutes' start streakin away for
Birling Gap like a bullet from the bow."
"Aw, he'll be out again than?" drawled the waterman, sleepy and
Sussex.
"Out again!" shouted Big Jerry, and clapping the handkerchief to his
ear, thrust it beneath the other's eye of mildew. "What's that?--blood,
ain't it?--whose?--mine.--How?--The Gentleman."
"You'll ha met him than, I expagt?" cooed the waterman in his cautious
way.
"He met me more like," replied Big Jerry with the grim humour of the
whole-hearted man, who gives hard knocks and takes them all in good
part.
"Not but what we was expectin him, you'll understand."
"You knaw'd he was comin than surely?" came the waterman's slow
musical voice.

"Know'd it!" roared the other. "O course we know'd it. Why's the Kite
been layin in Cuckmere Haven since night afore last?--why was the
Gap Gang strung out all the way from Furrel Beacon to Beachy Head
all day yesterday?--Why was Black Diamond mouchin round in Lewes
this morning?--Why?--why?--why?"
"Why?" asked the boy, breathless.
"Because the Gallopin Gent was comin down with despatches for
Boney, and they were keepin the road for him. That's why," screamed
the big man, bumping up and down in his excitement.
"Only question was which way. Ye see it's most in general all ways at
once with him. Up and down, day and night, all over Sussex, these
weeks past. No stoppin him; no coppin him; no nothin him. Always the
same chap--gentleman, mighty gay, bit o red riband in his button-hole,
and blood chestnut with a white blaze between his knees. Always the
same tale--gave em the go-by somehow. No sayin where or when--only
just when you're least expectin him, then you can make sure of him.
And when you are ready for him, seems he's readier for you."
He mopped his forehead, the laughing puckers gathering about his
eyes.
"Look at us this evenin. There we was ridin easy up the Beacon, me
and the orse-patrol--lookin for him. Just as we tops the brow who pops
over the wall like a swallow but the Gentleman himself on his
chestnut?"
He threw back his head and chuckled.
"There!--I can't ardly elp laughin. The cheek o the chap!"
"Did he run?" asked the boy, all eyes.
"Run!" snorted the riding-officer. "No run about im.... Rode at us like a
rigiment of cavalry, swinging his sword, and laughin fit to bust
himself.... Half the boys bolted--and I don't know as I blame them: they

swear he's old Nick. Dick Halkett, old Job, and me, we stood it.... Bang
he rides at old Job and bowls him over a buster; runs young Dick
through the body; slops me over the pate a good un; and steals away
down the hill, waving his hand and crying--'Adoo! adoo! adoo!
remember me!'--as if we was likely to forget him!"
The big man mopped his bloody ear with a quizzical grin.
"I know'd it was no good follerin. Nothing foaled o mortal mare can
collar that chestnut, once she's away. So I bangs my hat down, catches
the old orse by the ead, and