The Highwayman | Page 8

dear Geoffrey, if I had anything to do or anything to
say why should I come to you?"
"Merci, monsieur," Waverton smiled gracious indulgence.
Mr. Hadley chuckled, and in French replied: "Yes, let's talk French; it
embellishes our simple wit and elevates our souls above the vulgar."
There is reason to believe that Waverton liked his French better in
fragments than continuously. He still smiled condescension, but risked
no other answer.
"Come, Geoffrey, what's the news?" Mr. Hadley reverted to English.
"Could you say your lessons this morning? And did you wear a new
coat last night?"
"You may go if you will, Harry. Mr. Hadley will be talking for some
time," Waverton said. "Indeed, he may, perhaps, have something to
say."
Harry was used to being turned out for any reason or none. He well
understood that Waverton was not fond of an audience when he was
being laughed at. "If you please," he said, and made his bow to Mr.
Hadley.

"Why, what's the matter? I don't bite. You are too meek for this life, Mr.
Boyce." He looked at Harry with some contempt in his grey eyes.
"Oons, you're a man and a brother, ain't you? Sit down and be hearty.
Lud, Geoffrey, why do you never have a pipe in the room?"
"It's death to a clean taste, your tobacco smoking, and I value my
wine."
"Value it, quotha! Ay, by the spoonful. You ha' never known how to
drink since they weaned you. And you, Mr. Boyce, d'ye never smoke a
pipe over your Latin?"
"I hope I know my place, Mr. Hadley," Harry said solemnly.
Charles Hadley stared at him. "Hear the Scripture, Mr. Boyce: 'What
shall it profit a man though he gain a pretty patron and lose his own
soul?'"
"You are very polite, sir," said Harry.
"Upon my honour, Charles, this is too much," Mr. Waverton cried in
noble indignation. "Mr. Boyce is my friend, and you'll be good enough
to take him as yours if you come to my house."
Charles Hadley was not out of countenance. He eyed them both, and
his sardonic expression was more marked. "You make a pretty pair,"
said he. "When two men ride a horse, one must ride behind. Eh, Mr.
Boyce? I wonder. Well, Geoffrey, it's a wicked world. Had you heard
of that?"
"The world is what you make it, I think," said Mr. Waverton with
dignity.
"Oons, I could sometimes believe you did make it. A simple, pompous
place, Geoffrey, that is kind to you if you'll not laugh at it. And full of
petty, pompous mysteries. Maybe you make the mysteries too,
Geoffrey. Damme, it is so. It's perfectly in your manner," he chuckled
abundantly. "Come, child, what were you doing on the highway

yesterday?"
Harry stared at him. "When you have finished laughing at your joke,
perhaps you will make it," said Waverton. "Pray let us have it over
before dinner."
"My dear child, why be so touchy? Were you bitten? Well, you know,
this morning one of my fellows brings in a miserable wretch he had
found on the road by Black Horse Spinney. The thing was half-dead
with wet and cold. He had been lying there all night--so he said, and it's
the one thing I believe of him. He was found trussed as tight as a
chicken in his own sword-belt and his own garters. Damme, it was a
fellow of some humour had the handling of him. He had not been
robbed, for there was a bag of money at his middle. He professed that
he could tell nothing of who had trussed him or why he was set upon.
He would have nought of law or hue and cry. Egad, empty and
shivering as he was, he wanted nothing but to be let go. A perfect
Christian, as you remark, Geoffrey. Now, you or I, if we had been tied
up in the mud through one of these damned raw nights, would take
some pains to catch the fellow who did the trussing. But my wretch was
as meek as the Gospels. So here is a silly, teasing mystery. Who is the
footpad that is at the pains of tying up a fellow and never looks for his
purse? Odds fish, I did not know we had a gentleman of such humour
in these parts. I suspect you, Geoffrey, I protest. There's a misty
fatuousness about it which--"
"By your leave, sir," a servant appeared, "my lady waits dinner."
"Then I fear we shall pay for it," said Hadley, and stood up.
"You dine with us, Charles?" Mr. Waverton was not hearty about it.
"I'll give you that pleasure, child. Well, Mr. Boyce, what do you make
of my mystery?"
Harry had to say something. "Perhaps