The Money Moon | Page 4

of his neckerchief. "Leastways--not wi' your fists."
"Why, you are pretty good yourself, if it comes to that," returned Bellew, mopping in his turn. Thus they stood a while stanching their wounds, and gazing upon each other with a mutual, and growing respect.
"Well?" enquired Bellew, when he had recovered his breath somewhat, "shall we begin again, or do you think we have had enough? To be sure, I begin to feel much better for your efforts, you see, exercise is what I most need, just now, on account of the--er--Haunting Spectre of the Might Have Been,--to offset its effect, you know; but it is uncomfortably warm work here, in the sun, isn't it?"
"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner, "it be."
"Then suppose we--er--continue our journey?" said Bellew with his dreamy gaze upon the tempting load of sweet-smelling hay.
"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner again, beginning to roll down his sleeves, "suppose we do; I aren't above giving a lift to a chap as can use 'is fists,--not even if 'e is a vagrant, and a uncommon dusty one at that;--so, if you're in the same mind about it, up you get,--but no more furrin curses, mind!" With which admonition, the Waggoner nodded, grinned, and climbed back to his seat, while Bellew swung himself up into the hay once more.
"Friend," said he, as the waggon creaked upon its way, "Do you smoke?"
"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner.
"Then here are three cigars which you didn't manage to smash just now."
"Cigars! why it ain't often as I gets so far as a cigar, unless it be Squire, or Parson,--cigars, eh!" Saying which, the Waggoner turned and accepted the cigars which he proceeded to stow away in the cavernous interior of his wide-eaved hat, handling them with elaborate care, rather as if they were explosives of a highly dangerous kind.
Meanwhile, George Bellew, American Citizen, and millionaire, lay upon the broad of his back, staring up at the cloudless blue above, and despite heart break, and a certain Haunting Shadow, felt singularly content, which feeling he was at some pains with himself to account for.
"It's the exercise," said he, speaking his thought aloud, as he stretched luxuriously upon his soft, and fragrant couch, "after all, there is nothing like a little exercise."
"That's what they all say!" nodded the Waggoner. "But I notice as them as says it, ain't over fond o' doing of it,--they mostly prefers to lie on their backs, an' talk about it,--like yourself."
"Hum!" said Bellew, "ha! 'Some are born to exercise, some achieve exercise, and some, like myself, have exercise thrust upon them.' But, anyway, it is a very excellent thing,--more especially if one is affected with a--er--broken heart."
"A w'ot?" enquired the Waggoner.
"Blighted affections, then," sighed Bellew, settling himself more comfortably in the hay.
"You aren't 'inting at--love, are ye?" enquired the Waggoner cocking a somewhat sheepish eye at him.
"I was, but, just at present," and here Bellew lowered his voice, "it is a--er--rather painful subject with me,--let us, therefore, talk of something else."
"You don't mean to say as your 'eart's broke, do ye?" enquired the Waggoner in a tone of such vast surprise and disbelief, that Bellew turned, and propped himself on an indignant elbow.
"And why the deuce not?" he retorted, "my heart is no more impervious than anyone else's,--confound it!"
"But," said the Waggoner, "you ain't got the look of a 'eart-broke cove, no more than Squire Cassilis,--which the same I heard telling Miss Anthea as 'is 'eart were broke, no later than yesterday, at two o'clock in the arternoon, as ever was."
"Anthea!" repeated Bellew, blinking drowsily up at the sky again, "that is a very quaint name, and very pretty."
"Pretty,--ah,--an' so's Miss Anthea!--as a pict'er."
"Oh, really?" yawned Bellew.
"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner, "there ain't a man, in or out o' the parish, from Squire down, as don't think the very same."
But here, the Waggoner's voice tailed off into a meaningless drone that became merged with the creaking of the wheels, the plodding hoof-strokes of the horses, and Bellew fell asleep.
He was awakened by feeling himself shaken lustily, and, sitting up, saw that they had come to where a narrow lane branched off from the high road, and wound away between great trees.
"Yon's your way," nodded the Waggoner, pointing along the high road, "Dapplemere village lies over yonder, 'bout a mile."
"Thank you very much," said Bellew, "but I don't want the village."
"No?" enquired the Waggoner, scratching his head.
"Certainly not," answered Bellew.
"Then--what do ye want?"
"Oh well, I'll just go on lying here, and see what turns up,--so drive on, like the good fellow you are."
"Can't be done!" said the Waggoner.
"Why not?"
"Why, since you ax me--because I don't have to drive no farther. There be the farm-house,--over the up-land yonder, you can't see it because o' the trees, but there it be."
So, Bellew sighed resignedly, and, perforce, climbed down into the road.
"What do