The Money Moon | Page 4

square man, was this Waggoner, square of head, square
of jaw, and square of body, with twinkling blue eyes, and a pleasant,
good-natured face; but, just now, the eyes gleamed, and the face was
set grimly, and, altogether, he looked a very ugly opponent.
Therefore Bellew sighed again, stretched himself, and, very reluctantly,
climbed down out of the hay. No sooner was he fairly in the road, than
the Waggoner went for him with a rush, and a whirl of knotted fists. It
was very dusty in that particular spot so that it presently rose in a cloud,
in the midst of which, the battle raged, fast and furious.
And, in a while, the Waggoner, rising out of the ditch, grinned to see
Bellew wiping blood from his face.
"You be no--fool!" panted the Waggoner, mopping his face with the
end 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