THE INCOMPLETE HIGHWAYMAN.

Lyttelton Times, Volume XCIII, Issue 10596, 4 March 1895, Page 2

THE INCOMPLETE HIGHWAYMAN.

[by C. J. CUTCXiIEFE IXTNE.] (English Illustrated, Magasine .) To all outward appearances Jhie was. nothing beyond the common in the caste of burly tramps. That is to say, he belonged not to the clay-and-xnoleskin tribe, but to the, seedy-black variety, which is by far the more noxious. He was a man who, with equal obviousness, had no work to do, never did have any work, and never intended to do any. As our meeting took place in the one public room of a tiny wayside inn, he did not commence proceedings by asking me for employment. He came to the point at once and requested beer. 1 gave it him without demur, and then took up a week-old weekly paper by way of escaping farther conversation. After leisurely draining his mug, he broke out with, “Isay, sir, where’s Clare first boat on the river this year ?” I put down the paper and stared at him.

In explanation he mentioned that I was wearing a black straw with a yellow ribbon. I told him I was sorry, but I didn't know. One drops out of the news of the Cam after, one has been down a few years. Afterwards we drifted into more general talk.

He mentioned that he had once been at Magdalen as an undergraduate; ■which may or may not have been true. He did not, after the manner of bis kind, deluge me with the personal history of himself before the Fall. He talked'of the advantages of an al fresco existence, and made anarchy and social emancipation stand cut in pleasant rosy light. Then he accepted more beer, and then we stood up to go.

His destination was the next house of entertainment along the road ; mine lay in the same direction; so we progressed together at two and three-quarter statute miles to the hour. As we walked, he gave me another chapter of the serial already commenced. “Crime,” he said, “Crime, with a big C, isn’t a thing which can really exist according to my ideas; because, you see, every man ought to be allowed to do anything he jolly well pleases. But in the present state of society, hide-bound as it is by prejudice, there are certain things which they label up as crime; and if you tamper with them you’re apt to get in the jug. Now a man don’t like the jug; except”—he added this as an afterthought—- “ except in very cold winters. “ So I steer clear of your rotten old laws as a general thing, not because 1 respect ’em—don’t you fall into error there and throw it against me afterwards—but simply to suit my own personal convenience. •,

“ However, circumstances intervene at times to upset a man’s general arrangements on trifling points like these, and it isn’t my way to pin myself down by rule. It’s clean against my principles; give me a free hand, say I. “ N ow, exempli gratia. Two years ago when I was touring in the Fens, there came one very foggy day, when matters had gone badly with me, and I felt tolerably Schopenhauerish. I also felt other things besides ; but perhaps it wouldn’t he polite to say them to a stranger, who might be a sucking J.P. for anything I can tell. Sufficient for you to know that I met a man that day and told him I intended to have his money, or the fun of spilling his brains on to the Macadam.,

“It was a grand spot for a bit of work of the kind, a lonely len road, which led up out of the sen, and ran on for miles and miles, and then fetched up at nowhere. There weren’t two houses to the hour, and the clammy mist shut us into a ring no bigger than a travelling circus.. He was a little chap, the fellow I stopped, and he looked weak for his size. I didn’t think I’d have any bother with him. I’m not puny myself; they used to row me ‘ six ’ when I was up at Cambridge. “‘Ho!’ says the little man,‘so you are going to rob me, are you? Well, we’ll see about that.’ And he lifts up his face and whistles like a steamer into the gray of the fog. “Up rattled three fox-terriers—one of ’em wire-haired—as though they had bobbed through star-traps in' the frozen ground. Big dogs l ean.' do with, because if they savage you and mean business, all you,have to do. is to stick out your hat. They’ll champ on to that, < and then you can kick them in the throat. That kills ’em. But little dogs are too spry for that trick. Besides, there were three of these, and they were snickering and snuffling round my shins, and that made me nervous.

‘“Notsuch a soft job as you took it to he, eh ? ’ says the little chap. “ ‘l’ll let you go! ’ “ ‘ You’re very good,’, says he, stepping back a pace or two. ‘ But I’m afraid I can’t let you go.’

“ c If you mean you think you’re going to run me in, my cocksparrow-——' “ ‘ Sick ’im, Bess! ’ sings out the little chap, and the wire-haired hitch had me by the calf before you could say knife. ‘Now,’ says he, * that’s for your first step. You needn’t shout

blue murder. She’s only got you by the trousers But if you move another inch. I'll set the other two on, and they’ll pin you by the meat. I’ve got those dogs under wonderful control. I wish I could manage other—other animals as well.’; "He stopped talking there, and seemed to think, and after a bit Dtold him I was getting cold. “‘Delicate chest have youf’ says he, and sighed as he looked first at me and then at himself, down and up. 'You don’t look it. Youlootas strong as ahull, and up to any kind'of iniquity. Now listen here: Do you want a piece of profitable employment?’ “‘lf it isn’t anything which would degrade me.’ “ He took my meaning quicker than I’d have given him credit, * Oh, you needn’t fear,’ Says he, ‘it isn’t hard work I want out of you. It’s an easy, artistic touch, that ought to bejust in your line. I want you to insult a lady,’ “ ‘ You——which?’ ■ ■ “ ‘ Insult a lady—beg from her, threaten her, do anything you like, so'that I have a chance to come up and punch your head. J . shall be near;’; , •; ■' '■■ “ ‘Is i this some girl you are sweet on that you want me to fool with ?’ “ ‘ That’s none of your business, i’m open to pay you well for a simple job, and 1 don’t bargain to answer any questions.’ , “‘H’m, I see. Supposing now when it came to the point you didn’t punch my head as completely as you’d like. How then?’ “ ‘ In that case,’ says he sweetly enough, *l’d be compelled to shoot you. You see I have, the wherewithal.’ And with that he lugs out a very pretty little five-shot pistol and handles .it knowingly. “‘Put it back. I don’t like pistols. It might go off. And I must-stiputate you don’t bring these blasted curs with you either.’ “ ‘My dear.man, I never go about these lonely roads without my dogs.’ “ ‘ Idiot, don’t you see that if you do bring ’em, this little scene you’re so carefully working up for will be spoiled? The dogs will get at least half the kudos. And besides, with dogs thrown into the programme, my fee would be more exor. bitant than you’d care to pay for any girl. By the way, is that a Magdalen tie you’re wearing?’ “‘ Yes., What the devil’s that to you f You’re right about, those dogs, though, I won’t bring ’em. But I shall have the pistol, so don’t jyou get ambitious and try to climb bn to the top side. You’ll get a fiver for the job if you do it neatly “ ‘My fee is twenty pound!, • senor.’ - “‘Five, my dear man,” “‘Five?- So you only value this precious girl at modest Five? Query now, is she really worth the, getting ? Think it over, You young men often rush into matrimony to pieoiptately, and then regret it ever , afterwards. Believe me, I’m not speaking'without the bookI’ve been there myself.’ “‘Confound your impudence! Whatintereal do you suppose your shady experiences can have for me ? However, twenty pounds you shall have, if you satisfy me in every respect, and there’s ten bob on account.’ . .And for the next hour he gave me instructions about that precious ambus, cade, so minute that it seemed as if no portion of it could possibly he bungled.

“‘You won’t fail me ?’■ says ha as he whistled off his dogs and turned to go. • “‘On my honour I’ll he there, true to time.* “ ‘ H’m, 1 don’t give much for your honour, but try and think ahead a bit, and remember there’s nineteen pound ten to be earned with precious little exertion. You can have a fine spree on nineteen pound ten in the lump. To, ta.’ ‘“Aw revoir,’ says I, and turned along my ways into the other side of the fog, I rathe* fancied I’d a soft job on, and that’s what I’re spent a lifetime looking for. “The next day was a fizzle, as. the blessed girl didn’t turn up ; and . the little chap strutted up and down the cross-road in the distance, and I cowered behind my hedge till we were both about sick of it. And the next Was blank too, and so was the next, although he did advance me another fivo shillings. But on the day after my lady appeared, a tidy enough looking girl in a tailor-made rig -with a walking-stick. “ Prom my hedge-bottom I saw her coming, and got up and strolled heavily down the road. She’d cheek enough to build a house with. She didn’t get out of the footpath like some of them.do. She walked straight on and stared me coolly in the face. I’d half a mind to let her alone even then. I felt a sort of respect for that girl, and didn’t admire the idea of having a hand in play« ing her tricks. But I hadn’t a soil left in my pocket, and there was the thought of that nineteen pound five always in the wind; so I shoved my pride in my pocket and just brought ber to.

“ ‘ You want something from -me, do you ? ’ says she quietly enough, and then let out with her stick and caught me a wipe clean across the face before I could guard. Aud on the stroke she started off, running as last as her toes could touch the

ground. The smack with the stick made me mad, and I started after her hot-foot, meaning to do just« little feather-pulling on my own hook before I was interfered with; but the way we were going took us to the cross-road, where my little bantam patrolled, and I’m blowed if I didn’t run slap into his arms.

“ ‘ Then began such a set-to you never saw. Of course, he’d have been no use with me if Fd put up my hands in real earnest; but I give him credit, he slogged like a man. And the girl, sh® didn’t run any further eithe She just hung around the skirts of the fray and him on. ‘ Go it, Billy,’ she kept singing out, into him!’ “Now it’s all very well to be pummelled for fun, within limits; but I wasn’t paid for being made into butcher’s meat, and so I just hardened my guard a bit and whispered a hint to that effect. By gum, my little chap was equal to the occasion though. ‘ Another fiver,’ he whispers, ‘if I knock you down,’ and I took him at .his word. He landed me a regular stone-breaker square between the daylights. “Down I went like an ox, and the small-cock*; sparrow rolled down his cuffs and wiped his muzzle. ‘ There, you dirty scoundrel,’ says be, ‘ that’ll teach you to insult ladies in future.’ “‘Goit, Billy,’ says the girl, fairly capering with delight. ‘ I beg your pardon for calling you only half a man last week.’ “ ‘ That’s granted easily,’ says the little fellow, especially if you’ll do something else I asked you at the same time.’ - , . “‘Why,’ says the girl, ‘as you do me the honour to ask me again now, I couldn’t say aq. But what are you going to do to the man In the mud ? Not have him run-in, are you? ’ “‘No,’ says my bantam, giving me a wink, ‘I think he’s been hammered enough.’ And off they went together.—Heigh-ho,” said the tramp, “Hullo,” said I, “didn’t the fellow pay up?. Bather awkward if he didn’t. ’Twasn’t a debt , you could very well, sue him for.” “ Oh, he paid up like a man. Gave me thirty quid. And when Igo down on that beat, the house is as good as an 'annuity to me. But don’t know whether I did right by my principles in interfering at all. You see, it was certainly me that elbowed that girl into matrimony, and 1,, don’t quite think the little bantam has as good*" time as he would have had as a bachelor. He " doesn’t keep up his record. He can’t bribe her to let him come out top side in domestic argu ments. And, as it is, in that household I think the gray mare takes the lead. Now, you know that isn’t sound anarchy. Ah, here we are at the- ■ next pub.” . “Then by your leave I’ll say good-bye, as’the afternoon is getting on.” ; 1 “ Oh, all right, sir. You needn’t come in-un-less you like. A shilling will do instead,” Slid the tramp.