The Happy Warrior Part 40

III

On his way home, when he had left Dora on the previous night, he had called in at Burdon Old Manor to bid Rollo good-by. Lady Burdon had gone to bed. He found Rollo in the billiard room, Egbert Hunt marking for him, and it was what had pa.s.sed between them that had emphasised the endearment in his tone when he had said "Old Rollo" to Aunt Maggie.

Tender his look when he recalled how "Old Rollo," hearing he was going away, had dropped his cue and stared at him in blank dismay, then questioned him, and then had listened with twitching mouth when he had cried, "Oh, Rollo, things are so steep for me, old man. I can't explain. I must get out of this, that's all!"

For the first time--and the only time--in all their friends.h.i.+p it had been Rollo's to play the supporter. "Why, Percival, dear, dear old chap," he had cried, "don't look like that. For G.o.d's sake, don't.

Whatever's wrong I can help you. We are absolute, absolute pals. No one ever had such a pal as you've been to me--now it's my turn. Stay here with us a bit, old man. Yes, that's what you'll do. Let's fix that, old man. That will make everything right. Everything I've got is yours--you know that, don't you, old man?"

And when he had shaken his head and had explained that it was work--work for his hands he wanted, and was going to find with j.a.phra, Rollo had vented his feelings on Egbert Hunt with "What the devil are you standing there listening for, Hunt? Get out of this! Didn't I tell you to go? Get out!" And when they were alone, and when he had seen that Percival was not to be moved, had revealed his affection in last words that brought a dimness to Percival's eyes as he recalled them.

"Men don't talk about these things," Rollo had said, "so I've never told you all you are to me--but it's a fact, Percival, that I'm never really happy except when I'm with you. I've been like that ever since we met, and in all the jolly days we've had together. You know the sort of chap I am--quite different from you. I don't get on with other people. I've always hated the idea of going to Cambridge this October because it means mixing with men I shan't like and leaving you. You're everything to me, old man. It's always been my hope--I don't mind telling you now you're going--that when I settle down, after I come of age--you know what I mean--it's always been my hope that we'll be able to fix it up together somehow. I shall have business and things to look after--you know what I mean--that you can manage a d.a.m.n sight better than I can. And I'll want some one to look after me--the kind of chap I am; a shy a.s.s, and delicate. And you're the one, the only, only one. Just remember that, won't you, old man?..."

IV

Percival was aroused from his warm recollection of it by the figure on the gate hailing him. Egbert Hunt it was. "Good lord!" Percival cried. "What on earth are you doing here--this time in the morning and with that bundle?"

"Coming with you," said Hunt.

"With me! Do you know where I'm going?"

Egbert Hunt pointed up the road where j.a.phra's van came plodding. "In that. Heard you tell Lord Burdon last night. Heard you say that Mr.

Stingo's crowd was short of hands. The life for me. Fac'."

Percival stared at him--a grown man now, lanky, unhealthy, white of face.

"Does Rollo--does Lord Burdon know? Did he say you might go?"

"Told me to go to 'ell."

Percival laughed. "You'll find it that--you frightful a.s.s."

"I'll be free," said Egbert darkly. "No man's slave I won't be any more. Every man's as good as the next where you're bound, I reckon.

No more tyrangs for me. You're my sort, and always have been."

The van was up to them and pulled up with j.a.phra's surprised hail of greeting. Percival went to him where he sat on the forward platform.

"j.a.phra, here's a hand for one of your crowd--a friend of mine. Is there work for him?"

j.a.phra looked at Egbert with unveiled belittlement. "There's work for all sorts," he said drily. "For him perhaps. Get up behind," he addressed Egbert. "I'll let old One Eye have a look at thee. He wants a hand."

Percival swung up beside j.a.phra and smiled good morning at Ima, who had come to the door. "Go on, j.a.phra."

"That's a poor lot, that friend of thine," said j.a.phra, clicking his tongue at Pilgrim. "How far dost thou come with us, little master?"

"All the way, j.a.phra."

j.a.phra looked at him keenly. "To Dorchester?"

"Farther than that. I'm going to be third lad in your boxing booth, j.a.phra. Go on; I'll explain."

CHAPTER XI

WITH j.a.pHRA ON THE ROAD

I

It was two years--near enough--before Percival came again to Burdon Village. Egbert Hunt found work with old One Eye who had the Wild West Rifle Range. Percival became "j.a.phra's Gentleman" (as the van folk called him), living with j.a.phra and Ima in the van, and earning his way in j.a.phra's booth.

A tough life, a quick life, a good life; and he "trained on," as they said in the vans of beast or man or show that, starting fresh, slipped into stride and did well. He trained on. Little room for trouble or for brooding thoughts. Up while yet the day was grey; stiff work in boots and vest and trousers in taking down the booth and loading-up, harnessing and getting your van away before too many kept the dust stirring ahead of you. Keen appet.i.te for the breakfasts Ima cooked, eaten on the forward platform with the van wheels grinding the road beneath. The long, long trail to the next pitch,--now with Ima as she sat, one eye on the horse, the other on her needle, sewing, darning, making; now plodding alongside with j.a.phra, drinking his quaint philosophy, hearing his strange tales of men and countries, fights and hard trades he had seen. Now forward along the long line of waggons, now dropping back where they trailed a mile down the road; joining this party or that, chaffing with the brown-faced girls or walking with the men and listening to their tales of their craft and of their lives.

Sometimes the road from pitch to pitch was short; then the midday meal would be taken at the new site and there would be an hour's doze before the booths were set up and business begun. Usually the journey took the greater part of the day--frequently without a halt--and work must begin immediately on arrival; the boxing booth built up--first the platform on which Percival and j.a.phra, Ginger Cronk and s...o...b..ll White paraded to attract the crowd--a thing of boards and trestles, the platform, that by sheer sweating labour must be made to lie even and stable whatever the character of the ground; three uprights at either end that sometimes must be forced into soil iron hard and sometimes must be coaxed to hold firm in marshy bog. The booth itself to be rigged then--the wooden framework that must be lashed and nailed and screwed; the wide lengths of canvas eyeletted for binding together; stakes for the ring to be driven in; seats to be bolted together and covered--and all at top, top speed with a mouthful of nails and screws and "Who in h.e.l.l's got that mallet?" and "A hand here! a hand sharp!

Blast her! she's slipped again!" and many a bruised finger and always a sweating back. And then sharp, sharp into the flannels, and out with the gloves; and parade till the booth was full; and spar exhibition rounds alleged to be for weighty purses; and fight all the challengers from the crowd four rounds apiece, any weight; and top-up with a stiff six rounds announced by s...o...b..ll White: "A sporting gentleman having put up a purse for knock-out or win on points match between Ginger Cronk, ten stun champion of the west,--who beat Curly Hawkins in eight rounds, knocked out Alf Jacobs after a desperate ding-dong o' fourteen rounds, defeated Young Philipps in five rounds, and Jew Isaacs in sixteen,--and Gentleman Percival, a lad with a future before him, whom you'll be proud to have seen, gentlemen, discovered this summer by Gipsy j.a.phra, the man who held the lightweight champion belt for four years in America and who has trained with all the great ring heroes, bare-knuckle men, gentlemen, of a glorious Prize Ring period of the past. You are requested to pa.s.s no remarks during the progress of this desperate encounter, but to signify appreciation in the usual manner.

Gentlemen, Mr. Ginger Cronk, Mr. Gentleman Percival--TIME!--" And so on; and winding up with "a remarkable exhibition in which Gipsy j.a.phra, partnered by Gentleman Percival, will show the style and methods of the old P. R. gentlemen"--and then back to the platform again, to parade, to fill the booth, to fight--and so till the last visitor had left the fair to night and to its hoa.r.s.e and worn-out workers.

A tough life, a quick life, a good life; ... and Percival trained on.

At first he had been considerably tasked by the rough and tumble, ding-dong work in the boxing booth following the strenuous labour of the day, with no time lost between pitch and pitch. Aching limbs he had dropped on his couch when at last rest came, and tender face, bruised from six or seven hours' punching, that even the soft pillow seemed to hurt. But he trained on. In a few weeks it was tired to bed but unaching, unhurt--only deliciously weary with the wearyness of perfect muscles and nerves relaxed to delicious rest; early afoot, keen, and sound, and vigorous; brisk, ready smiling to jump into the ring for the last P. R. exhibition with old j.a.phra as for the first spar with Ginger Cronk or s...o...b..ll White. "Thou art the fighting type," wise j.a.phra had told him years before; and those exhibition rounds with the old man were each of them lessons that brought him to rare skill with his fists.

While they sat together before their turn j.a.phra would instruct what was to be learnt this time, and while they sparred "Remember!" j.a.phra would call, "Remember! Good! Good!--Weak! Weak!--Follow it! Follow it!--Speed's thy game!--Quick as thou canst sling them!--See how that hook leaves thee unguarded!--Again!--All open to me again!--Again!--ah, take it, then!" and _clip!_ to the unprotected stomach, savage as he could drive it, would come old j.a.phra's left; and Percival go gasping, and Ginger Cronk to the spectators: "With that terrible punch, gentlemen, Gipsy j.a.phra knocked out Boy Duggan and took the champions.h.i.+p belt at Los Angeles. Put your hands together, gentlemen, and give 'em a 'earty clap." When the round was ended j.a.phra would go over it point by point. When they sat or walked together, at meals or on the road, he was forever imparting his advice, his knowledge, his experience. He waas never tired of teaching ... and Percival trained on.

II

There came a day when "Thou must go slow with me," j.a.phra said after they had finished their round. "I have put skill to thy youth and strength. Thou must go slow with me or the folks will see nothing of the parts I am to show them." There came a day when he was given demonstration--if he had cared to recognise it for such--that the van folk knew him for a clever one with his fists. Foxy Pinsent supplied it.

In all the crowd of tough characters that made up Maddox's Royal Circus and Monster Menagerie with its attendant booths Foxy Pinsent alone gave him a supercilious lip or darkling scowl where others gave him smile and welcome. Foxy Pinsent had an old grudge against him--as j.a.phra had said--and lost no opportunity to rub it. The fact that "j.a.phra's Gentleman" was in the way of becoming a rival attraction to his own fame among the crowds that flocked to the fairs sharpened his spleen.

The ever increasing bad blood between the two factions--Maddox's and Stingo's--gave him chance to exercise it.

Percival came hot to j.a.phra one day: "d.a.m.n that man Pinsent, j.a.phra.

He's going too far with me. He's been putting it about the vans that I am too much the gentleman to go with a Maddox man--that I said in his hearing I refused to go with Dingo Spain to buy bread yesterday because I would not be seen in his company by decent people."

j.a.phra looked up at the angry face: "Let him bide. Let him bide."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Nor I of adders, but I do not disturb their nests--nor lie in their ways."

On a day the reason came for Percival to cross the adder's way. Egbert Hunt knocked over a bucket in which one of Pinsent's negro pugilists was about to wash. The man used his fists, then his boots, on Hunt, sending him back brutally used. Percival sought out the black, outfought him completely, and administered a punis.h.i.+ng that appeared to him to meet the case. Then came Pinsent.

"You've put your hands to one of my men, I hear--to Buck Osborn?"

"An infernal bully," said Percival.

"You've put your hands to one of my men!"

"And will again if he gives me cause!"