Once Aboard the Lugger Part 42

"Blind."

Sharp words will move where entreaty cannot stir.

Mrs. Major relaxed her hold; spun round. "Monster" and "Perjurer"

rushed headlong to her lips. "Ponsger!" she cried; tottered back against the sofa; was struck by it at the bend of her knees; collapsed upon it. Her head sunk sideways; she closed her eyes.

"You can see for yourself," George said.

Mr. Marrapit sniffed: "My nose corroborates."

"Ponsger!" the p.r.o.ne figure wailed.

Mr. Marrapit started: "Mrs. Major!"

She opened her eyes: "Call me Lucy. Darling-_um!_" She began to snore.

"Abhorrent!" Mr. Marrapit p.r.o.nounced.

Whisperings without made him step to the door. White figures were upon the stairs. "To your beds!" he cried.

"Oh, whatever is it, sir?" Mrs. Armitage panted.

"Away! You outrage decency." Mr. Marrapit set a foot upon the stairs.

The affrighted figures fled before him.

George, when his uncle returned, was peering through the blind. "Who the devil loosed off that gun? It is immaterial. All events are buried beneath this abhorrent incident. The roof of my peace has crashed about me." Mr. Marrapit regarded the p.r.o.ne figure. "Her inspirations grate upon me; her exhalations poison the air. Rouse her. Thrust her to her room."

"You'll never wake her now till she's slept it off."

"Let us then essay to carry her. She cannot remain here. My shame shall not be revealed, nor hers uncovered."

George began: "To-morrow--"

"To-morrow I speed her from my gates. My beloved cats have been in the care of this swinish form. They have been in jeopardy. I tremble at their escape. To-morrow she departs."

A sudden tremendous idea swept over George, engulfing speech.

With no word he moved to the sofa; grasped the p.r.o.ne figure; put it upon its weak legs. They gave beneath it. "You must take her feet," he said.

Averting his gaze, Mr. Marrapit took the legs that Old Tom had devitalised. The procession moved out; staggered up the stairs.

Heavy was the burden; bursting with vulgar laughter was George; but that huge idea that suddenly had come to him swelled his muscles, lent him strength.

He heaved the form upon the bed.

On the dressing-table a candle burned. By its light Mr. Marrapit discovered Old Tom's bottle, two fingers of the villain yet remaining.

He beat his breast. "Extinguish that light. I to my room. Seek Fletcher. He patrols the garden for malefactors. In the morning I will see you. Before this disaster my chill is sped. You are of my flesh. Cleave unto me. In our bosoms let this abhorrent sore be buried. Seek Fletcher."

The distraught man tottered to his room.

XI.

George went slowly down the stairs, bathing in the delicious thrills of unfolding the wrappings from about his great idea. He had yet had time but to feel its shape and hug it as a child will feel and hug a doll packed in paper. Now he stripped the coverings, and his pulses thumped as he saw how fine was it. Almost unconscious to his actions he unbarred the door; stepped into the thin light; was not aroused until, treading upon Mr. Fletcher's musket, his idea was suddenly jolted from him.

Here the gun that gave the echoes; where the hand that started it?

A hoa.r.s.e cry came to him: "Mr. George! Mr. George!"

He looked along the sound. Above a hedge below the lawn an apple-tree raised its branches. Within them he could espy a dark ma.s.s that as he approached took form. Mr. Fletcher.

The gra.s.s hushed George's footsteps. Rounding the hedge he came upon the little drama that gave that note of dread to Mr. Fletcher's calls.

Beneath the gardener's armpits one branch of the apple-tree pa.s.sed; behind his knees another. Between them hung his heavy seat. Whitely a square of it peered downwards; melancholy upon the sward lay the lid of corduroy that should have warmed the s.p.a.ce. For ten paces outwards from the tree-trunk there stretched a pitted path. Abiram, as George came, turned at this path's extremity; set his sloe eye upon the dull white patch in Mr. Fletcher's stern; hurled forward up the track; sprang and snapped jaws an inch below the mark as Mr. Fletcher mightily heaved.

A lesser dog would have yapped bafflement, fruitlessly scratched upwards from hind legs. Abiram was perfect dog of the one breed of dog that is in all things perfect. Silently he plodded back; turned; ran; leapt again. Again Mr. Fletcher heaved, and again the fine jaws snapped an inch beneath the pallid square of flesh.

As once more uncomplaining he turned, Abiram sighted George; ruffled.

George spoke his name. Abiram wagged that short tail that marked his Champion Victor Wild blood, shook the skull that spoke to the same mighty strain.

This dog expected in his human friends that same devotion to duty which is the governing trait of his breed. His shake implied, "No time for social niceties, sir. I have a job in hand."

"Call 'im off, Mr. George," Mr. Fletcher implored. "Call 'im--_ur!_"-- he heaved upward as Abiram again sprang--"off," he concluded, sinking once more as the bull-terrier trotted up the little path.

It was a fascinating scene. "You're quite safe," George told him.

"Safe! I'm _tired!_ I can't keep on risin' and fallin' ail night. It's 'ard--d.a.m.n 'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a--_ur!_" He heaved again.

George told him: "You do it awfully well, though; so neat."

"Call 'im off," Mr. Fletcher moaned. "He'll have me in a minute. He's 'ad a bit off of me calf; he's 'ad a piece out of me trousers. He'll go on. He's a methodical dog--_ur!_"

George took a step; caught Abiram's collar. "How on earth did you get up there?"

"Jumped."

"Jumped! You couldn't jump up there!"

Mr. Fletcher took a look to see that Abiram was securely held; then started to wriggle to a pose of greater comfort. "I'd jump a house with that 'orror after me," he said bitterly. By intricate squirmings he laid a hand upon the cold patch of flesh that gazed starkly downwards from his stern. "If I ain't got hydrophobia I've got frost- bite," he moaned. "Cruel draught I've had through this 'ole. Take 'im off, Mr. George."

George was scarcely listening. His thoughts had returned to the delicious task of fingering his great idea.

"Take 'im off, Mr. George," Mr. Fletcher implored.

George pa.s.sed a handkerchief under Abiram's collar; tugged for the gate; there dispatched the dog down the road.

Abiram shook his head; trotted with dejected stern. A job had been left unfinished.