A Hero of Romance Part 25

Chapter XIII

IN PETERSHAM PARK

Bertie looked at Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, and Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins looked at him, and husband and wife looked at one another.

"And have you had a nice sleep, my dear?"

Bertie vouchsafed no reply to the lady's question, continuing to look at her with his characteristically dogged look in his eyes.

"And how long have you been awake, my dear? Have you only just now woke?"

Bertie threw the clothes from off him, and turned to Mr. Jenkins.

"I won't go home, even if you do go and tell my mother, you old sneak!"

This uncomplimentary epithet was applied to Mr. Jenkins with such sullen ferocity, that that gentleman started and looked even more discomfited than he had done before. Bertie got out of bed and stood upon the floor.

"Give me my clothes, and let me go; you've no right to keep me here."

Mr. Jenkins was apparently speechless, but his quicker-witted wife was voluble enough.

"Certainly, my dear. No one wants to keep you, lovey. You pay us what you owe and you're as free as the air!"

"I don't owe you anything."

"Not anything for a young gentleman like you; it's only six s.h.i.+llings, my dear."

"Six s.h.i.+llings!"

"Yes, six s.h.i.+llings. Would you like your bill, my dear? Jenkins, go and get the young gentleman his bill."

"You're a lot of thieves!"

"Oh, thieves are we? Very well, if you like to think us so, my dear.

But I shouldn't have thought that a young gentleman like you would have liked to rob poor people of the money he owes for his board and lodging. And if you talk about thieves, my dear, Jenkins will go for a policeman, and a policeman will soon show you who's the thief, if you don't pay us what you owe, my lovey. And I shouldn't be surprised if, when he heard as how you'd runned away, the policeman wasn't to take and lock you up at once, my pet. Now, Jenkins, you come along with me, and while I makes up the young gentleman's bill you go and fetch a policeman, because as he thinks we're thieves, he do."

While the lady delivered herself of this voluble string of observations she had gradually approached the door. Before Bertie had perceived her design, she had pushed her husband through the door, and was through herself; the door was shut, the key turned in the lock, and Bertie was a prisoner.

"Now we'll see who's thieves!" the lady was heard to observe outside.

"Now, Jenkins, you go and get a policeman this instant minute, and mind you bring a good big one, too!"

Very few boys would be so foolish as to, what is rather erroneously termed run away; sneak away would perhaps be the correct phrase. If in any given million we were to put it that there is one such being, we should perhaps be stating a larger average than actually exists. But we may be pretty sure, that for even that young gentleman the adventures which had befallen Bertie Bailey at the very outset would have been quite sufficient; he would have devoted the small remainder of his energies to running, _i.e_., sneaking, back again.

But Bertie Bailey was made of sterner stuff; he was of those young gentlemen who have to learn their lessons a good many times over before they can get the meaning of what they have learnt into their heads. Those who reach the end of this story will find that he did learn his lesson to the end, and that it was a terrible lesson too, but the ending was not yet.

So soon as he understood that he was a prisoner, Bertie cast about for some method of escape. In his heart he could not but allow that the commencement of his journey had not been so successful as he had intended that it should be. But he was naturally slow to admit a failure. And to think that the ingenious Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins should make capital out of his misfortunes; that was an idea he by no means relished.

Fortunately, the lady had left his clothes behind. It occurred to Bertie that she might perceive her error and return to fetch them. To prevent any likelihood of that he put them on. Then he looked about to find a path to freedom.

The window immediately caught his eye. It was a very little one, in the fas.h.i.+on of a double lattice, which opened outwards. But Bertie resolved that it was large enough for him. He opened it carefully and peeped out. It was apparently a window at the side of the house, looking out upon a narrow pa.s.sage-way.

Had Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins known the character of their guest, they would never have been so foolish as to think the bird was safe while he had the command of that convenient window. It was only some ten or twelve feet above the ground, and to Bertie the drop was nothing.

He lost no time in putting it to the test. First peering up and down the narrow pa.s.sage, to see that no one was in sight and that no other window commanded a view of his operations, he brought the only chair the room contained up to the window and commenced to climb through it, feet foremost. The operation was a delicate one, but the size of the window precluded any other mode of egress. Even as it was, when he was about half way through he discovered that he was stuck fast. For a few disagreeable moments he feared that he would have to remain in that uncomfortable position till Mrs. Jenkins returned to secure her prey.

He wriggled and twisted, but for a time in vain. Suddenly, however, he did more than he intended; for the result of a desperate effort was to precipitate him so rapidly backwards that he was only just able to grasp the old-fas.h.i.+oned, narrow, wooden window sill with his right hand in time to prevent himself from falling in a heap upon the ground. He hung for a second, to give himself chance to recover from the shock, then he loosened his hold, and, dropping, alighted on his feet upon the ground; and no sooner was he on the ground than, without waiting to see if there was any one about, he dashed helter skelter down the pa.s.sage at the top of his speed.

He was not pursued. On that point his mind was soon at rest. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were probably too much engaged with other matters to think of the possibility of their guest effecting his escape. The pa.s.sage led, by a succession of devious turnings, into the Richmond Road. When he reached the main thoroughfare Bertie ceased to run.

Under the railway arch, past the shops, past the cricket field, into the lanes beyond, went Bertie. He had had nothing to eat that morning, he had not a farthing in his pocket; he had no conception where money was to come from unless it tumbled from the skies; yet he went unhesitatingly forward, as though all the world was at his feet, and all its wealth was in his pocket.

Past Ham Common into Petersham, and now he began to think that perhaps he was a little hungry. Delicious recollections of the morning meal of yesterday floated through his mind. A dish of ham and eggs he would have welcomed as a dish worthy of the G.o.ds; but there were no ham and eggs for him just then.

The road was dusty; the previous rains had disappeared, and the mud was turned to dust. By the time he reached Bute House he had made up his mind that the dust and heat combined were a little more than he quite relished. By then, too, he had no doubt but that he was hungry and thirsty too.

Suddenly the sound of voices fell upon his ear; of children's voices, of their laughter, of their cries of pleasure as they called to one another. He looked through the rails into Petersham Park. The park was full of children. There was some huge school treat, and in hundreds they were pa.s.sing here and there. Up the hill, and along the valley, among the trees, and in the nooks and dells, as far as the eye could penetrate, there were children moving. He entered, and advancing some distance from the outer wall, he lay down upon the gra.s.s.

When he had lain there some time there were races started. Little boys and big raced for prizes. Those in charge of the mult.i.tude of children arranged the sports.

"Here's a race for a s.h.i.+lling!" shouted one such person in authority.

He held a leather bag above his head. There was a shout from the boys who crowded round him. The prize was of unusual magnitude. All the prizes seemed to be in money,--twopence, threepence, fourpence had been their value until now--and no sooner were they won than the winners rushed to spend their prizes at the stalls of fruit and sweets, the proprietors of which plied a roaring trade. When the race for a s.h.i.+lling was announced there was a shout from a mult.i.tude of throats.

"Now then, why don't you have a try to win? you're big enough. Lying there as if you're half asleep; jump up, and show them how fast your feet can travel!"

A young man was standing by Bertie, looking down at him, evidently unaware that he was not an original member of the noisy crowd.

"Jump up! Why don't you go in for the race? Are you ill?"

"I'm not ill."

Without another word Bertie got up and joined the host of boys who were preparing to run. There were probably a hundred, and the directors of the sports had considerable difficulty in arranging a fair start. The race was confined to the bigger ones; there were no starts allowed, and they were all supposed to start from the same line. But the compet.i.tors had not the nicest sense of honour, and each endeavoured to steal a yard from his friend. Finally they were got into something like a proper line.

The distance to be run was about two hundred yards. The course was not a very regular one, as some were up the hill, and some were down; the breadth of the level ground was not sufficient to contain them all.

Two persons stood in a line to mark the winning-post, and between them they stretched a cord. The one on the right held the s.h.i.+lling in a bag.

Several false starts were made. In their anxiety to be first the compet.i.tors could not manage to stand still. Half a dozen times they broke away, and had to be called back again. At last they were off.

The course was from the park and towards the road, the winning-post being about a dozen yards from the school house at the gate.

The race was short, and, so far as the majority of the compet.i.tors were concerned, by no means sharp. Quite a third were out of it in the first six yards; half the remainder were beaten in a dozen, and before half the distance was covered there were only four or five who had a chance of winning. Among these was Bailey. He was not over fast on his feet as a rule, but never had the inducement to make the best possible speed been so strong before. He was running for his dinner, and, for all he knew, his tea and supper too.

In the last fifty yards the race resolved itself into a struggle of three. In front was a tall, lanky boy, who, so far as length of limb was concerned, ought to have left the others at the post. But his condition was not equal to his build; he went puffing and panting along. Obviously it would take him all he knew to last it out. About a couple of yards behind him, and almost side by side with Bertie, was a slightly-built lad, who was straining every nerve to keep his place.

The freshest of the three was Bailey.

Yet the lanky youth looked like winning. He lumbered and blundered along, but his long legs enabled him to cover at a single stride the ground which they had to take two steps to cover. The boy by Bertie's side had just given up the struggle with a gasp, when the lanky lad caught his foot in a hole and went headlong to the ground. Like a flash Bertie put on a spurt and dashed victorious in. The prize-holder held out the leather bag, and Bertie caught it as he pa.s.sed.

But the lanky youth, disappointed in his expectations, having puffed himself for nothing, beheld the reward of his endeavours s.n.a.t.c.hed from his grasp with a burning sense of injury. Struggling to his feet he gave his emotions words.