Chapter 18

straight. I didn't want it set up all crissmacross, mind 'ee, and you have to draw a line same as when you're plantin' 'taties."

"Well, Mr. B-B-Barton, I'm sorry Mr. Smith isn't at home, but the f-fact is he's been for a voyage round the world, and won't be home till eleven."

"That's a good 'un. Round the world! Why, I tell 'ee this was only a se'nnight ago. I seed him myself. He couldn't get a half nor a quarter round the world in the time. My son Jock be a sailor, and he don't do it under six months. That won't wash with Isaac Barton. No, no, if he'll be home at eleven he hain't been round the world. Anyway, I'll bide till he comes. I dussn't show my face to home without _£_4 2_s._ 4-1/2_d._, railway fare extry."

"If that's the case I'd b-better p-p-pay you myself. Mr. Smith will settle with me. Here's a f-f-five-pound note: that will pay your b-b-bill and your f-fare, and leave something over for a b-bed in the village if you can't get home to-night."

"Well now, that's handsome, be dazed if it hain't."

"Just receipt your bill, w-will you? By the b-bye, Mr. Smith didn't pay you anything on account?"

"I won't tell a lie. He did. He give me a pound, but that don't come in the reckonin'. Hay was _£_3, wood fifteen shillin', men's time _£_1, beer two shillin', odds and ends five shillin', nails four-pence, twine a ha'penny, makin' _£_5, 2_s._ 4-1/2_d._ I've a-took off _£_1, leavin' _£_4 2_s_. 4-1/2_d._"

"Very well. Here's a s-stamp."

The farmer receipted the bill.

"Thank'ee, sir." He cleared his throat, "If I med make so bold, sir, meanin' no offence--"

"What n-now?"

"Why, sir, speakin' in my simple common way, I never hears a body stutter in his talk but I think of my brother Sam and how he cured hisself. He was a terrible bad stutterer in his young days, he was, nearly bustin' hisself tryin' to get it out, poor soul. But a clever parson chap learned him how to cure hisself, and if I med make so bold, I'll tell 'ee how 'twas done."

"I shall be d-delighted."

"Well, this parson chap--ah! he was a clever feller, everywhere except in the pulpit--he said to my brother, 'Sam,' says he--he always talked in that homely way--'Sam, poor feller, I'll tell 'ee what the bishop told me when I stuttered so bad I couldn't say 'Dearly beloved brethren' without bub--bub--bubbing awful. 'Say the bub--bub--bub inside yerself,' says he, 'and then you can stutter as long as you like without a soul knowin' it. My brother Sam thowt 'a med as well give it a trial, and he did, and bless 'ee, in a week he could talk as straightforward as the Prime Minister, and no one 'ud ever know what a terrible lot of b's and m's and other plaguey letters he swallered. Try it, sir; say 'Baby mustn't bother mummy' that way ten times every morning afore breakfast, and 'Pepper-pots and mustard plasters' afore goin' to bed, and I lay you'll get over it as quick as my brother Sam. Good-night, sir and miss, and thank 'ee."

"Why _do_ you pretend so?" said Kate, laughing, when the door was shut.

"My dear Kate, I have stuttered for pleasure and profit ever since I discovered the efficacy of it at school. When I didn't know my lesson one day I put on a stammer, and my bub--bub--bubbing, as the farmer calls it, made the master so uncomfortable that, ever afterwards, at the first sign of it he passed me over. That's why I'm such a fool to-day."

"You're incorrigible. Come, it's time to dress for dinner."

The time between dinner and eleven passed all too slowly. Mrs. Smith and Barracombe played cribbage; Kate was restless, opening a book, laying it down, touching the piano, going to the window and peering out into the dark.

"Why are you so restless to-night, Kate?" asked her mother. "One would think that Charley had been away for months instead of a week."

"Ah, but you see, Mother, he hasn't--"

"Hasn't what--Fifteen two, fifteen four--Well, Kate?"

"Has never been quite so late home on his last night of leave, has he, Mother?"

"That is true--one for his nob. I really think they ought to make him a captain, for he seems to be an exceedingly useful officer. He went away last Thursday, as I understood, on some business connected with a wreck. I do hope none of the poor men were drowned. I often think of my husband, Mr. Barracombe, on the other side of the world, going about among those dreadful coral reefs, and I wish he would retire and live safely at home. I could never understand what he finds interesting in bits of stone and things of that sort, but of course he is a very distinguished man."

So the good lady prattled on, placidly unconscious of her nearness to the border-line between comedy and tragedy.

The clock struck eleven.

"Thank you, Mr. Barracombe; I have enjoyed the game," said Mrs. Smith. "Charley will soon be here."

"Let us go to the door," said Kate. "Perhaps we shall hear him."

"Mr. Barracombe will go with you, Kate; I am a little afraid of the night air. Wrap yourself up."

The two went to the conservatory door, overlooking the park. The sky was clear, the air was still; not a sound was to be heard. Every now and then a broad flash of light fleetingly illuminated the sky; it was no doubt the searchlight at Spithead.

"I wish he would come," said Kate. "It would be terrible if anything went wrong at the very last. How far is it across the Atlantic?"

"It's three thousand five hundred miles to Liverpool from New York, and rather more from Toronto; a ticklish journey, with no chance of landing till he gets to Ireland."

"It makes me shudder to think of him crossing the sea in that frail machine."

"People shuddered at the first railway train, speed ten miles an hour; now we grumble at fifty. In a few years we shall have an aerial Marathon, with the circumference of the globe for the course."

"Hark! What is that?"

"The rumble of a train," said Barracombe, after a moment's silence. "Shall we walk down to the sheds? There's a clear view from there, without trees; we could see the aeroplane a long way off, though probably we should hear it first."

They went on, remained at the sheds for some minutes, scanning the sky, then retraced their steps. A quarter-past eleven struck. Kate grew more and more anxious, and Barracombe found it more and more difficult to talk unconcernedly. They returned to the house, and entering through the conservatory, discovered Mrs. Smith asleep in her chair. Barracombe noiselessly put some coal on the fire, and they stole out again.

Half-past eleven.

"Don't you think you had better go to bed, Kate?"

"I couldn't sleep if I did, Billy. I couldn't even lie still. Oh, how helpless one feels! Charley may be drowning, and we don't know it, and can't do anything to help."

"Pull yourself together, Kate. I am sure he is all right. He probably started later than he intended. You may be sure he wouldn't start unless the engine was in thorough good order. Let us go in and play patience."

"No, no; I must move. Let us walk down the road."

Barracombe was more perturbed than he would admit. It was unlike Smith to miscalculate. His telegram was probably sent off at the moment of starting, or even after he had started, from Toronto. If the engine had worked at all, it would work at full speed, so that the loss of time on the journey implied either contrary winds, a mistaken course, or a serious mishap. Kate was so little in the mood for talking that Barracombe in responsive silence could toss the various probabilities about in his mind until he felt a nervous excitability that annoyed him.

They walked up and down the silent road. The church clock struck a quarter to twelve. The minutes dragged until it was again heard. A little after twelve they stopped short at the same moment; Kate grasped Barracombe's arm.

"Listen!" she said.

A faint sound, like the murmur of the wind, but becoming louder with extraordinary rapidity.

"Oh, Billy!" cried the girl. "Run; he'll be at the sheds first."

She caught his hand and tugged him towards the park gate, a hundred yards distant.

"My dear Kate!" he protested; "I'm not so young as I was. _Let_ him be there first, confound him!"

But he ran all the same. The engine was roaring overhead, _fortissimo_; looking up, the two panting runners saw the flashlight. A sudden silence, as when the word _tacet_ in an orchestral score hushes to silence bassoons and horns, drums and cymbals, all the instruments that but a moment before were convulsing the air with myriad waves of sound.

"He's gliding!" cried Kate, standing breathless at the door of the shed. The machine descended silently and rested on the smooth level sward. Kate darted forward.

"Oh, Charley!" she cried; "you've come!"