The Toll-Gate (4 page)

Since it was lit by a couple of dip-candles in tin holders, an unpleasant aroma of hot tallow hung about it. But the Captain knew from past experiences in the more primitive parts of Portugal that the human nose could rapidly accustom itself to even worse smells, and he entered the room without misgiving. Ben shut and bolted the door, set down the lantern, and produced from the cupboard a black bottle, and a thick tumbler. "I'll mix you a bumper," he offered.

The Captain, who had seated himself in the Windsor chair by the fire, grinned, but said: "Much obliged to you, but I think I'll mix it myself. If you want to make yourself useful, see if you can pull off these boots of mine!"

This operation, which took time, and all Ben's strength, did much to break the ice. It seemed to Ben exquisitely humorous that he should tumble nearly heels over head, clasping a muddied top-boot to his chest.

He began to giggle, forgetting his awe, and looked all at once much younger than John had at first supposed him to be. He disclosed, upon enquiry, that he was going on for eleven.

Having found a pair of pumps in his saddle-bag, John mixed himself a glass of hot rum and water, and sat down again with his legs stretched out before him, and his boots standing beside the hearth to dry. "That's better," he said, leaning his fair head against the high-back of the chair, and smiling sleepily across at his host. "Tell me, are we likely to be called out very often to open that gate?"

Ben shook his head. "No one don't come this way after dark much," he said. "'Sides, it's raining fit to bust itself."

"Good!" said John. "Where am I going to sleep?"

"You could have me dad's bed," suggested Ben doubtfully.

"Thank you, I will. Where do you think your dad may have gone to?"

"I dunno," said Ben simply.

"Does he often go away like this?"

"No. He never done it afore—not like this. And he ain't gone on the mop, because he ain't no fuddlecap, not me dad. And if he don't come back, they'll put me on the Parish."

"I expect he'll come back," said John soothingly. "Have you got any other relations? Brothers? Uncles?"

"I got a brother. Leastways, unless he's been drownded, I have. He was pressed. I shouldn't wonder if I was never to see him no more."

"Lord, yes, of course you will!"

"Well, I don't want to," said Ben frankly. "He's a proper jobbernoll, that's what he is. Else they wouldn't never have snabbled him. Me dad says so."

If Ben possessed other relatives, he did not know of them. His mother seemed to have died some years before; and it soon became apparent that he clung to his father less from affection than from a lively dread of being thrown on the Parish. He was convinced that if this should befall him he would be sent to work at one of the foundries in Sheffield. He lived near enough to Sheffield to know what miseries were endured by the swarms of stunted children who were employed from the age of seven in the big manufacturing towns; and it was not surprising that this fate should seem so terrible to him. There was only one worse fate known to him, and this, before long, he was to confide to John.

While he talked, and John sat sipping his rum, the wind had risen a little, bringing with it other sounds than the steady dripping of the rain. The wicket-gate for the use of travellers on foot creaked and banged gently once or twice, and when this happened Ben's face seemed to sharpen, and he broke off what he was saying to listen intently. John noticed that his eyes wandered continually towards the back door, and that the noises coming from the rear of the house seemed to worry him more than the creak of the gate. A gust of wind blew something over with a clatter. It sounded to John as though a broom, or a rake, had fallen, but it brought Ben to his feet in a flash, and drove him instinctively to John's side.

"What is it?" John said quietly.

"Him!" breathed Ben, his gaze riveted to the door.

John got up, and trod over to the door, ignoring a whimper of protest.

He shot back the bolts, and opened it, stepping out into the garden.

"There's no one here," he said, over his shoulder. "You left a broom propped against the wall, and the wind blew it over, that's all. Come and see for yourself!" He waited for a moment, and then repeated, on a note of authority: "Come!"

Ben approached reluctantly.

"Weather's fairing up," remarked John, leaning his shoulders against the doorframe, and looking up at the sky. "Getting lighter. We shall have a fine day tomorrow. Well? Can you see anyone?"

"N-no," Ben acknowledged, with a little shiver. He looked up at John, and added hopefully: "He couldn't get me, could he? Not with a big cove like you here."

"Of course not. No one could get you," John replied, shutting the door again, and going back to the fire. "You may bolt it if you choose, but there's no need."

"Yes, 'cos he might come to see me dad, and I mustn't see him, nor him me," explained Ben.

"Lord, is he as shy as all that? What's the matter with him? Is he so ugly?"

"I dunno. I never seen him. Only his shadder—onct!"

"But you've rubbed his horse down for him, haven't you?"

"No!" Ben said, staring.

"Wasn't that his blanket that you brought me for Beau?"

"No. That's Mr. Chirk's!" said Ben. "He's a——" He stopped, gave a gasp, and added quickly: "He's as good as ever twanged, he is! You don't want to go telling nobody about him! Please, sir——"

"Oh, I won't breathe a word about him! Are all your friends so shy?"

"He ain't shy. He just don't like strangers."

"I see. And does this other man—the one you're afraid of—dislike strangers too?"

"I dunno. He can't abide boys. Me dad says if he was to catch me looking at him he'd have me took off to work in the pits." His voice sank on the word, and he gave so convulsive a shudder that it was easy to see that coal-pits were to him a worse horror than foundries.

John laughed. "That's a fine Banbury story! Your dad's been hoaxing you, my son!"

Ben looked incredulous. "He could have me took off. He'd put a sack over me head, and——"

"Oh, would he? And what do you suppose I should do if anyone walked in and tried to put a sack over your head?"

"What?" asked Ben, round-eyed.

"Put a sack over his head, of course, and hand him to the nearest constable."

"You would!" Ben drew an audible breath.

"Certainly I would. Does he come here often?"

"N-no. Leastways, I dunno. After it's dark, he comes. I dunno how many times. Onct, there was two on 'em. I woke up, and heard them, talking to me dad."

"What were they talking about?"

Ben shook his head. "I didn't hear nothing but just voices. I got right under me blanket, 'cos I knew it was him."

By this time it seemed fairly certain to John that the gatekeeper's disappearance was connected in some way with Ben's mysterious bugbear; and it seemed still more certain that he was engaged upon nefarious business. What this might be John had not the remotest conjecture, and it was plainly useless to question Ben further. He got up, saying: "Well, it's high time you were under your blanket again. If anyone shouts gate, I'll attend to it, so you show me where your dad's bed is, and then be off to your own."

"You can't open the gate!" said Ben, shocked. "You're a flash cove!"

"Never mind what I am! You do what I tell you!"

Thus adjured, Ben escorted him into the toll-office, from which access to the two other rooms was obtained. One of these, where Ben slept on a truckle-bed, contained stores, but the other was furnished with some degree of comfort, the bed even being provided with cotton sheets, and a faded patchwork quilt. The Captain, having no fancy for the gatekeeper's sheets, coolly stripped them off the bed, rolled them into a bundle, and tossed them into a corner of the room. He then stretched himself out on top of the blankets, pulled the quilt over himself, and blew out the candle. For a few minutes, before falling asleep, he wondered what he was going to do if the gatekeeper did not return that night. The proper course, which would be to report the man's absence, would seem unpleasantly like a betrayal of Ben; yet no other presented itself to him. But the Captain was never one to meet troubles halfway, and he very soon stopped frowning over this problem. After all, it was probable that before morning the gatekeeper would be back at his post. Stale-drunk, too, thought John, setting little store by Ben's assurance that his dad was not one to go on the mop.

CHAPTER III.

THE Captain slept soundly, and awoke to daylight, and the sound of voices. On getting up, and looking out of the little latticed window, he saw that Ben was holding open the gate for a herd of cows to pass through, and exchanging courtesies with the boy who was driving them. A fine autumn day had succeeded the night's downpour, and the mist still lay over the fields beyond the road. A glance at the watch which he had laid on the chair beside the bed informed John that it was half-past six. He strolled into the toll-office just as Ben shut the gate, and came in.

With the daylight the worst of Ben's fears were laid to rest. He looked a different boy from the hag-ridden urchin of the previous evening; walked in whistling; and greeted the Captain with a grin.

"Your dad not back?" John asked.

The grin faded. "No. Likely he's piked."

"Run away? Why should he?"

"Well, if he ain't piked, p'raps he's gorn to roost," temporised Ben. "'Cos when he loped off, he told me to mind the gate for an hour, and he'd be back. What'll I do, gov'nor?"

This question was uttered, not in a tone of misgiving, but in one of cheerful confidence. Ben looked enquiringly up into John's face, and John realised, ruefully, that his small protégé was reposing complete trust in his willingness and ability to settle the future satisfactorily for him.

"Well, that's a problem which seems to hang in the hedge a trifle," he said. "We shall have to talk it over. But first I want a wash, and breakfast."

"I got some bacon cut, and there's eggs, and a bit of beef," offered Ben, ignoring the first of the Captain's needs as a frivolity.

"Excellent! Where's the pump?"

"Out the back. But——"

"Well, you come and work it for me," said John. "I want a towel, and some soap as well."

Considerably surprised (for the Captain looked quite clean, he thought), Ben collected a piece of coarse soap, cut from a bar, and a huckaback towel, and followed his guest into the garden. But when he discovered that the Captain, not content with sousing his head and neck, proposed to wash the whole of his powerful torso, he was moved to utter a shocked protest. "You'll catch your death!" he gasped.

The Captain, briskly rubbing the soap over his chest, and down his arms, laughed. "Not I!"

"But you don't need to go a-washing of yourself all over!"

"What, after sleeping all night in my clothes? Don't I just!" John glanced critically down at Ben, and added: "It wouldn't do you any harm to go under the pump either."

Ben stepped out of reach instinctively, but was summoned back to work the pump-handle. He would then have beat a hasty retreat, but was frustrated. A large hand caught and held him; he looked up in alarm, and saw the blue eyes laughing. "I had a wash Sunday last!" he said imploringly. "I ain't cutting no wheedle! Honest, I did!"

"Did you, by Jupiter? Then it's a week since you were clean, is it? Strip, my lad!"

"No!" said Ben tearfully, wriggling to be free of the grip on his shoulder. "I won't!"

The Captain dealt him one hard, admonitory spank. "You'd better!" he said.

His voice was perfectly good-humoured, but Ben was no fool, and, with a despairing sniff, he capitulated. It was doubtful if ever before he had been obliged to scrub his skinny person so thoroughly; and certainly no well-wisher had ever held him remorselessly under the pump, and worked it with such a will. He emerged spluttering and shivering, and eyed his persecutor with mingled respect and resentment. John tossed the towel to him, saying: "That's better! If you own another shirt, put it on!"

"What, clean mish too?" gasped Ben.

"Yes,—and comb your hair!" said John. "Bustle about, now! I'm hungry."

Half an hour later, surveying Ben across the kitchen table, he professed himself satisfied. He said that Ben looked much more the thing, an observation which caused that young gentleman's bosom to swell with indignation. His eyes were red-rimmed and watering from contact with the soap, and his skin felt as though it had been scoured. He still thought the Captain a fascinating and an awe-inspiring personage, but having watched him vigorously brushing his teeth he now suspected that he must be queer in his attic. When a hearty breakfast had been disposed of, and the Captain insisted not only that all the crockery should be washed, but that the floor should be swept clean of mud, crumbs, scraps of bacon-rind, and some decayed cabbage stalks, he was sure of it. He explained that Mrs. Skeffling, from down the road, came to clean the place every Wednesday, but the Captain paid no heed, merely telling him to fetch a broom, and to be quick about it. He himself, having discovered some blacking and a brush in the cupboard, took his boots into the garden, and set about the unaccustomed task of removing the dried mud from them. He also tried, not very successfully, to get rid of the travel stains from his buckskin breeches. He recalled, as he worked on them, Cocking's words, and realised that there was more to the care of leathers than he had supposed. In fact, the upkeep of a gentleman's wardrobe seemed to entail a great deal of unforeseen labour, not the least arduous of which was the removal of Beau's hairs from the skirts of his coat, where they obstinately stuck, resisting all efforts to brush them off.