True Tilda Part 17

"You mustn' mind what Mr. Mortimer says," she a.s.sured the child encouragingly--"it's on'y his way."

Mr. Mortimer stepped jauntily across the gang-plank, declaiming with so much of gesture as a heavy market-basket permitted--

"The pirates of Parga, who dwell by the waves, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave by the beach, Smiles, the long galley and oar--"

"I have done it, Smiles. In the words of the old-time cla.s.sical geometer, I have found it; and as he remarked on another occasion (I believe subsequently), 'Give me where to stand, and I will move the Universe.' His precise words, if I recall the original Greek, were _Dos Pou Sto_--and the critical ear will detect a manly--er--self-reliance in the terse monosyllables. In these days," pursued Mr. Mortimer, setting down the market-basket, unb.u.t.toning his furred overcoat, extracting a green and yellow bandanna from his breastpocket and mopping his heated brow, "in these days we have lost that self-confidence. We are weary, disillusioned. We have ceased to expect gold at the rainbow's foot.

Speaking without disrespect to the poet Sh.e.l.ley"--here he lifted his hat and replaced it--"a new Peneus does _not_ roll his fountains against the morning star, whatever that precise--er--operation may have been.

But let us honour the aspiration, Smiles, though the chill monitor within forbid us to endorse it. 'A loftier Argo'"--Mr. Mortimer indicated the _Success to Commerce_ with a sweep of the hand--

"A loftier Argo cleaves the main Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus--you'll excuse the comparison--sings again, And loves, and weeps--and dies."

"Stanislas, you have not forgotten the eggs, I hope?" interposed the voice of Mrs. Mortimer from the cabin.

"I have not, my bud. Moreover, as I was just explaining to our friend, I have secured a _Pou Sto_--a hall, my chick--or perhaps it might be defined more precisely as a--er--loft. It served formerly--or, as the poets would say, whilom--as a barracks for the Salvation Army; in more recent times as a store for--er--superphosphates. But it is commodious, and possesses a side-chamber which will serve us admirably for a green-room when the proprietor--an affable person by the name of Tench-- has removed the onions at present drying on the floor; which he has engaged to do."

"Are you tellin' me," inquired Sam, "that you've been and 'ired the room?"

"At the derisory charge of four-and-six for the night. As a business man, I believe in striking while the iron is hot. Indeed, while we are on the subject, I may mention that I have ordered the bills. _Professor and Madame St. Maw_--my Arabella will, I know, forgive my reverting to the name under which she won her maiden laurels--it cost me a pang, my dear Smiles, to reflect that the fame to be won here, the honour of having popularised HIM, here on the confines of his native Arden, will never be a.s.sociated with the name of Mortimer. _Sic vos non vobis_, as the Mantuan has poignantly observed. But for the sake of the children-- and, by the way, how do my bantlings find themselves this morning?

Tol-lollish, I trust?--for the sake of the children it was necessary, as we used to say with the Pytchley, to obscure 'the scent. Talking of scent, Smiles, it might be advisable--what with the superphosphates and the onions--to take some counteracting steps, which your ingenuity may be able to suggest. The superphosphates especially are--er--potent.

And, by one of those coincidences we meet, perhaps, oftener than we note, Mr. Tench's initial is 'S'--standing for Samuel."

Mr. Mortimer extracted an egg from his basket and rubbed it with his bandanna thoughtfully before pa.s.sing it down to his wife.

"So you've been an' ordered the bills too?" murmured Mr. Bossom.

"And what will the bills run to?--if, as the treasurer, I may make so bold."

"To the sum of five s.h.i.+llings precisely, which will, of course, be hypothecated as a first charge upon our takings, and which I ask you, my dear Smiles, as treasurer to debit to that account in due form, here and now." It would have been hard to conceive any manner more impressively business-like than Mr. Mortimer's as he made this demand. "You will excuse my putting it so plainly, Smiles, but I may venture a guess that in the matter of conducting a theatrical tour you are, comparatively speaking, a tiro?"

"I've got to account to 'Ucks, if that's what you mean," Sam a.s.sented.

"The bill, Smiles, is the theatrical agent's first thought; the beginning which is notoriously half the battle. For three-inch lettering--and to that I restricted myself--five s.h.i.+llings can only be called dirt cheap. Listen--"

PROFESSOR AND MADAME ST. MAUR, OF THE LEADING LONDON THEATRES

PART I.--WITH VOICE AND LUTE, A POT-POURRI PART II.--AN HOUR WITH THE BEST DRAMATISTS

THE WHOLE TO CONCLUDE WITH THAT SIDE-SPLITTING DUOLOGUE ENt.i.tLED,

'COURTs.h.i.+P IN THE RAIN'

Pa.s.sION WITH REFINEMENT AND MIRTH WITHOUT VULGARITY

_Reserved Seats, One s.h.i.+lling. Unreserved, Sixpence._ _Gallery (limited), Threepence only_

DOORS OPEN AT 7.30; TO COMMENCE AT 8.

CARRIAGES AT HALF-PAST TEN

"Why carriages?" asked Mr. Bossom.

"It's the usual thing," answered Mr. Mortimer.

"You bet it isn't, at Tizzer's Green. Well, the first job is breakfast, an' after breakfast we'll get Old Jubilee round by the footbridge an'

make s.h.i.+ft to borrow a cart down at Ibbetson's, for the scenery.

You didn' forget the bacon?"

Mr. Mortimer unwrapped a parcel of greasy paper and exhibited six slices.

"A Baconian--O, Shakespeare, forgive!" He said this in a highly jocular manner, and accompanied it with a wink at Tilda, who did not understand the allusion. But again she felt the child's hand thrill and tremble, and turned about, eyeing him curiously. Her movement drew upon him the Mortimerian flow, ever ebullient and ever by trifles easily deflected.

"Yes, Arthur Miles--if I may trouble you to pa.s.s it down to the cook's galley--thank you; these eggs too--be careful of them--Yes, we are bound for Stratford-on-Avon, Shakespeare's birthplace!" Again he lifted and replaced his hat. "Enviable boy! What would young Stanislas Mortimer not have given at your age to set eyes on that Mecca! Yet, perchance, he may claim that he comes, though late, as no unworthy votary.

A Pa.s.sionate Pilgrim, shall we say? Believe me, it is in the light of a pilgrimage that I regard this--er--jaunt. Shall we dedicate it to youth, and name it Childe Arthur's Pilgrimage?"

By this time smoke was issuing in a steady stream from the stove-pipe above the cabin-top, and presently from within came the hiss and fragrance of bacon frying. Sam Bossom had stepped ash.o.r.e, and called to the children to help in collecting sticks and build a fire for the tea-kettle. Tilda, used though she was to nomad life, had never known so delightful a picnic. Only her eyes wandered back apprehensively, now and then, to the smoke of the great town. As for Arthur Miles--Childe Arthur, as Mr. Mortimer henceforth insisted on their calling him--he had apparently cast away all dread of pursuit. Once, inhaling the smell of the wood fire, he even laughed aloud--a strange laugh, and at its close uncannily like a sob. Tilda, watching him quietly, observed that he trembled too--trembled all over--from time to time. She observed, too, that this happened when he looked up from the fire and the kettle; but also that in looking up he never once looked back, that his eyes always wandered along the still waterway and to the horizon ahead.

This puzzled her completely.

Breakfast followed, and was delightful, though not unaccompanied by terrors. A barge hove in sight, wending downwards from Bursfield, and the children hid. It pa.s.sed them, and after ten minutes came a couple from the same direction, with two horses hauling at the first, and the second (which Sam called a b.u.t.ty-boat) towed astern. Each boat had a steersman, and the steersman called to Sam and asked for news of his young woman; whereupon Sam called back, offering to punch their heads for twopence. But it was all very good-natured. They pa.s.sed on laughing, and the children re-emerged. The sun shone; the smoke of the embers floated against it, across the boat, on the gentlest of breezes; the food was coa.r.s.e, but they were hungry; the water motionless, but Mr.

Mortimer's talk seemed to put a current into it, calling them southward and to high adventures--southward where no smoke was, and the swallows skimmed over the scented water-meads. Even the gaudily-painted cups and saucers, which Mr. Mortimer produced from a gaudily-painted cupboard, made part of the romance. Tilda had never seen the like. They were decorated round the rims with bands of red and green and yellow; the very egg-cups were similarly banded; and portraits of the late Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort decorated the cupboard's two panels.

Breakfast over, she helped Mr. Mortimer to wash up, and while she helped was conscious of a new and uncomfortable feeling, of which she could make no account with herself. It was not the stuffiness of the cabin that oppressed her; nor the dread of pursuit; nor anxiety for Arthur Miles, lest he should run off and fall into mischief. By stooping a little she could keep him in view, for he had settled himself on the after-deck, and was playing with 'Dolph--or, rather, was feeling 'Dolph's ears and paws in a wondering fas.h.i.+on, as one to whom even a dog was something new and marvellous; and 'Dolph, stretched on his side in the suns.h.i.+ne, was undergoing the inspection with great complaisance.

No; the cause of her restlessness was yet to seek.

She went out and sat upon the cabin step for awhile, deep in thought, her eyes fixed on Sam Bossom, who, just beyond the cabin roof, was stooping over the well and untying its tarpaulins. By and by she sprang to her feet and walked forward to him.

"Mr. Bossom," she said with decision, "I know what's the matter with me."

"Then," answered Sam, "you 're luckier than most people."

"I want a wash."

"Do you, now? Well, as to that, o' course you're the best judge; but I 'adn't noticed it."

"You wouldn't, 'ardly," said Tilda, "seein' as I 'ad one on'y yestiddy.

But that's the worst of 'orspitals. They get you inside, an' a'most before you know where you are, they've set up a 'abit. I dessay it'll wear off, all right; but oh, Mr. Bossom--"

"Would you mind callin' me Sam? It's more ushual."

"Oh, Mr. Sam, this mornin' I'm feelin' it all over. If I got a pailful out o' the ca.n.a.l, now?"

"I wouldn' recommend it--not 'ereabouts." Sam, eyeing her with his head c.o.c.ked slightly aside, spoke gently as one coaxing a victim of the drink habit. "But, as it 'appens, a furlong this side of Ibbetson's you'll find the very place. Take Arthur Miles along with you. He'll be thankful for it, later on--an' I'll loan you a cake o' soap."

CHAPTER X.