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Hocken and Hunken by A. T. Quiller Couch

A >> A. T. Quiller Couch >> Hocken and Hunken




"Why, o' course you will! . . . 'Twas your own suggestion, mind you.
'Takin' an' interest in agriculture' was your words. I don't promise,
o' course, that you'll make much of it, first along. Learnin's half the
fun--"

But here Mrs Bosenna's voice called to them, and they turned together
almost guiltily to see her climbing the slope above the mow-hay, with
springy gait and cheeks charmingly flushed by recent caresses of the
kitchen-fire.

"If you care for it," she greeted them, "there's just time for a stroll
to Higher Parc and back while Dinah lays tea. A breath of fresh air
will do me all the good in the world"--little she looked to be in need
of it--"and I don't suppose either of you knows what a glorious view
you'll get up there? All the harbour and shipping at your feet, and
miles of open Channel beyond! My poor dear Robert used to say there
wasn't its equal in Cornwall."

Cai could assure her in all innocence that he had never heard tell of
Higher Parc and its famous view; nor did it occur to him to turn and
interrogate his friend, who was flushing guiltily.

If Mrs Bosenna saw the flush, she ignored it. She led the way to a
stile; clambered over it, declining their help, agile as a maid of
seventeen; and struck a footpath slanting up and across a turnip-field
at the back of the farmstead. The climb, though not steep, was
continuous, and the chimneys of Rilla lay some twenty or thirty feet
below them, when they reached a second stile and, overing it, stood on
the edge of a mighty field, the extent of which could not be guessed,
for it domed itself against the sky, cutting off all view of hedge or
limit beyond.

"This is Higher Parc," announced Mrs Bosenna. "Ten acres."

"Oh?" exclaimed Cai with a sudden flash of memory. "And stubble!"

He glanced at 'Bias. But 'Bias, who, if he heard the innuendo, read
nothing in it, was gazing up the slope as though he had never set eyes
on Higher Parc before in all his life.

They made their way up across the stubble, Mrs Bosenna picking her steps
daintily among the sharp stalks that shone like a carpet stiff with gold
against the level sunset. The shadows of the three walked ahead of
them, stretching longer and longer, vanishing at length over the ridge.
. . . And the view from the ridge was magnificent, as Mrs Bosenna had
promised. The slope at their feet hid the jetties--or all save the tops
of the loading-cranes: but out in midstream lay the sailing vessels and
steamships moored to the great buoys, in two separate tiers, awaiting
their cargoes. Of the sailing vessels there were Russians, with no
yards to their masts, British coasters of varying rig, Norwegians, and
one solitary Dutch galliot. But the majority flew the Danish flag--your
Dane is fond of flying his flag, and small blame to him!--and these
exhibited round bluff bows and square-cut counters with white or
varnished top-strakes and stern-davits of timber. To the right and
seaward, the eye travelled past yet another tier, where a stumpy Swedish
tramp lay cheek-by-jowl with two stately Italian barques--now
Italian-owned, but originally built in Glasgow for traffic around the
Horn--and so followed the curve of the harbour out to the Channel, where
sea and sky met in a yellow flood of potable gold. To the left the
river-gorge wound inland, hiding its waters, around overlapping bluffs
studded with farmsteads and (as the eye threaded its way into details)
peopled here and there with small colonies of farm-folk working hard,
like so many groups of ants,--some cutting, others saving, the yellow
corn, all busy forestalling night, when no man can work.

Uplands, where the harvesters
Pause in the swathe, shading their eyes, to watch
Or barge or schooner stealing up from sea:
Themselves in twilight, she a twilit ghost
Parting the twilit woods.

. . . While Cai and 'Bias stood at gaze, drinking it all in, Mrs
Bosenna--whose senses were always quick--turned, looked behind her, and
uttered a little scream.

"Steers! . . . That Middlecoat's steers--they've broken fence again!
Oh--oh! and whatever shall I do?"

Cai and 'Bias, wheeling about simultaneously, were aware of a small
troop of horned cattle advancing towards them leisurably, breasting the
golden rays on the stubble-field, and spreading as they advanced.

"Do, ma'am?" echoed 'Bias, taking in the situation at a glance.
"Why, turn 'em back, to be sure!" He started off to meet the herd.

"--While you run for the stile," added Cai, preparing to follow as
bravely. But Mrs Bosenna caught his arm.

"I'm--I'm so silly," she confessed in a tremulous whisper,
"about horned beasts--when they don't belong to me."

"Dangerous, are they?" asked Cai. He lingered, although 'Bias had
advanced some twenty paces to meet the herd, three or four of which had
already come to a halt, astonished at being thus interrupted in an
innocent ramble. "We'll head 'em off while you run."

"No, no!" pleaded Mrs Bosenna; and Cai hung irresolute, for the pressure
on his arm was delicious. It crossed his mind for a moment that a lady
so timid with cattle had no business to be dwelling alone at Rilla Farm.

"It's different--with my own cows," gasped Mrs Bosenna, as if
interpreting and answering this thought in one breath. "I'm used to
them--but Mr Middlecoat will insist on keeping these wild beasts!--
though he knows I'm a lone woman and they're not to be held by any
fences--"

"I'd like to give that Middlecoat a piece of my mind," growled Cai, and
swore. His arm by this time was about Mrs Bosenna's waist, and she was
yielding to it. But he saw 'Bias still steadily confronting the herd--
saw him lift an arm, a hand grasping a hat, and wave it violently--saw
thereupon the steers swing about and head back for the gate, heads down,
sterns heaving and plunging. Cai swore again and reluctantly loosened
his embrace.

"Run, _dear!_" The word drummed in his ears as he pelted to 'Bias's
rescue. 'Bias, as a matter of fact, needed neither rescue nor support.
The steers after spreading and scattering before his first onset, were
converging again in a rush back upon the open gateway. They charged
through it in a panic, jostling, crushing through the narrow way: and
'Bias, still frantically waving his hat, had charged through it after
them before Cai, assured now that his friend had the mastery, halted and
drew breath, holding a hand to his side.

'Bias had disappeared. Cai heard his voice, at some little distance,
still chivvying the steers down the lane beyond the gate. . . .
Then, as it seemed, another voice challenged 'Bias's, and the two were
meeting in angry altercation.

"Mr Middlecoat!" gasped a voice close behind him. Cai swung about, and
to his amazement confronted Mrs Bosenna. Instead of retreating she had
followed up the pursuit.

"But I told you--" he began, in a tone of indignant command.

"You don't know Mr Middlecoat's temper. I'm afraid--if they meet--"
She hurried by him, towards the gate.

Cai took fresh breath and dashed after her. They passed the gateway
neck and neck. At a turning some fifty yards down the lane--Cai leading
now by a stride or two--they pulled up, panting.

'Bias, his back blocking the way, stood there confronting a young
farmer: and the young farmer's face was red with a bull-fury.

"You damned trespasser!"

"Trespasser?" echoed 'Bias, squaring up. "What about your damned
trespassing cattle?"

Mrs Bosenna stepped past Cai and flung herself between the combatants.
Strange to say she ignored 'Bias, and faced the enemy, to plead with
him.

"Mr Middlecoat, how can you be so foolish? He's as good as a
prize-fighter!"

The young farmer stared and lowered his guard slowly.

"Your servant, ma'am! . . . A prize-fighter? Why couldn't he have told
me so, at first?"



CHAPTER XIII.


FAIR CHALLENGE.

Again the two friends traversed back the valley road in silence: but
this time they made no attempt to deceive themselves or to deceive one
another by charging their constraint upon the atmosphere or the scenery.
Each was aware that their friendship had a crisis to be overcome; each
sincerely pitied the other, with some twinge of compunction for his own
good fortune; each longed to make a clean breast--"a straight quarrel is
soonest mended," says the proverb,--and each, as they kept step on the
macadam, came separately to the same decision, that the occasion must be
taken that very evening, when pipes were lit after supper. The reader
will note that even yet, on the very verge of the crisis, Cai and 'Bias
owned:

"Two souls with but a single thought,
Two hearts that beat as one."

Now, in accordance with routine, supper should have been served that
evening at 'Bias's table. But Cai--on his way upstairs to titivate--
perceived that the lamp was lit and the cloth spread in his own parlour;
and, as he noted this with a vague surprise, encountered Mrs Bowldler.

"Which, if it is agreeable, we are at home to Captain Hunken this
evening," Mrs Bowldler began, in a panting hurry, and continued with a
catch of the breath, "Which if you see it in a different light, I must
request of you, sir, to allow Palmerston to carry down my box, and you
may search it if you wish."

"Oh! Conf--" began Cai in his turn, and checked himself. "I beg your
pardon, ma'am; but it really does seem as if I never reach home nowadays
without you meet me at the foot of the stairs, givin' notice.
What's wrong this time?"

"If you drive me to it, sir," said Mrs Bowldler in an aggrieved tone,
"it's Captain Hunken's parrot."

"Captain Hunken's parrot?" echoed Cai, genuinely surprised; for, in his
experience, this bird was remarkable, if at all, for an obese lethargy.
It could talk, to be sure. Now and again it would ejaculate
"Scratch Polly," or "Polly wants a kiss," in a perfunctory way; but on
the whole he had never known a more comfortable or a less loquacious
bird.

"He--he made a communication to me this afternoon," said Mrs Bowldler
delicately; "or, as you might prefer to put it, he passed a remark."

"What was it?"

Mrs Bowldler cast a glance behind her at the gas jet. "I really
couldn't, sir! Not even if you were to put out the light; and as a
gentleman you won't press it."

"Certainly not," Cai assured her. He mused. "It's odd now; but I've
always regarded that parrot as rather a dull bird: though of course I've
never hinted that to 'Bias--to Captain Hunken."

"He wasn't dull this afternoon," asseverated Mrs Bowldler. "Oh, not by
any manner of means!"

"Has he ever--er--annoyed you in this way before?"

"Never, sir."

"Has the boy ever heard him use--er--this kind o' language?"

"Which if you understand me, sir," explained Mrs Bowldler still more
delicately, "the remark in question would not apply to a male party: not
by any stretch. You may answer me, sir, that--the feathered tribes not
being Christians--they don't calculate who's listening, but behave as
the spirit moves them, like Quakers. To which I answer _you_, sir, that
makes it all the worse. As it transpired, Palmerston was at the moment
brushing down these very stairs, here, in the adjoining: which some
might call it luck and others again Providence. But put it we'd
happened to be cleaning out the room together, I must have sunk through
the floor, and what would have happened to the boy's morals I leave you
to guess."

Cai had to allow the cogency of this.

"As a matter of fact, sir," Mrs Bowldler continued, "I sounded
Palmerston later. He declares to me he has never heard the creature use
any bad language; and I believe him, for he went on to say that if he
_had_, he'd have mentioned it to me. But you see my position, sir?
It might even have happened with you two single gentlemen in the room.
. . . Stay another twenty-four hours in the house I will not, with the
chance of it staring me in the face."

Cai rubbed his chin. "I see," said he after a moment. "Well, it's
awkward, but I'll speak to Captain Hunken."

He did so, almost as soon as he and 'Bias had gloomily finished their
supper--a repast which largely consisted of odds-and-ends (the _debree_,
in Mrs Bowldler's language) of yester-night's banquet. Each, as he ate,
unconsciously compared it--such is our frail humanity--less with the
good cheer of which it should have been a reminder than with the fresh
abundance of Mrs Bosenna's larder. A bachelor table and bachelor habits
are all very well--until you have tasted the other thing.

To talk of the parrot, for which 'Bias had an inexplicable affection,
might be awkward, as Cai had promised. But it was less ticklish anyhow
than to broach the subject uppermost in the minds of both; and Cai
opened on it with a sense of respite, if not of relief.

"By the way," said he, lighting his pipe and crossing his legs, "I had a
chat with Mrs Bowldler before supper. She came to me complainin'
about"--(puff)--"about your parrot. It seems she has taken a dislike to
the bird."

"Finds his talk monotonous?" suggested 'Bias after a pause, during which
he, too, puffed. Strange to say, he showed no vexation. His tone was
complacent even.

"I wouldn' say that azackly. . . ."

"I'll admit 'tis monotonous," 'Bias went on, between puffs. "Call it
nothing at all if you like: I don't take no truck in birds'-talk, for my
part--don't mind how same it is. If that's the woman's complaint, she
was free to teach it new words any time."

"But it isn't."

"Then I don't see what grievance she can have," said 'Bias with entire
composure. "The bird's shapely and well-grown beyond the usual. . . .
Perhaps her objection is to parrots in general--eh?" 'Bias withdrew the
pipe-stem from his lips and stared hardily along it. "There's no need
to trouble, anyway," he added, "for, as it happens, I'm givin' the bird
away."

"Eh?" The interrogation sounded like a faint echo.

"To-morrow. To Mrs Bosenna. Why shouldn't I?"

Cai felt his body stiffen as he sat. For the moment he made no answer:
then--

"Well, 'tis your affair--in a sense," he said; "but I shouldn't, if I
was you."

"I promised it to her this very day. She was confidin' to me that she
finds it lonely up at Rilla, and I don't wonder."

"She've confided the same thing to me several times, off and on," said
Cai.

"Ah?" . . . 'Bias was unmoved. "Then maybe it'll help ye to guess how
the land lies."

"It do, more or less," Cai agreed: and then, as a bright thought struck
him. "Why shouldn't we lend her the musical box? It's--it's more
reliable, any way."

"'Twouldn't be much account as a pet, would it?" retorted 'Bias.
"Now look here, Cai!" he swung about in his chair, and for the first
time since the conversation started the pair looked one another straight
in the eyes. "You an' me'd best come to an understandin' and get it
over. I don't mind tellin' you, as man to man, that I've been thinkin'
things out; and the upshot is--I don't say 'tis certain, but 'tis
probable--that in the near futur' I shall be spendin' a heap o' my time
at Rilla."

"You'll be welcome. I can almost answer for it," Cai assured him
heartily.

"You've noticed it, eh? . . . Well, that saves a lot o' trouble."
With a grunt of relief 'Bias turned his gaze again upon the empty grate
and sat smoking for a while. "I'd a sort o' fear it might come on ye
sudden . . . eh? What's the matter?" He turned about again, for Cai
had emitted an audible groan.

"I'm sorry for ye, 'Bias--you can't think--"

"Oh, you can stow that bachelor chaff," interrupted 'Bias with entire
cheerfulness. "I used to feel that way myself, or pretend to.
It's different when a man _knows_."

"I can't let ye go on like this!" Cai groaned again. "Stop it, 'Bias--
do!"

"Stop it?" 'Bias stared. He was plainly amazed.

"I mean, stop talkin' about it! I do, indeed."

Still 'Bias stared. Of a sudden a partial light broke in upon him.
"Good Lord!" he muttered. He arose, knocked the ashes from his pipe,
laid it carefully on the chimney-shelf, slid his hands under his
coat-tails, and very solemnly faced about.

"I'd an inklin' o' this, once or twice, and I don't mind confessin' it,"
said he, looking down with a compassionate air which Cai found
insupportable. "Tho' 'twas no more than an inklin', and I put it aside,
seein' as how no man with eyes could mistake the one she favoured."

"Meanin' me, o' course," interjected Cai, jabbing the tobacco down in
his pipe.

"_You?_" 'Bias opened his eyes wide: then he smiled an indulgent smile.
"Ho--you must excuse me--but if that isn' too rich!"

"You needn't start grinnin' like that, or you may end by grinnin' on the
wrong side of your face." Cai, instead of pitying his friend's
infatuation, was fast losing his temper. "What'd you say if I told you
I had proofs?"

"I'd say you was a plumb liar," answered 'Bias with equal promptness,
candour, and aplomb. "Proofs? _What_ proofs?"

Cai hesitated a moment. . . . After all, what proof had he to cite?
A gentle pressure of the arm, for example, is not producible evidence.
"Never you mind," said he sullenly. "You'll have proof enough when the
time comes."

'Bias received this with a dry smile. "I thought as much. You haven't
any, my sonny--not so much as would cover a threepenny-bit."

"You have, I suppose?" sneered Cai.

"Heaps."

"Very well; let's have a sample. . . . You won't find it on the
mantelpiece," for 'Bias had turned about and was picking up his pipe
again with great deliberation.

"I've no wish to hurt your feelin's undooly," said he, eyeing the bowl
for a moment and tapping out the ashes into his palm.

"Don't mind _me!_"

"But I _do_ mind ye. . . . See here now, Cai," he resumed after a short
pause, "we've known one another--let me see--how long?"

"Seventeen years, come the twenty-first of November next," quickly
responded Cai, fumbling at the tobacco-jar. "In Rotterdam, if you'll
remember--our vessels lyin' alongside. 'Hullo!' says you."

"Far as I remember, you asked me aboard."

"Yes. 'Hullo!' says you; 'that's a pretty-lookin' craft o' your'n.'
'She'll work in' an' out o' most places,' says I. 'Speedy too, I
reckon,' says you, 'for a hard-wood ship; though a bit fine forra'd.
A wet boat, I doubt?' 'Not a bit,' says I; 'that's a mistake strangers
are apt to make about the _Hannah Hoo_. Like to step aboard an' cast a
look over her fittin's? I can show ye something in the way of teak
panels,' says I: and you came. That's how it began," wound up Cai,
staring hard at the tobacco-jar, for--to tell the truth--a faint mist
obscured his vision.

'Bias, too, was staring hard, down upon the hearth-rug between his feet.

"Ay; an' from that day to this never a question atween us we couldn'
settle by the toss of a coin." He continued to stare down gloomily.
"Tossin' won't help us, not in this case," he added.

"It wouldn't be respectful."

"It wouldn't be fair, neither. . . . You may talk as you please, Cai,
but the widow favours me."

"I asked ye for proofs just now, if you remember."

"So you did. And if you remember I asked you for the same, not two
minutes afore. We can't give 'em, neither of us: and, if we could,
why--as you said a moment since--'twouldn't be respectful. Let's play
fair then, damn it!"

"Certainly," agreed Cai, striking a match and holding it to his pipe.
(But his hand shook.) "That's if you'll suggest how."

'Bias mused for a space. "Very well," said he at length; "then I'll
suggest that we both sit down and write her a letter; post the letters
together, and let the best man win."

"Couldn't be fairer," agreed Cai, after a moment's reflection.

"When I said the best man," 'Bias corrected himself, "I meant no more
than to say the man she fancies. No reflection intended on you."

"Nor on yourself, maybe?" hinted Cai, with a last faint touch of
exasperation. It faded, and--on an impulse of generosity following on a
bright inspiration which had on the instant occurred to him--
he suggested, "If you like, we'll show one another the letters before we
post 'em?"

"That's as you choose," answered 'Bias. "Or afterwards, if you like--
I shall keep a rough copy."

Now this was said with suspicious alacrity: for Cai was admittedly the
better scholar and, as a rule, revised 'Bias's infrequent business
letters and corrected their faults of spelling. But--dazzled as he was
by his own sudden and brilliant idea--no suspicion occurred to him.

"It's a bargain, then?"

"It's a bargain."

They did not shake hands upon it. Their friendship had always been
sincere enough to dispense with all formalities of friendship; they
would not have shaken hands on meeting (say) after a twenty years'
separation. They looked one another in the eyes, just for an instant,
and they both nodded.

"Cribbage to-night?" asked 'Bias.

"If 'tisn't too late," answered Cai.

He pulled out his watch, whilst 'Bias turned about to the mantel-shelf
and the clock his bulk had been hiding.

"Nine-thirty," announced Cai.

"Almost to a tick," agreed 'Bias. "'Stonishing what good time we've
kept ever since we set this clock."

"'Stonishing," Cai assented.


They played two games of cribbage and retired to bed. As he undressed
Cai remembered his omission to warn 'Bias explicitly of what--according
to Mrs Bowldler--the parrot was capable. The warning had been once or
twice on the tip of his tongue during the early part of the
conversation: but always (as he remembered) he had been interrupted.

"I'll warn him after breakfast to-morrow," said Cai to himself
magnanimously, as he arose from his prayers. "Poor old 'Bias--what a
good fellow it is, after all!"


He slept soundly, and was awakened next morning by Palmerston with the
information, "Breakfast in the adjoining to-day, sir!"--this and
"We are at home for breakfast" being the alternative formulae invented
by Mrs Bowldler.

"And Captain Hunken requests of you not to wait," added Palmerston,
again repeating what Mrs Bowldler had imparted.

"Is he lying late to-day?" asked Cai.

"He have a-gone out for an early ramble," answered Palmerston stolidly.

"Ah! to clear his brain--poor old 'Bias!" said Cai to himself, and
thought no more about it. Nor did it occur to his mind that, overnight,
Mrs Bowldler had point-blank refused to lay another meal in the room
inhabited by the parrot, until, descending to 'Bias's parlour and
becoming aware, as he lifted the teapot, that the room was brighter and
sunnier than usual, he cast a glance toward the window. The parrot-cage
no longer darkened it. Parrot and cage, in fact, were gone.

He turned sternly upon Mrs Bowldler. But Mrs Bowldler, setting down a
dish of poached eggs, had noted his glance and anticipated his question.

"Which," said she, "I am obliged to you, sir, and prompter Captain
Hunken could not have behaved. A nod, as they say, is as good as a wink
to a blind horse; but Captain Hunken, being neither blind nor a horse,
and anything so vulgar as winking out of the question, it may not
altogether apply, though the result is the same."



CHAPTER XIV.


THE LETTERS.

Having breakfasted, read his newspaper, and smoked his pipe (and still
no sign of the missing 'Bias), Cai brushed his hat and set forth to pay
a call on Mr Peter Benny.

This Mr Peter Benny--father of Mr Shake Benny, whose acquaintance we
have already made--was a white-haired little man who had known many
cares in life, but had preserved through them all a passionate devotion
to literature and an entirely simple heart: and these two had made life
romantic for him, albeit his cares had been the very ordinary ones of a
poor clerk with a long family of boys and girls, all of whom--his wife
aiding--he had brought up to fear the Lord and seen fairly started in
life. Towards the close of the struggle Fortune had chosen to smile,
rewarding him with the stewardship of Damelioc, an estate lying beside
the river some miles above Troy. This was a fine exchange against a
beggarly clerkship, even for a man so honest as Peter Benny. But he did
not hold it long. On the death of his wife, which happened in the fifth
year of their prosperity, he had chosen to retire on a small pension, to
inhabit again (but alone) the waterside cottage which in old days the
children had filled to overflowing, and to potter at literary
composition in the wooden outhouse where he had been used, after office
hours, to eke out his 52 pounds salary by composing letters for seamen.

He retained his methodical habits, and Cai found him already at work in
the outhouse, and thoroughly enjoying a task which might have daunted
one of less boyish confidence. He was, in fact, recasting the 'Fasti'
of Ovid into English verse, using for that purpose a spirited, if
literal, prose translation (published by Mr Bohn) in default of the
original, from which his ignorance of the Latin language precluded him.
For a taste:--

"What sea, what land, knows not Arion's fame!
The rivers by his song were turned as stiff as glass:
The hungry wolf stood still, the lamb did much the same--
Pursuing and pursued, producing an _impasse_--"

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