The excursion to Salisbury was but a poor business--in fact, Rickie never got there. They were not out of the drive before Mr. Wonham began doing acrobatics. He showed Rickie how very quickly he could turn round in his saddle and sit with his face to Aeneas's tail. "I see," said Rickie coldly, and became almost cross when they arrived in this condition at the gate behind the house, for he had to open it, and was afraid of falling. As usual, he anchored just beyond the fastenings, and then had to turn Dido, who seemed as long as a battleship. To his relief a man came forward, and murmuring, "Worst gate in the parish,"pushed it wide and held it respectfully. "Thank you," cried Rickie; "many thanks." But Stephen, who was riding into the world back first, said majestically, "No, no; it doesn't count. You needn't think it does. You make it worse by touching your hat.
Four hours and seven minutes! You'll see me again." The man answered nothing.
"Eh, but I'll hurt him," he chanted, as he swung into position.
"That was Flea. Eh, but he's forgotten my fists; eh, but I'll hurt him.""Why?" ventured Rickie. Last night, over cigarettes, he had been bored to death by the story of Flea. The boy had a little reminded him of Gerald--the Gerald of history, not the Gerald of romance. He was more genial, but there was the same brutality, the same peevish insistence on the pound of flesh.
"Hurt him till he learns."
"Learns what?"
"Learns, of course," retorted Stephen. Neither of them was very civil. They did not dislike each other, but they each wanted to be somewhere else--exactly the situation that Mrs. Failing had expected.
"He behaved badly," said Rickie, "because he is poorer than we are, and more ignorant. Less money has been spent on teaching him to behave.""Well, I'll teach him for nothing."
"Perhaps his fists are stronger than yours!"
"They aren't. I looked."
After this conversation flagged. Rickie glanced back at Cadover, and thought of the insipid day that lay before him. Generally he was attracted by fresh people, and Stephen was almost fresh: they had been to him symbols of the unknown, and all that they did was interesting. But now he cared for the unknown no longer. He knew.
Mr. Wilbraham passed them in his dog-cart, and lifted his hat to his employer's nephew. Stephen he ignored: he could not find him on the map.
"Good morning," said Rickie. "What a lovely morning!""I say," called the other, "another child dead!" Mr. Wilbraham, who had seemed inclined to chat, whipped up his horse and left them.
"There goes an out and outer," said Stephen; and then, as if introducing an entirely new subject-- "Don't you think Flea Thompson treated me disgracefully?""I suppose he did. But I'm scarcely the person to sympathize."The allusion fell flat, and he had to explain it. "I should have done the same myself,--promised to be away two hours, and stopped four.""Stopped-oh--oh, I understand. You being in love, you mean?"He smiled and nodded.
"Oh, I've no objection to Flea loving. He says he can't help it.
But as long as my fists are stronger, he's got to keep it in line.""In line?"
"A man like that, when he's got a girl, thinks the rest can go to the devil. He goes cutting his work and breaking his word.
Wilbraham ought to sack him. I promise you when I've a girl I'll keep her in line, and if she turns nasty, I'll get another."Rickie smiled and said no more. But he was sorry that any one should start life with such a creed--all the more sorry because the creed caricatured his own. He too believed that life should be in a line--a line of enormous length, full of countless interests and countless figures, all well beloved. But woman was not to be "kept" to this line. Rather did she advance it continually, like some triumphant general, making each unit still more interesting, still more lovable, than it had been before. He loved Agnes, not only for herself, but because she was lighting up the human world. But he could scarcely explain this to an inexperienced animal, nor did he make the attempt.
For a long time they proceeded in silence. The hill behind Cadover was in harvest, and the horses moved regretfully between the sheaves. Stephen had picked a grass leaf, and was blowing catcalls upon it. He blew very well, and this morning all his soul went into the wail. For he was ill. He was tortured with the feeling that he could not get away and do--do something, instead of being civil to this anaemic prig. Four hours in the rain was better than this: he had not wanted to fidget in the rain. But now the air was like wine, and the stubble was smelling of wet, and over his head white clouds trundled more slowly and more seldom through broadening tracts of blue. There never had been such a morning, and he shut up his eyes and called to it. And whenever he called, Rickie shut up his eyes and winced.
At last the blade broke. "We don't go quick, do we" he remarked, and looked on the weedy track for another.
"I wish you wouldn't let me keep you. If you were alone you would be galloping or something of that sort.""I was told I must go your pace," he said mournfully. "And you promised Miss Pembroke not to hurry,""Well, I'll disobey." But he could not rise above a gentle trot, and even that nearly jerked him out of the saddle.
"Sit like this," said Stephen. "Can't you see like this?" Rickie lurched forward, and broke his thumb nail on the horse's neck. It bled a little, and had to be bound up.
"Thank you--awfully kind--no tighter, please--I'm simply spoiling your day.""I can't think how a man can help riding. You've only to leave it to the horse so!--so!--just as you leave it to water in swimming."Rickie left it to Dido, who stopped immediately.
"I said LEAVE it." His voice rose irritably. "I didn't say 'die.'
Of course she stops if you die. First you sit her as if you're Sandow exercising, and then you sit like a corpse. Can't you tell her you're alive? That's all she wants."In trying to convey the information, Rickie dropped his whip.
