CHAPTER II
The Road to London
It was approaching evening as David Harbor swung out of the drive gatesof 'The Haven,' and turned his back upon the inhospitable house and thestepmother who had behaved so disgracefully to him. His head high, aqueer sinking at the heart, but his courage undaunted for all that, hepedalled swiftly through the village of Effington, nodded to the sourold salt Jarney, who, by the way, always had a smile for David, spedpast the 'Three Pigeons' public-house, where the local tittle-tattle ofthe place was dispensed, together with ale, and was soon out in the opencountry.
'Time to sit down and think a little,' he said to himself, resting onhis pedals and allowing his machine to glide along down the incline tillit came of its own accord to a rest. 'Now, we'll sit down here and thinkthings out, and have a look into this affair. I must consider ways andmeans.'
He was a practical young fellow, was David Harbor, and already theseriousness of the move he had made was weighing upon him. Not that hewas inclined to hesitate or to go back, not that at all, only the futurewas so clouded. His movements were so uncertain; the absence of somedefinite plan or course of procedure was so embarrassing.
'Three pounds, thirteen shillings and fourpence halfpenny,' he said,emptying his purse, and counting out the money as he sat on a roadsideboulder. 'Riches a month ago when I was at school, poverty under thesecircumstances, unless--unless I can get some work and so earn money.That's what I said I'd do and do it I will. Where? Ah, London!'
Like many before him, his eyes and thoughts at once swept in thedirection of the huge metropolis, at once the golden magnet whichattracts men of ambition and resource, and the haven wherein all whohave met with dire misfortune, all who are worthless and have no longerambition, can hide themselves and become lost to the world.
'Yes, London's the place,' said David, emphatically, pocketing hismoney. 'I'll ride as far to-night as I can, eat something at apastrycook's, and sleep under a hay-stack. To-morrow I'll finish thejourney. Once in the city I'll find a job, even if it's only stevedoringdown at the docks.'
For a little while he sat on the boulder letting his mind run over pastevents; for he was still somewhat bewildered. It must be remembered thatsuch serious matters as wills and bequests had not troubled his headtill that day. Boy-like, he had had faith in those whose naturalposition should have prompted them to support the young fellow placed intheir care. He had had no suspicions of an intrigue, whereby hisstepmother wished to oust him from a fortune which his father's letterhad distinctly said was to become his. He had imagined that thingswould go on as they were till he had finished with his engineeringstudies; then it would be early enough to discuss financial matters. Hisrecent interview had been a great shock to him.
'I begin to see it all now,' he said. 'And I can understand now what Mr.Jones, the solicitor, meant when last I saw him. He wanted to warn meagainst Mr. Ebenezer, but did not dare to make any open statement. I'llgo to him: I'll take that letter.'
He had taken care to carry away with him everything he prized most, andhis father's correspondence was at that moment securely placed in aninside pocket. David laid his fingers on the letters, and then read theone in which Edward Harbor had referred to the disposal of his fortune.
'Yes, I'll take this to Mr. Jones,' repeated David, with decision. 'I'vealways liked him, and father trusted him implicitly. But I'll ask for nohelp; I mean to get along by myself, if only to show Mr. Ebenezer that Ican be as good as my word. There; off we go again. No use in sittingstill and moping.'
It was wonderful what a difference a plan made to him: David felt everso much happier. The future, instead of appearing as a huge dark cloudbefore him, dwindled away till it was but a speck; his old, sunny lookscame back to a face somewhat harassed a little while before, andthereafter David pedalled at a fine pace, placing the miles behind himswiftly, and sending the colour to his cheeks. It was getting so darkthat in a few minutes he would have to light his lamp when he detected afigure walking along the road in front of him, and as he came levelwith the man the latter hailed him.
'Helloo there,' came in cherry tones, 'how many miles do you make it toLondon?'
'Sixty-four,' answered David promptly. 'You're walking there?'
'Every inch of it,' came the hearty answer. 'I've done it before, andwill do it again. Railways are too expensive for the likes of me towaste money on 'em. You off there too?'
David jumped from his saddle, and walked his machine beside thestranger, who was obviously a sailor. His baggy breeches told that taledistinctly, while the breeziness of the man, and his many nauticalexpressions would, even without the assistance of a distinctive dress,have made his profession more than probable.
'Got a week's shore leave, and mean to walk up to see the old people,'said the stranger. 'Stoker Andus I am, from the _Indefatigable_. Who areyou? By the cut of your gib you'll be a gent same as our orfficers.Ain't that got it?'
David laughed at the man's breeziness and straight way of askingquestions.
'I'm looking for a job,' he said promptly, 'though I believe I am whatyou have described. But I've had a row at home, and now I'm off to findwork.'
The stoker, a man of some thirty years of age, came to an abrupt halt,and swung round to have a close look at David. 'Run away, has yer,' heexclaimed. 'Then, bust me, if you ain't a silly kid. I did the same oncewhen I was about your age. Ran from a home as wanted me, ran fromparents that knew what was best for me. I can see that I was a fool nowthat I'm older. Jest send her astern, mister, and let's get in and talkit over. Now, what's the rumpus? Done something you was expresslyordered not to, eh? Got into debt, perhaps. Been smokin' and takin' thegovernor's bacca? It's one of them, ain't it? And here are you a makin'your mother that wretched--'
'Heave to for a bit,' cried David, laughing in spite of himself, andunconsciously employing one of the stranger's nautical expressions. 'Youthink I'm a fool, eh? Think I'm treating some one badly?'
From the very first he had taken a fancy to the handsome, clean-shaventar tramping his way to London, and he realised in a flash that thehonest fellow, with experience of his own behind him to help, wasendeavouring to give advice, and encourage what he considered to be atruant to return home. Brusquely and in true sailor fashion Andusanswered him.
'If I'm aboard the right ship, and you've cleared off from a good home,then you are a fool, a precious big 'un, too,' he cried. 'And thereain't a doubt as you're treatin' some one badly; mostlike it's yourmother. P'raps it's your father. Anyways, let's drop anchor hereaboutsand put on a smoke. I can yarn when I'm smokin', and since it's darknow, there's no need for more hurry.'
He led the way to a gate, sat himself on the top rail, and havingproduced a cake of tobacco, a knife and a pipe, shredded some of theweed into the latter.
'Well,' he began again, when he had got the weed burning, and hugebillows of smoke issuing from his lips. 'You've had a few seconds tothink it over. Andus ain't a fool, mind you, youngster, and he ain'ttryin' to give lessons to one as has heaps more eddication. But I'veseed one as was sorry for running away from home. That's me. I know oneas has never ceased to feel that he did wrong, and has suffered inconsequence. That's me again, all the time. And I ain't a goin' to fallin alongside of another and keep me mouth shut when I know as he'sheadin' straight up for the same rocks and shoals, and is in danger ofbreakin' hisself to pieces. There you are. Take that from one who knowswhat he's talking about.'
He lapsed into silence for a while, puffing smoke from his lips, andoccasionally looking down at David, who stood within a few feet of him.As for the latter, the more the sailor talked, the more he liked theman. There was an honest ring about his breezy tones, a direct mannerabout the words he used that captivated our hero. Not for one moment washe fearful that he himself would change his plans, whatever was said.No, David had now considered his movements very thoroughly. He toldhimself that it was not he who had behaved badly. It was his stepmotherand her husband. But, in case of error, he would put the fact
s beforethis open-minded sailor.
'Supposin' you was to stop here to-night, and then ride back to-morrow,'suggested Andus, cooly, as if he were saying the most commonplace thing.'This home of yours ain't far, and you'd be there by breakfast time.They'd be so glad to see you that the row would be forgotten. You'dstart in fresh again, with new paint above and below, and everythingship-shape. What do you say to that, youngster?'
'That your intention is a good one, and your advice the same under usualconditions,' declared David, warmly. 'But this isn't an ordinary runningaway. I'll tell you how I came to leave home.'
He sat down on the rail of the gate and told Andus quietly how hisparents had treated him, and how he was sure that the two wereconspiring to oust him out of property meant for him by his dead father.'In any case,' he ended, 'I was not wanted. I was to leave the house andgo into an office, though it was well known that I hoped to go to anengineering college. I refused the office, and was told to clear out.Now, tell me frankly what you think.'
The sailor dug the blade of his knife deep into the bowl of his pipe,and stirred the contents thoroughly before he ventured to reply. Therewas a deep line across his forehead, while his eyes were half closed.David could tell that easily, for the moon was up now, and the night wasunusually bright. Then Andus struck flint and steel, and sucked flamesinto his pipe till our hero thought he would never cease.
'Tell me about this solicitor,' he suddenly demanded. 'He was a friendof your father's?'
'And of mine,' answered David. 'I like him. I am sure that he tried towarn me against the man who married my stepmother.'
'Then jest listen here, youngster,' cried Andus, breezily. 'I take backall the words I was flingin' at you. You ain't such a fool as I tookyou for. What's more, I'm precious nigh certain that it's you that'sbein' done harm to, and not these here parents of yours. A precious finecouple to be sure! Heavin' overboard on a dirty night wouldn't be toomuch for 'em. Seems to me that they has the best of the argument at thismoment. From what I've heard they has the handlin' of the money and thearrangement of things. They know everything, while you ain't got a oneto help you. But if you was to see this solicitor you'd be better off.You get right off to him and ax fer his advice. Andus may be all verywell for guiding a chap back to his home when he's makin' a fool ofhisself, same as Andus did when he was young, but bust me if he's fit toadvise here. Get right off to London.'
'I will; meanwhile we'll spend the night together. What were you goingto do?' asked David, feeling better already for his chat with thesailor.
'Why, sling me hammock under one of these here straw stacks,' criedAndus. 'It'll be warm in there, and a chap can sleep better than in astrange bed. To-morrow I'll be up at the first streak of light, andheadin' for the nearest village. I'll be able to eat a bit by then, andafterwards I'll leg it for London.'
'Then I propose that we leg it now for the nearest village, have a mealand then find a suitable stack under which to sleep. I'm real hungry;I've had little since breakfast.'
Andus fell in with the arrangement willingly, and together they trampedalong the high road till they came to a village. There they obtained ameal of bread and meat, washed down with cocoa, for Andus was one ofmany, a rapidly increasing band in the Royal Navy, who are swornteetotallers.
'And now for another smoke and a doss under a stack,' cried the sailor,as they left the village. 'The moon's that bright we might jest as wellpush on for a while till we get sleepy. Then we'll get into a harbour o'some sort, and lay to for the night. To-morrow afternoon you'll be inLondon, and with a bit of luck I'll be there by nightfall. I often get acarter or some such chap to give me a lift. Once a gent on a motor ranme clean through; but that was unusual luck.'
'I'll send you up by train,' declared David generously. 'I haven't much,but can spare enough for your ticket.'
'Then you jest won't,' came warmly from the sailor. 'I tell yer, sir, Idon't forget those days when I was a fool and ran from home. Bust me! Ihadn't too much cash, and well remember there wasn't a halfpenny tospare. You ain't got such a big cargo aboard that you can afford toheave some of it over. I'm a goin' to foot it.'
'You'll ride,' said David, with determination. 'It will bring me goodluck to do a good turn to a friend picked up on the road. Besides, Ishall have sufficient. I shall sell this bicycle the moment I get toLondon. Then I shall be able to draw from the solicitor some of theallowance I am entitled to. But I mean to work; I'll not hang aboutdepending on an allowance. I'll make a way for myself, if only to showmy stepmother that I can do so.'
The breezy sailor brought a hand down on his shoulders with such forcethat David coughed and choked.
'That's you all the time,' he shouted. 'I could see when I first took asquint at you through my weather eye that you wasn't one of the softkind. The kind fer instance that they turns out of a dry canteen, or agrocery store. Makin' a way for yerself is one of the finest things aman can have to do, only there's so few as realise it. But you'll do it;I'm tryin' the same. There's advancement for every one as shows he meansto work. But here's a lot of stacks. Pipes out; dowse all lights. Wewon't risk firing property that doesn't belong to us.'
They searched for a suitable spot, and very soon were stretched on amass of loose straw which had been piled beside one of the ricks.Pulling a heap of it over their bodies a delicious feeling of warmthsoon came to them, and in a twinkling they were asleep. The sunstreaming on his face wakened David on the following morning.
'Now,' he shouted, waking Andus, 'a wash and then on for breakfast.We'll walk together as far as the nearest station.'
Half an hour later David had the satisfaction of seeing Andus enter arailway train, and of shaking his hand heartily as the latter steamedout.
'Don't you wait a little bit,' called out the hearty sailor, waving hishand in farewell. 'Go right off to that solicitor. Stick to your guns,and you'll come through in the end.'
Far happier for the meeting with this wayfarer, and for the chat he hadhad with him, David mounted his bicycle again, and pedalled brisklyalong the main road for London. He no longer felt that doubt anduncertainty that had oppressed him on the previous day. He had made hisplans, and a man of the world, an honest fellow gifted undoubtedly withcommon sense, had approved of his actions. Henceforth he would push onwithout a halt and without hesitation.
'I'll sell the bicycle, find rooms in which to live, and insert anadvertisement for work,' he told himself. 'Then I'll see Mr. Jones.'
It was an hour later before the even course of his journey wasdisturbed. He was running gaily before a strong breeze, with a hot sunstreaming down upon him when in the far distance he saw a vehicletrundling along the road. Rapidly overhauling it, he soon saw that itwas a brougham, with a coachman seated on the box, though whether therewere passengers in the vehicle he could not say; but within a fewminutes he came alongside, and, as he passed, caught a glimpse of twoladies within. Then he swept on, pedalled past a traction-engine engagedin hauling stones, and was soon on a clear road again. Then a loud shoutreached his ears, followed by others. He turned his head and looked overhis shoulder, with the consequence that the machine wobbled. Indeed, sooccupied was David with what was taking place in rear that he neglectedto guide his steed. In a moment therefore he ran into the ditch at theside of the road, and was flung headlong into a hedge.
'That comes of staring over one's shoulder,' he said, picking himself upat once. 'But there seems to have been an accident behind there. I sawthe horse in that brougham rear as it got opposite the traction-engine.Then it dashed forward, and--why, the coachman has jumped from the box!The coward! He's left those ladies to be dashed to pieces--the coward!'
The distance was so short that he was able to take in the wholesituation, and it was clear that the coachman on the box of the vehiclehad lost his head and his nerve. David had watched him holding to hisreins as the horse plunged; but the instant it bolted down the road theman had leaped from his seat, and striking the road heavily had rolledover and over into the dit
ch. Left to itself, the horse was coming alongthe road at a mad gallop, the brougham swaying behind him in an alarmingmanner, and threatening to capsize at any moment.
'George! nearly over that time,' gasped David. 'The horse is scared outof its wits. It'll not stop till it has smashed the carriage and thosein it. Don't that coachman deserve to be kicked.'
He darted into the centre of the road, and watched the maddened creaturebearing down upon him. Behind, in the neighbourhood of thetraction-engine, he could see men waving their arms, and running alongthe road, while a little nearer the coachman was sitting up in theditch, holding on to a damaged elbow. A head appeared at one of thecarriage windows for an instant, and David caught a glimpse of a veryfrightened face. A scream even reached his ears; then he leaped backfrom the road and seized his bicycle.
'I'll dodge that carriage,' he told himself. 'I'd never be able to keepup with it at the rate the horse is going unless on my bicycle; but onthe machine I could do it. Anyway, I'll have a try.'
He swung himself into the saddle and pedalled gently along. By now hecould hear the scrunch of fast-revolving wheels on the macadam, whilemore than one shriek came from the interior of the carriage. Then thehorse seemed to make directly for him. David spurted forward, his headover his shoulder, and darted across to the far side of the road, justescaping the feet of the maddened animal. In a twinkling the carriagedrew abreast of him, and for a while he raced along beside it, noticingthat on many an occasion it was within an ace of capsizing. Then abrilliant manoeuvre occurred to him.
'Couldn't possibly get aboard from the side or front,' he told himself.'The pedal of the bicycle would catch something, and I should come acropper beneath the wheels. I'll try the back; but it'll want doing.That brute is going all out.'
The runaway horse was indeed galloping as hard as he could, faster, infact, than before, so that even had David wished to come alongside hefound it impossible, for the carriage had now drawn slightly ahead. Butwith a desperate effort he lessened the distance, keeping directlybehind the vehicle so as to escape the breeze, which at that pace was ofhis own making. Gradually he approached the rear of the carriage till hewas almost between the wheels. Then, quick as a flash, he leaped fromhis saddle, abandoning his machine, and flung himself toward the backaxle of the vehicle. His fingers fastened upon it, and an instant laterhe was jerked from his feet, and went dragging along the road. But hewas not beaten. David was no weakling, and soon made an alteration inhis position. With a jerk and a heave he regained his feet. A franticspring took him on to the axle, and after that he felt that victory wasbefore him.
'Over the top, on to the box, and then along the shafts,' he toldhimself. 'No use trying to clamber along the sides. This beastly thingis on the point of upsetting already, and with my weight added to oneside would topple over. Here goes for the top.'
It was not an easy task he had set himself by any means, for thecarriage wobbled dangerously, and there was no rail to cling to. ButDavid made light of risks; he never even considered them. He stood onthe axle now, and reaching up gripped the top. With a bound he was onit, and thereafter had all his work cut out to prevent being thrown offto either side. But slowly he won his way forward till near the box.Then a sudden swerve of the horse sent him sliding to the right, tilllegs and thighs left the roof of the vehicle. Even then he was notbeaten. With a wriggle and a heave he flopped forward to the edge of thebox seat, and as his body slid from the roof, he managed to grip therail. One foot by good fortune met with a step, and thanks to that andhis grip of the rail he was soon located where the driver had been. Oncethere David was in his element. He dragged the whip from its socket,stretched over the side of the box, and with a dexterous thrust of thestick managed to hook it under the reins, which were trailing along theroad. In half a minute he had them in his hands. And then began a battlewhich would have delighted the heart of a horse-master; for David coaxedand endeavoured to control the maddened beast with both voice and rein.
'Whoa! steady boy!' he called, pulling firmly on the mouth. 'Whoa!gently boy, gently!'
However, finding that nothing resulted, he leaned back in his seat,braced his feet, and began to pull in earnest, sawing at the beast'smouth. Within a minute the pace had lessened. Promptly he began to callto the horse.
'Whoa! gently boy, gently.'
In less than five minutes he had brought him to a standstill, anddropping from the box had the animal by the head, and was patting andsoothing him.
'Please get out and stand at one side,' he called to the ladies. 'Thetraction-engine startled him and caused him to bolt. He is still alittle nervous, but in a few moments he will be calm again. It would bebetter, however, to get out. Please hurry.'
To tell the truth David was half expecting the animal to bolt again, foreven as he spoke it reared up dragging him from his feet. But he had thehuge advantage of understanding horses, and, as is so often the case,the frightened brute seemed to realise that. Sweating heavily and stilltrembling, it finally stood still, allowing him to pat its neck.Meanwhile a lady had descended, and had assisted another to follow her.David looked at them curiously. Both were very white after such aterrifying experience, but the elder of the two seemed to be moreindignant than frightened. She walked across to David and inspected himcritically.
'How did you manage to get on to the carriage?' she asked; and then,when he had told her, 'I consider you to have behaved nobly. You savedour lives, not to mention the carriage. It was a brave act, and I and mydaughter are more than obliged to you. As for our coachman he is acoward. I shall dismiss him promptly.'
A flush of anger came to her cheeks, and a little later she turned toface the delinquent. 'You can drive back alone. I will walk,' she saidseverely, as the man came up with David's bicycle. 'You are not fit tobe driving ladies. You deserted your post in the most disgracefulmanner. Come, Charlotte, perhaps this gentleman will walk with us.'
'I will drive you if you wish,' declared David promptly. 'The coachmancan ride my bicycle. Which way, please?'
He hopped briskly into the driving seat, and picked up his reins in amanner which gave confidence. Then, the ladies having entered thevehicle and directed him, he set off down the road. Within half an hourhe pulled up in front of a country mansion, enclosed in fine grounds. Atonce a groom was called from the stables, and David was invited to enterthe house.
'You will lunch with us of course,' said the elder lady. 'I am Mrs.Cartwell. This is my daughter, and--ah, Richard come here.'
She beckoned to a young fellow crossing the hall at that moment andintroduced him as her son. Then in a few words she explained thesituation.
'By Jove! That was a fine thing to do,' exclaimed the young fellow, whomDavid took to be about twenty years of age. 'A real plucky thing. How onearth did you manage to clamber on to the carriage when it was going atsuch a pace, while you were on a bike? But let me thank you a thousandtimes for your action. You have undoubtedly saved mother's life.'
Very cordially did he shake David's hand, and thereafter did his utmostto put our hero at his ease and make him feel at home. Then, afterlunch, he pressed him to stay a day or so, for the two young fellowstook instantly to one another.
'Come,' he said, 'you've nothing in particular to do. Off for a bicycletour I suppose? Stay here a day or two and have a little fishing withme.'
'Can't, though many thanks all the same,' answered David, wishing thathe could remain. 'I'm not on a bicycle tour. I'm going to London to findwork. I've some important business to do there.'
In a little while his new friends became aware of the fact that our herowas launching himself on the world, and though he did not tell them hisreasons for leaving home, they realised that he was justified.
'If you cannot stay, you can at least remember the address of thishouse,' said Mrs. Cartwell. 'We shall be glad to receive a visit fromyou at any time, and I shall expect you to write. And now we will nolonger detain you.'
They sent him away with further words of thanks, while Dick Car
twellaccompanied him some five miles on the journey.
'Mind,' he said, as they gripped hands for the last time, 'we shallexpect to see you again, and hope you will write. I feel that we haven'thalf thanked you.'
David waved the words aside, and straddled his bicycle. 'I don't wantthanks,' he said abruptly. 'But I'd like to come down. I'll write whenI've found work and am getting on a little. For the present I have notime and no right to laze and enjoy myself.'
He went off down the road waving to Dick, never dreaming that the two ofthem would come together again under strange circumstances. Pedallinghard, he made up for lost time, and just as the shades of evening werefalling, found his way into the great city of London.
'Please direct me to some little house where I can obtain a lodging,' heasked of a policeman who was walking on the pavement.
The constable, a fine, burly fellow, surveyed our hero from head tofoot. Then he smiled at him, and brought a massive hand on to hisshoulder.
'Come along with me,' he said. 'My missus wants a lodger. I was toldthis morning when I went off on duty that I was to try and hear of one.You'd do for a time. How'd you like to come?'
David smiled back at him promptly. 'Splendid!' he cried. 'I'd be glad tocome. I shall be saved heaps of trouble hunting for a room.'
That night he slipped into a cosy bed between the cleanest sheetsfeeling that fortune had been really kind to him; for since he lefthome he had done nothing but make friends. There was Andus, the breezysailor, Mrs. Cartwell, to say nothing of Dick, her jovial son. And nowthere was the constable; for a nicer fellow than Constable Hemming didnot exist, while his wife took a motherly interest in David. It was agood start in life; but would the future be equally prosperous?