The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
"I--er--beg your pardon--?" said Bellew.
"Money, you know," explained Georgy, Porgy with a patient sigh, "pounds,
an' shillings, an' bank-notes--in a sack if I can get them."
"And what does such a very small Georgy Porgy want so much money for?"
"Well, it's for my Auntie, you know, so she won't have to sell her
house, an' go away from Dapplemere. She was telling me, last night, when
I was in bed,--she always comes to tuck me up, you know, an' she told me
she was 'fraid we'd have to sell Dapplemere an' go to live somewhere
else. So I asked why, an' she said ''cause she hadn't any money,' an'
'Oh Georgy!' she said, 'oh Georgy, if we could only find enough money to
pay off the--the--'"
"Mortgage?" suggested Bellew, at a venture.
"Yes,--that's it, but how did you know?"
"Never mind how, go on with your tale, Georgy Porgy."
"'If--we could only find enough money, or somebody would leave us a
fortune,' she said,--an' she was crying too, 'cause I felt a tear fall
on me, you know. So this morning I got up, awful' early, an' made myself
a bundle on a stick,--like Dick Whittington had when he left home, an' I
started off to find a fortune."
"I see," nodded Bellew.
"But I haven't found anything--yet," said Georgy Porgy, with a long
sigh, "I s'pose money takes a lot of looking for, doesn't it?"
"Sometimes," Bellew answered. "And do you live alone with your Auntie
then, Georgy Porgy?"
"Yes;--most boys live with their mothers, but that's where I'm
different, I don't need one 'cause I've got my Auntie Anthea."
"Anthea!" repeated Bellew, thoughtfully. Hereupon they fell silent,
Bellew watching the smoke curl up from his pipe into the warm, still
air, and Georgy Porgy watching him with very thoughtful eyes, and a
somewhat troubled brow, as if turning over some weighty matter in his
mind; at last, he spoke:
"Please," said he, with a sudden diffidence, "where do you live?"
"Live," repeated Bellew, smiling, "under my hat,--here, there, and
everywhere, which means--nowhere in particular."
"But I--I mean--where is your home?"
"My home," said Bellew, exhaling a great cloud of smoke, "my home lies
beyond the 'bounding billow."
"That sounds an awful' long way off."
"It _is_ an awful' long way off."
"An' where do you sleep while--while you're here?"
"Anywhere they'll let me. To-night I shall sleep at some inn, I suppose,
if I can find one, if not,--under a hedge, or hay-rick."
"Oh!--haven't you got any home of your own, then,--here?"
"No."
"And--you're not going home just yet,--I mean across the 'bounding
billow?'"
"Not yet."
"Then--please--" the small boy's voice was suddenly tremulous and eager,
and he laid a little, grimy hand upon Bellew's sleeve, "please--if it
isn't too much trouble--would you mind coming with me--to--to help me to
find the fortune?--you see, you are so very big, an'--Oh!--will
you please?"
George Bellew sat up suddenly, and smiled; Bellew's smile was, at all
times, wonderfully pleasant to see, at least, the boy thought so.
"Georgy Porgy," said he, "you can just bet your small life, I will,--and
there's my hand on it, old chap." Bellew's lips were solemn now, but all
the best of his smile seemed, somehow, to have got into his gray eyes.
So the big hand clasped the small one, and as they looked at each other,
there sprang up a certain understanding that was to be an enduring bond
between them.
"I think," said Bellew, as he lay, and puffed at his pipe again, "I
think I'll call you Porges, it's shorter, easier, and I think,
altogether apt; I'll be Big Porges, and you shall be Small Porges,--what
do you say?"
"Yes, it's lots better than Georgy Porgy," nodded the boy. And so Small
Porges he became, thenceforth. "But," said he, after a thoughtful pause,
"I think, if you don't mind, I'd rather call you----Uncle Porges. You
see, Dick Bennet--the black-smith's boy, has three uncles an' I've only
got a single aunt,--so, if you don't mind--"
"Uncle Porges it shall be, now and for ever, Amen!" murmured Bellew.
"An' when d'you s'pose we'd better start?" enquired Small Porges,
beginning to re-tie his bundle.
"Start where, nephew?"
"To find the fortune."
"Hum!" said Bellew.
"If we could manage to find some,--even if it was only a very little, it
would cheer her up so."
"To be sure it would," said Bellew, and, sitting up, he pitched loaf,
cheese, and clasp-knife back into the knap-sack, fastened it, slung it
upon his shoulders, and rising, took up his stick.
"Come on, my Porges," said he, "and, whatever you do--keep your 'weather
eye' on your uncle."
"Where do you s'pose we'd better look first?" enquired Small Porges,
eagerly.
"Why, first, I think we'd better find your Auntie Anthea."
"But,--" began Porges, his face falling.
"But me no buts, my Porges," smiled Bellew, laying his hand upon his
new-found nephew's shoulder, "but me no buts, boy, and, as I said
before,--just keep your eye on your uncle."
CHAPTER V
_How Bellew came to Arcadia_
So, they set out together, Big Porges and Small Porges, walking side by
side over sun-kissed field and meadow, slowly and thoughtfully, to be
sure, for Bellew disliked hurry; often pausing to listen to the music of
running waters, or to stare away across the purple valley, for the sun
was getting low. And, ever as they went, they talked to one another
whole-heartedly as good friends should.
And, from the boy's eager lips, Bellew heard much of "Auntie Anthea,"
and learned, little by little, something of the brave fight she had
made, lonely and unaided, and burdened with ancient debt, to make the
farm of Dapplemere pay. Likewise Small Porges spoke learnedly of the
condition of the markets, and of the distressing fall in prices in
regard to hay, and wheat.
"Old Adam,--he's our man, you know, he says that farming isn't what it
was in his young days, 'specially if you happen to be a woman, like my
Auntie Anthea, an' he told me yesterday that if he were Auntie he'd give
up trying, an' take Mr. Cassilis at his word."
"Cassilis, ah!--And who is Mr. Cassilis?"
"He lives at 'Brampton Court'--a great, big house 'bout a mile from
Dapplemere; an' he's always asking my Auntie to marry him, but 'course
she won't you know."
"Why not?"
"Well, I think it's 'cause he's got such big, white teeth when he
smiles,--an' he's always smiling, you know; but Old Adam says that if
he'd been born a woman he'd marry a man all teeth, or no teeth at all,
if he had as much money as Mr. Cassilis."
The sun was low in the West as, skirting a wood, they came out upon a
grassy lane that presently led them into the great, broad highway.
Now, as they trudged along together, Small Porges with one hand clasped
in Bellew's, and the other supporting the bundle on his shoulder, there
appeared, galloping towards them a man on a fine black horse, at sight
of whom, Porges' clasp tightened, and he drew nearer to Bellew's side.
When he was nearly abreast of them, the horse-man checked his career so
suddenly that his animal was thrown back on his haunches.
"Why--Georgy!" he exclaimed.
"Good evening, Mr. Cassilis!" said Small Porges, lifting his cap.
Mr. Cassilis was tall, handsome, well built, and very particular as to
dress. Bellew noticed that his teeth were, indeed, very large and white,
beneath the small, carefully trained moustache; also his eyes seemed
just a trifle too close together, perhaps.
"Why--what in the world have you been up to, boy?" he enquired,
regarding Bellew with no very friendly eye. "Your Aunt is worrying
herself ill on your account,--what have you been doing with yourself
all day?"
Again Bellew felt the small fingers tighten round his, and the small
figure shrink a little closer to him, as Small Porges answered,
"I've been with Uncle Porges, Mr. Cassilis."
"With whom?" demanded Mr. Cassilis, more sharply.
"With his Uncle Porges, sir," Bellew rejoined, "a trustworthy person,
and very much at your service."
Mr. Cassilis stared, his hand began to stroke and caress his small,
black moustache, and he viewed Bellew from his dusty boots up to the
crown of his dusty hat, and down again, with supercilious eyes.
"Uncle?" he repeated incredulously.
"Porges," nodded Bellew.
"I wasn't aware," began Mr. Cassilis, "that--er--George was so very
fortunate--"
"Baptismal name--George," continued Bellew, "lately of New York,
Newport, and--er--other places in America, U.S.A., at present of
Nowhere-in-Particular."
"Ah!" said Mr. Cassilis, his eyes seeming to grow a trifle nearer
together, "an American Uncle? Still, I was not aware of even that
relationship."
"It is a singularly pleasing thought," smiled Bellew, "to know that we
may learn something every day,--that one never knows what the day may
bring forth; to-morrow, for instance, you also may find yourself a
nephew--somewhere or other, though, personally, I--er doubt it, yes, I
greatly doubt it; still, one never knows, you know, and while there's
life, there's hope. A very good afternoon to you, sir. Come, nephew
mine, the evening falls apace, and I grow aweary,--let us
on--Excelsior!"
Mr. Cassilis's cheek grew suddenly red, he twirled his moustache
angrily, and seemed about to speak, then he smiled instead, and turning
his horse, spurred him savagely, and galloped back down the road in a
cloud of dust.
"Did you see his teeth, Uncle Porges?"
"I did."
"He only smiles like that when he's awful' angry," said Small Porges
shaking his head as the galloping hoof-strokes died away in the
distance, "An' what do you s'pose he went back for?"
"Well, Porges, it's in my mind that he has gone back to warn our Auntie
Anthea of our coming."
Small Porges sighed, and his feet dragged in the dust.
"Tired, my Porges?"
"Just a bit, you know,--but it isn't that. I was thinking that the day
has almost gone, an' I haven't found a bit of the fortune yet."
"Why there's always to-morrow to live for, my Porges."
"Yes, 'course--there's always to-morrow; an' then,--I did find you, you
know, Uncle Porges."
"To be sure you did, and an uncle is better than nothing at all, isn't
he,--even if he is rather dusty and disreputable of exterior. One
doesn't find an uncle every day of one's life, my Porges, no sir!"
"An' you are so nice an' big, you know!" said Porges, viewing Bellew
with a bright, approving eye.
"Long, would be a better word, perhaps," suggested Bellew, smiling down
at him.
"An' wide, too!" nodded Small Porges. And, from these two facts he
seemed to derive a deal of solid comfort, and satisfaction for he strode
on manfully once more.
Leaving the high-road, he guided Bellew by divers winding paths, through
corn-fields, and over stiles, until, at length, they were come to an
orchard. Such an orchard as surely may only be found in Kent,--where
great apple-trees, gnarled, and knotted, shot out huge branches that
seemed to twist, and writhe; where were stately pear trees; where
peaches, and apricots, ripened against time-worn walls whose red bricks
still glowed rosily for all their years; where the air was sweet with
the scent of fruit, and fragrant with thyme, and sage, and marjoram; and
where the black-birds, bold marauders that they are, piped gloriously
all day long. In the midst of this orchard they stopped, and Small
Porges rested one hand against the rugged bole of a great, old
apple tree.
"This," said he, "is my very own tree, because he's so very big, an' so
very, very old,--Adam says he's the oldest tree in the orchard. I call
him 'King Arthur' 'cause he is so big, an' strong,--just like a king
should be, you know,--an' all the other trees are his Knights of the
Round Table."
But Bellew was not looking at "King Arthur" just then; his eyes were
turned to where one came towards them through the green,--one surely as
tall, and gracious, as proud and beautiful, as Enid, or Guinevere, or
any of those lovely ladies, for all her simple gown of blue, and the
sunbonnet that shaded the beauty of her face. Yes, as he gazed, Bellew
was sure and certain that she who, all unconscious of their presence,
came slowly towards them with the red glow of the sunset about her, was
handsomer, lovelier, statelier, and altogether more desirable than all
the beautiful ladies of King Arthur's court,--or any other court so-ever.
But now Small Porges finding him so silent, and seeing where he looked,
must needs behold her too, and gave a sudden, glad cry, and ran out from
behind the great bulk of "King Arthur," and she, hearing his voice,
turned and ran to meet him, and sank upon her knees before him, and
clasped him against her heart, and rejoiced, and wept, and scolded him,
all in a breath. Wherefore Bellew, unobserved, as yet in "King Arthur's"
shadow, watching the proud head with its wayward curls, (for the
sunbonnet had been tossed back upon her shoulders), watching the quick,
passionate caress of those slender, brown hands, and listening to the
thrilling tenderness of that low, soft voice, felt, all at once,
strangely lonely, and friendless, and out of place, very rough and
awkward, and very much aware of his dusty person,--felt, indeed, as any
other ordinary human might, who had tumbled unexpectedly into Arcadia;
therefore he turned, thinking to steal quietly away.
"You see, Auntie, I went out to try an' find a fortune for you," Small
Porges was explaining, "an' I looked, an' looked, but I didn't find
a bit--"
"My dear, dear, brave Georgy!" said Anthea, and would have kissed him
again, but he put her off:
"Wait a minute, please Auntie," he said excitedly, "'cause I did
find--something,--just as I was growing very tired an' disappointed, I
found Uncle Porges--under a hedge, you know."
"Uncle Porges!" said Anthea, starting, "Oh! that must be the man Mr.
Cassilis mentioned--"
"So I brought him with me," pursued Small Porges, "an' there he is!" and
he pointed triumphantly towards "King Arthur."
Glancing thither, Anthea beheld a tall, dusty figure moving off among
the trees.
"Oh,--wait, please!" she called, rising to her feet, and, with Small
Porges' hand in hers, approached Bellew who had stopped with his dusty
back to them.
"I--I want to thank you for--taking care of my nephew. If you will come
up to the house cook shall give you a good meal, and, if you are in need
of work, I--I--" her voice faltered uncertainly, and she stopped.
"Thank you!" said Bellew, turning and lifting his hat.
"Oh!--I beg your pardon!" said Anthea.
Now as their eyes met, it seemed to Bellew as though he had lived all
his life in expectation of this moment, and he knew that all his life he
should never forget this moment. But now, even while he looked at her,
he saw her cheeks flush painfully, and her dark eyes grow troubled.
"I beg your pardon!" said she again, "I--I thought--Mr. Cassilis gave me
to understand that you were--"
"A very dusty, hungry-looking fellow, perhaps," smiled Bellew, "and he
was quite right, you know; the dust you can see for yourself, but the
hunger you must take my word for. As for the work, I assure you exercise
is precisely what I am looking for."
"But--" said Anthea, and stopped, and tapped the grass nervously with
her foot, and twisted one of her bonnet-strings, and meeting Bellew's
steady gaze, flushed again, "but you--you are--"
"My Uncle Porges," her nephew chimed in, "an' I brought him home with me
'cause he's going to help me to find a fortune, an' he hasn't got any
place to go to 'cause his home's far, far beyond the 'bounding
billow,'--so you will let him stay, won't you, Auntie Anthea?"
"Why--Georgy--" she began, but seeing her distressed look, Bellew came
to her rescue.
"Pray do, Miss Anthea," said he in his quiet, easy manner. "My name is
Bellew," he went on to explain, "I am an American, without family or
friends, here, there or anywhere, and with nothing in the world to do
but follow the path of the winds. Indeed, I am rather a solitary fellow,
at least--I was, until I met my nephew Porges here. Since then, I've
been wondering if there would be--er--room for such as I, at
Dapplemere?"
"Oh, there would be plenty of room," said Anthea, hesitating, and
wrinkling her white brow, for a lodger was something entirely new in her
experience.
"As to my character," pursued Bellew, "though something of a vagabond, I
am not a rogue,--at least, I hope not, and I could pay--er--four or five
pounds a week--"
"Oh!" exclaimed Anthea, with a little gasp.
"If that would be sufficient--"
"It is--a great deal too much!" said Anthea who would have scarcely
dared to ask three.
"Pardon me!--but I think not." said Bellew, shaking his head, "you see,
I am--er--rather extravagant in my eating,--eggs, you know, lots of 'em,
and ham, and beef, and--er--(a duck quacked loudly from the vicinity of
a neighbouring pond),--certainly,--an occasional duck! Indeed, five
pounds a week would scarcely--"
"Three would be ample!" said Anthea with a little nod of finality.
"Very well," said Bellew, "we'll make it four, and have done with it."
Anthea Devine, being absolute mistress of Dapplemere, was in the habit
of exerting her authority, and having her own way in most things;
therefore, she glanced up, in some surprise, at this tall, dusty, rather
lazy looking personage; and she noticed, even as had Small Porges, that
he was indeed very big and wide; she noticed also that, despite the easy
courtesy of his manner, and the quizzical light of his gray eyes, his
chin was very square, and that, despite his gentle voice, he had the air
of one who meant exactly what he said. Nevertheless she was much
inclined to take issue with him upon the matter; plainly observing
which, Bellew smiled, and shook his head.
"Pray be reasonable," he said in his gentle voice, "if you send me away
to some horrible inn or other, it will cost me--being an American,
--more than that every week, in tips and things,--so let's shake hands
on it, and call it settled," and he held out his hand to her.
Four pounds a week! It would be a veritable God-send just at present,
while she was so hard put to it to make both ends meet. Four pounds a
week! So Anthea stood, lost in frowning thought until meeting his frank
smile, she laughed.
"You are dreadfully persistent!" she said, "and I know it is too
much,--but--we'll try to make you as comfortable as we can," and she
laid her hand in his.
And thus it was that George Bellew came to Dapplemere in the glory of
the after-glow of an August afternoon, breathing the magic air of
Arcadia which is, and always has been, of that rare quality warranted to
go to the head, sooner, or later.
And thus it was that Small Porges with his bundle on his shoulder,
viewed this tall, dusty Uncle with the eye of possession which is
oft-times an eye of rapture.
And Anthea? She was busy calculating to a scrupulous nicety the very
vexed question as to exactly how far four pounds per week might be made
to go to the best possible advantage of all concerned.
CHAPTER VI
_Of the sad condition of the Haunting Spectre of the Might Have Been_
Dapplemere Farm House, or "The Manor," as it was still called by many,
had been built when Henry the Eighth was King, as the carved inscription
above the door testified.
The House of Dapplemere was a place of many gables, and latticed
windows, and with tall, slender chimneys shaped, and wrought into things
of beauty and delight. It possessed a great, old hall; there were
spacious chambers, and broad stairways; there were panelled corridors;
sudden flights of steps that led up, or down again, for no apparent
reason; there were broad, and generous hearths, and deep window-seats;
and everywhere, within, and without, there lurked an indefinable,
old-world charm that was the heritage of years.
Storms had buffeted, and tempests had beaten upon it, but all in vain,
for, save that the bricks glowed a deeper red where they peeped out
beneath the clinging ivy, the old house stood as it had upon that far
day when it was fashioned,--in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Five
Hundred and Twenty-four.
In England many such houses are yet to be found, monuments of the "Bad
Old Times"--memorials of the "Dark Ages"--when lath and stucco existed
not, and the "Jerry-builder" had no being. But where, among them all,
might be found such another parlour as this at Dapplemere, with its low,
raftered ceiling, its great, carved mantel, its panelled walls whence
old portraits looked down at one like dream faces, from dim, and
nebulous backgrounds. And where might be found two such bright-eyed,
rosy-cheeked, quick-footed, deft-handed Phyllises as the two buxom maids
who flitted here and there, obedient to their mistress's word, or
gesture. And, lastly, where, in all this wide world, could there ever be
found just such another hostess as Miss Anthea, herself? Something of
all this was in Bellew's mind as he sat with Small Porges beside him,
watching Miss Anthea dispense tea,--brewed as it should be, in an
earthen tea-pot.
"Milk and sugar, Mr. Bellew?"
"Thank you!"
"This is blackberry, an' this is raspberry an' red currant--but the
blackberry jam's the best, Uncle Porges!"
"Thank you, nephew."
"Now aren't you awful' glad I found you--under that hedge, Uncle
Porges?"
"Nephew,--I am!"
"Nephew?" repeated Anthea, glancing at him with raised brows.
"Oh yes!" nodded Bellew, "we adopted each other--at about four o'clock,
this afternoon."
"Under a hedge, you know!" added Small Porges.
"Wasn't it a very sudden, and altogether--unheard of proceeding?" Anthea
enquired.
"Well, it might have been if it had happened anywhere but in Arcadia."
"What do you mean by Arcadia, Uncle Porges?"
"A place I've been looking for--nearly all my life, nephew. I'll trouble
you for the blackberry jam, my Porges."
"Yes, try the blackberry,--Aunt Priscilla made it her very own self."
"You know it's perfectly--ridiculous!" said Anthea, frowning and
laughing, both at the same time.
"What is, Miss Anthea?"
"Why that you should be sitting here calling Georgy your nephew, and
that I should be pouring out tea for you, quite as a matter of course."
"It seems to me the most delightfully natural thing in the world," said
Bellew, in his slow, grave manner.
"But--I've only known you--half an hour--!"
"But then, friendships ripen quickly--in Arcadia."
"I wonder what Aunt Priscilla will have to say about it!"
"Aunt Priscilla?"
"She is our housekeeper,--the dearest, busiest, gentlest little
housekeeper in all the world; but with--very sharp eyes, Mr. Bellew. She
will either like you very much,--or--not at all! there are no half
measures about Aunt Priscilla."
"Now I wonder which it will be," said Bellew, helping himself to more
jam.
"Oh, she'll like you, a course!" nodded Small Porges, "I know she'll
like you 'cause you're so different to Mr. Cassilis,--he's got black
hair, an' a mestache, you know, an' your hair's gold, like mine,--an'
your mestache--isn't there, is it? An' I know she doesn't like Mr.
Cassilis, an' I don't, either, 'cause--"
"She will be back to-morrow," said Anthea, silencing Small Porges with a
gentle touch of her hand, "and we shall be glad, sha'n't we, Georgy? The
house is not the same place without her. You see, I am off in the fields
all day, as a rule; a farm,--even such a small one as Dapplemere, is a
great responsibility, and takes up all one's time--if it is to be
made to pay--"
"An' sometimes it doesn't pay at all, you know!" added Small Porges,
"an' then Auntie Anthea worries, an' I worry too. Farming isn't what it
was in Adam's young days,--so that's why I must find a fortune--early
tomorrow morning, you know,--so my Auntie won't have to worry
any more--"
Now when he had got thus far, Anthea leaned over, and, taking him by
surprise, kissed Small Porges suddenly.
"It was very good, and brave of you, dear," said she in her soft,
thrilling voice, "to go out all alone into this big world to try and
find a fortune for me!" and here she would have kissed him again but
that he reminded her that they were not alone.
"But, Georgy dear,--fortunes are very hard to find,--especially round
Dapplemere, I'm afraid!" said she, with a rueful little laugh.
"Yes, that's why I was going to Africa, you know."
"Africa!" she repeated, "Africa!"
"Oh yes," nodded Bellew, "when I met him he was on his way there to
bring back gold for you--in a sack."
"Only Uncle Porges said it was a goodish way off, you know, so I 'cided
to stay an' find the fortune nearer home."
And thus they talked unaffectedly together until, tea being over, Anthea
volunteered to show Bellew over her small domain, and they went out, all
three, into an evening that breathed of roses, and honeysuckle.
And, as they went, slow-footed through the deepening twilight, Small
Porges directed Bellew's attention to certain nooks and corners that
might be well calculated to conceal the fortune they were to find; while
Anthea pointed out to him the beauties of shady wood, of rolling meadow,
and winding stream.
But there were other beauties that neither of them thought to call to
his attention, but which Bellew noted with observing eyes, none the
less:--such, for instance, as the way Anthea had of drooping her shadowy
lashes at sudden and unexpected moments; the wistful droop of her warm,
red lips, and the sweet, round column of her throat. These, and much
beside, Bellew noticed for himself as they walked on together through
this midsummer evening.... And so, betimes, Bellew got him to bed, and,
though the hour was ridiculously early, yet he fell into a profound
slumber, and dreamed of--nothing at all. But, far away upon the road,
forgotten, and out of mind,--with futile writhing and grimaces, the
Haunting Shadow of the Might Have Been jibbered in the shadows.