Читать книгу The 'Piping Times' - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 21

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THE waggons had been unloaded and driven away; and now, with old Sol high-risen to watch with his great eye, the restoration of Trevore had begun. Tom and his small, eager helper, bare-armed in their shirtsleeves, were levering away the warped timbering that had blocked the wide, once hospitable doorway of this so ancient Manor House. Plank by plank these disfiguring timbers were removed, to disclose at last a wide, gracious stone arch supported by ruggedly massive columns, one of which still bore the stout iron pins whereon had once swung a ponderous door. Tom viewed these with glistening eyes, then, slowly and almost reverently, stepped through this arch into the echoing dimness of a long chamber, or rather hall, treading a floor carpeted with the dust of years.

Now, standing in this that had been his unknown mother’s home and his own birthplace, he stood very still, gazing up and around at massive carven ceiling beams, at the great open hearth with its ingle-seats, at carved overmantel and panelled walls, cobwebbed and discoloured, that had waited so long, and now seemed pleading the restoring touch and labour of his hands ... At last Tom spoke, almost whispering:

“All right, Old House, good old Trevore that waited and wouldn’t die ... I’ve come back at last ... it’s going to be all right from now on! You haven’t waited in vain!”

Then with Go behind him and both moving as if in some holy place, Tom mounted the broad stair, pausing to examine chiselled baluster and stately newel-post, and so to a wide landing whence rooms and passages opened right and left. He went from room to room, throwing back rotted shutters and unclosing such of the dim, old lattices as yielded to his hand. Thus every room and cupboard, every nook and corner Tom examined, and now with the keen, calculating eye of the restorer, roof and wall, ceiling and floor, tapping and testing here and there with blade of his penknife, while his small companion, following like his shadow, and as silent, did much the same, nor did he speak until they were out again in the blazing noon heat; then:

“Coo, Guvnor,” he exclaimed, “I felt like I was in a church, didn’t you?”

“Yes, boy, I did,” Tom answered, solemnly, “and somehow I’m glad you felt the same. What do you think of it, Go?”

“Well, sir, a bit spooky like.”

“Folk say it’s haunted, Go.”

“Wot—ghosts, sir? Luv a duck, and no wonder!”

“Yes ... no wonder!” Tom repeated; and stood gazing up at the old house so long that Go questioned him at last:

“Ain’t you afeard o’ ghosts, Guv?”

“No!” answered Tom, his gaze still intent. “And certainly not the ghost that might haunt this old place.”

“D’ye expect to see a ghost, Guv?”

“Hope, Go,—hope is the word.”

“Oh,—well, don’t you s’pose, sir, as it’s about time we made a start?”

“Right, my Goliath, it certainly is. And first—brooms and brushes, dust and cobwebs! We’ll at ’em this instant! This will be rather like cleaning the Augean Stables, my Hercules.”

“Well, I’m uster cleanin’ stables, sir, so let’s git at it.”

Thus presently broom and brush were at work so vigorously that cobwebs vanished and dust rose in dense and stifling clouds in which swirling mist they laboured and sneezed, yet to such effect that after some while a grimed and dusty Tom, sneezed, coughed and wheezed:

“Spell—oh!” And out into the clear, sunny air stepped he, followed by an even dustier and begrimed assistant.

“Ha!” sighed Tom, seating himself on his yet unopened tool-chest. “That’s—that! And, oh for a draught of that cold blessedness called—ale!”

“Yessir!” answered The Factotum, and sped away, to return not so speedily by reason of a dripping, two-gallon demijohn.

“Why ... how ... what the——” Tom gasped in sheer ecstasy, as cork popped and forth into mug held ready, gushed and gurgled the ale of his desire.

“There y’are, Guvnor, I been keepin’ it cool for ye in the brook over there.”

“Go,” said his master like one entranced. “Goly, Goliath, my pocket giant, your wages go up from this blessed moment!”

“Thankee, sir—’ow much, sir?”

“They shall be,” here Tom imbibed a long, glorious gulp, and sighed deeply, “doubled.”

“Oh, crikey, sir, that’s ’andsome, that is! An ’ole blooming quid! Cor, luv a duck! Blimey, sir, you does me proud!”

“And—blow me tight,” sighed Tom, “if you go on as you are going, Go, you’ll go far, wherever you go, and there’ll be a bonus.”

“Bonus, sir,—’ow much, please?”

“Well, if you continue to show the same astounding zeal——”

“ ’Arf a mo, sir,—what’s zeal, if you please?”

“Zeal, my Go, means ‘go’, a readiness for any kind of work and what not,—up guards and at ’em, a willingness to tackle anything that turns up to be tackled, never give in and never say die, and so on, if you know what I mean.”

“Do I,—not ’arf, sir! That’s me to a T., that is! When I was took to the ’orspital an’ they thought I was goin’ to pop off, they sends for my Old Jacky to say Good-bye. So ’e takes me ’and an’ ’e says, says ’e, Goly, ’e says, never say die! Up an’ fight, ’e says, ’ave another go at old Death wi’ both fists, and fight for your life and Old Jacky!’ So I fights, sir, and Old Jacky prays ‘Our Father’! Old Jacky can pray when needful, ’arder than ’e swears, and—well, ’ere I am, sir, all alive and kickin’! And now, sir, ’ow much bonus, if you please?”

“Five bob a week while we’re on this job, and Fifty Pounds when we’ve finished.”

“Fifty ... Pounds ...” The boy’s lips continued to move, but for a while no sound came; when at last he spoke it was in a broken whisper:

“Oh, sir, you ... you ain’t ... coddin’ me, are ye? You ain’t bungin’ up me ear’ole wiv spoof?”

“Certainly not!” answered Tom. “That’s what you’ll get if you go on as you’re going, Go, my hearty.”

“Blimey!” murmured the boy, his quick, bright eyes radiant. “Then I’ll be able to bring my Old Jacky out o’ London ... yes ... out o’ the Old Smoke to where the air’s fresh, like the doctor says.”

“Good idea!” nodded Tom, refilling his mug.

“Guvnor, you’ve made me that dry I can’t ’ardly swaller, so can I ’ave a drink, please?”

“Of course! The ale’s beside you, and plenty of it, glory be! So help yourself, Goliath, drink and be thankful.”

“Yessir, thankee, sir, but cider’s me tipple along o’ me promise as I swore to Old Jacky on the Book, so when not cider, water.”

“What, is your Jacky a teetotaller,—blue ribbon and what not?”

“Well, no, sir, ’e likes ’is pint occasional, ’im ’avin’ been a sailor ages ago, that’s ’ow ’e lost ’is peeper, at sea. But ’e don’t fink ale nor yet beer is good for a lad as wanted to be a champeen boxer.”

“So that was your ambition?”

“Yessir, an’ I done very good, won a lot o’ battles, I did, till I took ill, an’ that fair squashed me chances. And now I’ll go fetch me cider,—and ’ow about summat t’eat, sir?”

“Ah,” sighed Tom, “a sandwich, say, or crust of bread and cheese would have——”

“Blimey, Guv, I can do ye better’n that! ’Arf a mo!” And away he sped again, to return with a capacious basket, wherefrom he now produced, and with as many flourishes, a cold chicken richly browned, a pile of ham, thin-sliced and pink, a dish of salad, with crusty loaf, golden butter, and cheese.

“There y’are, Guvnor!” quoth he, setting forth these dainties upon white cloth outspread in grassy shade. “ ’Ow’s that?”

“Go,” said his master; taking proffered knife and fork. “Goly, my zealous old buck, there is no word for it except—eat!”

“Not me, sir,—nossir, ’tain’t manners till you’ve ’ad your whack.”

“Factotum,” quoth Tom, sternly, “sit down and eat with your master or take a week’s notice!”

“Yessir, very good, sir!” said the boy, breathlessly obedient.

“Now before we eat, my Go, fill your cider-mug and let us drink health and long life to your Old Jacky.”

“Oh, thankee, sir, wiv all me ’eart!”

So, the toast being duly honoured, they sat and ate together, and with excellent appetite.

Their meal ended, away sped Go to the little brook rippling pleasantly somewhere near by, there to wash plates and dishes before stowing them in the basket; while Tom, stretched at ease in shade of a tree, puffed fragrant contentment from his bulldog pipe, and gazed dreamily up at the old house,—until Zeal, on two legs, roused him with the question:

“Sir, ain’t it abaht time we was ‘up an’ at it’ again?”

“It is!” sighed Tom; then, stifling a yawn that made his eyes water, he rose, and at it again they went.

Diligently they laboured together, storing tools and wood in the now dustless hall, against chance of rain, until the setting sun cast lengthening shadows; they were still thus occupied when to them came Mark astride a spirited horse, at sight of which animal away leapt Go to grasp rein, soothe, pat and cherish the nervous creature while his rider dismounted.

“Good lad!” said Mark. “He’s still a trifle fresh.”

“ ’E’ll be all right wiv me, sir.”

“So it seems, my boy!” Then coming where a perspiring Tom was storing the last of his precious wood, “Well, what of the house?” he enquired.

“Marvellous!” Tom replied. “The main fabric is sound as a bell, a few floor-boards gone in places and most of the window-frames, but otherwise it’s going to be a much simpler job than I thought. By George, they knew how to build in the good old, bad old days. Eight bedrooms, no bathroom, of course, three large attics, a grand hall, morning and dining-rooms—and the usual offices.”

“And anuvver in the yard at the back, sir,” piped The Factotum, who now approached with the horse nuzzling his shoulder.

“Did you get the tent, Mark?”

“Two,—a big one for us, and a small, bell-shapen affair for The Factotum.”

“Beds and what not?”

“Three folding beds, Tom, and every what not I could think of.”

“Good!” nodded Tom, reaching for his coat. “Then, seeing I and my small giant are worn, thirsty and deuced peckish, let’s to the village inn for supper.”

“The ‘Three Pilchards,’ Tom, kept by one John Pengelly, where I have ordered supper and arranged quarters for the night, if agreeable.”

“Marvellous!” exclaimed Tom for the second time, filling his pipe. “Let’s toddle forthwith. Go, my lad, give me a hand to get our steed between the shafts.”

“Lemme, sir, I shan’t need you, just smoke y’r pipe, sir, I’ll have ’em ready in a blinkin’ jiffy!”

“That boy,” said Mark, actually chuckling as he swung nimbly to saddle, “is an original!”

“He is!” nodded Tom. “And so much besides that I have raised his wages.”