Brownsmith's Boy Part 31

As Old Brownsmith says, gas and steam-engines and police have done away with them, and the road's safe enough, night or day."

We jolted on past the policeman, who turned his bull's-eye lantern upon us for a moment, so that I could see Basket's ribs and the profile of Ike's great nose as he bent forward with his arms resting on his legs.

There was a friendly "good-night," and we had left him about a couple of hundred yards behind, when, amidst the jolting of the cart and the creaking of the baskets overhead, ike said suddenly:

"Seem to have left that chap behind, or else he's gone to--"

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

"Why, if he ar'n't there agen!" cried Ike savagely. "Look here, it worries me. I'd rayther have a dog behind barking than a chap singing like that. I hates singing."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

"Look here," said Ike; "I shall just draw to one side and wait till he've gone by. Steady, Bony; woa, lad! Now he may go on, and sing all the way to Dover if he likes."

Suiting the action to the word Ike pulled one rein; but Basket kept steadily on, and Ike pulled harder. But though Ike pulled till he drew the horse's head round so that he could look at us, the legs went on in the same track, and we did not even get near the side of the road.

"He knows it ain't right to stop here," growled Ike. "Woa, will yer!

What a obstin't hammer-headed old buffler it is! Woa!"

Basket paid not the slightest heed for a few minutes. Then, as if he suddenly comprehended, he stopped short.

"Thankye," said Ike drily; "much obliged. It's my belief, though, that the wicked old walking scaffold was fast asleep, and has on'y just woke up."

"Why, he couldn't go on walking in his sleep, Ike," I exclaimed.

"Not go on walking in his sleep, mate! That there hoss couldn't! Bless your 'art, he'd do a deal more wonderful things than that. Well, that there chap's a long time going by. I can't wait."

Ike looked back, holding on by the iron support of the ladder.

"I carnt see nothing. Just you look, mate, your side." I looked back too, but could see nothing, and said so. "It's strange," growled Ike.

"Go on, Bony." The horse started again, the baskets creaked, the wheels ground the gravel, and the cart jolted and jerked in its own particular springless way, and then all of a sudden:

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

Ike looked sharply round at me, as if he half suspected me of ventriloquism, and it seemed so comical that I began to laugh.

"Look here," he said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "don't you laugh. There's something wrong about this here."

He turned the other way, and holding tightly by the ladder looked out behind, leaning a good way from the side of the cart.

"I can't see nothinct," he grumbled, as he drew back and bent forward to pat the horse. "Seems rum."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover." There was the song or rather howl again, sounding curiously distant, and yet, odd as it may seem, curiously near, and Ike leant towards me.

"I say," he whispered, "did you ever hear of anything being harnted?"

"Yes," I said, "I've heard of haunted houses."

"But you never heerd of a harnted market cart, did yer?"

"No," I said laughing; "never."

"That's right," he whispered.

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

I burst out laughing, though the next moment I felt a little queer, for Ike laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't laugh, my lad," he whispered; "there's some'at queer 'bout this here."

"Why, nonsense, Ike!" I said.

"Ah! you may say it's nonsense; but I don't like it."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

This came very softly now, and it had such an effect on Ike that he jumped down from the shaft into the road, and taking his whip from the staple in which it was stuck, he let the cart pa.s.s him, and came round the back to my side.

"Well?" I said; "is there a cart behind?"

"I can't hear one, and I can't see one," he whispered; "and I says it's very queer. I don't like it, my lad, so there."

He let the cart pa.s.s him, went back behind it again, reached his own seat, and climbed in under the ladder.

b.u.mp, jolt, creak, on we went, and all at once Basket kicked a flint stone, and there was a tiny flash of fire.

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

There it was again, so loud that Ike seized the reins, and by main force tried to stop the horse, which resisted with all its might, and then stopped short with the baskets giving a jerk that threatened to send them over the front ladder, on to the horse's back.

Ike jumped down on one side and I jumped down on the other. I was not afraid, but the big fellow's uneasiness had its effect upon me, and I certainly felt uncomfortable. There was something strange about riding along that dark road in the middle of the night, and this being my first experience of sitting up till morning the slightest thing was enough to put me off my balance.

The horse went on, and Ike and I met at the back, looked about us, and then silently returned to our seats, climbing up without stopping the horse; but we had not been there a minute before Ike bounded off again, for there once more, buzzing curiously in the air, came that curious howling song:

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

I slipped off too, and Ike ran round, whip in hand, and gripped my arm.

"It was your larks," he growled savagely, as I burst into a fit of laughing.

"It wasn't," I cried, as soon as I could speak. "Give me the whip," I whispered.

"What for?" he growled.

"You give me the whip," I whispered; and I took it from his hand, trotted on to the side of the cart, and then reaching up, gave a cut over the top of the load.

"Stash that!" shouted a voice; and then, as I lashed again, "You leave off, will yer? You'll get something you don't like."

"Woa, Bony!" roared Ike with such vehemence that the horse stopped short, and there, kneeling on the top of the high load of baskets, we could dimly see a well-known figure, straw-hat and all.