The Buccaneer Farmer Part 37

Mrs. Osborn glanced at her sharply, but Grace smiled.

"Don't be disturbed, mother; I am trying to tell you all I think.

We were friends, but I imagine Kit knows his drawbacks from our point of view. Besides, after father quarreled with Peter Askew I never sent Kit a message, and he must have thought I acquiesced. In a way, I did acquiesce; it was the best thing to be done. You see what this implied? If I had loved him, it meant I had no pluck and was ashamed to acknowledge a farmer's son. But he knew I did not love him and understood that our friends.h.i.+p would not bear the strain of father's disapproval. Either way, it hinted that I was weak and not worth pursuing. Well, he met me without embarra.s.sment and we talked about nothing important. I may meet him now and then, but that, I think, is all."

"Very well," said Mrs. Osborn, who looked relieved. "Perhaps it would be prudent not to meet him often."

Grace smiled and was silent for a time. She had tried to be frank and thought she had stated things correctly--so far as she knew. Then she remembered Kit's look when she stopped and spoke, and began to wonder.

Perhaps she had not told all and the little she had left out was important. By and by she got up and went into the house.

Gerald Osborn came home next day and not long afterwards Kit found him lying on the gravel beside a tarn on the Ashness moor. Heavy rain had fallen, but the clouds had rolled away and the water shone with dazzling light. The sky was clear except for a bank of mist floating about the round top of a fell, and a swollen beck sparkled among the heather. The wind had dropped and it was very hot.

When he heard Kit's steps Gerald looked up. He was a handsome young man, with some charm of manner, although it was obvious now and then that he had inherited a touch of his father's pride. His glance was keen and intelligent, but his mouth and chin were weak. Gerald had talent, but was very like Osborn, since he was sometimes rashly obstinate and sometimes vacillating.

"Hallo!" he said. "I expect I ought to have asked your leave before I came to fish. I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind. n.o.body asks my leave," Kit replied. "Have you had much luck?"

Gerald opened his creel and showed him a number of small, dark-colored trout. "Pretty good. They rose well until the light got strong. Then I thought I'd take a rest. Will you smoke a cigarette?"

Kit sat down and looked across the s.h.i.+ning water at the silver bent-gra.s.s that gleamed among vivid green moss on the side of the hill.

"You must find this a pleasant change from town. Are you staying long?"

"A fortnight; that's all I get. I wish I could stop for good. It's rot to spend one's life working in a bank."

"I suppose one must work at something," Kit remarked.

"I don't see why, unless you're forced. The only object for working is when you must work to live, and it isn't mine, because I can't live on my pay. In fact, the futility of the thing is plain."

Kit laughed. Gerald's humorous candor was part of his charm, but Kit thought it deceptive.

"Why did you go to the bank, then?"

"Because my father thought I ought. I expect you know he believes in the firm hand. I wanted to stop at Tarnside, which would have cost him less.

Besides, I could have looked after the estate. It will be mine sometime; that is, as much as is left."

"But Hayes transacts the business."

"Just so," said Gerald, rather dryly. "What do you think about Hayes?"

"He's your father's agent and has nothing to do with me. I imagine he's a capable manager."

"I sometimes think he's too capable." Gerald rejoined.

Kit let this go. Before he went away he had suspected that Hayes had plans his employer would not approve, and he knew Gerald was shrewd. It was, however, not his business and he remarked: "You wanted to go to Woolwich, didn't you?"

"I did not," Gerald declared. "As a matter of fact, I said so, but my objections didn't count. I might have made a good farmer or land-steward, but a number of us had been soldiers and that was enough.

I don't know if it was a logical argument, but I had to go, and on the whole it was a relief when they turned me out. Too many regulations for my independent taste! Rules are good, perhaps, so long as they're made for somebody else."

He was silent for a few minutes and Kit mused. He thought there was some bitterness in Gerald's humor; it looked as if Osborn had not been wise when he planned his son's career without consulting him. This, however, was typical. Osborn was satisfied to give orders and expected others to accept his point of view.

"Well," said Gerald, getting up, "I must be off. Rather a bore to walk to Tarnside, and the trout will probably rise again if there's wind enough to make a ripple, but I forgot to ask for sandwiches."

"If you lunch with me, you could come back afterwards," Kit suggested, and they set off down the hill.

When they reached Ashness, Gerald tried to hide his surprise. Kit had made some changes in the old house and so far kept to the Spanish rule of meals. Lunch was a late breakfast, well served in china and silver that were seldom used in Peter Askew's time. The low room had been cleverly painted and a cas.e.m.e.nt commanding a view of the dale replaced the original narrow windows. Specimens of ancient Indian pottery stood on the sideboard, and there were curtains of embroidered silk, feather-flowers, and silverwork that Kit had brought from Spanish America. The things gave the lonely farmstead an exotic touch, but they implied the command of money and cultivated taste.

"You have a beautiful room," Gerald remarked, when the meal was over.

"Don't know that I'm much of a connoisseur, but some of the things look rather fine."

"I'll show them to you presently," Kit replied and gave Gerald a small, dark cigar. "I wonder how you'll like the flavor."

"Our club cigars are dear and good, but the best is nothing like this,"

Gerald declared after a minute or two. "Where did they come from?"

"They were given me in Cuba; I believe the make is not offered for public sale. In a general way, Cuban tobacco is not what it was, but there are belts of soil that grow a leaf that can't be equaled anywhere else."

"I suppose they keep the crop for presidents and dictators. The quality indicates it," Gerald suggested, and Kit smiled.

Gerald tasted his black coffee. "If it's not bad form, where did you get this? There's nothing of the kind in c.u.mberland, and it's better than the Turkish they give you in London."

"It came from a Costa Rican _hacienda,_ and was a gift. I'll get no more when the bag is done. If you come back in a month, you'll find me living in plain north-country style."

"I imagine you made up for that while you were away," said Gerald, who rose and went to the side-board. "A curious little jar and obviously old!

Is this the kind of thing the Aztecs made?"

"I rather think it is Aztec, though I didn't buy it in Mexico. I gave about a pound for the jar and found a gold onza inside."

"An _onza?_ Oh, yes, an ounce! The kind of coin some countries mint but very seldom use. Something of a bargain!"

"I suppose it was," Kit replied incautiously. "For all that, the onza wasn't mine, and in a sense my efforts to find the owner cost me a very large sum."

Gerald gave him a keen glance. Askew was not boasting; he had enjoyed the command of money.

"Well," he said, "I think I'd have kept the onza, whether it was mine or not." He paused and pulled a knife from its sheath. The handle was ornamented and the narrow blade glittered in the light, although its point was dull. "But what is this? Has it a story?"

"Take care!" said Kit "It may be poisoned; the _Meztisos_ use a stuff that will kill you if a very small quant.i.ty gets into your blood. The fellow who owned that knife came near burying it in my back."

"It looks as if you had had some adventures," Gerald remarked, and leaning against the sideboard he lighted a cigarette.

Kit crossed the floor and stood by the open window. The shadow of a cloud rested motionless, a patch of cool neutral color, on the gleaming yellow side of the hill. A wild-cherry tree hung over a neighboring wall, and bees hummed drowsily among the flowers. He was strangely satisfied to be at home, and it was hard to realize that not long since he had been engaged in a dangerous trade among the fever-haunted swamps.

"Have you any more curiosities?" Gerald asked.

Kit opened a drawer in his big desk, where he kept specimens of featherwork. As he took them out he moved some doc.u.ments and Gerald indicated one.

"_Cristoval Askew_? Your name in Castilian, I suppose. You write a curious hand."