He got engaged to be married also, and seemed so
bright and cheerful as need be, and good friends with his brother
Lawrence, and popular with high and low. Yet right well I knowed there was
a cruel canker at his heart, for no well-born man could do the thing he'd
done and not smart to his dying day and feel all his prosperity was
poison. Not to mention the terrible shock as he had got from me on the
night after his uncle's death.
I felt sure, somehow, as the truth would come out, and that I should hear
more about that coorious evening. And so I did, but 'twas in a manner very
different from what I guessed or expected. In a word, to be quite honest
about it, I got into smart trouble myself one night--in October 'twas, and
a brave year for pheasants. The chaps at Woodcotes outwitted me for the
fust time in their lives, and cut short my little games. They set a trap
for me, and I got catched. There's no need to dwell upon the details, but
I found myself surrounded by six of 'em, and knowing very well that, if I
showed fight, 'twould only be a long sight worse for me in the end, I
threw up the sponge, gived 'em my air-gun--a wonderful weapon I'd got from
a gipsy--and let 'em take me. I was red-handed by ill-fortune, which,
indeed, they had meant me to be. In fact, they waited just where they
knowed I was going to be busy, having fust throwed me off the scent very
clever by letting one of their number tell a pack o' lies to a woman
friend of mine in a public-house the night afore.
Pages:
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342