"Good evening, ma'am," said he, and stepping back, began to pace to and fro in front of the tent.
Why had he followed this man who, if you looked at it in one way, had been the prime cause of all his calamity? He smiled grimly at the thought that, as justice went in this world, he should be tracking Ben Jope down in a cold passion of revenge; whereas, in fact, he was hungry to grip the honest fellow's hand. From the panorama of these ten mischanced years the face of Ben Jope shone out as in a halo, wreathed with good-natured smiles. Ben Jope—
Here the Major flung up both hands and tottered back as, with a lift of the earth beneath his feet, a flame ripped the roof off the tent, and roaring, hurled it right and left into the night.
Under the shock of the explosion he dropped on hands and knees, and, still on hands and knees, crawled forward to a ditch, a full ten yards to the left of the spot where the tent had stood. In the darkness one of the victims lay groaning.
"Are—are you hurt?" The Major's teeth chattered as he crawled near and stretched out a hand towards the sufferer.
"Damn the fellow!" swore Ben Jope cheerfully, sitting up. "What'll be his next trick, I wonder?"
"You—you are not hurt?"
"Hurt? No, I reckon. Who are you?"
"Hymen, Ben—Solomon Hymen. You remember—in the Plymouth Theatre, ten years back. Oh, hush, man, hush!" for Ben, casting both hands up to his face, had let out a squeal like a rabbit's.
"An' I saw you die! Oh, take him away someone! With these very eyes! No, damn it!" Mr. Jope pulled himself together and scrambled to his feet. "I paid for two pennyworth, but if this goes on I gets my money back!"