He returned with the lantern, and told Cheetham what it was. Then he screwed on the lock, locked the church, and they went back to Hillsborough in good spirits.
But, as he lay in bed, Henry thought the matter over, and, for the first time in his life, felt superstitious.
“It is very odd,” he said, “that old picture my forefathers have worshiped under, and prayed to, no doubt, should flap out in my face like that, the moment I offered to set up my forge among their dead bones.”
Daylight dispersed these superstitious feelings, and the battle began.
As usual, the first step toward making money was to part with it. He could do nothing without a horse and a light cart. In Hillsborough they drive magnificent horses in public cabs: Henry knew one in particular, that had often spun up the steepest hills with him; a brute of prodigious bone and spirit. He bought this animal for a moderate price, considering his value: and then the next thing was—and indeed with some of us it precedes the purchase of the animal—to learn to ride.
He had only two days to acquire this accomplishment in: so he took a compendious method. He went to the circus, at noon, and asked to see the clown. A gloomy fellow was fished out of the nearest public, and inquired what he wanted.
“The clown.”
“Well, I am the clown.”
“What! you the merry chap that makes the fun?” said Henry, incredulously.
“I make the fun at night,” replied the man, dolefully. “If you want fun out of me, come and pay your shilling, like a man.”