‘Jenkins did look a guy,’ said Cecil, his eyes kindling at the recollection of his tormentor’s humiliation.
‘He looked just what he is, a sneaking bully,’ said Jack as he shook Cecil’s hand; ‘and now, good-bye and prosperity to you in your new situation.’
‘Good-bye, Jack. May you have all the luck you deserve,’ said Cecil.
There were tears in the latter’s eyes when he turned away, for he felt he had lost a good friend.
At a steady four miles an hour Jack kept on, mile after mile, the exercise taking more effect on him than it otherwise would have done, as since he had been at Wycombe he had enjoyed few opportunities of taking long walks. A brief halt for some bread and cheese in the middle of the day, then on again, every mile seeming to get longer and longer while yet a good part of the journey was before him.
Jack took off his coat, which he carried over his shoulder, changing his portmanteau from hand to hand. The day was baking hot. The white road, an inch thick in dust, reflected back the glowing sun till it made his eyes ache.
Jack hobbled painfully, his heels being rubbed and blistered, while his portmanteau seemed to grow heavier with every yard he walked. He had arrived at a spot where the hedge turned off at right angles, leading up to a five-barred gate opening on to some pasture-land. One side of this opening was in the shade, and, after looking at it for a moment, Jack turned up with a half-sigh of contentment and seated himself on the sloping, shady bank. He guessed he was somewhere near Hounslow, and he began to despair of reaching London that night. ‘Perhaps I could get a train from Hounslow,’ he thought; ‘but can I afford it?’
He took from his pocket the little purse his eldest sister had given him, and counted all his store—a half-crown, a florin, two shillings, a sixpence, and fivepence halfpenny in coppers—seven shillings and fivepence halfpenny in all. Jack sighed as he looked at the money in his hand and thought how short a way it would go when he was out of a situation. He was replacing the coins in his purse when a rush of feet sounded near him. Three men burst through the hedge, and while one seized him by the collar, another ragged, unshaven rascal, holding a short, heavy bludgeon in his hand, cried with a grin, ‘Evenin’, young gen’l’man, you’re the wery covey we’ve been a-waitin’ for. I’ll trouble yer to ‘and over them dibs, or’—and he flourished his stick—‘circumstances may be onpleasant.’
CHAPTER II.
ROBBERS ON THE HIGHWAY.
AT the first sound of the sudden rush of the three tramps, for such they appeared to be, Jack had closed his hand on the money he held; then, while the man with the bludgeon was talking, he sprang to his feet, wrenched himself free from the man who held his collar, pocketed his money, and faced the three ruffians. He squared up his fists, determined not to part with his possessions without a struggle.