“Never heard of that neither!” said Stogumber. “That’s queer!”
Considerably mystified, John demanded: “Why?”
“’Cos I thought you had,” replied Stogumber cryptically. “Either I’ve been mistook—which ain’t likely—or you’re as fly a cove as ever tapped a shy one on the shoulder! Which again ain’t likely, seeing the size you are, and big ’uns not being, in general, the slyest things in nature! One thing I’m not mistook about is that there’s a horse and cart, or maybe it’s a carriage, coming down the road. You’ll have to leave go of me, Mr. Staple. And if you’re going to open the gate, I’d take off that flash shap, if I was you!”
There was indeed a vehicle approaching from the direction of Sheffield. The Captain released Stogumber, and, accepting his advice, removed his hat. But he said somewhat sternly: “You use too much thieves’ cant for my taste!”
“Ah!” said Stogumber, stooping to pick up his stick. “And you understand too much of it for mine, big ’un!”
That drew a reluctant laugh from John; he allowed Stogumber to go on his way, and himself went to open the gate.
The vehicle, which proved to be a gig, carried Farmer Huggate and his wife. If this worthy couple thought it peculiar to find the gatekeeper nattily attired in a riding coat of expensive cloth and fashionable cut, and with a modish cravat arranged in intricate folds about his neck, they admirably concealed their surprise. The farmer had only to hand in his ticket, purchased at the first toll-gate out of Sheffield, but he lingered to explain chattily that he and his rib (as he designated the stout lady beside him) had been out on the spree to celebrate the anniversary of their wedding day. John replied suitably; and Mrs. Huggate ventured to say that she hoped it would not be long before he was celebrating his own wedding-day. John was spared the necessity of answering this sally by the farmer’s telling her severely not to talk so free, bidding him a cheery goodnight, and driving off down the road.
The Captain, walking across the field to where his horse stood patiently awaiting him, outside the barn, was forced to the conclusion that the secret of his matrimonial hopes was shared by most of the inhabitants of the village, and certainly by the entire staff of servants employed at the Manor.
He entered the toll-house presently to find Lydd snoring gently beside the dying fire in the kitchen. He shook him awake, saying: “Well, you’re a fine gatekeeper! I wonder how many people have opened the pike for themselves, and cheated us of the tolls?”
“Lor” bless you, sir, I’d rouse up at the least thing!” Lydd assured him.