“Don’t I know it!”
“Well, it don’t seem to me as though you’ve the least notion of it!” said Mr. Babbacombe, with considerable asperity. “Dash it, who is this old fellow, and what made you take such a fancy to him?”
This home question brought the colour up into John’s face. Avoiding his friend’s eye, he was just about to embark on an explanation, which sounded lame even in his own ears, when he was interrupted by a shout from the road. Never more thankful to be recalled to his duties, he apologized hastily to Mr. Babbacombe, and went off to open the gate, and to collect the toll. By the time he returned to the kitchen, he was once more in command of himself, and the situation, and informed Babbacombe crisply that he had his own sufficient reasons for desiring to spare Sir Peter as much pain as possible. “It don’t matter why: it is so!” he said. “Just accept that, will you, Bab?”
Mr. Babbacombe was conscious of a horrid sinking at the pit of his stomach. “You’re doing it rather too brown, Jack!” he said uneasily. “The more I think of it, the more I’m sure there’s more to this affair than you’ve told me!”
The Captain looked guilty, but there was a decided twinkle in his eye. “Well, yes, there is a little more!” he acknowledged. “No, no, I had nothing to do with stealing those sovereigns! don’t look so horrified! But—well, never mind that now! The thing is, I’ve given the Squire my word I’ll do my utmost to shield Henry, and I will! Nothing you can say is going to stop me, Bab, so spare yourself the trouble of saying it!”
Mr. Babbacombe groaned, and expressed the bitter wish that he had never come to Crowford. “I might have known I should find you in some damned, crazy fix!” he said. “If you don’t put a rope round your own neck it will be a dashed miracle! How can you keep Henry out of it? Now, don’t tell me you mean to help t’other fellow to escape as well, because for one thing I know you too well to believe you; and for another, if you did do anything so totty-headed, the chances are the Redbreast would arrest you and this highwayman of yours! Stands to reason!”
John laughed. “Chirk might not be able to prove an alibi, but I imagine I could. But you may be perfectly easy on that head! I don’t mean to let Coate escape! No, not for anything that was offered me!”
“That’s all very well,” objected Babbacombe, “but you can’t have one arrested without the other! The fellow’s bound to squeak beef on Henry!”
John nodded. “Yes, naturally I have thought of that. I wish I knew how deeply he may be implicated! I must discover that.”
This was said with decision, and with a certain hardening of the muscles round his mouth. Mr. Babbacombe, looking up at the fair, handsome face, with the smiling eyes that held so level and steady a regard, and the good-humour that dwelled round that firm mouth, reflected gloomily that Crazy Jack was the oddest of fellows. Anyone would take him for a man with as level a head as his frank eyes, and so, in general, he was; but every now and then a demon of mischief seemed to take possession of him, and then, as now, he would plunge headlong into any perilous adventure that offered. It was quite useless to argue with him. For all his easygoing ways, and the kindliness which endeared him to so many people, there was never any turning him from his purpose, once he had made up his mind. He had a streak of obstinacy, and although he had never in the smallest degree resented the attempts of his friends to stand in the way of his will, Mr. Babbacombe could not call to mind when the most forceful of representations had born the least weight with him. If you stood in his way, he just put you aside, perfectly kindly, but quite inexorably; and if you swore at him, when all was done, for having done a crazy, dangerous thing, although he was genuinely penitent for having caused a friend anxiety you could see that he was puzzled to know why you should worry about him at all.