“You can’t open the gate!” said Ben, shocked. “You’re a flash cove!”
“Never mind what I am! You do what I tell you!”
Thus adjured, Ben escorted him into the toll-office, from which access to the two other rooms was obtained. One of these, where Ben slept on a truckle-bed, contained stores, but the other was furnished with some degree of comfort, the bed even being provided with cotton sheets, and a faded patchwork quilt. The Captain, having no fancy for the gatekeeper’s sheets, coolly stripped them off the bed, rolled them into a bundle, and tossed them into a corner of the room. He then stretched himself out on top of the blankets, pulled the quilt over himself, and blew out the candle. For a few minutes, before falling asleep, he wondered what he was going to do if the gatekeeper did not return that night. The proper course, which would be to report the man’s absence, would seem unpleasantly like a betrayal of Ben; yet no other presented itself to him. But the Captain was never one to meet troubles halfway, and he very soon stopped frowning over this problem. After all, it was probable that before morning the gatekeeper would be back at his post. Stale-drunk, too, thought John, setting little store by Ben’s assurance that his dad was not one to go on the mop.
Chapter 3
THE Captain slept soundly, and awoke to daylight, and the sound of voices. On getting up, and looking out of the little latticed window, he saw that Ben was holding open the gate for a herd of cows to pass through, and exchanging courtesies with the boy who was driving them. A fine autumn day had succeeded the night’s downpour, and the mist still lay over the fields beyond the road. A glance at the watch which he had laid on the chair beside the bed informed John that it was half-past six. He strolled into the toll-office just as Ben shut the gate, and came in.
With the daylight the worst of Ben’s fears were laid to rest. He looked a different boy from the hag-ridden urchin of the previous evening; walked in whistling; and greeted the Captain with a grin.
“Your dad not back?” John asked.
The grin faded. “No. Likely he’s piked.”
“Run away? Why should he?”
“Well, if he ain’t piked, p’raps he’s gorn to roost,” temporized Ben. “’Cos when he loped off, he told me to mind the gate for an hour, and he’d be back. What’ll I do, gov’nor?”