“Oh, no, I won’t! I’m tired of gatekeeping!” John replied. “Besides, I don’t like you, and I don’t feel at all inclined to oblige you.”
“Oblige—Well—But someone must stay here!”
“That’s all right, old bubble!” said Chirk. “I’ll mind it for you! But don’t you waste no time sending a new man, because it wouldn’t suit me to stop here for long. Gatekeeping is low, and I’m a man o’ substance!”
“Now I am going to suffer a Spasm!” uttered Rose.
Mr. Willitoft did not look to be any too well satisfied with this solution to his problem, but since nothing better offered he was obliged, however ungraciously, to acquiesce. He then mounted into the gig, and was driven back to Crowford. Stogumber, pausing only to tell John that he would be returning later, followed him; and Mr. Babbacombe was at last free to deliver himself of his free and unflattering estimate of his best friend’s character.
“Well, of all the infamous things!” protested John. “I never asked you to look after the gate today! Why the devil didn’t you leave it to the boy? Where is Ben?”
“You may well ask!” said Mr. Babbacombe. “All I know is that he was here when I arrived, over an hour ago! I went in to wait for you, and he must have gone off then, for I hadn’t been in the dashed place above fifteen minutes when some fellow out here started shouting gate! By the time he’d shouted it a dozen times, I could have strangled him! Told him so. In fact, we had a bit of a turn-up.”
“Do you mean to tell me you’ve been fighting everyone who wanted to pass through the gate?” demanded John.
“No, not everyone. I planted that fellow a facer, but that’s all.”
“Except for telling the doctor’s man that you had something better to do than to keep on opening the gate,” interpolated Nell, with a mischievous look. “And I made that right! I’m afraid Ben seized the opportunity to play truant, John.”