“Ah! that’s just it,” said Punch; “they haven’t got no reasons. The man ’asn’t a ’istory at all, which is always an un’ealthy sign. Nobody knows where ’e comes from nor what ’e’s doing ’ere. ’E isn’t Cornish, that’s certain. ’E’s got sharp lips and pointed ears. I don’t like ’im and Toby doesn’t either, and ’e’s a knowing dog if ever there was one.”
“Well, I’m not to be daunted,” said Tony; “the thing’s plainly arranged by Providence.”
But Maradick, looking at Punch, thought that he knew more than he confessed to. There was silence again, and they watched a gossamer mist, pearl-grey with the blue of the sea and sky shining through, come stealing towards them. The sky-line was red with the light of the sinking sun, and a very faint rose colour touched with gold skimmed the crests of tiny waves that a little breeze had wakened.
The ripples that ran up the beach broke into white foam as they rose.
“Well, I must be getting on, Mr. Tony,” said Punch, rising. “I am at Mother Shipton’s to-night. Good-bye, sir,” he shook hands with Maradick, “I am pleased to ’ave met you.”
Tony walked a little way down the beach with him, arm in arm. They stopped, and Punch put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said something that Maradick did not catch; but he was speaking very seriously. Then, with the dog at his heels, he disappeared over the bend of the rocks.
“We’d better be getting along too,” said Tony. “Let’s go back to the beach. There’ll be a glorious view!”
“He seems a nice fellow,” said Maradick.
“Oh, Punch! He’s simply ripping! He’s one of the people whose simplicity seems so easy until you try it, and then it’s the hardest thing in the world. I met him in town last winter giving a show somewhere round Leicester Square way, and he was pretty upset because Toby the dog was ill. I don’t know what he’d do if that dog were to die. He hasn’t got anyone else properly attached to him. Of course, there are lots of people all over the country who are very fond of him, and babies, simply any amount, and children and dogs—anything young—but they don’t really belong to him.”
But Maradick felt that, honestly, he wasn’t very attracted. The man was a vagabond, after all, and would be much better earning his living at some decent trade; a strong, healthy man like that ought to be keeping a wife and family and doing his country some service instead of wandering about the land with a dog; it was picturesque, but improper. But he didn’t say anything to Tony about his opinions—also he knew that the man didn’t annoy him as he would have done a week ago.