‘Yes, if you like. A good pension heals many a nasty wound.’
‘But—’ And here the younger man gave a joyful exclamation, ‘Why, there is Uncle Dick!’
‘True enough,’ said that individual, who was urging on his steed at a furious pace, and had just joined them. He was hawk-eyed, square-built, very red-faced, with an eye anything but expressive of saintly life. ‘What the devil are you gay fellows up to? I thought you were far away yachting.’
‘Duty,’ was the reply; ‘the fact is, I am rather tired of dissipation, and am thinking of settling down quietly.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the newcomer, who was the wealthy incumbent of a neighbouring parish. ‘But you had better tarry with me for the night, and have a carouse over some port that you can’t get hold of every day. I have done duty, and am quite at your service. This is Sunday night, and I propose a quiet rubber. The vicarage is close by. I am a bachelor, you know.’
‘Yes, we all know that. And a model priest and a pillar of the Church.’
‘Now, drop that,’ said the parson. ‘It is my misfortune that I have to wear a black coat rather than a red one. You, lucky dog! can do as you like.’
‘Well, uncle, we’ll test your hospitality,’ said the younger one of the horsemen, the elder accepting at the same time.
They had already reached the village, the main street of which consisted of a few houses and shops, with a lane which led to the village meeting—an old-fashioned building of red brick—towards which a crowd, at any rate, as much of a crowd as could be got together in the village, was making its way.
‘What are all these people up to?’