CHAPTER VIII
SHOWING HOW MARTIN’S HORIZON WIDENS
The sufferings of the young are strenuous as their joys. When Martin passed into the heart of the bustling fair its glamour had vanished. The notes of the organ were harsh, the gay canvas of the booths tawdry, the cleanly village itself awry. The policeman’s surprise at his lack of knowledge on the subject of his parentage was disastrously convincing. The man treated the statement as indisputable. There was no question of hearsay; it was just so, a recognized fact, known to all the grown-up people in Elmsdale.
Tommy Beadlam, he of the white head, ran after him to ask why the “bobby” brought him to the “Black Lion,” but Martin averted eyes laden with misery, and motioned his little friend away.
Tommy, who had seen the fight, and knew of the squire’s presence this morning, drew his own conclusions.
“Martin’s goin’ to be locked up,” he told a knot of awe-stricken youngsters, and they thrilled with sympathy, for their champion’s victory over the “young swell frae t’ Hall” was highly popular.
The front door of the White House stood hospitably open. Already a goodly number of visitors had gathered, and every man and woman talked of nothing but the dramatic events of the previous night. When Martin arrived, fresh from a private conversation with the squire and the chief of police, they were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Perhaps he might add to the store of gossip. Even Mrs. Bolland felt a certain pride that the boy should be the center of interest in this cause célèbre.
But his glum face created alarm in her motherly breast.
“Why, Martin,” she cried, “what’s gone wrong? Ye look as if ye’d seen a ghost wi’ two heäds!”