“Nothing: except knocking about. I’d be off to America to-morrow and try my luck there if I had a fifty-pound note in my pocket. I went up to the farm last week, and made an appeal to my uncle to help me to it, and be rid of me——”
“And would he?” I interrupted, too eager to let him finish.
“Would he!” repeated Fred, savagely. “He bade me go to a place unmentionable. He threatened to drive me off the premises if ever I put foot on them again.”
“I am very sorry. What shall you do?” I asked.
“Heaven knows! Perhaps turn poacher.”
“Nonsense, Fred!”
“Is it nonsense!” he retorted, taking off his low-crowned hat and passing his hand passionately over his wavy, auburn hair—about the nicest hair I ever saw. People said Fred was proud of it. He was a good-looking young fellow altogether; with a clear, fresh face, and steady grey eyes.
“You don’t know what it is to be goaded, Johnny,” he said. “I can tell you I am ripe for any mischief. And a man must live. But for one thing, I swear I wouldn’t keep straight.”
I knew what thing he meant quite well. “What does she say about it?” I asked.
“What can she say? My uncle has insulted her to her face, and made me out at the Parsonage to be a downright scamp. Oh, I go in for all that’s bad, according to him, I assure you, Johnny Ludlow.”