“Well, catch us up when you’ve smoked it. We came out for a day in the country, and we must have it. We’re going to walk several miles now without a stop, to get warm.” Arnold was occasionally seized with a fierce attack of energy, and would walk all through a day, or more probably a night, to get rid of it, and return cured for the time being.
The sandy road led first through a wood that sang in a fresh wind. The cool air was sweet with pines and bracken and damp earth. It was a glorious morning of odours and joy, and the hilarity of the last days of October, when the end seems near and the present poignantly gay, and life a bright piece nearly played out. Arnold and Bridget Hogan walked on together ahead, both talking at once, probably competing as to which could get in most remarks in the shortest time. After them came Billy Raymond and Cecil Le Moine, and with them Jane and Sally hand-in-hand. Eddy found himself walking in the rear side by side with Eileen Le Moine.
Eileen, who was capable, ignoring all polite conventions, of walking a mile with a slight acquaintance without uttering a word, because she was feeling lazy, or thinking of something interesting, or because her companion bored her, was just now in a conversational mood. She rather liked Eddy; also she saw in him an avenue for an idea she had in mind. She told him so.
“You work in the Borough, don’t you? I wish you’d let me come and play folk-music to your clubs sometimes. It’s a thing I’m rather keen on—getting the old folk melodies into the streets, do you see, the way errand boys will whistle them. Do you know Hugh Datcherd? He has musical evenings in his Lea-side settlement; I go there a good deal. He has morris dancing twice a week and folk-music once.”
Eddy had heard much of Hugh Datcherd’s Lea-side settlement. According to St. Gregory’s, it was run on very regrettable lines. Hillier said, “They teach rank atheism there.” However, it was something that they also taught morris dancing and folk-music.
“It would be splendid if you’d come sometimes,” he said, gratefully. “Just exactly what we should most like. We’ve had a little morris dancing, of course—who hasn’t?—but none of the other thing.”
“Which evening will I come?” she asked. A direct young person; she liked to settle things quickly.
Eddy, consulting his little book, said, “To-morrow, can you?”
She said, “No, I can’t; but I will,” having apparently a high-handed method of dealing with previous engagements.
“It’s the C.L.B. club night,” said Eddy. “Hillier—one of the curates—is taking it to-morrow, and I’m helping. I’ll speak to him, but I’m sure it will be all right. It will be a delightful change from billiards and boxing. Thanks so much.”