In the end Clement decided to stand content, and having given his assistant a liberal fee, he took his seat next morning on the Victory coach, travelling by Chester to Aldersbury. He was not vain, but it was with some exultation that he began his journey, that he faced again the free-blowing winds and the open pastures, heard the cheery notes of the bugle, and viewed the old-fashioned marketplaces and roistering inns, some of which he had passed three days before. He had not failed. He had done something; and he thought of Jos, and he thought of the Squire, and he thanked Providence that had put it in his power to turn the tables on the old man. Surely after what he had done the Squire must consider him. Surely after services so notable—and Lord, what luck he had had—the Squire would be willing to listen to him? He recalled the desperate struggle in the road, and the old man’s “At him, good lad! At him!” and he thought of the sum—no small sum, and the old man was avaricious—which his promptness had recovered. His hopes ran high.
To be sure, there was another side to it. The Squire might not recover, and then—but he refused to dwell on that contingency. No, the Squire must recover, must receive and reward him, must own that after all he was something better than a clerk or a shopboy. And all things would be well, all roads be made smooth, all difficulties be cleared away. And in time he and Jos—his eyes shone.
Of course in the elation of the hour and flushed by success, he ignored facts which he would have been wiser to remember, and over-leapt obstacles which were not small. A little thought would have taught him that the Squire was not the man to change his views in an hour, or to swallow the prejudices of a life-time because a young chap had done him a service. To be beholden to a man, and to give him your daughter, are things far apart.
And this Clement in cooler moments would have seen. But he was young and in love, and he had done something; and the sun shone and the air was sweet, and if, as the coach swung gaily up the Foregate between School and Castle, his heart beat high and he already foresaw a triumphant issue, who shall blame him? At any rate his case was altered, and in comparison with his position a few days before, he stood well.
He alighted at the door of the Lion, and by a coincidence which was to have its consequences the first person he met in the High Street was Arthur Bourdillon. “Hallo!” Arthur cried, his face lighting up. “Back already, man? Have you done anything?”
“I’ve got the money,” Clement replied. And he waved the bag.
“And Thomas?”
“No, he gave us the slip for the time. But I’ve got the money, except a dozen pounds or so.”
“The deuce you have!” the other answered—and it was not quite clear whether he were pleased or not. “How did you do it? Tell us all about it.” He drew Clement aside on to some steps at the foot of St. Juliana’s church.
Clement ran briefly over his adventures. When he had done, “Deuced sharp of you,” Arthur said. “Devilish sharp, I must say! Now, if you’ll hand over I’ll take it out to Garth. I am on my way there, I’m just starting, and I haven’t a moment to spare. If you’ll hand over——”