During this short conversation Charlie had passed through all the anguish of a bitter disappointment. It is no light thing to have the hope of days snuffed out all in a moment, and he was ready to cry with vexation. However it couldn’t be helped, and he had learned before now how to take a disappointment like a man. So when Tom appealed to him he put a good face on it, and said,—
“Awful hard lines. Never mind, let’s go back and see the match with the Badgers, Tom.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Gus. “We are going to Gurley; have you ever been to Gurley, young un?”
“No,” said Charlie.
“Come along, then, we’ll show it you. It’s a prime town, isn’t it, Margetson?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Margetson; “I’d sooner see about Gurley than catch a seven-pounder, any day.”
“And besides,” said Tom, “isn’t there some good fishing above the lock! Come along, Charlie; we shall not be baulked of our day’s sport after all.”
Charlie joined the party, although he did not conceive any great admiration for Tom’s three friends. His anxiety not to offend his now reconciled enemy, and the possibility of fishing after all, overruled him; and still dragging the bag, he trudged along with the others towards Gurley.
As they approached the town he could not help noticing the number of holiday-makers and vehicles that passed them. There were drags full of gaily-dressed ladies; and gentlemen who wore veils; and there were light jaunty dog-carts with spruce young white-hatted gentlemen perched in them; there were vans in which corks were popping like musketry fires and parties on foot like themselves, hurrying forward with loud laughter and coarse music.
“Surely,” thought he, “there’s something on at Gurley.”