But for a week nothing could tempt him out. Then, instead of accompanying his father or mother, he would take long solitary rides on his own pony, brooding all the while over his troubles.
One day, when in the course of one of these expeditions he had taken the direction of Maltby—which was only fifteen miles distant from his home—he became suddenly aware of an approaching dog-cart in the road before him, and a familiar voice crying, “Why, if it ain’t young Squire Loman, riding a bit of very tidy horseflesh too, as I’m a Dutchman!”
It was Cripps. What evil spirit could have brought him on the scene now?
“Well, I never reckoned to see you now,” said he, in his usual jaunty manner. “Fact is, I was just trotting over to see you. I wanted to try what this here cob was made of, and, thinks I, I may as well kill two birds with one stone, and look up my young squire while I’m about it.”
“Coming to see me!” exclaimed Loman, horrified. “I say, Cripps, you mustn’t do that. My father would be very angry, you know.”
“Nice, that is! As if I wasn’t as good company as any one else!”
“Oh! it’s not that,” said Loman, fearing he had given offence. “What I mean is—”
“Oh, I know—about that there rod. Bless me! I won’t let out on you, my beauty—leastways, if you come up to scratch. He’d like to hear the story, though, the old gentleman, I fancy. Wouldn’t he now?”
“I wouldn’t have him know it for worlds. It’ll be all right, Cripps, indeed it will about the money.”
Mr Cripps looked very benignant.