XXXIX. BOB LOVEDAY STRUTS UP AND DOWN
One night, about a week later, two men were walking in the dark along the turnpike road towards Overcombe, one of them with a bag in his hand.
‘Now,’ said the taller of the two, the squareness of whose shoulders signified that he wore epaulettes, ‘now you must do the best you can for yourself, Bob. I have done all I can; but th’hast thy work cut out, I can tell thee.’
‘I wouldn’t have run such a risk for the world,’ said the other, in a tone of ingenuous contrition. ‘But thou’st see, Jack, I didn’t think there was any danger, knowing you was taking care of her, and keeping my place warm for me. I didn’t hurry myself, that’s true; but, thinks I, if I get this promotion I am promised I shall naturally have leave, and then I’ll go and see ’em all. Gad, I shouldn’t have been here now but for your letter!’
‘You little think what risks you’ve run,’ said his brother. ‘However, try to make up for lost time.’
‘All right. And whatever you do, Jack, don’t say a word about this other girl. Hang the girl!—I was a great fool, I know; still, it is over now, and I am come to my senses. I suppose Anne never caught a capful of wind from that quarter?’
‘She knows all about it,’ said John seriously.
‘Knows? By George, then, I’m ruined!’ said Bob, standing stock-still in the road as if he meant to remain there all night.
‘That’s what I meant by saying it would be a hard battle for ’ee,’ returned John, with the same quietness as before.
Bob sighed and moved on. ‘I don’t deserve that woman!’ he cried passionately, thumping his three upper ribs with his fist.