The Vicar's People. Fenn George Manville

turned, and found that the words proceeded from a little, withered, yellow-faced man, in a very old-fashioned dress. He was well-to-do, evidently, for a bunch of heavy gold seals hung from a black watch-ribbon, his Panama hat was of the finest quality, and there was something dapper and suggestive of the William the Fourth gentleman, in the blue coat, with gilt buttons, and neat drab trousers.

      “I said, Tchah! Fools!” repeated the little man, on noticing Geoffrey’s inquiring gaze. “They have not got them yet!”

      “Many a slip betwixt cup and lip, eh?” said Geoffrey, quietly. “Yes: one pull of the net over a rock – one blunder, and away goes the school; and that’s life?”

      “You mean that’s your idea of life,” said Geoffrey. “No, I don’t, boy. I mean that’s life!”

      “According to your view,” said Geoffrey, smiling.

      “According to what it is,” said the old man, testily. “What the devil do you know of life, at your age?”

      “Ah! that would take some telling,” replied Geoffrey. “You and I would have to argue that matter out.”

      “Argue? Bah! Do I look a man with time to waste in argument?”

      “Well, no; nor yet in getting out of temper, and calling people fools,” said Geoffrey, with a smile.

      The old man thumped his thick malacca cane upon the stones, and stared aghast at the stranger who dared to speak to him in so free and contradictory a manner in a place where, after a fashion, he had been a kind of king.

      “Here, you: Rumsey!” he cried, panting with anger and pointing at Geoffrey with his cane, as a fair, fresh-coloured man in grey tweed came slowly up; “who the devil is this fellow?”

      “Don’t be cross, old gentleman,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “I will tell you my name if you like.”

      “Confound your name, sir! What the deuce are you – a bagman?”

      “No,” said Geoffrey; “but look,” he added quickly, as he pointed to the circle of nets. “What does that mean?”

      “Ha, ha, ha! I told you so,” chuckled the old man, whose face underwent a complete change. “They’ve got on a rock, and the whole school has gone.”

      “Poor fellows! What a disappointment,” said Geoffrey.

      “Bah! A man must expect disappointments here. Rumsey, I’m horribly bilious this morning,” he continued, turning to the fresh-coloured man.

      “Yes, so you seem,” was the reply; and Geoffrey smiled at the frank confession. “Exceeded your dose last night.”

      “Dose?” said the old gentleman. “Hang it, man, don’t call a glass of spirits and water by the same name as your filthy drugs. Good-morning, boy! and don’t you laugh at me.”

      Hooking the fresh-coloured man by the arm, he was moving off.

      “Good-morning,” said Geoffrey, smiling. “But stop a moment. Perhaps you gentlemen can help me.”

      “Come away, Rumsey!” cried the old fellow, with mock horror in his thin face. “He’s a book canvasser, or a collector for some confounded charity. Who the devil are you, sir; and what do you want?”

      “Why, what a jolly old pepperbox you are!” cried Geoffrey, merrily. “Have you been out in India?”

      “Yes, sir – I have been out in India,” cried the old man, turning yellow with anger once more. “Confounded puppy!” he muttered, thumping down his stick.

      “I thought so,” replied Geoffrey, coolly; “I had an uncle just like you.”

      “Confound your uncle, sir!” cried the choleric old man. “Hang it all, Rumsey, don’t you hear the fellow insulting me? Why don’t you knock him down, or poison him?”

      “Have I the pleasure of addressing Dr Rumsey?” said Geoffrey.

      “That is my name,” said the fresh-coloured man, looking suspiciously at the speaker as one who seemed too lusty and well to be in his way.

      “I am coming to live here, doctor,” said Geoffrey, in a free, frank way that seemed to set him at ease with those whom he had addressed. “I only came in by the coach this morning. Where can I get comfortable, inexpensive apartments – just a bed and sitting-room, you know? I have been asking everywhere, but there seems to be no such thing to be had.”

      The doctor glanced at the old gentleman, and the old gentleman returned the look, following it up by poking Geoffrey in the side with his cane.

      “Here, young fellow – you, sir! Who are your – what are you?” he exclaimed.

      “Who am I, my unceremonious old friend, and what am I? Well, my name is Trethick, and I’m a mining engineer.”

      “But are you respectable?”

      “No,” said Geoffrey, solemnly. “I am very poor; so I don’t think I am.”

      “Confound you, sir!” cried the old gentleman. “Your eyes are twinkling. You’re laughing at me.”

      “True, oh, king,” said Geoffrey.

      “But can you pay regularly for your lodgings?”

      “I hope so,” replied Geoffrey, whom the choleric old fellow thoroughly amused.

      “Come here,” cried the latter, dropping the doctor and hooking Geoffrey by the arm, as if taking him into custody. “You’re good for the bile! Rumsey, I’ll take him up to Mrs Mullion’s, or she’ll be letting her rooms to the new parson out of spite.”

      Chapter Six

      Apartments to Let

      Geoffrey looked in astonishment at the old gentleman, and then glanced at the doctor.

      “You can’t do better, Mr Trethick,” said that individual, “for those are the only decent apartments you are likely to get here.”

      “Of course,” said the old gentleman. “Come along, boy;” and thumping the ferrule of his cane down upon the granite paving-stones, which in rough irregular masses formed the path, he led the way along the cliff, and then turned off up a very steep zigzag path, which led up higher and higher, the old fellow pausing at every turn to get breath, as he pointed with his stick at the glorious prospects of sea and land which kept opening out.

      “Lovely place, boy,” he panted. “Come along. Takes my breath away, but it’s better for the bile than old Rumsey’s drugs. Suppose you could run up here?”

      “I dare say I could,” said Geoffrey; “or carry you up if I tried.”

      “Confound your ugly great muscles! I dare say you could. But look yonder – that’s some of your work.”

      “My work?” cried Geoffrey, as the old man pointed to the great granite engine-house on the promontory already known to the new arrival as Wheal Carnac.

      “Well, the work of you engineering mining fellows. Thousands of pounds have gone down that hole.”

      “Yes, I suppose so,” replied Geoffrey, as they still ascended, until the old gentleman stopped short before a pretty granite-built house in a nook of the huge cliff that sloped down to the sea. It was well sheltered from the north and east, and its broad terrace-like garden was blushing with bright-hued flowers. In one corner was a well-built summer-house, which served as a look-out over the shimmering sea, and from which the putting out of the fishing-fleet, or the sailing to and fro of the great vessels in the Channel, could be plainly seen.

      “Ah! this looks homely and snug,” said Geoffrey, as he noticed the clean windows, white curtains, and pleasant aspect of the place.

      “Yes, it’s pretty well,” said the old gentleman, who was always furtively watching his companion, and as he spoke he laid his hand upon the green gate at the foot of a rough granite flight of steps. “This is the way up from the cliff; there’s a road from Carnac town on the other side.