"Eh, Wullie, Wullie! they're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad."Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye, and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake hands with the victor, he continued:
"It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England."He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far slope as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent.
Only when the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile played for a moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh.
"Bide a wee, Wullie -- he! he! Bide a wee.
'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft agley.'
As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly.
There was silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation.
The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there. There were hoarse yells of: "There he b&Yon's him! What's he done wi' it? Thief! Throttle him!"The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering their imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous, and their wrath was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who led the van. There was more than one white face among the women at the top of the slope as they watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There were more men than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local constables in the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and gesture, ay, and stick too, to stem the advance.
It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke, his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast challenge.
"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll hide for ye, never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like, Englishmen a'."And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came on.
At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of the mulitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!" The advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the meeting bundled through.
He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring. Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly; vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.
The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to turn in sudden terror.
"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight.
The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out.
"Mind, sir, you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous creations "--he brandished the bricks, and M'Adam started back--"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in the Cup case, sir! the Cup case!
No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult me--meeting--committee--every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.
M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
"I pit 'em there," he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of his disclosure.
The secretary gasped.
"You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities"--he hurled the bricks furiously on the unoff ending ground--" but you dare to tell me so!"The little man smiled.
"'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons.""Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What were your precious reasons?"The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now welinigh reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were isolated cries of:
"Duck him!"
"Chuck him in!"
"An' the dog!"
"Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!"
"There are my reasons!" said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing faces. "Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and"--in a stage whisper in the other's ear --"I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on the road."Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
"Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer gorilla!" he called.
M'Adam half turned.
