E Hornung - At Large

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Title: At Large

Author: E. W. Hornung

Release Date: March 26, 2011 [EBook #35684]

[Last updated: April 16, 2011]

Language: English

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O THER B OOKS BY M R. H ORNUNG

THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN. $1.25.RAFFLES. MORE ADVENTURES OF THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN. Illustrated by F. C. YOHN. $1.50.PECCAVI. A NOVEL. $1.50.THE SHADOW OF A MAN. $1.25.DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. A NOVEL. $1.25.SOME PERSONS UNKNOWN. $1.25.YOUNG BLOOD. $1.25.MY LORD DUKE. $1.25.THE ROGUE'S MARCH. A ROMANCE. $1.50.THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA. [ Ivory Series. ] 16mo. $0.75.A BRIDE FROM THE BUSH. [ Ivory Series. ] 16mo. $0.75.IRRALIE'S BUSHRANGER. A STORY OF AUSTRALIAN ADVENTURE. [ Ivory Series. ] 16mo. $0.75.

AT LARGE

AT LARGE

A NOVEL

BY

E. W. HORNUNG

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

NEW YORK ::::::::::::::::: 1902

COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

All rights reserved

PUBLISHED FEBRUARY, 1902

TROW DIRECTORY

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY

NEW YORK

CONTENTS

Page

A Nucleus of Fortune 1

Sundown 11

After Four Years 20

How Dick Came Home 28

The First Evening at Graysbrooke 41

Sisyphus 53

South Kensington 64

The Admirable Miles 72

A Dancing Lesson and its Consequences 86

An Old Friend and an Old Memory 98

Dressing, Dancing, Looking on 109

"To-Morrow, and To-Morrow, and To-Morrow" 123

In Bushey Park 132

Quits 152

The Morning After 163

Military Manœuvres 174

"Miles's Beggars" 185

Alice Speaks for Herself 196

Conterminous Courses 206

Strange Humility 216

An Altered Man 227

Extremities 234

The Effect of a Photograph 244

The Effect of a Song 256

Melmerbridge Church 271

At Bay 286

The Fatal Tress 296

The Effort 307

Elizabeth Ryan 313

Sweet Revenge 325

The Charity of Silence 333

Suspense: Reaction 343

How Dick Said Good-Bye 353

AT LARGE

At Large

I

A NUCLEUS OF FORTUNE

A HOODED wagon was creeping across a depressing desert in the middle of Australia; layers of boxes under the hood, and of brass-handled, mahogany drawers below the boxes, revealed the licensed hawker of the bush. Now, the hawker out there is a very extensive development of his prototype here at home; he is Westbourne Grove on wheels, with the prices of Piccadilly, W. But these particular providers were neither so universal nor so exorbitant as the generality of their class. There were but two of them; they drove but two horses; and sat shoulder to shoulder on the box.

The afternoon was late; all day the horses had been crawling, for the track was unusually heavy. There had been recent rains; red mud clogged the wheels at every yard, and clung to them in sticky tires. Little pools had formed all over the plain; and westward, on the off-side of the wagon, these pools caught the glow of the setting sun, and filled with flame. Far over the horses' ears a long low line of trees was visible; otherwise the plain was unbroken; you might ride all day on these plains and descry no other horse nor man.

The pair upon the box were partners. Their names were Flint and Edmonstone. Flint was enjoying a senior partner's prerogative, and lolling back wreathed in smoke. His thick bare arms were idly folded. He was a stout, brown, bearded man, who at thirty looked many years older; indolence, contentment, and goodwill were written upon his face.

The junior partner was driving, and taking some pains about it—keeping clear of the deep ruts, and pushing the pace only where the track was good. He looked twenty years Flint's junior, and was, in fact, just of age. He was strongly built and five-feet-ten, with honest gray eyes, fair hair, and an inelastic mouth.

Both of these men wore flannel shirts, buff cord trousers, gray felt wideawakes; both were public-school men, drawn together in the first instance by that mutually surprising fact, and for the rest as different as friends could be. Flint had been ten years in the Colonies, Edmonstone not quite ten weeks. Flint had tried everything, and failed; Edmonstone had everything before him, and did not mean to fail. Flint was experienced, Edmonstone sanguine; things surprised Edmonstone, nothing surprised Flint. Edmonstone had dreams of the future, and golden dreams; Flint troubled only about the present, and that very little. In fine, while Edmonstone saw licensed hawking leading them both by a short cut to fortune, and earnestly intended that it should, Flint said they would be lucky if their second trip was as successful as their first, now all but come to an end.

The shadow of horses and wagon wavered upon the undulating plain as they drove. The shadows grew longer and longer; there was a noticeable change in them whenever young Edmonstone bent forward to gaze at the sun away to the right, and then across at the eastern sky already tinged with purple; and that was every five minutes.

"It will be dark in less than an hour," the lad exclaimed at last, in his quick, anxious way; "dark just as we reach the scrub; we shall have no moon until eleven or so, and very likely not strike the river to-night."

The sentences were punctuated with sharp cracks of the whip. An answer came from Edmonstone's left, in the mild falsetto that contrasted so queerly with the bodily bulk of Mr. John Flint, and startled all who heard him speak for the first time.

"My good fellow, I implore you again to spare the horseflesh and the whipcord—both important items—and take it easy like me."

"Jack," replied Edmonstone warmly, "you know well enough why I want to get to the Murrumbidgee to-night. No? Well, at all events, you own that we should lose no time about getting to some bank or other?"

"Yes, on the whole. But I don't see the good of hurrying on now to reach the township at an unearthly hour, when all the time we might camp in comfort anywhere here. To my mind, a few hours, or even a night or two, more or less——"

"Are neither here nor there? Exactly!" broke in Edmonstone, with increasing warmth. "Jack, Jack! the days those very words cost us! Add them up—subtract them from the time we've been on the roads—and we'd have been back a week ago at least. I shall have no peace of mind until I step out of the bank, and that's the truth of it." As he spoke, the fingers of Edmonstone's right hand rested for a moment, with a curious, involuntary movement, upon his right breast.

"I can see that," returned Flint, serenely. "The burden of riches, you see—and young blood! When you've been out here as long as I have, you'll take things easier, my son."

"You don't understand my position," said Edmonstone. "You laugh when I tell you I came out here to make money: all the same, I mean to do it. I own I had rotten ideas about Australia—all new chums have. But if I can't peg out my claim and pick up nuggets, I'm going to do the next best thing. It may be hawking and it may not. I mean to see. But we must give the thing a chance, and not run unnecessary risks with the gross proceeds of our very first trip. A hundred and thirty pounds isn't a fortune; but it may be the nucleus of one; and it's all we've got between us in this world meanwhile."