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Page 26
Of course it didn't matter in the very least. A man's a man for all that;
but when the man, in his brilliant oratorical way, has intimated that you
don't ride straight, and that you funk your fences, you may be forgiven
if you smile a sly private smile at his expense.
And Sir Peter did more than smile, he laughed.
"So that was the goose that laid the golden eggs?" (Ha, ha! Sir Peter had
made a joke.)
He went home merrily at the end of the week in his new clothes with his
new idea; and as he sat in the train he kept turning that little bit of
gossip over and over, and tasting it. It lasted him all the way from St.
Pancras to Drayton Parva. Sir Peter did not greatly care for women's
gossip; but he liked his own. And really the provocation had been
intense. It was tit for tat, _quid pro quo_, what was sauce for the
goose--the goose again! Ha! ha! ha! It was a good thing for Sir Peter
that Vance had given him another two inches round the waist.
Now, to do Sir Peter justice, he had meant to keep that little bit of
gossip entirely to himself, for solitary gloating over and nibbling.
But when an old gentleman has spent all his life uttering melancholy
platitudes, and is suddenly delivered of a joke--of two jokes--it is a
little hard to expect him to hide his light under a bushel. He could have
buried scandal in his breast forever, but to put an extinguisher on the
sparks of his playful fancy--no, these things are beyond a man's control.
And as the idea of the goose, with all its subtle humor, sank deeper and
deeper into Sir Peter's mind, he was irresistibly tempted to impart it to
Lady Morley (in strict confidence). Such a joke as that ought not to be
kept to himself to live and die with him; it would hardly be kind to Lady
Morley. She would appreciate it.
She did appreciate it. So did Miss Batchelor, to whom she also told the
story (in strict confidence). So did everybody whom Miss Batchelor may or
may not have confided in. And when the thing became public property, Sir
Peter wished he had restrained his sense of humor.
CHAPTER VIII
TOWARDS "THE CROSS-ROADS"
It was the beginning of the hunting season, and with the hunting season
Louis Stanistreet reappeared on the scene. He stayed at Thorneytoft as
usual. Tyson had just bought a new hunter, a remarkable animal. It fell
away suddenly in the hind-quarters; it had a neck like a giraffe and legs
like a spider; but it could jump, if not very like a horse, very like a
kangaroo. This creature struck wonder and terror into the soul of the
hunt. At the first meet of the season Stanistreet, the Master, and Sir
Peter drew up by one accord to watch the antics of Tyson and his
kangaroo.
"By Jove! where does your friend pick up his hunters?" asked the Master.
"If you ask me," said Stanistreet, "I should say he buys them by the
yard."
Sir Peter smiled. The Master stroked his mustache and meditated. There
was a malignity about Stanistreet's humor conceivable enough--if there
was any truth in history. It struck Stanistreet that his feeble jest
met with an amount of attention out of all proportion to its merits. Sir
Peter was the first to recover himself.
"Your friend may buy his horses by the yard, but he doesn't ride like a
tailor. He rides like a man. Look at him--look at him!"
This was generous of Sir Peter, considering what Tyson had said about
_his_ riding. But for all his love of gossip Sir Peter was a gentleman,
and that goose weighed heavily on his conscience. The reproof he had just
administered to Stanistreet relieved him wonderfully.
Stanistreet was at a loss to understand the old fellow's caustic tone.
Over billiards that night Tyson enlightened him.
Louis had been in a good temper all day; and his high spirits had
infected Mrs. Nevill Tyson, a fact which, you may be sure, was not set
down to her credit by those who noticed it.
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