Oddly enough, he often found himself comparing her with Elsie Herbert, a girl with whom he had never exchanged a word, and Angle Saumarez invariably figured badly in the comparison. The boy did not know then that he must become a man, perhaps soured of life, bitter with experience, before he would understand the difference between respect and fascination.

With housewife prudence, Mrs. Bolland hailed him as he was pa.s.sing through the back kitchen.

"Noo, then, Martin, don't ye go racketin' about too much in your best clothes. And mind your straw hat isn't blown off if ye go on one o' them whirligigs."

"All right, mother," he said cheerfully, and was gone in a flash.

Two hours must elapse before Angle could appear. Jim Bates, who bore no malice, stood treat in gingerbread and lemonade out of the largesse bestowed by Mrs. Saumarez. Martin, carried away by sight of a champion boxer who offered a sovereign to any local man under twelve stone who stood up to him for three two-minute rounds, spent sixpence in securing seats for himself and Jim when the gage of combat was thrown down by his gamekeeper friend.

There was a furious fight with four-ounce gloves. The showman discovered quickly that Velveteens "knew a bit." Repeated attempts to "out" him with "the right" on the "point" resulted in heavy "counters" on the ribs, and a terrific uppercut failed because of the keeper's quick sight.

The proprietor of the booth, who acted as timekeeper, gave every favor to his henchman, but at the end of the third round the professional was more blown than the amateur. The sovereign was handed over with apparent good will, both showmen realizing that it might be money well spent. And it was, as the black eyes and swollen lips among the would-be pugilists of Elmsdale testified for many days thereafter.

Martin, who had never before seen a real boxing match, was entranced.

With a troop of boys he accompanied the two combatants to the door of the "Black Lion," where a fair proportion of the sovereign was soon converted into beer.

George Pickering had witnessed the contest. Generous to a fault, he started a purse to be fought for in rounds inside the booth. Wanting a pencil and paper, he ran upstairs to his room--he had resolved to stay at the inn for a couple of nights--and encountered Kitty Thwaites on the stairs.

She carried a laden tray, so he slipped an arm around her waist, and she was powerless to prevent him from kissing her unless she dropped the tray or risked upsetting its contents. She had no intention of doing either of these things.

"Oh, go on, do!" she cried, not averting her face too much.

He whispered something.

"Not me!" she giggled. "Besides, I won't have a minnit to spare till closin' time."

Pickering hugged her again. She descended the stairs, laughing and very red.

The boys heard something of the details of the proposed Elmsdale championship boxing compet.i.tion. Entries were pouring in, there being no fee. George Pickering was appointed referee, and the professional named as judge. The first round would be fought at 3 P.M. next day.

The time pa.s.sed more quickly than Martin expected; as for his money, it simply melted. Tenpence out of the shilling had vanished before he realized how precious little remained wherewith to entertain Angle. She said she would have "plenty of money," but he imagined that a walk through the fair and a ride on the roundabout would satisfy her. Not even at fourteen does the male understand the female of twelve.

A few minutes before eight he escaped from his companions and strolled toward The Elms. The house was not like the suburban villa which stands in the center of a row and proudly styles itself Oakdene. It was hidden in a cl.u.s.ter of lordly elms, and already the day was so far spent that the entrance gate was invisible save at a few yards' distance.

The nearest railway station was situated two miles along this very road.

A number of slow-moving country people were sauntering to the station, where the north train was due at 9:05 P.M. Another train, that from the south, arrived at 9:20, and would be the last that night. A full moon was rising, but her glories were hidden by the distant hills. There was no wind; the weather was fine and settled. The Elmsdale Feast was lucky in its dates.

Martin waited near the gate and heard the church clock chime the hour.

Two boys on bicycles came flying toward the village. They were the Beckett-Smythes. They slackened pace as they neared The Elms.

"Wonder if she'll get out to-night?" said Ernest, the younger.

"There's no use waiting here. She said she'd dodge out one evening for certain. If she's not in the village, we'd better skip back before we're missed," said the heir.

"Oh, that's all right. Pater thinks we're in the grounds, and there won't be any bother if we show up at nine."

They rode on. The quarter-hour chimed, and Martin became impatient.

"She was humbugging me, as usual," he reflected. "Well, this time I'm pleased."

An eager voice whispered:

"Hold the gate! It'll rattle when I climb over. They've not heard me. I crept here on the gra.s.s."

Angle had changed her dress to a dark-blue serge and sailor hat. This was decidedly thoughtful. In her day attire she must have attracted a great deal of notice. Now, in the dark, neither the excellence of her clothing nor the elegance of her carriage would differentiate her too markedly from the village girls.

She was breathless with haste, but her tongue rattled on rapidly.

"Mamma _is_ ill. I knew she would be. I told Franoise I had a headache, and went to bed. Then I crept downstairs again. Miss Walker nearly caught me, but she's so upset that she never saw me. As for Fritz, if I meet him--poof!"

"What's the matter with Mrs. Saumarez?" asked Martin.

"Trop de cognac, mon chri."

"What's that?"

"It means a 'bit wobbly, my dear.'"

"Is her head bad?"

"Yes. It will be for a week. But never mind mamma. She'll be all right, with Franoise to look after her. Here! You pay for everything. There's ten shillings in silver. I have a sovereign in my stocking, if we want it."

They were hurrying toward the distant medley of sound. Flaring naptha lamps gave the village street a Rembrandt effect. Love-making couples, with arms entwined, were coming away from the glare of the booths. Their forms cast long shadows on the white road.

"Ten shillings!" gasped Martin. "Whatever do we want with ten shillings?"

"To enjoy ourselves, you silly. You can't have any fun without money.

Why, when mamma dines at the Savoy and takes a party to the theater afterwards, it costs her as many pounds. I know, because I've seen the checks."

"That has nothing to do with it. We can't spend ten shillings here."

"Oh, can't we? You leave that to me. Mais, voyez-vous, imbcile, are you going to be nasty?" She halted and stamped an angry foot.

"No, I'm not; but----"

"Then come on, stupid. I'm late as it is."

"The stalls remain open until eleven."

"Magnifique! What a row there'll be if I have to knock to get in!"

Martin held his tongue. He resolved privately that Angle should be home at nine, at latest, if he dragged her thither by main force. The affair promised difficulties. She was so intractable that a serious quarrel would result. Well, he could not help it. Better a lasting break than the wild hubbub that would spring up if they both remained out till the heinous hour she contemplated.

In the village they encountered Jim Bates and Evelyn Atkinson, surrounded by seven or eight boys and girls, for Jim was disposing rapidly of his six shillings, and Evelyn bestowed favor on him for the nonce.

"h.e.l.lo! here's Martin," whooped Bates. "I thowt ye'd gone yam (home).

Where hev ye----"