That same day Rickie, feeling neither poor nor aimless, left the Ansells' for a night's visit to Cadover. His aunt had invited him--why, he could not think, nor could he think why he should refuse the invitation. She could not annoy him now, and he was not vindictive. In the dell near Madingley he had cried, "I hate no one," in his ignorance. Now, with full knowledge, he hated no one again. The weather was pleasant, the county attractive, and he was ready for a little change.
Maud and Stewart saw him off. Stephen, who was down for the holiday, had been left with his chin on the luncheon table. He had wanted to come also. Rickie pointed out that you cannot visit where you have broken the windows. There was an argument--there generally was--and now the young man had turned sulky.
"Let him do what he likes," said Ansell. "He knows more than we do. He knows everything.""Is he to get drunk?" Rickie asked.
"Most certainly."
"And to go where he isn't asked?"
Maud, though liking a little spirit in a man, declared this to be impossible.
"Well, I wish you joy!" Rickie called, as the train moved away.
"He means mischief this evening. He told me piously that he felt it beating up. Good-bye!""But we'll wait for you to pass," they cried. For the Salisbury train always backed out of the station and then returned, and the Ansell family, including Stewart, took an incredible pleasure in seeing it do this.
The carriage was empty. Rickie settled himself down for his little journey. First he looked at the coloured photographs. Then he read the directions for obtaining luncheon-baskets, and felt the texture of the cushions. Through the windows a signal-box interested him. Then he saw the ugly little town that was now his home, and up its chief street the Ansells' memorable facade. The spirit of a genial comedy dwelt there. It was so absurd, so kindly. The house was divided against itself and yet stood.
Metaphysics, commerce, social aspirations--all lived together in harmony. Mr. Ansell had done much, but one was tempted to believe in a more capricious power--the power that abstains from "nipping." "One nips or is nipped, and never knows beforehand," quoted Rickie, and opened the poems of Shelley, a man less foolish than you supposed. How pleasant it was to read!
If business worried him, if Stephen was noisy or Ansell perverse, there still remained this paradise of books. It seemed as if he had read nothing for two years.
Then the train stopped for the shunting, and he heard protests from minor officials who were working on the line. They complained that some one who didn't ought to, had mounted on the footboard of the carriage. Stephen's face appeared, convulsed with laughter. With the action of a swimmer he dived in through the open window, and fell comfortably on Rickie's luggage and Rickie. He declared it was the finest joke ever known. Rickie was not so sure. "You'll be run over next," he said. "What did you do that for?""I'm coming with you," he giggled, rolling all that he could on to the dusty floor.
"Now, Stephen, this is too bad. Get up. We went into the whole question yesterday.""I know; and I settled we wouldn't go into it again, spoiling my holiday.""Well, it's execrable taste."
Now he was waving to the Ansells, and showing them a piece of soap: it was all his luggage, and even that he abandoned, for he flung it at Stewart's lofty brow.
"I can't think what you've done it for. You know how strongly Ifelt."
Stephen replied that he should stop in the village; meet Rickie at the lodge gates; that kind of thing.
"It's execrable taste," he repeated, trying to keep grave.
"Well, you did all you could," he exclaimed with sudden sympathy.
"Leaving me talking to old Ansell, you might have thought you'd got your way. I've as much taste as most chaps, but, hang it! your aunt isn't the German Emperor. She doesn't own Wiltshire.""You ass!" sputtered Rickie, who had taken to laugh at nonsense again.
"No, she isn't," he repeated, blowing a kiss out of the window to maidens. "Why, we started for Wiltshire on the wet morning!""When Stewart found us at Sawston railway station?" He smiled happily. "I never thought we should pull through.""Well, we DIDN'T. We never did what we meant. It's nonsense that I couldn't have managed you alone. I've a notion. Slip out after your dinner this evening, and we'll get thundering tight together.""I've a notion I won't."
"It'd do you no end of good. You'll get to know people--shepherds, carters--" He waved his arms vaguely, indicating democracy. "Then you'll sing.""And then?"
"Plop."
"Precisely."
"But I'll catch you," promised Stephen. "We shall carry you up the hill to bed. In the morning you wake, have your row with old Em'ly, she kicks you out, we meet--we'll meet at the Rings!" He danced up and down the carriage. Some one in the next carriage punched at the partition, and when this happens, all lads with mettle know that they must punch the partition back.
"Thank you. I've a notion I won't," said Rickie when the noise had subsided--subsided for a moment only, for the following conversation took place to an accompaniment of dust and bangs.
"Except as regards the Rings. We will meet there.""Then I'll get tight by myself."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I will. I swore to do something special this evening. Ifeel like it."
"In that case, I get out at the next station." He was laughing, but quite determined. Stephen had grown too dictatorial of late.
The Ansells spoilt him. "It's bad enough having you there at all.
Having you there drunk is impossible. I'd sooner not visit my aunt than think, when I sat with her, that you're down in the village teaching her labourers to be as beastly as yourself. Go if you will. But not with me.""Why shouldn't I have a good time while I'm young, if I don't harm any one?" said Stephen defiantly.
"Need we discuss self."
"Oh, I can stop myself any minute I choose. I just say 'I won't' to you or any other fool, and I don't."