Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell (читать лучшие читаемые книги TXT) 📗

then addressed h is stalwart coachman. “Get your artillery out of the

boot, you fool, and if your whip don’t do your business try flintflashing.”

Whereupon the coachman stood up, put the whip in its socket, opened

the locker beneath the box seat, and produced two horse-pistols and a

blunderbuss, which he lay on the roof of the vehicle.

It was then that the Squire saw, to his further annoyance, that the

way to the house was barred by the huddled women and children whom

Doctor Syn was shepherding.

“Faith, must I cu t my way through this lot, to keep an appointment?”

At this, and the sight of his yet drawn sword, the children cried and

whimpered, while some of the women set up a screaming. In a few

moments, however, Doctor Syn managed to calm their fears, assuring them

that he would see to their protection, and as soon as all was quiet he

confronted the Squire, and spoke clearly enough for all to hear.

“I believe, sir, that you take great pride in your title of “Bully’.

It is an epithet after your own heart, and no doubt you consider ‘Bully’

Tappitt to be something of a fine fellow. In that I suggest you are

wrong. If you look at a dictionary, providing, of course, that you

can read—you will find that a bully is a coward. And the

dictionary is right, sir, for what is more cowardly than a

strong man oppressing those he thinks weaker than himself?”

At this there was a mummur of approbation from the angry men

who were grouped around the coach.

“Hold your tongues, you rascals, when you hear your betters

speak.”

But more than his words, it was the sunlight gleaming on the

naked blade that silenced them. At which the Squire, with a

scornful laugh, turned his back on them and answered Doctor Syn.

“I think it takes more than a coward to have faced this mass

of dangerous discontents alone, sir.”

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“I rather think that Bully Tappitt, in his vast conceit, saw no

danger in it,” replied the parson, with a sneer. “For your own safety,

however, let me tell you that your situation is very dangerous; for,

were I to use a little oratory against you, those stout fellows of

Oxford Town would duck you in the horse-trough younder. But I choose to

do no such thing. My cloth forbids it. I am man of peace. And I

recommend these good people to ignore your brutalities, and to continue

their merry-makings.”

At this some of the bolder spirits raised a cheer, but the Squire

took no heed, but continued:

“Merry-makings?” he repeated. “This Fair is a scandal to the

neighbourhood. What is it but an annual excuse for cheating,

quarreling, idle lewdness and drinking to excess?”

“Are you claiming a monopoly upon your own pet habits, sir?” asked

the Doctor scornfully.

This the Squire ignored, as well as the laughter the remark caused

amongst the crowd. He merely continued:

“I should have thought that the University, of which you are such a

bright ornament, would have used what influence it has to stop this

annual inconvenience.”

“The University, sir, agrees with the God in Heaven Whom it tries to

serve, in that the lives and happiness of these good people are vastly

more important than the trifling inconvenience that may trouble

gentlemen of your kidney.”

The Squire’s sword twitched angrily, but on hearing a chorus of

applause behind him, he had sufficient wisdom not to run his blade

through the body of a defenseless man before the eyes of so many hostile

witnesses.

“Have done with your incivilities, sir!” he cried angrily. “You

take advantage of your cloth, and think yourself secure by toadying to

peasants. I did not come here, at some inconvenience, to bandy words

with you, but to transact a piece of business with some ladies. Lead

the way.

“The sooner it’s over the better,” replied the Doctor.

He turned to lead the way, and saw that Tony Cobtree was standing in

the porch. The young attorney was dressed in the height of fashion as

became one of his station who had journeyed so far to woo his lady. The

Squire saw him too, and noted that his fingers were playing a dangerous

tattoo upon the beautifully chased gold hilt of his small-sword.

“Another security you had, eh, Doctor?” he sneered. “Your cloth and

popularity amongst the commoners were not sufficient. You must have an

armed coxcomb behind you.”

“You would find but little of the coxcomb in either of us, sir, if it

came to sword-play,” replied Syn haughtily. “But we are not

sufficiently interested to indulge you. Perhaps we set as much store

upon the rules of duelling as you do, and just as you value your station

in life—such as it is—why, so do we; and no man of breeding is

considered dishonoured by declining to meet one whom he knows to be

beneath him.”

“Have done with your glib talk, Mister Parson!” rapped out the

Squire, “and let us transact our business with these for eign women.

Where are they? And where is this Kentish lawyer that you spoke about?”

“Let me introduce myself, sir,” retored young Cobtree, coming

forward. “You, I understand, are this Iffley Squire, of whom we have

heard small good. I am Antony Cobtree, Attorney at Law, and here for

the convenience and protection of two respected Spanish ladies. I have

been recommended for this

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office by my friend here, Doctor Syn of this University, and by two very

distinguished Justices of the Peace in the County of Kent, one of them

being Sir Henry Pembury of Lympne Castle, and the other my own father

and his friend, Sir Charles Cobtree, Leveller of the Marsh Scots of

Romney, in the Court -House of Dymchurch-under-the-Wall. Let me add that

my recommend ation has been approved by the two honoured ladies who await

you above. And let me add again that they are only willing to receive

you as representing your ward and nephew, Mister Nicholas Tappitt, now

absent in Spain, who was involved in generous business ties with the

late Senor Almago. These ladies now await you: the widow and the

daughter of the said Spanish gentleman. Doctor Syn and myself are both

busy men; and so if you will follow us to the parlour above, you shall

hear the instructions regarding your ward.”

Saying which, young Cobtree led the way through the crowd of women

and children in the hall.

Now, on the mention of the parlour above, the Squire of Iffley lifted

his quizzing -glass and, surveying the window indicated, beheld the

beautiful Imogene anxiously peering over the ledge.

The Squire, seeming not to have listened to the purport of the

lawyer’s speech, called upon Doctor Syn to wait.

“Is that young filly above there the wench whom my nephew has let

slip through his purse-strings?”

Doctor Syn did not reply, but with an angry gesture pointed to the

porch.

The Squire, however, did not immediately obey the invitation to enter

the house. He continued to gaze at the Spanish girl, who, feeling the

embarrassment, retired from the open window.

“I have always thought my nephew a fool,” continued the Squire. “I

am now so sure of it that if I do not marry the girl myself I shall at

least cut him out of my testament. She is as beautiful as she is rich,

and shall such a morsel be thrown away upon such a rapacious young

parson as yourself? We’ll soon see to that, sir. Lead me to this

charmer, at once.”

Doctor Syn, who had kindly set the children aside to make a passageway, now turned with an expression of suppressed fury upon the Squire of