The Money Moon | Page 3

heart, sir, I am ready to swear that it is not even
cracked. And now, sir,--what clothes do you propose to wear this
morning?"
"And pray, why should you be so confident of regarding
the--er--condition of my heart?"
"Because, sir,--speaking as your father's old servant, Master George, I
make bold to say that I don't believe that you have ever been in love, or
even know what love is, Master George, sir."
Bellew picked up the salt-spoon, balanced it very carefully upon his
finger, and put it down again.
"Nevertheless," said he, shaking his head, "I can see for myself but the
dreary perspective of a hopeless future, Baxter, blasted by the Haunting
Spectre of the Might Have Been;--I'll trouble you to push the cigarettes
a little nearer."
"And now, sir," said Baxter, as he rose to strike, and apply the
necessary match, "what suit will you wear to-day?"
"Something in tweeds."
"Tweeds, sir! surely you forget your appointment with the Lady Cecily
Prynne, and her party? Lord Mountclair had me on the telephone, last
night--"
"Also a good, heavy walking-stick, Baxter, and a knap-sack."
"A knap-sack, sir?"

"I shall set out on a walking tour--in an hour's time."
"Certainly, sir,--where to, sir?"
"I haven't the least idea, Baxter, but I'm going--in an hour. On the
whole, of the four courses you describe for one whose life is blighted,
whose heart,--I say whose heart, Baxter, is broken,--utterly smashed,
and--er--shivered beyond repair, I prefer to disappear--in an hour,
Baxter."
"Shall you drive the touring car, sir, or the new racer?"
"I shall walk, Baxter, alone,--in an hour."

CHAPTER III
_Which concerns itself with a hay-cart, and a belligerent Waggoner_
It was upon a certain August morning that George Bellew shook the
dust of London from his feet, and, leaving Chance, or Destiny to direct
him, followed a hap-hazard course, careless alike of how, or when, or
where; sighing as often, and as heavily as he considered his
heart-broken condition required,--which was very often, and very
heavily,--yet heeding, for all that, the glory of the sun, and the stir and
bustle of the streets about him.
Thus it was that, being careless of his ultimate destination, Fortune
condescended to take him under her wing, (if she has one), and guided
his steps across the river, into the lovely land of Kent,--that county of
gentle hills, and broad, pleasant valleys, of winding streams and shady
woods, of rich meadows and smiling pastures, of grassy lanes and
fragrant hedgerows,--that most delightful land which has been called,
and very rightly, "The Garden of England."
It was thus, as has been said, upon a fair August morning, that Bellew
set out on what he termed "a walking tour." The reservation is
necessary because Bellew's idea of a walking-tour is original, and

quaint. He began very well, for Bellew,--in the morning he walked very
nearly five miles, and, in the afternoon, before he was discovered, he
accomplished ten more on a hay-cart that happened to be going in his
direction.
He had swung himself up among the hay, unobserved by the somnolent
driver, and had ridden thus an hour or more in that delicious state
between waking, and sleeping, ere the waggoner discovered him,
whereupon ensued the following colloquy:
THE WAGGONER. (_Indignantly_) Hallo there! what might you be a
doing of in my hay?
BELLEW. (_Drowsily_) Enjoying myself immensely.
THE WAGGONER. (_Growling_) Well, you get out o' that, and sharp
about it.
BELLEW. (_Yawning_) Not on your life! No sir,--'not for Cadwallader
and all his goats!'
THE WAGGONER. You jest get down out o' my hay,--now come!
BELLEW. (_Sleepily_) Enough, good fellow,--go to!--thy voice
offends mine ear!
THE WAGGONER. (_Threateningly_) Ear be blowed! If ye don't get
down out o' my hay,--I'll come an' throw ye out.
BELLEW. (_Drowsily_) 'Twould be an act of wanton aggression that
likes me not.
THE WAGGONER. (_Dubiously_) Where be ye goin'?
BELLEW. Wherever you like to take me; Thy way shall be my way,
and--er--thy people--(Yawn) So drive on, my rustic Jehu, and Heaven's
blessings prosper thee!
Saying which, Bellew closed his eyes again, sighed plaintively, and

once more composed himself to slumber.
But to drive on, the Waggoner, very evidently, had no mind; instead,
flinging the reins upon the backs of his horses, he climbed down from
his seat, and spitting on his hands, clenched them into fists and shook
them up at the yawning Bellew, one after the other.
"It be enough," said he, "to raise the 'Old Adam' inside o' me to 'ave a
tramper o' the roads a-snoring in my hay,--but I ain't a-going to be
called names, into the bargain. 'Rusty'--I may be, but I reckon I'm good
enough for the likes o' you,--so come on down!" and the Waggoner
shook his fists again.
He was a very