vesta.
The afternoon had been hot and still hitherto, with never so much as a breath of wind stirring; but no sooner did I prepare to strike that match than from somewhere - Heaven knows where - there came a sudden flaw of wind that ruffled the glassy waters of the river and set every leaf whispering. Waiting until what I took to be a favourable opportunity, with infinite precaution I struck a light. It flickered in a sickly fashion for a moment between my sheltering palms, and immediately expired.
This is but one example of that “Spirit of the Perverse” pervading all things mundane, which we poor mortals are called upon to bear as best we may. Therefore I tossed aside the charred match, and having searched fruitlessly through my pockets for another, waited philosophically for some “good Samaritan” to come along. The bank I have mentioned sloped away gently on my left, thus affording an uninterrupted view of the path.
Now as my eyes followed this winding path I beheld an individual some distance away who crawled upon his hands and knees, evidently searching for something. As I watched, he succeeded in raking a Panama hat from beneath a bush, and having dusted it carefully with his handkerchief, replaced it upon his head and continued his advance.
With some faint hope that there might be a loose match hiding away in some corner of my pockets, I went through them again more carefully, but alas! with no better success; whereupon I gave it up and turned to glance at the approaching figure. My astonishment may be readily imagined when I beheld him in precisely the same attitude as before - that is to say, upon his hands and knees.
I was yet puzzling over this phenomenon when he again raked out the Panama on the end of the hunting-crop he carried, dusted it as before, looking about him the while with a bewildered air, and setting it firmly upon his head, came down the path. He was a tall young fellow, scrupulously neat and well groomed from the polish of his brown riding boots to his small, sleek moustache, which was parted with elaborate care and twisted into two fine points. There was about his whole person an indefinable air of self-complacent satisfaction, but he carried his personality in his moustache, so to speak, which, though small, as I say, and precise to a hair, yet obtruded itself upon one in a vaguely unpleasant way. Noticing all this, I thought I might make a very good guess as to his identity if need were.
All at once, as I watched him - like a bird rising from her nest - the devoted Panama rose in the air, turned over once or twice and fluttered (I use the word figuratively) into a bramble bush. Bad language was writ large in every line of his body as he stood looking about him, the hunting-crop quivering in his grasp.
It was at this precise juncture that his eye encountered me, and pausing only to recover his unfortunate headgear, he strode toward where I sat, “Do you know anything about this?” he inquired in a somewhat aggressive manner, holding up a length of black thread.
“A piece of ordinary pack-thread,” I answered, affecting to examine it with a critical eye.
“Do you know anything about it?” he said again, evidently in a very bad temper.
“Sir,” I answered, “I do not.”
“Because if I thought you did - “
“Sir.” I broke in, “you’ll excuse me, but that seems a very remarkable hat of yours.
“I repeat if I thought you did - “
“Of course,” I went on, “each to his taste, but personally I prefer one with less ‘gymnastic’ and more ‘stay -at- home, qualities.”
The hunting-crop was raised threateningly.
“Mr. Selwyn?” I inquired in a conversational tone.
The hunting-crop hesitated and was lowered.
“Well, sir?”
“Ah, I thought so,” I said, bowing; “permit me to trespass upon your generosity to the extent of a match - or, say, a couple.”
Mr. Selwyn remained staring down at me for a moment, and I saw the points of his moustache positively curling with indignation. Then, without deigning a reply, he turned on his heel and strode away. He had not gone more than thirty or forty paces, however, when I heard him stop and swear savagely - I did not need to look to learn the reason - I admit I chuckled. But my merriment was short-lived, for a moment later came the feeble squeak of a horn followed by a shout and the Imp’s voice upraised in dire distress.
“Little-John! Little-John! to the rescue!” it called.
I hesitated, for I will freely confess that when I had made that promise to the Imp it was with small expectation that I should be called upon to fulfil it. Still, a promise is a promise: so I sighed, and picking up the joint of my fishing rod, clambered up the bank. Glancing in the direction of the cries, I beheld Robin Hood struggling in the foe’s indignant grasp.
Now, there were but two methods of procedure open to me as I could see - the serious or the frankly grotesque. Naturally I chose the latter, and quarter-staff on shoulder, I swaggered down the path with an air that Little-John himself might well have envied.
“Beshrew me!” I cried, confronting the amazed Mr. Selwyn, “who dares lay hands on bold Robin Hood? - away, base rogue, hie thee hence or I am like to fetch thee a dour ding on that pate o’ thine!”
Mr. Selwyn loosed the Imp and stared at me in speechless astonishment, as well he might.
“Look ye, master,” I continued, entering into the spirit of the thing, “no man lays hand on Robin Hood whiles Little-John can twirl a staff or draw a bow-string - no, by St. Cuthbert!”
The Imp, retired to a safe distance, stood hearkening in a transport till, bethinking him of his part, he fished out the tattered book and began surreptitiously turning over the pages; as for Mr. Selwyn, he only fumbled at his moustache and stared.
“Aye, but I know thee,” I went on again, “by thy sly and crafty look, by thy scallopped cape and chain of office, I know thee for that same Sheriff of Nottingham that hath sworn to our undoing. Go to! didst’ think to take Robin - in the greenwood? Out upon thee! Thy years should have taught thee better wisdom. Out upon thee!”
