第46章 A MAN OF DEVON(3)

......I've made a new acquaintance.I was lying in the orchard, and presently, not seeing me, he came along--a man of middle height, with a singularly good balance, and no lumber--rather old blue clothes, a flannel shirt, a dull red necktie, brown shoes, a cap with a leather peak pushed up on the forehead.Face long and narrow, bronzed with a kind of pale burnt-in brownness; a good forehead.A brown moustache, beard rather pointed, blackening about the cheeks; his chin not visible, but from the beard's growth must be big; mouth I should judge sensuous.Nose straight and blunt; eyes grey, with an upward look, not exactly frank, because defiant; two parallel furrows down each cheek, one from the inner corner of the eye, one from the nostril; age perhaps thirty-five.About the face, attitude, movements, something immensely vital, adaptable, daring, and unprincipled.

He stood in front of the loggia, biting his fingers, a kind of nineteenth-century buccaneer, and I wondered what he was doing in this galley.They say you can tell a man of Kent or a Somersetshire man; certainly you can tell a Yorkshire man, and this fellow could only have been a man of Devon, one of the two main types found in this county.He whistled; and out came Pasiance in a geranium-coloured dress, looking like some tall poppy--you know the slight droop of a poppy's head, and the way the wind sways its stem....She is a human poppy, her fuzzy dark hair is like a poppy's lustreless black heart, she has a poppy's tantalising attraction and repulsion, something fatal, or rather fateful.She came walking up to my new friend, then caught sight of me, and stopped dead.

"That," she said to me, "is Zachary Pearse.This," she said to him, "is our lodger." She said it with a wonderful soft malice.She wanted to scratch me, and she scratched.Half an hour later I was in the yard, when up came this fellow Pearse.

"Glad to know you," he said, looking thoughtfully at the pigs.

"You're a writer, aren't you?"

"A sort of one," I said.

"If by any chance," he said suddenly, "you're looking for a job, Icould put something in your way.Walk down to the beach with me, and I'll tell you; my boat's at anchor, smartest little craft in these parts."It was very hot, and I had no desire whatever to go down to the beach--I went, all the same.We had not gone far when John Ford and Dan Treffry came into the lane.Our friend seemed a little disconcerted, but soon recovered himself.We met in the middle of the lane, where there was hardly room to pass.John Ford, who looked very haughty, put on his pince-nez and stared at Pearse.

"Good-day!" said Pearse; "fine weather! I've been up to ask Pasiance to come for a sail.Wednesday we thought, weather permitting; this gentleman's coming.Perhaps you'll come too, Mr.Treffry.You've never seen my place.I'll give you lunch, and show you my father.

He's worth a couple of hours' sail any day." It was said in such an odd way that one couldn't resent his impudence.John Ford was seized with a fit of wheezing, and seemed on the eve of an explosion; he glanced at me, and checked himself.

"You're very good," he said icily; "my granddaughter has other things to do.You, gentlemen, will please yourselves"; and, with a very slight bow, he went stumping on to the house.Dan looked at me, and I looked at him.

"You'll come?" said Pearse, rather wistfully.Dan stammered: "Thank you, Mr.Pearse; I'm a better man on a horse than in a boat, but--thank you." Cornered in this way, he's a shy, soft-hearted being.

Pearse smiled his thanks."Wednesday, then, at ten o'clock; you shan't regret it.""Pertinacious beggar!" I heard Dan mutter in his beard; and found myself marching down the lane again by Pearse's side.I asked him what he was good enough to mean by saying I was coming, without having asked me.He answered, unabashed:

"You see, I'm not friends with the old man; but I knew he'd not be impolite to you, so I took the liberty."He has certainly a knack of turning one's anger to curiosity.We were down in the combe now; the tide was running out, and the sand all little, wet, shining ridges.About a quarter of a mile out lay a cutter, with her tan sail half down, swinging to the swell.The sunlight was making the pink cliffs glow in the most wonderful way;and shifting in bright patches over the sea like moving shoals of goldfish.Pearse perched himself on his dinghy, and looked out under his hand.He seemed lost in admiration.

"If we could only net some of those spangles," he said, "an' make gold of 'em! No more work then.""It's a big job I've got on," he said presently; "I'll tell you about it on Wednesday.I want a journalist.""But I don't write for the papers," I said; "I do other sort of work.

My game is archaeology."

"It doesn't matter," he said, "the more imagination the better.It'd be a thundering good thing for you."His assurance was amazing, but it was past supper-time, and hunger getting the better of my curiosity, I bade him good-night.When Ilooked back, he was still there, on the edge of his boat, gazing at the sea.A queer sort of bird altogether, but attractive somehow.

Nobody mentioned him that evening; but once old Ford, after staring a long time at Pasiance, muttered a propos of nothing, "Undutiful children!" She was softer than usual; listening quietly to our talk, and smiling when spoken to.At bedtime she went up to her grand-father, without waiting for the usual command, "Come and kiss me, child."Dan did not stay to supper, and he has not been here since.This morning I asked Mother Hopgood who Zachary Pearse was.She's a true Devonian; if there's anything she hates, it is to be committed to a definite statement.She ambled round her answer, and at last told me that he was "son of old Cap'en Jan Pearse to Black Mill.'Tes an old family to Dartymouth an' Plymouth," she went on in a communicative outburst."They du say Francis Drake tuke five o' they Pearses with 'en to fight the Spaniards.At least that's what I've heard Mr.