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Updated: May 28, 2025
It was the pimple-faced Major. I turned to my intended victim, and found him looking calmly and impassively at me. "Master Wheatman of the Hanyards, unless I am mistaken," he said. "Your servant, sir," said I, rather sourly. But for that dead rascal at our feet I could beyond a doubt have plucked him like a chough, and here I was, still penniless.
"And my old friend is very welcome, sir," she answered, holding out her hand. I bowed over it and kissed it. I thought that it trembled a little as it lay in mine, but it is at least probable that I was the source of what fluttering there was. "I trust you have had a good voyage, Mr. Wheatman?" she questioned easily. "Excellent, madam," I replied, with imitative lightness of tone.
In the twilight at the door there was no seeing who the new-comer was, but as he stepped forward the full light revealed him. It was Prince Charles. "Stir not, ladies, on your allegiance!" he said gaily. I rose, bowed him into my chair, and stood behind him. "Oddsfish, as my great uncle used to say, I've come to save your life, Master Wheatman!"
Much it would have mattered if I had, but I always take credit when and while I can. "It's very kind of you, Ol ... Mr. Wheatman," said he, "but...." "Yes," said I encouragingly. "But there's what I may call the material side of the matter to be considered. My son's bride should be suitable from the business point of view." "I've been considering that point, Master Dobson.
The other, a middle-aged, domineering man with a powerful face, looked angrily at me as I handed him my dispatch. He read it impatiently, threw it down beside the map, and said, "They're coming on to-night, Davie." Then, curtly to me, "Your name, sir?" "Wheatman of the Hanyards." "Hanyards? Humph! Are you an Irishman?" "No, my lord. Not even a Scotchman!"
"Who's there?" he quavered. "Wheatman of the Hanyards," I answered; "but my name is nothing to the purpose and my business is. I must see Sir James Blount." "He's abed," said he, "hours ago!" "Then fetch him out!" The old man pushed his lantern close to my face and straightened himself to take a fair look at me.
"Your Royal Highness," said Margaret, "this is my splendid friend and gallant comrade, Oliver Wheatman." "Enough, and more than enough, for a poor Prince Adventurer. Give me but the leavings of your friendship and comradeship, Master Wheatman, and I shall be beholden to you. And now, excuse us, madam, I have much to say to your father." "Sir," said I, "I crave a little boon."
You, Master Wheatman, because your twofold signal service is something it would shame me for ever not to be allowed to return, and you, madam, because," he paused, and the curious rapt expression came over his face again, "because you are very beautiful and need help. Your father's politics will make no difficulty, so far as I am concerned." "You know my father?" she asked, surprised.
Joe looked at all men as potential customers of the "Bull and Mouth," and judged them accordingly. "I know the worst about you now, Master Wheatman, and by way of providing you with a less embarrassing topic of conversation, you might tell me what we shall do when we get to Stafford." "We are going to Marry-me-quick's."
There are plenty of the honest party hereabouts, and especially over to the west there in Wales." "Are we still in Staffordshire, Master Wheatman?" asked Margaret. "Oh yes, for quite a distance ahead," I replied. "The spirit of prophecy is upon me, gentlemen," she said merrily. "Our Staffordshire luck is not yet out, and this time it's Master Wheatman's turn."
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