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Updated: June 28, 2025
To me, Captain Wheatman, clinking about in the corridor waiting for the Colonel, comes William, suave and confidential as ever. "Well, William," said I. "Any more coincidences?" "Yes, sir," said he, and began his hand-washing. "You'll die a rich man, William." "No, sir. This particular coincidence made me the poorer by, I should say," suspending his washing to calculate, "some five shillings."
The only advantage I ever got out of being a Prince was that old Tom here never dared thrash me for gulping up his rubbish." "Master Wheatman knows Latin enough to stock a couple of bishops, sir," said the Colonel. "The devil he does!" said Charles admiringly. "He'll come in handy for writing me a letter to His Holiness."
"Married a year come Christmas," whispered old Inskip, "and the babby's five weeks old to-morrow." A serving-woman bustled out of another room, and the lady and child were affectionately driven off to bed under her escort. Sir James came slowly back. "My wife and son, Mr. Wheatman," he said. "You must meet them to-morrow. The young rascal cries out whenever I desecrate him with my touch.
"By gad! and so you would, sir!" said my Lord Ogilvie explosively. "It sounds feasible," said old Sir Thomas, "but fortunately Colonel Waynflete is with us, and can teach us new tricks." "Of course he can," said Charles. "What do you say, Master Wheatman? You know him." "That old poachers make the best gamekeepers, sir," I answered.
"Of course you know there's only one end of it." "Yes," I replied, and hummed a stave of "Lillibullero." He leaned forward and said impressively, "The gibbet, Mr. Wheatman!" "Draughty places!" said I, smiling, as I thought of Nance Lousely. "I can feel the wind whistling through my bones." "You are pleased to be facetious, sir. It does credit, I must say, to your nerves."
"It was like rowing on a river." For a moment her eyes steadied and darkened, then she said with a smile, "That being so, even I, who am no sailor, should have enjoyed it along with you." This was how we met. Whether on level terms or not, who shall decide? "I say, Mr. Wheatman," broke in the pleasant voice of the Marquess, "you don't happen to have any venison-pasty on you, I suppose?
"Thank you, Master Wheatman," said Charles, in his ordinary frank way, when I rose. "You're worth a hundred rats like young Maclachlan." I coloured, partly with the praise and partly because I was wondering how many Smite-and-spare-nots I was worth. I was then closely questioned about the lie of the land to the south of Stafford and Derby.
As I view the situation, two things are requisite, first that you, Master Wheatman, should get Mistress Waynflete in advance of all the royal troops, and so out of danger, and secondly that we should learn precisely what has become of Colonel Waynflete." "Exactly," I agreed.
Here her sweet voice trailed off into a dainty snuffle: "'My dear lord, since out of the mouths of babes and sucklings proceedeth wisdom, hearken, I pray you, unto me, Oliver Wheatman, to wit of the Hanyards, and amend ye your ways lest I hit you over your cockscomb again, and very much harder than before.
We might as well leave a note asking them to pick us up at the 'Ring of Bells. And, madam, you can trust me to make Dick Doley content enough some day." She smiled, with her characteristic touch of chagrin. I liked her best so, for she never looked daintier. "With a bit of luck, Master Wheatman," she said whimsically, "there will surely come a time when you'll be wrong and I right.
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