"Two and a penny," he remarked, bitterly. "I"ll sell it for a third of what it cost me."

"You have put your money into the wrong machine," I suggested.

"Well, I know that!" he answered, a little crossly, as it seemed to me--he was not a nice man: had there been any one else to talk to I should have left him. "It isn"t losing the money I mind so much; it"s getting this d.a.m.n thing, that annoys me. If I could find that idiot Id ram it down his throat."

We walked to the end of the platform, side by side, in silence.

"There are people like that," he broke out, as we turned, "people who will go about, giving advice. I"ll be getting six months over one of them, I"m always afraid. I remember a pony I had once." (I judged the man to be a small farmer; he talked in a wurzelly tone. I don"t know if you understand what I mean, but an atmosphere of wurzels was the thing that somehow he suggested.) "It was a thoroughbred Welsh pony, as sound a little beast as ever stepped. I"d had him out to gra.s.s all the winter, and one day in the early spring I thought I"d take him for a run. I had to go to Amersham on business. I put him into the cart, and drove him across; it is just ten miles from my place. He was a bit uppish, and had lathered himself pretty freely by the time we reached the town.

"A man was at the door of the hotel. He says, "That"s a good pony of yours."

""Pretty middling," I says.

""It doesn"t do to over-drive "em, when they"re young," he says.

"I says, "He"s done ten miles, and I"ve done most of the pulling. I reckon I"m a jolly sight more exhausted than he is.

"I went inside and did my business, and when I came out the man was still there. "Going back up the hill?" he says to me.

"Somehow, I didn"t cotton to him from the beginning. "Well, I"ve got to get the other side of it," I says, "and unless you know any patent way of getting over a hill without going up it, I reckon I am."

"He says, "You take my advice: give him a pint of old ale before you start."

""Old ale," I says; "why he"s a teetotaler."

""Never you mind that," he answers; "you give him a pint of old ale. I know these ponies; he"s a good "un, but he ain"t set. A pint of old ale, and he"ll take you up that hill like a cable tramway, and not hurt himself."

"I don"t know what it is about this cla.s.s of man. One asks oneself afterwards why one didn"t knock his hat over his eyes and run his head into the nearest horse-trough. But at the time one listens to them.

I got a pint of old ale in a hand-bowl, and brought it out. About half-a-dozen chaps were standing round, and of course there was a good deal of chaff.

""You"re starting him on the downward course, Jim," says one of them.

"He"ll take to gambling, rob a bank, and murder his mother. That"s always the result of a gla.s.s of ale, "cording to the tracts."

""He won"t drink it like that," says another; "it"s as flat as ditch water. Put a head on it for him."

""Ain"t you got a cigar for him?" says a third.

""A cup of coffee and a round of b.u.t.tered toast would do him a sight more good, a cold day like this," says a fourth.

"I"d half a mind then to throw the stuff away, or drink it myself; it seemed a piece of bally nonsense, giving good ale to a four-year-old pony; but the moment the beggar smelt the bowl he reached out his head, and lapped it up as though he"d been a Christian; and I jumped into the cart and started off, amid cheers. We got up the hill pretty steady.

Then the liquor began to work into his head. I"ve taken home a drunken man more than once and there"s pleasanter jobs than that. I"ve seen a drunken woman, and they"re worse. But a drunken Welsh pony I never want to have anything more to do with so long as I live. Having four legs he managed to hold himself up; but as to guiding himself, he couldn"t; and as for letting me do it, he wouldn"t. First we were one side of the road, and then we were the other. When we were not either side, we were crossways in the middle. I heard a bicycle bell behind me, but I dared not turn my head. All I could do was to shout to the fellow to keep where he was.

""I want to pa.s.s you," he sang out, so soon as he was near enough.

""Well, you can"t do it," I called back.

""Why can"t I?" he answered. "How much of the road do YOU want?"

""All of it and a bit over," I answered him, "for this job, and nothing in the way."

"He followed me for half-a-mile, abusing me; and every time he thought he saw a chance he tried to pa.s.s me. But the pony was always a bit too smart for him. You might have thought the brute was doing it on purpose.

""You"re not fit to be driving," he shouted. He was quite right; I wasn"t. I was feeling just about dead beat.

""What do you think you are?" he continued, "the charge of the Light Brigade?" (He was a common sort of fellow.) "Who sent YOU home with the washing?"

"Well, he was making me wild by this time. "What"s the good of talking to me?" I shouted back. "Come and blackguard the pony if you want to blackguard anybody. I"ve got all I can do without the help of that alarm clock of yours. Go away, you"re only making him worse."

""What"s the matter with the pony?" he called out.

""Can"t you see?" I answered. "He"s drunk."

"Well, of course it sounded foolish; the truth often does.

""One of you"s drunk," he retorted; "for two pins I"d come and haul you out of the cart."

"I wish to goodness he had; I"d have given something to be out of that cart. But he didn"t have the chance. At that moment the pony gave a sudden swerve; and I take it he must have been a bit too close. I heard a yell and a curse, and at the same instant I was splashed from head to foot with ditch water. Then the brute bolted. A man was coming along, asleep on the top of a cart-load of windsor chairs. It"s disgraceful the way those wagoners go to sleep; I wonder there are not more accidents. I don"t think he ever knew what had happened to him. I couldn"t look round to see what became of him; I only saw him start. Half-way down the hill a policeman holla"d to me to stop. I heard him shouting out something about furious driving. Half-a-mile this side of Chesham we came upon a girls" school walking two and two--a "crocodile" they call it, I think.

I bet you those girls are still talking about it. It must have taken the old woman a good hour to collect them together again.

"It was market-day in Chesham; and I guess there has not been a busier market-day in Chesham before or since. We went through the town at about thirty miles an hour. I"ve never seen Chesham so lively--it"s a sleepy hole as a rule. A mile outside the town I sighted the High Wycombe coach. I didn"t feel I minded much; I had got to that pa.s.s when it didn"t seem to matter to me what happened; I only felt curious. A dozen yards off the coach the pony stopped dead; that jerked me off the seat to the bottom of the cart. I couldn"t get up, because the seat was on top of me. I could see nothing but the sky, and occasionally the head of the pony, when he stood upon his hind legs. But I could hear what the driver of the coach said, and I judged he was having trouble also.

""Take that d.a.m.n circus out of the road," he shouted. If he"d had any sense he"d have seen how helpless I was. I could hear his cattle plunging about; they are like that, horses--if they see one fool, then they all want to be fools.

""Take it home, and tie it up to its organ," shouted the guard.

"Then an old woman went into hysterics, and began laughing like an hyena. That started the pony off again, and, as far as I could calculate by watching the clouds, we did about another four miles at the gallop.

Then he thought he"d try to jump a gate, and finding, I suppose, that the cart hampered him, he started kicking it to pieces. I"d never have thought a cart could have been separated into so many pieces, if I hadn"t seen it done. When he had got rid of everything but half a wheel and the splashboard he bolted again. I remained behind with the other ruins, and glad I was to get a little rest. He came back later in the afternoon, and I was pleased to sell him the next week for a five-pound-note: it cost me about another ten to repair myself.

"To this day I am chaffed about that pony, and the local temperance society made a lecture out of me. That"s what comes of following advice."

I sympathized with him. I have suffered from advice myself. I have a friend, a City man, whom I meet occasionally. One of his most ardent pa.s.sions in life is to make my fortune. He b.u.t.ton-holes me in Threadneedle Street. "The very man I wanted to see," he says; "I"m going to let you in for a good thing. We are getting up a little syndicate."

He is for ever "getting up" a little syndicate, and for every hundred pounds you put into it you take a thousand out. Had I gone into all his little syndicates, I could have been worth at the present moment, I reckon, two million five hundred thousand pounds. But I have not gone into all his little syndicates. I went into one, years ago, when I was younger. I am still in it; my friend is confident that my holding, later on, will yield me thousands. Being, however, hard-up for ready money, I am willing to part with my share to any deserving person at a genuine reduction, upon a cash basis. Another friend of mine knows another man who is "in the know" as regards racing matters. I suppose most people possess a friend of this type. He is generally very popular just before a race, and extremely unpopular immediately afterwards. A third benefactor of mine is an enthusiast upon the subject of diet. One day he brought me something in a packet, and pressed it into my hand with the air of a man who is relieving you of all your troubles.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Open it and see," he answered, in the tone of a pantomime fairy.

I opened it and looked, but I was no wiser.

"It"s tea," he explained.

"Oh!" I replied; "I was wondering if it could be snuff."

"Well, it"s not exactly tea," he continued, "it"s a sort of tea. You take one cup of that--one cup, and you will never care for any other kind of tea again."

He was quite right, I took one cup. After drinking it I felt I didn"t care for any other tea. I felt I didn"t care for anything, except to die quietly and inoffensively. He called on me a week later.

"You remember that tea I gave you?" he said.