The Second String by Nat Gould (moboreader txt) 📕

CHAPTER I.—THE FAILURE
CHAPTER II.—JACK'S RESOLVE
CHAPTER III.—A SCHOOL CHUM
CHAPTER IV.—AN OLD TIME SKIPPER
CHAPTER V.—TOPSY TURVY
CHAPTER VI.—TAPPING
CHAPTER VII.—WEATHERING THE STORM
CHAPTER VIII.—BARRY TUXFORD
CHAPTER IX.—IN SHARK'S BAY
CHAPTER X.—THE TWO BLACK DIVERS
CHAPTER XI.—TURNING TURTLE AND AFTER
CHAPTER XII.—JACOB'S YARN
CHAPTER XIII.—THE DIVERS AT WORK
CHAPTER XIV.—THE BLACK PEARL
CHAPTER XV.—A CLEVER THIEF
CHAPTER XVI.—JACK DISCOVERS HIS LOSS
CHAPTER XVII.—THE PEARL DEALER
CHAPTER XVIII.—ON HORSEBACK AGAIN
CHAPTER XIX.—A STAB IN THE DARK
CHAPTER XX.—THE TRAINER'S SUGGESTION
CHAPTER XXI.—BRICKY FINDS A JOB
CHAPTER XXII.—BLACK BOY'S OWNER
CHAPTER XXIII.—BARRY WAXES ELOQUENT
CHAPTER XXIV.—BADLY RIDDEN
CHAPTER XXV.—SOMETHING ABOUT WINIFRED
CHAPTER XXVI.—A PUZZLE
CHAPTER XXVII.—THE SECOND STRING
CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE NEW CLAIMS
CHAPTER XXIX.—BOUND FOR HOME
CHAPTER XXX.—REALISATION

SPORTING NOVELS. By NAT GOULD.

"There goes the failure of the family, yet I like him, there's real grit in him if it was brought out."

The speaker was Sir Lester Dyke, and the remark was made to his daughter, Winifred.

"The failure" did not seem unhappy, he walked across the field with a free and easy stride, whistling softly to himself, enjoying the beauties of nature, taking in everything at a glance, drinking deep of the many good things that mother earth provided for the entertainment of mankind. To look at him seemed to give a great denial to Sir Lester's remark. Failure was not written on his face, he was apparently an active, well bred, strong, able bodied young man, and yet Jack Redland was a failure, for he had done nothing to advance himself in life, and had tried his hand at many things without success. His brothers had done well in life, his two sisters had married rich men, and were more or less happy, according to the lot of such people. His father left him exactly two thousand pounds and he spent it in a year. How he had lived since that time no one knew, but he was always well dressed and never seemed in want of money.

As all the Redlands had done well in life, "the failure" stood out more conspicuously. Had his many friends been questioned they would have endorsed Sir Lester's remarks concerning him.

His family concern this story in no wise, it is with him we have to deal. It suffices to say that his father was an old friend of Sir Lester Dyke's, who had a small estate in Sussex and a house at Brighton.

Jack Redland was a frequent visitor at The Downs, where he was always made welcome, despite his failures. Perhaps it was Winifred's championship of him had much to do with her father's partiality. She was his only child and he adored her. Sir Lester had just given Jack a few words of advice, administered in somewhat strong doses, in the hope that it would act as a tonic and brace him up to contemplate some decisive line of action that would obliterate past failures. The recipient of the tonic did not seem to be troubled by it. During the five-and-twenty years of his life he had accepted a vast amount of advice, which could not have been of the right sort, as it failed to produce any effect. Advice is cheap, much cheaper than practical assistance, and, therefore, easier to part with. Some people consider themselves born advisers, they little know what bores they are. Jack was a difficult subject to bore, he was a patient listener, because he never showed in any way that his thoughts were elsewhere as his adviser rambled on in dreary discourse. Maiden ladies of a certain age with grievances, found him sympathetic; they thought it wonderful he possessed such a knowledge of the sex. Men with hobbies ran them hard at Jack's expense, but he did not mind it in the least. His temper was even, his outlook on life full of hope, and a blind belief in his lucky star, which advanced near to the borders of fatalism. He never doubted that he had been sent into the world to serve some useful purpose, but what it was he had been unable, up to now, to discover.

He did not consider himself a failure in the same light as others regarded him. Because he had tried several things and succeeded in none was not his fault, it was rather his misfortune, because he had not come across the right thing; when he did he felt sure of succeeding.

His education was of the ordinary kind. He went to a good private boarding school and when he left did not go to college, had he done so he would have been no better off. He played cricket well, was, in fact, much in request in the county team, he rode well, shot splendidly, played tennis, croquet, golf, or any other game that happened to be suggested, and Sir Lester said no fault could be found with anything he did in the way of sport. If he succeeded in these things why not in business? that was the question that as yet remained unanswered. He had plenty of energy, rode hard in the hunting field, was a qualified gentleman jockey, and had won many races. This was one source of income which he did not despise. All this was very well in its way, but for a young man without means it did not afford a very good prospect in life.

The Downs was within easy distance of Brighton, and Jack Redland often walked from the famous seaside resort to Sir Lester's and back. He did so because he liked walking, for he was never short of the choice of a mount, any of his Brighton friends were only too willing to oblige him when they found he improved the manners of their horses.

It was a beautiful day, towards the end of May, and the country was resplendent in living green. Myriads of primroses clustered under the trees, and peeped out from nooks and corners in the banks. The birds sang joyously, heralding the coming of June, already teaching their young how to fly, in haste to be rid of them and rear more.

As he reached the bend round by the plantation, he turned and waved his hat to Sir Lester and Winifred, the former shook his stick at him, which caused him to smile, the latter kissed her hand to him, which made him look serious.

He was very fond of Winifred, and he admired her father, whose friendship he greatly valued. He had known Winifred since she was a little girl, now she was eighteen, and fast developing into a lovely woman. Once he did not see her for a year or more, that was when she was at school, in France, and when he met her he wondered at the change in her. It was then he learned she was no longer a child and could not be teased and have her hair pulled with impunity. She laughed at him when he spoke to her in such a different tone, and her bantering soon put him at his ease.

Out of sight of the house he sat down on a bank and idly pulled a buttonhole of primroses. His thoughts were with Sir Lester and Winifred, and he commenced to wonder whether the baronet was right when he told him it was entirely his own fault he did not get on in the world, and that it was high time he turned his mind and his hands to something useful. His numerous accomplishments had, so far, been of very little use to him. One of his sisters occasionally gave him a helping hand or he would have been in a very bad way indeed. At first he declined to accept money from her, but she overcame his reluctance by pointing out that she had no children, and had more money than she cared to spend upon herself.

"If you assure me it comes out of your private purse I will take it as a loan," he said, "but I will not accept a copper from Harry, he's a prig."

"He is my husband," she replied, quietly, "and you must not call him names. He is very good to me, very liberal, and I have nothing to grumble about. Please take the money, Jack, and when you are short again do not be afraid to ask for more; I know you will repay it some day, if ever I require it."

This was, however, a most unsatisfactory way of living, and he had no desire to trespass upon her bounty. What was he to do? The answer was difficult. He would be of no use in an office. As the manager of an estate he might find it a congenial employment, but he doubted his ability to succeed.

"Something is sure to turn up," he muttered, "but the right thing is a deuced long time in coming my way."

Hearing footsteps in the lane he looked up and saw a gypsy woman, with a basket on her arm, filled with bunches of primroses. She was young, and not ill looking. Many of her tribe wandered about the Sussex lanes, and he merely regarded her with ordinary interest. She saw him through the hedge, and stopped.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Money, my child is ill," she said.

"Where is your husband?"

"I do not know, I do not care. He has left me, but I have the child. He is in Brighton, he will die if I cannot get money, I must have it."

"I am sorry for you," he said. "Money is scarce with me, but I can let you have a few shillings."

"God bless you, kind gentleman."

It occurred to him her story might be untrue, and he looked at her suspiciously. She saw his glance, and with the quickness of her race knew why he hesitated.

"I have told you the truth, my child is very ill, he is all I have in the world."

He pushed his way through the hedge, and stood before her. She looked into his face with sad, black eyes, in which there was no boldness.

"Here is five shillings for you, I am as badly off as yourself for money."

She curtseyed as she accepted it, and said:

"You do not look like a poor man."

"I am; I am a failure," he said, smiling.

She shook her head.

"Your turn will come. May I look at your hand?"

He laughed again as he said:

"I have no faith in fortune telling."

"I do not wish to tell your fortune, I can read your hand if you will let me."

He held out his hand, and for some minutes she regarded it silently. They made a picturesque group under the budding trees, with the birds peeping down and