He had barely passed the gate when some shouting arose in the road behind
him. A man, driving a cart recklessly, had almost come in contact with
another cart, and some hard language ensued. Lord Hartledon turned his
head quickly, and just caught Mr. Pike's head, thrust a little over the
top of the gate, watching him. Pike must have crouched down when Lord
Hartledon passed. He went back at once; and Pike put a bold face on the
matter, and stood up.
"So you occupy your palace still, Pike?"
"Such as it is. Yes."
"I half-expected to find that Mr. Marris had turned you from it,"
continued Lord Hartledon, alluding to his steward.
"He wouldn't do it, I expect, without your lordship's orders; and I don't
fancy you'll give 'em," was the free answer.
"I think my brother would have given them, had he lived."
"But he didn't live," rejoined Pike. "He wasn't let live."
"What do you mean?" asked Lord Hartledon, mystified by the words.
Pike ignored the question. "'Twas nearly a smash," he said, looking at
the two carts now proceeding on their different ways. "That cart of
Floyd's is always in hot water; the man drinks; Floyd turned him off
once."
The miller's cart was jogging up the road towards home, under convoy of
the offending driver; the boy, David Ripper, sitting inside on some empty
sacks, and looking over the board behind: looking very hard indeed, as it
seemed, in their direction.
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