Under the Chinese Dragon Part 3

'I'll sell the bicycle, find rooms in which to live, and insert an advertis.e.m.e.nt for work,' he told himself. 'Then I'll see Mr. Jones.'

It was an hour later before the even course of his journey was disturbed. He was running gaily before a strong breeze, with a hot sun streaming down upon him when in the far distance he saw a vehicle trundling along the road. Rapidly overhauling it, he soon saw that it was a brougham, with a coachman seated on the box, though whether there were pa.s.sengers in the vehicle he could not say; but within a few minutes he came alongside, and, as he pa.s.sed, caught a glimpse of two ladies within. Then he swept on, pedalled past a traction-engine engaged in hauling stones, and was soon on a clear road again. Then a loud shout reached his ears, followed by others. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder, with the consequence that the machine wobbled. Indeed, so occupied was David with what was taking place in rear that he neglected to guide his steed. In a moment therefore he ran into the ditch at the side of the road, and was flung headlong into a hedge.

'That comes of staring over one's shoulder,' he said, picking himself up at once. 'But there seems to have been an accident behind there. I saw the horse in that brougham rear as it got opposite the traction-engine.

Then it dashed forward, and--why, the coachman has jumped from the box!

The coward! He's left those ladies to be dashed to pieces--the coward!'

The distance was so short that he was able to take in the whole situation, and it was clear that the coachman on the box of the vehicle had lost his head and his nerve. David had watched him holding to his reins as the horse plunged; but the instant it bolted down the road the man had leaped from his seat, and striking the road heavily had rolled over and over into the ditch. Left to itself, the horse was coming along the road at a mad gallop, the brougham swaying behind him in an alarming manner, and threatening to capsize at any moment.

'George! nearly over that time,' gasped David. 'The horse is scared out of its wits. It'll not stop till it has smashed the carriage and those in it. Don't that coachman deserve to be kicked.'

He darted into the centre of the road, and watched the maddened creature bearing down upon him. Behind, in the neighbourhood of the traction-engine, he could see men waving their arms, and running along the road, while a little nearer the coachman was sitting up in the ditch, holding on to a damaged elbow. A head appeared at one of the carriage windows for an instant, and David caught a glimpse of a very frightened face. A scream even reached his ears; then he leaped back from the road and seized his bicycle.

'I'll dodge that carriage,' he told himself. 'I'd never be able to keep up with it at the rate the horse is going unless on my bicycle; but on the machine I could do it. Anyway, I'll have a try.'

He swung himself into the saddle and pedalled gently along. By now he could hear the scrunch of fast-revolving wheels on the macadam, while more than one shriek came from the interior of the carriage. Then the horse seemed to make directly for him. David spurted forward, his head over his shoulder, and darted across to the far side of the road, just escaping the feet of the maddened animal. In a twinkling the carriage drew abreast of him, and for a while he raced along beside it, noticing that on many an occasion it was within an ace of capsizing. Then a brilliant manoeuvre occurred to him.

'Couldn't possibly get aboard from the side or front,' he told himself.

'The pedal of the bicycle would catch something, and I should come a cropper beneath the wheels. I'll try the back; but it'll want doing.

That brute is going all out.'

The runaway horse was indeed galloping as hard as he could, faster, in fact, than before, so that even had David wished to come alongside he found it impossible, for the carriage had now drawn slightly ahead. But with a desperate effort he lessened the distance, keeping directly behind the vehicle so as to escape the breeze, which at that pace was of his own making. Gradually he approached the rear of the carriage till he was almost between the wheels. Then, quick as a flash, he leaped from his saddle, abandoning his machine, and flung himself toward the back axle of the vehicle. His fingers fastened upon it, and an instant later he was jerked from his feet, and went dragging along the road. But he was not beaten. David was no weakling, and soon made an alteration in his position. With a jerk and a heave he regained his feet. A frantic spring took him on to the axle, and after that he felt that victory was before him.

'Over the top, on to the box, and then along the shafts,' he told himself. 'No use trying to clamber along the sides. This beastly thing is on the point of upsetting already, and with my weight added to one side would topple over. Here goes for the top.'

It was not an easy task he had set himself by any means, for the carriage wobbled dangerously, and there was no rail to cling to. But David made light of risks; he never even considered them. He stood on the axle now, and reaching up gripped the top. With a bound he was on it, and thereafter had all his work cut out to prevent being thrown off to either side. But slowly he won his way forward till near the box.

Then a sudden swerve of the horse sent him sliding to the right, till legs and thighs left the roof of the vehicle. Even then he was not beaten. With a wriggle and a heave he flopped forward to the edge of the box seat, and as his body slid from the roof, he managed to grip the rail. One foot by good fortune met with a step, and thanks to that and his grip of the rail he was soon located where the driver had been. Once there David was in his element. He dragged the whip from its socket, stretched over the side of the box, and with a dexterous thrust of the stick managed to hook it under the reins, which were trailing along the road. In half a minute he had them in his hands. And then began a battle which would have delighted the heart of a horse-master; for David coaxed and endeavoured to control the maddened beast with both voice and rein.

'Whoa! steady boy!' he called, pulling firmly on the mouth. 'Whoa!

gently boy, gently!'

However, finding that nothing resulted, he leaned back in his seat, braced his feet, and began to pull in earnest, sawing at the beast's mouth. Within a minute the pace had lessened. Promptly he began to call to the horse.

'Whoa! gently boy, gently.'

In less than five minutes he had brought him to a standstill, and dropping from the box had the animal by the head, and was patting and soothing him.

'Please get out and stand at one side,' he called to the ladies. 'The traction-engine startled him and caused him to bolt. He is still a little nervous, but in a few moments he will be calm again. It would be better, however, to get out. Please hurry.'

To tell the truth David was half expecting the animal to bolt again, for even as he spoke it reared up dragging him from his feet. But he had the huge advantage of understanding horses, and, as is so often the case, the frightened brute seemed to realise that. Sweating heavily and still trembling, it finally stood still, allowing him to pat its neck.

Meanwhile a lady had descended, and had a.s.sisted another to follow her.

David looked at them curiously. Both were very white after such a terrifying experience, but the elder of the two seemed to be more indignant than frightened. She walked across to David and inspected him critically.

'How did you manage to get on to the carriage?' she asked; and then, when he had told her, 'I consider you to have behaved n.o.bly. You saved our lives, not to mention the carriage. It was a brave act, and I and my daughter are more than obliged to you. As for our coachman he is a coward. I shall dismiss him promptly.'

A flush of anger came to her cheeks, and a little later she turned to face the delinquent. 'You can drive back alone. I will walk,' she said severely, as the man came up with David's bicycle. 'You are not fit to be driving ladies. You deserted your post in the most disgraceful manner. Come, Charlotte, perhaps this gentleman will walk with us.'

'I will drive you if you wish,' declared David promptly. 'The coachman can ride my bicycle. Which way, please?'

He hopped briskly into the driving seat, and picked up his reins in a manner which gave confidence. Then, the ladies having entered the vehicle and directed him, he set off down the road. Within half an hour he pulled up in front of a country mansion, enclosed in fine grounds. At once a groom was called from the stables, and David was invited to enter the house.

'You will lunch with us of course,' said the elder lady. 'I am Mrs.

Cartwell. This is my daughter, and--ah, Richard come here.'

She beckoned to a young fellow crossing the hall at that moment and introduced him as her son. Then in a few words she explained the situation.

'By Jove! That was a fine thing to do,' exclaimed the young fellow, whom David took to be about twenty years of age. 'A real plucky thing. How on earth did you manage to clamber on to the carriage when it was going at such a pace, while you were on a bike? But let me thank you a thousand times for your action. You have undoubtedly saved mother's life.'

Very cordially did he shake David's hand, and thereafter did his utmost to put our hero at his ease and make him feel at home. Then, after lunch, he pressed him to stay a day or so, for the two young fellows took instantly to one another.

'Come,' he said, 'you've nothing in particular to do. Off for a bicycle tour I suppose? Stay here a day or two and have a little fishing with me.'

'Can't, though many thanks all the same,' answered David, wishing that he could remain. 'I'm not on a bicycle tour. I'm going to London to find work. I've some important business to do there.'

In a little while his new friends became aware of the fact that our hero was launching himself on the world, and though he did not tell them his reasons for leaving home, they realised that he was justified.

'If you cannot stay, you can at least remember the address of this house,' said Mrs. Cartwell. 'We shall be glad to receive a visit from you at any time, and I shall expect you to write. And now we will no longer detain you.'

They sent him away with further words of thanks, while d.i.c.k Cartwell accompanied him some five miles on the journey.

'Mind,' he said, as they gripped hands for the last time, 'we shall expect to see you again, and hope you will write. I feel that we haven't half thanked you.'

David waved the words aside, and straddled his bicycle. 'I don't want thanks,' he said abruptly. 'But I'd like to come down. I'll write when I've found work and am getting on a little. For the present I have no time and no right to laze and enjoy myself.'

He went off down the road waving to d.i.c.k, never dreaming that the two of them would come together again under strange circ.u.mstances. Pedalling hard, he made up for lost time, and just as the shades of evening were falling, found his way into the great city of London.

'Please direct me to some little house where I can obtain a lodging,' he asked of a policeman who was walking on the pavement.

The constable, a fine, burly fellow, surveyed our hero from head to foot. Then he smiled at him, and brought a ma.s.sive hand on to his shoulder.

'Come along with me,' he said. 'My missus wants a lodger. I was told this morning when I went off on duty that I was to try and hear of one.

You'd do for a time. How'd you like to come?'

David smiled back at him promptly. 'Splendid!' he cried. 'I'd be glad to come. I shall be saved heaps of trouble hunting for a room.'

That night he slipped into a cosy bed between the cleanest sheets feeling that fortune had been really kind to him; for since he left home he had done nothing but make friends. There was Andus, the breezy sailor, Mrs. Cartwell, to say nothing of d.i.c.k, her jovial son. And now there was the constable; for a nicer fellow than Constable Hemming did not exist, while his wife took a motherly interest in David. It was a good start in life; but would the future be equally prosperous?

CHAPTER III

Wanted a Job

The rattle of wheels in the street outside, and the brilliant rays of the morning sun awakened David on his first morning in London. In a twinkling he was up and dressed.

'Suppose you've come up to start life, sir,' said Constable Hemming when his lodger put in an appearance. 'Breakfast's ready, and you can have it at the back in the parlour, or here in the kitchen along with the missus and me.'