A Bid for Fortune Guy Boothby (animal farm read .txt) 📖

One thought led to another, and so I sat on and on long after dusk had fallen, never stirring until a circumstance occurred on a neighbouring path that attracted my attention. A young and well-dressed lady was pursuing her way in my direction, evidently intending to leave the park by the entrance I had used to come into it. But unfortunately for her, at the junction of two paths to my right, three of Sydney’s typical larrikins were engaged in earnest conversation. They had observed the girl coming towards them, and were evidently preparing some plan for accosting her. When she was only about fifty yards away, two of them walked to a distance, leaving the third and biggest ruffian to waylay her. He did so, but without success, she passed him and continued her walk at increased speed.

The man thereupon quickened his pace, and, secure in the knowledge that he was unobserved, again accosted her. Again she tried to escape him, but this time he would not leave her. What was worse, his two friends were now blocking the path in front. She looked to right and left, and was evidently uncertain what to do. Then, seeing escape was hopeless, she stopped, took out her purse, and gave it to the man who had first spoken to her. Thinking this was going too far, I jumped up and went quickly across the turf towards them. My footsteps made no sound on the soft grass, and as they were too much occupied in examining what she had given them, they did not notice my approach.

“You scoundrels!” I said, when I had come up with them. “What do you mean by stopping this lady? Let her go instantly; and you, my friend, just hand over that purse.”

The man addressed looked at me as if he were taking my measure, and were wondering what sort of chance he’d have against me in a fight. But I suppose my height must have rather scared him, for he changed his tone and began to whine.

“I haven’t got the lady’s purse, s’help me, I ain’t! I was only a asking of ’er the time; I’ll take me davy I was!”

“Hand over that purse!” I said sternly, approaching a step nearer to him.

One of the others here intervened⁠—

“Let’s stowch ’im, Dog! There ain’t a copper in sight!”

With that they began to close upon me. But, as the saying goes, “I’d been there before.” I’d not been knocking about the rough side of the world for fifteen years without learning how to take care of myself. When they had had about enough of it, which was most likely more than they had bargained for, I took the purse and went down the path to where the innocent cause of it all was standing. She was looking very white and scared, but she plucked up sufficient courage to thank me prettily.

I can see her now, standing there looking into my face with big tears in her pretty blue eyes. She was a girl of about twenty-one or two years of age, I should think⁠—tall, but slenderly built, with a sweet oval face, bright brown hair, and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my life. She was dressed in some dark green material, wore a fawn jacket, and, because the afternoon was cold, had a boa of marten fur round her neck. I can remember also that her hat was of some flimsy make, with lace and glittering spear points in it, and that the whole structure was surmounted by two bows, one of black ribbon, the other of salmon pink.

“Oh, how can I thank you?” she began, when I had come up with her. “But for your appearance I don’t know what those men might not have done to me.”

“I am very glad that I was there to help you,” I replied, looking into her face with more admiration for its warm young beauty than perhaps I ought to have shown. “Here is your purse. I hope you will find its contents safe. At the same time will you let me give you a little piece of advice. From what I have seen this afternoon this is evidently not the sort of place for a young lady to be walking in alone and after dark. I don’t think I would risk it again if I were you.”

She looked at me for a moment and then said:

“You are quite right. I have only myself to thank for my misfortune. I met a friend and walked across the green with her; I was on my way back to my carriage⁠—which is waiting for me outside⁠—when I met those men. However, I think I can promise you that it will not happen again, as I am leaving Sydney in a day or two.”

Somehow, when I heard that, I began to feel glad I was booked to leave the place too. But of course I didn’t tell her so.

“May I see you safely to your carriage?” I said at last. “Those fellows may still be hanging about on the chance of overtaking you.”

Her courage must have come back to her, for she looked up into my face with a smile.

“I don’t think they will be rude to me again after the lesson you have given them. But if you will walk with me I shall be very grateful.”

Side by side we proceeded down the path, through the gates and out into the street. A neat brougham was drawn up alongside the herb, and towards this she made her way. I opened the door and held it for her to get in. But before she did so she turned to me and stretched out her little hand.

“Will you tell me your name, that I may know to whom I am indebted?”

“My name is Hatteras. Richard Hatteras, of Thursday Island, Torres Straits. I am staying at the Quebec.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hatteras, again and again. I shall