Cashel Byron's Profession

Gully disdained to press his company on Cashel any further.

"Good-bye," he said, mournfully shaking his hand. "Success, old

chap."

"Success," echoed Cashel, grasping Gully's hand with a pang of

remorse for leaving him. "I'll write to you as soon as I have

anything to tell you. It may be some months, you know, before I get

regularly settled."

He gave Gully a final squeeze, released him, and darted off along

the road leading to Panley Village. Gully looked after him for a

moment, and then ran away Scotlandwards.

Panley Village consisted of a High Street, with an old-fashioned inn

at one end, a modern railway station and bridge at the other, and a

pump and pound midway between. Cashel stood for a while in the

shadow under the bridge before venturing along the broad, moonlit

street. Seeing no one, he stepped out at a brisk walking pace; for

he had by this time reflected that it was not possible to run all

the way to the Spanish main. There was, however, another person

stirring in the village besides Cashel. This was Mr. Wilson, Dr.

Moncrief's professor of mathematics, who was returning from a visit

to the theatre. Mr. Wilson had an impression that theatres were

wicked places, to be visited by respectable men only on rare

occasions and by stealth. The only plays he went openly to witness

were those of Shakespeare; and his favorite was "As You Like It";

Rosalind in tights having an attraction for him which he missed in

Lady Macbeth in petticoats. On this evening he had seen Rosalind

impersonated by a famous actress, who had come to a neighboring town

on a starring tour. After the performance he had returned to Panley,

supped there with a friend, and was now making his way back to

Moncrief House, of which he had been intrusted with the key. He was

in a frame of mind favorable for the capture of a runaway boy. An

habitual delight in being too clever for his pupils, fostered by

frequently overreaching them in mathematics, was just now stimulated

by the effect of a liberal supper and the roguish consciousness of

having been to the play. He saw and recognized Cashel as he

approached the village pound. Understanding the situation at once,

he hid behind the pump, waited until the unsuspecting truant was

passing within arm's-length, and then stepped out and seized him by

the collar of his jacket.

"Well, sir," he said. "What are you doing here at this hour? Eh?"

Cashel, scared and white, looked up at him, and could not answer a

word.