As he walked he pushed out beyond the primary object of ridding
himself of his companions; sought the future. In the first half-mile
he decided that the game was up. He must deliver the Rose to his uncle
immediately without waiting for the reward to be further raised. To
hang on for the shadow would be, he felt, to lose the substance that
would stand represented by Mr. Marrapit's gratitude.
But this preposterous buoyancy of youth! The rain that beat upon his
face cooled his brow; seemed to cool his brain. Before the first mile
was crossed he had vacillated from his purpose. When he said to his
followers "Only another half-mile," his purpose was changed.
This preposterous corkiness of youth! It had lifted him up from the
sea of misfortune in which he had nigh been drowned, and now he was
assuring himself that, given he could hide the Rose where a sudden
glimmering idea suggested, he would be safer than ever before. The two
men who were most dangerous to him--the detective and the _Daily's_
Special Commissioner at Paltley Hill, now slushing through the mud
behind--were beneath his thumb. If he could keep them goose-chasing
for a few days or so--!
The turn of a corner brought them in view of the Clifford Arms. George
pointed: "I want you to spend the night there and to stay there till I
come to-morrow.
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