deserted, as all were looking on at the cricket match.
“I’m sure there’s summat wrong, my lord,” the cricketer, was saying. “All the folk think I’m Notchy.”
“Well, what of that?” snapped Lord Jeffry testily.
“Well, my lord, it’s awk’ard,” replied Dicky, for Dicky of course he was. “For one, there’s a wench arter me. I didn’t mind that at first, for she’s a spanking lass, but directly she talked o’ marrying, and called me Notchy, I took to my heels. I cannot take up wi’ my brother’s sweetheart, for sure!”
“Then keep out of her way,” growled Lord Jeffry, slapping his boot with his cane.
“But that’s not all,” Dicky continued with a long face. “An old felly in top-boots has just been up to me and said, ‘Notchy, I’ve lost a guinea by your hands.’ Now, my lord, if he backed Notchy, why should he lose a guinea through me? When I came here I didn’t bargain to be taken for my brother. You never told me.”
“How should I imagine that the fools would think you were Notchy!” hissed Lord Jeffry fiercely.
“Well, why cannot I tell ’em t’ truth, my lord?” pleaded poor Dicky.
“Because you promised to hold your tongue,” retorted the young lord, angrily. “And if you blab, my fine fellow, I’ll make it hot for you. Recollect that.”
“But, my lord, please. I don’t feel comfortable wi’ folk losing their money because o’ me.”
“Look here, Wood, I’m the best judge of my own business, so let me have no more of your insolence. I’ve told you before, I’ll explain it all to you when the match is over.”
The young nobleman strolled away to the “King’s Arms” for a tankard of ale, and poor Dicky, quite abashed, sauntered aimlessly down the road. Presently he heard a shout behind, and looking round he saw Lord Bumper and the Rector, with the youthful Tommy, advancing towards him.
“Now, my lord, please mark,” the Rector was saying, as they came up. “I’m going to try an experiment.” Then, turning suddenly upon Dicky, he exclaimed, “Well, Dicky, my man, where’s brother Notchy?”
“I reckon he’s at home somewhere,” replied the unsuspecting Dicky, taken unawares. Then, suddenly realising that he had betrayed himself, he stood and gasped.
“So you are Mr. Dicky Wood!” cried the Rector gleefully. “And I’m sorry that you’re not an honest fellow like your brother. However, you’re not as much to blame as the rascal who has employed you.”
“What on earth does this mean?” demanded Lord Bumper, thunderstruck.
“Why, that this is Notchy’s twin brother, about whom he has often told me,” returned the triumphant Rector. “And that your friend Jeffry is a blackguard. But come along, we must find out what they’ve done to poor Notchy.”
And he led the way down the road.
“Why aren’t I an honest fellow, sir?” asked the luckless Dicky beseechingly, as he trudged after them.
“Because you were in league with Lord Jeffry to swindle folks out of their money,” retorted the Rector sternly.
“It’s the truth, sir, I never knew there were any swindle,” pleaded poor Dicky, piteously, and before they had gone very far he managed to convince his hearers of his innocence.
About two hundred yards distant from the common they arrived at the tiny cottage which was Notchy Wood’s home. The door was locked, but the muscular Rector burst it open without a moment’s hesitation. As they rushed in a low moan came from the inner room.
“Oh, poor Notchy!” cried Dicky, with tears running down his cheeks.
A curious sight met their view when they dashed through into the little bedroom beyond. A figure was seated in the only chair, bound fast with cords. The body was dressed in woman’s clothes, but the face on the top of them was most unquestionably the face of Notchy Wood.
“Good Lord deliver us!” cried the Rector involuntarily. “What have they been playing at!”
“They’ve spiled him,” babbled Dicky, who had become maudlin. “They’ve made him into a wench.”
“Let me loose,” roared Notchy in a very masculine voice.
He was soon untied, and in a very few words explained his adventures. He had been persuaded to accompany a few sporting fellows into a private room at the “Jolly Waggoners” the previous night. After drinking one glass of ale, he remembered nothing more until he found himself dressed in woman’s clothes and tied fast to a chair in his own bedroom.
“But why should they rig you out like this?” asked Lord Bumper, laughing in spite of himself at Notchy’s ridiculous appearance.
“Look there,” returned Notchy, by way of reply pointing to a bare and open cupboard, and a devastated chest of drawers. “They’ve stolen all my clothes!”
