I knew what the noise was, and had not to look far to find Ike lying
under a large tree right away from the path fast asleep, and every now
and then uttering a few words and giving a snort.
"Ike!" I said, shaking him. "Ike! wake up and go home."
But the more I tried the more stupid he seemed to grow, and I stood at
last wondering what I had better do, not liking the idea of Mr Solomon
hearing, for it was certain to mean a very severe reprimand. It might
mean discharge.
It seemed such a pity, too, and I could not help thinking that this bad
habit of Ike's was the reason why he had lived to fifty and never risen
above the position of labourer.
I tried again to wake him, but it was of no use, and just then I heard
Mr Solomon shout to me that tea was waiting.
I ran up the garden quickly for fear Mr Solomon should come down and
see Ike, and as I went I made up my mind that I would get the key of the
gate into the lane and come down after dark and smuggle him out without
anyone knowing.
"Well, butterfly boy," said Mrs Solomon, smiling in her half-serious
way, "we've been waiting tea these ten minutes."
I said I was very sorry, and though I felt a little guilty as I sat down
I soon forgot all about Ike in my pleasant meal.
Then I felt frightened as I heard some laughing and shouting, and
started and listened, for it struck me that Courtenay and Philip might
be going down the garden, and if they should see poor Ike in such a
state, I knew that they would begin baiting and teasing him, when he
would perhaps fly in a passion such as I had seen him in once before,
when he abused me, and apologised the next day, saying that it wasn't
temper, but beer.
The sound died away, and then it seemed to rise again nearer to us.
"Ah!" said Mr Solomon, "I'm sorry for those who have boys."
"No, you are not, Solomon," said his wife, cutting the bread and butter.
"Well, such boys as them."
"Ah!" said Mrs Solomon. "That's better."
That seemed a long tea-time, and it appeared to be longer still before I
could get away, for Mr Solomon had a lot of things to ask me about the
grape-house and pit. I kept glancing at the wall where the key hung on
a nail, and though another time I might easily have taken it, on this
particular occasion it seemed as if I could not get near the place
unobserved.
At last my time came; Mrs Solomon had gone into the back kitchen, and
Mr Solomon to his desk in the parlour. I did not lose a moment, but,
snatching the key from the nail, I slipped it in my pocket, caught my
cap from the peg, and slipped out.