Chapter 17. Nobody’s Rival

           Beforebreakfastinthemorning,Arthurwalkedouttolookabouthim.Asthemorningwasfineandhehadanhouronhishands,hecrossedtheriverbytheferry,andstrolledalongafootpaththroughsomemeadows.Whenhecamebacktothetowing-path,hefoundtheferry-boatontheoppositeside,andagentlemanhailingitandwaitingtobetakenover.

           Thisgentlemanlookedbarelythirty.Hewaswelldressed,ofasprightlyandgayappearance,awell-knitfigure,andarichdarkcomplexion.AsArthurcameoverthestileanddowntothewater’sedge,theloungerglancedathimforamoment,andthenresumedhisoccupationofidlytossingstonesintothewaterwithhisfoot.Therewassomethinginhiswayofspurningthemoutoftheirplaceswithhisheel,andgettingthemintotherequiredposition,thatClennamthoughthadanairofcrueltyinit.Mostofushavemoreorlessfrequentlyderivedasimilarimpressionfromaman’smannerofdoingsomeverylittlething:pluckingaflower,clearingawayanobstacle,orevendestroyinganinsentientobject.

           Thegentleman’sthoughtswerepreoccupied,ashisfaceshowed,andhetooknonoticeofafineNewfoundlanddog,whowatchedhimattentively,andwatchedeverystonetoo,initsturn,eagertospringintotheriveronreceivinghismaster’ssign.Theferry-boatcameover,however,withouthisreceivinganysign,andwhenitgroundedhismastertookhimbythecollarandwalkedhimintoit.

           ‘Notthismorning,’hesaidtothedog.‘Youwon’tdoforladies’company,drippingwet.Liedown.