



Produced by Ernest Schaal, Beginners Projects and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









OTHER BOOKS BY MR. HORNUNG

    THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN. $1.25.

    RAFFLES. MORE ADVENTURES OF THE
      AMATEUR CRACKSMAN. Illustrated by
      F. C. YOHN. $1.50.

    PECCAVI. A NOVEL. $1.50.

    THE SHADOW OF A MAN. $1.25.

    DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. A
      NOVEL. $1.25.

    SOME PERSONS UNKNOWN. $1.25.

    YOUNG BLOOD. $1.25.

    MY LORD DUKE. $1.25.

    THE ROGUE'S MARCH. A ROMANCE.
      $1.50.

    THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA. [_Ivory
      Series._] 16mo. $0.75.

    A BRIDE FROM THE BUSH. [_Ivory
      Series._] 16mo. $0.75.

    IRRALIE'S BUSHRANGER. A STORY
      OF AUSTRALIAN ADVENTURE. [_Ivory
      Series._] 16mo. $0.75.




                                AT LARGE




                                AT LARGE


                               _A NOVEL_

                                   BY
                             E. W. HORNUNG


                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
                     NEW YORK::::::::::::::::: 1902




                          COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY
                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

                         _All rights reserved_


                        PUBLISHED FEBRUARY, 1902


                             TROW DIRECTORY
                    PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
                                NEW YORK




                                CONTENTS


                                                             Page

        I. A Nucleus of Fortune                                 1

       II. Sundown                                             11

      III. After Four Years                                    20

       IV. How Dick Came Home                                  28

        V. The First Evening at Graysbrooke                    41

       VI. Sisyphus                                            53

      VII. South Kensington                                    64

     VIII. The Admirable Miles                                 72

       IX. A Dancing Lesson and its Consequences               86

        X. An Old Friend and an Old Memory                     98

       XI. Dressing, Dancing, Looking on                      109

      XII. "To-Morrow, and To-Morrow, and To-Morrow"          123

     XIII. In Bushey Park                                     132

      XIV. Quits                                              152

       XV. The Morning After                                  163

      XVI. Military Manoeuvres                                174

     XVII. "Miles's Beggars"                                  185

    XVIII. Alice Speaks for Herself                           196

      XIX. Conterminous Courses                               206

       XX. Strange Humility                                   216

      XXI. An Altered Man                                     227

     XXII. Extremities                                        234

    XXIII. The Effect of a Photograph                         244

     XXIV. The Effect of a Song                               256

      XXV. Melmerbridge Church                                271

     XXVI. At Bay                                             286

    XXVII. The Fatal Tress                                    296

   XXVIII. The Effort                                         307

     XXIX. Elizabeth Ryan                                     313

      XXX. Sweet Revenge                                      325

     XXXI. The Charity of Silence                             333

    XXXII. Suspense: Reaction                                 343

   XXXIII. How Dick Said Good-Bye                             353




                                AT LARGE




                                At Large

                                   I

                          A NUCLEUS OF FORTUNE


A hooded wagon was creeping across a depressing desert in the middle of
Australia; layers of boxes under the hood, and of brass-handled,
mahogany drawers below the boxes, revealed the licensed hawker of the
bush. Now, the hawker out there is a very extensive development of his
prototype here at home; he is Westbourne Grove on wheels, with the
prices of Piccadilly, W. But these particular providers were neither so
universal nor so exorbitant as the generality of their class. There were
but two of them; they drove but two horses; and sat shoulder to shoulder
on the box.

The afternoon was late; all day the horses had been crawling, for the
track was unusually heavy. There had been recent rains; red mud clogged
the wheels at every yard, and clung to them in sticky tires. Little
pools had formed all over the plain; and westward, on the off-side of
the wagon, these pools caught the glow of the setting sun, and filled
with flame. Far over the horses' ears a long low line of trees was
visible; otherwise the plain was unbroken; you might ride all day on
these plains and descry no other horse nor man.

The pair upon the box were partners. Their names were Flint and
Edmonstone. Flint was enjoying a senior partner's prerogative, and
lolling back wreathed in smoke. His thick bare arms were idly folded. He
was a stout, brown, bearded man, who at thirty looked many years older;
indolence, contentment, and goodwill were written upon his face.

The junior partner was driving, and taking some pains about it--keeping
clear of the deep ruts, and pushing the pace only where the track was
good. He looked twenty years Flint's junior, and was, in fact, just of
age. He was strongly built and five-feet-ten, with honest gray eyes,
fair hair, and an inelastic mouth.

Both of these men wore flannel shirts, buff cord trousers, gray felt
wideawakes; both were public-school men, drawn together in the first
instance by that mutually surprising fact, and for the rest as different
as friends could be. Flint had been ten years in the Colonies,
Edmonstone not quite ten weeks. Flint had tried everything, and failed;
Edmonstone had everything before him, and did not mean to fail. Flint
was experienced, Edmonstone sanguine; things surprised Edmonstone,
nothing surprised Flint. Edmonstone had dreams of the future, and golden
dreams; Flint troubled only about the present, and that very little. In
fine, while Edmonstone saw licensed hawking leading them both by a short
cut to fortune, and earnestly intended that it should, Flint said they
would be lucky if their second trip was as successful as their first,
now all but come to an end.

The shadow of horses and wagon wavered upon the undulating plain as
they drove. The shadows grew longer and longer; there was a noticeable
change in them whenever young Edmonstone bent forward to gaze at the sun
away to the right, and then across at the eastern sky already tinged
with purple; and that was every five minutes.

"It will be dark in less than an hour," the lad exclaimed at last, in
his quick, anxious way; "dark just as we reach the scrub; we shall have
no moon until eleven or so, and very likely not strike the river
to-night."

The sentences were punctuated with sharp cracks of the whip. An answer
came from Edmonstone's left, in the mild falsetto that contrasted so
queerly with the bodily bulk of Mr. John Flint, and startled all who
heard him speak for the first time.

"My good fellow, I implore you again to spare the horseflesh and the
whipcord--both important items--and take it easy like me."

"Jack," replied Edmonstone warmly, "you know well enough why I want to
get to the Murrumbidgee to-night. No? Well, at all events, you own that
we should lose no time about getting to some bank or other?"

"Yes, on the whole. But I don't see the good of hurrying on now to reach
the township at an unearthly hour, when all the time we might camp in
comfort anywhere here. To my mind, a few hours, or even a night or two,
more or less----"

"Are neither here nor there? Exactly!" broke in Edmonstone, with
increasing warmth. "Jack, Jack! the days those very words cost us! Add
them up--subtract them from the time we've been on the roads--and we'd
have been back a week ago at least. I shall have no peace of mind until
I step out of the bank, and that's the truth of it." As he spoke, the
fingers of Edmonstone's right hand rested for a moment, with a curious,
involuntary movement, upon his right breast.

"I can see that," returned Flint, serenely. "The burden of riches, you
see--and young blood! When you've been out here as long as I have,
you'll take things easier, my son."

"You don't understand my position," said Edmonstone. "You laugh when I
tell you I came out here to make money: all the same, I mean to do it. I
own I had rotten ideas about Australia--all new chums have. But if I
can't peg out my claim and pick up nuggets, I'm going to do the next
best thing. It may be hawking and it may not. I mean to see. But we must
give the thing a chance, and not run unnecessary risks with the gross
proceeds of our very first trip. A hundred and thirty pounds isn't a
fortune; but it may be the nucleus of one; and it's