Mr. Bates was reputed rich--a highly respected
person; but the sorrow of his old age was a bad, bad son. Richard
Bates raced, and habitually ran after women--that is, when he
possessed the use of his legs and was able to run. But he was a heavy
drinker, and it was no unusual thing for the helpers at the Roebuck
stables to have to get out a conveyance at closing time and drive
Richard, speechless, motionless, to Vine-Pits Farm. He never went to
the Gauntlet, but always to the Roebuck--beginning the evening in the
hotel billiard-room, trying to swagger it out at pool with the
solicitor and the doctor, then drifting to the stable bar, and
finishing the evening there, or outside in the open yard. One could
imagine the feelings of the old father, waiting up all alone, knowing
from experience what the sound of wheels implied after ten o'clock.
Will said once that he believed Mr. Bates was glad Mrs. Bates hadn't
been spared to see it.
And Mavis, moving at last from the window, thought that she was not
the only sad inhabitant of Rodchurch. There is a cruel lot of sorrow
in most people's lives.
IX
The second week of the fortnight was passing much quicker than the
first week. By a most happy inspiration Mavis had hit upon a means of
filling the dull empty time.
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