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THEMANUPSTAIRSANDOTHERSTORIESP.G.Wodehouse

TableofContents

1. TheManUpstairs2. SomethingtoWorryAbout3. DeepWaters4. WhenDoctorsDisagree5. ByAdviceofCounsel6. Rough-hewThemHowWeWill7. TheManWhoDislikedCats8. RuthinExile9. Archibald’sBenefit10. TheMan,theMaid,andtheMiasma11. TheGoodAngel12. PotsO’money13. OutofSchool14. ThreeFromDunsterville15. TheTuppennyMillionaire16. AheadofSchedule17. SirAgravaineaTaleofKingArthur’sRoundTable18. TheGoal-keeperandthePlutocrat19. InAlcala

THEMANUPSTAIRS

TherewerethreedistinctstagesintheevolutionofAnnetteBrougham’sattitudetowardstheknockingintheroomabove.Inthebeginningithadbeenmerelyavaguediscomfort.Absorbedinthecompositionofherwaltz,shehadhearditalmostsubconsciously.Thesecondstagesetinwhenitbecameaphysicalpainlikered–hotpincerswrenchinghermindfromhermusic.Finally,withathrillinindignation,sheknewitforwhatitwas—aninsult.Theunseenbrutedislikedherplaying,andwasintimatinghisviewswithaboot–heel.

Defiantly,withherfootontheloudpedal,shestruck—almostslapped—thekeysoncemore.

‘Bang!’fromtheroomabove.‘Bang!Bang!’

Annetterose.Herfacewaspink,herchintilted.Hereyessparkledwiththelightofbattle.Shelefttheroomandstartedtomountthestairs.Nospectator,howeverjust,couldhavehelpedfeelingapangofpityforthewretchedmanwhostoodunconsciousofimminentdoom,possiblyeventriumphant,behindthedooratwhichshewasonthepointoftapping.

‘Comein!’criedthevoice,ratherapleasantvoice;butwhatisapleasantvoiceifthesoulbevile?

Annettewentin.TheroomwasatypicalChelseastudio,scantilyfurnishedandlackingacarpet.Inthecentrewasaneasel,behindwhichwerevisibleapairoftrouseredlegs.Acloudofgreysmokewascurlingupoverthetopoftheeasel.

‘Ibegyourpardon,’beganAnnette.

‘Idon’twantanymodelsatpresent,’saidtheBrute.‘Leaveyourcardonthetable.’

‘Iamnotamodel,’saidAnnette,coldly.‘Imerelycame—’

AtthistheBruteemergedfromhisfortificationsand,removinghispipefromhismouth,jerkedhischairoutintotheopen.

‘Ibegyourpardon,’hesaid.‘Won’tyousitdown?’

HowrecklessisNatureinthedistributionofhergifts!Notonlyhadthisblack–heartedknockeronfloorsapleasantvoice,but,inaddition,apleasingexterior.Hewasslightlydishevelledatthemoment,andhishairstoodupinadisorderedmop;butinspiteofthesedrawbacks,hewasquitepassablygood–looking.Annetteadmittedthis.Thoughwrathful,shewasfair.

‘Ithoughtitwasanothermodel,’heexplained.‘They’vebeencominginattherateoftenanhoureversinceIsettledhere.Ididn’tobjectatfirst,butafterabouttheeightiethchildofsunnyItalyhadshownupitbegantogetonmynerves.’

Annettewaitedcoldlytillhehadfinished.

‘Iamsorry,’shesaid,inathis–is–where–you–get–yoursvoice,‘ifmyplayingdisturbedyou.’

OnewouldhavethoughtnobodybutanEskimowearinghisfursandwinterunder–clothingcouldhavewithstoodtheicinessofhermanner;buttheBrutedidnotfreeze.

‘Iamsorry,’repeatedAnnette,wellbelowzero,‘ifmyplayingdisturbedyou.Iliveintheroombelow,andIheardyouknocking.’

‘No,no,’protestedtheyoungman,affably;‘Ilikeit.ReallyIdo.’

‘Thenwhyknockonthefloor?’saidAnnette,turningtogo.‘Itissobadformyceiling,’shesaidovershoulder.‘Ithoughtyouwouldnotmindmymentioningit.Goodafternoon.’

‘No;butonemoment.Don’tgo.’

Shestopped.Hewassurveyingherwithafriendlysmile.Shenoticedmostreluctantlythathehadanicesmile.Hiscomposurebegantoenragehermoreandmore.Longerethisheshouldhavebeenwrithingatherfeetinthedust,crushedandabject.

‘Yousee,’hesaid,‘I’mawfullysorry,butit’slikethis.Ilovemusic,butwhatImeanis,youweren’tplayingatune.Itwasjustthesamebitoverandoveragain.’

‘Iwastryingtogetaphrase,’saidAnnette,withdignity,butlesscoldly.Inspiteofherselfshewasbeginningtothaw.Therewassomethingsingularlyattractiveaboutthisshock–headedyouth.

‘Aphrase?’

‘Ofmusic.Formywaltz.Iamcomposingawaltz.’

Alookofsuchunqualifiedadmirationoverspreadtheyoungman’sfacethatthelastremnantsoftheice–packmelted.ForthefirsttimesincetheyhadmetAnnettefoundherselfpositivelylikingthisblackguardlyfloor–smiter.

‘Canyoucomposemusic?’hesaid,impressed.

‘Ihavewrittenoneortwosongs.’

‘Itmustbegreattobeabletodothings—artisticthings,Imean,likecomposing.’

‘Well,youdo,don’tyou?Youpaint.’

Theyoungmanshookhisheadwithacheerfulgrin.

‘Ifancy,’hesaid,‘Ishouldmakeaprettygoodhouse–painter.Iwantscope.Canvasseemstocrampme.’

Itseemedtocausehimnodiscomfort.Heappearedratheramusedthanotherwise.

‘Letmelook.’

Shecrossedovertotheeasel.

‘Ishouldn’t,’hewarnedher.‘Youreallywantto?Isthisnotmererecklessness?Verywell,then.’

Totheeyeofanexperiencedcriticthepicturewouldcertainlyhaveseemedcrude.Itwasastudyofadark–eyedchildholdingalargeblackcat.Statisticiansestimatethatthereisnomomentduringthedaywhenoneormoreyoungartistssomewhereonthefaceoftheglobearenotpaintingpicturesofchildrenholdingcats.

‘Icallit“ChildandCat”,’saidtheyoungman.‘Ratheraneattitle,don’tyouthink?Givesyouthemainideaofthethingrightaway.That,’heexplained,pointingobliginglywiththestemofhispipe,‘isthecat.’

Annettebelongedtothatlargesectionofthepublicwhichlikesordislikesapictureaccordingtowhetheritssubjecthappenstopleaseordispleasethem.Probablytherewasnotoneofthemillionorsochild–and–cateyesoresatpresentinexistencewhichshewouldnothaveliked.Besides,hehadbeenveryniceabouthermusic.

‘Ithinkit’ssplendid,’sheannounced.

Theyoungman’sfacedisplayedalmostmoresurprisethanjoy.

‘Doyoureally?’hesaid.‘ThenIcandiehappy—thatis,ifyou’llletmecomedownandlistentothosesongsofyoursfirst.’

‘Youwouldonlyknockonthefloor,’objectedAnnette.

‘I’llneverknockonanotherflooraslongasIlive,’saidtheex–brute,reassuringly.‘Ihateknockingonfloors.Idon’tseewhatpeoplewanttoknockonfloorsfor,anyway.’

FriendshipsripenquicklyinChelsea.WithinthespaceofanhourandaquarterAnnettehadlearnedthattheyoungman’snamewasAlanBeverley(forwhichFamilyHeraldicafflictionshepitiedratherthandespisedhim),thathedidnotdependentirelyonhisworkforaliving,havingalittlemoneyofhisown,andthatheconsideredthisafortunatething.Fromtheverybeginningoftheirtalkhepleasedher.Shefoundhimanabsolutelynewandoriginalvarietyoftheunsuccessfulpainter.UnlikeReginaldSellers,whohadastudiointhesamebuilding,andsometimesdroppedintodrinkhercoffeeandpourouthistroubles,hedidnotattributehisnon–successtoanymaliceorstupidityonthepartofthepublic.ShewassousedtohearingSellerslashthePhilistineandholdforthonunappreciatedmeritthatshecouldhardlybelievethemiraclewhen,inanswertoasympatheticbromideonthepopularlackoftasteinArt,Beverleyrepliedthat,asfarashewasconcerned,thepublicshowedstronggoodsense.Ifhehadbeenstrivingwitheverynervetowinheresteem,hecouldnothavedoneitmoresurelythanwiththatoneremark.Thoughsheinvariablylistenedwithasweetpatiencewhichencouragedthemtocontinuelongafterthepointatwhichshehadbeguninspirittothrowthingsatthem,Annettehadnosympathywithmenwhowhined.Sheherselfwasafighter.ShehatedasmuchasanyonethesickeningblowswhichFatehandsouttothestrugglingandambitious;butshenevermadethemthebasisofamonologueact.Often,afteradrearytriproundtheofficesofthemusic–publishers,shewouldhowlbitterlyinsecret,andevengnawherpillowinthewatchesofthenight;butinpublicherpridekeptherunvaryinglybrightandcheerful.

Today,forthefirsttime,sherevealedsomethingofherwoes.Therewasthataboutthemop–headedyoungmanwhichinvitedconfidences.Shetoldhimofthestony–heartednessofmusic–publishers,ofthedifficultyofgettingsongsprintedunlessyoupaidforthem,oftheirwretchedsales.

‘Butthosesongsyou’vebeenplaying,’saidBeverley,‘they’vebeenpublished?’

‘Yes,thosethree.Buttheyaretheonlyones.’

‘Anddidn’ttheysell?’

‘Hardlyatall.Yousee,asongdoesn’tsellunlesssomebodywellknownsingsit.Andpeoplepromisetosingthem,andthendon’tkeeptheirword.Youcan’tdependonwhattheysay.’

‘Givemetheirnames,’saidBeverley,‘andI’llgoroundtomorrowandshootthewholelot.Butcan’tyoudoanything?’

‘Onlykeeponkeepingon.’

‘Iwish,’hesaid,‘thatanytimeyou’refeelingblueaboutthingsyouwouldcomeupandpouroutthepoisononme.It’snogoodbottlingitup.Comeupandtellmeaboutit,andyou’llfeeleversomuchbetter.Orletmecomedown.Anytimethingsaren’tgoingrightjustknockontheceiling.’

Shelaughed.

‘Don’trubitin,’pleadedBeverley.‘Itisn’tfair.There’snobodysosensitiveasareformedfloor–knocker.Youwillcomeuporletmecomedown,won’tyou?WheneverIhavethatsad,depressedfeeling,Igooutandkillapoliceman.Butyouwouldn’tcareforthat.Sotheonlythingforyoutodoistoknockontheceiling.ThenI’llcomechargingdownandseeifthere’sanythingIcandotohelp.’

‘You’llbesorryyoueversaidthis.’

‘Iwon’t,’hesaidstoutly.

‘Ifyoureallymeanit,itwouldbearelief,’sheadmitted.‘SometimesI’dgiveallthemoneyI’meverlikelytomakeforsomeonetoshriekmygrievancesat.Ialwaysthinkitmusthavebeensoniceforthepeopleintheoldnovels,whentheyusedtosay:“SitdownandIwilltellyouthestoryofmylife.”Mustn’tithavebeenheavenly?’

‘Well,’saidBeverley,rising,‘youknowwhereIamifI’mwanted.Rightuptherewheretheknockingcamefrom.’

‘Knocking?’saidAnnette.‘Iremembernoknocking.’

‘Wouldyoumindshakinghands?’saidBeverley.

*****

Aparticularlymaddeninghourwithoneofherpupilsdroveheruptheverynextday.Herpupilswereatoncehersalvationandherdespair.Theygaveherthemeansofsupportinglife,buttheymadelifehardlyworthsupporting.Someofthemwerelearningthepiano.Othersthoughttheysang.Allhadsolidivoryskulls.Therewasaboutateaspoonfulofgreymatterdistributedamongtheentiresquad,andthepupilAnnettehadbeenteachingthatafternoonhadcomeinatthetail–endofthedivision.

InthestudiowithBeverleyshefoundReginaldSellers,standinginacriticalattitudebeforetheeasel.Shewasnotveryfondofhim.Hewasalong,offensive,patronizingperson,withamoustachethatlookedlikeasmearofcharcoal,andahabitofaddressingheras‘Ah,littleone!’

Beverleylookedup.

‘Haveyoubroughtyourhatchet,MissBrougham?Ifyouhave,you’rejustintimetojoin

inthemassacreoftheinnocents.Sellershasbeensmitingmychildandcathipandthigh.Lookathiseye.There!Didyouseeitflashthen?He’sonthewarpathagain.’

‘MydearBeverley,’saidSellers,ratherstiffly,‘Iammerelyendeavouringtogiveyoumyideaofthepicture’sdefects.Iamsorryifmycriticismhastobealittleharsh.’

‘Gorighton,’saidBeverley,cordially.‘Don’tmindme;it’sallformygood.’

‘Well,inaword,then,itislifeless.Neitherthechildnorthecatlives.’

Hesteppedbackapaceandmadeaframeofhishands.

‘Thecatnow,’hesaid.‘Itis—howshallIputit?Ithasno—no—er—’

‘Thatkindofcatwouldn’t,’saidBeverley.‘Itisn’tthatbreed.’

‘Ithinkit’sadearcat,’saidAnnette.Shefelthertemper,alwaysquick,gettingthebetterofher.SheknewjusthowincompetentSellerswas,anditirritatedherbeyondendurancetoseeBeverley’sgood–humouredacceptanceofhispatronage.

‘Atanyrate,’saidBeverley,withagrin,‘youbothseemtorecognizethatitisacat.You’resolidonthatpoint,andthat’ssomething,seeingI’monlyabeginner.’

‘Iknow,mydearfellow;Iknow,’saidSellers,graciously.‘Youmustn’tletmycriticismdiscourageyou.Don’tthinkthatyourworklackspromise.Farfromit.Iamsurethatintimeyouwilldoverywellindeed.Quitewell.’

AcoldglittermighthavebeenobservedinAnnette’seyes.

‘MrSellers,’shesaid,smoothly,‘hadtoworkveryhardhimselfbeforehereachedhispresentposition.Youknowhiswork,ofcourse?’

ForthefirsttimeBeverleyseemedsomewhatconfused.

‘I—er—why—’hebegan.

‘Oh,butofcourseyoudo,’shewenton,sweetly.‘It’sinallthemagazines.’

Beverleylookedatthegreatmanwithadmiration,andsawthathehadflusheduncomfortably.Heputthisdowntothemodestyofgenius.

‘Intheadvertisementpages,’saidAnnette.‘MrSellersdrewthatpictureoftheWaukeesyShoeandtheRestawhileSetteeandthetinofsardinesintheLittleGemSardineadvertisement.Heisverygoodatstilllife.’

Therewasatensesilence.Beverleycouldalmosthearthevoiceoftherefereeutteringthecount.

‘MissBrougham,’saidSellersatlast,spittingoutthewords,‘hasconfinedherselftothepurelycommercialsideofmywork.Thereisanother.’

‘Why,ofcoursethereis.Yousoldalandscapeforfivepoundsonlyeightmonthsago,didn’tyou?Andanotherthreemonthsbeforethat.’

Itwasenough.Sellersbowedstifflyandstalkedfromtheroom.

Beverleypickedupadusterandbeganslowlytosweepthefloorwithit.

‘Whatareyoudoing?’demandedAnnette,inachokingvoice.

‘Thefragmentsofthewretchedman,’whisperedBeverley.‘Theymustbesweptupanddecentlyinterred.Youcertainlyhavegotthepunch,MissBrougham.’

Hedroppedthedusterwithastartledexclamation,forAnnettehadsuddenlyburstintoafloodoftears.Withherfaceburiedinherhandsshesatinherchairandsobbeddesperately.

‘GoodLord!’saidBeverley,blankly.

‘I’macat!I’mabeast!Ihatemyself!’

‘GoodLord!’saidBeverley,blankly.

‘I’mapig!I’mafiend!’

‘GoodLord!’saidBeverley,blankly.

‘We’reallstrugglingandtryingtogetonandhavinghardluck,andinsteadofdoingwhatIcantohelp,Igoandt–t–taunthimwithnotbeingabletosellhispictures!I’mnotfittolive!Oh!’

‘GoodLord!’saidBeverley,blankly.

Aseriesofgulpingsobsfollowed,diminishingbydegreesintosilence.Presentlyshelookedupandsmiled,amoistandpatheticsmile.

‘I’msorry,’shesaid,‘forbeingsostupid.Buthewassohorridandpatronizingtoyou,Icouldn’thelpscratching.IbelieveI’mtheworstcatinLondon.’

‘No,thisis,’saidBeverley,pointingtothecanvas.‘Atleast,accordingtothelateSellers.But,Isay,tellme,isn’tthedeceasedagreatartist,then?Hecamecurvetinginherewithhischestoutandstartedtoslatemymasterpiece,soInaturallysaid,“What–ho!‘Tisagenius!”Isn’the?’

‘Hecan’tsellhispicturesanywhere.Helivesonthelittlehecangetfromillustratingadvertisements.AndIt–taunt—’

‘Please!‘saidBeverley,apprehensively.

Sherecoveredherselfwithagulp.

‘Ican’thelpit,’shesaid,miserably.‘Irubbeditin.Oh,itwashatefulofme!ButIwasallonedgefromteachingoneofmyawfulpupils,andwhenhestartedtopatronizeyou—’

Sheblinked.

‘Poordevil!’saidBeverley.‘Ineverguessed.GoodLord!’

Annetterose.

‘ImustgoandtellhimI’msorry,’shesaid.‘He’llsnubmehorribly,butImust.’

Shewentout.Beverleylitapipeandstoodatthewindowlookingthoughtfullydownintothestreet.

*****

Itisagoodruleinlifenevertoapologize.Therightsortofpeopledonotwantapologies,

andthewrongsorttakeameanadvantageofthem.Sellersbelongedtothelatterclass.WhenAnnette,meek,penitent,withallherclawssheathed,cametohimandgrovelled,heforgaveherwitharepulsivemagnanimitywhichinalesssubduedmoodwouldhavestunghertorenewedpugnacity.Asitwas,sheallowedherselftobeforgiven,andretiredwithadismalconvictionthatfromnowonhewouldbemoreinsufferablethanever.

Hersurmiseprovedabsolutelycorrect.Hisvisitstothenewcomer’sstudiobeganagain,andBeverley’spicture,nownearingcompletion,cameinforcriticismenoughtohavefilledavolume.ThegoodhumourwithwhichhereceiveditamazedAnnette.Shehadnoproprietaryinterestinthepaintingbeyondwhatsheacquiredfromagrowingregardforitsparent(whichdisturbedheragooddealwhenshehadtimetothinkofit);butthereweremomentswhenonlytherecollectionofherremorseforherpreviousoutbreakkeptherfromrendingthecritic.Beverley,however,appearedtohavenoartisticsensitivenesswhatsoever.WhenSellerssavagedthecatinamannerwhichshouldhavebroughttheS.P.C.A.downuponhim,Beverleymerelybeamed.Hislong–sufferingnesswasbeyondAnnette’scomprehension.

Shebegantoadmirehimforit.

Tomakehispositionascriticstillmoreimpregnable,Sellerswasnowabletospeakasonehavingauthority.Afteryearsoffloundering,hisluckseemedatlasttohaveturned.Hispictures,whichformonthshadlainatanagent’s,careenedlikecrippledbattleships,hadatlengthbeguntofindamarket.Withinthepasttwoweeksthreelandscapesandanallegoricalpaintinghadsoldforgoodprices;andundertheinfluenceofsuccessheexpandedlikeanopeningfloweret.WhenEpstein,theagent,wrotetosaythattheallegoryhadbeenpurchasedbyaGlasgowplutocratofthenameofBatesforonehundredandsixtyguineas,Sellers’viewsonPhilistinesandtheircrassmaterialismandlackoftasteunderwentamarkedmodification.HespokewithsomefriendlinessofthemanBates.

‘Tome,’saidBeverley,wheninformedoftheeventbyAnnette,‘thematterhasadeepersignificance.ItprovesthatGlasgowhasatlastproducedasoberman.Nodrinkerwouldhavedaredfacethatallegory.Thewholebusinessisverygratifying.’

BeverleyhimselfwasprogressingslowlyinthefieldofArt.Hehadfinishedthe‘ChildandCat’,andhadtakenittoEpsteintogetherwithaletterofintroductionfromSellers.Sellers’habitualattitudenowwasthatofthekindlycelebritywhohasarrivedandwishestogivetheyoungstersachance.

SinceitsdepartureBeverleyhadnotdonemuchinthewayofactualexecution.WheneverAnnettecametohisstudiohewaseithersittinginachairwithhisfeetonthewindow–sill,smoking,orinthesameattitudelisteningtoSellers’viewsonart.Sellersbeingontheupgrade,amanwithmanypoundstohiscreditinthebank,hadmoreleisurenow.Hehadgivenuphisadvertisementwork,andwasplanningagreatcanvas—anotherallegoricalwork.ThislefthimfreetodevoteagooddealoftimetoBeverley,andhedidso.Beverleysatandsmokedthroughhisharangues.Hemayhavebeenlistening,orhemaynot.Annettelistenedonceortwice,andtheexperiencehadtheeffectofsendinghertoBeverley,quiveringwithindignation.

‘Whydoyoulethimpatronizeyoulikethat?’shedemanded.‘Ifanybodycameandtalkedtomelikethataboutmymusic,I’d—I’d—Idon’tknowwhatI’ddo.Yes,evenifhewere

reallyagreatmusician.’

‘Don’tyouconsiderSellersagreatartist,then,evennow?’

‘Heseemstobeabletosellhispictures,soIsupposetheymustbegood;butnothingcouldgivehimtherighttopatronizeyouashedoes.’

‘“Mylearnedfriend’smannerwouldbeintolerableinanemperortoablack–beetle,”’quotedBeverley.‘Well,whatarewegoingtodoaboutit?’

‘Ifonlyyoucouldsellapicture,too!’

‘Ah!Well,I’vedonemypartofthecontract.I’vedeliveredthegoods.TherethethingisatEpstein’s.Thepubliccan’tblamemeifitdoesn’tsell.Allthey’vegottodoistowaltzinintheirthousandsandfightforit.And,bytheway,talkingofwaltzes—’

‘Oh,it’sfinished,’saidAnnette,dispiritedly.‘Publishedtoo,forthatmatter.’

‘Published!What’sthematter,then?Whythisdroopingsadness?Whyaren’tyourunningaroundthesquare,singinglikeabird?’

‘Because,’saidAnnette,‘unfortunately,Ihadtopaytheexpensesofpublication.Itwasonlyfivepounds,butthesaleshaven’tcaughtupwiththatyet.Iftheyeverdo,perhapsthere’llbeanewedition.’

‘Andwillyouhavetopayforthat?’

‘No.Thepublisherswould.’

‘Whoarethey?’

‘GrusczinskyandBuchterkirch.’

‘Heavens,thenwhatareyouworryingabout?Thething’sacert.AmanwithanamelikeGrusczinskycouldselladozeneditionsbyhimself.HelpedandinspiredbyBuchterkirch,hewillmakethewaltzthetalkofthecountry.Infantswillcroonitintheircots.’

‘Hedidn’tseemtothinksowhenIsawhimlast.’

‘Ofcoursenot.Hedoesn’tknowhisownpower.Grusczinsky’sshrinkingdiffidenceisaby–wordinmusicalcircles.HeisthegenuineHumanViolet.Youmustgivehimtime.’

‘I’llgivehimanythingifhe’llonlysellaneditionortwo,’saidAnnette.

Theoutstandingthingwasthathedid.Thereseemednoparticularreasonwhythesaleofthatwaltzshouldnothavebeenassmallandasslowasthatofanyotherwaltzbyanunknowncomposer.Butalmostwithoutwarningitexpandedfromatrickleintoaflood.Grusczinsky,beamingpaternallywheneverAnnetteenteredtheshop—whichwasoften—announcedtwoneweditionsinaweek.Beverley,hisartisticgrowthstillunderawatchfuleyeofSellers,saidhehadneverhadanydoubtsastothesuccessofthethingfromthemomentwhenasinglephraseinithadsocarriedhimawaythathehadbeencompelledtostamphisapplauseenthusiasticallyonthefloor.EvenSellersforgothisowntriumphslongenoughtoallowhimtoofferaffablecongratulations.Andmoneycamerollingin,smoothingthepathoflife.

Thoseweregreatdays.Therewasahat…

Life,inshort,wasveryfullandsplendid.Therewas,indeed,butonethingwhichkeptitfrombeingperfect.Theusualdrawbacktosuccessisthatitannoysone’sfriendsso;butinAnnette’scasethisdrawbackwasabsent.Sellers’demeanourtowardsherwasthatofanold–establishedinmatewelcominganoviceintotheHallofFame.Herpupils—worthysouls,thoughbone–headed—fawneduponher.Beverleyseemedmorepleasedthananyone.YetitwasBeverleywhopreventedherparadisefrombeingcomplete.Successfulherself,shewantedallherfriendstobesuccessful;butBeverley,toherdiscomfort,remainedacheeryfailure,andworse,absolutelyrefusedtosnubSellers.ItwasnotasifSellers’adviceandcommentsweredisinterested.Beverleywassimplytheinstrumentonwhichheplayedhissongsoftriumph.ItdistressedAnnettetosuchanextentthatnow,ifshewentupstairsandheardSellers’voiceinthestudio,shecamedownagainwithoutknocking.

*****

Oneafternoon,sittinginherroom,sheheardthetelephone–bellring.

Thetelephonewasonthestairs,justoutsideherdoor.Shewentoutandtookupthereceiver.

‘Halloa!’saidaquerulousvoice.‘IsMrBeverleythere?’

Annetterememberedhavingheardhimgoout.Shecouldalwaystellhisfootstep.

‘Heisout,’shesaid.‘Isthereanymessage?’

‘Yes,’saidthevoice,emphatically.‘TellhimthatRupertMorrisonranguptoaskwhathewastodowithallthisgreatstackofmusicthat’sarrived.Doeshewantitforwardedontohim,orwhat?’Thevoicewasgrowinghighandexcited.EvidentlyMrMorrisonwasinastateofnervoustensionwhenamandoesnotcareparticularlywhohearshistroublessolongasheunburdenshimselfofthemtosomeone.

‘Music?’saidAnnette.

‘Music!’shrilledMrMorrison.‘Stacksandstacksandstacksofit.Isheplayingapracticaljokeonme,orwhat?’hedemanded,hysterically.PlainlyhehadnowcometoregardAnnetteasalegitimateconfidante.Shewaslistening.Thatwasthemainpoint.Hewantedsomeone—hedidnotcarewhom—whowouldlisten.‘Helendsmehisrooms,’wailedMrMorrison,‘sothatIcanbeperfectlyquietandundisturbedwhileIwritemynovel,and,firstthingIknow,thismusicstartstoarrive.HowcanIbequietandundisturbedwhenthefloor’slitteredtwoyardshighwithgreatparcelsofmusic,andmorecomingeveryday?’

Annetteclungweaklytothetelephonebox.Hermindwasinawhirl,butshewasbeginningtoseemanythings.

‘Areyouthere?’calledMrMorrison.

‘Yes.What—whatfirmdoesthemusiccomefrom?’

‘What’sthat?’

‘Whoarethepublisherswhosendthemusic?’

‘Ican’tremember.Somelongname.Yes,I’vegotit.Grusczinskyandsomeone.’

‘I’lltellMrBeverley,’saidAnnette,quietly.Agreatweightseemedtohavesettledonherhead.

‘Halloa!Halloa!Areyouthere?’cameMrMorrison’svoice.

‘Yes?’

‘Andtellhimtherearesomepictures,too.’

‘Pictures?’

‘Fourgreatbeastlypictures.Thesizeofelephants.Itellyou,thereisn’troomtomove.And—’

Annettehungupthereceiver.

*****

MrBeverley,returnedfromhiswalk,wasracingupthestairsthreeatatimeinhisenergeticway,when,ashearrivedatAnnette’sdoor,itopened.

‘Haveyouaminutetospare?’saidAnnette.

‘Ofcourse.What’sthetrouble?Havetheysoldanothereditionofthewaltz?’

‘Ihavenotheard,Mr—Bates.’

Foronceshelookedtoseethecheerfulcomposureofthemanupstairsbecomeruffled;buthereceivedtheblowwithoutagitation.

‘Youknowmyname?’hesaid.

‘Iknowagooddealmorethanyourname.YouareaGlasgowmillionaire.’

‘It’strue,’headmitted,‘butit’shereditary.Myfatherwasonebeforeme.’

‘Andyouuseyourmoney,’saidAnnette,bitterly,‘creatingfools’paradisesforyourfriends,whichlast,Isuppose,untilyougrowtiredoftheamusementanddestroythem.Doesn’titeverstrikeyou,MrBates,thatit’salittlecruel?DoyouthinkMrSellerswillsettledownagaincheerfullytohack–workwhenyoustopbuyinghispictures,andhefindsoutthat—that—’

‘Ishan’tstop,’saidtheyoungman.‘IfaGlasgowmillionairemayn’tbuySellers’allegoricalpictures,whoseallegoricalpicturesmayhebuy?Sellerswillneverfindout.He’llgoonpaintingandI’llgoonbuying,andallwillbejoyandpeace.’

‘Indeed!Andwhatfuturehaveyouarrangedforme?’

‘You?’hesaid,reflectively.‘Iwanttomarryyou.’

Annettestiffenedfromheadtofoot.Hemetherblazingeyeswithalookofquietdevotion.

‘Marryme?’

‘Iknowwhatyouarethinking,’hesaid.‘YourmindisdwellingontheprospectoflivinginahousedecoratedthroughoutwithSellers’allegoricalpictures.Butitwon’tbe.We’llstorethemintheattic.’

Shebegantospeak,butheinterruptedher.

‘Listen!’hesaid.‘SitdownandIwilltellyouthestoryofmylife.We’llskipthefirsttwenty–eightyearsandthreemonths,merelymentioningthatforthegreaterpartofthattimeIwaslookingforsomebodyjustlikeyou.AmonthandninedaysagoIfoundyou.YouwerecrossingtheEmbankment.IwasalsoontheEmbankment.Inataxi.Istoppedthetaxi,gotout,andobservedyoujuststeppingintotheCharingCrossUnderground.Isprang—’

‘Thisdoesnotinterestme,’saidAnnette.

‘Theplotthickens,’heassuredher.‘Weleftourherospringing,Ithink.Justso.Well,youtooktheWestEndtrainandgotoffatSloaneSquare.SodidI.YoucrossedSloaneSquare,turnedupKing’sRoad,andfinallyarrivedhere.Ifollowed.Isawanoticeup,“StudiotoLet”.Ireflectedthat,havingdonealittlepaintinginanamateurway,Icouldposeasanartistallright;soItookthestudio.AlsothenameofAlanBeverley.MyownisBillBates.IhadoftenwonderedwhatitwouldfeelliketobecalledbysomenamelikeAlanBeverleyorCyrilTrevelyan.Itwassimplythespinofthecoinwhichdecidedmeinfavouroftheformer.Oncein,theproblemwashowtogettoknowyou.WhenIheardyouplayingIknewitwasallright.Ihadonlytokeepknockingonthefloorlongenough—’

‘Do—you—mean—to—tell—me’—Annette’svoicetrembled‘doyoumeantotellmethatyouknockedthattimesimplytomakemecomeup?’

‘Thatwasit.Ratherascheme,don’tyouthink?Andnow,wouldyoumindtellingmehowyoufoundoutthatIhadbeenbuyingyourwaltz?Thoseremarksofyoursaboutfools’paradiseswerenotinspiredsolelybytheaffairsofSellers.Butitbeatsmehowyoudidit.IsworeRozinsky,orwhateverhisnameis,tosecrecy.’

‘AMrMorrison,’sadAnnette,indifferently,‘ranguponthetelephoneandaskedmetotellyouthathewasgreatlyworriedbythepilesofmusicwhichwerelitteringtheroomsyoulenthim.’

Theyoungmanburstintoaroaroflaughter.

‘PooroldMorrison!Iforgotallabouthim.IlenthimmyroomsattheAlbany.He’swritinganovel,andhecan’tworkiftheslightestthinggoeswrong.Itjustshows—’

‘MrBates!’

‘Yes?’

‘Perhapsyoudidn’tintendtohurtme.Idaresayyoumeantonlytobekind.But—but—oh,can’tyouseehowyouhavehumiliatedme?Youhavetreatedmelikeachild,givingmeamake–believesuccessjustto—justtokeepmequiet,Isuppose.You—’

Hewasfumblinginhispocket.

‘MayIreadyoualetter?’hesaid.

‘Aletter?’

‘Quiteashortone.ItisfromEpstein,thepicture–dealer.Thisiswhathesays.“Sir,”meaningme,not“DearBill,”mindyou—just“Sir.”“IamgladtobeabletoinformyouthatIhavethismorningreceivedanofferoftenguineasforyourpicture,‘ChildandCat’.KindlyletmeknowifIamtodisposeofitatthisprice.”’

‘Well?’saidAnnette,inasmallvoice.

‘IhavejustbeentoEpstein’s.ItseemsthatthepurchaserisaMissBrown.ShegaveanaddressinBayswater.Icalledattheaddress.NoMissBrownlivesthere,butoneofyourpupilsdoes.IaskedherifshewasexpectingaparcelforMissBrown,andshesaidthatshehadhadyourletterandquiteunderstoodandwouldtakeitinwhenitarrived.’

Annettewashidingherfaceinherhands.

‘Goaway!’shesaid,faintly.

MrBatesmovedastepnearer.

‘Doyourememberthatstoryofthepeopleontheislandwhoekedoutaprecariouslivelihoodbytakinginoneanother’swashing?’heasked,casually.

‘Goaway!’criedAnnette.

‘I’vealwaysthought,’hesaid,‘thatitmusthavedrawnthemveryclosetogether—madethemfeelratherattachedtoeachother.Don’tyou?’

‘Goaway!’

‘Idon’twanttogoaway.Iwanttostayandhearyousayyou’llmarryme.’

‘Pleasegoaway!Iwanttothink.’

Sheheardhimmovingtowardsthedoor.Hestopped,thenwentonagain.Thedoorclosedquietly.Presentlyfromtheroomabovecamethesoundoffootsteps—footstepspacingmonotonouslytoandfrolikethoseofananimalinacage.

Annettesatlistening.Therewasnobreakinthefootsteps.

Suddenlyshegotup.Inonecorneroftheroomwasalongpoleusedforraisingandloweringthewindow–sash.Shetookit,andforamomentstoodirresolute.Thenwithaquickmovement,shelifteditandstabbedthreetimesattheceiling.

SOMETHINGTOWORRYABOUT

AgirlstoodontheshinglethatfringesMillbourneBay,gazingattheredroofsofthelittlevillageacrossthewater.Shewasaprettygirl,smallandtrim.Justnowsomesecretsorrowseemedtobetroublingher,foronherforeheadwerewrinklesandinhereyesalookofwistfulness.Shehad,infact,allthedistinguishingmarksofonewhoisthinkingofhersailorlover.

Butshewasnot.Shehadnosailorlover.Whatshewasthinkingofwasthatataboutthistimetheywouldbelightinguptheshop–windowsinLondon,andthatofallthedeadly,depressingspotsshehadevervisitedthisvillageofMillbournewasthedeadliest.

Theeveningshadowsdeepened.Theincomingtideglistenedoililyasitrolledoverthemudflats.Sheroseandshivered.

‘Goo!Whatahole!’shesaid,eyeingtheunconsciousvillagemorosely.‘Whatahole!’

*****

ThiswasSallyPreston’sfirsteveninginMillbourne.ShehadarrivedbytheafternoontrainfromLondon—notofherownfreewill.Lefttoherself,shewouldnothavecomewithinsixtymilesoftheplace.Londonsuppliedallthatshedemandedfromlife.ShehadbeenborninLondon;shehadlivedthereeversince—shehopedtodiethere.Shelikedfogs,motor–buses,noise,policemen,paper–boys,shops,taxi–cabs,artificiallight,stonepavements,housesinlong,greyrows,mud,banana–skins,andmoving–pictureexhibitions.Especiallymoving–pictureexhibitions.Itwas,indeed,hertasteforthesethathadcausedherbanishmenttoMillbourne.

Thegreatpublicisnotyetunanimousonthesubjectofmoving–pictureexhibitions.Sally,asIhavesaid,approvedofthem.Herfather,ontheotherhand,didnot.Anaustereex–butler,wholetlodgingsinEburyStreetandpreachedonSundaysinHydePark,helookedaskanceatthe‘movies’.Itwashisboastthathehadneverbeeninsideatheatreinhislife,andheclassedcinemapalaceswiththeatresaswilesofthedevil.Sally,suddenlyunmaskedasanhabitualfrequenteroftheseabandonedplaces,sprangwithoneboundintoprominenceastheBadGirloftheFamily.Instantremovalfromtherangeoftemptationbeingtheonlypossibleplan,itseemedtoMrPrestonthatatriptothecountrywasindicated.

HeselectedMillbournebecausehehadbeenbutlerattheHallthere,andbecausehissisterJane,whohadbeenaparlour–maidattheRectory,wasnowmarriedandlivinginthevillage.

CertainlyhecouldnothavechosenamorepromisingreformatoryforSally.Here,ifanywhere,mightsheforgettheheadyjoysofthecinema.Tuckedawayinthecornerofitslittlebay,whichanaccommodatingislandconvertsintoastilllagoon,Millbourneliesdozing.InallsleepyHampshirethereisnosleepierspot.Itisaplaceofcalm–eyedmenanddrowsydogs.Thingscrumbleawayandarenotreplaced.Tradesmenbookorders,andthenloseinterestandforgettodeliverthegoods.Onlycentenariansdie,andnobody

worriesaboutanything—ordidnotuntilSallycameandgavethemsomethingtoworryabout.

*****

NextdoortoSally’sAuntJane,inacosylittlecottagewithawonderfullittlegarden,livedThomasKitchener,alarge,grave,self–sufficingyoungman,who,bysheerapplicationtowork,hadbecomealready,thoughonlytwenty–five,secondgardenerattheHall.Gardeningabsorbedhim.WhenhewasnotworkingattheHallhewasworkingathome.OnthemorningfollowingSally’sarrival,itbeingaThursdayandhisdayoff,hewascrouchinginaconstrainedattitudeinhisgarden,everyfibreofhisbeingconcentratedontheintermentofaplumpyoungbulb.Consequently,whenachunkofmudcamesailingoverthefence,hedidnotnoticeit.

Asecond,however,compelledattentionbyburstinglikeashellonthebackofhisneck.Helookedup,startled.Nobodywasinsight.Hewaspuzzled.Itcouldhardlyberainingmud.Yetthealternativetheory,thatsomeoneinthenextgardenwasthrowingit,washardlylessbizarre.ThenatureofhisfriendshipwithSally’sAuntJaneandoldMrWilliams,herhusband,wascomfortableratherthanrollicking.Itwasinconceivablethattheyshouldbeflingingclodsathim.

Ashestoodwonderingwhetherheshouldgotothefenceandlookover,orsimplyacceptthephenomenonasoneofthosethingswhichnofellowcanunderstand,therepoppedupbeforehimtheheadandshouldersofagirl.Poisedinherrighthandwasathirdclod,which,seeingthattherewasnownoneedforitsservices,sheallowedtofalltotheground.

‘Halloa!’shesaid.‘Goodmorning.’

Shewasaprettygirl,smallandtrim.Tomwasbywayofbeingthestrong,silentmanwithacareertothinkofandnotimeforbotheringaboutgirls,buthesawthat.Therewas,moreover,acertainalertnessinherexpressionrarelyfoundinthefemininepopulationofMillbourne,whowereapttobeslightlybovine.

‘Whatdoyouthinkyou’remessingaboutat?’shesaid,affably.

Tomwasaslow–mindedyoungman,wholikedtohavehisthoughtswellundercontrolbeforehespoke.Hewasnotoneofyourgayrattlers.Besides,therewassomethingaboutthisgirlwhichconfusedhimtoanextraordinaryextent.Hewasconsciousofnewandstrangeemotions.Hestoodstaringsilently.

‘What’syourname,anyway?’

Hecouldanswerthat.Hedidso.

‘Oh!Mine’sSallyPreston.MrsWilliamsismyaunt.I’vecomefromLondon.’

TomhadnoremarkstomakeaboutLondon.

‘Haveyoulivedhereallyourlife?’

‘Yes,’saidTom.

‘Mygoodness!Don’tyoueverfeelfedup?Don’tyouwantachange?’

Tomconsideredthepoint.

‘No,’hesaid.

‘Well,Ido.Iwantonenow.’

‘It’saniceplace,’hazardedTom.

‘It’snothingofthesort.It’sthebeastliestholeinexistence.It’sabsolutelychronic.PerhapsyouwonderwhyI’mhere.Don’tthinkIwantedtocomehere.Notme!Iwassent.Itwaslikethis.’Shegavehimarapidsummaryofhertroubles.‘There!Don’tyoucallitabitthick?’sheconcluded.

Tomconsideredthispoint,too.

‘Youmustmakethebestofit,’hesaid,atlength.

‘Iwon’t!I’llmakefathertakemeback.’

Tomconsideredthispointalso.Rarely,ifever,hadhebeengivensomanythingstothinkaboutinonemorning.

‘How?’heinquired,atlength.

‘Idon’tknow.I’llfindsomeway.YouseeifIdon’t.I’llgetawayfromherejollyquick,Igiveyoumyword.’

Tombentlowoverarose–bush.Hisfacewashidden,butthebrownofhisneckseemedtotakeonaricherhue,andhisearswereundeniablycrimson.Hisfeetmovedrestlessly,andfromhisunseenmouththereproceededthefirstgallantspeechhislipshadeverframed.Merelyconsideredasaspeech,itwas,perhaps,nothingwonderful;butfromTomitwasamiracleofchivalryandpolish.

Whathesaidwas:‘Ihopenot.’

Andinstincttellinghimthathehadmadehissupremeeffort,andthatanythingfurthermustbebathos,heturnedabruptlyandstalkedintohiscottage,wherehedrankteaandatebaconandthoughtchaoticthoughts.Andwhenhisappetitedeclinedtocarryhimmorethanhalf–waythroughthethirdrasher,heunderstood.Hewasinlove.

Thesestrong,silentmenwhomeantobehead–gardenersbeforetheyarethirty,andeliminatewomanfromtheirlivesasadangerousobstacletothesuccessfulcareer,payaheavypenaltywhentheydofallinlove.TheaverageirresponsibleyoungmanwhohashungaboutNorthStreetonSaturdaynights,walkedthroughthemeadowsandroundbythemillandbackhomepastthecreekonSundayafternoons,takenhisseatinthebrakefortheannualouting,shuffledhiswaythroughthepolkaatthetradesmen’sball,andgenerallyseizedalllegitimateopportunitiesforsportingwithAmaryllisintheshade,hasahundredadvantageswhichyoursuccessfulcareererlacks.TherewashardlyamomentduringthedayswhichfollowedwhenTomdidnotregrethisneglectededucation.

ForhewasnotSally’sonlyvictiminMillbourne.Thatwasthetrouble.Herbeautywasnotofthatelusivetypewhichstealsimperceptiblyintothevisionoftherareconnoisseur.Itwassuddenandcompelling.Ithityou.Brightbrowneyesbeneathamassoffairhair,adeterminedlittlechin,aslimfigure—thesearedisturbingthings;andtheyouthsofpeacefulMillbournesatupandtooknoticeasoneyouth.Throwyourmindbacktothelast

musicalcomedyyousaw.Recalltheleadinglady’ssongwithchorusofyoungmen,allprofferingdevotionsimultaneouslyinaneatrow.Well,thatwashowtheladsofthevillagecomportedthemselvestowardsSally.

MrandMrsWilliams,tillthenahighly–esteemedbutlittle–frequentedcouple,wereastonishedatthesuddeninfluxofvisitors.Thecottagebecamepracticallyasalon.Therewasnotaneveningwhenthelittlesitting–roomlookingoutonthegardenwasnotpacked.Itistruethattheconversationlackedsomeofthesparklegenerallyfoundinthebetterclassofsalon.Tobeabsolutelyaccurate,therewashardlyanyconversation.TheyouthsofMelbourneweresturdyandhonest.TheywerethebackboneofEngland.England,inherhourofneed,couldhavecalleduponthemwiththecomfortablecertaintythat,unlesstheyhappenedtobeotherwiseengaged,theywouldleaptoheraid.

Buttheydidnotshineatsmall–talk.ConversationallytheywereaspentforceaftertheyhadaskedMrWilliamshowhisrheumatismwas.Thereaftertheycontentedthemselveswithsittingmassivelyaboutincorners,gloweringateachother.Still,itwasallveryjollyandsociable,andhelpedtopassthelongevenings.And,asMrsWilliamspointedout,inreplytosomeratherstrongremarksfromMrWilliamsonthesubjectofpacksofyoungfoolswhomadeitimpossibleforamantogetaquietsmokeinhisownhome,itkeptthemoutofthepublic–houses.

TomKitchener,meanwhile,observedtheinvasionwithgrowingdismay.Shynessbarredhimfromtheeveninggatherings,andwhatwasgoingoninthathouse,withyoungbloodslikeTedPringle,AlbertParsons,ArthurBrown,andJoeBlossom(tonamefourofthemostassiduous)exercisingtheirfascinationsatcloserange,hedidnotliketothink.Againandagainhestrovetobracehimselfuptojointhefeastsofreasonandflowsofsoulwhichheknewweretakingplacenightlyaroundtheobjectofhisdevotions,buteverytimehefailed.Habitisaterriblething;itshacklesthestrongest,andTomhadfallenintothehabitofinquiringafterMrWilliams’rheumatismoverthegardenfencefirstthinginthemorning.

Itwasacivil,neighbourlythingtodo,butitannihilatedtheonlyexcusehecouldthinkofforlookinginatnight.Hecouldnothelphimself.Itwaslikesomefrightfulscourge—themorphinehabit,orsomethingofthatsort.Everymorninghesworetohimselfthatnothingwouldinducehimtomentionthesubjectofrheumatism,butnosoonerhadthestrickenoldgentleman’sheadappearedabovethefencethanoutitcame.

‘Morning,MrWilliams.’

‘Morning,Tom.’

Pause,indicativeofastrongmanstrugglingwithhimself;then:

‘How’stherheumatism,MrWilliams?’

‘Better,thank’ee,Tom.’

Andtherehewas,withhisgunsspiked.

However,hedidnotgiveup.HebroughttohiswooingthesamedeterminationwhichhadmadehimsecondgardenerattheHallattwenty–five.Hewasanoviceatthegame,butinstincttoldhimthatagoodlineofactionwastoshowergifts.Hedidso.Allhehadto

showerwasvegetables,andheshoweredtheminawaythatwouldhavecausedthegoddessCerestobetalkedabout.Hisgardenbecameaperfectcrater,eruptingvegetables.Whyvegetables?IthinkIhearsomehecklercry.Whynotflowers—fresh,fair,fragrantflowers?Youcandoalotwithflowers.Girlslovethem.Thereispoetryinthem.And,whatismore,thereisarecognizedlanguageofflowers.Shootinarose,oracalceolaria,oranherbaceousborder,orsomething,Igather,andyouhavemadeaformalproposalofmarriagewithoutanyofthetroubleofrehearsingalongspeechandpractisingappropriategesturesinfrontofyourbedroomlooking–glass.Why,then,didnotThomasKitchenergiveSallyPrestonflowers?Well,yousee,unfortunately,itwasnowlateautumn,andtherewerenoflowers.Naturehadtemporarilyexhaustedherfloralblessings,andwasjoggingalongwithpotatoesandartichokesandthings.Loveislikethat.Itinvariablycomesjustatthewrongtime.AfewmonthsbeforetherehadbeenenoughrosesinTomKitchener’sgardentowintheheartsofadozengirls.Nowtherewereonlyvegetables,‘Twaseverthus.

Itwasnottobeexpectedthatadevotionsopracticallydisplayedshouldescapecomment.Thiswassuppliedbythatshrewdobserver,oldMrWilliams.HespokeseriouslytoTomacrossthefenceonthesubjectofhispassion.

‘YoungTom,’hesaid,‘dropit.’

Tommutteredunintelligibly.MrWilliamsadjustedthetop–hatwithoutwhichheneverstirredabroad,evenintohisgarden.HeblinkedbenevolentlyatTom.

‘You’remakinguptothatyounggalofJane’s,’heproceeded.‘Youcan’tdeceiveme.Allthesep’taties,andwhatnot.Iseenyourgamefastenough.Justyoudropit,youngTom.’

‘Why?’mutteredTom,rebelliously.AsuddendistasteforoldMrWilliamsblazedwithinhim.

‘Why?‘Cosyou’llonlyburnyourfingersifyoudon’t,that’swhy.IbeenwatchingthisyounggalofJane’s,andIseenwhatsortofayounggalshebe.She’saflippertypiece,that’swhatshebe.Youmarrythatyounggal,Tom,andyou’llneverhavenomorequietandhappiness.She’djusttakeandturntheplaceupsy–downonyou.Themanasmarriesthatyounggalhasgottobemasterinhisownhome.He’sgottoshowherwhat’swhat.Now,youain’tgotthedevilinyoutodothat,Tom.You’rewhatImightcallasortofasheep.Iadmiresitinyou,Tom.Iliketoseeayoungmansteadyandquiet,sameaswhatyoube.Sothat’showitis,yousee.Justyoudropthisfoolishness,youngTom,andleavethatyounggalbe,elseyou’llburnyourfingers,sameaswhatIsay.’

And,givinghistop–hatarakishtilt,theoldgentlemanambledindoors,satisfiedthathehaddroppedaguardedhintinapleasantandtactfulmanner.

ItistobesupposedthatthisinterviewstungTomtoswiftaction.Otherwise,onecannotexplainwhyheshouldnothavebeenjustasreticentonthesubjectnearesthisheartwhenbestowingonSallythetwenty–seventhcabbageashehadbeenwhenadministeringthehundredandsixtiethpotato.Atanyrate,thefactremainsthat,asthatfatefulvegetablechangedhandsacrossthefence,somethingresemblingaproposalofmarriagedidactuallyproceedfromhim.Asasustainedpieceofemotionalproseitfellshortofthehigheststandard.Mostofitwaslostatthebackofhisthroat,andwhatdidemergewasmainlyinaudible.However,asshedistinctlycaughttheword‘love’twice,andasTomwas

shufflinghisfeetandstreamingwithperspiration,andlookingeverywhereatonceexceptather,Sallygraspedthesituation.Whereupon,withoutanyvisibleemotion,sheacceptedhim.

Tomhadtoaskhertorepeatherremark.Hecouldnotbelievehisluck.Itissingularhowdiffidentanormallyself–confidentmancanbecome,onceheisinlove.WhenColonelMilvery,oftheHall,hadinformedhimofhispromotiontothepostofsecondgardener,Tomhaddemandednoencore.Heknewhisworth.Hewasperfectlyawarethathewasagoodgardener,andofficialrecognitionofthefactlefthimgratified,butunperturbed.ButthisaffairofSallywasquiteanothermatter.Ithadrevolutionizedhisstandardsofvalue—forcedhimtoconsiderhimselfasaman,entirelyapartfromhisskillasagardener.Anduntilthismomenthehadhadgravedoubtastowhether,apartfromhisskillasagardener,heamountedtomuch.

Hewasoverwhelmed.HekissedSallyacrossthefencehumbly.Sally,forherpart,seemedveryunconcernedaboutitall.AmorecriticalmanthanThomasKitchenermighthavesaidthat,toallappearances,thethingratherboredSally.

‘Don’ttellanybodyjustyet,’shestipulated.

TomwouldhavegivenmuchtobeallowedtoannouncehistriumphdefiantlytooldMrWilliams,tosaynothingofmakingaconsiderablenoiseaboutitinthevillage;butherwishwaslaw,andhereluctantlyagreed.

*****

Therearemomentsinaman’slifewhen,howeverenthusiasticagardenerhemaybe,hissoulsoarsabovevegetables.Tom’sshotwithajerkintotheanimalkingdom.ThefirstpresenthegaveSallyinhiscapacityoffiancewasadog.

Itwasahalf–grownpuppywithlonglegsandalongtail,belongingtonoonespecies,butgenerouslydistributingitselfamongaboutsix.Sallylovedit,andtookitwithherwherevershewent.AndononeoftheseramblesdownswoopedConstableCobb,thevillagepoliceman,pointingoutthat,contrarytoregulations,thepuppyhadnocollar.

ItispossiblethatajudiciousmeeknessonSally’spartmighthaveaverteddisaster.MrCobbwashuman,andSallywaslookingparticularlyattractivethatmorning.Meekness,however,didnotcomeeasilytoSally.Inaspeechwhichbeganasargumentandended(MrCobbprovingsolidandunyielding)aspurecheek,sheutterlyroutedtheconstable.Buthervictorywasonlyamoralone,forassheturnedtogoMrCobb,dullredandpuffingslightly,wasalreadyenteringparticularsoftheaffairinhisnote–book,andSallyknewthatthelastwordwaswithhim.

OnherwaybackshemetTomKitchener.Hewaslookingverytoughandstrong,andatthesightofhimahalf–formedidea,whichshehadregretfullydismissedasimpracticable,ofassaultingConstableCobb,returnedtoherinanamendedform.Tomdidnotknowit,butthereasonwhyshesmiledsoradiantlyuponhimatthatmomentwasthatshehadjustelectedhimtothepostofhiredassassin.WhileshedidnotwantConstableCobbactuallyassassinated,sheearnestlydesiredhimtohavehishelmetsmasheddownoverhiseyes;anditseemedtoherthatTomwasthemantodoit.

Shepouredouthergrievancetohimandsuggestedherscheme.Sheevenelaboratedit.

‘Whyshouldn’tyouwaitforhimonenightandthrowhimintothecreek?Itisn’tdeep,andit’sjollymuddy.’

‘Um!’saidTom,doubtfully.

‘Itwouldjustteachhim,’shepointedout.

ButtheprospectofundertakingthehighereducationofthepolicedidnotseemtoappealtoTom.InhisheartherathersympathizedwithConstableCobb.Hesawthepoliceman’spointofview.Itisallverywelltotalk,butwhenyouarestationedinasleepyvillagewherenooneevermurders,orrobs,orcommitsarson,orevengetsdrunkanddisorderlyinthestreet,apuppywithoutacollarissimplyagodsend.Amanmustlookoutforhimself.

HetriedtomakethissideofthequestioncleartoSally,butfailedsignally.Shetookadeplorableviewofhisattitude.

‘Imighthaveknownyou’dhavebeenafraid,’shesaid,withacontemptuousjerkofherchin.‘Goodmorning.’

Tomflushed.Heknewhehadneverbeenafraidofanythinginhislife,excepther;butneverthelesstheaccusationstung.Andashewasstillafraidofherhestammeredashebegantodenythecharge.

‘Oh,leaveoff!’saidSally,irritably.‘Suckalozenge.’

‘I’mnotafraid,’saidTom,condensinghisremarkstotheirminimumashisonlychanceofbeingintelligible.

‘Youare.’

‘I’mnot.It’sjustthatI—’

AnastygleamcameintoSally’seyes.Hermannerwashaughty.

‘Itdoesn’tmatter.’Shepaused.‘I’venodoubtTedPringlewilldowhatIwant.’

Forallhercontempt,shecouldnotkeepatouchofuneasinessfromhereyesasshepreparedtomakehernextremark.TherewasalookaboutTom’ssetjawwhichmadeherhesitate.Buthertemperhadrunawaywithher,andshewenton.

‘Iamsurehewill,’shesaid.‘Whenwebecameengagedhesaidthathewoulddoanythingforme.’

Therearesomespeechesthataresuchconversationalknockoutblowsthatonecanhardlybelievethatlifewilleverpickitselfupandgoonagainafterthem.Yetitdoes.Thedramatistbringsdownthecurtainonsuchspeeches.Thenovelistblockshisreader’spathwithazarebaofstars.Butinlifetherearenocurtains,nostars,nothingfinalanddefinite—onlyraggedpausesanddiscomfort.Therewassuchapausenow.

‘Whatdoyoumean?’saidTomatlast.‘Youpromisedtomarryme.’

‘IknowIdid—andIpromisedtomarryTedPringle!’

Thattouchofpanicwhichshecouldnotwhollyrepress,thepanicthatcomestoeveryonewhenasituationhasrunawaywiththemlikeastrange,unmanageablemachine,infuseda

shadetoomuchofthedefiantintoSally’smanner.Shehadwishedtobecool,evencasual,butshewasbeginningtobeafraid.Why,shecouldnothavesaid.CertainlyshedidnotanticipateviolenceonTom’spart.Perhapsthatwasit.Perhapsitwasjustbecausehewassoquietthatshewasafraid.Shehadalwayslookedonhimcontemptuouslyasanamiable,transparentlout,andnowhewaspuzzlingher.Shegotanimpressionofsomethingformidablebehindhisstolidity,somethingthatmadeherfeelmeanandinsignificant.

Shefoughtagainstthefeeling,butitgrippedher;and,inspiteofherself,shefoundhervoicegrowingshrillandoutofcontrol.

‘IpromisedtomarryTedPringle,andIpromisedtomarryJoeBlossom,andIpromisedtomarryAlbertParsons.AndIwasgoingtopromisetomarryArthurBrownandanybodyelsewhoaskedme.Sonowyouknow!ItoldyouI’dmakefathertakemebacktoLondon.Well,whenhehearsthatI’vepromisedtomarryfourdifferentmen,Ibethe’llhavemehomebythefirsttrain.’

Shestopped.Shehadmoretosay,butshecouldnotsayit.Shestoodlookingathim.Andhelookedather.Hisfacewasgreyandhismouthoddlytwisted.Silenceseemedtofallonthewholeuniverse.

Sallywasreallyafraidnow,andsheknewit.Shewasfeelingverysmallanddefencelessinanextremelyalarmingworld.Shecouldnothavesaidwhatitwasthathadhappenedtoher.Sheonlyknewthatlifehadbecomeofasuddenveryvivid,andthatherideasastowhatwasamusinghadundergoneastrikingchange.Aman’sdevelopmentisaslowandsteadyprocessoftheyears—awoman’sathingofaninstant.InthesilencewhichfollowedherwordsSallyhadgrownup.

Tombrokethesilence.

‘Isthattrue?’hesaid.

Hisvoicemadeherstart.Hehadspokenquietly,buttherewasanewnoteinit,strangetoher.Justasshecouldnothavesaidwhatitwasthathadhappenedtoher,sonowshecouldnothavesaidwhathadhappenedtoTom.He,too,hadchanged,buthowshedidnotknow.Yettheexplanationwassimple.Healsohad,inasense,grownup.Hewasnolongerafraidofher.

Hestoodthinking.Hoursseemedtopass.

‘Comealong!’hesaid,atlast,andhebegantomoveoffdowntheroad.

Sallyfollowed.Thepossibilityofrefusingdidnotenterhermind.

‘Whereareyougoing?’sheasked.Itwasunbearable,thissilence.

Hedidnotanswer.

Inthisfashion,heleading,shefollowing,theywentdowntheroadintoalane,andthroughagateintoafield.Theypassedintoasecondfield,andastheydidsoSally’sheartgavealeap.TedPringlewasthere.

TedPringlewasabigyoungman,biggereventhanTomKitchener,and,likeTom,hewasofsilenthabit.Heeyedthelittleprocessioninquiringly,butspokenoword.Therewasapause.

‘Ted,’saidTom,‘there’sbeenamistake.’

HesteppedquicklytoSally’sside,andthenextmomenthehadswungheroffherfeetandkissedher.

TothetypeofmindthatMillbournebreeds,actionsspeaklouderthanwords,andTedPringle,whohadgaped,gapednomore.Hesprangforward,andTom,pushingSallyaside,turnedtomeethim.

IcannothelpfeelingalittlesorryforTedPringle.Inthelightofwhathappened,Icouldwishthatitwerepossibletoportrayhimasahulkingbruteofevilappearanceandworsemorals—thesortofpersonconcerningwhomonecouldreflectcomfortablythathedeservedallhegot.Ishouldliketomakehimanunsympatheticcharacter,overwhosedownfallthereaderwouldgloat.ButhonestycompelsmetoownthatTedwasathoroughlydecentyoungmanineveryway.Hewasagoodcitizen,adutifulson,andwouldcertainlyhavemadeanexcellenthusband.Furthermore,inthedisputeonhandhehadrightonhissidefullyasmuchasTom.Thewholeaffairwasoneofthoseelementalclashingsofmanandmanwherethehistoriancannotsympathizewitheithersideattheexpenseoftheother,butmustconfinehimselftoamerestatementofwhatoccurred.And,briefly,whatoccurredwasthatTom,bringingtothefrayapent–upfurywhichhisadversaryhadhadnotimetogenerate,foughtTedtoacompletestandstillinthespaceoftwominutesandahalf.

Sallyhadwatchedtheproceedings,sickandhorrified.Shehadneverseenmenfightbefore,andtheterrorofitoverwhelmedher.Hervanityreceivednopleasantstimulationfromthethoughtthatitwasforhersakethatthisstormhadbeenletloose.Forthemomenthervanitywasdead,stunnedbycollisionwiththerealities.Shefoundherselfwatchinginadream.ShesawTedfall,rise,fallagain,andliewherehehadfallen;andthenshewasawarethatTomwasspeaking.

‘Comealong!’

Shehungback.Tedwaslyingverystill.Gruesomeideaspresentedthemselves.ShehadjustacceptedthemastruthwhenTedwriggled.Hewriggledagain.Thenhesatupsuddenly,lookedatherwithunseeingeyes,andsaidsomethinginathickvoice.Shegavealittlesobofrelief.Itwasghastly,butnotsoghastlyaswhatshehadbeenimagining.

Somebodytouchedherarm.Tomwasbyherside,grimandformidable.Hewaswipingbloodfromhisface.

‘Comealong!’

Shefollowedhimwithoutaword.Andpresently,behold,inanotherfield,whistlingmeditativelyandregardlessofimpendingill,AlbertParsons.

IneverythingthathedidTomwasamanofmethod.Hedidnotdepartfromhischosenformula.

‘Albert,’hesaid,‘there’sbeenamistake.’

AndAlbertgaped,asTedhadgaped.

TomkissedSallywiththegravityofoneperformingaritual.

Theuglinessesoflife,aswegrowaccustomedtothem,losetheirpowertoshock,andthereisnodoubtthatSallylookedwithadifferenteyeuponthissecondstruggle.Shewasconsciousofathrillofexcitement,verydifferentfromtheshrinkinghorrorwhichhadseizedherbefore.Herstunnedvanitybegantotingleintolifeagain.Thefightwasragingfuriouslyoverthetrampledturf,andquitesuddenly,asshewatched,shewasawarethatherheartwaswithTom.

Itwasnolongertwostrangebrutesfightinginafield.Itwashermanbattlingforhersake.

Shedesiredoverwhelminglythatheshouldwin,thatheshouldnotbehurt,thatheshouldsweeptriumphantlyoverAlbertParsonsashehadsweptoverTedPringle.

Unfortunately,itwasevident,eventoher,thathewasbeinghurt,andthathewasveryfarfromsweepingtriumphantlyoverAlbertParsons.Hehadnotallowedhimselftimetorecoverfromhisfirstbattle,andhisblowswereslowandweary.Albert,moreover,wasmadeofsternerstuffthanTed.Thoughnowapeacefultenderofcows,therehadbeenatimeinhishotyouthwhen,travellingwithacircus,hehadfought,weekin,weekout,relaysofjustsuchrusticwarriorsasTom.Heknewtheirmethods—theirheadlongrushes,theirswingingblows.Theywerethemerestcommonplacesoflifetohim.HeslippedTom,heside–steppedTom,hejabbedTom;hedideverythingtoTomthatatrainedboxercandotoarecklessnovice,exceptknockthefightoutofhim,untilpresently,throughthesheerlabourofhitting,he,too,grewweary.

Now,inthedayswhenAlbertParsonshadfoughtwholefamiliesofTomsinanevening,hehadfoughtinrounds,withthebossholdingthewatch,andhalf–minuterests,andwatertorefreshhim,andallorderlyandproper.Todaytherewerenorounds,norests,nowater,andthepeacefultendingofcowshadcausedfleshtogrowwheretherehadbeenonlymuscle.Tom’sheadlongrushesbecamelesseasytoside–step,hisswingingblowsmoredifficultthanthescientificcounterthatshotouttocheckthem.AshetiredTomseemedtoregainstrength.Thetideofthebattlebegantoebb.Heclinched,andTomthrewhimoff.Hefeinted,andwhilehewasfeintingTomwasonhim.Itwastheclimaxofthebattle—thelastrally.DownwentAlbert,andstayeddown.Physically,hewasnotfinished;butinhismindaquestionhadframeditself—thequestion.‘Wasitworthit?’—andhewasanswering,‘No.’Therewereothergirlsintheworld.Nogirlwasworthallthistrouble.

Hedidnotrise.

‘Comealong!’saidTom.

Hespokethickly.Hisbreathwascomingingasps.Hewasaterriblespectacle,butSallywaspasttheweakeremotions.ShewasbackintheStoneAge,andheronlyfeelingwasoneofpassionatepride.Shetriedtospeak.Shestruggledtoputallshefeltintowords,butsomethingkeptherdumb,andshefollowedhiminsilence.

Inthelaneoutsidehiscottage,downbythecreek,JoeBlossomwasclippingahedge.Thesoundoffootstepsmadehimturn.

HedidnotrecognizeTomtillhespoke.

‘Joe,there’sbeenamistake,’saidTom.

‘Beenagunpowderexplosion,morelike,’saidJoe,asimple,practicalman.‘Whatyou

beendoin’toyourface?’

‘She’sgoingtomarryme,Joe.’

JoeeyedSallyinquiringly.

‘Eh?Youpromisedtomarryme.’

‘Shepromisedtomarryallofus.You,me,TedPringle,andAlbertParsons.’

‘Promised—to—marry—all—of—us!’

‘That’swherethemistakewas.She’sonlygoingtomarryme.I—I’vearrangeditwithTedandAlbert,andnowI’vecometoexplaintoyou,Joe.’

‘Youpromisedtomarry—!’

ThecolossalnatureofSally’sdeceitwasplainlytroublingJoeBlossom.Heexpelledhisbreathinalongnoteofamazement.Thenhesummedup.

‘Whyyou’renothingmorenorlessthanaJoshua!’

TheyearsthathadpassedsinceJoehadattendedthevillageSunday–schoolhadweakenedhisonceeasyfamiliaritywiththecharactersoftheOldTestament.Itispossiblethathehadsomebodyelseinhismind.

Tomstuckdoggedlytohispoint.

‘Youcan’tmarryher,Joe.’

JoeBlossomraisedhisshearsandclippedaprotrudingbranch.Thepointunderdiscussionseemedtohaveceasedtointeresthim.

‘Whowantsto?’hesaid.‘Goodriddance!’

Theywentdownthelane.Silencestillbroodedoverthem.Thewordsshewantedcontinuedtoevadeher.

Theycametoagrassybank.Tomsatdown.Hewasfeelingunutterablytired.

‘Tom!’

Helookedup.Hismindwasworkingdizzily.

‘You’regoingtomarryme,’hemuttered.

Shesatdownbesidehim.

‘Iknow,’shesaid.‘Tom,dear,layyourheadonmylapandgotosleep.’

Ifthisstoryprovesanything(beyondtheadvantageofbeingingoodtrainingwhenyoufight),itprovesthatyoucannotgetawayfromthemovingpictureseveninaplacelikeMillbourne;forasSallysatthere,nursingTom,itsuddenlystruckherthatthiswastheverysituationwithwhichthat‘RomanceoftheMiddleAges’filmended.YouknowtheoneImean.SirPercivalYeSomething(whichhasslippedmymemoryforthemoment)goesoutaftertheHolyGrail;meetsdamselindistress;overcomesherpersecutors;rescuesher;getswounded,andisnursedbacktolifeinherarms.Sallyhadseenitadozentimes.Andeverytimeshehadreflectedthatthedaysofromancearedead,andthatthatsortofthingcan’thappennowadays.

DEEPWATERS

HistoriansofthesociallifeofthelaterRomanEmpirespeakofacertainyoungmanofAriminum,whowouldjumpintoriversandswimin‘em.Whenhisfriendssaid,‘Youfish!’hewouldanswer,‘Oh,pish!Fishcan’tswimlikeme,they’venovimin‘em.’

JustsuchanotherwasGeorgeBarnertCallender.

Onland,inhislandclothes,Georgewasayoungmanwhoexcitedlittleremark.Helookedverymuchlikeotheryoungmen.Hewasmuchabouttheordinaryheight.Hiscarriagesuggestedthepossessionofanordinaryamountofphysicalstrength.SuchwasGeorge—onshore.Butremovehisclothes,drapehiminabathing–suit,andinserthiminthewater,andinstantly,likethegentlemaninTheTempest,he‘sufferedasea–changeintosomethingrichandstrange.’Othermenpuffed,snorted,andsplashed.Georgepassedthroughtheoceanwiththesilentdignityofatorpedo.Othermenswallowedwater,hereamouthful,thereapint,anon,maybe,aquartorso,andreturnedtotheshorelikefounderingderelicts.George’smouthhadalltheexclusivenessofafashionableclub.Hisbreast–strokewasathingtoseeandwonderat.Whenhedidthecrawl,strongmengasped.Whenheswamonhisback,youfeltthatthatwastheonlypossiblemethodofprogression.

GeorgecametoMarvisBayataboutfiveo’clockoneeveninginJuly.MarvisBayhasawell–establishedreputationasasummerresort,and,whilenotperhapsineveryrespecttheparadisewhichtheexcitablewriterofthelocalguide–bookassertsittobe,onthewholeitearnsitsreputation.Itssandsaresmoothandfirm,slopingalmostimperceptiblyintotheocean.Thereissurfforthosewholikeit,andsmootherwaterbeyondforthosewhoseidealsinbathingarenotconfinedtojumpingupanddownonagivenjelly–fish.Atthenorthernendofthebeachthereisalongpier.ItwastothisthatGeorgemadehiswayonhisarrival.

Itwaspleasantonthepier.Onceyouhadpassedtheinitialzarebaoffruitstands,souvenirstands,ice–creamstands,andthelairoftheenthusiastwhoseaiminlifeitwastosellyoupicturepost–cards,andhadwonthroughtothelongwalkwheretheseatswere,youwerepracticallyalonewithNature.Atthishourofthedaytheplacewasdeserted;Georgehadittohimself.Hestrolledslowlyalong.Thewaterglitteredunderthesun–rays,breakingintoaflurryofwhitefoamasitreachedthebeach.Acoolbreezeblew.Thewholescenicarrangementswereagreatimprovementonthestuffycityhehadleft.NotthatGeorgehadcometoMarvisBaywiththesingleaimoffindinganantidotetometropolitanstuffiness.Therewasamoreimportantreason.InthreedaysMarvisBaywastobethesceneoftheproductionofFate’sFootballs,acomedyinfouractsbyG.BarnertCallender.ForGeorge,thoughyouwouldnothavesuspecteditfromhisexterior,wasoneofthoseinwhosecerebrathegreymattersplashesrestlesslyabout,producingstrongcurtainsandcrispdialogue.ThecompanywasdueatMarvisBayonthefollowingeveningforthelastspasmofrehearsals.

George’smind,ashepacedthepier,wasdividedbetweenthebeautiesofNatureandthe

forthcomingcrisisinhisaffairsintheratioofone–eighthtotheformerandseven–eighthstothelatter.AtthemomentwhenhehadleftLondon,thoroughlydisgustedwiththeentiretheatricalworldingeneralandthecompanywhichwasrehearsingFate’sFootballsinparticular,rehearsalshadjustreachedthatstageofbriskdeliriumwhentheauthortoyswithhisbottleofpoisonandthestage–managerbecomesicilypolite.TheFootpills—asArthurMifflin,theleadingjuvenileinthegreatplay,insisteduponcallingit,muchtoGeorge’sdisapproval—washisfirstpiece.Neverbeforehadhebeeninoneofthosekitchenswheremanycooksprepare,andsometimesspoil,thetheatricalbroth.Consequentlythechaosseemedtohimunique.Hadhebeenamoreexperienceddramatist,hewouldhavesaidtohimself,‘Twaseverthus.’Asitwas,whathesaidtohimself—andothers—wasmoreforcible.

Hewastryingtodismissthewholethingfromhismind—afeatwhichhadhithertoprovedbeyondhispowers—whenFate,inanunusuallykindlymood,enabledhimtodosoinaflashbypresentingtohisjaundicedgazewhat,onconsideration,hedecidedwasthemostbeautifulgirlhehadeverseen.‘Whenaman’safraid,’shrewdlysingsthebard,‘abeautifulmaidisacheeringsighttosee’.InthepresentinstancethesightactedonGeorgelikeatonic.HeforgotthattheladytowhomaninjudiciousmanagementhadassignedtheroleofheroineinFate’sFootballsinvariably—nodoubtfromthebestmotives—omittedtogivethecynicalrouehiscueforthebigspeechinActIII.HismindnolongerdweltonthefactthatArthurMifflin,anestimablepersoninprivatelife,andonewhohadbeenafriendofhisatCambridge,preferredtodelivertheimpassionedlinesofthegreatrenunciationsceneinamannersuggestingasmallboy(andasuffererfromnasalcatarrhatthat)speakingapieceataSunday–schooltreat.Therecollectionofthehideousdepressionandgloomwhichtheleadingcomedianhadradiatedingreatcloudsfledfromhimlikesomegrislynightmarebeforethegoddessofday.Everycellinhisbrainwasoccupied,totheexclusionofallotherthoughts,bythegirlswimminginthewaterbelow.

Sheswamwell.Hispractisedeyesawthat.Herstrong,easystrokescarriedherswiftlyovertheswellofthewaves.Hestared,transfixed.Hewasawell–brought–upyoungman,andheknewhowill–breditwastostare;butthiswasaspecialoccasion.Ordinaryrulesofconventionaletiquettecouldnotapplytoacaselikethis.Hestared.More,hegaped.Asthegirlpassedonintotheshadowofthepierheleanedfartherovertherail,andhisneckextendedinjointslikeatelescope.

Atthispointthegirlturnedtoswimonherback.Hereyesmethis.Hersweredeepandclear;his,bulging.ForwhatseemedaneternitytoGeorge,shecontinuedtolookathim.Then,turningoveragain,sheshotpastunderthepier.

George’sneckwasnowatitsfullstretch.Nopowerofwillormusclecouldaddanotheryardtoit.Realizingthis,heleanedfartherovertherail,andfartherstill.Hishatslidfromhishand.Hegrabbedatit,and,over–balancing,fellwithasplashintothewater.

Now,inordinarycircumstances,tofalltwelvefeetintotheoceanwithallhisclothesonwouldhaveincommodedGeorgelittle.Hewouldhardlyhavenoticedit.Hewouldhaveswumtoshorewithmerelyafeelingofamusedself–reproachakintothatofthemanwhoabsent–mindedlywalksintoalamp–postinthestreet.When,therefore,hecametothesurfacehepreparedwithoutagitationtostrikeoutinhisusualboldfashion.Atthismoment,however,twohands,graspinghimbeneaththearms,liftedhisheadstillfarther

fromthewaves,andavoiceinhisearsaid,‘Keepstill;don’tstruggle.There’snodanger.’

Georgedidnotstruggle.Hisbrain,workingwiththecoolrapidityofabuzz–sawinanice–box,hadplannedalineofaction.Fewthingsaremoredifficultinthisworldforayoungmanthanthesecuringofanintroductiontotherightgirlunderjusttherightconditions.Whenheislookinghisbestheispresentedtoherinthemidstofacrowd,andissweptawayafterarapidhand–shake.Whenthereisnocrowdhehastoothache,orthesunhasjustbeguntomakehisnosepeel.Thousandsofyoungliveshavebeensaddenedinthismanner.

HowdifferentwasGeorge’scase!Bythissimpleaccident,hereflected,as,helpingthegoodworkalongwithanoccasionalsurreptitiousleg–stroke,hewastowedshorewards,therehadbeenformedanacquaintanceship,ifnothingmore,whichcouldnotlightlybebroken.Agirlwhohassavedamanfromdrowningcannotpasshimbynextdaywithaformalbow.Andwhatagirl,too!Therehadbeenatime,inextremeyouth,whenhisfeminineidealwasthesortofgirlwhohasfuzzy,goldenhair,anddropsthings.IndeedinhisfirstyearattheUniversityhehadsaid—andwritten—asmuchtooneofthetype,theepisodeconcludingwithastronglittledrama,inwhichawrathful,cheque–signingfatherhadstarred,supportedbyasubdued,misogynisticson.Whichthings,aidedbythemarchoftime,hadturnedGeorge’stastestowardsthehealthy,open–airgirl,whodidthingsinsteadofdroppingthem.

Thepleasantestfunctionsmustcometoanendsoonerorlater;andindueseasonGeorgefelthisheelsgrateonthesand.Hispreserverloosedherhold.Theystoodupandfacedeachother.Georgebegantoexpresshisgratitudeasbesthecould—itwasnoteasytofindneat,convincingsentencesonthespurofthemoment—butshecuthimshort.

‘Ofcourse,itwasnothing.Nothingatall,’shesaid,brushingthesea–waterfromhereyes.‘ItwasjustluckyIhappenedtobethere.’

‘Itwassplendid,’saidtheinfatuateddramatist.‘Itwasmagnificent.It—’

Hesawthatshewassmiling.

‘You’reverywet,’shesaid.

Georgeglanceddownathissoakedclothes.Ithadbeenanicesuitonce.

‘Hadn’tyoubetterhurrybackandchangeintosomethingdry?’

Lookingroundabouthim,Georgeperceivedthatsundryoftheinquisitivewereswoopingdown,withspeculationintheireyes.Itwastimetodepart.

‘Haveyoufartogo?’

‘Notfar.I’mstayingattheBeachViewHotel.’

‘Why,soamI.Ihopeweshallmeetagain.’

‘Weshall,’saidGeorgeconfidently.

‘Howdidyouhappentofallin?’

‘Iwas—er—Iwaslookingatsomethinginthewater.’

‘Ithoughtyouwere,’saidthegirl,quietly.

Georgeblushed.

‘Iknow,’hesaid,‘itwasabominablyrudeofmetostarelikethat;but—’

‘Youshouldlearntoswim,’interruptedthegirl.‘Ican’tunderstandwhyeveryboyinthecountryisn’tmadetolearntoswimbeforehe’stenyearsold.Anditisn’tabitdifficult,really.Icouldteachyouinaweek.’

ThestrugglebetweenGeorgeandGeorge’sconsciencewasbrief.Theconscience,weakbynatureandflabbyfromlongwantofexercise,hadnosortofchancefromthestart.

‘Iwishyouwould,’saidGeorge.Andwiththosewordsherealizedthathehaddefinitelycommittedhimselftohishypocriticalrole.Tillthatmomentexplanationwouldhavebeendifficult,butpossible.Nowitwasimpossible.

‘Iwill,’saidthegirl.‘I’llstarttomorrowifyoulike.’Shewadedintothewater.

‘We’lltalkitoveratthehotel,’shesaid,hastily.‘Herecomesacrowdofhorridpeople.I’mgoingtoswimoutagain.’

Shehurriedintodeeperwater,whileGeorge,turning,madehiswaythroughagrowingthrongofgogglingspectators.Ofthefifteenwhogotwithinspeakingdistanceofhim,sixtoldhimthathewaswet.Theothernineaskedhimifhehadfallen.

*****

HernamewasVaughan,andshewasvisitingMarvisBayincompanywithanaunt.SomuchGeorgeascertainedfromthemanagementofthehotel.Later,afterdinner,meetingbothladiesontheesplanade,hegleanedfurtherinformation—towit,thatherfirstnamewasMary,thatherauntwasgladtomakehisacquaintance,likedMarvisBaybutpreferredTrouville,andthoughtitwasgettingalittlechillyandwouldgoindoors.

TheeliminationofthethirdfactorhadarestorativeeffectuponGeorge’sconversation,whichhadbeguntolanguish.Infemininesocietyasarulehewasapttobeconstrained,butwithMaryVaughanitwasdifferent.Withinacoupleofminuteshewaspouringouthistroubles.Thecue–withholdingleadinglady,thestick–likeMifflin,thefunerealcomedian—uptheyallcame,andshe,gentlysympathetic,wasendeavouring,notwithoutsuccess,toprovetohimthatthingswerenotsobadastheyseemed.

‘It’ssuretobeallrightonthenight,’shesaid.

Howrareisthecombinationofbeautyandintelligence!Georgethoughthehadneverheardsuchaclear–headed,well–expressedremark.

‘Isupposeitwill,’hesaid,‘buttheywereverybadwhenIleft.Mifflin,forinstance.HeseemstothinkNatureintendedhimforaNapoleonofAdvertising.Hehasabeeinhisbonnetaboutboomingthepiece.Sitsupatnights,whenheoughttobesleepingorstudyinghispart,thinkingoutnewschemesforadvertisingtheshow.Andthecomedian.Hisspecialityisdrawingmeasideandaskingmetowriteinnewscenesforhim.Icouldn’tstanditanylonger.Ijustcameawayandleftthemtofightitoutamongthemselves.’

‘I’msureyouhavenoneedtoworry.Aplaywithsuchagoodstoryiscertaintosucceed.’

GeorgehadpreviouslyobligedwithabriefdescriptionoftheplotofTheFootpills.

‘Didyoulikethestory?’hesaid,tenderly.

‘Ithoughtitwasfine.’

‘Howsympatheticyouare!’cooedGeorge,glutinously,edgingalittlecloser.‘Doyouknow—’

‘Shallwebegoingbacktothehotel?’saidthegirl.

*****

Thosenoisomecreatures,thehiredmurderersofFate’sFootpills,descendeduponMarvisBayearlynextafternoon,andGeorge,meetingthematthestation,inreluctantpursuanceofapromisegiventoArthurMifflin,feltmoodilythat,ifonlytheycouldmaketheiractingone–halfasfullofcolourastheirclothes,theplaywouldbeoneofthemostpronouncedsuccessesofmoderntimes.Intheforefrontgleamed,likethewhiteplumesofNavarre,thelightflannelsuitofArthurMifflin,thewoodenestjuvenileincaptivity.

Hiswoodennesswas,however,confinedtostagerehearsals.Itmaybementionedthat,oncetherunofapiecehadbegun,hewassufficientlyvolatile,andinprivatelifehewasalmostexcessivelyso—afactwhichhadbeennotedatanearlydatebythekeen–eyedauthoritiesofhisUniversity,thediscoveryleadingtohistearinghimselfawayfromAlmaMaterbyrequestwithsomesuddenness.Hewasalong,slenderyouth,withgreeneyes,jet–blackhair,andapassionatefondnessforthesoundofhisownvoice.

‘Well,hereweare,’hesaid,kickingbreezilyatGeorge’slegwithhiscane.

‘Isawyou,’saidGeorge,coldly,side–stepping.

‘Thewholeteam,’continuedMrMifflin;‘allbright,bonny,andtrainedtotheminute.’

‘WhathappenedafterIleft?’Georgeasked.‘Hasanybodybeguntoactyet?Oraretheywaitingtillthedress–rehearsal?’

‘Therehearsals,’admittedMrMifflin,handsomely,‘weren’tperfect;butyouwait.It’llbeallrightonthenight.’

Georgethoughthehadneverheardsuchafutile,vapidremark.

‘Besides,’saidMrMifflin,‘Ihaveanideawhichwillmaketheshow.Lendmeyourear—bothears.Youshallhavethemback.Tellme:whatpullspeopleintoatheatre?Agoodplay?Sometimes.Butfailingthat,asinthepresentcase,what?Fineactingbytheleadingjuvenile?Wehavethat,butitisnotenough.No,myboy;advertisementisthething.Lookatallthesemenonthebeach.AretheygoingtorollinoftheirownfreewillstoseeaplaylikeTheFootpills?Notonyourlife.Aboutthetimethecurtainriseseverymanofthemwillbesittinginhisownprivatecornerofthebeach—’

‘Howmanycornersdoyouthinkthebeachhas?’

‘Gazingintoagirl’seyes,singing,“Shineon,thouharvestmoon”,andtellingherhowhisbossispracticallydependentonhisadvice.Youknow.’

‘Idon’t,’saidGeorge,coldly.

‘Unless,’proceededMrMifflin,‘weadvertise.Andbyadvertise,Imeanadvertiseintherightway.WehaveaPress–agent,butforallthegoodhedoeshemightbebackontheold

farm,gatheringinthehay.Luckilyforus,Iamamongthosepresent.Ihavebrains,Ihaveresource.What’sthat?’

‘Isaidnothing.’

‘Ithoughtyoudid.Well,Ihaveanideawhichwilldragthesepeoplelikeamagnet.Ithoughtitoutcomingdowninthetrain.’

‘Whatisit?’

‘I’lltellyoulater.Thereareafewdetailstobeworkeduponfirst.Meanwhile,letustrickletothesea–frontandtakeasailinoneofthoseboats.Iamatmybestinaboat.IratherfancyNatureintendedmeforaViking.’

Mattershavingbeenarrangedwiththefinanciertowhomtheboatbelonged,theysetforth.MrMifflin,havingremarked,‘Yo–ho!’inameditativevoice,seatedhimselfatthehelm,somewhatsaddenedbyhisfailuretoborrowaquidoftobaccofromtheOceanBeauty’sproprietor.For,ashejustlyobserved,withoutpropertiesandmake–up,wherewereyou?George,beingskilledinthewaysofboats,wasinchargeofthesheet.Thesummerdayhadlostitsoppressiveheat.Thesunnolongerbeatdownonthefaceofthewaters.Afreshbreezehadsprungup.George,manipulatingthesheetautomatically,fellintoareverie.Amomentcomesinthelifeofeverymanwhenaninwardvoicewhisperstohim,‘ThisisTheOne!’InGeorge’scasethevoicehadnotwhispered;ithadshouted.Fromnowonwardtherecouldbebutonewomanintheworldforhim.Fromnowonwards—TheOceanBeautygaveasuddenplunge.Georgewokeup.

‘Whatthedeuceareyoudoingwiththattiller?’heinquired.

‘Mygentlesomnambulist,’saidMrMifflin,aggrieved,‘Iwasdoingnothingwiththistiller.Wewillnowformacommissiontoinquireintowhatyouweredoingwiththatsheet.Wereyouasleep?’

‘Myfault,’saidGeorge;‘Iwasthinking.’

‘Ifyoumustbreakthehabitofalifetime,’saidMrMifflin,complainingly,‘Iwishyouwouldwaittillwegetashore.Younearlyupsetus.’

‘Itshan’thappenagain.Theyaretricky,thesesailingboats—turnoverinasecond.Whateveryoudo,don’tgetherbroadsideon.There’smorebreezeoutherethanIthoughttherewas.’

MrMifflinutteredastartledexclamation.

‘What’sthematter?’askedGeorge.

‘Justlikeaflash,’saidMrMifflin,complacently.‘It’salwaysthewaywithme.Givemetime,andtheartisticideaisboundtocome.Justsomelittlethought,somelittle,apparentlyobvious,ideawhichstampsthemanofgenius.ItbeatsmewhyIdidn’tthinkofitbefore.Why,ofcourse,acostumepiecewithamalestarisahundredtimesmoreeffective.’

‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’

‘Iseenow,’continuedMrMifflin,‘thattherewasaflawinmyoriginalplan.Myideawasthis.Weweretalkinginthetrainaboutthebathingdownhere,andJanehappenedtosay

shecouldswimsome,anditsuddenlycametome.’

Janewastheleadingwoman,shewhoomittedtogivecues.

‘Isaidtomyself,“Georgeisasportsman.Hewillbedelightedtodoalittlethinglikethat”.’

‘Liketodowhat?’

‘Why,rescueJane.’

‘What!’

‘Sheandyou,’saidMrMifflin,‘weretogoinswimmingtogether,whileIwaitedonthesands,holdingourbone–headedPress–agentonaleash.Aboutahundredyardsfromtheshoreupgoherarms.Piercingscream.Agitatedcrowdsonthebeach.Whatisthematter?Whathashappened?Atouchofcramp.Willshebedrowned?No!G.BarnertCallender,authorofFate’sFootballs,whichopensattheBeachTheatreonMondayeveningnext,ateight–fifteensharp,willsaveher.See!Hehasher.Heisbringingherin.Sheissafe.Howpleasedhermotherwillbe!Andthepublic,whatabitofluckforthem!Theywillbeabletoseeheractateight–fifteensharponMondayafterall.Backyoucometotheshore.Cheeringcrowds.Weepingwomen.Strongsituation.IunleashthePress–agent,andoffheshoots,intimetogetthestoryintotheeveningpaper.Itwasagreatidea,butIseenowtherewereoneortwoflawsinit.’

‘Youdo,doyou?’saidGeorge.

‘Itoccurstomeonreflectionthatafterallyouwouldn’thaveagreedtoit.Asomething,Idon’tknowwhat,whichislackinginyournature,wouldhavemadeyourejectthescheme.’

‘I’mgladthatoccurredtoyou.’

‘Andafargreaterflawwasthatitwastooaltruistic.ItboomedyouanditboomedJane,butIdidn’tgetathingoutofit.Myrevisedschemeisathousandtimesbetterineveryway.’

‘Don’tsayyouhaveanother.’

‘Ihave.And,’addedMrMifflin,withmodestpride,‘itisawinner.ThistimeIunhesitatinglyassertthatIhavethegoods.Inaboutoneminutefromnowyouwillhearmeexclaim,inaclearmusicalvoice,thesingleword,“Jump!”Thatisyourcuetoleapoverthesideasquickasyoucanmove,foratthatprecisemomentthisspankingcraftisgoingtocapsize.’

Georgespunroundinhisseat.MrMifflin’sfacewasshiningwithkindlyenthusiasm.Theshorewasatleasttwohundredyardsaway,andthatmorninghehadhadhisfirstswimming–lesson.

‘Amovementofthetillerwilldoit.Theseaccidentsarecommonobjectsoftheseashore.ImaymentionthatIcanswimjustenoughtokeepmyselfafloat;soit’suptoyou.Iwouldn’tdothisforeveryone,but,seeingthatwewereboystogether—Areyouready?’

‘Stop!’criedGeorge.‘Don’tdoit!Listen!’

‘Areyouready?’

TheOceanBeautygaveaplunge.

‘Youlunatic!Listentome.It—’

‘Jump!’saidMrMifflin.

Georgecametothesurfacesomeyardsfromtheoverturnedboat,and,lookingroundforMrMifflin,discoveredthatgreatthinkertreadingwaterafewfeetaway.

‘Gettowork,George,’heremarked.

Itisnoteasytoshakeone’sfistatamanwhenindeepwater,butGeorgemanagedit.

‘Fortwopence,’hecried,‘I’dleaveyoutolookafteryourself.’

‘Youcandobetterthanthat,’saidMrMifflin.‘I’llgiveyouthreepencetotowmein.Hurryup.It’scold.’

IngloomysilenceGeorgegrippedhimbytheelbows.MrMifflinlookedoverhisshoulder.

‘Weshallhaveagoodhouse,’hesaid.‘Thestallsarefullalready,andthedress–circle’sfilling.Workaway,George,you’redoingfine.Thisactisgoingtobeascreamfromstarttofinish.’

Withpleasantconversationheendeavouredtowhileawaythemonotonyofthejourney;butGeorgemadenoreply.Hewasdoingsomerapidthinking.Withordinaryluck,hefeltbitterly,allwouldhavebeenwell.Hecouldhavegoneonsplashingvigorouslyunderhisteacher’scareforaweek,graduallyimprovingtillheemergedintoareasonablyproficientswimmer.Butnow!Inanageofmiracleshemighthaveexplainedawayhispresentperformance;buthowwasheto—Andthentherecametohimanidea—simple,asallgreatideasare,butmagnificent.

Hestoppedandtrodwater.

‘Tired?’saidMrMifflin.‘Well,takearest,’headded,kindly,‘takearest.Noneedtohurry.’

‘Lookhere,’saidGeorge,‘thispieceisgoingtoberecast.We’regoingtoexchangeparts.You’rerescuingme.See?Nevermindwhy.Ihaven’ttimetoexplainittoyounow.Doyouunderstand?’

‘No,’saidMrMifflin.

‘I’llgetbehindyouandpushyou;butdon’tforget,whenwegettotheshore,thatyou’vedonetherescuing.’

MrMifflinpondered.

‘Isthiswise?’hesaid.‘Itisastrongpart,therescuer,butI’mnotsuretheotherwouldn’tsuitmystylebetter.Thesilenthand–grip,thecatchinthevoice.Youwantapractisedactorforthat.Idon’tthinkyou’dbeuptoit,George.’

‘Nevermindaboutme.That’showit’sgoingtobe.’

MrMifflinponderedoncemore.

‘No,’hesaidatlength,‘itwouldn’tdo.Youmeanwell,George,butitwouldkilltheshow.We’llgoonasbefore.’

‘Willwe?’saidGeorge,unpleasantly.‘WouldyouliketoknowwhatI’mgoingtodotoyou,then?I’mgoingtohityouveryhardunderthejaw,andI’mgoingtotakeholdofyourneckandsqueezeittillyouloseconsciousness,andthenI’mgoingtodragyoutothebeachandtellpeopleIhadtohityoubecauseyoulostyourheadandstruggled.’

MrMifflinponderedforthethirdtime.

‘Youare?’hesaid.

‘Iam,’saidGeorge.

‘Then,’saidMrMifflin,cordially,‘saynomore.Itakeyourpoint.Myobjectionsareremoved.But,’heconcluded,‘thisisthelasttimeIcomebathingwithyou,George.’

MrMifflin’sartisticmisgivingsastohiscolleague’sabilitytohandlesosubtleapartasthatofrescueeweremorethanjustifiedontheirarrival.Alargeandinterestedaudiencehadcollectedbythetimetheyreachedtheshore,anaudiencetowhichanyartistshouldhavebeengladtoplay;butGeorge,forcinghiswaythrough,hurriedtothehotelwithoutattemptingtosatisfythem.Notasinglesilenthand–shakedidhebestowonhisrescuer.Therewasnocatchinhisvoiceashemadetheoneremarkwhichhedidmake—toamanwithwhiskerswhoaskedhimiftheboathadupset.Asanexhibitionofrapidfootworkhisperformancewasgood.Inotherrespectsitwaspoor.

Hehadjustchangedhiswetclothes—itseemedtohimthathehadbeendoingnothingbutchangehiswetclothessincehehadcometoMarvisBay—whenMrMifflinenteredinabathrobe.

‘Theylentmethisdownstairs,’heexplained,‘whiletheydriedmyclothes.Theywoulddoanythingforme.I’mthepopularhero.Myboy,youmadethemistakeofyourlifewhenyouthrewuptherescuerpart.Ithasallthefat.Iseethatnow.Therescuerplaystheothermanoffthestageeverytime.I’vejustbeeninterviewedbythefellowonthelocalnewspaper.He’scorrespondenttoacoupleofLondonpapers.Thecountrywillringwiththisthing.I’vetoldthemallthepartsI’veeverplayedandmyfavouritebreakfastfood.There’samancominguptotakemyphotographtomorrow.Footpillsstockhasgoneupwitharun.WaittillMondayandseewhatsortofahouseweshalldraw.Bytheway,thereporterfellowsaidonefunnything.Heaskedifyouweren’tthesamemanwhowasrescuedyesterdaybyagirl.Isaidofcoursenot—thatyouhadonlycomedownyesterday.Buthestucktoitthatyouwere.’

‘Hewasquiteright.’

‘What!’

‘Iwas.’

MrMifflinsatdownonthebed.

‘Thisfellowfelloffthepier,andagirlbroughthimin.’

Georgenodded.

‘Andthatwasyou?’

Georgenodded.

MrMifflin’seyesopenedwide.

‘It’stheheat,’hedeclared,finally.‘Thatandtheworryofrehearsals.Iexpectadoctorcouldgivethetechnicalnameforit.It’sawhat–do–you–call–it—anobsession.Youoftenhearofcases.Fellowswhoareabsolutelysanereally,butcrackedononeparticularsubject.Someofthemthinkthey’reteapotsandthings.You’vegotacravingforbeingrescuedfromdrowning.Whathappens,oldman?Doyousuddenlygetthedelusionthatyoucan’tswim?No,itcan’tbethat,becauseyouweredoingalltheswimmingforthetwoofusjustnow.Idon’tknow,though.Maybeyoudidn’trealizethatyouwereswimming?’

Georgefinishedlacinghisshoeandlookedup.

‘Listen,’hesaid;‘I’lltalkslow,sothatyoucanunderstand.Supposeyoufelloffapier,andagirltookagreatdealoftroubletogetyoutotheshore,wouldyousay,“Muchobliged,butyouneedn’thavebeensoofficious.Icanswimperfectlywell?”’

MrMifflinconsideredthispoint.Intelligencebegantodawninhisface.‘Thereismoreinthisthanmeetstheeye,’hesaid.‘Tellmeall.’

‘Thismorning’—George’svoicegrewdreamy—‘shegavemeaswimming–lesson.Shethoughtitwasmyfirst.Don’tcacklelikethat.There’snothingtolaughat.’

MrMifflincontradictedthisassertion.

‘Thereisyou,’hesaid,simply.‘Thisshouldbealessontoyou,George.Avoiddeceit.Infuturebesimpleandstraightforward.Takemeasyourmodel.Youhavemanagedtoscrapethroughthistime.Don’triskitagain.Youareyoung.Thereisstilltimetomakeafreshstart.Itonlyneedswill–power.Meanwhile,lendmesomethingtowear.Theyaregoingtotakeaweekdryingmyclothes.’

*****

TherewasarehearsalattheBeachTheatrethatevening.Georgeattendeditinaspiritofresignationandleftitinoneofelation.Threedayshadpassedsincehislastsightofthecompanyatwork,andinthosethreedays,apparently,theimpossiblehadbeenachieved.Therewasasnapandgoaboutthepiecenow.Theleadingladyhadatlengthmasteredthatcue,andgaveitoutwithbell–likeclearness.ArthurMifflin,asifrefreshedandbracedbyhissalt–waterbath,wasinfusingawelcomevigourintohispart.Andeventhecomedian,Georgecouldnothelpadmitting,showedsignsofbeingontheeveofbecomingfunny.Itwaswithalightheartandalightstepthathemadehiswaybacktothehotel.

Intheverandawereanumberofbasket–chairs.Onlyonewasoccupied.Herecognizedtheoccupant.

‘I’vejustcomebackfromarehearsal,’hesaid,seatinghimselfbesideher.

‘Really?’

‘Thewholethingisdifferent,’hewenton,buoyantly.‘Theyknowtheirlines.Theyactasiftheymeantit.ArthurMifflin’sfine.Thecomedian’simprovedtillyouwouldn’tknowhim.I’mawfullypleasedaboutit.’

‘Really?’

Georgefeltdamped.

‘Ithoughtyoumightbepleased,too,’hesaid,lamely.

‘OfcourseIamgladthatthingsaregoingwell.Youraccidentthisafternoonwaslucky,too,inaway,wasitnot?Itwillinterestpeopleintheplay.’

‘Youheardaboutit?’

‘Ihavebeenhearingaboutnothingelse.’

‘Curiousithappeningsosoonafter—’

‘Andsosoonbeforetheproductionofyourplay.Mostcurious.’

Therewasasilence.Georgebegantofeeluneasy.Youcouldnevertellwithwomen,ofcourse.Itmightbenothing;butitlookeduncommonlyasif—

Hechangedthesubject.

‘Howisyourauntthisevening,MissVaughan?’

‘Quitewell,thankyou.Shewentin.Shefounditalittlechilly.’

Georgeheartilycommendedhergoodsense.Alittlechillydidnotbegintoexpressit.Ifthegirlhadbeenlikethisalltheevening,hewonderedheraunthadnotcaughtpneumonia.Hetriedagain.

‘Willyouhavetimetogivemeanotherlessontomorrow?’hesaid.

Sheturnedonhim.

‘MrCallender,don’tyouthinkthisfarcehasgoneonlongenough?’

Once,inthedear,deaddaysbeyondrecall,whenbutahappychild,Georgehadbeensmittenunexpectedlybyasportiveplaymateabarehalf–inchbelowhisthirdwaistcoat–button.Theresultingemotionswerestillgreeninhismemory.Ashehadfeltthen,sodidhefeelnow.

‘MissVaughan!Idon’tunderstand.’

‘Really?’

‘WhathaveIdone?’

‘Youhaveforgottenhowtoswim.’

AwarmandpricklysensationbegantomanifestitselfintheregionofGeorge’sforehead.

‘Forgotten!’

‘Forgotten.Andinafewmonths.IthoughtIhadseenyoubefore,andtodayIremembered.ItwasjustaboutthistimelastyearthatIsawyouatHaylingIslandswimmingperfectlywonderfully,andtodayyouaretakinglessons.Canyouexplainit?’

Afrog–likecroakwasthebestGeorgecoulddointhatline.

Shewenton.

‘Businessisbusiness,Isuppose,andaplayhastobeadvertisedsomehow.But—’

‘Youdon’tthink—’croakedGeorge.

‘Ishouldhavethoughtitratherbeneaththedignityofanauthor;but,ofcourse,youknowyourownbusinessbest.OnlyIobjecttobeingaconspirator.Iamsorryforyoursakethatyesterday’sepisodeattractedsolittleattention.Todayitwasmuchmoresatisfactory,wasn’tit?Iamsoglad.’

Therewasamassivesilenceforaboutahundredyears.

‘IthinkI’llgoforashortstroll,’saidGeorge.

*****

ScarcelyhadhedisappearedwhenthelongformofMrMifflinemergedfromtheshadowbeyondtheveranda.

‘Couldyousparemeamoment?’

Thegirllookedup.Themanwasastranger.Sheinclinedherheadcoldly.

‘MynameisMifflin,’saidtheother,droppingcomfortablyintothechairwhichhadheldtheremainsofGeorge.

Thegirlinclinedherheadagainmorecoldly;butittookmorethanthattoembarrassMrMifflin.Dynamitemighthavedoneit,butnotcoldness.

‘TheMifflin,’heexplained,crossinghislegs.‘Ioverheardyourconversationjustnow.’

‘Youwerelistening?’saidthegirl,scornfully.

‘ForallIwasworth,’saidMrMifflin.‘Thesethingsareverymuchamatterofhabit.ForyearsIhavebeenplayinginpieceswhereIhavehadtostandconcealedupstage,drinkingintheprivateconversationofotherpeople,andthethinghasbecomeasecondnaturetome.However,leavingthatpointforamoment,whatIwishtosayisthatIheardyou—unknowingly,ofcourse—doingagoodmanagraveinjustice.’

‘MrCallendercouldhavedefendedhimselfifhehadwished.’

‘IwasnotreferringtoGeorge.Theinjusticewastomyself.’

‘Toyou?’

‘Iwasthesoleauthorofthisafternoon’slittledrama.IlikeGeorge,butIcannotpermithimtoposeinanywayasmycollaborator.Georgehasold–fashionedideas.Hedoesnotkeepabreastofthetimes.Hecanwriteplays,butheneedsamanwithabigbraintoboomthemforhim.So,farfrombeingentitledtoanycreditforthisafternoon’swork,hewasactuallyopposedtoit.’

‘Thenwhydidhepretendyouhadsavedhim?’shedemanded.

‘George’s,’saidMrMifflin,‘isessentiallyachivalrousnature.Atanycrisisdemandingadisplayofthefinerfeelingsheistherewiththegoodsbeforeyoucanturnround.HisfriendsfrequentlywranglewarmlyastowhetherheismostlikeBayard,Lancelot,orHappyHooligan.Somesayone,sometheother.Itseemsthatyesterdayyousavedhimfromawaterygravewithoutgivinghimtimetoexplainthathecouldsavehimself.What

couldhedo?Hesaidtohimself,“Shemustneverknow!”andactedaccordingly.ButletusleaveGeorge,andreturn—’

‘Thankyou,MrMifflin.’Therewasabreakinherlaugh.‘Idon’tthinkthereisanynecessity.IthinkIunderstandnow.Itwasverycleverofyou.’

‘Itwasmorethancleverness,’saidMrMifflin,rising.‘Itwasgenius.’

*****

AwhiteformcametomeetGeorgeashere–enteredtheveranda.

‘MrCallender!’

Hestopped.

‘I’mverysorryIsaidsuchhorridthingstoyoujustnow.IhavebeentalkingtoMrMifflin,andIwanttosayIthinkitwaseversoniceandthoughtfulofyou.Iunderstandeverything.’

Georgedidnot,byagooddeal;butheunderstoodsufficientforhisneeds.Heshotforwardasifsomestronghandwerebehindhimwithaneedle.

‘MissVaughan—Mary—I—’

‘IthinkIhearauntcalling,’saidshe.

*****

ButabenevolentProvidencehasordainedthatauntscannotcallforever;anditisonrecordthatwhenGeorgeenteredhisboxonthetwohundredthnightofthatgreatLondonsuccess,Fate’sFootballs,hedidnotenteritalone.

WHENDOCTORSDISAGREE

Itispossiblethat,ataboutthetimeatwhichthisstoryopens,youmayhavegoneintotheHotelBelvoirforahair–cut.Manypeopledid;fortheyoungmanbehindthescissors,thoughofasingularlygloomycountenance,wasundoubtedlyanartistinhisline.Heclippedjudiciously.Heleftnoridges.Henevertalkedabouttheweather.Andheallowedyoutogoawayunburdenedbyanybottleofhair–food.

Itispossible,too,that,beingthere,youdecidedthatyoumightaswellgothewholehogandbemanicuredatthesametime.

Itisnotunlikely,moreover,thatwhenyouhadgotoverthefirstshockoffindingyourhandssounexpectedlylargeandred,youfeltdisposedtochatwiththeyoungladywholookedafterthatbranchofthebusiness.Inyourgenialwayyoumayhavepermittedanoteofgay(butgentlemanly)badinagetocreepintoyourendofthedialogue.

Inwhichcase,ifyouhadraisedyoureyestothemirror,youwouldcertainlyhaveobservedamarkedincreaseofgloominthedemeanouroftheyoungmanattendingtoyourapex.Hetooknoofficialnoticeofthematter.Aquickfrown.Atighteningofthelips.Nothingmore.JealousasArthurWelshwasofallwhoinflictedgaybadinage,howevergentlemanly,onMaudPeters,heneverforgotthathewasanartist.Never,eveninhisblackestmoments,hadheyieldedtothetemptationtodigthepointofthescissorsthemerestfractionofaninchintoaclient’sskull.

ButMaud,whosaw,wouldunderstand.And,ifthecustomerwasanobservantman,hewouldnoticethatherrepliesatthatjuncturebecamesomewhatabsent,hersmilealittlemechanical.

*****

Jealousy,accordingtoaneminentauthority,isthe‘hydraofcalamities,thesevenfolddeath’.ArthurWelsh’swasallthatandabitover.ItwasaconstantshadowonMaud’shappiness.Nofair–mindedgirlobjectstoacertaintingeofjealousy.Keptwithinproperbounds,itisacompliment;itmakesforpiquancy;itistheginintheginger–beerofdevotion.Butitshouldbeacondiment,notafluid.

ItwastheunfairnessofthethingwhichhurtMaud.Herconsciencewasclear.Sheknewgirls—severalgirls—whogavetheyoungmenwithwhomtheywalkedoutampleexcuseforbeingperfectOthellos.Ifshehadeverflirtedontheopenbeachwiththebaritoneofthetroupeofpierrots,likeJaneOddy,shecouldhaveexcusedArthur’sattitude.If,likePaulineDicey,shehadroller–skatedforasolidhourwithablack–moustachedstrangerwhileherfianceflounderedinMug’sAlleyshecouldhaveunderstoodhisfrowningdisapprovingly.ButshewasnotlikePauline.ShescornedthecoquetriesofJane.Arthurwasthecentreofherworld,andheknewit.EversincetherainyeveningwhenhehadshelteredherunderhisumbrellatoherTubestation,hehadknownperfectlywellhowthingswerewithher.Andyetjustbecause,inastrictlybusiness–likeway,shewasciviltohercustomers,hemustscowlandbitehislipandbehavegenerallyasifithadbeenbroughttohisnoticethathehadbeennurturingaserpentinhisbosom.Itwasworsethan

wicked—itwasunprofessional.

Sheremonstratedwithhim.

‘Itisn’tfair,’shesaid,onemorningwhentherushofcustomershadceasedandtheyhadtheshoptothemselves.

Mattershadbeenworsethanusualthatmorning.Afterdaysofrainandgreynesstheweatherhadturnedoveranewleaf.ThesunglintedamongthebottlesofUnfailingLotioninthewindow,andeverythingintheworldseemedtohaverelaxedandbecomecheerful.Unfortunately,everythinghadincludedthecustomers.Duringthelastfewdaystheyhadtakentheirseatsinmoistgloom,and,broodingovertheprospectofcomingcoldsinthehead,hadhadlittlethatwaspleasanttosaytothedivinitywhowasshapingtheirends.Buttodayithadbeendifferent.Warmandhappy,theyhadbubbledoverwithgaysmall–talk.

‘Itisn’tfair,’sherepeated.

Arthur,whowasstroppingarazorandwhistlingtunelessly,raisedhiseyebrows.Hismannerwasfrosty.

‘Ifailtounderstandyourmeaning,’hesaid.

‘YouknowwhatImean.DoyouthinkIdidn’tseeyoufrowningwhenIwasdoingthatgentleman’snails?’

Theallusionwastotheclientwhohadjustleft—ajovialindividualwitharedface,whocertainlyhadmadeMaudgiggleagooddeal.Andwhynot?Ifagentlemantellsreallyfunnystories,whatharmisthereingiggling?Youhadtobepleasanttopeople.Ifyousnubbedcustomers,whathappened?Why,soonerorlater,itgotroundtotheboss,andthenwherewereyou?Besides,itwasnotasifthered–facedcustomerhadbeenrude.Writedownonpaperwhathehadsaidtoher,andnobodycouldobjecttoit.Writedownonpaperwhatshehadsaidtohim,andyoucouldn’tobjecttothateither.ItwasjustArthur’ssilliness.

Shetossedherhead.

‘Iamgratified,’saidArthur,ponderously—inhappiermomentsMaudhadadmiredhisgiftoflanguage;hereadagreatdeal:encyclopediasandpapersandthings—‘Iamgratifiedtofindthatyouhadtimetobestowaglanceonme.Youappearedabsorbed.’

Maudsniffedunhappily.Shehadmeanttobecoldanddignifiedthroughouttheconversation,butthesenseofherwrongswasbeginningtobetoomuchforher.Alargetearsplashedontohertrayoforange–sticks.Shewipeditawaywiththechamoisleather.

‘Itisn’tfair,’shesobbed.‘Itisn’t.YouknowIcan’thelpitifgentlementalkandjokewithme.Youknowit’sallintheday’swork.I’mexpectedtobeciviltogentlemenwhocomeintohavetheirhandsdone.SillyIshouldlooksittingasifI’dswallowedapoker.Idothinkyoumightunderstand,Arthur,youbeingintheprofessionyourself.’

Hecoughed.

‘Itisn’tsomuchthatyoutalktothemasthatyouseemtolike—’

Hestopped.Maud’sdignityhadmeltedcompletely.Herfacewasburiedinherarms.She

didnotcareifamillioncustomerscamein,allatthesametime.

‘Maud!’

Sheheardhimmovingtowardsher,butshedidnotlookup.Thenextmomenthisarmswereroundher,andhewasbabbling.

Andacustomer,pushingopenthedoorunnoticedtwominuteslater,retiredhurriedlytogetshavedelsewhere,doubtingwhetherArthur’smindwasonhisjob.

Foratimethislittlethunderstormundoubtedlyclearedtheair.ForadayortwoMaudwashappierthansheeverrememberedtohavebeen.Arthur’sbehaviourwasunexceptionable.Heboughtherawrist–watch—lightbrownleather,verysmart.HegavehersomechocolatestoeatintheTube.Heentertainedherwithamazingstatistics,culledfromtheweeklypaperwhichheboughtonTuesdays.Hewas,inshort,theperfectlover.Ontheseconddaythered–facedmancameinagain.Arthurjoinedinthelaughterathisstories.Everythingseemedideal.

Itcouldnotlast.Graduallythingsslippedbackintotheoldroutine.Maud,lookingupfromherwork,wouldseethefrownandthebittenlip.Shebeganagaintofeeluncomfortableandself–consciousassheworked.SometimestheirconversationonthewaytotheTubewasalmostformal.

Itwasuselesstosayanything.Shehadawholesomehorrorofbeingoneofthosewomenwhonagged;andshefeltthattocomplainagainwouldamounttonagging.Shetriedtoputthethingoutofhermind,butitinsistedonstayingthere.Inawaysheunderstoodhisfeelings.Helovedhersomuch,shesupposed,thathehatedtheideaofherexchangingasinglewordwithanotherman.This,intheabstract,wasgratifying;butinpracticeitdistressedher.Shewishedsheweresomesortofforeigner,sothatnobodycouldtalktoher.Butthentheywouldlookather,andthatprobablywouldproducemuchthesameresults.Itwasahardworldforagirl.

Andthenthestrangethinghappened.Arthurreformed.Onemightalmostsaythathereformedwithajerk.ItwasaparallelcasetothosesuddenconversionsatWelshrevivalmeetings.OnMondayeveninghehadbeenathisworst.Onthefollowingmorninghewasachangedman.Notevenaftertheoriginalthunderstormhadhebeenmoredocile.Maudcouldnotbelievethatfirst.Thelip,oncebitten,wasstretchedinasmile.Shelookedforthefrown.Itwasnotthere.

Nextdayitwasthesame;andthedayafterthat.Whenaweekhadgoneby,andstilltheimprovementwasmaintained,Maudfeltthatshemightnowlookuponitaspermanent.Agreatloadseemedtohavebeentakenoffhermind.Sherevisedherviewsontheworld.Itwasaverygoodworld,quiteoneofthebest,withArthurbeaminguponitlikeasun.

Anumberofeminentpoetsandessayists,inthecourseofthelastfewcenturies,haverecorded,intheirseveralways,theiropinionthatonecanhavetoomuchofagoodthing.Thetruthapplieseventosuchagoodthingasabsenceofjealousy.LittlebylittleMaudbegantogrowuneasy.ItbegantocomehometoherthatshepreferredtheoldArthur,ofthescowlandthegnawedlip.Ofhimshehadatleastbeensure.WhateverdiscomfortshemayhavesufferedfromhisspiritedimitationsofOthello,atanyratetheyhadprovedthathelovedher.Shewouldhaveacceptedgladlyanequalamountofdiscomfortnowin

exchangeforthesamecertainty.ShecouldnotreadthisnewArthur.Histhoughtswereaclosedbook.Superficially,hewasallthatshecouldhavewished.HestillcontinuedtoescorthertotheTube,tobuyheroccasionalpresents,totap,whenconversing,thepleasantlysentimentalvein.Butnowthesethingswerenotenough.Herheartwastroubled.Herthoughtsfrightenedher.Thelittleblackimpatthebackofhermindkeptwhisperingandwhispering,tillatlastshewasforcedtolisten.‘He’stiredofyou.Hedoesn’tloveyouanymore.He’stiredofyou.’

*****

Itisnoteverybodywho,intimesofmentalstress,canfindreadytohandamonghisorherpersonalacquaintancesanexpertcounsellor,preparedatamoment’snoticetolistenwithsympathyandadvisewithtactandskill.Everyone’sworldisfulloffriends,relatives,andothers,whowillgiveadviceonanysubjectthatmaybepresentedtothem;buttherearecrisesinlifewhichcannotbelefttotheamateur.Itistheaimofacertainwidelyreadclassofpapertofillthisvoid.

OfthisclassFiresideChatwasoneofthebest–knownrepresentatives.Inexchangeforonepennyitsfivehundredthousandreadersreceivedeveryweekaserialstoryaboutlifeinhighestcircles,ashortstorypackedwithheart–interest,articlesontheremovalofstainsandthebestmethodofcopingwiththecoldmutton,anecdotesofRoyalty,photographsofpeeresses,hintsondress,chatsaboutbaby,briefbutpointeddialoguesbetweenBlogsonandSnogson,poems,GreatThoughtsfromtheDeadandBrainy,half–hoursintheeditor’scosysanctum,aslabofbrownpaper,and—thejournal’sleadingfeature—AdviceonMattersoftheHeart.TheweeklycontributionoftheadvicespecialistofFiresideChat,entitled‘IntheConsultingRoom,byDrCupid’,wasmadeupmainlyofAnswerstoCorrespondents.Heaffectedthebedsidemannerofthekind,breezyoldphysician;andprobablygaveagooddealofcomfort.Atanyrate,healwaysseemedtohaveplentyofcasesonhishands.

ItwastothisexpertthatMaudtookhertrouble.Shehadbeenaregularreaderofthepaperforseveralyears;andhad,indeed,consultedthegreatmanoncebefore,whenhehadrepliedfavourablytoherqueryastowhetheritwouldberightforhertoacceptcaramelsfromArthur,thenalmostastranger.Itwasonlynaturalthatsheshouldgotohimnow,inanevengreaterdilemma.Theletterwasnoteasytowrite,butshefinisheditatlast;and,afterananxiousinterval,judgementwasdeliveredasfollows:

‘Well,well,well!Blessmysoul,whatisallthis?M.P.writesme:

‘Iamayounglady,anduntilrecentlywasvery,veryhappy,exceptthatmyfiance,thoughtrulylovingme,wasofaveryjealousdisposition,thoughIamsureIgavehimnocause.HewouldscowlwhenIspoketoanyotherman,andthisusedtomakemeunhappy.Butforsometimenowhehasquitechanged,anddoesnotseemtomindatall,andthoughatfirstthismademefeelhappy,tothinkthathehadgotoverhisjealousy,InowfeelunhappybecauseIambeginningtobeafraidthathenolongercaresforme.Doyouthinkthisisso,andwhatoughtItodo?’

‘Mydearyounglady,Ishouldliketobeabletoreassureyou;butitiskindestsometimes,youknow,tobecandid,howeveritmayhurt.Ithasbeenmyexperiencethat,whenjealousyfliesoutofthewindow,indifferencecomesinatthedoor.Intheolddaysaknight

wouldjoustfortheloveofaladye,riskingphysicalinjuryratherthanpermitotherstorivalhiminheraffections.Ithink,M.P.,thatyoushouldendeavourtodiscoverthetruestateofyourfiance’sfeelings.Idonot,ofcourse,advocateanythingintheshapeofunwomanlybehaviour,ofwhichIamsure,mydearyounglady,youareincapable;butIthinkthatyoushouldcertainlytrytopiqueyourfiance,totesthim.Atyournextball,forinstance,refusehimacertainnumberofdances,onthepleathatyourprogrammeisfull.Atgarden–parties,at–homes,andsoon,exhibitpleasureinthesocietyandconversationofothergentlemen,andmarkhisdemeanourasyoudoso.Theselittletestsshouldserveeithertorelieveyourapprehensions,providedtheyaregroundless,ortoshowyouthetruth.And,afterall,ifitisthetruth,itmustbefaced,mustitnot,M.P.?’

BeforetheendofthedayMaudknewthewholepassagebyheart.Themoreherminddweltonit,themoreclearlydiditseemtoexpresswhatshehadfeltbutcouldnotputintowords.Thepointaboutjoustingstruckherasparticularlywelltaken.Shehadlookedup‘joust’inthedictionary,anditseemedtoherthatinthesefewwordswascontainedthekernelofhertrouble.Intheolddays,ifanymanhadattemptedtorivalhiminheraffections(outsidebusinesshours),Arthurwouldundoubtedlyhavejousted—andjoustedwiththevigourofonewhomeanstomakehispresencefelt.Now,insimilarcircumstances,hewouldprobablystepasidepolitely,aswhoshouldsay,‘Afteryou,mydearAlphonse.’

Therewasnotimetolose.AnhourafterherfirstperusalofDrCupid’sadvice,Maudhadbeguntoactuponit.Bythetimethefirstlullinthemorning’sworkhadcome,andtherewasachanceforprivateconversation,shehadinventedanimaginaryyoungman,ashadowyLothario,who,beingintroducedintoherhomeonthepreviousSundaybyherbrotherHorace,hadcarriedoninawayyouwouldn’tbelieve,payingallmannerofcompliments.

‘HesaidIhadsuchwhitehands,’saidMaud.

Arthurnodded,stroppingarazorthewhile.Heappearedtobebearingtherevelationswithcompletefortitude.Yet,onlyafewweeksbefore,acustomer’scommentonthissamewhitenesshadstirredhimtohisdepths.

‘Andthismorning—whatdoyouthink?Why,hemeetsmeasboldasyouplease,andgivesmeacakeoftoiletsoap.Likehisimpudence!’

Shepaused,hopefully.

‘Alwaysuseful,soap,’saidArthur,politelysententious.

‘Lovelyitwas,’wentonMaud,dullyconsciousoffailure,butstipplinginlikeanartistthelittletoucheswhichgiveatmosphereandverisimilitudetoastory.‘Allscented.Horacewillteasemeaboutit,Icantellyou.’

Shepaused.Surelyhemust—Why,asea–anemonewouldbetornwithjealousyatsuchatale.

Arthurdidnotevenwince.Hewascharmingaboutit.Thoughtitverykindoftheyoungfellow.Didn’tblamehimforbeingstruckbythewhitenessofherhands.Touchedonthehistoryofsoap,whichhehappenedtohavebeenreadingupintheencyclopediaatthefreelibrary.AndbehavedaltogetherinsuchathoroughlygentlemanlyfashionthatMaud

stayedawakehalfthenight,crying.

*****

IfMaudhadwaitedanothertwenty–fourhourstherewouldhavebeennoneedforhertohavetaxedherpowersofinvention,foronthefollowingdaythereenteredtheshopandherlifeayoungmanwhowasnotimaginary—aLothariooffleshandblood.Hemadehisentrywiththatairofhavingboughtmostoftheneighbouringpropertywhichbelongsexclusivelytominoractors,menofweightontheStockExchange,andAmericanprofessionalpugilists.

Mr‘Skipper’Shutebelongedtothelast–namedofthethreeclasses.HehadarrivedinEnglandtwomonthspreviouslyforthepurposeofholdingaconferenceateight–stonefourwithoneJosephEdwardes,tosettleaquestionofsuperiorityatthatweightwhichhadbeenvexingthesportingpublicoftwocountriesforoverayear.Havingsuccessfullyout–arguedMrEdwardes,mainlybymeansofstrenuousworkintheclinches,hewasnowontheeveofstartingonalucrativemusic–halltourwithhiscelebratedinaudiblemonologue.Asaresultofthesethingshewasfeelingvery,verypleasedwiththeworldingeneral,andwithMrSkipperShuteinparticular.AndwhenMrShutewaspleasedwithhimselfhismannerwasapttobeofthebreeziest.

Hebreezedintotheshop,tookaseat,and,havingcastanexperiencedeyeatMaud,andfoundherpleasing,extendedbothhands,andobserved,‘Gothelimit,kid.’

AtanyothertimeMaudmighthaveresentedbeingaddressedas‘kid’byacustomer,butnowshewelcomedit.Withtheexceptionofaslightthickeningofthelobeofoneear,MrShuteborenooutwardsignsofhisprofession.Andbeing,tousehisownphrase,a‘swelldresser’,hewasreallyamostpresentableyoungman.Just,infact,whatMaudneeded.Shesawinhimherlasthope.IfanyfaintsparkofhisancientfirestilllingeredinArthur,itwasthroughMrShutethatitmustbefanned.

ShesmileduponMrShute.Sheworkedonhisrobustfingersasifitwereanartistictreattobepermittedtohandlethem.SocarefullydidshetoilthatshewasstillbusywhenArthur,takingoffhisapronandputtingonhishat,wentoutforhistwenty–minutes’lunch,leavingthemalonetogether.

ThedoorhadscarcelyshutwhenMrShutebentforward.

‘Say!’

Hesankhisvoicetoawinningwhisper.

‘Youlookgoodtomuh,’hesaid,gallantly.

‘Theidea!’saidMaud,tossingherhead.

‘Onthelevel,’MrShuteassuredher.

Maudlaiddownherorange–sticks.

‘Don’tbesilly,’shesaid.‘There—I’vefinished.’

‘I’venot,’saidMrShute.‘Notbyamile.Say!’

‘Well?’

‘Whatdoyoudowithyourevenings?’

‘Igohome.’

‘Sure.Butwhenyoudon’t?It’sapoorheartthatneverrejoices.Don’tyoueverwhoopitup?’

‘Whoopitup?’

‘Themadwhirl,’explainedMrShute.‘Ice–creamsodaandbuck–wheatcakes,andahappyeveningatlovelyLunaPark.’

‘Idon’tknowwhereLunaParkis.’

‘Whatdidtheyteachyouatschool?It’soutinthatdirection,’saidMrShute,pointingoverhisshoulder.‘YougostraightonaboutthreethousandmilestillyouhitlittleoldNewYork;thenyouturntotheright.Say,don’tyouevergetalittletreat?WhynotcomealongtotheWhiteCitysomeoldevening?Thisevening?’

‘MrWelshistakingmetotheWhiteCitytonight.’

‘AndwhoisMrWelsh?’

‘Thegentlemanwhohasjustgoneout.’

‘Isthatso?Well,hedoesn’tlookaliveone,butmaybeit’sjustbecausehe’shadbadnewstoday.Younevercantell.’Herose.‘Farewell,Evelina,fairestofyoursex.Weshallmeetagain;sokeepastoutheart.’

And,takinguphiscane,strawhat,andyellowgloves,MrShutedeparted,leavingMaudtoherthoughts.

Shewasdisappointed.Shehadexpectedbetterresults.MrShutehadloweredwitheasetherecordforgaybadinage,hithertoheldbythered–facedcustomer;yettoallappearancestherehadbeennochangeinArthur’smanner.Butperhapshehadscowled(orbittenhislip),andshehadnotnoticedit.ApparentlyhehadstruckMrShute,anunbiasedspectator,asgloomy.Perhapsatsomemomentwhenhereyeshadbeenonherwork—Shehopedforthebest.

Whateverhisfeelingsmayhavebeenduringtheafternoon,Arthurwasundeniablycheerfulthatevening.Hewasinexcellentspirits.Hislight–heartedabandonontheWiggle–Wogglehadbeennotedandcommenteduponbyseverallookers–on.ConfrontedwiththeHairyAinus,hehadtouchedahighleveloffacetiousness.Andnow,ashesatwithherlisteningtotheband,hewascrooningjoyouslytohimselfinaccompanimenttothemusic,without,itwouldappear,acareintheworld.

Maudwashurtandanxious.Inamereacquaintancethisblitheattitudewouldhavebeenwelcome.Itwouldhavehelpedhertoenjoyherevening.ButfromArthuratthatparticularmomentshelookedforsomethingelse.Whywashecheerful?Onlyafewhoursagoshehadbeen—yes,flirtingwithanothermanbeforehisveryeyes.Whatrighthadhetobecheerful?Heoughttobeheated,fullofpassionatedemandsforanexplanation—aflushed,throatythingtobecoaxedbackintoagoodtemperandthenforgiven—allthisatgreatlength—forhavingbeeninabadone.Yes,shetoldherself,shehadwantedcertaintyonewayortheother,andhereitwas.Nowsheknew.Henolongercaredforher.

Shetrembled.

‘Cold?’saidArthur.‘Let’swalk.Eveningsbeginningtodrawinnow.Lum–da–diddley–ah.That’swhatIcallagoodtune.Givemesomethinglivelyandbright.Dumty–umpty–iddley–ah.Dumtum—’

‘Funnything—’saidMaud,deliberately.

‘What’safunnything?’

‘ThegentlemaninthebrownsuitwhosehandsIdidthisafternoon—’

‘Hewas,’agreedArthur,brightly.‘Averyfunnything.’

Maudfrowned.WitattheexpenseofHairyAinuswasonething—atherownanother.

‘Iwasabouttosay,’shewentonprecisely,‘thatitwasafunnything,acoincidence,seeingthatIwasalreadyengaged,thatthegentlemaninthebrownsuitwhosehandsIdidthisafternoonshouldhaveaskedmetocomehere,totheWhiteCity,withhimtonight.’

Foramomenttheywalkedoninsilence.ToMauditseemedahopefulsilence.Surelyitmustbethepreludetoanoutburst.

‘Oh!’hesaid,andstopped.

Maud’sheartgavealeap.Surelythatwastheoldtone?

Acoupleofpaces,andhespokeagain.

‘Ididn’thearhimaskyou.’

Hisvoicewasdisappointinglylevel.

‘Heaskedmeafteryouhadgoneouttolunch.’

‘It’sanuisance,’saidArthur,cheerily,‘whenthingsclashlikethat.Butperhapshe’llaskyouagain.Nothingtopreventyoucomingheretwice.Wellrepaysasecondvisit,Ialwayssay.Ithink—’

‘Youshouldn’t,’saidavoicebehindhim.‘Ithurtsthehead.Well,kid,beingshownagoodtime?’

ThepossibilityofmeetingMrShutehadnotoccurredtoMaud.Shehadassumedthat,beingawarethatshewouldbetherewithanother,hewouldhavestayedaway.Itmay,however,beremarkedthatshedidnotknowMrShute.Hewasnotoneofyoursensitiveplants.Hesmiledpleasantlyuponher,lookingverydapperineveningdressandasilkhatthat,thoughasizetoosmallforhim,shonelikeamirror.

Maudhardlyknewwhethershewasgladorsorrytoseehim.Itdidnotseemtomattermuchnoweitherway.Nothingseemedtomattermuch,infact.Arthur’scheeryacceptanceofthenewsthatshereceivedinvitationsfromothershadbeenlikeablow,leavinghernumbandlistless.

Shemadetheintroductions.Thetwomeneyedeachother.

‘Pleasedtomeetyou,’saidMrShute.

‘Weatherkeepsup,’saidArthur.

AndfromthatpointonwardMrShutetookcommand.

ItistobeassumedthatthiswasnotthefirsttimethatMrShutehadmadeoneofatriointhesecircumstances,fortheswiftdexteritywithwhichhelostArthurwascertainlynotthatofanovice.SosmoothlywasitdonethatitwasnotuntilsheemergedfromtheWitchingWaves,guidedbythepugilist’sslimbutformidablerightarm,thatMaudrealizedthatArthurhadgone.

Shegavealittlecryofdismay.SecretlyshewasbeginningtobesomewhatafraidofMrShute.Hewasshowingsignsofbeingabouttostepoutoftheroleshehadassignedtohimandattemptsomethingonalargerscale.Hismannerhadthatextratouchofwarmthwhichmakesallthedifference.

‘Oh!He’sgone!’shecried.

‘Sure,’saidMrShute.‘He’sgotahurry–callfromtheUjiVillage.Thechief’scousinwantsahair–cut.’

‘Wemustfindhim.Wemust.’

‘Surestthingyouknow,’saidMrShute.‘Plentyoftime.’

‘Wemustfindhim.’

MrShuteregardedherwithsomedispleasure.

‘Seemstobeace–highwithyou,thatdub,’hesaid.

‘Idon’tunderstandyou.’

‘Myobservationwas,’explainedMrShute,coldly,‘that,judgingfromappearances,thatdough–facedlemonwasWillie–boy,thefirstandonlylove.’

Maudturnedonhimwithflamingcheeks.

‘MrWelshisnothingtome!Nothing!Nothing!’shecried.

Shewalkedquicklyon.

‘Then,ifthere’savacancy,star–eyes,’saidthepugilistatherside,holdingonahatwhichshowedatendencytowobble,‘countmein.DirectlyIsawyou—seehere,what’stheideaofthisroad–work?Wearen’tracing—’

Maudsloweddown.

‘That’sbetter.AsIwassaying,directlyIsawyou,Isaidtomyself,“That’stheoneyouneed.Theoriginalcandykid.The—”’

Hishatlurcheddrunkenlyasheansweredthegirl’sincreaseofspeed.Hecurseditinabriefaside.

‘That’swhatIsaid.“Theoriginalcandykid.”So—’

Heshotoutarestraininghand.‘Arthur!’criedMaud.‘Arthur!’

‘It’snotmyname’breathedMrShute,tenderly.‘CallmeClarence.’

Consideredasanembrace,itwasimperfect.Atthesemomentsasilkhatasizetoosmallhandicapsaman.ThenecessityofhavingtobecarefulaboutthenappreventedMrShute

fromdoinghimselfcompletejustice.ButhedidenoughtoinduceArthurWelsh,who,havingsightedthemissingonesfromafar,hadbeenapproachingthematawalkingpace,tosubstitutearunforthewalk,andarrivejustasMaudwrenchedherselffree.

MrShutetookoffhishat,smoothedit,replaceditwithextremecare,andturnedhisattentiontothenew–comer.

‘Arthur!’saidMaud.

Herheartgaveagreatleap.Therewasnomistakingthemeaningintheeyethatmethers.Hecared!Hecared!

‘Arthur!’

Hetooknonotice.Hisfacewaspaleandworking.HestrodeuptoMrShute.

‘Well?’hesaidbetweenhisteeth.

Aneight–stone–fourchampionoftheworldhasmanyunusualexperiencesinhislife,butherarelyencountersmenwhosay‘Well?’tohimbetweentheirteeth.MrShuteeyedthisfreakwithprofoundwonder.

‘I’llteachyouto—tokissyoungladies!’

MrShuteremovedhishatagainandgaveitanotherbrush.Thisgavehimthenecessarytimeforreflection.

‘Idon’tneedit,’hesaid.‘I’vegraduated.’

‘Putthemup!’hissedArthur.

Almostashockedlookspreaditselfoverthepugilist’sface.SomightRaphaelhavelookedifrequestedtodrawapavement–picture.

‘Youaren’tspeakingtoME?’hesaid,incredulously.

‘Putthemup!’

Maud,tremblingfromheadtofoot,wasconsciousofoneoverwhelmingemotion.Shewasterrified—yes.Butstrongerthantheterrorwasthegreatwaveofelationwhichsweptoverher.Allherdoubtshadvanished.Atlast,afterwearyweeksofuncertainty,Arthurwasabouttogivethesupremeproof.Hewasgoingtojoustforher.

Acoupleofpassers–byhadpaused,interested,towatchdevelopments.Youcouldnevertell,ofcourse.Manyanapparentlypromisingrownevergotanyfartherthanwords.But,glancingatArthur’sface,theycertainlyfeltjustifiedinpausing.MrShutespoke.

‘Ifitwasn’t,’hesaid,carefully,‘thatIdon’twanttroublewiththeSocietyforthePreventionofCrueltytoAnimals,I’d—’

Hebrokeoff,for,totheaccompanimentofashoutofapprovalfromthetwospectators,Arthurhadswunghisrightfist,andithadtakenhimsmartlyonthesideofthehead.

ComparedwiththeblowsMrShutewaswonttoreceiveintheexerciseofhisprofession,Arthur’swasagentletap.Buttherewasonecircumstancewhichgaveitadeadlinessallitsown.Achilleshadhisheel.MrShute’svulnerablepointwasattheotherextremity.Insteadofcountering,heutteredacryofagony,andclutchedwildlywithbothhandsathis

hat.

Hewastoolate.Itfelltothegroundandboundedaway,withitsproprietorinpassionatechase.Arthursnortedandgentlychafedhisknuckles.

TherewasacalmaboutMrShute’sdemeanouras,havinggivenhistreasureafinalpolishandlaiditcarefullydown,hebegantoadvanceonhisadversary,whichwasmorethanominous.Hislipswereathinlineofsteel.Themusclesstoodoutoverhisjaw–bones.Crouchinginhisprofessionalmanner,hemovedforwardsoftly,likeacat.

Anditwasatthisprecisemoment,justasthetwospectators,reinforcednowbyelevenothermenofsportingtastes,werecongratulatingthemselvesontheiracumeninhavingstoppedtowatch,thatPolice–ConstableRobertBryce,intrudingfourteenstonesofboneandmusclebetweenthecombatants,addressedtoMrShutethesememorablewords:”Ullo,‘ullo!‘Ullo,‘ullo,‘ul–lo!’

MrShuteappealedtohissenseofjustice.

‘Themuttknockedmehatoff.’

‘AndI’ddoitagain,’saidArthur,truculently.

‘NotwhileI’mhereyouwouldn’t,youngfellow,’saidMrBryce,withdecision.‘I’msurprisedatyou,’hewenton,pained.‘Andyoulookarespectableyoungchap,too.Youpopoff.’

Ashrillvoicefromthecrowdatthispointofferedtheconstableallcinematographrightsifhewouldallowthecontesttoproceed.

‘Andyoupopoff,too,allofyou,’continuedMrBryce.‘BlestifIknowwhatkidsarecomingtonowadays.Andasforyou,’hesaid,addressingMrShute,‘allyou’vegottodoistokeepthatfaceofyoursclosed.That’swhatyou’vegottodo.I’vegotmyeyeonyou,mind,andifIcatchyoua–follerin’ofhim’—hejerkedhisthumboverhisshoulderatArthur’sdepartingfigure—‘I’llpinchyou.Sureasyou’realive.’Hepaused.‘I’dhavedoneitalready,’headded,pensively,‘ifitwasn’tmebirthday.’

*****

ArthurWelshturnedsharply.Forsometimehehadbeendimlyawarethatsomebodywascallinghisname.

‘Oh,Arthur!’

Shewasbreathingquickly.Hecouldseethetearsinhereyes.

‘I’vebeenrunning.Youwalkedsofast.’

Hestareddownathergloomily.

‘Goaway,’hesaid.‘I’vedonewithyou.’

Sheclutchedathiscoat.

‘Arthur,listen—listen!It’sallamistake.Ithoughtyou—youdidn’tcareformeanymore,andIwasmiserable,andIwrotetothepaperandaskedwhatshouldIdo,andtheysaidIoughttotestyouandtryandmakeyoujealous,andthatthatwouldrelievemy

apprehensions.AndIhatedit,butIdidit,andyoudidn’tseemtocaretillnow.Andyouknowthatthere’snobodybutyou.’

‘You—Thepaper?What?’hestammered.

‘Yes,yes,yes.IwrotetoFiresideChat,andDrCupidsaidthatwhenjealousyflewoutofthewindowindifferencecameinatthedoor,andthatImustexhibitpleasureinthesocietyofothergentlemenandmarkyourdemeanour.SoI—Oh!’

Arthur,luckierthanMrShute,wasnothamperedbyatoosmallsilkhat.

Itwasafewmomentslater,astheymovedslowlytowardstheFlip–Flap—whichhadseemedtobothofthemafittingclimaxfortheevening’semotions—thatArthur,fumblinginhiswaist–coatpocket,producedasmallslipofpaper.

‘What’sthat?’Maudasked.

‘Readit,’saidArthur.‘It’sfromHomeMoments,inanswertoaletterIsentthem.And,’headdedwithheat,‘I’dliketohavefiveminutesalonewiththechapwhowroteit.’

AndundertheelectriclightMaudread

ANSWERSTOCORRESPONDENTS

BytheHeartSpecialist

ArthurW.—Jealousy,ArthurW.,isnotonlythemostwicked,butthemostfoolishofpassions.Shakespearesays:

_Itisthegreen–eyedmonster,whichdothmockThemeatitfeedson._

Youadmitthatyouhavefrequentlycausedgreatdistresstotheyoungladyofyouraffectionsbyyourexhibitionofthisweakness.Exactly.Thereisnothingagirldislikesordespisesmorethanjealousy.Beaman,ArthurW.Fightagainstit.Youmayfindithardatfirst,butpersevere.Keepasmilingface.Ifsheseemstoenjoytalkingtoothermen,shownoresentment.Bemerryandbright.Believeme,itistheonlyway.

BYADVICEOFCOUNSEL

Thetravellerchampedmeditativelyathissteak.Hepaidnoattentiontothealtercationwhichwasinprogressbetweenthewaiterandthemanattheotherendofthedingyroom.Thesoundsofstrifeceased.Thewaitercameovertothetraveller’stableandstoodbehindhischair.Hewasruffled.

‘Ifhemeantlamb,’hesaid,querulously,‘whydidn’thesay“lamb”,so’safellercouldhearhim?Ithoughthesaid“ham”,soIbroughtham.NowLordPercygetsallpeevish.’

Helaughedbitterly.Thetravellermadenoreply.

‘Ifpeoplespokedistinct,’saidthewaiter,‘therewouldn’tbehalfthetroublethereisintheworld.Nothalfthetroubletherewouldn’tbe.Ishouldn’tbehere,foronething.Inthisrestawrong,Imean.’Asighescapedhim.

‘Ishouldn’t,’hesaid,‘andthat’sthetruth.IshouldbegettingupwhenIpleased,eatinganddrinkingallIwanted,andcarryingonsameasinthegoodolddays.Youwouldn’tthink,tolookatme,wouldyounow,thatIwasoncelikethelilyofthefield?’

Thewaiterwasatall,stringyman,whogavetheimpressionofhavingnospine.Inthathedrooped,hemighthavebeensaidtoresembleaflower,butinnootherrespect.Hehadsandyhair,weakeyessetclosetogether,andaday’sgrowthofredstubbleonhischin.Onecouldnotseehiminthelilyclass.

‘WhatImeantosayis,Ididn’ttoil,neitherdidIspin.Ah,themwashappydays!Lyingonmeback,plentyoftobacco,somethingcoolinajug—’

Hesighedoncemore.

‘DidyoueverknowamanofthenameofMoore?JerryMoore?’

Thetravellerappliedhimselftohissteakinsilence.

‘Nicefeller.Simplesortoffeller.Big.Quiet.Bitdeafinoneear.Straw–colouredhair.Blueeyes.‘Andsome,rather.Hada‘ousejustoutsideofReigate.Hasitstill.Moneyofhisown.Lefthimbyhispa.Simplesortoffeller.Notmuchtosayforhimself.Iusedtoknowhimwellinthemdays.Usedtolivewithhim.Nicefellerhewas.Big.Bithardofhearing.Gotasleepykindofgrin,likethis—something.’

Thetravellersippedhisbeerinthoughtfulsilence.

‘Ireckonyounevermethim,’saidthewaiter.‘MaybeyouneverknewGentlemanBailey,either?Wealwayscalledhimthat.Hewasoneofthesebroken–downEtonor‘Arrerfellers,folkssaid.Westruckupapartnershipkindofcasual,bothbeingonthetramptogether,andafterawhilewe‘appenedtoberoundaboutReigate.AndthefirsthousewecometowasthisJerryMoore’s.Hecomeupjustaswewasslidingtothebackdoor,andgrinsthatsleepygrin.Likethis—something.“‘Ullo!”hesays.Gentlemankindofgivesawhoop,andhollers,“Ifitain’tmyoldpal,JerryMoore!Jack,”hesaystome,“thisismyoldpal,MrJerryMoore,wotImetin‘appierdaysdownatRamsgateonesummer.”

‘Theyshakeshands,andJerryMooresays,“Isthisafriendofyours,Bailey?”lookingatme.Gentlemanintroducesme.“Wearepartners,”hesays,“partnersinmisfortune.Thisismyfriend,MrRoach.”

‘“Comealongin,”saysJerry.

‘Sowewentin,andhemakesusathome.He’sabachelor,andlivesallbyhimselfinthisdesirable‘ouse.

‘Well,IseenprettyquickthatJerrythinkstheworldofGentleman.Allthateveninghe’sactingasifhe’saspleasedasPunchtohavehimthere.Couldn’tdoenoughforhim.Itwasabitofallright,Isaidtomeself.Itwas,too.

‘Nextdaywegetsuplateandhasagoodbreakfast,andsitsonthelawnandsmokes.Thesunwasshining,thelittlebirdswassinging,andtherewasn’tathing,east,west,north,orsouth,thatlookedlikework.IfIhadbeenaskedmyaddressatthatmoment,onoath,Iwouldn’thavehesitatedasecond.Ishouldhaveanswered,“No.1,EasyStreet.”Yousee,JerryMoorewasoneoftheseslow,simplefellers,andyoucouldtellinamomentwhatalothethoughtofGentleman.Gentleman,yousee,hadawaywithhim.Nothaughty,hewasn’t.Moreaffable,Ishouldcallit.Hesortofmadeyoufeelthatallmenarebornequal,butthatitwasawfulgoodofhimtobetalkingtoyou,andthathewouldn’tdoitforeverybody.ItwentdownproperwithJerryMoore.Jerrywouldsitandlistentohimgivinghisviewsonthingsbythehour.BytheendofthefirstdayIwashavingvisionsofsittinginthatgardenawhite–bakedoldman,andbeinglaidout,whenmytimeshouldcome,inJerry’sfrontroom.’

Hepaused,hismindevidentlyinthepast,amongthecigarsandbigbreakfasts.Presentlyhetookuphistale.

‘ThishereJerryMoorewasasimplesortoffeller.Deafiesarelikethat.Evernoticed?NotthatJerrywasarealdeafy.Hishearingwasabitoff,buthecouldfolleryouifyouspoketohimniceandclear.Well,Iwassaying,hewaskindofsimple.Likedtoputinhisdayspotteringaboutthelittlegardenhe’dmadeforhimself,lookingafterhisflowersandhisfowls,andsitofaneveninglisteningtoGentleman‘oldingforthonLife.Hewasaphilosopher,Gentlemanwas.AndJerrytookeverythinghesaidasgospel.Hedidn’twantnoproofs.‘EandtheKingofDenmarkwouldhavebeengreatpals.Hejustsatbywithhisbigblueeyesgettingroundereveryminuteandlappeditup.

‘Nowyou’dthinkamanlikethatcouldbecountedon,wouldn’tyou?Wouldhewantanythingmore?Nothe,you’dsay.You’dbewrong.Believeme,thereisn’tamanonearththat’sfixedandcontentedbutwhatawomancan’tknockhisoldParadiseinto‘ashwithonepunch.

‘Itwasn’tlongbeforeIbegintonoticeachangeinJerry.Heneverhadbeenwhatyou’dcallachampioncatch–as–catch–cantalker,butnowhewassilenterthanever.AndhegotahabitofswitchingGentlemanofffromhistheoriesonLifeingeneraltoWomaninparticular.ThissuitedGentlemanjustright.Whathedidn’tknowaboutWomanwasn’tknowledge.

‘Gentlemanwastoobusytalkingtohavetimetogetsuspicious,butIwasn’t;andonedayIdrawsGentlemanasideandputsittohimstraight.“Gentleman,”Isays,“JerryMooreis

inlove!”

‘Well,thiswasanastyknock,ofcourse,forGentleman.HeknewaswellasIdidwhatitwouldmeanifJerrywastoleadhomeablushingbridethroughthatfrontdoor.Itwouldbeoutsideintothecold,hardworldforthebachelorfriends.Gentlemanseesthatquick,andhisjawdrops.Igoeson.“Allthetime,”Isays,“thatyou’retalkingawayofanevening,Jerry’sseeingvisionsofalittlewomansittinginyourchair.Andyoucanbetwedon’tenterintothemvisions.Hemaydreamoflittlefeetpatteringaboutthehouse,”Isays,“buttheyaren’tours;andyoucan‘avesomethingonthatbothways.Lookalive,Gentleman,”Isays,“andthinkoutsomeplan,orwemightaswellbepaddingthehoofnow.”

‘Well,Gentlemandidwhathecould.InhiseveningdiscourseshestartedtogiveittoWomanallheknew.BegantotalkaboutDelilahsandJezebelsandFools–there–wasandtherestofit,andwhatamugafellerwastoletafemaleinto‘iscosyhome,who’donlymakehimspendhisdayshookingherup,andhisnightswonderinghowtogetbacktheblanketswithoutwakingher.My,hewascrisp!EnoughtohavegivenRomeothejumps,you’dhavethought.But,lor!It’snogoodtalkingtothemwhenthey’vegotitbad.

‘Afewdayslaterwecaughthimwiththegoods,talkingintheroadtoagirlinapinkdress.

‘Icouldn’tbutadmitthatJerryhadpickedonerightfromthetopofthebasket.Thiswasn’toneofthemlanguishingsortwotsitsaboutincosycornersandreadsstory–books,anddon’tcarewhat’shappeninginthehomesolongastheyfindoutwhatbecameoftheheroinhisduelwiththeGrandDuke.Shewasabrown,slim,wiry–lookinglittlething.Youknow.HeldherchinupandlookedyouupanddownwitheyesthecolourofScotchwhisky,asmuchastosay,“Well,whataboutit?”Youcouldtellwithoutlookingather,justbythefeeloftheatmospherewhenshewasnear,thatshehadasmuchsnapandgoinherasJerryMoorehadn’t,whichwasagoodbit.Iknew,justassureasIwasstandingthereononeleg,thatthiswasthesortofgirlwhowouldhavemeandGentlemanoutofthathouseaboutthreesecondsaftertheclergymanhadtiedtheknot.

‘Jerrysays,“Thesearemyfriends,MissTuxton—MrBaileyandMrRoach.Theyarestayingwithmeforavisit.ThisisMissJaneTuxton,”hesaystous.“IwasjustgoingtoseeMissTuxtonhome,”hesays,sortofwistful.“Excellent,”saysGentleman.“We’llcometoo.”Andweallgoesalong.Therewasn’tmuchdoneinthewayofconversation.Jerryneverwasoneforpushingoutthewords;norwasI,wheninthepresenceofthesect;andMissJanehadherchinintheair,asifshethoughtmeandGentlemanwasnotneededinanywaywhatsoever.TheonlytalkbeforeweturnedherinatthegardengatewasdonebyGentleman,whotoldaprettylongstoryaboutafriendofhisinUpperSydenhamwhohadbeensillyenoughtomarry,andhadhadtroubleeversince.

‘Thatnight,afterwehadwenttobed,IsaidtoGentleman,“Gentleman,”Isays,“what’sgoingtobedoneaboutthis?We’vegotaboutasmuchchance,ifJerrymarriesthatgirl,”Isays,“asacoupleofhelplesschocolatecreamsataschool–girls’picnic.”“If,”saysGentleman.“Heain’tmarriedheryet.Thatisagirlofcharacter,Jack.Trustme.Didn’tshestrikeyouasagirlwhowouldlikeamanwithabitofdevilinhim,amanwithsomegoinhim,ayou–be–darnedkindofman?DoesJerryfillthebill?He’smorelikeadoormatwith‘Welcome’writtenonit,thananythingelse.”

‘Well,weseenagooddealofMissJaneinthenextweekorso.WekeepsJerryunder—what’sittheheroinesaysinthemelodrama?“Oh,cruel,cruel,S.P.something.”Espionage,that’sit.WekeepsJerryunderespionage,andwheneverhegoestricklingroundafterthegirl,wegoestricklingroundafterhim.

‘“Thingsisrunningourway,”saysGentlemantome,afteroneofthesemeetings.“ThatgirlisgettingcrosswithJerry.ShewantsRecklessRudolf,notamanwhostandsandgrinswhenothermenbuttinonhimandhisgirl.Markmywords,Jack.She’llgettiredofJerry,andgooffandmarryasoldier,andwe’lllivehappyeverafter.”“Thinkso?”Isays.“Sureofit,”saidGentleman.

‘ItwastheSundayafterthisthatJerryMooreannouncestous,wriggling,thathehadanengagementtotakesupperwithJaneandherfolks.He’dhavelikedtohaveslippedawaysecret,butwewaskeepinghimunderespionagetoocrispforthat,sohehastotellus.“Excellent,”saidGentleman.“ItwillbeagreattreattoJackandmyselftomeetthefamily.Wewillgoalongwithyou.”Sooffweallgoes,andpushesourbootsinsociablefashionundertheTuxtontable.IlookedatMissJaneoutofthecornerofmyeye;and,honest,thatchinofherswasstickingoutafoot,andJerrydidn’tdarelookather.Love’syoungdream,Imusestomyself,howswiftitfadeswhenamanhasthenatureanddispositionofalop–earedrabbit!

‘TheTuxtonswasfourinnumber,notcountingtheparrot,andallmale.TherewasPaTuxton,anoldfellerwithabeardandglasses;afatuncle;abigbrother,whoworkedinabankandwasdressedlikeMosesinallhisglory;andalittlebrotherwithasnubnose,thatcheekyyou’dhavebeensurprised.Andtheparrotinitscageandafatyellowdog.Andthey’reallmakingthemselvespleasanttoJerry,thewealthyfutureson–in–law,somethingawful.It’s“Howarethefowls,MrMoore?”and“Alittlebitofthispie,MrMoore;Janemadeit,”andJerrysittingtherewithafeeblegrin,saying“Yes”and“No”andnothingmuchmore,whileMissJane’seyesaresnappinglikeFifthofNovemberfireworks.IcouldfeelJerry’schancesgoingbackamileaminute.Ifeltashappyasalittlechildthatevening.Isanggoingbackhome.

‘Gentleman’spleased,too.“Jack,”hesaystomewhenwe’reinbed,“thisistooeasy.InmymostsanguinarydreamsIhardlyhopedforthis.Nogirlofspirit’sgoingtoloveamanwhobehavesthatwaytoherparents.Thewaytowintheheartofacertaintypeofgirl,”hesays,beginningonhistheories,“thetypetowhichJaneTuxtonbelongs,istoberudetoherfamily.I’vegotJaneTuxtonsizedupandlabelled.Herkindwantsherfolkstodislikeheryoungman.Shewantstofeelthatshe’stheonlyoneinthefamilythat’sgotthesensetoseethehiddengoodinWillie.Shedoesn’twanttobeoneofacrowdholleringoutwhataniceyoungmanheis.Ittakessomepluckinamantostanduptoagirl’sfamily,andthat’swhatJaneTuxtonislookingforinJerry.Takeitfromonewhohasstudiedthesect,”saysGentleman,“fromJohno’Groat’stoLand’sEnd,andbackagain.”

‘NextdayJerryMoore’slookingasifhe’donlysixpenceintheworldandhadswallowedit.“What’sthematter,Jerry?”saysGentleman.Jerryheavesasigh.“Bailey,”hesays,“andyou,MrRoach,Iexpectyoubothseenhowitiswithme.IloveMissJaneTuxton,andyouseenforyourselveswhattranspires.Shedon’tvalueme,nottuppence.”“Saynotso,”saysGentleman,sympathetic.“You’redoingfine.IfyouknewthesectasIdoyouwouldn’tgobymeresuperficialsilencesandchin–tiltings.Icanreadagirl’sheart,Jerry,”

hesays,pattinghimontheshoulder,“andItellyouyou’redoingfine.Allyouwantnowisalittlerapidwork,andyouwineasy.Tomakethethingacert,”hesays,gettingup,“allyouhavetodoistomakeadeadsetatherfolks.”Hewinksatme.“Don’tjustsittherelikeyoudidlastnight.Show‘emyou’vegotsomethinginyou.Youknowwhatfolksare:theythinkthemselvesthemostimportantthingsonthemap.Well,gotowork.Consultthemallyouknow.Everyopportunityyouget.There’snothinglikeconsultingagirl’sfolkstoputyouingoodwithher.”AndhepatsJerryontheshoulderagainandgoesindoorstofindhispipe.

‘Jerryturnstome.“Doyouthinkthat’sreallyso?”hesays.Isays,“Ido.”“Heknowsallaboutgirls,Ireckon,”saysJerry.“Youcangobyhimeverytime,”Isays.“Well,well,”saysJerry,sortofthoughtful.’

Thewaiterpaused.Hiseyewassadanddreamy.Thenhetookuptheburdenofhistale.

‘FirstthingthathappensisthatGentlemanhasasoretoothonthenextSunday,sodon’tfeellikecomingalongwithus.Hesitsathome,dosingitwithwhisky,andJerryandmegoesoffalone.

‘SoJerryandmepikesoff,andoncemorewepreparestosettledownaroundtheboard.Ihadn’tnoticedJerryparticular,butjustnowIcatchessightofhisfaceinthelightofthelamp.Everseeoneofthosefighterswhenhe’ssittinginhiscornerbeforeafight,waitingforthegongtogo?Well,Jerrylookslikethat;anditsurprisesme.

‘ItoldyouaboutthefatyellowdogthatpermeatedtheTuxton’shouse,didn’tI?Thefamilythoughtalotofthatdog,thoughofalltheuglybrutesIevermethewastheworst.Sniffingroundandgrowlingallthetime.Well,thiseveninghecomesuptoJerryjustashe’sgoingtositdown,andstartstogrowl.OldPaTuxtonlooksoverhisglassesandlickshistongue.“Rover!Rover!”hesays,kindofmild.“NaughtyRover;hedon’tlikestrangers,I’mafraid.”JerrylooksatPaTuxton,andhelooksatthedog,andI’mjustexpectinghimtosay“No”or“Yes”,sameastheothernight,whenheletsoutanastylaugh—oneofthembitterlaughs.“Ho!”hesays.“Ho!don’the?Thenperhapshe’dbettergetfurtherawayfromthem.”Andheupswithhisbootand—well,thedoghitthefarwall.

‘Jerrysitsdownandpullsuphischair.“Idon’tapprove,”hesays,fierce,“offolkskeepinggreat,fat,ugly,bad–temperedyellowdogsthatareanuisancetoall.Idon’tlikeit.”

‘Therewasasilenceyoucouldhavescoopedoutwithaspoon.Haveyoueverhadarabbitturnroundonyouandgrowl?That’showweallfeltwhenJerryoutswiththemcrispwords.Theytookourbreathaway.

‘Whileweweregettingitbackagaintheparrot,whichwasinitscage,letoutasquawk.Honest,Ijumpedafootinmychair.

‘Jerrygetsupverydeliberate,andwalksovertotheparrot.“Isthisamenagerie?”hesays.“Can’tamanhavesupperinpeacewithoutanimagelikeyoustartingtoholler?Gotosleep.”

‘Wewasallstaringathimsurprised,especiallyUncleDickTuxton,whoseparticularpettheparrotwas.He’dbroughthimhomeallthewayfromsomeforeignparts.

‘“Hello,Billy!”saysthebird,shrugginghisshouldersandpuffinghimselfup.“R–r–r–r!

R–r–r–r!‘lo,Billy!‘lo,‘lo,‘lo!R–rWAH!”

‘Jerrygivesitscageabang.

‘“Don’ttalkbackatme,”hesays,“orI’llknockyourheadoff.Youthinkbecauseyou’vegotagreentailyou’resomeone.”AndhestalksbacktohischairandsitsglaringatUncleDick.

‘Well,allthiswasn’twhatyoumightcallpromotinganeasyflowofconversation.Everyone’slookingatJerry,‘speciallyme,wonderingwhatnext,andtryingtogettheirbreath,andJerry’sfrowningatthecoldbeef,andthere’sasortofawkwardpause.MissJaneisthefirsttogetbusy.Shebustlesaboutandgetsthefoodservedout,andwebeginstoeat.Butstillthere’snotsomuchconversationthatyou’dnoticeit.Thisgoesontillwereachestheconcludingstages,andthenUncleDickcomesuptothescratch.

‘“Howisthefowls,MrMoore?”hesays.

‘“Gimmesomemorepie,”saysJerry.“What?”

‘UncleDickrepeatshisremark.

‘“Fowls?”saysJerry.“Whatdoyouknowaboutfowls?Yournotionofafowlisanuglybirdwithagreentail,aWellingtonnose,and—gimmeabitofcheese.”

‘UncleDick’sfondoftheparrot,sohespeaksupforhim.“Polly’salwaysbeenreckonedahandsomebird,”hesays.

‘“Hewantsstuffing,”saysJerry.

‘AndUncleDickdropsoutofthetalk.

‘Upcomesbigbrother,Ralphhisnamewas.He’sthebank–clerkandadude.Hegiveshiscuffsaflick,andstartsintomakethingsjollyallroundbytellingastoryaboutamanheknowsnamedWotherspoon.Jerryfixeshimwithhiseye,and,half–waythrough,interrupts.

‘“Thatwaistcoatofyoursisfierce,”hesays.

‘“Pardon?”saysRalph.

‘“Thatwaistcoatofyours,”saysJerry.“Ithurtsmeeyes.It’slikeanelectricsign.”

‘“Why,Jerry,”Isays,buthejustscowlsatmeandIstops.

‘Ralphisproudofhisclothes,andheisn’tgoingtostandthis.HeglaresatJerryandJerryglaresathim.

‘“Whodoyouthinkyouare?”saysRalph,breathinghard.

‘“Buttonupyourcoat,”saysJerry.

‘“Look‘ere!”saysRalph.

‘“Coveritup,Itellyou,”saysJerry.“Doyouwanttoblindme?”PaTuxtoninterrupts.

‘“Why,MrMoore,”hebegins,sortofsoothing;whenthesmallbrother,who’sbeenstaringatJerry,chipsin.Itoldyouhewascheeky.

‘Hesays,“Pa,whatafunnynoseMrMoore’sgot!”

‘Andthatdidit.Jerryrises,veryslow,andleansacrossthetableandclipsthekidbrotheronesideoftheear–‘ole.Andthenthere’sageneralimbroglio,everyonestandingupandthekidholleringandthedogbarking.

‘“Ifyou’dbroughthimupbetter,”saysJerry,severe,toPaTuxton,“thiswouldn’teverhavehappened.”

PaTuxtongivesasortofhowl.

‘“MrMoore,”heyells,“whatisthemeaningofthisextraordinarybehaviour?Youcomehereandstrikemechild—”

‘Jerrybangsonthetable.

‘“Yes,”hesays,“andI’dstrikehimagain.Listentome,”hesays.“YouthinkjustbecauseI’mquietIain’tgotnospirit.YouthinkallIcandoistositandsmile.Youthink—Bah!Youaren’tontothehiddendepthsinmecharacter.I’moneofthemstillwatersthatrunsdeep.I’m—Here,yougetoutofit!Yes,allofyou!ExceptJane.Janeandmewantsthisroomtohaveaprivatetalkin.I’vegotalotofthingstosaytoJane.Areyougoing?”

‘Iturnstothecrowd.Iwasawfuldisturbed.“Youmustn’ttakeanynotice,”Isays.“Heain’twell.Heain’thimself.”Whenjustthentheparrotcutswithanotherofthemsquawks.Jerryjumpsatit.

‘“Youfirst,”hesays,andflingsthecageoutofthewindow.“Nowyou,”hesaystotheyellowdog,puttinghimoutthroughthedoor.Andthenhefoldshisarmsandscowlsatus,andweallnoticesuddenlythathe’sverybig.Welookatoneanother,andwebeginstoedgetowardsthedoor.AllexceptJane,who’sstaringatJerryasifhe’saghost.

‘“MrMoore,”saysPaTuxton,dignified,“we’llleaveyou.You’redrunk.”

‘“I’mnotdrunk,”saysJerry.“I’minlove.”

‘“Jane,”saysPaTuxton,“comewithme,andleavethisruffiantohimself.”

‘“Jane,”saysJerry,“stophere,andcomeandlayyourheadonmyshoulder.”

‘“Jane,”saysPaTuxton,“doyouhearme?”

‘“Jane,”saysJerry,“I’mwaiting.”

‘Shelooksfromonetotheotherforaspell,andthenshemovestowhereJerry’sstanding.

‘“I’llstop,”shesays,sortofquiet.

‘Andwedriftsout.’

Thewaitersnorted.

‘IgotbackhomequickasIcould,’hesaid,‘andrelatestheproceedingstoGentleman.Gentleman’srattled.“Idon’tbelieveit,”hesays.“Don’tstandthereandtellmeJerryMooredidthemthings.Why,itain’tintheman.‘SpeciallyafterwhatIsaidtohimaboutthewayheoughttobehave.Howcouldhehavedoneso?”JustthenincomesJerry,beamingallover.“Boys,”heshouts,“congratulateme.It’sallright.We’vefixeditup.Shesaysshehadn’tknownmeproperlybefore.Shesaysshe’dalwaysreckonedmeasheep,whileallthetimeIwasoneofthemstrong,silentmen.”HeturnstoGentleman—’

Themanattheotherendoftheroomwascallingforhisbill.

‘Allright,allright,’saidthewaiter.‘Coming!HeturnstoGentleman,’hewentonrapidly,‘andhesays,“Bailey,Ioweitalltoyou,becauseifyouhadn’ttoldmetoinsultherfolks—”’

Heleanedonthetraveller’stableandfixedhimwithaneyethatpleadedforsympathy.

”Owaboutthat?’hesaid.‘Isn’tthatcrisp?“Insultherfolks!”Themwashisverywords.“Insultherfolks.”’

Thetravellerlookedathiminquiringly.

‘Canyoubeatit?’saidthewaiter.

‘Idon’tknowwhatyouaresaying,’saidthetraveller.‘Ifitisimportant,writeitonaslipofpaper.Iamstone–deaf.’

ROUGH-HEWTHEMHOWWEWILL

PaulBoiellewasawaiter.Theword‘waiter’suggestsasoft–voiced,deft–handedbeing,movingswiftlyandwithoutnoiseinanatmosphereofluxuryandshadedlamps.AtBredin’sParisianCafeandRestaurantinSoho,wherePaulworked,therewerenoneofthesethings;andPaulhimself,thoughhecertainlymovedswiftly,wasbynomeansnoiseless.HisprogressthroughtheroomresembledinalmostequalproportionsthefinishofaMarathonrace,thestar–actofaprofessionaljuggler,andamonologuebyanEarl’sCourtside–showman.Constantacquaintancerenderedregularhabituescalloustothewonder,buttoastrangerthesightofPaultearingoverthedifficultbetween–tablescourse,hishandsloadedwithtwovastpyramidsofdishes,shoutingashewentthemysticword,‘Comingsarecominginamomentsaresteaksareyessarecomingsare!’wasimpressivetoadegree.Fordoingfarlessexactingfeatsonthestagemusic–hallperformerswerebeingpaidfiftypoundsaweek.Paulgoteighteenshillings.

Whatablessingispoverty,properlyconsidered.IfPaulhadreceivedmorethaneighteenshillingsaweekhewouldnothavelivedinanattic.Hewouldhaveluxuriatedinabed–sitting–roomonthesecondfloor;andwouldconsequentlyhavemissedwhatwaspracticallyagenuinenorthlight.Theskylightwhichwentwiththeatticwassoarrangedthattheroomwasastudioinminiature,and,asPaulwasengagedinhissparemomentsinpaintingagreatpicture,nothingcouldhavebeenmorefortunate;forPaul,likesomanyofourpublicmen,livedtwolives.Offduty,thesprinting,barkingjugglerofBredin’sParisianCafebecamethequietfollowerofArt.Eversincehischildhoodhehadhadapassionfordrawingandpainting.HeregrettedthatFatehadallowedhimsolittletimeforsuchwork;butafterall,hereflected,allgreatartistshadhadtheirstruggles—sowhynothe?Moreover,theywerenownearlyatanend.Anhourhere,anhourthere,andeveryThursdayawholeafternoon,andthegreatpicturewaswithinmeasurabledistanceofcompletion.Hehadwonthrough.Withoutmodels,withoutleisure,hungry,tired,hehadneverthelesstriumphed.Afewmoretouches,andthemasterpiecewouldbereadyforpurchase.Andafterthatallwouldbeplainsailing.Paulcouldforecastthescenesoexactly.Thepicturewouldbeatthedealer’s,possibly—onemustnotbetoosanguine—thrustawayinsomeoddcorner.Thewealthyconnoisseurwouldcomein.Atfirsthewouldnotseethemasterpiece;othermoreprominentlydisplayedworkswouldcatchhiseye.Hewouldturnfromtheminwearyscorn,andthen!…Paulwonderedhowbigthechequewouldbe.

Therewerereasonswhyhewantedthemoney.LookingathimashecanteredoverthelinoleumatBredin’s,youwouldhavesaidthathismindwasonhiswork.Butitwasnotso.Hetookandexecutedordersasautomaticallyasthepenny–in–the–slotmusical–boxinthecornertookpenniesandproducedtunes.HisthoughtswereofJeanneLeBrocq,hisco–workeratBredin’s,andalittlecigarshopdownBrixtonwaywhichheknewwasinthemarketatareasonablerate.TomarrytheformerandownthelatterwasPaul’sideaoftheearthlyparadise,anditwasthewealthyconnoisseur,andhealone,whocouldopenthegates.

Jeannewasalarge,slow–movingNormangirl,stolidlyhandsome.OnecouldpictureherinadeMaupassantfarmyard.IntheclatterandbustleofBredin’sParisianCafesheappearedoutofplace,likeacowinaboiler–factory.ToPaul,whoworshippedherwithallthefervourofalittlemanforalargewoman,herdeliberatemethodsseemedallthatwasbeautifulanddignified.Tohismindshelentatonetothevulgarwhirlpoolofgorginghumanity,asifshehadbeensomegoddessmixinginaHomericbattle.Thewhirlpoolhadotherviews—andexpressedthem.Onecoarse–fibredbrute,indeed,oncewentsofarastoaddresstoherthefrightfulwords,”Urryup,there,Tottie!Lookslippy.’Itwaswrong,ofcourse,forPaultoslipandspillanorderofscrambledeggsdownthebrute’scoat–sleeve,butwhocanblamehim?

AmongthosewhodidnotseeeyetoeyewithPaulinhisviewsondeportmentinwaitresseswasM.Bredinhimself,theowneroftheParisianCafe;anditwasthiscircumstancewhichfirstgavePaultheopportunityofdeclaringthepassionwhichwasgnawinghimwiththefiercefuryofaBredincustomergnawingatoughsteakagainsttimeduringtherushhour.Hehadlongworshippedherfromafar,butnothingmoreintimatethana‘Goodmorning,MissJeanne’,hadescapedhim,tillonedayduringaslackspellhecameuponherinthelittlepassageleadingtothekitchen,herfacehiddeninherapron,herbackjerkingwithsobs.

Businessisbusiness.Paulhadamessagetodelivertothecookrespecting‘twofried,coffee,andonestale’.Hedelivereditandreturned.Jeannewasstillsobbing.

‘Ah,MissJeanne,’criedPaul,stricken,‘whatisthematter?Whatisit?Whydoyouweep?’

‘Thepatron,’sobbedJeanne.‘He—’

‘Myangel,’saidPaul,‘heisapig.’

Thiswasperfectlytrue.NoconscientiousjudgeofcharactercouldhavedeniedthatPaulhadhitthebull’seye.Bredinwasapig.Helookedlikeapig;heatelikeapig;hegruntedlikeapig.Hehadthelavishembonpointofapig.Alsoaporcinesoul.Ifyouhadtiedabitofblueribbonroundhisneckyoucouldhavewonprizeswithhimatashow.

Paul’seyesflashedwithfury.‘Iwillslaphimintheeye,’heroared.

‘Hecalledmeatortoise.’

‘Andkickhiminthestomach,’addedPaul.

Jeanne’ssobswererunningonsecondspeednow.Theanguishwasdiminishing.Paultookadvantageoftheimprovedconditionstoslideanarmpartofthewayroundherwaist.Intwominuteshehadsaidasmuchastheordinarymancouldhaveworkedoffinten.Allgoodstuff,too.Nopadding.

Jeanne’sfacerosefromherapronlikeafullmoon.Shewastooastoundedtobeangry.

Paulcontinuedtobabble.Jeannelookedathimwithgrowingwrath.Thatshe,whoreceiveddailytheaffectionatebadinageofgentlemeninbowlerhatsandchecksuits,whohadoncebeeninvitedtotheWhiteCitybyasolicitor’sclerk,shouldbeaddressedinthiswaybyawaiter!Itwastoomuch.Shethrewoffhishand.

‘Wretchedlittleman!’shecried,stampingangrily.

‘Myangel!’protestedPaul.

Jeanneutteredascornfullaugh.

‘You!’shesaid.

Therearefewmorewitheringremarksthan‘You!’spokeninacertainway.Jeannespokeitinjustthatway.

Paulwilted.

‘Oneighteenshillingsaweek,’wentonJeanne,satirically,‘youwouldsupportawife,yes?Why—’

Paulrecoveredhimself.Hehadanopeningnow,andproceededtouseit.

‘Listen,’hesaid.‘Atpresent,yes,itistrue,Iearnbuteighteenshillingsaweek,butitwillnotalwaysbeso,no.Iamnotonlyawaiter.Iamalsoanartist.Ihavepaintedagreatpicture.ForawholeyearIhaveworked,andnowitisready.Iwillsellit,andthen,myangel—?’

Jeanne’sfacehadlostsomeofitsscorn.Shewaslisteningwithsomerespect.‘Apicture?’shesaid,thoughtfully.‘Thereismoneyinpictures.’

ForthefirsttimePaulwasgladthathisarmwasnolongerroundherwaist.Todojusticetothegreatworkheneededbothhandsforpurposesofgesticulation.

‘Thereismoneyinthispicture,’hesaid.‘Oh,itisbeautiful.Icallit“TheAwakening”.Itisawoodlandscene.Icomebackfrommyworkhere,hotandtired,andamereglanceatthatwoodrefreshesme.Itissocool,sogreen.Thesunfiltersingoldensplashesthroughthefoliage.Onamossybank,betweentwotrees,liesabeautifulgirlasleep.Aboveher,bendingfondlyoverher,justabouttokissthatflower–likeface,isayoungmaninthedressofashepherd.Atthelastmomenthehaslookedoverhisshouldertomakesurethatthereisnobodyneartosee.Heiswearinganexpressionsohappy,soproud,thatone’sheartgoesouttohim.’

‘Yes,theremightbemoneyinthat,’criedJeanne.

‘Thereis,thereis!’criedPaul.‘Ishallsellitformanyfrancstoawealthyconnoisseur.Andthen,myangel—’

‘Youareagoodlittleman,’saidtheangel,patronizingly.‘Perhaps.Wewillsee.’

Paulcaughtherhandandkissedit.Shesmiledindulgently.‘Yes,’shesaid.‘Theremightbemoney.TheseEnglishpaymuchmoneyforpictures.’

*****

ItisprettygenerallyadmittedthatGeoffreyChaucer,theeminentpoetofthefourteenthcentury,thoughobsessedwithanalmostRooseveltianpassionforthenewspelling,wastherewiththegoodswhenitcametoprofundityofthought.ItwasChaucerwhowrotethelines:

Thelyfesoshort,thecraftsolongtolerne,Th’assaysohard,sosharpetheconquering.

Whichmeans,broadly,thatitisdifficulttopaintapicture,butagreatdealmoredifficulttosellit.

AcrossthecenturiesPaulBoielleshookhandswithGeoffreyChaucer.‘Sosharpetheconquering’puthiscaseinanutshell.

ThefullstoryofhiswanderingswiththemasterpiecewouldreadlikeanOdysseyandbeaboutaslong.Itshallbecondensed.

TherewasanartistwhodinedatintervalsatBredin’sParisianCafe,and,astheartistictemperamentwastooimpatienttobesuitedbyJeanne’sleisurelymethods,ithadfallentoPaultowaituponhim.ItwastothisexpertthatPaul,emboldenedbythegenialityoftheartist’smanner,wentforinformation.Howdidmonsieursellhispictures?Monsieursaidhedidn’t,exceptonceinabluemoon.Butwhenhedid?Oh,hetookthethingtothedealers.Paulthankedhim.Afriendofhim,heexplained,hadpaintedapictureandwishedtosellit.

‘Poordevil!’wastheartist’scomment.

Nextday,ithappeningtobeaThursday,Paulstartedonhistravels.Hestartedbuoyantly,butbyeveninghewasasapuncturedballoon.Everydealerhadthesameremarktomake—towit,noroom.

‘Haveyouyetsoldthepicture?’inquiredJeanne,whentheymet.‘Notyet,’saidPaul.‘Buttheyaredelicatematters,thesenegotiations.Iusefinesse.Iproceedwithcaution.’

Heapproachedtheartistagain.

‘Withthedealers,’hesaid,‘myfriendhasbeenalittleunfortunate.Theysaytheyhavenoroom.’

‘Iknow,’saidtheartist,nodding.

‘Isthere,perhaps,anotherway?’

‘Whatsortofapictureisit?’inquiredtheartist.

Paulbecameenthusiastic.

‘Ah!monsieur,itisbeautiful.Itisawoodlandscene.Abeautifulgirl—’

‘Oh!Thenhehadbettertrythemagazines.Theymightuseitforacover.’

Paulthankedhimeffusively.OnthefollowingThursdayhevisiteddiversarteditors.Thearteditorsseemedtobeinthesameunhappyconditionasthedealers.‘Overstocked!’wastheircry.

‘Thepicture?’saidJeanne,ontheFridaymorning.‘Isitsold?’

‘Notyet,’saidPaul,‘but—’

‘Alwaysbut!’

‘Myangel!’

‘Bah!’saidJeanne,withatossofherlargebutshapelyhead.

BytheendofthemonthPaulwasfightinginthelastditch,wanderingdisconsolately

amongthosewhodwellinouterdarknessandhavegrimythumbs.SevenoftheseinallhevisitedonthatblackThursday,andeachofthesevenrubbedthesurfaceofthepaintingwithagrimythumb,snorted,anddismissedhim.Sickandbeaten,Paultookthemasterpiecebacktohisskylightroom.

Allthatnighthelayawake,thinking.ItwasawearybundleofnervesthatcametotheParisianCafenextmorning.Hewaslateinarriving,whichwasgoodinthatitdelayedtheinevitablequestionastothefateofthepicture,butbadineveryotherrespect.M.Bredin,squattingbehindthecash–desk,gruntedfiercelyathim;and,worse,Jeanne,who,owingtohisabsence,hadhadtobebusierthansuitedherdisposition,wasdistantandhaughty.AmurkygloomsettleduponPaul.

NowitsohappenedthatM.Bredin,whenthingswentwellwithhim,waswonttobefilledwithaponderousamiability.Itwasnotoftenthatthistookapracticalform,thoughitisonrecordthatinanexuberantmomentheoncegaveasmallboyahalfpenny.Morefrequentlyitmerelyledhimtosoftentheporcineausterityofhisdemeanour.Today,businesshavingbeenuncommonlygood,hefeltpleasedwiththeworld.Hehadlefthiscash–deskandwasassailingabowlofsoupatoneoftheside–tables.Exceptforabelatedluncherattheendoftheroomtheplacewasempty.ItwasoneofthehourswhentherewasalullintheproceedingsattheParisianCafe.Paulwasleaning,wrappedinthegloom,againstthewall.Jeannewaswaitingontheproprietor.

M.Bredinfinishedhismealandrose.Hefeltcontent.Allwaswellwiththeworld.AshelumberedtohisdeskhepassedJeanne.Hestopped.Hewheezedacompliment.Thenanother.Paul,fromhisplacebythewall,watchedwithjealousfury.

M.BredinchuckedJeanneunderthechin.

Ashedidso,thebelatedlunchercalled‘Waiter!’butPaulwasotherwiseengaged.Hisentirenervoussystemseemedtohavebeenstirredupwithapole.Withahoarsecryhedashedforward.HewoulddestroythispigwhochuckedhisJeanneunderthechin.

ThefirstintimationM.BredinhadofthedeclarationofwarwastheimpactofaFrenchrollonhisear.Itwasoneofthosenobbly,chunkyrollswithsharpcorners,almostasdeadlyasapieceofshrapnel.M.Bredinwasincapableofjumping,butheutteredahowlandhisvastbodyquiveredlikeastrickenjelly.Asecondroll,whizzingby,slappedagainstthewall.Amomentlateracream–bunburstinstickyruinontheproprietor’slefteye.

Thebelatedluncherhadbeenanxioustopayhisbillandgo,buthecameswiftlytotheconclusionthatthiswasworthstoppingonfor.Heleanedbackinhischairandwatched.M.Bredinhadentrenchedhimselfbehindthecash–desk,peeringnervouslyatPaulthroughthecream,andPaul,pouringforthabuseinhisnativetongue,wasbrandishingachocolateeclair.Thesituationlookedgoodtothespectator.

ItwasspoiledbyJeanne,whoseizedPaulbythearmandshookhim,addingherownvoicetothebabel.Itwasenough.Theeclairfelltothefloor.Paul’svoicediedaway.Hisfacetookonagainitscrushed,huntedexpression.ThevoiceofM.Bredin,freedfromcompetition,roseshrillandwrathful.

‘Themarksmanisgettingsacked,’musedtheonlooker,diagnosingthesituation.

Hewasright.ThenextmomentPaul,limpanddepressed,hadretiredtothekitchen

passage,discharged.Itwashere,afterafewminutes,thatJeannefoundhim.

‘Fool!Idiot!Imbecile!’saidJeanne.

Paulstaredatherwithoutspeaking.

‘Tothrowrollsatthepatron.Imbecile!’

‘He—’beganPaul.

‘Bah!Andwhatifhedid?Mustyouthenattackhimlikeamaddog?Whatisittoyou?’

Paulwasconsciousofadulllongingforsympathy,amonstroussenseofoppression.Everythingwasgoingwrong.SurelyJeannemustbetouchedbyhisheroism?Butno.Shewasscoldingfuriously.SupposeAndromedahadturnedandscoldedPerseusafterhehadslainthesea–monster!Paulmoppedhisforeheadwithhisnapkin.Thebottomhaddroppedoutofhisworld.

‘Jeanne!’

‘Bah!Donottalktome,idiotofalittleman.Almostyoulostmemyplacealso.Thepatronwasintwominds.ButIcoaxedhim.Afinethingthatwouldhavebeen,tolosemygoodplacethroughyourfoolishness.Tothrowrolls.Mygoodness!’

Shesweptbackintotheroomagain,leavingPaulstillstandingbythekitchendoor.Somethingseemedtohavesnappedinsidehim.Howlonghestoodtherehedidnotknow,butpresentlyfromthedining–roomcamecallsof‘Waiter!’andautomaticallyhefelloncemoreintohiswork,asanactortakesuphispart.Astrangerwouldhavenoticednothingremarkableinhim.Hebustledtoandfrowithundiminishedenergy.

AttheendofthedayM.Bredinpaidhimhiseighteenshillingswithagrunt,andPaulwalkedoutoftherestaurantamasterlessman.

Hewenttohisatticandsatdownonthebed.Proppedupagainstthewallwasthepicture.Helookedatitwithunseeingeyes.Hestareddullybeforehim.

Thenthoughtscametohimwitharush,leapinganddancinginhismindlikeimpsinHades.Hehadacurioussenseofdetachment.Heseemedtobewatchinghimselffromagreatdistance.

Thiswastheend.Thelittleimpsdancedandleaped;andthenoneseparateditselffromthecrowd,togrowbiggerthan,therest,topirouettemoreenergetically.Herose.Hismindwasmadeup.Hewouldkillhimself.

Hewentdownstairsandoutintothestreet.Hethoughthardashewalked.Hewouldkillhimself,buthow?

Hispreoccupationwassogreatthatanautomobile,roundingacorner,missedhimbyinchesashecrossedtheroad.Thechauffeurshoutedangrilyathimasheleaptback.

Paulshookhisfistattheretreatinglights.

‘Pig!’heshouted.‘Assassin!Scoundrel!Villain!Wouldyoukillme?Iwilltakeyournumber,rascal.Iwillinformthepolice.Villain!’

Apolicemanhadstrolledupandwaseyeinghimcuriously.Paulturnedtohim,fullofhis

wrongs.

‘Officer,’hecried,‘Ihaveacomplaint.Thesepigsofchauffeurs!Theyarereckless.Theydrivesorecklessly.Hencethegreatnumberofaccidents.’

‘Awful!’saidthepoliceman.‘Passalong,sonny.’

Paulwalkedon,fuming.Itwasabominablethatthesechauffeurs—Andthenanideacametohim.Hehadfoundaway.

*****

ItwasquietinthePark.HehadchosentheParkbecauseitwasdarkandtherewouldbenonetoseeandinterfere.Hewaitedlongintheshadowbytheroadside.Presentlyfromthedarknesstherecamethedistantdroneofpowerfulengines.Lightsappeared,liketheblazingeyesofadragonswoopingdowntodevouritsprey.

Heranoutintotheroadwithashout.

Itwasanerror,thatshout.Hehadintendeditforaninarticulatefarewelltohispicture,toJeanne,tolife.Itwasexcusabletothedriverofthemotorthathemisinterpretedit.Itseemedtohimacryofwarning.Therewasagreatjarringofbrakes,ascutteringoflockedwheelsonthedryroad,andthecarcametoastandstillafullyardfromwherehestood.

‘Whatthedeuce—’saidacoolvoicefrombehindthelights.

Paulstruckhischestandfoldedhisarms.

‘Iamhere,’hecried.‘Destroyme!’

‘LetGeorgedoit,’saidthevoice,inamarkedAmericanaccent.‘InevermurderonaFriday;it’sunlucky.Ifit’snotarudequestion,whichasylumareyoufrom?Halloa!’

Theexclamationwasoneofsurprise,forPaul’snerveshadfinallygivenway,andhewasnowinaheapontheroad,sobbing.

Themanclimbeddownandcameintothelight.Hewasatallyoungmanwithapleasant,clean–cutface.HestoppedandshookPaul.

‘Quitthat,’hesaid.‘Maybeit’snottrue.Andifitis,there’salwayshope.Cutitout.What’sthematter?Allin?’

Paulsatup,gulpingconvulsively.Hewasthoroughlyunstrung.Thecold,desperatemoodhadpassed.Initsplacecametheoldfeelingofdesolation.Hewasachild,achingforsympathy.Hewantedtotellhistroubles.Punctuatinghisnarrativewithmanygesturesandanoccasionalgulp,heproceededtodoso.TheAmericanlistenedattentively.

‘Soyoucan’tsellyourpicture,andyou’velostyourjob,andyourgirlhasshakenyou?’hesaid.‘Prettybad,butstillyou’venocalltogominglingwithautomobilewheels.Youcomealongwithmetomyhotel,andtomorrowwe’llseeifwecan’tfixupsomething.’

*****

Therewasbreakfastatthehotelnextmorning,abreakfasttoputheartintoaman.DuringthemealamessengerdispatchedinacabtoPaul’slodgingsreturnedwiththecanvas.AdeferentialwaiterinformedtheAmericanthatithadbeentakenwitheverypossiblecare

tohissuite.

‘Good,’saidtheyoungman.‘Ifyou’rethrough,we’llgoandhavealookatit.’

Theywentupstairs.Therewasthepicturerestingagainstachair.

‘Why,Icallthatfine,’saidtheyoungman.‘It’sacrackerjack.’

Paul’sheartgaveasuddenleap.Coulditbethatherewasthewealthyconnoisseur?Hewaswealthy,forhedroveanautomobileandlivedinanexpensivehotel.Hewasaconnoisseur,forhehadsaidthatthepicturewasacrackerjack.

‘Monsieuriskind,’murmuredPaul.

‘It’sabear–cat,’saidtheyoungman,admiringly.

‘Monsieurisflattering,’saidPaul,dimlyperceivingacompliment.

‘I’vebeenlookingforapicturelikethat,’saidtheyoungman,‘formonths.’

Paul’seyesrolledheavenwards.

‘Ifyou’llmakeafewalterations,I’llbuyitandaskformore.’

‘Alterations,monsieur?’

‘Oneortwosmallones.’Hepointedtothestoopingfigureoftheshepherd.‘Now,youseethisprominentcitizen.What’shedoing!’

‘Heisstooping,’saidPaul,fervently,‘tobestowuponhislovedoneakiss.Andshe,sleeping,allunconscious,dreamingofhim—’

‘Nevermindabouther.Fixyourmindonhim.Willieisthe“star”inthisshow.Youhavesummedhimupaccurately.Heisstooping.Stoopinggood.Now,ifthatfellowwaswearingbracesandstoopedlikethat,you’dsayhe’dburstthosebraces,wouldn’tyou?’

WithasomewhatdazedairPaulsaidthathethoughthewould.Tillnowhehadnotlookedatthefigurefromjustthatview–point.

‘You’dsayhe’dbustthem?’

‘Assuredly,monsieur.’

‘No!’saidtheyoungman,solemnly,tappinghimearnestlyonthechest.‘That’swhereyou’rewrong.NotiftheywereGalloway’sTriedandProven.Galloway’sTriedandProvenwillstandanyoldstrainyoucaretoputonthem.Seesmallbills.WearGalloway’sTriedandProven,andfatecannottouchyou.Youcantakeitfromme.I’mthecompany’sgeneralmanager.’

‘Indeed,monsieur!’

‘AndI’llmakeapropositiontoyou.Cutoutthatmossybank,andmakethegirllyinginahammock.PutWillieinshirt–sleevesinsteadofabathrobe,andfixhimupwithapairoftheTriedandProven,andI’llgiveyouthreethousanddollarsforthatpictureandaretainingfeeoffourthousandayeartoworkforusandnobodyelseforanynumberofyearsyoucaretomention.You’vegotthegoods.You’vegotjustthetouch.ThathappylookonWillie’sface,forinstance.Youcanseeinaminutewhyhe’ssohappy.It’sbecause

he’swearingtheTriedandProven,andheknowsthathoweverfarhestoopstheywon’tbreak.Isthatadeal?’

Paul’sreplyleftnoroomfordoubt.Seizingtheyoungmanfirmlyroundthewaist,hekissedhimwithextremefervouronbothcheeks.

‘Here,breakaway!’criedtheastonishedgeneralmanager.‘That’snowaytosignabusinesscontract.’

*****

ItwasataboutfiveminutesafteronethatafternoonthatConstableThomasParsons,patrollinghisbeat,wasawareofamanmotioningtohimfromthedoorwayofBredin’sParisianCafeandRestaurant.Themanlookedlikeapig.Hegruntedlikeapig.Hehadthelavishembonpointofapig.ConstableParsonssuspectedthathehadaporcinesoul.Indeed,thethoughtflittedacrossConstableParsons’mindthat,ifheweretotieabitofblueribbonroundhisneck,hecouldwinprizeswithhimatashow.

‘What’sallthis?’heinquired,halting.

ThestoutmantalkedvolublyinFrench.ConstableParsonsshookhishead.

‘Talksense,’headvised.

‘Indere,’criedthestoutman,pointingbehindhimintotherestaurant,‘aman,a—howyousay?—yes,sacked.AnemployewhomIyesterdaysacked,todayhereturns.Isaytohim,“Cochon,va!”’

‘What’sthat?’

‘Isay,“Peeg,go!”Howyousay?Yes,“popoff!”Isay,“Peeg,popoff!”Buthe—no,no;hesitsandwillnotgo.Comein,officer,andexpelhim.’

Withmassivedignitythepolicemanenteredtherestaurant.AtoneofthetablessatPaul,calmanddistrait.FromacrosstheroomJeannestaredfreezingly.

‘What’sallthis?’inquiredConstableParsons.Paullookedup.

‘Itoo,’headmitted,‘Icannotunderstand.Figuretoyourself,monsieur.Ienterthiscafetolunch,andthismanherewouldexpelme.’

‘HeisanemployewhomI—Imyself—havebutyesterdaydismissed,’vociferatedM.Bredin.‘Hehasnomoneytolunchatmyrestaurant.’

ThepolicemaneyedPaulsternly.

‘Eh?’hesaid.‘Thatso?You’dbettercomealong.’

Paul’seyebrowsrose.

BeforetheroundeyesofM.Bredinhebegantoproducefromhispocketsandtolayuponthetablebank–notesandsovereigns.Theclothwascoveredwiththem.

Hepickedupahalf–sovereign.

‘Ifmonsieur,’hesaidtothepoliceman,‘wouldacceptthisasaslightconsolationfortheinconveniencewhichthisfoolishpersonherehascausedhim—’

‘Nothalf,’saidMrParsons,affably.‘Lookhere’—heturnedtothegapingproprietor—‘ifyougoonlikethisyou’llbegettingyourselfintotrouble.See?Youtakecareanothertime.’

Paulcalledforthebilloffare.

Itwastheinferiorpersonwhohadsucceededtohisplaceaswaiterwhoattendedtohisneedsduringthemeal;butwhenhehadluncheditwasJeannewhobroughthiscoffee.

Shebentoverthetable.

‘Yousoldyourpicture,Paul—yes?’shewhispered.‘Formuchmoney?HowgladIam,dearPaul.Nowwewill—’

Paulmetherglancecoolly.

‘Willyoubesokind,’hesaid,‘astobringmealsoacigarette,mygoodgirl?’

THEMANWHODISLIKEDCATS

ItwasHaroldwhofirstmadeusacquainted,whenIwasdiningonenightattheCafeBritannique,inSoho.ItisapeculiarityoftheCafeBritanniquethatyouwillalwaysfindfliesthere,eveninwinter.SnowwasfallingthatnightasIturnedinatthedoor,but,glancingaboutme,Inoticedseveraloftheoldfaces.Myoldacquaintance,Percythebluebottle,lookingwonderfullyfitdespitehisyears,wasdoingdeepbreathingexercisesonamuttoncutlet,andwastoobusytodomorethanpauseforamomenttonodatme;buthiscousin,Harold,alwaysactive,sightedmeandbustleduptodothehonours.

Hehadfinishedhisgameoftouch–lastwithmyrightear,andwascirclingslowlyintheairwhilehethoughtoutotherwaysofentertainingme,whentherewasarushofair,aswishofnapkin,andnomoreHarold.

Iturnedtothankmypreserver,whosetableadjoinedmine.HewasaFrenchman,amelancholy–lookingman.Hehadtheappearanceofonewhohassearchedfortheleakinlife’sgas–pipewithalightedcandle;ofonewhomtheclenchedfistofFatehassmittenbeneaththetemperamentalthirdwaistcoat–button.

Hewavedmythanksaside.‘Itwasabagatelle,’hesaid.Webecamefriendly.Hemovedtomytable,andwefraternizedoverourcoffee.

Suddenlyhebecameagitated.Hekickedatsomethingonthefloor.Hiseyesgleamedangrily.

‘Ps–s–st!’hehissed.‘Va–t’en!’

Ilookedroundthecornerofthetable,andperceivedtherestaurantcatindignifiedretreat.

‘Youdonotlikecats?’Isaid.

‘I‘ateallanimals,monsieur.Catsespecially.’Hefrowned.Heseemedtohesitate.

‘Iwilltellyoumystory,’hesaid.‘Youwillsympathize.Youhaveasympatheticface.Itisthestoryofaman’stragedy.Itisthestoryofablightedlife.Itisthestoryofawomanwhowouldnotforgive.Itisthestory—’

‘I’vegotanappointmentateleven,’Isaid.

Henoddedabsently,drewathiscigarette,andbegan:

*****

Ihaveconceivedmy‘atredofanimals,monsieur,manyyearsagoinParis.Animalsaretomeasymbolforthelostdreamsofyouth,forambitionsfoiled,forartisticimpulsescruellystifled.Youareastonished.YouaskwhyIsaythesethings.Ishalltellyou.

IaminParis,young,ardent,artistic.Iwishtopaintpictures.I‘avethegenius,theent’usiasm.IwishtobediscipleofthegreatBouguereau.Butno.Iamdependentforsupportuponanuncle.Heisrich.HeisproprietorofthegreatHotelJulesPriaulx.MynameisalsoPriaulx.Heisnotsympathetic.Isay,‘Uncle,I‘avethegenius,theent’usiasm.Permitmetopaint.’Heshakeshishead.Hesay,‘Iwillgiveyoupositionin

myhotel,andyoushallearnyourliving.’Whatchoice?Iweep,butIkillmydreams,andIbecomecashieratmyuncle’shotelatasalaryofthirty–fivefrancsaweek.I,theartist,becomeamachineforthechangingofmoneyatdambadsalary.Whatwouldyou?Whatchoice?Iamdependent.Igotothehotel,andthereIlearnto‘ateallanimals.Catsespecially.

Iwilltellyouthereason.Myuncle’shotelisfashionablehotel.RichAmericans,richMaharajahs,richpeopleofeverynationcometomyuncle’shotel.Theycome,andwiththemtheyhavebroughttheirpets.Monsieur,itwastheexistenceofanightmare.WhereverIhavelookedthereareanimals.Listen.ThereisanIndianprince.Hehaswithhimtwodromedaries.ThereisalsooneotherIndianprince.Withhimisagiraffe.Thegiraffedrinkeverydayonedozenbestchampagnetokeephiscoatgood.I,theartist,havemybock,andmycoatisnotgood.Thereisaguestwithayounglion.Thereisaguestwithanalligator.Butespeciallythereisacat.Heisfat.HisnameisAlexander.HebelongstoanAmericanwoman.Sheisfat.Sheexhibitshimtome.Heiswrappedinasilkandfurcreationlikeanoperacloak.Everydaysheexhibitshim.Itis‘Alexanderthis’and‘Alexanderthat’,tillI‘ateAlexanderverymuch.I‘atealltheanimals,butespeciallyAlexander.

Andso,monsieur,itgoeson,daybyday,inthishotelthatisaZoologicalGarden.AndeverydayI‘atetheanimalsthemore.ButespeciallyAlexander.

Weartists,monsieur,wearemartyrstoournerves.Itbecameinsupportable,thisthing.Eachdayitbecamemoreinsupportable.AtnightIdreamofalltheanimals,onebyone—thegiraffe,thetwodromedaries,theyounglion,thealligator,andAlexander.EspeciallyAlexander.Youhave‘eardofmenwhocannotendurethesocietyofacat—howtheycryoutandjumpintheairifacatisamongthosepresent.Hein?YourLordRoberts?Precisely,monsieur.Ihavereadsomuch.Listen,then.Iambecomebydegreesalmostlike‘im.IdonotcryoutandjumpintheairwhenIseethecatAlexander,butIgrindmyteethandI‘ate‘im.

Yes,Iamthesleepingvolcano,andonemorning,monsieur,Ihavesufferedtheeruption.Itislikethis.Ishalltellyou.

NotonlyatthattimeamIthemartyrtonerves,butalsototoothache.ThatmorningI‘ave‘adthetoothacheverybad.I‘avebeeninpainthemostterrible.IgroanasIaddupthefiguresinmybook.

AsIgroanI‘earavoice.

‘SaygoodmorningtoM.Priaulx,Alexander.’Conceivemyemotions,monsieur,whenthisfat,beastlycatisplacedbeforemeuponmydesk!

Itputthecoveruponit.No,thatisnotthephrase.Thelid.Itputtheliduponit.Allmysmothered‘atredoftheanimalburstforth.Icouldnolongerconcealmy‘atred.

Irose.Iwasterrible.Iseized‘imbythetail.Iflunghim—Ididnotknowwhere.Ididnotcare.Notthen.Afterwards,yes,butnotthen.

YourLongfellowhasapoem.‘Ishotanarrowintotheair.Itfelltoearth,Iknownotwhere.’Andthenhehasfoundit.Thearrowinthe‘eartofafriend.AmIright?Alsowasthatthetragedywithme.IflungthecatAlexander.Myuncle,onwhomIamdependent,is

passingatthemoment.Hehasreceivedthecatinthemiddleofhisface.

Mycompanion,withtheartist’sinstinctforthe‘curtain’,paused.Helookedroundthebrightly–litrestaurant.Fromeverysidearosetheclatterofknifeandfork,andtheclear,sharpnoteofthosewhodranksoup.Inadistantcornerasmallwaiterwithalargevoicewascallingthecooknamesthroughthespeaking–tube.Itwasacheerfulscene,butitbroughtnocheertomycompanion.Hesighedheavilyandresumed:

*****

I‘urryoverthatpainfulscene.Thereisbloomingrow.Myuncleis‘ot–temperedman.Thecatis‘eavycat.I‘avethrown‘imveryhard,formynervesandmytoothacheandmy‘atred‘avegivenmethegiant’sstrength.Aloneisthisenoughtoenragemy‘ot–tempereduncle.Iamthereinhishotel,youwillunderstand,ascashier,notascat–thrower.Andnow,besidesallthis,Ihaveinsultedvaluablepatron.She‘aveleftthehotelthatday.

Therearenodoubtsinmymindastotheoutcome.WithcertaintyIawaitmyconge.AndafterpainfulsceneIgetit.Iamtogo.Atonce.He‘aveassuredtheangryAmericanwomanthatIgoatonce.

Hehascalledmeintohisprivateoffice.‘Jean,’hehassaidtome,attheendofotherthings,‘youareafool,dolt,no–goodimbecile.Igiveyougoodplaceinmyhotel,andyouspendyourtimeflingingcats.Iwill‘avenomoreofyou.ButevennowIcannotforgetthatyouaremydearbrother’schild.Iwillnowgiveyouonethousandfrancsandneverseeyouagain.’

Ihavethankedhim,fortomeitiswealth.NotbeforehaveIeverhadonethousandfrancsofmyown.

Igooutofthehotel.Igotoacafeandorderabock.Ismokeacigarette.ItisnecessarythatIthinkoutplans.ShallIwithmyonethousandfrancsrentastudiointheQuarterandcommencemylifeasartist?No.Ihavestillthegenius,theent’usiasm,butIhavenotthetraining.TotrainmyselftopaintpicturesImuststudylong,andevenonethousandfrancswillnotlastforever.ThenwhatshallIdo?Idonotknow.Iorderoneotherbock,andsmokemorecigarettes,butstillIdonotknow.

AndthenIsaytomyself,‘Iwillgobacktomyuncle,andpleadwithhim.Iwillseizefavourableopportunity.Iwillapproachhimafterdinnerwhenheisingoodtemper.ButforthatImustbecloseathand.Imustbe—what’syourexpression?—“Johnny–on–the–spot”.’

Mymindismadeup.Ihavemyplan.

Ihavegonebacktomyuncle’shotel,andIhaveengagednottooexpensivebedroom.Myuncledoesnotknow.Hestillisinhisprivateoffice.Isecuremyroom.

Idinecheaplythatnight,butIgototheatreandalsotosupperafterthetheatre,forhaveInotmythousandfrancs?ItislatewhenIreachmybedroom.

Igotobed.Igotosleep.

ButIdonotsleeplong.Iamawakenedbyavoice.

Itisavoicethatsays,‘MoveandIshoot!MoveandIshoot!’Iliestill.Idonotmove.I

amcourageous,butIamunarmed.

Andthevoicesaysagain,‘MoveandIshoot!’Isitrobbers?Isitsomemarauderwhohasmadehiswaytomyroomtoplunderme?

Idonotknow.Per’apsIthinkyes.

‘Whoareyou?’Ihaveasked.

Thereisnoanswer.

Itakemycourageinmy‘ands.Ileapfrommybed.Idashforthedoor.Nopistolhasbeenfire.Ihavereachedthepassage,andhaveshoutedforassistance.

Hotelofficialsrunup.Doorsopen.‘Whatisit?’voicescry.

‘Thereisinmyroomanarmedrobber,’Iassurethem.

AndthenIhavefound—no,Iammistaken.Mydoor,youwillunderstand,isopen.AndasIhavesaidthesewords,alargegreenparrotcomes‘oppingout.Myassassinisnothingbutagreenparrot.

‘MoveandIshoot!’ithassaidtothosegatheredinthecorridor.Itthenhasbittenmeinthe‘andandpassedon.

Iamchagrined,monsieur.Butonlyforamoment.ThenIforgetmychagrin.Foravoicefromadoorthat‘asopenedsayswithjoy,‘ItismyPolly,whichI‘avethiseveninglost!’

Iturn.Igaspforadmiration.Itisabeautifulladyinapinkdressing–gownwhich‘avespokenthesewords.

Shehaslookedatme.I‘avelookedather.Iforgeteverythingbutthatsheisadorable.Iforgetthosewhostandby.Iforgetthattheparrothasbittenmeinthe‘and.IforgeteventhatIamstandingthereinpyjamas,withonmyfeetnothing.Icanonlygazeatherandworship.

Ihavefoundwords.

‘Mademoiselle,’Ihavesaid,‘IamrejoicedthatIhavebeenthemeansofrestoringtoyouyourbird.’

Shehasthankedmewithhereyes,andthenwithwordsalso.Iambewitched.Sheisdivine.Icarenotthatmyfeetarecold.Icouldwishtostandtheretalkingallnight.

Shehasgivenacryofdismay.

‘Your‘and!Itiswounded!’

Ilookatmy‘and.Yes,itisbleeding,wherethebird‘avebittenit.

‘Tchut,mademoiselle,’Ihavesaid.‘Itisabagatelle.’

Butno.Sheisdistressed.SheiswhatyourpoetScott‘avesaid,aministeringangelthou.She‘avetornher‘andkerchiefandisbindingupmywound.Iamenchanted.Suchbeauty!Suchkindness!‘ArdlycanIresisttofallonmykneesbefore‘eranddeclaremypassion.

Wearetwinsouls.Shehasthankedmeagain.Shehasscoldedtheparrot.Shehassmileduponmeassheretirestoherroom.Itisenough.Nothingissaid,butIamamanof

sensibilityanddiscernment,andIunderstandthatshewillnotbeoffendedifIseektorenewourfriendshiponamoresuitableoccasion.

Thedoorsshut.Theguestshavereturnedtobed,thehotelservantstotheirduties.AndIgobacktomyroom.Butnottosleep.Itisverylate,butIdonotsleep.Ilieawakeandthinkof‘er.

Youwillconceive,Monsieur,withwhatmixedfeelingsIdescendnextmorning.Ontheone‘and,Imustkeepthesharplook–outformyuncle,for‘imImustavoidtillheshallhave—whatdoyousayinyouridiom?Yes,Ihaveit—simmereddownandtuckedinhisshirt.Ontheother‘and,Imustwatchformyladyoftheparrot.Icounttheminutestillweshallmeetagain.

Iavoidmyunclewithsuccess,andIsee‘eraboutthehourofdejeuner.Sheistalkingtooldgentleman.Ihavebowed.Shehavesmiledandmotionedmetoapproach.

‘Father,’shehassaid,‘thisisthegentlemanwhocaughtPolly.’

Wehaveshakenhands.Heisindulgentpapa.Hehassmiledandthankedmealso.Wehaveconfidedtoeachotherournames.HeisEnglish.HeownsmuchlandinEngland.HehasbeenstayinginParis.Heisrich.Hisnameis‘Enderson.Headdresseshisdaughter,andcallherMarion.Inmy‘eartIalsocallherMarion.YouwillperceivethatIam,asyousay,prettyfargone.

Thehourofdejeunerhasarrived.Ientreatthemtobemyguests.Icanruntoit,youunderstand,fortherearestillinmypocketsplentyofmyuncle’sfrancs.Theyconsent.Iamin‘eaven.

Alliswell.Ourfriendshiphasprogressedwithmarvellousspeed.TheoldgentlemanandIareswiftlythedearoldpals.I‘aveconfidedto‘immydreamsofartisticfame,andhehastoldme‘owmuchhedislikesyourLloydGeorge.HehasmentionedthatheandMissMariondepartforLondonthatday.Iamdesolate.Myfacetumbles.Hehasobservedmydespair.HehasinvitedmetovisittheminLondon.

Imaginemychagrin.TovisittheminLondonistheonethingIdesiretodo.Buthow?Iacceptgratefully,butIaskmyselfhowitistobedone?Iampoorblighterwithnoprofessionandnine‘undredfrancs.He‘astakenitforgrantedthatIamwealthy.

WhatshallIdo?Ispendtheafternoontryingtoformaplan.AndthenIamresolved.Iwillgotomyuncleandsay:‘Uncle,IhavethemagnificentchancetomarrythedaughterofwealthyEnglishlandowner.AlreadyI‘avehergratitude.Soon—forIamyoung,‘andsome,debonair—Ishall‘aveherlove.Givemeonemorechance,uncle.Bedecentoldbuck,andputupthemoneyforthisaffair.’

ThesewordsIhaveresolvedtosaytomyuncle.

Igobacktothehotel.Ienterhisprivateoffice.IrevealnosecretwhenIsaythatheisnotcordial.

‘Tenthousanddevils!’hehascried.‘Whatdoyouhere?’

I‘astentotellhimall,andpleadwithhimtobedecentoldbuck.Hedoesnotbelieve.

Whoishe?heasks.ThisEnglishlandowner?HowdidImeethim?Andwhere?

Itellhim.Heisamazed.

‘You‘adtheinfernalimpudencetotakeroominmyhotel?’hehascried.

Iamcrafty.Iamdiplomat.

‘Whereelse,dearuncle?’Isay.‘InallParisthereisnosuch‘omefrom‘ome.Thecuisine—marvellous!Thebeds—ofrose–leaves!Theattendance—superb!Ifonlyforonenight,Ihavesaidtomyself,Imuststayinthisofallhotels.’

I‘ave—whatdoyousay?—touchedthespot.

‘Inwhatyousay,’hehassaid,morecalmly,‘thereiscertainlysomething.Itisagoodhotel,thisofmine!’

Theonlyhotel,Ihaveassuredhim.TheMeurice?Chut!Isnapmyfingers.TheRitz?Bah!OnceagainIsnapmyfingers.‘InallParisthereisnohotellikethis.’

He‘assimmereddown.Hisshirtistuckedin.‘Tellmeagainthisplanofyours,Jean.’

WhenIleave‘imwehavecometoanunderstanding.ItisagreedbetweenusthatIamto‘aveonelastchance.Hewillnotspoilthispromisingshipforthe‘a’porthoftar.Hewillgivememoneyformypurpose.Buthehassaid,aswepart,ifIfail,his‘andsshallbewashedofme.HecannotnowforgetthatIamhisdearbrother’schild;butifIfailtoaccomplishtheconquestofthedivineMissMarion,hethinkshewillbeableto.

Itiswell.AweeklaterIfollowthe‘EndersonstoLondon.

Forthenextfewdays,monsieur,IaminParadise.My‘osthasmuchnice‘ouseinEatonSquare.Heisrich,popular.Thereismuchsociety.AndI—Ihavethesuccesfou.Iamyoung,‘andsome,debonair.IcannotspeaktheEnglishverywell—notsowellasInowspeak‘im—butImanage.Igetalong.Iamintelligent,amiable.Everyonelovesme.

No,noteveryone.CaptainBassett,hedoesnotloveme.Andwhy?BecausehelovesthecharmingMissMarion,andobservesthatalreadyIamsucceedingwithherlikea‘ouseonfire.Heisamidefamille.HeiscaptaininyourGardeEcossais,andmy‘osttoldme‘ehasdistinguishedhimselfassoldierprettymuch.Itmaybeso.Assoldier,per’aps.Butatconversationheisnotsogood.Heisquitenicefellow,youunderstand—‘andsome,yes;distinguished,yes.Buthedoesnotsparkle.Hehasnotmyverve,myelan.I—howdoyousay?—Imaketheringsroundhim.

But,Chut!AtthatmomentIwouldhavemadetheringsroundthe‘oleBritishArmy.Yes,andalsotheCorpsDiplomatique.ForIaminspired.Love‘asinspiredme.Iamconqueror.

ButIwillnotwearyyou,monsieur,withthedetailsofmywooing.Youaresympathetic,butImustnotwearyyou.LetussaythatI‘aveinfourdaysorfivemadeprogressthemostremarkable,andproceedtothetragicend.

AlmostcouldItellitinfourwords.Inthemonewouldsaythatitissetforth.TherewasinLondonatthattimepopularasong,acomic,vulgarsongofthe‘Alls,‘TheCatCameBack’.You‘ave‘eardit?Yes?I‘earditmyself,andwithoutemotion.Ithadnosinisterwarningforme.Itdidnotstrikemeasomen.Yet,inthosefourwords,monsieur,ismytragedy.

How?Ishalltellyou.Everywordisaswordtwistedinmy‘eart,butIshalltellyou.

Oneafternoonweareattea.Alliswell.Iamvivacious,gay;MissMarion,charming,gracious.Thereispresentalsoanaunt,Mr‘Enderson’ssister;but‘erIdonotmuchnotice.ItistoMarionIspeak—bothwithmylipsandalsowithmyeyes.

Aswesit,CaptainBassettisannounced.

Hehasentered.Wehavegreetedeachotherpolitelybutcoldly,forwearerivals.ThereisinhismanneralsoasomethingwhichIdonotmuchlike—aspeciesofsuppressedtriumph,ofelation.

Iamuneasy—butonlyyetvaguely,youwillunderstand.Ihavenottheforebodingthatheisabouttospeakmydeath–sentence.

HeaddressesMissMarion.Thereisjoyinhisvoice.‘Miss‘Enderson,’hehassaid,‘Ihaveforyoutheballygoodnews.Youwillremember,isn’tit,thecatbelongingtotheAmericanwomaninthehotelatParis,ofwhichyouhavespokentome?LastnightatdinnerIhavebeenseatedbesideher.AtfirstIamnotcertainisitshe.ThenIsaythattherecannotbetwoMrsBalderstoneRockmettlersinEurope,soImentiontoherthecat.And,tocutthelongstoryshort,IhaveventuredtopurchaseforyouasalittlepresentthecatAlexander.’

Ihaveutteredacryofhorror,butitisnot‘eardbecauseofMissMarion’scryofjoy.

‘Oh,CaptainBassett,’shehassaid,‘howverysplendidofyou!EversinceIfirstsawhimhaveIlovedAlexander.IcannottellyouhowgratefulIam.Butitamazesmethatyoushouldhavebeenabletoinducehertopartwith‘im.InParisshehasrefusedallmyoffers.’

Hehaspaused,embarrassed.

‘Thefactis,’hehassaid,‘thereisbetweenherandAlexanderacertaincoolness.He‘asdeceived‘er,andsheloveshimnomore.ImmediatelyuponarrivalinLondon,hehadthemisfortuneto‘avesixfinekittens.‘Owever,outofevilcomethgood,andIhavethusbeenabletosecure‘imforyou.‘Eisdownstairsinabasket!’

MissMarion‘asrungthebellandcommandedforhimtobebroughtinstantly.

Iwillnotdescribethemeeting,monsieur.Youaresympathetic.Youwillunderstandmyfeelings.Letus‘urryon.

Figureyourself,monsieur,towhatextentIwasnow‘arassed.Iamartist.Iamamanofnerves.Icannotbegay,brilliant,debonairinthepresenceofacat.Yetalwaysthecatisthere.Itisterrible.

IfeelthatIamfallingbehindintherace.‘ErgratitudehasmadeherthemoregracioustoCaptainBassett.Shesmilesuponhim.And,likeChanticleeratthesightofthesun,heflapshiswingsandcrows.Heisnolongerthesilentlistener.ItisIwhohavebecomethesilentlistener.

Ihavesaidtomyselfthatsomethingmustbedone.

Chancehasshownmetheway.OneafternoonIambyfortunealoneinthe‘all.InhiscagetheparrotPollyis‘opping.Iaddresshimthroughthebars.

‘MoveandIshootI’hehascried.

Thetearshavefilledmyeyes.‘Owithasbroughtthe‘olescenebacktome!

AsIweep,IperceivethecatAlexanderapproaching.

Ihaveformedaplan.Ihaveopenedthecage–doorandreleasedtheparrot.Thecat,Ithink,willattacktheparrotofwhichMiss‘Endersonissofond.Shewilllovehimnomore.Hewillbeexpelled.

*****

Hepaused.Isupposemyfacemusthavelostsomeofitsallegedsympathyashesetforththisfiendishplot.EvenPercythebluebottleseemedshocked.Hehadsettledonthesugar–bowl,butatthesewordsheroseinamarkedmannerandleftthetable.

‘Youdonotapprove?’hesaid.

Ishruggedmyshoulders.

‘It’snobusinessofmine,’Isaid.‘Butdon’tyouthinkyourselfitwasplayingitabitlowdown?Didn’tthethoughtpresentitselftoyouinashadowywaythatitwasratherroughonthebird?’

‘Itdid,monsieur.Butwhatwouldyou?Itisnecessarytobreakeggsinordertomakeanomelette.Allisfair,yousay,inloveandwar,andthiswasboth.Moreover,youmustunderstand,Idonotdictatehismovementstotheparrot.Heisfreeagent.Idobutopenthecage–door.Shouldhe‘opoutandproceedtothefloorwhereisthecat,thatishisaffair.Ishallcontinue,yes?’

*****

Alors!Iopenthecage–dooranddisappeardiscreetly.ItisnotpoliticthatIremaintowitnesswhatshalltranspire.Itisformetoestablishanalibi.Igotothedrawing–room,whereIremain.

AtdinnerthatnightMr‘Endersonhaslaughed.

‘Inthe‘allthisafternoon,’hehassaid,‘Ihaveseenbychancethedickensofafunnyoccurrence.Thatparrotofyours,Marion,hadescapedonceagainfromitscageandwas‘avinganargumentwiththatcatwhichCaptainBassetthasgiventoyou.’

‘Oh!IhopethatAlexander‘asnothurtpoorPolly,ofwhomIamveryfond,’shehassaid.

‘Theaffairdidnotcometoblows,’hassaidMr‘Enderson.‘Youmaytrustthatbirdtotakecareofhimself,mydear.WhenIcameuponthescenethecatwascrouchinginacorner,withhisfurbristlingandhisbackup,whilePolly,standingbefore‘im,wastelling‘imnottomoveorhewouldshoot.Nordidhemove,tillI‘adseizedtheparrotandreplacedhiminthecage,whenheshotupstairslikeastreakoflightning.Bysheerforceofcharacterthatexcellentbird‘adwonthebloodlessvictory.Idrinkto‘im!’

YoucanconceivemyemotionasIlistentothistale.Iamlikethepoet’smiceandmenwhosebest–kidschemeshavegoneaway.Iambaffled.Iamdiscouraged.IdonotknowwhatIshalldo.Imustfindanotherplan,butIdonotknowwhat.

HowshallIremovethecat?ShallIkill‘im?No,forImightbesuspect.

ShallI‘iresomeonetosteal‘im?No,formyaccomplicemightbetrayme.

ShallImyselfsteal‘im?Ah!thatisbetter.Thatisaverygoodplan.

SoonIhaveitperfected,thisplan.Listen,monsieur;itisasfollows.Itissimple,butitisgood.Iwillawaitmyopportunity.Iwillremovethecatsecretlyfromthe‘ouse.IwilltakehimtoanofficeoftheDistrictMessengerBoys.IwillorderamessengertocarryhimatoncetotheCats’House,andtorequestM.leDirecteurimmediatelytodestroyhim.Itisasimpleplan,butitisgood.

Icarryitthroughwithouta‘itch.Itisnotsodifficulttosecurethecat.‘Eisasleepinthedrawing–room.Thereisnobodyathand.Ihaveinmybedrooma‘at–boxwhichIhavebroughtfromParis.Ihavebroughtitwithmetothedrawing–room.Ihaveplacedinitthecat.Ihaveescapedfromthe‘ouse.Thecathasutteredacry,butnonehas‘eard.IhavereachedtheofficeoftheDistrictMessengerBoys.Ihave‘andedoverthecatinitsbox.Themanageriscourteous,sympathetic.AmessengerhasstartedinacabfortheCats’House.Ihavebreathedasighofrelief.Iamsaved.

ThatiswhatIsaytomyselfasIreturn.Mytroublesareover,andoncemoreIcanbegay,debonair,vivaciouswithMissMarion,fornolongerwilltherebepresentthecatAlexanderto‘arassme.

WhenIhavereturnedthereiscommotioninthe‘ouse.Ipassonthestairsdomesticscalling‘Puss,puss!’Thebutlerischirrupingloudlyandpokingbeneaththefurniturewithaumbrella.Allisconfusionandagitation.

Inthedrawing–roomisMissMarion.Sheisdistressed.

‘Nowhere,’shehassaid,‘cantherebefoundthecatAlexanderofwhomIamsofond.Nowhereinthe‘ouseishe,Wherecanhebe?Heislost.’

Iamgentle,sympathetic.Iendeavourtoconsoleher.I‘inttoherthatamInotsufficientsubstituteforabeastlycat?Sheis,however,inconsolable.Imustbepatient.Imustwaitmytime.

CaptainBassettisannounced.Heisinformedofwhathas‘appened.Heisdistressed.Hehastheairasifhe,too,wouldendeavourtobegentle,sympathetic.ButIamJohnny–on–the–spot.Istaytillhe‘asgone.

Nextdayagainitis‘Puss,puss!’Againthebutlerhasexploredunderthefurniturewiththeumbrella.AgainMissMarionisdistressed.Again‘aveIendeavouredtoconsole.

ThistimeIthinkIamnotsounsuccessful.Iam,youunderstand,young,‘andsome,sympathetic.InanothertwoticksIamabouttoseize‘er‘andanddeclaremypassion.

But,beforeIcandoso,CaptainBassettisannounced.

Igazeathimasatunsuccessfulrival.Iamconfident.Iamconqueror.Ah,Ilittleknow!Itisinthemomentsofourhighest‘ope,monsieur,thatwearedestroyed.

CaptainBassett,he,too,‘astheairoftheconqueror.

Hehasbeguntospeak.

‘Miss‘Enderson,’hehassaid,‘Ihaveoncemoretheballygoodnews.IratherfancythatI‘avetrackeddownthemissingAlexander,doyounotknow?’

MissMarion‘ascriedoutwithjoy.ButIamcalm,forisnotAlexanderalreadyyesterdaydestroyed?

‘Itislikethis,’hehasresumed.‘Ihavethoughttomyselfwhereislostcatmostlikelytobe?AndIhaveanswered,“IntheCats’House.”IgothismorningtotheCats’House,andthereIseeacatwhichiseitherlostAlexanderorhislivingimage.ExactlyishethesametoallappearancesasthelostAlexander.Butthereis,whenItrytopurchase‘im,somecurious‘itchwhichtheydonotexplain.Theymust‘avetime,theysay,toconsider.Theycannotatoncedecide.’

‘Why,whatnonsense!’MissMarion‘avecried.‘Ifthecatismycat,surelythenmusttheyreturn‘imtome!Come,’shehassaid,‘letusallthreeatonceinataxi–cabgototheCats’House.IftheallthreeofusidentifythelostAlexander,thenmusttheyreturn‘im.’

Monsieur,Iamuneasy.Ihaveforeboding.ButIgo.Whatchoice?Wegoinataxi–cabtotheCats’House.

Thedirecteuriscourteousandsympathetic.Hehasintroducedustothecat,andmy‘eart‘asturnedtowater,foritisAlexander.Whyhashenotbeendestroyed?

Thedirecteurisspeaking.I‘earhiminadream.

‘Ifyouidentify‘imasyourcat,miss,’hehassaid,‘thematterisended.My‘esitationwhenyou,sir,approachedmethismorningonthematterwasduetothefactthatamessengerwassentwithinstructionsthathebedestroyedatonce.’

‘Ratherrough,wasn’tit,that,onthemessenger,yes,’CaptainBassetthassaid.Heisfacetious,youunderstand,forheisconqueror.

Iamsilent.Iamnotfacetious.ForalreadyIfeel—howdoyousay?—myfowliscooked.

‘Notthemessenger,sir,’thedirecteurhassaid.‘You‘avemisunderstoodme.Itwasthecatwhichwastobedestroyedasperinstructionsoftheanonymoussender.’

‘Whocouldhaveplayedsuchawickedtrick?’MissMarionhasasked,indignant.

Thedirecteurhasstooped,andfrombehindatablehehasbroughta‘at–box.

‘Inthis,’hehassaid,‘theaboveanimalwasconveyed.Butwithitwasnoaccompanyingletter.Thesenderwasanonymous.’

‘Per’aps,’CaptainBassetthassaid—andstillmoreinadreamI‘earhim—‘per’apsonthe‘at–boxthereissomeballynameorother,doyounotknow—what?’

Iclutchatthetable.Theroomisspinningroundandround.Ihavenostomach—onlyemptiness.

‘Why,blessme,’thedirecteurhassaid,‘you’requiteright,sir.Sothereis.Funnyofmenottohavebeforeobservedit.Thereisaname,andalsoanaddress.ItisthenameofJeanPriaulx,andtheaddressistheHotelJulesPriaulx,Paris.’

Mycompanionstoppedabruptly.Hepassedahandkerchiefoverhisforehead.Withaquickmovementhereachedforhisglassofliqueurbrandyanddraineditatagulp.

‘Monsieur,’hesaid,‘youwillnotwishmetodescribethescene?Thereisnoneedforme—hein?—tobeZolaesque.Youcanimagine?’

‘Shechuckedyou?’Inmomentsofemotionitisthesimplestlanguagethatcomestothelips.

Henodded.

‘AndmarriedCaptainBassett?’

Henoddedagain.

‘Andyouruncle?’Isaid.‘Howdidhetakeit?’

Hesighed.

‘Therewasoncemore,’hesaid,‘bloomingrow,monsieur.’

‘Hewashedhishandsofyou?’

‘Notaltogether.Hewasangry,buthegavemeonemorechance.Iamstill‘isdearbrother’schild,andhecannotforgetit.Anacquaintanceofhis,amanofletters,aM.PaulSartines,wasinneedofasecretary.Thepostwasnotwellpaid,butitwaspermanent.MyuncleinsistthatItakeit.Whatchoice?Itookit.ItisthepostwhichIstill‘old.’

Heorderedanotherliqueurbrandyandgulpeditdown.

‘Thenameisfamiliartoyou,monsieur?You‘ave‘eardofM.Sartines?’

‘Idon’tthinkIhave.Whoishe?’

‘Heisamanofletters,asavant.Forfiveyearshehasbeenoccupieduponagreatwork.ItiswiththatthatIassisthimbycollectingfactsfor‘isuse.I‘avespentthisafternoonintheBritishMuseumcollectingfacts.TomorrowIgoagain.Andthenextday.Andagainafterthat.Thebookwilloccupyyetanothertenyearsbeforeitiscompleted.Itishisgreatwork.’

‘Itsoundsasifitwas,’Isaid.‘What’sitabout?’

Hesignalledtothewaiter.

‘Garcon,oneotherliqueurbrandy.Thebook,monsieur,isa‘IstoryoftheCatinAncientEgypt.’

RUTHINEXILE

Theclockstruckfive—briskly,asiftimeweremoney.RuthWardengotupfromherdeskand,havingputonherhat,emergedintotheouterofficewhereM.Gandinotreceivedvisitors.M.Gandinot,theugliestmaninRoville–sur–Mer,presidedoverthelocalmont–de–piete,andRuthservedhim,fromtentofive,asasortofsecretary–clerk.Herduties,ifmonotonous,weresimple.Theyconsistedofsitting,detachedandinvisible,behindaground–glassscreen,andenteringdetailsofloansinafatbook.Shewaskeptbusyasarule,forRovillepossessestwocasinos,eachofferingtheattractionofpetitschevaux,andjustroundthecornerisMonteCarlo.VerybriskwasthebusinessdonebyM.Gandinot,thepawnbroker,andveryfrequentwerethepityingshakesoftheheadandclicksofthetongueofM.Gandinot,theman;forinhisunofficialcapacityRuth’semployerhadagentlesoul,andwincedattheevidencesoftragedywhichpresentedthemselvesbeforehisofficialeyes.

HeblinkedupatRuthassheappeared,andRuth,asshelookedathim,wasconscious,asusual,ofalighteningofthedepressionwhich,nowadays,seemedtohavesettledpermanentlyuponher.ThepeculiarqualityofM.Gandinot’sextraordinarycountenancewasthatitinducedmirth—notmockinglaughter,butakindofsmilinghappiness.ItpossessedthatindefinablequalitywhichcharacterizestheBilliken,due,perhaps,totheunquenchableoptimismwhichshonethroughtheirregularfeatures;forM.Gandinot,despitehiscalling,believedinhisfellow–man.

‘Youaregoing,mademoiselle?’

AsRuthwaswearingherhatandmakingforthedoor,andasshealwaysleftatthishour,apuristmighthaveconsideredthequestionsuperfluous;butM.GandinotwasamanwhoseizedeveryopportunityofpractisinghisEnglish.

‘Youwillnotwaitforthegoodpapawhocallssoregularlyforyou?’

‘IthinkIwon’ttoday,M.Gandinot.Iwanttogetoutintotheair.Ihaveratheraheadache.WillyoutellmyfatherIhavegonetothePromenade?’

M.Gandinotsighedasthedoorclosedbehindher.Ruth’sdepressionhadnotescapedhisnotice.Hewassorryforher.Andnotwithoutcause,forFatehadnotdealttookindlywithRuth.

ItwouldhaveamazedMrEugeneWarden,thatgenialoldgentleman,if,ononeofthoseoccasionsofmanlyemotionwhenhewasinthehabitofobservingthathehadbeennobody’senemybuthisown,somebodyhadhintedthathehadspoiledhisdaughter’slife.Suchathoughthadneverenteredhishead.Hewasoneofthosedelightful,irresponsible,erraticpersonswhoseheadsthoughtsofthiskinddonotenter,andwhoareaboutasdeadlytothosewhoselivesareboundupwiththeirsasaUpastree.

Inthememoryofhisoldestacquaintance,Ruth’sfatherhadneverdoneanythingbutdriftamiablythroughlife.TherehadbeenatimewhenhehaddonehisdriftinginLondon,feedingcheerfullyfromthehandofalong–sufferingbrother–in–law.Butthoughblood,as

hewaswonttoremarkwhilenegotiatinghisperiodicalloans,isthickerthanwater,abrother–in–law’saffectionhasitslimits.AdaycamewhenMrWardenobservedwithpainthathisrelativerespondedlessnimblytothetouch.Andalittlewhilelatertheotherdeliveredhisultimatum.MrWardenwastoleaveEngland,andtostayawayfromEngland,tobehaveasifEnglandnolongerexistedonthemap,andasmallbutsufficientallowancewouldbemadetohim.Ifhedeclinedtodothis,notanotherpennyofthespeaker’smoneywouldhereceive.Hecouldchoose.

Hechose.HeleftEngland,Ruthwithhim.TheysettledinRoville,thathavenoftheexilewholivesuponremittances.

Ruth’sconnexionwiththemont–de–pietehadcomeaboutalmostautomatically.Verysoonaftertheirarrivalitbecameevidentthat,toamanofMrWarden’snature,residentastone’s–throwdistantfromtwocasinos,thesmallallowancewasnotlikelytogoveryfar.EvenifRuthhadnotwishedtowork,circumstancescouldhavecompelledher.Asitwas,shelongedforsomethingtooccupyher,and,thevacancyatthemont–de–pieteoccurring,shehadsnatchedatit.Therewasacertainfitnessinherworkingthere.Businesstransactionswiththatusefulinstitutionhadalwaysbeenconductedbyher,itbeingMrWarden’stheorythatWomancanextractinthesecrisesjustthatextrafrancortwowhichisdeniedtothemeremale.Throughconstantlygoinground,runningacross,steppingover,andpoppingdowntothemont–de–pieteshehadestablishedalmostalegalclaimonanypostthatmightbevacantthere.

AndunderM.Gandinot’sbannershehadservedeversince.

*****

Fiveminutes’walktookhertothePromenadedesAnglais,thatapparentlyendlessthoroughfarewhichisRoville’spride.Theeveningwasfineandwarm.Thesunshonegailyonthewhite–walledhouses,thebrightGardens,andthetwogleamingcasinos.ButRuthwalkedlistlessly,blindtotheglitterofitall.

VisitorswhogotoRovilleforafewweeksinthewinterareapttospeakoftheplace,ontheirreturn,inamannerthatconveystheimpressionthatitisaParadiseonearth,withgamblingfacilitiesthrownin.But,then,theyarevisitors.Theirsojourncomestoanend.Ruth’sdidnot.

Avoicespokehername.Sheturned,andsawherfather,dapperasever,standingbesideher.

‘Whatanevening,mydear!’saidMrWarden.‘Whatanevening!Smellthesea!’

MrWardenappearedtobeinhighspirits.Hehummedatuneandtwirledhiscane.HechirrupedfrequentlytoBill,thecompanionofhiswalksabroad,awiryfox–terrierofademeanour,likehismaster’s,bothjauntyandslightlydisreputable.Anairofgaietypervadedhisbearing.

‘Icalledinatthemont–de–pietebutyouhadgone.Gandinottoldmeyouhadcomehere.WhatanuglyfellowthatGandinotis!Butagoodsort.Ilikehim.Ihadachatwithhim.’

Thehighspiritswereexplained.Ruthknewherfather.Sheguessed,correctly,thatM.Gandinot,kindestofpawnbrokers,hadobliged,inhisunofficialcapacity,withatrifling

loan.

‘Gandinotoughttogoonthestage,’wentonMrWarden,pursuinghistheme.‘Withthatfacehewouldmakehisfortune.Youcan’thelplaughingwhenyouseeit.Oneofthesedays—’

Hebrokeoff.Stirringthingshadbeguntooccurintheneighbourhoodofhisankles,whereBill,thefox–terrier,hadencounteredanacquaintance,and,totheaccompanimentofaloud,garglingnoise,wasendeavouringtobitehisheadoff.Theacquaintance,agentlemanofuncertainbreed,equallywilling,waschewingBill’spawwiththegustoofagourmet.AnIrishterrier,withnopersonalbiastowardseitherside,wasdancingroundandattackingeachinturnashecameuppermost.Andtwopoodlesleapedmadlyinandoutofthemelee,barkingencouragement.

IttakesabettermanthanMrWardentobreakupagatheringofthiskind.Theoldgentlemanwasbewildered.Headdedhisvoicetothebabel,andtwicesmoteBillgrievouslywithhiscanewithblowsintendedfortheacquaintance,butbeyondthatheeffectednothing.Itseemedprobablethattheengagementwouldlasttillthecombatantshadconsumedeachother,afterthefashionoftheKilkennycats,whentheresuddenlyappearedfromnowhereayoungmaningrey.

Theworldisdividedintothosewhocanstopdog–fightsandthosewhocannot.Theyoungmaningreybelongedtotheformerclass.WithinaminutefromhisentranceonthescenethepoodlesandtheIrishterrierhadvanished;thedogofdoubtfulbreedwasmovingoffupthehill,yelping,withthedispatchofonewhoremembersanimportantappointment,andBill,miraculouslycalmed,wasseatedinthecentreofthePromenade,lickinghonourablewounds.

MrWardenwasdisposedtoeffervescewithgratitude.Thescenehadshakenhim,andtherehadbeenmomentswhenhehadgivenhisanklesupforlost.

‘Don’tmentionit,’saidtheyoungman.‘Ienjoyarbitratingintheselittledisputes.Dogsseemtolikemeandtrustmyjudgement.Iconsidermyselfasasortofhonorarydog.’

‘Well,Iamboundtosay,Mr—?’

‘Vince—GeorgeVince.’

‘MynameisWarden.Mydaughter.’

Ruthinclinedherhead,andwasconsciousofapairofverypenetratingbrowneyeslookingeagerlyintohersinamannerwhichshethoroughlyresented.Shewasnotusedtotheothersexmeetinghergazeandholdingitasifconfidentofafriendlywelcome.Shemadeuphermindinthatinstantthatthiswasayoungmanwhorequiredsuppression.

‘I’veseenyouseveraltimesoutheresinceIarrived,MissWarden,’saidMrVince.‘Fourinall,’headded,precisely.

‘Really?’saidRuth.

Shelookedaway.Herattitudeseemedtosuggestthatshehadfinishedwithhim,andwouldbeobligedifsomebodywouldcomeandsweephimup.

AstheyapproachedthecasinorestlessnesscreptintoMrWarden’smanner.Atthedoorhe

stoppedandlookedatRuth.

‘Ithink,mydear—’hesaid.

‘Goingtohaveadashatthepetitschevaux?‘inquiredMrVince.‘Iwastherejustnow.Ihaveaninfalliblesystem.’

MrWardenstartedlikeawar–horseatthesoundofthetrumpet.

‘Onlyit’sinfalliblethewrongway,’wentontheyoungman.‘Well,Iwishyouluck.I’llseeMissWardenhome.’

‘Pleasedon’ttrouble,’saidRuth,inthehaughtymannerwhichhadfrequentlywitheredunfortunatefellow–exilesintheirtracks.

IthadnosucheffectonMrVince.

‘Ishalllikeit,’hesaid.

Ruthsetherteeth.Shewouldseewhetherhewouldlikeit.

TheyleftMrWarden,whoshotinatthecasinodoorlikeahomingrabbit,andwalkedoninsilence,whichlastedtillRuth,suddenlybecomingawarethathercompanion’seyeswerefixedonherface,turnedherhead,tomeetagazeofcomplete,nottosayloving,admiration.Sheflushed.Shewasaccustomedtobeinglookedatadmiringly,butaboutthisparticularlooktherewasasubtlequalitythatdistinguisheditfromtheordinary—somethingproprietorial.

MrVinceappearedtobeayoungmanwhowastednotimeonconventionalconversation–openings.

‘Doyoubelieveinaffinities,MissWarden?’hesaid,

‘No,’saidRuth.

‘Youwillbeforewe’vedone,’saidMrVince,confidently.‘Whydidyoutrytosnubmejustnow?’

‘DidI?’

‘Youmustn’tagain.Ithurtsme.I’masensitiveman.Diffident.Shy.MissWarden,willyoumarryme?’

Ruthhaddeterminedthatnothingshouldshakeherfromhericydetachment,butthisdid.Shestoppedwithagasp,andstaredathim.

MrVincereassuredher.

‘Idon’texpectyoutosay“Yes”.Thatwasjustabeginning—theshotfiredacrossthebowsbywayofwarning.Inyou,MissWarden,Ihavefoundmyaffinity.Haveyoueverconsideredthismatterofaffinities?Affinitiesarethe—the—Waitamoment.’

Hepaused,reflecting.

‘I—’beganRuth.

”Sh!’saidtheyoungman,holdinguphishand.

Ruth’seyesflashed.Shewasnotusedtohaving”Sh!’saidtoherbyyoungmen,andshe

resentedit.

‘I’vegotit,’hedeclared,withrelief.‘IknewIshould,butthesegoodthingstaketime.Affinitiesarethezeroontheroulette–boardoflife.Justasweselectanumberonwhichtostakeourmoney,sodoweselectatypeofgirlwhomwethinkweshouldliketomarry.Andjustaszeropopsupinsteadofthenumber,sodoesouraffinitycomealongandupsetallourpre–conceivednotionsofthetypeofgirlweshouldliketomarry.’

‘I—’beganRuthagain.

‘Theanalogyisintheroughatpresent.Ihaven’thadtimetocondenseandpolishit.Butyouseetheidea.Takemycase,forinstance.WhenIsawyouacoupleofdaysagoIknewinaninstantthatyouweremyaffinity.ButforyearsIhadbeenlookingforawomanalmostyourexactopposite.Youaredark.ThreedaysagoIcouldn’thaveimaginedmyselfmarryinganyonewhowasnotfair.Youreyesaregrey.Threedaysagomypreferenceforblueeyeswasaby–word.Youhaveashockingtemper.Threedaysago—’

‘MrVince!’

‘There!’saidthatphilosopher,complacently.‘Youstamped.Thegentle,blue–eyedblondewhomIwaslookingforthreedaysagowouldhavedroopedtimidly.Threedaysagomypassionfortimiddroopersamountedtoanobsession.’

Ruthdidnotreply.Itwasuselesstobandywordswithonewhogavesuchclearevidenceofbeingsomethingoutofthecommonrunofword–bandiers.Noverbalattackcouldcrushthisextraordinaryyoungman.Shewalkedon,allsilenceandstonyprofile,uncomfortablyconsciousthathercompanionwasinnowayabashedbytheformerandwasregardingthelatterwiththatfrankadmirationwhichhadmadeitselfsoobnoxioustoherbefore,untiltheyreachedtheirdestination.MrVince,meanwhile,chattedcheerfully,andpointedoutobjectsofinterestbythewayside.

AtthedoorRuthpermittedherselfawordoffarewell.

‘Good–bye,’shesaid.

‘Tilltomorrowevening,’saidMrVince.‘Ishallbecomingtodinner.’

MrWardenambledhome,veryhappyandcontented,twohourslater,withhalfafrancinhispocket,thiscomparativewealthbeingduetothefactthattheminimumstakepermittedbytheRovillecasinoisjustdoublethatsum.Hewassorrynottohavewon,buthismindwastoofullofrosydreamstopermitofremorse.Itwastheestimableoldgentleman’sdearestwishthathisdaughtershouldmarrysomerich,open–handedmanwhowouldkeephiminaffluencefortheremainderofhisdays,andtothatendhewasinthehabitofintroducingtohernoticeanysuchthatcamehisway.TherewasnoquestionofcoercingRuth.Hewastootender–heartedforthat.Besideshecouldn’t.Ruthwasnotthesortofgirlwhoisreadilycoerced.Hecontentedhimselfwithgivinghertheopportunitytoinspecthisexhibits.Rovilleisasociableplace,anditwasnotunusualforhimtomakefriendsatthecasinoandtobringthemhome,whenmade,foracigar.Uptothepresent,hewasboundtoadmit,hiseffortshadnotbeenparticularlysuccessful.Ruth,hereflectedsadly,wasacuriousgirl.Shedidnotshowherbestsidetothesevisitors.Therewasnoencouragementinhermanner.Shewasapttofrightentheunfortunateexhibits.ButofthisyoungmanVincehehadbrighterhopes.Hewasrich.Thatwasprovedbythevery

handsomewayinwhichhehadbehavedinthematterofasmallloanwhen,lookinginatthecasinoafterpartingfromRuth,hehadfoundMrWardeninsorestraitsforwantofalittlecapitaltobackabrand–newsystemwhichhehadconceivedthroughcloselyobservingtherunoftheplay.HewasalsoobviouslyattractedbyRuth.And,ashewasremarkablypresentable—indeed,quiteanunusuallygood–lookingyoungman—thereseemednoreasonwhyRuthshouldnotbeequallyattractedbyhim.TheworldlookedgoodtoMrWardenashefellasleepthatnight.

Ruthdidnotfallasleepsoeasily.Theepisodehaddisturbedher.Anewelementhadenteredherlife,andonethatgavepromiseofproducingstrangeby–products.

When,onthefollowingevening,RuthreturnedfromthestrollonthePromenadewhichshealwaystookafterleavingthemont–de–piete,withafeelingofirritationtowardsthingsingeneral,thisfeelingwasnotdiminishedbythesightofMrVince,verymuchathisease,standingagainstthemantelpieceofthetinyparlour.

‘Howdoyoudo?’hesaid.‘ByanextraordinarycoincidenceIhappenedtobehangingaboutoutsidethishousejustnow,whenyourfathercamealongandinvitedmeintodinner.Haveyoueverthoughtmuchaboutcoincidences,MissWarden?Tomymind,theymaybedescribedasthezeroontheroulette–boardoflife.’

Heregardedherfondly.

‘Forashyman,consciousthatthegirlhelovesisinspectinghimcloselyandmakinguphermindabouthim,’heproceeded,‘theseunexpectedmeetingsareverytryingordeals.Youmustnotformyourjudgementofmetoohastily.Youseemenow,nervous,embarrassed,tongue–tied.ButIamnotalwayslikethis.Beneaththiscrustofdiffidencethereissterlingstuff,MissWarden.Peoplewhoknowmehavespokenofmeasalittlerayofsun—Buthereisyourfather.’

MrWardenwasmorethanusuallydisappointedwithRuthduringdinner.Itwasthesameoldstory.Sofarfrommakingherselfpleasanttothisattractivestranger,sheseemedpositivelytodislikehim.Shewasbarelyciviltohim.WithasighMrWardentoldhimselfthathedidnotunderstandRuth,andtherosydreamshehadformedbegantofade.

Ruth’sideasonthesubjectofMrVinceasthedayswentbywerechaotic.Thoughshetoldherselfthatshethoroughlyobjectedtohim,hehadneverthelessbeguntohaveanundeniableattractionforher.Inwhatthisattractionconsistedshecouldnotsay.Whenshetriedtoanalyseit,shecametotheconclusionthatitwasduetothefactthathewastheonlyelementinherlifethatmadeforexcitement.Sincehisadventthedayshadcertainlypassedmoreswiftlyforher.Thedeadlevelofmonotonyhadbeenbroken.Therewasacertainfascinationinexertingherselftosuppresshim,whichincreaseddailyaseachattemptfailed.

MrVinceputthisfeelingintowordsforher.Hehadamaddeninghabitofdiscussingtheprogressofhiscourtshipinthemannerofanimpartiallecturer.

‘Iammakingheadway,’heobserved.‘Thefactthatwecannotmeetwithoutyourendeavouringtoplantatemperamentalleftjabonmyspiritualsolarplexusencouragesmetothinkthatyouarebeginningatlasttounderstandthatweareaffinities.Topersonsofspiritlikeourselvestheonlyhappymarriageisthatwhichisbasedonafirmfoundationof

almostincessantquarrelling.ThemostbeautifullineinEnglishpoetry,tomymind,is,“Wefellout,mywifeandI.”Youwouldbewretchedwithahusbandwhodidn’tlikeyoutoquarrelwithhim.ThepositionofaffairsnowisthatIhavebecomenecessarytoyou.IfIwentoutofyourlifenowIshouldleaveanachingvoid.Youwouldstillhavethatbeautifulpunchofyours,andtherewouldbenobodytoexerciseiton.Youwouldpineaway.Fromnowonmattersshould,Ithink,moverapidly.DuringthecourseofthenextweekIshallendeavourtopropitiateyouwithgifts.Hereisthefirstofthem.’

Hetookapieceofpaperfromhispocketandhandedither.Itwasapencil–sketch,roughandunfinished,butwonderfullyclever.EvenRuthcouldappreciatethat—andshewasaprejudicedobserver,forthesketchwasacaricatureofherself.Itrepresentedher,drawnuptoherfullheight,withenormous,scornfuleyesandcurlinglips,andtheartisthadmanagedtocombineanexcellentlikenesswhileaccentuatingeverythingthatwasmarkedinwhatsheknewhadcometobehernormalexpressionofscornanddiscontent.

‘Ididn’tknowyouwereanartist,MrVince,’shesaid,handingitback.

‘Apooramateur.Nothingmore.Youmaykeepit.’

‘Ihavenottheslightestwishtokeepit.’

‘Youhaven’t?’

‘Itisnotintheleastclever,anditisveryimpertinentofyoutoshowittome.Thedrawingisnotfunny.Itissimplyrude.’

‘Alittlemore,’saidMrVince,‘andIshallbegintothinkyoudon’tlikeit.Areyoufondofchocolates?’

Ruthdidnotanswer.

‘Iamsendingyousometomorrow.’

‘Ishallreturnthem.’

‘ThenIshallsendsomemore,andsomefruit.Gifts!’soliloquizedMrVince.‘Gifts!Thatisthesecret.Keepsendinggifts.Ifmenwouldonlysticktogiftsandquarrelling,therewouldbefewerbachelors.’

Onthemorrow,aspromised,thechocolatesarrived,manypoundsoftheminalordlybox.ThebludgeoningoffatehadnotwhollyscotchedinRuthahumanweaknessforsweets,anditwaswithadistincteffortthatshewrappedtheboxupagainandreturnedittothesender.Shewentofftoherworkatthemont–de–pietewithaglowofsatisfactionwhichcomestothosewhoexhibitanironwillintryingcircumstances.

Andatthemont–de–pietethereoccurredasurprisingincident.

Surprisingincidents,asMrVincewouldhavesaid,arethezeroontheroulette–boardoflife.Theypopupdisturbinglywhenleastexpected,confusingthemindandalteringpre–conceivedopinions.Andthiswasaverysurprisingincidentindeed.

Ruth,ashasbeenstated,satduringherhoursofworkbehindaground–glassscreen,unseenandunseeing.Toherthepatronsoftheestablishmentweremeredisembodiedvoices—wheedlingvoices,patheticvoices,voicesthatprotested,voicesthathectored,voicesthatwhined,moaned,broke,appealedtothesaints,andinvariousotherways

endeavouredtoinstilintoM.Gandinotmorespaciousandprincelyviewsonthesubjectofadvancingmoneyonpropertypledged.Shewassittingbehindherscreenthismorning,scribblingidlyontheblotting–pad,fortherehadbeenalullinthebusiness,whenthedooropened,andthepolite,‘Bonjour,monsieur,’ofM.Gandinotannouncedthearrivalofanotherunfortunate.

Andthen,shakingherlikeanelectricshock,cameavoicethatsheknew—thepleasantvoiceofMrVince.

Thedialoguesthattookplaceontheothersideofthescreenwereoftenprotractedandalwayssordid,butnonehadseemedtoRuthsointerminable,sohideouslysordid,asthisone.

Roundandrounditsmiserablecentre—asilvercigarette–case—thedrearyargumentcircled.Theyoungmanpleaded;M.Gandinot,adamantinhisofficialrole,wasimmovable.

Ruthcouldbearitnolonger.Shepressedherhandsoverherburningears,andthevoicesceasedtotroubleher.

Andwiththesilencecamethought,andablazeofunderstandingthatflasheduponherandmadeallthingsclear.Sheunderstoodnowwhyshehadclosedherears.

Povertyisanacidwhichreactsdifferentlyondifferingnatures.IthadreducedMrEugeneWarden’sself–respecttoaminimum.Ruth’sithadreareduptoanabnormalgrowth.Herpridehadbecomeaweedthatranriotinhersoul,darkeningitandchokingfineremotions.Perhapsitwasherfather’snaivestratagemsfortheenmeshingofawealthyhusbandthathadproducedinheratlastamorbidantipathytotheideaofplayingbeggar–maidtoanyman’sKingCophetua.Thestateofmindisintelligible.TheCophetualegendneverhasbeentoldfromthebeggar–maid’spointofview,andtheremusthavebeenmomentswhen,ifawomanofspirit,sheresentedthatmonarch’ssomewhatcondescendingattitude,andfeltthat,secureinhiswealthandmagnificence,hehadtakenhergratefulacquiescenceverymuchforgranted.

This,shesawnow,waswhathadprejudicedheragainstGeorgeVince.Shehadassumedthathewasrich.Hehadconveyedtheimpressionofbeingrich.Andshehadbeenonthedefensiveagainsthimaccordingly.Now,forthefirsttime,sheseemedtoknowhim.Abarrierhadbeenbrokendown.Theroyalrobeshadprovedtinsel,andnolongerdisguisedthemansheloved.

Atouchonherarmarousedher.M.Gandinotwasstandingbyherside.Terms,apparentlyhadbeenagreeduponandtheinterviewconcluded,forinhishandwasasilvercigarette–case.

‘Dreaming,mademoiselle?Icouldnotmakeyouhear.ThemoreIcalltoyou,themoreyoudidnotanswer.Itisnecessarytoenterthisloan.’

HerecitedthedetailsandRuthenteredtheminherledger.Thisdone,M.Gandinot,doffinghisofficialself,sighed.

‘Itisaplaceofmuchsorrow,mademoiselle,thisoffice.Howhewouldnottakenoforananswer,thatyoungman,recentlydeparted.Afellow–countrymanofyours,mademoiselle.

Youwouldsay,“Whatdoesthisyoungman,sowell–dressed,inamont–de–piete?”ButIknowbetter,I,Gandinot.Youhaveanexpression,youEnglish—IhearditinParisinacafe,andinquireditsmeaning—whenyousayofamanthatheswanks.HowmanyyoungmenhaveIseenhere,admirablydressed—rich,youwouldsay.No,no.Themont–de–pietepermitsnosecrets.Toswank,mademoiselle,whatisit?Todeceivetheworld,yes.Butnotthemont–de–piete.Yesterdayalso,whenyouhaddeparted,washehere,thatyoungman.Yethereheisoncemoretoday.Hespendshismoneyquickly,alas!thatpooryoungswanker.’

WhenRuthreturnedhomethateveningshefoundherfatherinthesitting–room,smokingacigarette.Hegreetedherwitheffusion,butwithsomeuneasiness—fortheoldgentlemanhadnervedhimselftoadelicatetask.HehadmadeuphismindtonighttospeakseriouslytoRuthonthesubjectofherunsatisfactorybehaviourtoMrVince.Themorehesawofthatyoungmanthemorepositivewashethatthiswasthehumangold–mineforwhichhehadbeensearchingallthesewearyyears.Accordingly,hethrewawayhiscigarette,kissedRuthontheforehead,andbegantospeak.

IthadlongbeenMrWarden’sopinionthat,ifhisdaughterhadafault,itwasatendencytowardsaquiteunnecessaryandhighlyinconvenientfrankness.Shehadnotthattactwhichhewouldhavelikedadaughterofhistopossess.Shewouldnotevade,ignore,agreenottosee.Shewasattimespainfullyblunt.

Thishappenednow.Hewaswarmingtohissubjectwhensheinterruptedhimwithaquestion.

‘WhatmakesyouthinkMrVinceisrich,father?’sheasked.

MrWardenwasembarrassed.ThesubjectofMrVince’sopulencehadnotenteredintohisdiscourse.Hehadcarefullyavoidedit.ThefactthathewasthinkingofitandthatRuthknewthathewasthinkingofit,andthatheknewthatRuthknew,hadnothingtodowiththecase.Thequestionwasnotinorder,anditembarrassedhim.

‘I—why—Idon’t—Ineversaidhewasrich,mydear.Ihavenodoubtthathehasample—’

‘Heisquitepoor.’

MrWarden’sjawfellslightly.

‘Poor?But,mydear,that’sabsurd!’hecried.‘Why,onlythisevening—’

Hebrokeoffabruptly,butitwastoolate.

‘Father,you’vebeenborrowingmoneyfromhim!’

MrWardendrewinhisbreath,preparatorytoanindignantdenial,buthealteredhismindandremainedsilent.Asaborrowerofmoneyhehadeveryqualitybutone.Hehadcometolookonherperspicacityinthismatterasasortofsecondsight.Ithadfrequentlygonefartospoilingforhimthetriumphofsuccess.

‘Andhehastopawnthingstolive!’Hervoicetrembled.‘Hewasatthemont–de–pietetoday.Andyesterdaytoo.Iheardhim.HewasarguingwithM.Gandinot—haggling—’

Hervoicebroke.Shewassobbinghelplessly.Thememoryofitwastoorawandvivid.

MrWardenstoodmotionless.Manyemotionsracedthroughhismind,butchiefamongthemthethoughtthatthisrevelationhadcomeataveryfortunatetime.Anexceedinglyluckyescape,hefelt.Hewasaware,also,ofacertainmeasureofindignationagainstthisdeceitfulyoungmanwhohadfraudulentlyimitatedagold–minewithwhatmighthavebeendisastrousresults.

ThedooropenedandJeanne,themaid–of–all–work,announcedMrVince.

Heenteredtheroombriskly.

‘Goodevening!’hesaid.‘Ihavebroughtyousomemorechocolates,MissWarden,andsomefruit.GreatScott!What’sthematter?’

Hestopped,butonlyforaninstant.Thenexthehaddartedacrosstheroom,and,beforethehorrifiedeyesofMrWarden,washoldingRuthinhisarms.Sheclungtohim.

Bill,thefox–terrier,overwhomMrVincehadhappenedtostumble,wasthefirsttospeak.AlmostsimultaneouslyMrWardenjoinedin,andtherewasastrikingsimilaritybetweenthetwovoices,forMrWarden,searchingforwords,emittedasapreliminarytothemasortofpassionateyelp.

MrVinceremovedthehandthatwaspattingRuth’sshoulderandwaveditreassuringlyathim.

‘It’sallright,’hesaid.

‘Allright!Allright!’

‘Affinities,’explainedMrVinceoverhisshoulder.‘Twoheartsthatbeatasone.We’regoingtobemarried.What’sthematter,dear?Don’tyouworry;you’reallright.’

‘Irefuse!’shoutedMrWarden.‘Iabsolutelyrefuse.’

MrVinceloweredRuthgentlyintoachairand,holdingherhand,inspectedthefermentingoldgentlemangravely.

‘Yourefuse?’hesaid.‘Why,Ithoughtyoulikedme.’

MrWarden’sfrenzyhadcooled.Ithadbeensomethingforeigntohisnature.Heregrettedit.Thesethingshadtobemanagedwithrestraint.

‘Mypersonallikesanddislikes,’hesaid,‘havenothingtodowiththematter,MrVince.Theyarebesidethepoint.Ihavemydaughtertoconsider.Icannotallowhertomarryamanwithoutapenny.’

‘Quiteright,’saidMrVince,approvingly.‘Don’thaveanythingtodowiththefellow.Ifhetriestobuttin,sendforthepolice.’

MrWardenhesitated.HehadalwaysbeenalittleashamedofRuth’soccupation.Butnecessitycompelled.

‘MrVince,mydaughterisemployedatthemont–de–piete,andwasawitnesstoallthattookplacethisafternoon.’

MrVincewasgenuinelyagitated.HelookedatRuth,hisfacefullofconcern.

‘Youdon’tmeantosayyouhavebeenslavingawayinthatstuffy—GreatScott!I’llhave

yououtofthatquick.Youmustn’tgothereagain.’

Hestoopedandkissedher.

‘Perhapsyouhadbetterletmeexplain,’hesaid.‘Explanations,Ialwaysthink,arethezeroontheroulette–boardoflife.They’realwayssomewhereabout,waitingtopopup.HaveyoueverheardofVince’sStores,MrWarden?Perhapstheyaresinceyourtime.Well,myfatheristheproprietor.Oneofourspecialitiesischildren’stoys,butwehaven’tpickedarealwinnerforyears,andmyfatherwhenIlastsawhimseemedsodistressedaboutitthatIsaidI’dseeifIcouldn’twhackoutanideaforsomething.SomethingonthelinesoftheBilliken,onlybetter,waswhathefeltheneeded.I’mnotusedtobrainwork,andafteraspellofitIfeltIwantedarest.Icameheretorecuperate,andtheveryfirstmorningIgotaninspiration.Youmayhavenoticedthatthemanagerofthemont–de–pietehereisn’tstrongonconventionalgoodlooks.Isawhimatthecasino,andthethingflashedonme.Hethinkshisname’sGandinot,butitisn’t.It’sUncleZip,theHump–Curer,theManwhoMakesYouSmile.’

HepressedRuth’shandaffectionately.

‘Ilosttrackofhim,anditwasonlythedaybeforeyesterdaythatIdiscoveredwhohewasandwherehewastobefound.Well,youcan’tgouptoamanandaskhimtoposeasamodelforUncleZip,theHump–Curer.Theonlywaytogetsittingswastoapproachhiminthewayofbusiness.SoIcollectedwhatpropertyIhadandwadedin.That’sthewholestory.DoIpass?’

MrWarden’sfrostydemeanourhadgraduallythawedduringthisrecital,andnowthesunofhissmileshoneoutwarmly.HegrippedMrVince’shandwitheveryevidenceofesteem,andafterthathedidwhatwascertainlythebestthing,bypassinggentlyfromtheroom.Onhisface,ashewent,wasalooksuchasMosesmighthavewornonthesummitofPisgah.

ItwassometwentyminuteslaterthatRuthmadearemark.

‘Iwantyoutopromisemesomething,’shesaid.‘Promisethatyouwon’tgoonwiththatUncleZipdrawing.Iknowitmeanseversomuchmoney,butitmighthurtpoorM.Gandinot’sfeelings,andhehasbeenverykindtome.’

‘Thatsettlesit,’saidMrVince.‘It’shardonthechildrenofGreatBritain,butsaynomore.NoUncleZipforthem.’

Ruthlookedathim,almostwithawe.

‘Youreallywon’tgoonwithit?Inspiteofallthemoneyyouwouldmake?AreyoualwaysgoingtodojustwhatIaskyou,nomatterwhatitcostsyou?’

Henoddedsadly.

‘Youhavesketchedoutinafewwordsthewholepolicyofmymarriedlife.Ifeelanawfulfraud.AndIhadencouragedyoutolookforwardtoyearsofincessantquarrelling.Doyouthinkyoucanmanagewithoutit?I’mafraidit’sgoingtobeshockinglydullforyou,’saidMrVince,regretfully.

ARCHIBALD’SBENEFIT

ArchibaldMealingwasoneofthosegolfersinwhomdesireoutrunsperformance.NobodycouldhavebeenmorewillingthanArchibald.Hetried,andtriedhard.Everymorningbeforehetookhisbathhewouldstandinfrontofhismirrorandpractiseswings.Everynightbeforehewenttobedhewouldreadthegoldenwordsofsomemasteronthesubjectofputting,driving,orapproaching.YetonthelinksmostofhistimewasspentinretrievinglostballsorreplacingAmerica.WhetheritwasthatArchibaldpressedtoomuchorpressedtoolittle,whetheritwasthathisclubdeviatedfromthedottedlinewhichjoinedthetwopointsAandBintheillustratedplateofthemanmakingthebrassyshotintheHintsonGolfbook,orwhetheritwasthathewaspursuedbysomemalignantfate,Idonotknow.Archibaldratherfavouredthelasttheory.

Theimportantpointisthat,inhisthirty–firstyear,aftersixseasonsofuntiringeffort,Archibaldwentinforachampionship,andwonit.

Archibald,markyou,whosegolfwasakindofblendofhockey,Swedishdrill,andbuck–and–wingdancing.

IknowtheordealImustfacewhenImakesuchastatement.IseeclearlybeforemethesolidphalanxofmenfromMissouri,someurgingmetotellittotheKingofDenmark,othersinsistingthatIproducemyEskimos.Nevertheless,Idonotshrink.Istateoncemorethatinhisthirty–firstyearArchibaldMealingwentinforagolfchampionship,andwonit.

*****

Archibaldbelongedtoaselectlittlegolfclub,themembersofwhichlivedandworkedinNewYork,butplayedinJersey.Menofsubstance,financiallyaswellasphysically,theyhadcombinedtheirsuperfluouscashandwithitpurchasedastripoflandclosetothesea.Thislandhadbeendrained—tothehugediscomfortofacolonyofmosquitoeswhichhadcometolookontheplaceastheirprivateproperty—andconvertedintolinks,whichhadbecomeasortofrefugeforincompetentgolfers.ThemembersoftheCapePleasantClubwereeasygoingrefugeesfromotherandmoreexactingclubs,menwhopotteredratherthanracedroundthelinks;men,inshort,whohadgrowntiredofhavingtostoptheirgameandstandasideinordertoallowperspiringexpertstowhizpastthem.TheCapePleasantgolfersdidnotmakethemselvesslavestothegame.Theirlanguage,whentheyfoozled,wasgentlyregretfulratherthansulphurous.Themomentintheday’splaywhichtheyenjoyedmostwaswhentheyweresaying:‘Well,here’sluck!’intheclub–house.

Itwill,therefore,bereadilyunderstoodthatArchibald’sinabilitytodoaholeinsinglefiguresdidnothandicaphimatCapePleasantasitmighthavedoneatSt.Andrews.Hiskindlyclubmatestookhimtotheirbosomstoaman,andlookedonhimasabrother.Archibald’swasoneofthoseadmirablenatureswhichprompttheirpossessorfrequentlytoremark:‘Theseareonme!’andhisfellowgolferswerenotslowtoappreciatethefact.TheyalllovedArchibald.

Archibaldwasonthefloorofhisbedroomoneafternoon,pickingupthefragmentsofhis

mirror—afriendhadadvisedhimtopractisetheWalterJ.Travisloftingshot—whenthetelephonebellrang.Hetookupthereceiver,andwashailedbythecomfortablevoiceofMcCay,theclubsecretary.

‘IsthatMealing?’askedMcCay.‘Say,Archie,I’mputtingyournamedownforourchampionshipcompetition.That’sright,isn’tit?’

‘Sure,’saidArchibald.‘Whendoesitstart?’

‘NextSaturday.’

‘That’sme.’

‘Goodforyou.Oh,Archie.’

‘Hello?’

‘AmanImettodaytoldmeyouwereengaged.Isthatafact?’

‘Sure,’murmuredArchibald,blushfully.

ThewirehummedwithMcCay’scongratulations.

‘Thanks,’saidArchibald.‘Thanks,oldman.What?Oh,yes.Milsom’shername.Bytheway,herfamilyhavetakenacottageatCapePleasantforthesummer.Somedistancefromthelinks.Yes,veryconvenient,isn’tit?Good–bye.’

Hehungupthereceiverandresumedhistaskofgatheringupthefragments.NowMcCayhappenedtobeofaromanticandsentimentalnature.Hewasbyprofessionacharteredaccountant,andinclinedtobestout;andallratherstoutcharteredaccountantsaresentimental.McCaywasthesortofmanwhokeepsoldballprogrammesandbundlesofletterstiedroundwithlilacribbon.Atcountryhouses,wheretheylingeredintheporchafterdinnertowatchthemoonlightfloodingthequietgarden,itwasMcCayandhiscolleaguewholingeredlongest.McCayknewEllaWheelerWilcoxbyheart,andcouldtakeBrowningwithoutanaesthetics.Itisnottobewonderedat,therefore,thatArchibald’sremarkabouthisfianceecomingtoliveatCapePleasantshouldgivehimfoodforthought.Itappealedtohim.

Hereflectedonitagooddealduringtheday,and,runningacrossSigsbee,afellowCapePleasanter,afterdinnerthatnightattheSybarites’Club,hespokeofthemattertohim.Itsohappenedthatbothhaddinedexcellently,andwerelookingontheworldwithasortofcosybenevolence.TheywereinthemoodwhenmenpatsmallboysontheheadandaskthemiftheymeantobePresidentwhentheygrowup.

‘IcalledupArchieMealingtoday,’saidMcCay.‘Didyouknowhewasengaged?’

‘Ididhearsomethingaboutit.GirlofthenameofWilson,or—’

‘Milsom.She’sgoingtospendthesummeratCapePleasant,Archietellsme.’

‘Thenshe’llhaveachanceofseeinghimplayinthechampionshipcompetition.’

McCaysuckedhiscigarinsilenceforawhile,watchingwithdreamyeyesthebluesmokeasitcurledceiling–ward.Whenhespokehisvoicewassingularlysoft.

‘Doyouknow,Sigsbee,’hesaid,sippinghisMaraschinowithagentlemelancholy—‘do

youknow,thereissomethingwonderfullypathetictomeinthisbusiness.Iseethewholethingsoclearly.Therewasakindofquiverinthepooroldchap’svoicewhenhesaid:“SheiscomingtoCapePleasant,”whichtoldmemorethananywordscouldhavedone.Itisatragedyinitsway,Sigsbee.Wemaysmileatit,thinkittrivial;butitisnonethelessatragedy.Thatwarm–hearted,enthusiasticgirl,alleagernesstoseethemanshelovesdowell—Archie,pooroldArchie,allonfiretoprovetoherthathertrustinhimisnotmisplaced,andtheend—Disillusionment—Disappointment—Unhappiness.’

‘Heoughttokeephiseyeontheball,’saidthemorepracticalSigsbee.

‘Quitepossibly,’continuedMcCay,‘hehastoldherthathewillwinthischampionship.’

‘IfArchie’smuttenoughtohavetoldherthat,’saidSigsbeedecidedly,‘hedeservesallhegets.Waiter,twoScotchhighballs.’

McCaywasinnomoodtosubscribetothisstony–heartedview.

‘Itellyou,’hesaid,‘I’msorryforArchie!I’msorryforthepooroldchap.AndI’mmorethansorryforthegirl.’

‘Well,Idon’tseewhatwecando,’saidSigsbee.‘Wecanhardlybeexpectedtofoozleonpurpose,justtoletArchieshowoffbeforehisgirl.’

McCaypausedintheactoflightinghiscigar,asonesmittenwithagreatthought.

‘Whynot?’hesaid.‘Whynot,Sigsbee?Sigsbee,you’vehitit.’

‘Eh?’

‘Youhave!Itellyou,Sigsbee,you’vesolvedthewholething.Archie’ssuchabullygoodfellow,whynotgivehimabenefit?Whynotlethimwinthischampionship?Youaren’tgoingtotellmethatyoucarewhetheryouwinatinmedalornot?’

Sigsbee’sbenevolencewasexpandingundertheinfluenceoftheScotchhighballandhiscigar.LittleactsofkindnessonArchie’spart,hereacigar,therealunch,atanothertimeseatsforthetheatre,begantorisetothesurfaceofhismemorylikerainbow–colouredbubbles.Hewavered.

‘Yes,butwhatabouttherestofthemen?’hesaid.‘Therewillbeadozenormoreinforthemedal.’

‘Wecansquarethem,’saidMcCayconfidently.‘Wewillbroachthemattertothemataseriesofdinnersatwhichwewillbejointhosts.TheyarewhitemenwhowillbecharmedtodoalittlethinglikethatforasportlikeArchie.’

‘HowaboutGossett?’saidSigsbee.

McCay’sfaceclouded.GossettwasanunpopularsubjectwithmembersoftheCapePleasantGolfClub.HewastheserpentintheirEden.Nobodyseemedquitetoknowhowhehadgotin,butthere,unfortunately,hewas.GossetthadintroducedintoCapePleasantgolfacheerlessatmosphereoftherigourofthegame.ItwastoenablethemtoavoidjustsuchgolfersasGossettthattheCapePleasantershadfoundedtheirclub.Genialcourtesyratherthanstrictattentiontotheruleshadbeentheleadingcharacteristicsoftheirplaytillhisarrival.Uptothattimeithadbeenlookedonasratherbadformtoexactapenalty.Acheerygive–and–takesystemhadprevailed.ThenGossetthadcome,fullofstrangerules,

andcreatedaboutthesamestirinthecommunitywhichahawkwouldcreateinagatheringofmiddle–ageddoves.

‘Youcan’tsquareGossett,’saidSigsbee.

McCaylookedunhappy.

‘Iforgothim,’hesaid.‘Ofcourse,nothingwillstophimtryingtowin.Iwishwecouldthinkofsomething.IwouldalmostassoonseehimloseasArchiewin.But,afterall,hedoeshaveoffdayssometimes.’

‘YouneedtohaveaveryoffdaytobeasbadasArchie.’

Theysatandsmokedinsilence.

‘I’vegotit,’saidSigsbeesuddenly.‘Gossettisafinegolfer,butnervous.Ifweupsethisnervesenough,hewillgorightoffhisstroke.Couldn’twethinkofsomeway?’

McCayreachedoutforhisglass.

‘Yoursisanoblenature,Sigsbee,’hesaid.

‘Oh,no,’saidtheparagonmodestly.‘Haveanothercigar?’

*****

Inorderthattherendermaygetthementalhalf–Nelsonontheplotofthisnarrativewhichissoessentialifashortstoryistocharm,elevate,andinstruct,itisnecessarynow,forthenonce(butonlyforthenonce),toinspectArchibald’spastlife.

Archibald,ashehadstatedtoMcCay,wasengagedtoaMissMilsom—MissMargaretMilsom.Howfewmen,dearreader,areengagedtogirlswithsveltefigures,brownhair,andlargeblueeyes,nowsparklingandvivacious,nowdreamyandsoulful,butalwayslargeandblue!Howfew,Isay.Youare,dearreader,andsoamI,butwhoelse?Archibaldwasoneofthefewwhohappenedtobe.

Hewashappy.ItistruethatMargaret’smotherwasnot,asitwere,wrappedupinhim.Sheexhibitednoneofthateffervescentjoyathisappearancewhichweliketoseeinourmothers–in–lawelect.Onthecontrary,shegenerallycriedbitterlywhenevershesawhim,andattheendoftenminuteswasapttoretiresobbingtoherroom,wheresheremainedinastateofsemi–comatillanadvancedhour.Shewasbywayofbeingaconfirmedinvalid,andsomethingaboutArchibaldseemedtogetrightinamonghernervecentres,reducingthemforthetimebeingtoacomplicatedhash.ShedidnotlikeArchibald.Shesaidshelikedbig,manlymen.Behindhisbackshenotinfrequentlyreferredtohimasa‘gaby’;sometimesevenasthat‘guffin’.

ShedidnotdothistoMargaret,forMargaret,besidesbeingblue–eyed,wasalsoashadequick–tempered.WhenevershediscussedArchibald,itwaswithhersonStuyvesant.StuyvesantMilsom,whothoughtArchibaldabitofanass,wasalwaysreadytositandlistentohismotheronthesubject,itbeing,however,anunderstoodthingthatattheconclusionoftheseancesheyieldedoneortwosaffron–colouredbillstowardshisracingdebts.ForStuyvesant,havingdevelopedahabitofbackinghorseswhicheitherdidnotstartatallorelsesatdownandthoughtinthemiddleoftherace,couldalwaysdowithtendollarsorso.Hispricesfortheseinterviewsworkedout,asarule,ataboutthreecentsa

word.

InthesecircumstancesitwasperhapsnaturalthatArchibaldandMargaretshouldprefertomeet,whentheydidmeet,atsomeotherspotthantheMilsomhome.Itsuitedthembothbetterthattheyshouldarrangeasecrettrystontheseoccasions.ArchibaldpreferreditbecausebeinginthesameroomasMrsMilsomalwaysmadehimfeellikeamurdererwithparticularlylargefeet;andMargaretpreferreditbecause,asshetoldArchibald,thesesecretmeetingslentatouchofpoetrytowhatmightotherwisehavebeenacommonplaceengagement.

Archibaldthoughtthischarming;butatthesametimehecouldnotconcealfromhimselfthefactthatMargaret’spassionforthepoeticcut,sotospeak,bothways.Headmiredandlovedtheloftinessofhersoul,but,ontheotherhand,itwasatoughjobhavingtoliveuptoit.ForArchibaldwasaveryordinaryyoungman.Theyhadtriedtoinoculatehimwithaloveofpoetryatschool,butithadnottaken.Untilhewasthirtyhehadbeensatisfiedtoclassallpoetry(exceptthatofMrGeorgeCohan)underthegeneralheadingofpunk.ThenhemetMargaret,andthetroublebegan.Onthedayhefirstmether,atapicnic,shehadlookedsosoulful,soalooffromthisworld,thathehadfeltinstinctivelythatherewasagirlwhoexpectedmorefromamanthanamerestatementthattheweatherwasgreat.Itsochancedthatheknewjustonequotationfromtheclassics,towit,Tennyson’scritiqueoftheIsland–ValleyofAvilion.Heknewthisbecausehehadhadthepassagetowriteoutonehundredandfiftytimesatschool,ontheoccasionofhisbeingcaughtsmokingbyoneofthefacultywhohappenedtobeapassionateadmirerofthe‘IdyllsoftheKing’.

AremarkofMargaret’sthatitwasasplendiddayforapicnicandthatthecountrylookednicegavehimhisopportunity.

‘Itremindsme,’hesaid,‘itremindsmestronglyoftheIsland–ValleyofAvilion,wherefallsnothail,orrain,oranysnow,noreverwindblowsloudly;butitliesdeep–meadow’d,happy,fair,withorchardlawns….’

Hebrokeoffheretosquashahornet;butMargarethadheardenough.‘Areyoufondofthepoets,MrMealing?’shesaid,withafar–offlook.

‘Me?’saidArchibaldfervently.‘Me?Why,Ieat‘emalive!’

*****

Andthatwashowallthetroublehadstarted.IthadmeantunremittingtoilforArchibald.Hefeltthathehadsethimselfastandardfromwhichhemustnotfall.Heboughteverynewvolumeofpoetrywhichwaspraisedinthepress,andlearnedthereviewsbyheart.Everyeveninghereadpainfullyaportionoftheclassics.HeploddedthroughthepoetrysectionsofBartlett’sFamiliarQuotations.Margaret’sdevotiontothevariousbardswassoenthusiastic,andherreadingsowide,thatthereweretimeswhenArchibaldwonderedifhecouldendurethestrain.Butheperseveredheroically,andsofarhadnotbeenfoundwanting.Butthestrainwasfearful.

*****

TheearlystagesoftheCapePleasantgolftournamentneednodetaileddescription.Therulesofmatchplaygovernedthecontests,andArchibalddisposedofhisfirstthreeopponentsbeforethetwelfthhole.HehadbeendiffidentwhenheteedoffwithMcCayin

thefirstround,but,findingthathedefeatedthesecretarywithease,hemetoneButlerinthesecondroundwithmoreconfidence.Butler,too,herouted;withtheresultthat,bythetimehefacedSigsbeeinroundthree,hewaspracticallytheconqueringhero.Fortuneseemedtobebeaminguponhimwithalmostinsipidsweetness.Whenhewastrappedinthebunkerattheseventhhole,Sigsbeebecametrappedaswell.Whenheslicedatthesixthtee,Sigsbeepulled.AndArchibald,strikingabrilliantvein,didthenextthreeholesineleven,nine,andtwelve;and,rompinghome,qualifiedforthefinal.

Gossett,thatserpent,meanwhile,hadbeateneachofhisthreeopponentswithoutmuchdifficulty.

ThefinalwasfixedforthefollowingThursdaymorning.Gossett,whowasabroker,hadmadesomefrivolousobjectionaboutthedifficultyofabsentinghimselffromWallStreet,buthadbeenoverruled.WhenSigsbeepointedoutthathecouldeasilydefeatArchibaldandgettothecitybylunch–timeifhewished,andthatinanycasehispartnerwouldbelookingafterthings,heallowedhimselftobepersuaded,thoughreluctantly.Itwasawell–knownfactthatGossettwasinthemidstofsomerathersizeabledealsatthattime.

ThursdaymorningsuitedArchibaldadmirably.Ithadoccurredtohimthathecouldbringoffadoubleevent.MargarethadarrivedatCapePleasantonthepreviousevening,andhehadarrangedbytelephonetomeetherattheendoftheboard–walk,whichwasaboutamilefromthelinks,atoneo’clock,supplyherwithlunch,andspendtheafternoonwithheronthewater.IfhestartedhismatchwithGossettateleven–thirty,hewouldhaveplentyoftimetohavehisgameandbeattheendoftheboard–walkattheappointedhour.HehadnodelusionsabouttherespectivemeritsofGossettandhimselfasgolfers.HeknewthatGossettwouldwinthenecessarytenholesoffthereel.Itwassaddening,butitwasascientificfact.Therewasnoavoidingit.Onesimplyhadtofaceit.

Havinglaidtheseplans,hecaughtthetrainontheThursdaymorningwiththeconsolingfeelingthat,howeversadlythemorningmightbegin,itwasboundtoendwell.

Thedaywasfine,thesunwarm,buttemperedwithalightbreeze.Oneortwooftheclubhadcometowatchthematch,amongthemSigsbee.

SigsbeedrewGossettaside.

‘Youmustletmecaddieforyou,oldman,’hesaid.‘Iknowyourtemperamentsoexactly.Iknowhowlittleittakestoputyouoffyourstroke.Inanordinarygameyoumighttakeoneoftheseboys,Iknow,butonanimportantoccasionlikethisyoumustnotriskit.Agrubbyboy,probablywithasquint,wouldalmostcertainlygetonyournerves.Hemightevenmakecommentsonthegame,orwhistle.ButIunderstandyou.Youmustletmecarryyourclubs.’

‘It’sverygoodofyou,’saidGossett.

‘Notatall,’saidSigsbee.

*****

Archibaldwasnowpreparingtodriveofffromthefirsttee.Hedidthiswithgreatcare.EveryonewhohasseenArchibaldMealingplaygolfknowsthathisteeingoffisoneofthemostimpressivesightseverwitnessedonthelinks.Hetiltedhiscapoverhiseyes,

waggledhisclubalittle,shiftedhisfeet,waggledhisclubsomemore,gazedkeenlytowardsthehorizonforamoment,waggledhisclubagain,andfinally,withtheairofaStrongManliftingabarofiron,raiseditslowlyabovehishead.Then,bringingitdownwithasweep,hedrovetheballwithaloftyslicesomefiftyyards.Itwasrarelythathefailedeithertosliceorpullhisball.Hisprogressfromholetoholewasgenerallyamajesticzigzag.

Gossett’sdrivetookhimwellonthewaytothegreen.Heholedoutinfive.Archibald,mournfulbutnotsurprised,madehiswaytothesecondtee.

Thesecondholewasshorter.Gossettwonitinthree.Thethirdhetookinsix,thefourthinfour.Archibaldbegantofeelthathemightjustaswellnotbethere.Hewaspracticallyaspectator.

Atthispointhereachedinhispocketforhistobacco–pouch,toconsolehimselfwithsmoke.Tohisdismayhefounditwasnotthere.Hehadhaditinthetrain,butnowithadvanished.Thisaddedtohisgloom,forthepouchhadbeengiventohimbyMargaret,andhehadalwaysthoughtitonemoreproofofthewayhernaturetoweredoverthenaturesofothergirlsthatshehadnotwovenamonogramonitinforget–me–nots.Thisrecordpouchwasmissing,andArchibaldmournedfortheloss.

HissorrowswerenotalleviatedbythefactthatGossettwonthefifthandsixthholes.

Itwasnowaquarterpasttwelve,andArchibaldreflectedwithmoodysatisfactionthatthemassacremustsoonbeover,andthathewouldthenbeabletoforgetitinthesocietyofMargaret.

AsGossettwasabouttodriveofffromtheseventhtee,atelegraphboyapproachedthelittlegroup.

‘MrGossett,’hesaid.

Gossettloweredhisdriver,andwheeledround,butSigsbeehadsnatchedtheenvelopefromtheboy’shand.

‘It’sallright,oldman,’hesaid.‘Gorightahead.I’llkeepitsafeforyou.’

‘Giveittome,’saidGossettanxiously.‘Itmaybefromtheoffice.Somethingmayhavehappenedtothemarket.Imaybeneeded.’

‘No,no,’saidSigsbee,soothingly.‘Don’tyouworryaboutit.Betternotopenit.Itmighthavesomethinginitthatwouldputyouoffyourstroke.Waittilltheendofthegame.’

‘Giveittome.Iwanttoseeit.’

Sigsbeewasfirm.

‘No,’hesaid.‘I’mheretoseeyouwinthischampionshipandIwon’thaveyoutakinganyrisks.Besides,evenifitwasimportant,afewminuteswon’tmakeanydifference.’

‘Well,atanyrate,openitandreadit.’

‘Itisprobablyincipher,’saidSigsbee.‘Iwouldn’tunderstandit.Playon,oldman.You’veonlyafewmoreholestowin.’

Gossettturnedandaddressedhisballagain.Thenheswung.Theclubtippedtheball,and

itrolledsluggishlyforacoupleoffeet.Archibaldapproachedthetee.NowthereweremomentswhenArchibaldcoulddrivequitedecently.Healwaysappliedaconsiderableamountofmuscularforcetohisefforts.Itwasinthatdirection,asarule,heerred.Onthisoccasion,whetherinspiredbyhisrival’sfailureormerelyfavouredbychance,heconnectedwithhisballatpreciselytherightmoment.Itflewfromthetee,straight,hard,andlow,struckthegroundnearthegreen,boundedonandfinallyrockedtowithinafootofthehole.NosuchlongballhadbeendrivenontheCapePleasantlinkssincetheirfoundation.

Thatitshouldhavetakenhimthreestrokestoholeoutfromthispromisingpositionwasunfortunate,butnotfatal,forGossett,whoseemedsuddenlytohavefallenoffhisgame,onlyreachedthegreeninseven.AmomentlateramurmurofapprovalsignifiedthefactthatArchibaldhadwonhisfirsthole.

‘MrGossett,’saidavoice.

Thosemurmuringapprovalobservedthatthetelegraphboywasoncemoreintheirmidst.Thistimeheboretwomissives.Sigsbeedexterouslyimpoundedboth.

‘No,’hesaidwithdecision.‘Iabsolutelyrefusetoletyoulookatthemtillthegameisover.Iknowyourtemperament.’

Gossettgesticulated.

‘Buttheymustbeimportant.Theymustcomefrommyoffice.WhereelsewouldIgetastreamoftelegrams?Somethinghasgonewrong.Iamurgentlyneeded.’

Sigsbeenoddedgravely.

‘ThatiswhatIfear,’hesaid.‘ThatiswhyIcannotriskhavingyouupset.Timeenough,Gossett,forbadnewsafterthegame.Playon,man,anddismissitfromyourmind.Besides,youcouldn’tgetbacktoNewYorkjustyet,inanycase.Therearenotrains.Dismissthewholethingfromyourmindandjustplayyourusual,andyou’resuretowin.’

Archibaldhaddrivenoffduringthisconversation,butwithouthisprevioussuccess.Thistimehehadpulledhisballintosomelonggrass.Gossett’sdrivewas,however,worse;andthesubsequentmovementofthepairtotheholeresembledmorethananythingelsethemanoeuvresoftwomenrollingpeanutswithtoothpicksastheresultofanelectionbet.ArchibaldfinallytooktheholeintwelveafterGossetthadplayedhisfourteenth.

WhenArchibaldwonthenextinelevenandthetenthinnine,hopebegantoflickerfeeblyinhisbosom.Butwhenhewontwomoreholes,bringingthescoretolike–as–we–lie,itflamedupwithinhimlikeabeacon.

Theordinarygolfer,whosescoresperholeseldomexceedthoseofColonelBogey,doesnotunderstandthewhirlofmixedsensationswhichthereallyincompetentperformerexperiencesontherareoccasionswhenhedoesstrikeawinningvein.Asstrokefollowsstroke,andhecontinuestoholdhisopponent,awildexhilarationsurgesthroughhim,followedbyasortofawe,asifheweredoingsomethingwrong,evenirreligious.Thenalltheseyeastyemotionssubsideandareblendedintooneglorioussensationofgrandeurandmajesty,asofagiantamongpygmies.

BythetimethatArchibald,puttingwiththecareofonebrushingfliesoffasleeping

Venus,hadholedoutandwonthethirteenth,hewasinthefullgripofthisfeeling.Andashewalkedtothefifteenthtee,afterwinningthefourteenth,hefeltthatthiswasLife,thattillnowhehadbeenameremollusc.

Justatthatmomenthehappenedtolookathiswatch,andthesightwaslikeadoucheofcoldwater.Thehandsstoodatfiveminutestoone.

*****

Letuspauseandponderonthispointforawhile.Letusnotdismissitasifitweresomemeretrivial,everydaydifficulty.You,dearreader,playanaccurate,scientificgameandbeatyouropponentwitheaseeverytimeyougothelinks,andsodoI;butArchibaldwasnotlikeus.Thiswasthefirstoccasiononwhichhehadeverfeltthathewasplayingwellenoughtogivehimachanceofdefeatingareallygoodman.True,hehadbeatenMcCay,Sigsbee,andButlerintheearlierrounds;buttheywereignoblerivalscomparedwithGossett.TodefeatGossett,however,meantthechampionship.Ontheotherhand,hewaspassionatelydevotedtoMargaretMilsom,whomhewasduetomeetattheendoftheboard–walkatonesharp.Itwasnowfiveminutestoone,andtheendoftheboard–walkstillamileaway.

Thementalstrugglewasbriefbutkeen.Asharppang,andhismindwasmadeup.Costwhatitmight,hemuststayonthelinks.IfMargaretbrokeofftheengagement—well,itmightbethatTimewouldhealthewound,andthataftermanyyearshewouldfindsomeothergirlforwhomhemightcometocareinawrecked,brokensortofway.Butachancelikethiscouldnevercomeagain.WhatisLovecomparedwithholingoutbeforeyouropponent?

Theexcitementnowhadbecomesointensethatasmallboy,followingwiththecrowd,swallowedhischewing–gum;foraslightimprovementhadbecomenoticeableinGossett’splay,andaslightimprovementintheplayofalmostanyonemeantthatitbecamevastlysuperiortoArchibald’s.Atthenextholetheimprovementwasnotmarkedenoughtohaveitsfulleffect,andArchibaldcontrivedtohalve.Thismadehimtwoupandthreetoplay.Whattheaveragegolferwouldconsideracommandinglead.ButArchibaldwasnoaveragegolfer.Acommandingleadforhimwouldhavebeentwoupandonetoplay.

Togivethepublicofhisbest,yourgolfershouldhavehismindcoolandintentuponthegame.InasmuchasGossettwasworryingaboutthetelegrams,whileArchibald,striveashemighttodismissit,washauntedbyavisionofMargaretstandingaloneanddesertedontheboard–walk,playbecame,asitwere,ragged.FineputtingenabledGossetttodothesixteenthholeintwelve,andwhen,winningtheseventeenthinnine,hebroughthisscorelevelwithArchibald’sthematchseemedover.Butjustthen—

‘MrGossett!’saidafamiliarvoice.

Oncemorewasthemuch–enduringtelegraphboyamongthosepresent.

‘T’reedistime!’heobserved.

Gossettsprang,butagainthewatchfulSigsbeewastooswift.

‘Bebrave,Gossett—bebrave,’hesaid.‘Thisisacrisisinthegame.Keepyournerve.Play

justasifnothingexistedoutsidethelinks.Tolookatthesetelegramsnowwouldbefatal.’

Eye–witnessesofthatgreatencounterwilltellthestoryofthelastholetotheirdyingday.ItwasoneofthoseTitanicstruggleswhichTimecannoteffacefromthememory.Archibaldwasfortunateingettingagoodstart.Heonlymissedtwicebeforehestruckhisballonthetee.Gossetthadfourstrokesereheachievedthefeat.NordidArchibald’sluckdeserthiminthejourneytothegreen.Hewasoutofthebunkerineleven.

Gossettemergedonlyaftersixteen.Finally,whenArchibald’stwenty–firststrokesenttheballtricklingintothehole,Gossetthadplayedhisthirtieth.

TheballhadhardlyrestedonthebottomoftheholebeforeGossetthadbeguntotearthetelegramsfromtheirenvelopes.Asheread,hiseyesbulgedintheirsockets.

‘Notbadnews,Ihope,’saidasympatheticbystander.

Sigsbeetookthesheafoftelegrams.

Thefirstran:‘Goodluck.Hopeyouwin.McCay.’Thesecondalsoran:‘Goodluck.Hopeyouwin.McCay.’So,singularlyenough,didthethird,fourth,fifth,sixth,andseventh.

‘GreatScott!’saidSigsbee.‘Heseemstohavebeenprettyanxiousnottorunanyriskofmissingyou,Gossett.’

Ashespoke,Archibald,closebesidehim,waslookingathiswatch.Thehandsstoodataquartertotwo.

MargaretandhermotherwereseatedintheparlourwhenArchibaldarrived.MrsMilsom,whohadelicitedthefactthatArchibaldhadnotkepthisappointment,hadbeensaying‘Itoldyouso’forsometime,andthishadnotimprovedMargaret’stemper.When,therefore,Archibald,dampanddishevelled,wasshownin,thechillintheairnearlygavehimfrost–bite.MrsMilsomdidhercelebratedimitationoftheGorgon,whileMargaret,lightlyhumminganair,pickedupaweeklypaperandbecameabsorbedinit.

‘Margaret,letmeexplain,’pantedArchibald.MrsMilsomwasunderstoodtoremarkthatshedaredsay.Margaret’sattentionwasrivetedbyafashionplate.

‘Drivinginataximetertotheferrythismorning,’resumedArchibald,‘Ihadanaccident.’

Thiswastheresultofsomeratherfeverishbrain–workonthewayfromthelinkstothecottage.

Theperiodicalfloppedtothefloor.

‘Oh,Archie,areyouhurt?’

‘Afewscratches,nothingmore;butitmadememissmytrain.’

‘Whattraindidyoucatch?’askedMrsMilsomsepulchrally.

‘Theoneo’clock.Icamestraightonherefromthestation.’

‘Why,’saidMargaret,‘Stuyvesantwascominghomeontheoneo’clocktrain.Didyouseehim?’

Archibald’sjawdroppedslightly.

‘Er—no,’hesaid.

‘Howcurious,’saidMargaret.

‘Verycurious,’saidArchibald.

‘Mostcurious,’saidMrsMilsom.

Theywerestillreflectingonthesingularityofthisfactwhenthedooropened,andthesonofthehouseenteredinperson.

‘ThoughtIshouldfindyouhere,Mealing,’hesaid.‘Theygavemethisatthestationtogivetoyou;youdroppeditthismorningwhenyougotoutofthetrain.’

HehandedArchibaldthemissingpouch.

‘Thanks,’saidthelatterhuskily.‘Whenyousaythismorning,ofcourseyoumeanthisafternoon,butthanksallthesame—thanks—thanks.’

‘No,ArchibaldMealing,hedoesnotmeanthisafternoon,’saidMrsMilsom.‘Stuyvesant,speak!Fromwhattraindidthatguf—didMrMealingalightwhenhedroppedthetobacco–pouch?’

*****

‘Theteno’clock,thefellowtoldme.Saidhewouldhavegivenitbacktohimthenonlyhesprintedoffinthedeuceofahurry.’

SixeyesfocusedthemselvesuponArchibald.

‘Margaret,’hesaid,‘Iwillnottrytodeceiveyou—’

‘Youmaytry,’observedMrsMilsom,‘butyouwillnotsucceed.’

‘Well,Archibald?’

Archibaldfingeredhiscollar.

‘Therewasnotaximeteraccident.’

‘Ah!’saidMrsMilsom.

‘Thefactis,Ihavebeenplayinginagolftournament.’

Margaretutteredanexclamationofsurprise.

‘Playinggolf!’

Archibaldbowedhisheadwithmanlyresignation.

‘Whydidn’tyoutellme?Whydidn’tyouarrangeforustomeetonthelinks?Ishouldhavelovedit.’

Archibaldwasamazed.

‘Youtakeaninterestingolf,Margaret?You!Ithoughtyouscornedit,considereditanunintellectualgame.Ithoughtyouconsideredallgamesunintellectual.’

‘Why,Iplaygolfmyself.Notverywell.’

‘Margaret!Whydidn’tyoutellme?’

‘Ithoughtyoumightnotlikeit.Youweresospiritual,sopoetic.Ifearedyouwoulddespiseme.’

Archibaldtookastepforward.Hisvoicewastenseandtrembling.

‘Margaret,’hesaid,‘thisisnotimeformisunderstandings.Wemustbeopenwithoneanother.Ourhappinessisatstake.Tellmehonestly,doyoulikepoetryreally?’

Margarethesitated,thenansweredbravely:

‘No,Archibald,’shesaid,‘itisasyoususpect.Iamnotworthyofyou.Idonotlikepoetry.Ah,youshudder!Youturnaway!Yourfacegrowshardandscornful!’

‘Idon’t!’yelledArchibald.‘Itdoesn’t!Itdoesn’tdoanythingofthesort!You’vemademeanotherman!’

Shestared,wild–eyed,astonished.

‘What!Doyoumeanthatyou,too—’

‘IshouldjustsayIdo.ItellyouIhatethebeastlystuff.IonlypretendedtolikeitbecauseIthoughtyoudid.ThehoursI’vespentlearningitup!IwonderI’venotgotbrainfever.’

‘Archie!Usedyoutoreaditup,too?Oh,ifI’donlyknown!’

‘Andyouforgiveme—thismorning,Imean?’

‘Ofcourse.Youcouldn’tleaveagolftournament.Bytheway,howdidyougeton?’

Archibaldcoughed.

‘Ratherwell,’hesaidmodestly.‘Prettydecently.Infact,notbadly.Asamatteroffact,Iwonthechampionship.’

‘Thechampionship!’whisperedMargaret.‘OfAmerica?’

‘Well,notabsolutelyofAmerica,’saidArchibald.‘Butallthesame,achampionship.’

‘Myhero.’

‘Youwon’tbewantingmeforawhile,Iguess?’saidStuyvesantnonchalantly.‘ThinkI’llsmokeacigaretteontheporch.’

AndsobsfromthestairstoldthatMrsMilsomwasalreadyonherwaytoherroom.

THEMAN,THEMAID,ANDTHEMIASMA

AlthoughthisstoryisconcernedprincipallywiththeManandtheMaid,theMiasmapervadesittosuchanextentthatIfeeljustifiedinputtinghisnameonthebills.Webster’sDictionarygivesthemeaningoftheword‘miasma’as‘aninfectionfloatingintheair;adeadlyexhalation’;and,intheopinionofMrRobertFerguson,hislateemployer,thatdescription,thoughperhapsalittletooflattering,onthewholesummedupMasterRolandBeanprettysatisfactorily.UntilthepreviousdayhehadservedMrFergusoninthecapacityofoffice–boy;buttherewasthataboutMasterBeanwhichmadeitpracticallyimpossibleforanyonetoemployhimforlong.AsyndicateofGalahad,Parsifal,andMarcusAureliusmighthavedoneit,buttoanordinaryerringman,consciousofthingsdonewhichshouldnothavebeendone,andotherthingsequallynumerousleftundone,hewastoooppressive.Oneconscienceisenoughforanyman.TheemployerofMasterBeanhadtocringebeforetwo.Nobodycanlastlongagainstanoffice–boywhoseeyesshinewithquiet,respectfulreproofthroughgold–rimmedspectacles,whosemanneristhatofamiddle–agedsaint,andwhoobviouslyknowsallthePlodandPunctualitybooksbyheartandordershislifebytheirprecepts.MasterBeanwasawalkingeditionofStepping–StonestoSuccess,MillionaireswhoHaveNeverSmoked,andYoungMan,GetupEarly.Galahad,Parsifal,andMarcusAurelius,asIsay,mighthaveremainedtranquilinhispresence,butRobertFergusonfoundthecontracttoolarge.AfteronemonthhehadbracedhimselfupandsackedthePunctualPlodder.

Yetnowhewassittinginhisoffice,longafterthelastclerkhadleft,longafterthehouratwhichhehimselfwaswonttoleave,hismindfullofhislateemployee.

Wasthisremorse?Washelongingforthetouchofthevanishedhand,thegleamofthedepartedspectacles?Hewasnot.HismindwasfullofMasterBeanbecauseMasterBeanwaswaitingforhimintheouteroffice;andhelingeredonathisdesk,aftertheday’sworkwasdone,forthesamereason.Wordhadbeenbroughttohimearlierintheevening,thatMasterRolandBeanwouldliketoseehim.Theanswertothatwaseasy:‘TellhimI’mbusy.’MasterBean’sadmirablydignifiedreplywasthatheunderstoodhowgreatwasthepressureofMrFerguson’swork,andthathewouldwaittillhewasatliberty.Liberty!Talkofthelibertyofthetreedpossum,butdonotusethewordinconnexionwithamanbottledupinanoffice,withRolandBeanguardingtheonlyexit.

MrFergusonkickedthewaste–paperbasketsavagely.Theunfairnessofthethinghurthim.Asackedoffice–boyoughttostaysacked.HehadnobusinesstocomepoppingupagainlikeBanquo’sghost.Itwasnotplayingthegame.

Thereadermaywonderwhatwasthetrouble—whyMrFergusoncouldnotstalkoutandbrusquelydisposeofhisfoe;butthenthereaderhasnotemployedMasterBeanforamonth.MrFergusonhad,andhisnervehadbroken.

Aslightcoughpenetratedthedoorbetweenthetwooffices.MrFergusonroseandgrabbedhishat.Perhapsasuddenrush—heshotoutwiththetenseconcentrationofonemovingtowardstherefreshment–roomatastationwherethetrainstopsthreeminutes.

‘Goodevening,sir!’wasthewatcher’sview–hallo.

‘Ah,Bean,’saidMrFerguson,flittingrapidly,‘youstillhere?Ithoughtyouhadgone.I’mafraidIcannotstopnow.Someothertime—’

Hewasalmostthrough.

‘Ifear,sir,thatyouwillbeunabletogetout,’saidMasterBean,sympathetically.‘Thebuildingislockedup.’

Menwhohavebeenhitbybulletssaythefirstsensationismerelyasortofdullshock.SoitwaswithMrFerguson.Hestoppedinhistracksandstared.

‘Theporterclosesthedooratseveno’clockpunctually,sir.Itisnownearlytwentyminutesafterthehour.’

MrFerguson’sbrainwasstillinthenumbedstage.

‘Closesthedoor?’hesaid.

‘Yes,sir.’

‘Thenhowarewetogetout?’

‘Ifearwecannotgetout,sir.’

MrFergusondigestedthis.

‘Iamnolongerinyouremployment,sir,’saidMasterBean,respectfully,‘butIhopethatinthecircumstancesyouwillpermitmetoremainhereduringthenight.’

‘Duringthenight!’

‘Itwouldenablemetosleepmorecomfortablythanonthestairs.’

‘Butwecan’tstophereallnight,’saidMrFerguson,feebly.

HehadanticipatedanunpleasantfiveminutesinMasterBean’scompany.Imaginationboggledatthethoughtofanunpleasantthirteenhours.

Hecollapsedintoachair.

‘Icalled,’saidMasterBean,shelvingthetrivialsubjectoftheprospectivevigil,‘inthehopethatImightpersuadeyou,sir,toreconsideryourdecisioninregardtomydismissal.Icanassureyou,sir,thatIamextremelyanxioustogivesatisfaction.IfyouwouldtakemebackandinformmehowIhavefallenshort,Iwouldendeavourtoimprove,I—’

‘Wecan’tstophereallnight,’interruptedMrFerguson,boundingfromhischairandbeginningtopacethefloor.

‘Withoutpresumption,sir,IfeelthatifyouweretogivemeanotherchanceIshouldworktoyoursatisfaction.Ishouldendeavour—’

MrFergusonstaredathimindumbhorror.Hehadamomentaryvisionofasleeplessnightspentinlisteningtoanicely–polishedspeechforthedefence.Hewasseizedwithamaddesireforflight.Hecouldnotleavethebuilding,buthemustgetawaysomewhereandthink.

Hedashedfromtheroomandracedupthedarkstairs.Andashearrivedatthenextfloor

hiseyewascaughtbyathinpenciloflightwhichproceededfromadoorontheleft.

Noshipwreckedmarineronadesertislandcouldhavewelcomedtheappearanceofasailwithgreaterenthusiasm.Heboundedatthedoor.Heknewtowhomtheroombelonged.ItwastheofficeofoneBlaythwayt;andBlaythwaytwasnotonlyanacquaintance,butasportsman.QuitepossiblytheremightbeapackofcardsonBlaythwayt’spersontohelppassthelonghours.Andifnot,atleasthewouldbecompanyandhisofficearefuge.Heflungopenthedoorwithoutgoingthroughtheformalityofknocking.Etiquetteisnotforthemarooned.

‘Isay,Blaythwayt—’hebegan,andstoppedabruptly.

Theonlyoccupantoftheroomwasagirl.

‘Ibegyourpardon,’hesaid,‘Ithought—’

Hestoppedagain.Hiseyes,dazzledwiththelight,hadnotseenclearly.Theydidsonow.

‘You!’hecried.

Thegirllookedathim,firstwithsurprise,thenwithacoolhostility.Therewasalongpause.Eighteenmonthshadpassedsincetheyhadparted,andconversationdoesnotfloweasilyaftereighteenmonthsofsilence,especiallyifthenatureofthepartinghasbeenbitterandstormy.

Hewasthefirsttospeak.

‘Whatareyoudoinghere?’hesaid.

‘Ithoughtmydoingshadceasedtointerestyou,’shesaid.‘IamMrBlaythwayt’ssecretary,Ihavebeenhereafortnight.Ihavewonderedifweshouldmeet.Iusedtoseeyousometimesinthestreet.’

‘Ineversawyou.’

‘No?’shesaidindifferently.

Heranhishandthroughhishairinadazedway.

‘Doyouknowwearelockedin?’hesaid.

Hehadexpectedwildsurpriseanddismay.Shemerelyclickedhertongueinanannoyedmanner.

‘Again!’shesaid.‘Whatanuisance!Iwaslockedinonlyaweekago.’

Helookedatherwithunwillingrespect,therespectofthenovicefortheveteran.Shewasnothingtohimnow,ofcourse.Shehadpassedoutofhislife.Buthecouldnothelprememberingthatlongago—eighteenmonthsago—whathehadadmiredmostinherhadbeenthissamespirit,thisgamerefusaltobedisturbedbyFate’sblows.Itbracedhimup.

Hesatdownandlookedcuriouslyather.

‘Soyouleftthestage?’hesaid.

‘Ithoughtweagreedwhenwepartednottospeaktooneanother,’saidshe,coldly.

‘Didwe?Ithoughtitwasonlytomeetasstrangers.’

‘It’sthesamething.’

‘Isit?Ioftentalktostrangers.’

‘Whataboretheymustthinkyou!’shesaid,hidingone–eighthofayawnwiththetipsoftwofingers.‘Isuppose,’shewenton,withfaintinterest,‘youtalktothemintrainswhentheyaretryingtoreadtheirpaper?’

‘Idon’tforcemyconversationonanyone.’

‘Don’tyou?’shesaid,raisinghereyebrowsinsweetsurprise.‘Onlyyourcompany—isthatit?’

‘Areyoualludingtothepresentoccasion?’

‘Well,youhaveanofficeofyourowninthisbuilding,Ibelieve.’

‘Ihave.’

‘Thenwhy—’

‘Iamatperfectliberty,’hesaid,withdignity,‘tositinmyfriendBlaythwayt’sofficeifIchoose.IwishtoseeMrBlaythwayt.’

‘Onbusiness?’

Heprovedthatshehadestablishednocornerinraisedeyebrows.

‘Ifear,’hesaid,‘thatIcannotdiscussmyaffairswithMrBlaythwayt’semployees.Imustseehimpersonally.’

‘MrBlaythwaytisnothere.’

‘Iwillwait.’

‘Hewillnotbehereforthirteenhours.’

I’llwait.’

‘Verywell,’sheburstout;‘youhavebroughtitonyourself.You’veonlyyourselftoblame.Ifyouhadbeengoodandhadgonebacktoyouroffice,Iwouldhavebroughtyoudownsomecakeandcocoa.’

‘Cakeandcocoa!’saidhe,superciliously.

‘Yes,cakeandcocoa,’shesnapped.‘It’sallverywellforyoutoturnupyournoseatthemnow,butwait.You’vethirteenhoursofthisinfrontofyou.Iknowwhatitis.LasttimeIhadtospendthenighthereIcouldn’tgettosleepforhours,andwhenIdidIdreamedthatIwaschasingchocolateeclairsroundandroundTrafalgarSquare.AndInevercaughtthemeither.LongbeforethenightwasfinishedIwouldhavegivenanythingforevenadrybiscuit.ImadeupmymindI’dalwayskeepsomethinghereincaseIevergotlockedinagain—yes,smile.You’dbetterwhileyoucan.’

Hewassmiling,butwanly.NobodybutaprofessionalfastingmancouldhavelookedunmovedintotheInfernoshehadpictured.Thenherallied.

‘Cake!’hesaid,scornfully.

Shenoddedgrimly.

‘Cocoa!’

Againthatnod,ineffablysinister.

‘I’mafraidIdon’tcareforeither,’hesaid.

‘Ifyouwillexcuseme,’shesaid,indifferently,‘IhavealittleworkthatImustfinish.’

Sheturnedtoherdesk,leavinghimtohisthoughts.Theywerenotexhilarating.Hehadmaintainedabravefront,butinwardlyhequailed.Rearedinthecountry,hehaddevelopedatanearlyageafine,healthyappetite.Once,soonafterhisarrivalinLondon,hehadallowedadangerousfanatictopersuadehimthatthesecretofhealthwastogowithoutbreakfast.

Hislunchthatdayhadcosthimeightshillings,andonlydecentshamehadkeptthefigureaslowasthat.Heknewperfectlywellthatlongerethedawnofdayhiswholesoulwouldbecryingoutforcake,squealingfranticallyforcocoa.Woulditnotbebetterto—no,athousandtimesno!Death,butnotsurrender.Hisself–respectwasatstake.Lookingback,hesawthathisentirerelationswiththisgirlhadbeenaseriesofbattlesofwill.Sofar,thoughhehadcertainlynotwon,hehadnotbeendefeated.Hemustnotbedefeatednow.

Hecrossedhislegsandsangagayairunderhisbreath.

‘Ifyouwouldn’tmind,’saidthegirl,lookingup.

‘Ibegyourpardon?’

‘Yourgroaninginterruptsmywork.’

‘Iwasnotgroaning.Iwassinging.’

‘Oh,I’msorry!’

‘Notatall.’

Eightbarsrest.

MrFerguson,deprivedofthesolaceofsong,filledinthetimebygazingatthetoiler’sback–hair.Itsetinmotionatrainofthought—anexpresstrainboundfortheLandofYesterday.Itrecalleddaysinthewoods,eveningsonthelawn.Itrecalledsunshine—storm.Plentyofstorm.Minortempeststhatburstfromaclearsky,apparentlywithoutcause,andthegreatfinaltornado.Therehadbeencauseenoughforthat.Whywasit,musedMrFerguson,thateverygirlineverycountrytownineverycountyofEnglandwhohadeverrecited‘Curfewshallnotringtonight’wellenoughtoescapelynchingatthehandsofarusticaudiencewasseizedwiththedesiretocometoLondonandgoonthestage?

Hesighed.

‘Pleasedon’tsnort,’saidacoldvoice,frombehindtheback–hair.

Therewasatrain–wreckintheLandofYesterday.MrFerguson,theonlysurvivor,limpedbackintothePresent.

ThePresenthadlittlecharm,butatleastitwasbetterthanthecakelessFuture.Hefixedhisthoughtsonit.HewonderedhowMasterBeanwaspassingthetime.Probablydoing

deep–breathingexercises,orreadingapocketAristotle.Thegirlpushedbackherchairandrose.

Shewenttoasmallcupboardinthecorneroftheroom,andfromitproducedininstalmentsallthatgoestomakecakeandcocoa.Shedidnotspeak.Presently,fillingSpace,theresprangintobeinganOdour;andasitreachedhimMrFergusonstiffenedinhischair,bracinghimselfasforafighttothedeath.Itwasmorethananodour.Itwasthesoulofthecocoasingingtohim.Hisfingersgrippedthearmsofthechair.Thiswasthetest.

Thegirlseparatedasectionofcakefromtheparentbody.Shecaughthiseye.

‘Youhadbettergo,’shesaid.‘Ifyougonowit’sjustpossiblethatImay—butIforgot,youdon’tlikecocoa.’

‘No,’saidhe,resolutely,‘Idon’t.’

Sheseemednowinthemoodforconversation.

‘Iwonderwhyyoucameuphereatall,’shesaid.

‘There’snoreasonwhyyoushouldn’tknow.Icameupherebecausemylateoffice–boyisdownstairs.’

‘Whyshouldthatsendyouup?’

‘You’venevermethimoryouwouldn’task.HaveyoueverhadtofacesomeonewhoissimplyincarnateSaintlinessandDisapproval,who—’

‘AreyouforgettingthatIwasengagedtoyouforseveralweeks?’

Hewastoostartledtobehurt.TheideaofhimselfasaRolandBeanwastoonewtobeassimilatedimmediately.Itcalledformeditation.

‘WasIlikethat?’hesaidatlast,almosthumbly.

‘Youknowyouwere.Oh,I’mnotthinkingonlyaboutyourviewsonthestage!Itwaseverything.WhateverIdidyouweretheretodisapprovelikea—likea—likeanaunt,’sheconcludedtriumphantly.‘Youweretoogoodforanything.Ifonlyyouwould,justonce,havedonesomethingwrong.IthinkI’dhave—Butyoucouldn’t.You’resimplyperfect.’

Amanwillremaincoolandcomposedundermanycharges.Hintthathistastesarecriminal,andhewillshrughisshoulders.Butaccusehimofgoodness,andyourousethelion.

MrFerguson’sbrowdarkened.

‘Asamatteroffact,’hesaid,haughtily,‘Iwastohavehadsupperwithachorus–girlthisverynight.’

‘Howveryappalling!’saidshe,languidly.

Shesippedhercocoa.

‘Isupposeyouconsiderthatveryterrible?’shesaid.

‘Forabeginner.’

Shecrumbledhercake.Suddenlyshelookedup.

‘Whoisshe?’shedemanded,fiercely.

‘Ibegyourpardon?’hesaid,comingoutofapleasantreverie.

‘Whoisthisgirl?’

‘She—er—hername—hernameisMarie—MarieTempleton.’

Sheseemedtothinkforamoment.

‘Thatdearoldlady?’shesaid.’Iknowherquitewell.’

‘What!’

‘“Mother”weusedtocallher.Haveyoumetherson?’

‘Herson?’

‘Arathernice–lookingman.Heplaysheavypartsontour.He’smarriedandhastwoofthesweetestchildren.Theirgrandmotherisdevotedtothem.Hasn’tsheevermentionedthemtoyou?’

Shepouredherselfoutanothercupofcocoa.Conversationagainlanguished.

‘Isupposeyou’reveryfondofher?’shesaidatlength.

‘I’mdevotedtoher.’Hepaused.‘Dearlittlething!’headded.

Sheroseandmovedtothedoor.Therewasanastygleaminhereyes.

‘Youaren’tgoing?’hesaid.

‘Ishallbebackinamoment.I’mjustgoingtobringyourpoorlittleoffice–boyuphere.Hemustbemissingyou.’

Hesprangup,butshehadgone.Leaningoverthebanisters,heheardadooropenbelow,thenashortconversation,andfinallyfootstepsclimbingthestairs.

Itwaspitchdarkonthelanding.Hesteppedaside,andtheypassedwithoutseeinghim.MasterBeanwasdiscoursingeasilyoncocoa,theprocesseswherebyitwasmanufactured,andtheremarkabledistanceswhichnativesofMexicohadcoveredwithitastheironlyfood.Thedooropened,floodingthelandingwithlight,andMrFerguson,steppingfromambush,begantodescendthestairs.

Thegirlcametothebanisters.

‘MrFerguson!’

Hestopped.

‘Didyouwantme?’heasked.

‘Areyougoingbacktoyouroffice?’

‘Iam.IhopeyouwillenjoyBean’ssociety.Hehasafundofusefulinformationonallsubjects.’

Hewenton.Afterawhileshereturnedtotheroomandclosedthedoor.

MrFergusonwentintohisofficeandsatdown.

*****

TherewasonceapersonofthenameofSimeonStylites,whotookupapositionontopofapillarandstayedthere,havingnootherengagements,forthirtyyears.MrFerguson,whohadreadTennyson’spoemonthesubject,haduntiltonightlookeduponthisasaprettygoodthing.Readingthelines:

…thricetenyears,Thricemultipliedbysuperhumanpangs,Inhungerandinthirsts,feversandcolds,Incoughs,aches,stitches,ulcerousthroes,andcramps,…PatientonthistallpillarIhaveborne.Rain,wind,frost,heat,hail,damp,andsleet,andsnow,

hehadgatheredroughly,asitwere,thatSimeonhadnotbeencomfortable.Hehadpitiedhim.Butnow,sittinginhisoffice–chair,hebegantowonderwhatthemanhadmadesuchafussabout.Hesuspectedhimofhavinghadatouchofthewhitefeatherinhim.Itwasnotasifhehadnothadfood.Hetalkedabout‘hungersandthirsts’,buthemusthavehadsomethingtoeat,orhecouldnothavestayedthecourse.Verylikely,ifthetruthwereknown,therewassomebodybelowwhopassedhimupregularsuppliesofcakeandcocoa.

HebegantolookonSimeonasanoverratedamateur.

Sleeprefusedtocometohim.Itgotasfarashisfeet,butnofarther.Heroseandstampedtorestorethecirculation.

ItwasatthispointthathedefinitelycondemnedSimeonStylitesasasybariticfraud.

IfthiswereoneofthoserealisticZolaesquestoriesIwoulddescribethecrickinthebackthat—butletushurryon.

Itwasaboutsixhourslater—hehadnowatch,butthenumbersofaches,stitches,nottomentioncramps,thathehadexperiencedcouldnotpossiblyhavebeencondensedintoashorterperiod—thathismanlyspiritsnapped.Letusnotjudgehimtooharshly.Thegirlupstairshadbrokenhisheart,ruinedhislife,andpracticallycomparedhimtoRolandBean,andhisprideshouldhavebuiltupanimpassablewallbetweenthem,but—shehadcakeandcocoa.InsimilarcircumstancesKingArthurwouldhavegrovelledbeforeGuinevere.

Herushedtothedoorandtoreitopen.Therewasastartledexclamationfromthedarknessoutside.

‘IhopeIdidn’tdisturbyou,’saidameekvoice.

MrFergusondidnotanswer.Histwitchingnostrilsweredrinkinginafamiliararoma.

‘Wereyouasleep?MayIcomein?I’vebroughtyousomecakeandcocoa.’

Hetooktherichgiftsfromherinsilence.Therearemomentsinaman’slifetoosacredforwords.Thewonderofthethinghadstruckhimdumb.Aninstantbeforeandhehadhadbutadesperatehopeofwinningthesepricelessthingsfromheratthecostofallhisdignityandself–respect.Hehadbeenpreparedtosecurethemthroughashowerofbitingtaunts,ablizzardofrazor–like‘Itoldyouso’s’.Yetherehewas,drainingthecup,andstillabletoholdhisheadup,looktheworldintheface,andcallhimselfaman.

Hiskeeneyedetectedacrumbonhiscoat–sleeve.Thisretrievedandconsumed,heturned

toher,seekingexplanation.

Shewaschanged.Thebattle–gleamhadfadedfromhereyes.Sheseemedscaredandsubdued.Hermannerwasofonecravingcomfortandprotection.‘Thatawfulboy!’shebreathed.

‘Bean?’saidMrFerguson,pickingacrumboffthecarpet.

‘He’sfrightful.’

‘Ithoughtyoumightgetalittletiredofhim!Whathashebeendoing?’

‘Talking.Ifeelbattered.He’slikeoneofthoseawfulencyclopediasthatgiveyouasortofdullleadenfeelinginyourheaddirectlyyouopenthem.DoyouknowhowmanytonsofwatergooverNiagaraFallseveryyear?’

‘No.’

‘Hedoes.’

‘Itoldyouhehadafundofusefulinformation.ThePurposeandTenacitybooksinsistonit.That’showyouCatchyourEmployer’sEye.OnemorningthebosssuddenlywantstoknowhowmanyhorsehairsofasthereareinBrixton,thenumberofpinsthatwouldreachfromLondonBridgetoWaterloo.Youtellhim,andhetakesyouintopartnership.Lateryoubecomeamillionaire.ButIhaven’tthankedyouforthecocoa.Itwasfine.’

Hewaitedfortheretort,butitdidnotcome.Apleasedwondermentfilledhim.Couldthesethingsreallybethus?

‘Anditisn’tonlywhathesays,’shewenton.‘Iknowwhatyoumeanabouthimnow.It’shisaccusingmanner.’

‘I’vetriedtoanalysethatmanner.Ibelieveit’sthespectacles.’

‘It’sfrightfulwhenhelooksatyou;youthinkofallthewrongthingsyouhaveeverdoneoreverwantedtodo.’

‘Doeshehavethateffectonyou?’hesaid,excitedly.‘Why,thatexactlydescribeswhatIfeel.’

Theaffinitieslookedatoneanother.

Shewasthefirsttospeak.

‘Wealwaysdidthinkalikeonmostthings,didn’twe?’shesaid.

‘Ofcoursewedid.’

Heshiftedhischairforward.

‘Itwasallmyfault,’hesaid.‘Imean,whathappened.’

‘Itwasn’t.It—’

‘Yes,itwas.Iwanttotellyousomething.Idon’tknowifitwillmakeanydifferencenow,butIshouldlikeyoutoknowit.It’sthis.I’vealteredagooddealsinceIcametoLondon.Forthebetter,Ithink.I’maprettypoorsortofspecimenstill,butatleastIdon’timagineIcanmeasurelifewithafoot–rule.Idon’tjudgetheworldanylongerbythestandardsofa

countrytown.Londonhasknockedsomeofthecornersoffme.Idon’tthinkyouwouldfindmetheBeantypeanylonger.Idon’tdisapproveofotherpeoplemuchnow.Notasahabit.IfindIhaveenoughtodokeepingmyselfuptothemark.’

‘Iwanttotellyousomething,too,’shesaid.‘Iexpectit’stoolate,butnevermind.Iwantyoutohearit.I’vealtered,too,sinceIcametoLondon.IusedtothinktheUniversehadbeeninventedjusttolookonandwaveitshatwhileIdidgreatthings.Londonhasputalargepieceofcoldiceagainstmyhead,andtheswellinghasgonedown.I’mnotthegirlwithambitionsanylonger.Ijustwanttokeepemployed,andnothavetoobadatimewhentheday’sworkisover.’

Hecameacrosstowhereshesat.

‘Wesaidwewouldmeetasstrangers,andwedo.Weneverhaveknowneachother.Don’tyouthinkwehadbettergetacquainted?’hesaid.

Therewasarespectfultapatthedoor.

‘Comein?’snappedMrFerguson.‘Well?’Behindthegold–rimmedspectaclesofMasterBeanthereshoneasofterlookthanusual,alookrathercomplacentthandisapproving.

‘Imustapologize,sir,forintrudinguponyou.Iamnolongerinyouremployment,butIdohopethatinthecircumstancesyouwillforgivemyenteringyourprivateoffice.ThinkingoveroursituationjustnowanideacametomebymeansofwhichIfancywemightbeenabledtoleavethebuilding.’

‘What!’

‘Itoccurredtome,sir,thatbytelephoningtothenearestpolice–station—’

‘Goodheavens!’criedMrFerguson.

Twominuteslaterhereplacedthereceiver.

‘It’sallright,’hesaid.‘I’vemadethemunderstandthetrouble.They’rebringingaladder.Iwonderwhatthetimeis?Itmustbeaboutfourinthemorning.’

MasterBeanproducedaWaterburywatch.

‘Thetime,sir,isalmostexactlyhalfpastten.’

‘Halfpastten!Wemusthavebeenherelongerthanthreehours.Yourwatchiswrong.’

‘No,sir,Iamverycarefultokeepitexactlyright.Idonotwishtorunanyriskofbeingunpunctual.’

‘Halfpastten!’criedMrFerguson.‘Why,we’reinheapsoftimetolookinattheSavoyforsupper.Thisisgreat.I’llphonethemtokeepatable.’

‘Supper!Ithought—’

Shestopped.

‘What’sthat?Thoughtwhat?’

‘Hadn’tyouanengagementforsupper?’

Hestaredather.

‘Whatevergaveyouthatidea?Ofcoursenot.’

‘IthoughtyousaidyouweretakingMissTempleton—’

‘MissTemp—Oh!’Hisfacecleared.‘Oh,thereisn’tsuchaperson.Iinventedher.IhadtowhenyouaccusedmeofbeinglikeourfriendtheMiasma.Legitimateself–defence.’

‘Idonotwishtointerruptyou,sir,whenyouarebusy,’saidMasterBean,‘but—’

‘Comeandseemetomorrowmorning,’saidMrFerguson.

*****

‘Bob,’saidthegirl,asthefirstthreateningmuttersfromtheorchestraheraldedanimminentstormofmelody,‘whenthatboycomestomorrow,whataregoingtodo?’

‘Callupthepolice.’

‘No,butyoumustdosomething.Weshouldn’thavebeenhereifithadn’tbeenforhim.’

‘That’strue!’Hepondered.‘I’vegotit;I’llgethimajobwithRaikesandCourtenay.’

‘WhyRaikesandCourtenay?’

‘BecauseIhaveapullwiththem.Butprincipally,’saidMrFerguson,withadevilishgrin,‘becausetheyliveinEdinburgh,which,asyouaredoubtlessaware,isalong,longwayfromLondon.’

Hebentacrossthetable.

‘Isn’tthislikeoldtimes?’hesaid.‘DoyourememberthefirsttimeIeverki—’

Justthentheorchestrabrokeout.

THEGOODANGEL

AnymanunderthirtyyearsofagewhotellsyouheisnotafraidofanEnglishbutlerlies.Hemaynotshowhisfear.Outwardlyhemaybebrave—aggressiveeven,perhapstotheextentofcallingthegreatman‘Here!’or‘Hi!’But,inhisheart,whenhemeetsthat,cold,blue,introspectiveeye,hequakes.

TheeffectthatKeggs,thebutlerattheKeiths’,hadonMartinRossiterwastomakehimfeelasifhehadbeencaughtlaughinginacathedral.Hefoughtagainstthefeeling.HeaskedhimselfwhoKeggswas,anyway;andreplieddefiantlythatKeggswasaMenial—andanoverfedMenial.Butallthewhileheknewthatlogicwasuseless.

WhentheKeithshadinvitedhimtotheircountryhomehehadbeendelighted.Theywereamonghisoldestfriends.HelikedMrKeith.HelikedMrsKeith.HelovedElsaKeith,andhaddonesofromboyhood.

Butthingshadgonewrong.Asheleanedoutofhisbedroomwindowattheendofthefirstweek,preparatorytodressingfordinner,hewasmorethanhalfinclinedtomakesomeexcuseandgetrightoutoftheplacenextday.TheblanddignityofKeggshadtakenalltheheartoutofhim.

NorwasitKeggsalonewhohaddrivenhisthoughtstowardsflight.Keggswasmerelyapassiveevil,liketoothacheorarainyday.WhathadbegunactivelytomaketheplaceimpossiblewasaperfectlypestilentialyoungmanofthenameofBarstowe.

Thehouse–partyattheKeithshadoriginallybeen,fromMartin’sview–point,almostideal.Therestofthemenwereofthespeechless,moustache–tuggingbreed.Theyhadcometoshoot,andtheyshot.Whentheywerenotshootingtheycongregatedinthebilliard–roomanddevotedtheirpowerfulintellectsexclusivelytosnooker–pool,leavingMartinfreetotalkundisturbedtoElsa.HehadbeendoingthisforfivedayswithgreatcontentmentwhenAubreyBarstowearrived.MrsKeithhaddevelopedoflateleaningstowardsculture.Inhertownhouseachargeofsmall–shot,firedinanydirectiononaThursdayafternoon,couldnothavefailedtobringdownapoet,anovelist,orapainter.AubreyBarstowe,authorofTheSoul’sEclipseandotherpoems,wasaconstantmemberofthecrowd.Ayouthofinsinuatingmanners,hehadappealedtoMrsKeithfromthestart;andunfortunatelythevirushadextendedtoElsa.Manyapleasant,sunshinyThursdayafternoonhadbeenpoisonedforMartinbythesightofAubreyandElsatogetheronadistantsettee,matchingtemperaments.Therestistoopainful.Itwasarout.Thepoetdidnotshoot,sothatwhenMartinreturnedofaneveninghisrivalwasaboutfivehoursofsoul–to–soultalkupandonlytwotoplay.Andthosetwo,theafter–dinnerhours,whichhadoncebeenthehoursforwhichMartinhadlived,werepuretorture.

Soengrossedwashewithhisthoughtsthatthefirstintimationhehadthathewasnotaloneintheroomwasagenteelcough.Behindhim,holdingasmallcan,wasKeggs.

‘Your‘otwater,sir,’saidthebutler,austerelybutnotunkindly.

Keggswasaman—onemustusethatword,thoughitseemsgrosslyinadequate—of

mediumheight,pigeon–toedatthebase,bulgyhalf–wayup,andbaldattheapex.Hismannerwasrestrainedanddignified,hisvoicesoftandgrave.

ButitwashiseyethatquelledMartin.Thatcold,blue,dukes–have–treated–me–as–an–elder–brothereye.

Hefixedituponhimnow,asheadded,placingthecanonthefloor.‘ItisFrederick’sduty,buttonightIhundertookit.’

Martinhadnoanswer.Hewasdazed.Keggshadspokenwiththeproudhumilityofanemperorcompelledbymisfortunetoshineshoes.

‘MightIhaveawordwithyou,sir?’

‘Ye–e–ss,yes,’stammeredMartin.‘Won’tyoutakea—Imean,yes,certainly.’

‘Itisperhapsaliberty,’beganKeggs.Hepaused,andrakedMartinwiththeeyethathadrestedondiningdukes.

‘Notatall,’saidMartin,hurriedly.

‘Ishouldlike,’wentonKeggs,bowing,‘tospeaktoyouonasomewhatintimatesubject—MissElsa.’

Martin’seyesandmouthopenedslowly.

‘Youaregoingthewrongwaytowork,ifyouwillallowmetosayso,sir.’

Martin’sjawdroppedanotherinch.

‘Wha–a—’

‘Women,sir,’proceededKeggs,‘youngladies—arepeculiar.Ihavehad,ifImaysayso,certainhopportunitiesofobservingtheirways.MissElsaremindsmeinsomerespectsofLadyAngelicaFendall,whomIhadthehonourofknowingwhenIwasbutlertoherfather,LordStockleigh.Herladyshipwashinclinedtoberomantic.Shewasfondofpoetry,likeMissElsa.Shewouldsitbythehour,sir,listeningtoyoungMrKnoxreadingTennyson,whichwasnopartofhisduties,hebeingemployedbyhislordshiptoteachLordBertieLatinandGreekandwhatnot.Youmayhavenoticed,sir,thatyoungladiesisoftentookbyTennyson,hespeciallyinthesummertime.MrBarstowewasreadingTennysontoMissElsainthe‘allwhenIpassedthroughjustnow.ThePrincess,ifIamnotmistaken.’

‘Idon’tknowwhatthethingwas,’groanedMartin.‘Sheseemedtobeenjoyingit.’

‘LadyAngelicawasgreatlyaddictedtoThePrincess.YoungMrKnoxwasreadingportionsofthatpoemtoherwhenhislordshipcomeuponthem.MostrashlyhislordshipmadeapublichexposeandpackedMrKnoxoffnextday.Itwasnotmyplacetovolunteeradvice,butIcouldhavetoldhimwhatwouldhappen.TwodayslaterherladyshipslipsawaytoLondonearlyinthemorning,andthey’remarriedataregistry–office.ThatiswhyIsaythatyouaregoingthewrongwaytoworkwithMissElsa,sir.Withcertaintypesof‘ighspiritedyoungladyhoppositionisuseless.Now,whenMrBarstowewasreadingtoMissElsaontheoccasiontowhichI‘avealluded,youweresittingby,tryingtoengageherattention.It’snottheway,sir.Youshouldleavethemalonetogether.Letherseesomuchofhim,andnobodyelsebuthim,thatshewillgrowtiredofhim.Fondnessfor

poetry,sir,isverymuchlikethewhisky‘abit.Youcan’tcureamanwhathasgotthatbyhopposition.Now,ifyouwillpermitmetoofferawordofadvice,sir,Isay,letMissElsa‘aveallthepoetryshewants.’

Martinwasconsciousofonecoherentfeelingattheconclusionofthisaddress,andthatwasoneofamazedgratitude.Alessermanwhohadenteredhisroomandbeguntodiscusshisprivateaffairswouldhavehadreasontoretirewithsomespeed;butthatKeggsshoulddescendfromhispedestalandinteresthimselfinsuchlowlymatterswasadifferentthingaltogether.

‘I’mverymuchobliged—’hewasstammering,whenthebutlerraisedadeprecatoryhand.

‘Myinterestinthematter,’hesaid,smoothly,‘isnotentirelyhaltruistic.Forsomeyearsback,infact,sinceMissElsacameout,wehavehadamatrimonialsweepstakeintheservants’hallateachhouse–party.Thenamesofthegentlemeninthepartyareplacedinahatanddrawninduecourse.ShouldMissElsabecomeengagedtoanymemberoftheparty,thepoolgoestothedrawerofhisname.Shouldnoengagementoccur,themoneyremainsinmychargeuntilthefollowingyear,whenitisaddedtothenewpool.HithertoIhave‘adthemisfortunetodrawnothingbutmarriedgentlemen,butonthisoccasionIhavesecuredyou,sir.AndImaytellyou,sir,’headded,withstatelycourtesy,‘that,intheopinionoftheservants’hall,yourchancesare‘ighlyfancied,—very‘ighly.Thepoolhasnowreachedconsiderableproportions,and,‘avinghadcertainlossesontheTurfveryrecent,Iamextremelyanxioustowinit.SoIthought,ifImighttaketheliberty,sir,Iwouldplacemyknowledgeofthesexatyourdisposal.Youwillfinditsoundineveryrespect.Thatisall.Thankyou,sir.’

Martin’sfeelingshadundergoneacompleterevulsion.Inthelastfewminutesthebutlerhadshedhiswingsandgrownhorns,clovenfeet,andaforkedtail.Hisragedeprivedhimofwords.Hecouldonlygurgle.

‘Don’tthankme,sir,’saidthebutler,indulgently.‘Iasknothanks.Weareworkingtogetherforacommonhobject,andanylittle‘elpIcanprovideisgivenfreely.’

‘Youoldscoundrel!’shoutedMartin,hiswrathprevailingevenagainstthatblueeye.‘Youhavetheinsolencetocometomeand—’

Hestopped.Thethoughtofthesehounds,thesedemons,coollygossipingandspeculatingbelowstairsaboutElsa,makingherthesubjectoflittlesportingflutterstorelievethemonotonyofcountrylife,chokedhim.

‘IshalltellMrKeith,’hesaid.

Thebutlershookhisbaldheadgravely.

‘Ishouldn’t,sir.Itisa‘ighlyfantasticstory,andIdon’tthinkhewouldbelieveit.’

‘ThenI’ll—Oh,getout!’

Keggsboweddeferentially.

‘Ifyouwishit,sir,’hesaid,‘Iwillwithdraw.IfImaymakethesuggestion,sir,Ithinkyoushouldcommencetodress.Dinnerwillbeservedinafewminutes.Thankyou,sir.’

Hepassedsoftlyoutoftheroom.

*****

ItwasmoreasademonstrationofdefianceagainstKeggsthanbecausehereallyhopedthatanythingwouldcomeofitthatMartinapproachedElsanextmorningafterbreakfast.Elsawasstrollingontheterraceinfrontofthehousewiththebard,butMartinbrokeinontheconferencewiththedoggeddeterminationofasteam–drill.

‘Comingoutwiththegunstoday,Elsa?’hesaid.

Sheraisedhereyes.Therewasanabsentlookinthem.

‘Theguns?’shesaid.‘Oh,no;Ihatewatchingmenshoot.’

‘Youusedtolikeit.’

‘Iusedtolikedolls,’shesaid,impatiently.

MrBarstowegavetongue.Hewasaslim,tall,sickeninglybeautifulyoungman,withlarge,darkeyes,fullofexpression.

‘Wedevelop,’hesaid.‘Theyearsgoby,andwedevelop.Oursoulsexpand—timidlyatfirst,likelittle,half–fledgedbirdsstealingoutfromthe—’

‘Idon’tknowthatI’msosetonshootingtoday,myself,’saidMartin.‘Willyoucomeroundthelinks?’

‘IamgoingoutinthemotorwithMrBarstowe,’saidElsa.

‘Themotor!’criedMrBarstowe.‘Ah,Rossiter,thatistheverypoetryofmotion.Ineverrideinamotor–carwithoutthosewordsofShakespeare’sringinginmymind:“I’llputagirdleroundabouttheearthinfortyminutes.”’

‘Ishouldn’tgivewaytothatsortofthingifIwereyou,’saidMartin.‘Thepoliceareprettydownonroad–hoggingintheseparts.’

‘MrBarstowewasspeakingfiguratively,’saidElsa,withdisdain.

‘Washe?’gruntedMartin,whosesorrowsweretendingtomakehimeverydaymorelikeasulkyschoolboy.‘I’mafraidIhaven’tgotapoeticsoul.’

‘I’mafraidyouhaven’t,’saidElsa.

Therewasabriefsilence.Abirdmadeitselfheardinaneighbouringtree.

‘“Themoanofdovesinimmemorialelms,”’quotedMrBarstowe,softly.

‘Onlyithappenstobeacrowinabeech,’saidMartin,asthebirdflewout.

Elsa’schintilteditselfinscorn.Martinturnedonhisheelandwalkedaway.

‘It’sthewrongway,sir;it’sthewrongway,’saidavoice.‘Iwashobservingyoufromawindow,sir.It’sLadyAngelicaoveragain.Hoppositionisuseless,believeme,sir.’

Martinfacedround,flushedandwrathful.Thebutlerwentonunmoved:‘MissElsaisgoingforarideinthecartoday,sir.’

‘Iknowthat.’

‘Uncommonlytrickythings,thesemotor–cars.IwassayingsotoRoberts,thechauffeur,

justassoonasI‘eardMissElsawasgoingoutwithMrBarstowe.Isaid,“Roberts,thesecarsistricky;breakdownwhenyou’retwentymilesfromhanywhereassoonaslookatyou.Roberts,”Isaid,slippinghimasovereign,“‘owawfulitwouldbeifthecarshouldbreakdowntwentymilesfromhanywheretoday!”’

Martinstared.

‘YoubribedRobertsto—’

‘Sir!IgaveRobertsthesovereignbecauseIamsorryforhim.Heisapoorman,andhasawifeandfamilytosupport.’

‘Verywell,’saidMartin,sternly;‘IshallgoandwarnMissKeith.’

‘Warnher,sir!’

‘IshalltellherthatyouhavebribedRobertstomakethecarbreakdownsothat—’

Keggsshookhishead.

‘Ifearshewouldhardlycreditthestatement,sir.Shemighteventhinkthatyouwastryingtokeepherfromgoingforyourownpussonalends.’

‘Ibelieveyouarethedevil,’saidMartin.

‘I‘opeyouwillcometolookonme,sir,’saidKeggs,unctuously,‘asyourgoodhangel.’

Martinshotabominablythatday,and,cominghomeintheeveninggloomyandsavage,wentstraighttohisroom,anddidnotreappeartilldinner–time.Elsahadbeentakeninbyoneofthemoustache–tuggers.Martinfoundhimselfseatedonherotherside.Itwassopleasanttobenearher,andtofeelthatthebardwasawayattheotherendofthetable,thatforthemomenthisspiritsrevived.

‘Well,howdidyouliketheride?’heasked,withasmile.‘Didyouputthatgirdleroundtheworld?’

Shelookedathim—once.Thenextmomenthehadanuninterruptedviewofhershoulder,andheardthesoundofhervoiceassheprattledgailytothemanonherotherside.

Hisheartgaveasuddenbound.Heunderstoodnow.Thedemonbutlerhadhadhiswickedway.Goodheavens!Shehadthoughthewastauntingher!Hemustexplainatonce.He—

‘Hockorsherry,sir?’

HelookedupintoKegg’sexpressionlesseyes.Thebutlerwaswearinghison–dutymask.Therewasnosignoftriumphinhisface.

‘Oh,sherry.Imeanhock.No,sherry.Neither.’

Thiswasawful.Hemustputthisright.

‘Elsa,’hesaid.

Shewasengrossedinherconversationwithherneighbour.

FromdownthetableinasuddenlullinthetalkcamethevoiceofMrBarstowe.Heseemedtobeinthemiddleofanarrative.

‘Fortunately,’hewassaying,‘IhadwithmeavolumeofShelley,andoneofmyownlittle

efforts.IhadreadMissKeiththewholeofthelatterandmuchoftheformerbeforethechauffeurannouncedthatitwasoncemorepossible—’

‘Elsa,’saidthewretchedman,‘Ihadnoidea—youdon’tthink—’

Sheturnedtohim.

‘Ibegyourpardon?’shesaid,verysweetly.

‘IswearIdidn’tknow—Imean,I’dforgotten—Imean—’

Shewrinkledherforehead.

‘I’mreallyafraidIdon’tunderstand.’

‘Imean,aboutthecarbreakingdown.’

‘Thecar?Oh,yes.Yes,itbrokedown.Weweredelayedquitealittlewhile.MrBarstowereadmesomeofhispoems.Itwasperfectlylovely.IwasquitesorrywhenRobertstolduswecouldgoonagain.Butdoyoureallymeantotellme,MrLambert,thatyou—’

Andoncemoretheworldbecameallshoulder.

Whenthementrailedintothepresenceoftheladiesforthatbriefseanceonwhichetiquetteinsistedbeforepermittingthestampedetothebilliard–room,Elsawasnottobeseen.

‘Elsa?’saidMrsKeithinanswertoMartin’squestion.‘Shehasgonetobed.Thepoorchildhasaheadache.Iamafraidshehadatiringday.’

Therewasanearlystartforthegunsnextmorning,andasElsadidnotappearatbreakfastMartinhadtoleavewithoutseeingher.Hisshootingwasevenworsethanithadbeenonthepreviousday.

Itwasnotuntillateintheeveningthatthepartyreturnedtothehouse.Martin,onthewaytohisroom,metMrsKeithonthestairs.Sheappearedsomewhatagitated.

‘Oh,Martin,’shesaid.‘I’msogladyou’reback.HaveyouseenanythingofElsa?’

‘Elsa?’

‘Wasn’tshewiththeguns?’

‘Withtheguns’saidMartin,puzzled.‘No.’

‘Ihaveseennothingofherallday.I’mgettingworried.Ican’tthinkwhatcanhavehappenedtoher.Areyousureshewasn’twiththeguns?’

‘Absolutelycertain.Didn’tshecomeintolunch?’

‘No.Tom,’shesaid,asMrKeithcameup,‘I’msoworriedaboutElsa.Ihaven’tseenherallday.Ithoughtshemustbeoutwiththeguns.’

MrKeithwasamanwhohadbuiltupalargefortunemainlybyconsistentlyrefusingtoallowanythingtoagitatehim.Hecarriedthispolicyintoprivatelife.

‘Wasn’tsheinatlunch?’heasked,placidly.

‘ItellyouIhaven’tseenherallday.Shebreakfastedinherroom—’

‘Late?’

‘Yes.Shewastired,poorgirl.’

‘Ifshebreakfastedlate,’saidMrKeith,‘shewouldn’tneedanylunch.She’sgoneforastrollsomewhere.’

‘Wouldyouputbackdinner,doyouthink?’inquiredMrsKeith,anxiously.

‘Iamnotgoodatriddles,’saidMrKeith,comfortably,‘butIcananswerthatone.Iwouldnotputbackdinner.IwouldnotputbackdinnerfortheKing.’

Elsadidnotcomebackfordinner.Norwasherstheonlyvacantplace.MrBarstowehadalsovanished.EvenMrKeith’scalmwasmomentarilyruffledbythisdiscovery.Thepoetwasnotafavouriteofhis—itwasonlyreluctantlythathehadconsentedtohisbeinginvitedatall;andthepresumptionbeingthatwhentwomembersofahouse–partydisappearsimultaneouslytheyarelikelytobespendingthetimeineachother’ssociety,hewasannoyed.Elsawasnotthegirltomakeafoolofherself,ofcourse,but—Hewasunwontedlysilentatdinner.

MrsKeith’sanxietydisplayeditselfdifferently.Shewasfranklyworried,andmentionedit.Bythetimethefishhadbeenreachedconversationatthetablehadfixeditselfdefinitelyontheonetopic.

‘Itisn’tthecarthistime,atanyrate,’saidMrKeith.‘Ithasn’tbeenouttoday.’

‘Ican’tunderstandit,’saidMrsKeithforthetwentiethtime.Andthatwasthefarthestpointreachedintheinvestigationofthemystery.

Bythetimedinnerwasoveraspiritofunrestwasabroad.Thecompanysataboutinuneasygroups.Snooker–poolwas,ifnotforgotten,atanyrateshelved.Somebodysuggestedsearch–parties,andoneortwoofthemoustache–tuggerswanderedratheraimlesslyoutintothedarkness.

MartinwasstandingintheporchwithMrKeithwhenKeggsapproached.Ashiseyeslitonhim,Martinwasconsciousofasuddensolidifyingofthevaguesuspicionwhichhadbeenforminginhismind.Andyetthatsuspicionseemedsowild.HowcouldKeggs,withtheworstintentions,havehadanythingtodowiththis?Hecouldnotforciblyhaveabductedthemissingpairandkeptthemunderlockandkey.Hecouldnothavestunnedthemandlefttheminaditch.Nevertheless,lookingathimstandingthereinhisattitudeofdeferentialdignity,withthelightfromtheopendoorshiningonhisbaldhead,Martinfeltperfectlycertainthathehadinsomemysteriousfashionengineeredthewholething.

‘MightIhaveaword,sir,ifyouareatleisure?’

‘Well,Keggs?’

‘MissElsa,sir.’

‘Yes?’

Kegg’svoicetookonasympatheticsoftness.

‘Itwasnotmyplace,sir,tomakeanyremarkwhileinthedining–room,butIcouldnot‘elpbuthoverheartheconversation.Igatheredfromremarksthatwaspassedthatyouwas

somewhathatalosstoaccountforMissElsa’snon–appearance,sir.’

MrKeithlaughedshortly.

‘Yougatheredthat,eh?’

Keggsbowed.

‘Ithink,sir,thatpossiblyImaybehabletothrowlightonthematter.’

‘What!’criedMrKeith.‘GreatScott,man!thenwhydidn’tyousaysoatthetime?Whereisshe?’

‘Itwasnotmyplace,sir,tohenterintotheconversationofthedinner–table,’saidthebutler,withatouchofreproof.‘IfImightspeaknow,sir?’

MrKeithclutchedathisforehead.

‘Heavensabove!Doyouwantasignedpermittotellmewheremydaughteris?Geton,man,geton!’

‘Ithinkit‘ighlypossible,sir,thatMissElsaandMrBarstowemaybeonthehislandinthelake,sir.’Abouthalfamilefromthehousewasapicturesquestripofwater,somefifteenhundredyardsinwidthandalittlelessinlength,inthecentreofwhichstoodasmallanddenselywoodedisland.Itwasafavouritehauntofvisitorsatthehousewhentherewasnothingelsetoengagetheirattention,butduringthepastweek,withshootingtofillupthedays,ithadbeenneglected.

‘Ontheisland?’saidMrKeith.‘Whatputthatideaintoyourhead?’

‘I‘appenedtoberowingonthelakethismorning,sir.Ifrequentlyrowofamorning,sir,whentherearenodutiestodetainmeinthe‘ouse.Ifindthehexercisehadmirableforthe‘ealth.Iwalkbrisklytotheboat–‘ouse,and—’

‘Yes,yes.Idon’twantascheduleofyourdailyexercises.Cutouttheathleticreminiscencesandcometothepoint.’

‘AsIwasrowingonthelakethismorning,sir,I‘appenedtoseeaboat‘itcheduptoatreeonthehisland.IthinkthatpossiblyMissElsaandMrBarstowemight‘avetakenarowoutthere.MrBarstowewouldwishtoseethehisland,sir,bein’romantic.’

‘Butyousayyousawtheboattherethismorning?’

‘Yes,sir.’

‘Well,itdoesn’ttakealldaytoexploreasmallisland.What’skeptthemallthiswhile?’

‘Itispossible,sir,thattheropemightnothave‘eld.MrBarstowe,ifImightsayso,sir,isoneofthosehimpetuousliterarypussons,andpossiblyhehomittedtoseethattheknotwashadequatelytied.Or’—hiseye,graveandinscrutable,restedforamomentonMartin’s—‘somepartymight‘avecomealongandhuntiedita–puppus.’

‘Untieditonpurpose?’saidMrKeith.‘Whatonearthfor?’

Keggsshookhisheaddeprecatingly,asonewho,realizinghislimitations,declinestoattempttoprobethehiddensourcesofhumanactions.

‘Ithoughtitright,sir,toletyouknow,’hesaid.

‘Right?Ishouldsayso.IfElsahasbeenkeptstarvingalldayonthatislandbythatlong–haired—Here,comealong,Martin.’

Hedashedoffexcitedlyintothenight.Martinremainedforamomentgazingfixedlyatthebutler.

‘I‘ope,sir,’saidKeggs,cordially,‘thatmyhinformationwillproveofgenuinehassistance.’

‘DoyouknowwhatIshouldliketodotoyou?’saidMartinslowly.

‘IthinkI‘earMrKeithcallingyou,sir.’

‘Ishouldliketotakeyoubythescruffofyourneckand—’

‘There,sir!Didn’tyou‘ear‘imthen?Quitedistinctitwas.’

Martingaveupthestrugglewithasenseofblankfutility.Whatcouldyoudowithamanlikethis?ItwaslikequarrellingwithWestminsterAbbey.

‘Ishould‘urry,sir,’suggestedKeggs,respectfully.‘IthinkMrKeithmusthavemetwithsomehaccident.’

Hissurmiseprovedcorrect.WhenMartincameuphefoundhishostseatedonthegroundinevidentpain.

‘Twistedmyankleinahole,’heexplained,briefly.‘Givemeanarmbacktothehouse,there’sagoodfellow,andthenrunondowntothelakeandseeifwhatKeggssaidistrue.’

Martindidashewasrequested—sofar,thatistosay,asthefirsthalfofthecommissionwasconcerned.Asregardedthesecond,hetookituponhimselftomakecertainchanges.HavingseenMrKeithtohisroom,heputthefitting–outofthereliefshipintothegoodhandsofagroupofhisfellowguestswhomhediscoveredintheporch.Elsa’sfeelingstowardsherrescuermightbeoneofunmixedgratitude;butitmight,ontheotherhand,beoneofresentment.Hedidnotwishhertoconnecthiminhermindwiththeepisodeinanywaywhatsoever.Martinhadoncereleasedadogfromatrap,andthedoghadbittenhim.Hehadbeenonanerrandofmercy,butthedoghadconnectedhimwithhissufferingsandactedaccordingly.ItoccurredtoMartinthatElsa’sframeofmindwouldbeuncommonlylikethatdog’s.

Therescue–partysetoff.Martinlitacigarette,andwaitedintheporch.

Itseemedaverylongtimebeforeanythinghappened,butatlast,ashewaslightinghisfifthcigarette,therecamefromthedarknessthesoundofvoices.Theydrewnearer.Someoneshouted:

‘It’sallright.We’vefoundthem.’

Martinthrewawayhiscigaretteandwentindoors.

*****

ElsaKeithsatupashermothercameintotheroom.Twonightsandadayhadpassedsinceshehadtakentoherbed.

‘Howareyoufeelingtoday,dear?’

‘Hashegone,mother?’

‘Who?’

‘MrBarstowe?’

‘Yes,dear.Heleftthismorning.HesaidhehadbusinesswithhispublisherinLondon.’

‘ThenIcangetup,’saidElsa,thankfully.

‘Ithinkyou’realittlehardonpoorMrBarstowe,Elsa.Itwasjustanaccident,youknow.Itwasnothisfaultthattheboatslippedaway.’

‘Itwas,itwas,itwas!’criedElsa,thumpingthepillowmalignantly.‘Ibelievehediditonpurpose,sothathecouldreadmehishorridpoetrywithoutmyhavingachancetoescape.Ibelievethat’stheonlywayhecangetpeopletolistentoit.’

‘Butyouusedtolikeit,darling.Yousaidhehadsuchamusicalvoice.’

‘Musicalvoice!’Thepillowbecameashapelessheap.‘Mother,itwaslikeanightmare!IfIhadseenhimagainIshouldhavehadhysterics.Itwasawful!IfhehadbeeneventheleastbitupsethimselfIthinkIcouldhaveborneup.Butheenjoyedit!Herevelledinit!HesaiditwaslikeOmarKhayyamintheWildernessandShelley’sEpipsychidion,whateverthatis;andheprattledonandonandreadandreadtillmyheadbegantosplit.Mother’—hervoicesanktoawhisper—‘Ihithim!’

‘Elsa!’

‘Idid!’shewenton,defiantly.‘IhithimashardasIcould,andhe—he’—shebrokeoffintoalittlegurgleoflaughter—‘hetrippedoverabushandfellrightdown;andIwasn’tabitashamed.Ididn’tthinkitunladylikeoranything.IwasjustasproudasIcouldbe.Anditstoppedhimtalking.’

‘But,Elsa,dear!Why?’

‘Thesunhadjustgonedown;anditwasalovelysunset,andtheskylookedlikeagreat,beautifulsliceofunderdonebeef;andIsaidsotohim,andhesaid,sniffily,thathewasafraidhedidn’tseetheresemblance.AndIaskedhimifhewasn’tstarving.Andhesaidno,becauseasaruleallthatheneededwasalittleripefruit.AndthatwaswhenIhithim.’

‘Elsa!’

‘Oh,Iknowitwasawfullywrong,butIjusthadto.AndnowI’llgetup.Itlookslovelyout.’

Martinhadnotgoneoutwiththegunsthatday.MrsKeithhadassuredhimthattherewasnothingwrongwithElsa,thatshewasonlytired,buthewasanxious,andhadremainedathome,wherebulletinscouldreachhim.Ashewasreturningfromastrollinthegroundsheheardhisnamecalled,andsawElsalyinginthehammockunderthetreesneartheterrace.

‘Why,Martin,whyaren’tyououtwiththeguns?’shesaid.

‘IwantedtobeonthespotsothatIcouldhearhowyouwere.’

‘Howniceofyou!Whydon’tyousitdown?’

‘MayI?’

Elsaflutteredthepagesofhermagazine.

‘Youknow,you’reaveryrestfulperson,Martin.You’resobigandoutdoory.Howwouldyouliketoreadtomeforawhile?Ifeelsolazy.’

Martintookthemagazine.

‘WhatshallIread?Here’sapoemby—’

Elsashuddered.

‘Oh,please,no,’shecried.‘Icouldn’tbearit.I’lltellyouwhatIshouldlove—theadvertisements.There’soneaboutsardines.Istartedit,anditseemedsplendid.It’satthebacksomewhere.’

‘Isthisit—LangleyandFielding’ssardines?’

‘That’sit.’

Martinbegantoread.

‘“LangleyandFielding’ssardines.Whenyouwantthedaintiest,mostdelicioussardines,gotoyourgrocerandsay,‘LangleyandFielding’s,please!’YouwillthenbesureofhavingthefinestNorwegiansmokedsardines,packedinthepurestoliveoil.”’

Elsawassittingwithhereyesclosedandasoftsmileofpleasurecurvinghermouth.

‘Goon,’shesaid,dreamily.

‘“Nothingnicer.”’resumedMartin,withanaddedtouchofeloquenceasthethemebegantodevelop,‘“forbreakfast,lunch,orsupper.Probablyyourgrocerstocksthem.Askhim.Ifhedoesnot,writetous.Pricefivepencepertin.Thebestsardinesandthebestoil!”’

‘Isn’titlovely?’shemurmured.

Herhand,asitswung,touchedhis.Heheldit.Sheopenedhereyes.

‘Don’tstopreading,’shesaid.‘Ineverheardanythingsosoothing.’

‘Elsa!’

Hebenttowardsher.Shesmiledathim.Hereyesweredancing.

‘Elsa,I—’

‘MrKeith,’saidaquietvoice,‘desiredmetosay—’

Martinstartedaway.Heglaredupfuriously.GazingdownuponthemstoodKeggs.Thebutler’sfacewasshiningwithagentlebenevolence.

‘MrKeithdesiredmetosaythathewouldbegladifMissElsawouldcomeandsitwithhimforawhile.’

‘I’llcomeatonce,’saidElsa,steppingfromthehammock.

Thebutlerbowedrespectfullyandturnedaway.Theystoodwatchinghimashemoved

acrosstheterrace.

‘WhatasaintlyoldmanKeggslooks,’saidElsa.‘Don’tyouthinkso?Helooksasifhehadnevereventhoughtofdoinganythingheshouldn’t.Iwonderifheeverhas?’

‘Iwonder!’saidMartin.

‘Helookslikeastoutangel.Whatwereyousaying,Martin,whenhecameup?’

POTSO’MONEY

OwenBentleywasfeelingembarrassed.HelookedatMrSheppherd,andwithdifficultyrestrainedhimselffromstandingononelegandtwiddlinghisfingers.Atoneperiodofhiscareer,beforetheinfluenceofhisuncleHenryhadplacedhimintheLondonandSuburbanBank,Owenhadbeenanactor.Onthestrengthofabattingaverageofthirty–threepointnoughtsevenforMiddlesex,hehadbeenengagedbytheastutemusical–comedyimpresariotowhomtheideafirstoccurredthat,ifyouhavegottohaveyoungmentochant‘Wearemerryandgay,tra–la,forthisisBohemia,’intheArtists’Ballscene,youmightjustaswellhaveyoungmenwhosenamesareknowntothepublic.Hehadnotbeenanactorlong,forlossofformhadputhimoutoffirst–classcricket,andtheimpresariohadgivenhisplaceinthenextpiecetoagooglybowlerwhohaddonewellinthelastVarsitymatch;buthehadbeenonelongenoughtoexperiencethatsinkingsensationwhichisknownasstage–fright.Andnow,ashebegantoexplaintoMrSheppherdthathewishedforhisconsenttomarryhisdaughterAudrey,hefoundhimselfsufferingexactlythesamesymptoms.

Fromtheverystart,fromthemomentwhenherevealedthefactthathisincome,salaryandprivatemeansincluded,amountedtolessthantwohundredpounds,hehadrealizedthatthiswasgoingtobeoneofhisfailures.ItwasthegruesomeEarlyVictoriannessofitallthattooktheheartoutofhim.MrSheppherdhadalwaysremindedhimofaheavyfatheroutofathree–volumenovel,but,comparedwithhisdemeanourashelistenednow,hisattitudehithertohadbeenlightandwhimsical.UntilthismomentOwenhadnotimaginedthatthissortofthingeverhappenednowadaysoutsidethecomicpapers.Bytheendofthesecondminutehewouldnothavebeensurprisedtofindhimselfsailingthroughtheair,urgedbyMrSheppherd’sboot,histransitindicatedbyadottedlineandafewstars.

MrSheppherd’smannerwasinclinedtobleakness.

‘Thisismostunfortunate,’hesaid.‘Mostunfortunate.Ihavemydaughter’shappinesstoconsider.Itismydutyasafather.’Hepaused.‘Yousayyouhavenoprospects?Ishouldhavesupposedthatyouruncle—?Surely,withhisinfluence—?’

‘Myuncleshothisboltwhenhegotmeintothebank.Thatfinishedhim,asfarasI’mconcerned.I’mnothisonlynephew,youknow.Thereareaboutahundredothers,alltrailinghimlikebloodhounds.’

MrSheppherdcoughedthesmallcoughofdisapproval.Hewasfeelingmorethanalittleaggrieved.

HehadmetOwenforthefirsttimeatdinneratthehouseofhisuncleHenry,amanofunquestionedsubstance,whosehabititwastoinviteeachofhiselevennephewstodinneronceayear.ButMrSheppherddidnotknowthis.Forallheknew,Owenwasinthehabitofhobnobbingwiththegreatmaneverynight.HecouldnotsayexactlythatitwassharppracticeonOwen’sparttoaccepthisinvitationtocall,and,havingcalled,tocontinuecallinglongenoughtomakethepresentdeplorablesituationpossible;buthefeltthatit

wouldhavebeeninbettertastefortheyoungmantohaveeffacedhimselfandbehavedmorelikeabank–clerkandlesslikeanheir.

‘Iamexceedinglysorryforthis,MrBentley,’hesaid,‘butyouwillunderstandthatIcannot—Itis,ofcourse,outofthequestion.Itwouldbebest,inthecircumstances,Ithink,ifyoudidnotseemydaughteragain—’

‘She’swaitinginthepassageoutside,’saidOwen,simply.

‘—aftertoday.Good–bye.’

Owenlefttheroom.Audreywashoveringintheneighbourhoodofthedoor.Shecamequicklyuptohim,andhisspiritsrose,astheyalwaysdid,atthesightofher.

‘Well?’shesaid.

Heshookhishead.

‘Nogood,’hesaid.

Audreyconsideredtheproblemforamoment,andwasrewardedwithanidea.

‘ShallIgoinandcry?’

‘Itwouldn’tbeofanyuse.’

‘Tellmewhathappened.’

‘HesaidImustn’tseeyouagain.’

‘Hedidn’tmeanit.’

‘Hethinkshedid.’

Audreyreflected.

‘Weshallsimplyhavetokeepwriting,then.Andwecantalkonthetelephone.Thatisn’tseeingeachother.Hasyourbankatelephone?’

‘Yes.But—’

‘That’sallright,then.I’llringyouupeveryday.’

‘IwishIcouldmakesomemoney,’saidOwen,thoughtfully.‘ButIseemtobeoneofthosechapswhocan’t.NothingItrycomesoff.I’veneverdrawnanythingexceptablankinasweep.IspentabouttwopoundsonsixpennypostalorderswhentheLimerickcrazewason,anddidn’twinathing.OncewhenIwasontourIworkedmyselftoashadow,dramatizinganovel.Nothingcameofthat,either.’

‘Whatnovel?’

‘AthingcalledWhiteRoses,byawomannamedEdithButler.’

Audreylookedupquickly.

‘Isupposeyouknewherverywell?Wereyougreatfriends?’

‘Ididn’tknowheratall.I’dnevermether.Ijusthappenedtobuythethingatabookstall,andthoughtitwouldmakeagoodplay.Iexpectitwasprettybadrot.Anyhow,shenevertookthetroubletosenditbackoreventoacknowledgereceipt.’

‘Perhapsshenevergotit?’

‘Iregisteredit.’

‘Shewasacat,’saidAudrey,decidedly.‘I’mgladofit,though.Ifanotherwomanhadhelpedyoumakealotofmoney,Ishouldhavediedofjealousy.’

Routineisdeathtoheroism.ForthefirstfewdaysafterhispartingwithMrSheppherd,Owenwasinheroicmood,fullofvaguelydashingschemes,regardingtheworldashisoyster,andburningtogetatit,swordinhand.Butroutine,withitsledgersanditscopying–inkanditscustomers,felllikeagreycloudathwarthishorizon,blottingoutrainbowvisionsofsuddenwealth,dramaticallywon.Daybydaytheglowfadedandhopelessnessgrew.

IftheglowdidnotentirelyfadeitwasduetoAudrey,whomorethanfulfilledherpromiseofringinghimuponthetelephone.Sheranghimupatleastonce,frequentlyseveraltimes,everyday,afactwhichwasnotedandcommenteduponinaharshlycriticalspiritbytheheadofhisdepartment,amanwithnosoulandastrongobjectiontodoinghissubordinates’workforthem.

Asarule,herconversation,thoughpleasing,wasdiscursiveandlackedcentralmotive,butonemorningshehadgenuinenewstoimpart.

‘Owen’—hervoicewasexcited—‘haveyouseenthepapertoday?Thenlisten.I’llreaditout.Areyoulistening?Thisiswhatitsays:“ThePiccadillyTheatrewillreopenshortlywithadramatizedversionofMissEdithButler’spopularnovel,WhiteRoses,preparedbytheauthoressherself.Astrongcastisbeingengaged,including—”Andthenalotofnames.Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit,Owen?’

‘WhatamIgoingtodo?’

‘Don’tyouseewhat’shappened?Thatawfulwomanhasstolenyourplay.Shehaswaitedalltheseyears,hopingyouwouldforget.Whatareyoulaughingat?’

‘Iwasn’tlaughing.’

‘Yes,youwere.Ittickledmyear.I’llringoffifyoudoitagain.Youdon’tbelieveme.Well,youwaitandseeifI’mnot—’

‘EdithButler’sincapableofsuchathing.’

Therewasaslightpauseattheotherendofthewire.

‘Ithoughtyousaidyoudidn’tknowher,’saidAudrey,jealously.

‘Idon’t—Idon’t,’saidOwen,hastily.‘ButI’vereadherbooks.They’resimplychunksofsuperfattedsentiment.She’sasortofliteraryonion.Shecompelstears.Awomanlikethatcouldn’tstealaplayifshetried.’

‘Youcan’tjudgeauthorsfromtheirbooks.Youmustgoandseetheplaywhenitcomeson.Thenyou’llseeI’mright.I’mabsolutelycertainthatwomanistryingtoswindleyou.Don’tlaughinthathorridway.Verywell,ItoldyouIshouldringoff,andnowI’mgoingto.’

AtthebeginningofthenextmonthOwen’sannualholidayarrived.Theauthoritiesofthe

LondonandSuburbanBankwerenoniggards.Theyrecognizedthatamanisnotamachine.Theygavetheiremployeestendaysintheyearinwhichtotoneuptheirsystemsforanothertwelvemonths’work.

OwenspenthisboyhoodintheShropshirevillageofwhichhisfatherhadbeenrector,andthitherhewentwhenhisholidaycameround,tothefarmofoneDorman.HewasgladofthechancetogettoShropshire.Thereissomethingaboutthecountrythere,withitsgreenfieldsandminiaturerivers,thatsoothesthewoundedspiritandformsapleasantbackgroundforsentimentalmusings.

Itwascomfortableatthefarm.ThehouseholdconsistedofMrDorman,anoldacquaintance,histen–year–oldsonGeorge,andMrDorman’smother,anagedladywithaconsiderablelocalreputationasawisewoman.Rumourhaditthatthefutureheldnomysteriesforher,anditwasknownthatshecouldcurewarts,bruisedfingers,andeventhebottsbymeansofspells.

Exceptforthese,Owenhadfanciedthathewasaloneinthehouse.Itseemednot,however.Therewasaprimevalpianoinhissitting–room,andonthesecondmorningitsuitedhismoodtositdownatthisandsing‘Asthore’,thefruitypathosofwhichballadappealedtohimstronglyatthistime,accompanyinghimselfbyaningeniousarrangementinthreechords.Hehadhardlybegun,however,whenMrDormanappeared,somewhatagitated.

‘Ifyoudon’tmind,MrOwen,’hesaid.‘Iforgottotellyou.There’salit’erygentboardingwithmeintheroomabove,andhecan’tbeartobedisturbed.’

Amuffledstampingfromtheceilingboreouthiswords.

‘Writingabookheis,’continuedMrDorman.‘HecaughtyoungGeorgeaclipovertheear–‘oleyesterdayforblowinghistrumpetonthestairs.Gavehimsixpenceafterwards,andsaidhe’dskinhimifheeverdiditagain.So,ifyoudon’tmind—’

‘Oh,allright,’saidOwen.‘Whoishe?’

‘GentlemanofthenameofProsser.’

Owencouldnotrecollecthavingcomeacrossanyworkbyanyoneofthatname;buthewasnotawidereader;and,whetherthemanabovewasacelebrityornot,hewasentitledtoquiet.

‘Ineverheardofhim,’hesaid,‘butthat’snoreasonwhyIshoulddisturbhim.Lethimrip.I’llcutoutthemusicaleffectsinfuture.’

Thedayspassedsmoothlyby.Theliterarymanremainedinvisible,thoughoccasionallyaudible,trampingthefloorinthefrenzyofcomposition.Nor,untilthelastdayofhisvisit,didOwenseeoldMrsDorman.

Thatshewasnotunawareofhispresenceinthehouse,however,wasindicatedonthelastmorning.Hewassmokinganafter–breakfastpipeattheopenwindowandwaitingforthedog–cartthatwastotakehimtothestation,whenGeorge,thesonofthehouse,entered.

Georgestoodinthedoorway,grinned,andsaid:

‘Farsezjerligranmatellyerforchbythecards?’

‘Eh?’saidOwen.

Theyouthrepeatedtheword.

‘Onceagain.’

Onthesecondrepetitionlightbegantocreepin.Aboyhoodspentintheplace,addedtothistendays’stay,hadmadeOwensomethingofalinguist.

‘FathersayswouldIlikegrandmatodowhat?’

‘Tellyerforch’nbythercards.’

‘Whereisshe?’

‘Backyarnder.’

Owenfollowedhimintothekitchen,wherehefoundMrDorman,thefarmer,and,seatedatthetable,fumblingwithapackofcards,anoldwoman,whomherememberedwell.

‘Motherwantstotellyourfortune,’saidMrDorman,inahoarseaside.‘Shealwayswilltellvisitors’fortunes.ShetoldMrProsser’s,andhedidn’thalflikeit,becauseshesaidhe’dbeengagedintwomonthsandmarriedinsidetheyear.Hesaidwildhorseswouldn’tmakehimdoit.’

‘Shecantellmethatifshelikes.Ishan’tobject.’

‘Mother,here’sMrOwen.’

‘Iseedhimfastenough,’saidtheoldwoman,briskly.‘Shuffle,an’cutthreetimes.’

Shethenperformedmysteriousmanoeuvreswiththecards.

‘Iseepotso’money,’announcedthesibyl.

‘Ifshesaysit,it’sthererightenough,’saidherson.

‘Shemeansmybonus,’saidOwen.‘Butthat’sonlytenpounds.AndIloseitifI’mlatetwicemorebeforeChristmas.’

‘It’llcomesureenough.’

‘Pots,’saidtheoldwoman,andshewasstillmumblingtheencouragingwordwhenOwenleftthekitchenandreturnedtothesitting–room.

Helaughedratherruefully.Atthatmomenthecouldhavefoundauseforpotso’money.

Hewalkedtothewindow,andlookedout.Itwasagloriousmorning.Theheat–mistwasdancingoverthemeadowbeyondthebrook,andfromthefarmyardcametheliquidcharawksofcare–freefowls.ItseemedwickedtoleavethesehauntsofpeaceforLondononsuchaday.

Anacutemelancholyseizedhim.Absently,hesatdownatthepiano.TheprejudicesofliteraryMrProsserhadslippedfromhismind.Softlyatfirst,thengatheringvolumeasthespiritofthesonggrippedhim,hebegantosing‘Asthore’.Hebecameabsorbed.

Hehadjust,forthesixthtime,wonthroughto‘Iyam–ahwaitingfor–ertheeee–yass–thorre,’andwasdoingsomeintricatethree–chordworkpreparatorytostartingoveragain,whenaloafofbreadwhizzedpasthisear.Itmissedhimbyaninch,andcrashedagainsta

plasterstatuetteoftheInfantSamuelonthetopofthepiano.

Itwasastandardloaf,containingeightypercentofsemolina,anditpracticallywipedtheInfantSamueloutofexistence.Atthesamemoment,athisback,theresoundedaloud,wrathfulsnort.

Hespunround.Thedoorwasopen,andattheothersideofthetablewasstandingalarge,black–bearded,shirt–sleevedman,inanattituderatherreminiscentofAjaxdefyingthelightning.Hishandstrembled.Hisbeardbristled.Hiseyesgleamedferociouslybeneathenormouseyebrows.AsOwenturned,hegavetongueinavoicelikethedischargeofabroadside.

‘Stopit!’

Owen’smind,wrenchedtoosuddenlyfromthedreamyfuturetothevividpresent,wasnotyetcompletelyundercontrol.Hegaped.

‘Stop—that—infernal—noise!’roaredtheman.

Heshotthroughthedoor,bangingitafterhim,andpoundedupthestairs.

Owenwasannoyed.Theartistictemperamentwasallverywell,buttherewerelimits.Itwasabsurdthatobscureauthorsshouldbehaveinthisway.Prosser!WhoonearthwasProsser?Hadanyoneeverheardofhim?No!Yetherehewasgoingaboutthecountryclippingsmallboysovertheear–hole,andflingingloavesofbreadatbank–clerksasifhewereHenryJamesorMarieCorelli.Owenreproachedhimselfbitterlyforhismomentarylossofpresenceofmind.Ifhehadonlykepthishead,hecouldhavetakenaflyingshotatthemanwiththemarmalade–pot.Ithadbeenwithineasyreach.Insteadofwhich,hehadmerelystoodandgaped.Ofallsadwordsoftongueorpen,thesaddestarethese,‘Itmighthavebeen.’

HismanlyregretwasinterruptedbytheentranceofMrDormanwiththeinformationthatthedog–cartwasatthedoor.

*****

AudreywasoutoftownwhenOwenarrivedinLondon,butshereturnedaweeklater.Thesoundofhervoicethroughthetelephonedidmuchtocuretherestlessnessfromwhichhehadbeensufferingsincetheconclusionofhisholiday.Butthethoughtthatshewassonearyetsoinaccessibleproducedinhimameditativemelancholywhichenvelopedhimlikeacloudthatwouldnotlift.Hismannerbecamedistrait.Helostweight.

Ifcustomerswerenotvaguelypainedbyhissad,paleface,itwasonlybecausethefiercerushofmoderncommerciallifeleavesyourbusinessmanlittleleisureforobservingpallorinbank–clerks.Whatdidpainthemwasthegentledreaminesswithwhichheperformedhisduties.HewasintheInwardBillsDepartment,oneofthefeaturesofwhichwasthesuddeninrush,towardstheendofeachafternoon,ofhatless,energeticyoungmenwithleatherbagsstrappedtotheirleftarms,clamouringformysteriouscracklingdocuments,muchfastenedwithpins.Owenhadneverquiteunderstoodwhatitwasthattheseyoungmendidwant,andnowhisdetachedmindrefusedevenmoreemphaticallytograpplewiththeproblem.Hedistributedthedocumentsatrandomwiththeairofapreoccupiedmonarchscatteringlargesstothemob,andthesubsequentchaoshadtobehandledbya

wrathfulheadofthedepartmentinperson.

Man’spowerofenduranceislimited.Attheendofthesecondweektheoverwroughtheadappealedpassionatelyforrelief,andOwenwasremovedtothePostageDepartment,where,whenhehadleisurefromansweringAudrey’stelephonecalls,heenteredtheaddressesoflettersinalargebookandtookthemtothepost.Hewassupposedalsotostampthem,butamaninlovecannotthinkofeverything,andhewasaptattimestooverlookthisformality.

Onemorning,receivingfromoneofthebankmessengerstheusualintimationthataladywishedtospeaktohimonthetelephone,hewenttotheboxandtookupthereceiver.

‘Isthatyou,Owen?Owen,IwenttoWhiteRoseslastnight.Haveyoubeenyet?’

‘Notyet.’

‘Thenyoumustgotonight.Owen,I’mcertainyouwroteit.It’sperfectlylovely.Icriedmyeyesout.Ifyoudon’tgotonight,I’llneverspeaktoyouagain,evenonthetelephone.Promise.’

‘MustI?’

‘Yes,youmust.Why,supposeitisyours!Itmaymeanafortune.Thestallsweresimplypacked.I’mgoingtoringupthetheatrenowandengageaseatforyou,andpayforitmyself.’

‘No—Isay—’protestedOwen.

‘Yes,Ishall.Ican’ttrustyoutogoifIdon’t.AndI’llringupearlytomorrowtohearallaboutit.Good–bye.’

Owenlefttheboxsomewhatdepressed.Lifewasquitegloomyenoughasitwas,withoutgoingoutofone’swaytocryone’seyesoutoversentimentalplays.

Hisdepressionwasincreasedbythereceipt,onhisreturntohisdepartment,ofamessagefromthemanager,statingthathewouldliketoseeMrBentleyinhisprivateroomforamoment.OwenneverenjoyedtheselittlechatswithAuthority.Outofofficehours,inthecircleofhisfriends,hehadnodoubtthemanagerwasadelightfulandentertainingcompanion;butinhisprivateroomhisconversationwaslessenjoyable.

Themanagerwasseatedathistable,thoughtfullyregardingtheceiling.Hisresemblancetoastuffedtrout,alwaysstriking,wassubtlyaccentuated,andOwen,anexpertinthesematters,feltthathisfearshadbeenwellfounded—therewastroubleintheair.Somebodyhadbeencomplainingofhim,andhewasnowabout,asthephrasewent,tobe‘run–in’.

Alargeman,seatedwithhisbacktothedoor,turnedasheentered,andOwenrecognizedthewell–rememberedfeaturesofMrProsser,theliteraryloaf–slinger.

Owenregardedhimwithoutresentment.SincereturningtoLondonhehadtakenthetroubleoflookinguphisnameinWho’sWhoandhadfoundthathewasnotsoundistinguishedashehadsupposed.Hewas,itappeared,aRegiusProfessorandtheauthorofsomehalf–dozenworksonsociology—arecord,Owenfelt,thatalmostjustifiedloaf–slingingandear–holeclippinginmomentsofirritation.

Themanagerstartedtospeak,butthemanoflettersanticipatedhim.

‘Isthisthefool?’heroared.‘Youngman,Ihavenowishtobehardonacongenitalidiotwhoisnotresponsibleforhisactions,butImustinsistonanexplanation.Iunderstandthatyouareinchargeofthecorrespondenceinthisoffice.Well,duringthelastweekyouhavethreetimessentunstampedletterstomyfiancee,MissVeraDelane,Woodlands,Southbourne,Hants.What’sthematterwithyou?Doyouthinkshelikespayingtwopenceatime,orwhatisit?’

Owen’smindleapedbackatthewords.Theyrecalledsomethingtohim.Thenheremembered.

Hewasconsciousofanotunpleasantthrill.Hehadnotknownthathewassuperstitious,butforsomereasonhehadnotbeenabletogetthoseabsurdwordsofMrDorman’smotheroutofhismind.Andherewasanotherpredictionofhers,equallyimprobable,fulfilledtotheletter.

‘GreatScott!’hecried.‘Areyougoingtobemarried?’

MrProsserandthemanagerstartedsimultaneously.

‘MrsDormansaidyouwouldbe,’saidOwen.‘Don’tyouremember?’

MrProsserlookedkeenlyathim.

‘Why,I’veseenyoubefore,’hesaid.‘You’retheyoungturnip–headedscallywagatthefarm.’

‘That’sright,’saidOwen.

‘I’vebeenwantingtomeetyouagain.Ithoughtthewholethingover,anditstruckme,’saidMrProsser,handsomely,‘thatImayhaveseemedalittleabruptatourlastmeeting.’

‘No,no.’

‘Thefactis,Iwasinthemiddleofaninfernallydifficultpassageofmybookthatmorning,andwhenyoubegan—’

‘Itwasmyfaultentirely.Iquiteunderstand.’

MrProsserproducedacard–case.

‘Wemustseemoreofeachother,’hesaid.‘Comeandhaveabitofdinnersomenight.Cometonight.’

‘I’mverysorry.Ihavetogotothetheatretonight.’

‘Thencomeandhaveabitofsupperafterwards.Excellent.MeetmeattheSavoyateleven–fifteen.I’mgladIdidn’thityouwiththatloaf.Abruptnesshasbeenmyfailingthroughlife.Myfatherwasjustthesame.Eleven–fifteenattheSavoy,then.’

Themanager,whohadbeenlisteningwithsomerestlessnesstotheconversation,nowintervened.Hewasamanwithasenseoffitnessofthings,andheobjectedtohavinghisprivateroommadethesceneofwhatappearedtobeareunionofoldcollegechums.Hehintedasmuch.

‘Ha!Prrumph!’heobserved,disapprovingly.‘Er—MrBentley,thatisall.Youmayreturntoyourwork—ah’mmm!Kindlybemorecarefulanothertimeinstampingtheletters.’

‘Yes,byJove,’saidMrProsser,suddenlyremindedofhiswrongs,‘that’sright.Exercisealittleordinarycare,youivory–skulledyoungsonofagun.DoyouthinkMissDelaneismadeoftwopences?Keepaneyeonhim,’heurgedthemanager.‘Theseyoungfellowsnowadayswantsomeonestandingoverthemwithaknoutallthetime.Bemorecarefulanothertime,youngman.Eleven–fifteen,remember.Makeanoteofit,oryou’llgoforgettingthat.’

*****

TheseatAudreyhadboughtforhimatthePiccadillyTheatreprovedtobeinthecentreofthesixthrowofstalls—practicallyadeath–trap.Whateverhissufferingsmightbe,escapewasimpossible.Hewassecurelywedgedin.

Thecheaperpartsofthehouseweresparselyoccupied,butthestallswerefull.Owen,disapprovingofthewholebusiness,refusedtobuyaprogramme,andsettledhimselfinhisseatpreparedfortheworst.HehadavividrecollectionofWhiteRoses,thenovel,andhedidnotanticipateanykeenenjoymentfromitinitsdramatizedform.HehadlongceasedtobeamemberofthatlargepublicforwhichMissEdithButlercatered.Thesentimentaladventuresofgovernessesinducalhouses—theheroineofWhiteRoseswasagoverness—nolongercontentedhissoul.

Thereisalwaysacuriouslydream–likeatmosphereaboutaplayfoundedonabook.Oneseemstohaveseenitallbefore.DuringthewholeofthefirstactOwenattributedtothishisfeelingoffamiliaritywithwhatwasgoingononthestage.Atthebeginningofthesecondacthefoundhimselfanticipatingevents.Butitwasnottillthethirdactthatthetruthsankin.

Thethirdwastheonlyactinwhich,inhisdramatization,hehadtakenanyreallibertieswiththetextofthenovel.Butinthisacthehadintroducedacharacterwhodidnotappearinthenovel—acreatureofhisownimagination.Andnow,withbulgingeyes,heobservedthiscreatureemergefromthewings,andheardhimutterlineswhichhenowclearlyrememberedhavingwritten.

Audreyhadbeenright!SerpentEdithButlerhadstolenhisplay.

Hismind,duringtheremainderoftheplay,wasactive.Bythetimethefinalcurtainfellandhepassedoutintotheopenairhehadperceivedsomeofthedifficultiesofthecase.Toproveoneselftheauthorofanoriginalplayishard,butnotimpossible.Friendstowhomonehadsketchedtheplotmaycomeforwardaswitnesses.Onemayhavepreservedroughnotes.Butadramatizationofanovelisanothermatter.Alldramatizationsofanygivennovelmustnecessarilybeverymuchalike.

HestartedtowalkalongPiccadilly,andhadreachedHydeParkCornerbeforeherecollectedthathehadanengagementtotakesupperwithMrProsserattheSavoyHotel.Hehailedacab.

‘You’relate,’boomedtheauthorofsociologicaltreatises,asheappeared.‘You’reinfernallylate.Isuppose,inyourwoollen–headedway,youforgotallaboutit.Comealong.We’lljusthavetimeforanoliveandaglassofsomethingbeforetheyturnthelightsout.’

Owenwasstillthinkingdeeplyashebeganhissupper.Surelytherewassomewayby

whichhecouldprovehisclaims.Whathadhedonewiththeoriginalmanuscript?Herememberednow.Hehadburntit.Ithadseemedmereuselesslitterthen.Probably,hefeltbitterly,thewomanButlerhadcountedonthis.

MrProsserconcludedananimatedconversationwithawaiteronthesubjectofthewinesofFrance,leanedforward,and,havinghelpedhimselfbrisklytoanchovies,begantotalk.Hetalkedloudlyandrapidly.Owen,histhoughtsfaraway,hardlylistened.

Presentlythewaiterreturnedwiththeselectedbrand.HefilledOwen’sglass,andOwendrank,andfeltbetter.Findinghisglassmagicallyfulloncemore,heemptieditagain.AndthensuddenlyhefoundhimselflookingacrossthetableathisHost,andfeelingasenseofabsoluteconvictionthatthiswastheonemanofallotherswhomhewouldhaveselectedasaconfidant.Howkindly,thoughsomewhatmisty,hisfacewas!Howsoothing,ifalittleindistinct,hisvoice!

‘Prosser,’hesaid,‘youareamanoftheworld,andIshouldlikeyouradvice.Whatwouldyoudoinacaselikethis?Igotoatheatretoseeaplay,andwhatdoIfind?’

Hepaused,andeyedhishostimpressively.

‘What’sthattunethey’replaying?’saidMrProsser.‘Youheariteverywhere.OneoftheseViennesethings,Isuppose.’

Owenwasannoyed.Hebegantodoubtwhether,afterall,MrProsser’svirtuesasaconfidantwerenotmoreapparentthanreal.

‘Ifind,byJove,’hecontinued,‘thatIwrotethethingmyself.’

‘It’snotapatchonTheMerryWidow,’saidMrProsser.

Owenthumpedthetable.

‘ItellyouIfindIwrotethethingmyself.’

‘Whatthing?’

‘ThisplayI’mtellingyouabout.ThisWhiteRosesthing.’

Hefoundthathehadatlastgothishost’sear.MrProsserseemedgenuinelyinterested.

‘Whatdoyoumean?’

Owenplungedonwithhisstory.Hestartedfromitsdimbeginning,fromthedayswhenhehadboughtthenovelonhisjourneyfromBathtoCheltenham.Hedescribedhismethodsofwork,hisregisteringofthepackage,hissuspense,hisgrowingresignation.Hesketchedtheprogressofhislife.HespokeofAudreyandgaveacrispcharacter–sketchofMrSheppherd.Hetookhishearerrightuptothemomentwhenthetruthhadcomehometohim.

Towardstheendofhisnarrativethelightswentout,andhefinishedhisstoryinthehotelcourtyard.Inthecoolairhefeltrevived.TheoutlinesofMrProsserbecamesharpanddistinctagain.

Thesociologistlistenedadmirably.Heappearedabsorbed,anddidnotinterruptonce.

‘Whatmakesyousocertainthatthiswasyourversion?’heasked,astheypassedintothe

Strand.

OwentoldhimofthecreatureofhisimaginationinActIII.

‘Butyouhavelostyourmanuscript?’

‘Yes;Iburntit.’

‘Justwhatonemighthaveexpectedyoutodo,’saidMrProsser,unkindly.‘Youngman,Ibegintobelievethattheremaybesomethinginthis.Youhaven’tgotaghostofaproofthatwouldholdwaterinacourtoflaw,ofcourse;butstill,I’minclinedtobelieveyou.Foronething,youhaven’ttheintelligencetoinventsuchastory.’

Owenthankedhim.

‘Infact,ifyoucananswermeonequestionIshallbesatisfied.’

ItseemedtoOwenthatMrProsserwastendingtogetalittleabovehimself.Asanintelligentlistenerhehadbeenofservice,butthatappearedtobenoreasonwhyheshouldconstitutehimselfasortofjudgeandmasteroftheceremonies.

‘That’sverygoodofyou,’hesaid;‘butwillEdithButlerbesatisfied?That’smoretothepoint.’

‘IamEdithButler,’saidMrProsser.

Owenstopped.‘You?’

‘Youneednotbabbleitfromthehouse–tops.Youaretheonlypersonbesidesmyagentwhoknowsit,andIwouldn’thavetoldyouifIcouldhavehelpedit.Itisn’tathingIwantknown.GreatScott,man,don’tgoggleatmelikeafish!Haven’tyouheardofpseudonymsbefore?’

‘Yes,but—’

‘Well,nevermind.TakeitfrommethatIamEdithButler.Nowlistentome.ThatmanuscriptreachedmewhenIwasinthecountry.Therewasnonameonit.Thatinitselfpointsstronglytothefactthatyouwereitsauthor.Itwaspreciselythechuckle–headedsortofthingyouwouldhavedone,toputnonameonthething.’

‘Ienclosedaletter,anyhow.’

‘Therewasaletterenclosed.Iopenedtheparceloutofdoors.Therewasafreshbreezeblowingatthetime.Itcaughttheletter,andthatwasthelastIsawofit.Ihadreadasfaras“DearMadam”.ButonethingIdorememberaboutit,andthatwasthatitwassentfromsomehotelinCheltenham,andIcouldrememberitifIheardit.Now,then?’

‘Icantellityou.ItwasWilbraham’s.Iwasstoppingthere.’

‘Youpass,’saidMrProsser.‘ItwasWilbraham’s.’

Owen’sheartgaveajump.Foramomenthewalkedonair.

‘Thendoyoumeantosaythatit’sallright—thatyoubelieve—’

‘Ido,’saidMrProsser.‘Bytheway,’hesaid,‘thenoticeofWhiteRoseswentuplastnight.’

Owen’sheartturnedtolead.

‘But—but—’hestammered.‘Buttonightthehousewaspacked.’

‘Itwas.Packedwithpaper.Allthemerrydead–headsinLondonwerethere.Ithasbeentheworstfailurethisseason.And,byGeorge,’hecried,withsuddenvehemence,‘serve‘emright.IfItoldthemonceitwouldfailinEngland,Itoldthemahundredtimes.TheLondonpublicwon’tstandthatsortofblitheringtwaddle.’

Owenstoppedandlookedround.Acabwasstandingacrosstheroad.Hesignalledtoit.Hefeltincapableofwalkinghome.Nophysicalblowcouldhaveunmannedhimmorecompletelythanthishideousdisappointmentjustwhen,byamiracle,everythingseemedtoberunninghisway.

‘Soonerridethanwalk,’saidMrProsser,pushinghisheadthroughtheopenwindow.‘Laziness—slackness—that’sthecurseofthemodernyoungman.WhereshallItellhimtodriveto?’

Owenmentionedhisaddress.Itstruckhimthathehadnotthankedhishostforhishospitality.

‘Itwasawfullygoodofyoutogivemesupper,MrProsser,’hesaid.‘I’veenjoyedittremendously.’

‘Comeagain,’saidMrProsser.‘I’mafraidyou’redisappointedabouttheplay?’

Owenforcedasmile.

‘Oh,no,that’sallright,’hesaid.‘Itcan’tbehelped.’

MrProsserhalfturned,thenthrusthisheadthroughthewindowagain.

‘IknewtherewassomethingIhadforgottentosay,’hesaid.‘IoughttohavetoldyouthattheplaywasproducedinAmericabeforeitcametoLondon.ItrantwoseasonsinNewYorkandoneinChicago,andtherearethreecompaniesplayingitstillontheroad.Here’smycard.Comeroundandseemetomorrow.Ican’ttellyoutheactualfiguresoff–hand,butyou’llbeallright.You’llhavepotso’money.’

OUTOFSCHOOLMarkyou,IamnotdefendingJamesDatchett.IholdnobriefforJames.Onthecontrary,Iamverydecidedlyoftheopinionthatheshouldnothavedoneit.Imerelysaythattherewereextenuatingcircumstances.Justthat.Ext.circ.Nothingmore.

Letusreviewthemattercalmlyandjudicially,notcondemningJamesoff–hand,butratherprobingthewholeaffairtoitscore,toseeifwecanconfirmmyviewthatitispossibletofindexcusesforhim.

WewillbeginatthetimewhenthesubjectoftheColoniesfirstshowedatendencytocreepmenacinglyintothedailychit–chatofhisUncleFrederick.

James’sUncleFrederickwasalwaystalkingmoreorlessabouttheColonies,havingmadeasubstantialfortuneoutinWesternAustralia,butitwasonlywhenJamescamedownfromOxfordthatthethingbecamereallymenacing.UptothattimetheunclehadmerelyspokenoftheColoniesasColonies.Nowhebegantospeakofthemwithsinisterreferencetohisnephew.HestarredJames.Itbecameacaseof‘FrederickKnottpresentsJamesDatchettin“TheColonies”,’andthereseemedeveryprospectthattheproductionwouldbeanearlyone;foriftherewasonesectionofthepublicwhichMrKnottdislikedmorethananother,itwasYoungMenWhoOughtToBeOutEarningTheirLivingsInsteadOfIdlingAtHome.Heexpressedhisviewsonthesubjectwithsomeeloquencewheneverhevisitedhissister’shouse.MrsDatchettwasawidow,andsinceherhusband’sdeathhadbeeninthehabitofacceptingeveryutteranceofherbrotherFrederickasapieceofgenuineall–woolwisdom;though,asamatteroffact,James’sunclehadjustaboutenoughbraintomakeajay–birdflycrooked,andnomore.Hehadmadehismoneythroughkeepingsheep.Andanyfoolcankeepsheep.However,hehadthisreputationforwisdom,andwhathesaidwent.Itwasnotlong,therefore,beforeitwasevidentthattheranksoftheY.M.W.O.T.B.O.E.T.L.I.O.I.A.H.wereabouttoloseamember.

James,forhispart,wasallagainsttheColonies.Asasettingforhiscareer,thatistosay.HewasnoLittleEnglander.HehadnoearthlyobjectiontoGreatBritainhavingColonies.ByallmeanshaveColonies.Theycouldrelyonhimformoralsupport.ButwhenitcametoleggingitouttoWestAustraliatoactasasortofvalettoUncleFrederick’sbeastlysheep—no.NotforJames.Forhimtheliterarylife.Yes,thatwasJames’sdream—tohaveastabattheliterarylife.AtOxfordhehadcontributedtotheIsis,andsincecomingdownhadbeenendeavouringtodothesametothepapersoftheMetropolis.Hehadhadnosuccesssofar.Butsomeinwardvoiceseemedtotellhim—(Readon.Readon.Thisisnostoryabouttheyoungbeginner’sstrugglesinLondon.WedonotgetwithinfiftymilesofFleetStreet.)

AtemporarycompromisewaseffectedbetweenthetwopartiesbythesecuringforJamesofapostasassistant–masteratHarrowHouse,theprivateschoolofoneBlatherwick,M.A.,theunderstandingbeingthatifhecouldholdthejobhecouldremaininEnglandandwrite,ifitpleasedhim,inhissparetime.Butifhefellshortinanywayasahandlerofsmallboyshewastodescendastepintheanimalkingdomandbematchedagainstthe

WestAustraliansheep.Therewastobenosecondchanceintheeventoffailure.FromthewayUncleFredericktalkedJamesalmostgottheideathatheattachedaspiritualimportancetoaconnexionwithsheep.HeseemedtostrivewithasortofreligiousfrenzytoconvertJamestoWestAustralia.SoJameswenttoHarrowHousewithmuchthesameemotionsthattheOldGuardmusthavefeltontheirwayupthehillatWaterloo.

HarrowHousewasagrimmansionontheoutskirtsofDover.Itisbetter,ofcourse,tobeontheoutskirtsofDoverthanactuallyinit,butwhenyouhavesaidthatyouhavesaideverything.James’simpressionsofthatportionofhislifeweremadeupalmostentirelyofchalk.Chalkintheschool–room,chalkalloverthecountry–side,chalkinthemilk.InthisuniverseofchalkhetaughtboredboystherudimentsofLatin,geography,andarithmetic,andintheevenings,afterastatelycupofcoffeewithMrBlatherwickinhisstudy,wenttohisroomandwrotestories.Thelifehadtheadvantageofofferingfewdistractions.ExceptforMrBlatherwickandaweirdfreakwhocameupfromDoveronTuesdaysandFridaystoteachFrench,hesawnobody.

ItwasaboutfiveweeksfromthebeginningoftermthattheriveroflifeatHarrowHousebecameruffledforthenewassistant–master.

Iwantyoutofollowmeverycloselyhere.AsfarastheexcusingofJames’sconductisconcerned,itisnowornever.IfIfailatthispointtotouchyou,Ihaveshotmybolt.

Letusmarshalthefacts.

Inthefirstplaceitwasaperfectlyrippingmorning.

Moreoverhehadreceivedatbreakfastaletterfromtheeditorofamonthlymagazineacceptingashortstory.

Thishadneverhappenedtohimbefore.

Hewastwenty–two.

And,justasheroundedtheangleofthehouse,hecameuponViolet,takingtheairlikehimself.

Violetwasoneofthehousemaids,atrim,energeticlittlepersonwithroundblueeyesandafriendlysmile.ShesmiledatJamesnow.Jameshalted.

‘Goodmorning,sir,’saidViolet.

FrommylistofcontributorycausesIfindthatIhaveomittedoneitem—viz.,thattheredidnotappeartobeanybodyelseabout.

JameslookedmeditativelyatViolet.VioletlookedsmilinglyatJames.Themorningwasjustasrippingasithadbeenamomentbefore.Jameswasstilltwenty–two.Andtheeditor’sletterhadnotceasedtocrackleinhisbreast–pocket.

ConsequentlyJamesstooped,and—inapurelybrotherlyway—kissedViolet.

This,ofcourse,waswrong.ItwasnopartofJames’sdutiesasassistant–masteratHarrowHousetowanderaboutbestowingbrotherlykissesonhousemaids.Ontheotherhand,therewasnogreatharmdone.InthecirclesinwhichVioletmovedthekisswasequivalenttothehand–shakeofloftiersociety.EverybodywhocametothebackdoorkissedViolet.Thecarrierdid;sodidthegrocer,thebaker,thebutcher,thegardener,thepostman,the

policeman,andthefishmonger.Theyweremenofwidelydifferingviewsonmostpoints.Onreligion,politics,andtheprospectsoftheentrantsforthethreeo’clockracetheiropinionsclashed.Butinonerespecttheywereunanimous.WhenevertheycametothebackdoorofHarrowHousetheyallkissedViolet.

‘I’vehadastoryacceptedbytheUniversalMagazine,’saidJames,casually.

‘Haveyou,sir?’saidViolet.

‘It’saprettygoodmagazine.Ishallprobablydoagreatdealforitfromtimetotime.Theeditorseemsadecentchap.’

‘Doeshe,sir?’

‘Ishan’ttiemyselfupinanyway,ofcourse,unlessIgetverygoodterms.ButIshallcertainlylethimseeagoodlotofmystuff.Jollymorning,isn’tit?’

Hestrolledon;andViolet,havingsniffedtheairforafewmoreminuteswithhertip–tiltednose,wentindoorstoattendtoherwork.

FiveminuteslaterJames,backintheatmosphereofchalk,waswritingontheblackboardcertainsentencesforhisclasstoturnintoLatinprose.Asomewhattopicalnoteranthroughthem.Asthus:

‘TheuncleofBalbuswishedhimtotendsheepintheColonies(Provincia).’

‘BalbussaidthatEnglandwasgoodenoughforhim(placeo).’

‘Balbussentastory(versus)toMaecenas,whorepliedthathehopedtouseitinduecourse.’

Hismindfloatedawayfromtheclassroomwhenashrillvoicebroughthimback.

‘Sir,please,sir,whatdoes“duecourse”mean?’

Jamesreflected.‘Alteritto“immediately,”’hesaid.

‘Balbusisagreatman,’hewroteontheblackboard.

Twominuteslaterhewasintheofficeofanimportantmagazine,andtherewasalookofreliefontheeditor’sface,forJameshadpracticallypromisedtodoaseriesoftwelveshortstoriesforhim.

*****

Ithasbeenwellobservedthatwhenawriterhasastoryrejectedheshouldsendthatstorytoanothereditor,butthatwhenhehasoneacceptedheshouldsendanotherstorytothateditor.Actingonthisexcellentplan,James,beingoffdutyforanhouraftertea,smokedapipeinhisbedroomandsettleddowntoworkonasecondeffortfortheUniversal.

Hewasgettingonratherwellwhenhisflowofideaswasbrokenbyaknockonthedoor.

‘Comein,’yelledJames.(Yourauthorisnotoriouslyirritable.)

Thenew–comerwasAdolf.AdolfwasoneofthatnumerousbandofSwissandGermanyouthswhocometothiscountrypreparedtogivetheirservicesridiculouslycheapinexchangefortheopportunityoflearningtheEnglishlanguage.MrBlatherwickheldthe

viewthatforaprivateschoolamalefront–dooropenerwassuperiortoafemale,arguingthattheparentsofprospectivepupilswouldbeimpressedbythesightofamaninlivery.HewouldhavelikedsomethingabitmoreimposingthanAdolf,butthelatterwastheshowiestthingthatcouldbegotforthemoney,sohemadethebestofit,andengagedhim.Afterall,anastigmaticparent,seeingAdolfinadimlight,mightbeimpressedbyhim.Younevercouldtell.

‘Well?’saidJames,glaring.

‘Anysingvromdzefillage,sare?’

ThebulkofAdolf’sperquisitesconsistedofthetipshereceivedforgoingtothegeneralstoredowntheroadfortobacco,stamps,andsoon.‘No.Getout,’growledJames,turningtohiswork.

HewassurprisedtofindthatAdolf,sofarfromgettingout,cameinandshutthedoor.

‘Zst!’saidAdolf,withafingeronhislips.

Jamesstared.

‘Indzegartenzismorning,’proceededhisvisitor,grinninglikeagargoyle,‘IdidzeeyougissVioled.Zo!’

James’sheartmissedabeat.Consideredpurelyasasituation,hispresentpositionwasnotideal.Hehadtoworkhard,andtherewasnotmuchmoneyattachedtothejob.Butitwaswhatthesituationstoodforthatcounted.ItwashislittlerockofsafetyinthemidstofasurgingoceanofWestAustraliansheep.Oncelethimlosehisgriponit,andtherewasnochanceforhim.Hewouldbesweptawaybeyondhopeofreturn.

‘Whatdoyoumean?’hesaidhoarsely.

‘Indzegarten.Iyouvromawindowdidzee.YouundVioled.Zo!’AndAdolf,intheworsttaste,gavearealisticimitationofthescene,himselfsustainingtheroleofJames.

Jamessaidnothing.Thewholeworldseemedtobefilledwithavastbaa–ing,asofcountlessflocks.

‘Lizzun!’saidAdolf.‘BerhapsIHerrBlazzervigdell.BerhapsnotIdo.Zo!’

Jamesrousedhimself.Atallcostshemustplacatethisworm.MrBlatherwickwasanaustereman.Hewouldnotoverlooksuchacrime.

Heappealedtotheother’schivalry.

‘WhataboutViolet?’hesaid.‘Surelyyoudon’twanttolosethepoorgirlherjob?They’dbeboundtosackher,too.’

Adolf’seyesgleamed.

‘Zo?Lizzun!WhenIdogomvirsthere,ImyselfdotogissVioledvuncevish.Butshedopushdzezideofmyface,andmylofisdurnedtohate.’

Jameslistenedattentivelytothistabloidtragedy,butmadenocomment.

‘Anysingvromdzefillage,sare?’

Adolf’svoicewasmeaning.Jamesproducedahalf–crown.

‘Hereyouare,then.Getmehalfadozenstampsandkeepthechange.’

‘Zdamps?Yes,sare.Atvunce.’

James’slastimpressionofthedepartingonewasofavastandgreasygrin,stretchingmostofthewayacrosshisface.

*****

Adolf,asblackmailer,inwhichrolehenowshowedhimself,differedinsomerespectsfromtheconventionalblackmaileroffiction.ItmaybethathewasdoubtfulastohowmuchJameswouldstand,oritmaybethathissoulasageneralrulewasabovemoney.Atanyrate,inactualspeciehetookverylittlefromhisvictim.Heseemedtowishtobesenttothevillageoftenerthanbefore,butthatwasall.HalfacrownaweekwouldhavecoveredJames’sfinancialloss.

Butheassertedhimselfinanotherway.Inhismostlight–heartedmomentsAdolfneverforgotthereasonwhichhadbroughthimtoEngland.Hehadcometothecountrytolearnthelanguage,andhemeanttodoit.Thedifficultywhichhadalwayshandicappedhimhitherto—namely,thepovertyofthevocabulariesofthoseintheservants’quarters—wasnowremoved.HeappointedJamestutor–in–chiefoftheEnglishlanguagetohimself,andsawthatheentereduponhisdutiesatonce.

ThefirsttimethatheaccostedJamesinthepassageoutsidetheclassroom,anddesiredhimtoexplaincertaindifficultwordsinaleadingarticleofyesterday’spaper,Jameswaspleased.Adolf,hethought,regardedthepainfulepisodeasclosed.Hehadacceptedthehalf–crownasthefullpriceofsilence,andwasnowendeavouringtobefriendlyinordertomakeamends.

Thisright–mindedconductgratifiedJames.HefeltgeniallydisposedtowardAdolf.Hereadtheleadingarticle,andproceededtogiveafullandkindlyexplanationofthehardwords.Hetooktroubleoverit.Hewentintothederivationsofthewords.Hetouchedoncertainrathertrickysub–meaningsofthesame.AdolfwentawaywithanydoubtshemighthavehadofJames’scapabilitiesasateacherofEnglishdefinitelyscattered.Hefeltthathehadgotholdoftherightman.

TherewasashadelessgenialityinJames’smannerwhenthesamethinghappenedonthefollowingmorning.Buthedidnotrefusetohelptheuntutoredforeigner.Thelecturewaslessexhaustivethanthatofthepreviousmorning,butwemustsupposethatitsatisfiedAdolf,forhecameagainnextday,hisfaithinhisteacherundiminished.

Jameswastryingtowriteastory.Heturnedonthestudent.

‘Getout!’hehowled.‘Andtakethatbeastlypaperaway.Can’tyouseeI’mbusy?DoyouthinkIcanspendallmytimeteachingyoutoread?Getout!’

‘Deresomehardvordvos,’saidAdolf,patiently,‘ofwhichIgannotdzemeaning.’

Jamesbrieflycursedthehardword.

‘But,’proceededAdolf,‘ofonevord,ofdzevord“giss”,Idzemeaningknow.Zo!’

Jameslookedathim.Therewasapause.

TwominuteslatertheEnglishlessonwasinfullswing.

*****

AllthatJameshadeverheardorreadaboutthewonderfuldevotiontostudyofthemodernGermanyoungmancamehometohimduringthenexttwoweeks.OurEnglishyouthfrittersawayitstimeinidlenessandpleasure–seeking.TheGermanconcentrates.Adolfconcentratedlikeaporousplaster.Everydayafterbreakfast,justwhenthesuccessofJames’sliterarycareerdependedonabsoluteseclusion,hewouldcometrottingupforhislesson.James’swritingpracticallyceased.

Thissortofthingcannotlast.Thereisalimit,andAdolfreacheditwhenheattemptedtoaddnight–classestotheexistingcurriculum.

James,ashadbeensaid,wasinthehabitoftakingcoffeewithMrBlatherwickinhisstudyafterseeingtheboysintobed.Itwaswhilehewasonhiswaytokeepthisappointment,afortnightafterhisfirstinterviewwithAdolf,thattheyoungstudentwaylaidhimwiththeeveningpaper.

SomethingshouldhavewarnedAdolfthatthemomentwasnotwellchosen.Tobeginwith,Jameshadaheadache,theresultofaharddaywiththeboys.Thenthatmorning’sEnglishlessonhadcausedhimtoforgetentirelyanideawhichhadpromisedtobethenucleusofanexcellentplot.And,lastly,passingthroughthehallbutaninstantbefore,hehadmetViolet,carryingthecoffeeandtheeveningposttothestudy,andshehadgivenhimtwolongenvelopesaddressedinhisownhandwriting.Hewasbroodingoverthese,preparatorytoopeningthem,attheverymomentwhenAdolfaddressedhim.

‘Eggscuse,’saidAdolf,openingthepaper.

James’seyesgleamedominously.

‘Zerearehere,’continuedAdolf,unseeing,‘somebeyond–gombarisonhardvordsvichIdonodonderstand.Foreggsample—’

ItwasatthispointthatJameskickedhim.

Adolfleapedlikeastrickenchamois.

‘Votiss?’hecried.

WiththeselongenvelopesinhishandJamescaredfornothing.HekickedAdolfagain.

‘Zo!’saidthestudent,havingboundedaway.Headdedafewwordsinhisnativetongue,andproceeded.‘Vait!Lizzun!Izaytoyou,vait!Brezendly,venIhafdzezilverbolishedundmyodderdudieszonumerousberformed,IdoHerrBlazzervigvilvithvonliddleszdoryvichyoudoknowgo.Zo!’

Heshotofftohislair.

Jamesturnedawayandwentdownthepassagetorestorehisnervoustissueswithcoffee.

Meanwhile,inthestudy,leaningagainstthemantelpieceinmoodyreflection,MrBlatherwickwasmusingsadlyonthehardshipsoftheschoolmaster’slife.TheproprietorofHarrowHousewasalong,graveman,oneofthelasttoholdoutagainsttheanti–whiskercrusade.Hehadexpressionlesshazeleyes,andageneralairofbeingpresentin

bodybutabsentinspirit.Motherswhovisitedtheschooltointroducetheirsonsputhisvaguenessdowntoactivityofmind.‘Thatbusybrain,’theythought,‘isneveratrest.Evenwhileheistalkingtoussomeabstrusepointintheclassicsisoccupyinghismind.’

Whatwasoccupyinghismindatthepresentmomentwasthethoroughlyunsatisfactoryconductofhiswife’sbrother,BertieBaxter.Themoretenselyhebroodedoverthesalientpointsinthelife–historyofhiswife’sbrother,BertieBaxter,thedeeperdidtheironbecomeembeddedinhissoul.BertiewasoneofNature’stouchers.Thisistheageofthespecialist,Bertie’sspecialitywasborrowingmoney.Hewasamanofalmosteerieversatilityinthisdirection.Timecouldnotwithernorcustomstalehisinfinitevariety.Hecouldborrowwithabreezybluffnesswhichmadethethingpracticallyahold–up.Andanon,whenhisvictimhadsteeledhimselfagainstthismethod,hecouldextractanotherfive–poundnotefromhislittlehoardwiththedelicacyofoneplayingspillikins.MrBlatherwickhadbeenagold–minetohimforyears.Asarule,theproprietorofHarrowHouseunbeltedwithoutcomplaint,forBertie,aseverygoodborrowershould,hadthatknackofmakinghisvictimfeelduringtheactualmomentofpayingover,asifhehadjustmadearathergoodinvestment.Butreleasedfromthespellofhisbrother–in–law’spersonalmagnetism,MrBlatherwickwasapttobrood.Hewasbroodingnow.Why,hewasaskinghimselfmorosely,shouldhebeharassedbythisBertie?ItwasnotasifBertiewaspenniless.Hehadalittleincomeofhisown.No,itwaspurelackofconsideration.WhowasBertiethathe—

AtthispointinhismeditationsVioletenteredwiththeafter–dinnercoffeeandtheeveningpost.

MrBlatherwicktooktheletters.Thereweretwoofthem,andonehesaw,witharushofindignation,wasinthehandwritingofhisbrother–in–law.MrBlatherwick’sbloodsimmered.Sothefellowthoughthecouldborrowbypost,didhe?Noteventroubletopayavisit,eh?Hetoretheletteropen,andthefirstthinghesawwasachequeforfivepounds.

MrBlatherwickwasastounded.Thataletterfromhisbrother–in–lawshouldnotcontainarequestformoneywassurprising;thatitshouldcontainacheque,evenforfivepounds,wasmiraculous.

Heopenedthesecondletter.Itwasshort,butfullofthefinest,noblestsentiments;towit,thatthewriter,CharlesJ.Pickersgill,havingheardtheschoolsohighlyspokenofbyhisfriend,MrHerbertBaxter,wouldbegladifMrBlatherwickcouldtakeinhisthreesons,agedseven,nine,andelevenrespectively,attheearliestconvenientdate.

MrBlatherwick’sfirstfeelingwasoneofremorsethateveninthoughtheshouldhavebeenharshtothegolden–heartedBertie.Hisnextwasoneofelation.

Violet,meanwhile,stoodpatientlybeforehimwiththecoffee.MrBlatherwickhelpedhimself.HiseyefellonViolet.

Violetwasafriendly,warm–heartedlittlething.ShesawthatMrBlatherwickhadhadgoodnews;and,asthebeareroftheletterswhichhadcontainedit,shefeltalmostresponsible.ShesmiledkindlyupatMrBlatherwick.

MrBlatherwick’sdreamyhazeleyerestedpensivelyuponher.Themajorportionofhismindwasfarawayinthefuture,dealingwithvisionsofaschoolgrowntocolossal

proportions,andpatronizedbymillionaires.Thesectionofitwhichstillworkedinthepresentwasjustlargeenoughtoenablehimtounderstandthathefeltkindly,andevenalmostgrateful,toViolet.Unfortunatelyitwastoosmalltomakehimseehowwrongitwastokissherinavague,fatherlywayacrossthecoffeetrayjustasJamesDatchettwalkedintotheroom.

Jamespaused.MrBlatherwickcoughed.Violet,absolutelyunmoved,suppliedJameswithcoffee,andbustledoutoftheroom.

Sheleftbehindherasomewhatmassivesilence.

MrBlatherwickcoughedagain.

‘Itlookslikerain,’saidJames,carelessly.

‘Ah?’saidMrBlatherwick.

‘Verylikerain,’saidJames.

‘Indeed!’saidMrBlatherwick.

Apause.

‘Pityifitrains,’saidJames.

‘True,’saidMrBlatherwick.

Anotherpause.

‘Er—Datchett,’saidMrBlatherwick.

‘Yes,’saidJames.

‘I—er—feelthatperhaps—’

Jameswaitedattentively.

‘Haveyousugar?’

‘Plenty,thanks,’saidJames.

‘Ishallbesorryifitrains,’saidMrBlatherwick.

Conversationlanguished.

Jameslaidhiscupdown.

‘Ihavesomewritingtodo,’hesaid.‘IthinkI’llbegoingupstairsnow.’

‘Er—justso,’saidMrBlatherwick,withrelief.‘Justso.Anexcellentidea.’

*****

‘Er—Datchett,’saidMrBlatherwicknextday,afterbreakfast.

‘Yes?’saidJames.

Afeelingofcontentwasoverhimthismorning.Thesunhadbrokenthroughtheclouds.Oneofthelongenvelopeswhichhehadreceivedonthepreviousnighthadturnedout,onexamination,tocontainaletterfromtheeditoracceptingthestoryifhewouldreconstructcertainpassagesindicatedinthemargin.

‘Ihave—ah—unfortunatelybeencompelledtodismissAdolf,’saidMrBlatherwick.

‘Yes?’saidJames.HehadmissedAdolf’sshiningmorningface.

‘Yes.Afteryouhadleftmelastnighthecametomystudywithamalicious—er—fabricationrespectingyourselfwhichIneednot—ah—particularize.’

Jameslookedpained.Awfulthingitis,thisnourishingvipersinone’sbosom.

‘Why,I’vebeengivingAdolfEnglishlessonsnearlyeverydaylately.Nosenseofgratitude,theseforeigners,’hesaid,sadly.

‘SoIwascompelled,’proceededMrBlatherwick,‘to—infact,justso.’

Jamesnoddedsympathetically.

‘DoyouknowanythingaboutWestAustralia?’heasked,changingthesubject.‘It’safinecountry,Ibelieve.Ihadthoughtofgoingthereatonetime.’

‘Indeed?’saidMrBlatherwick.

‘ButI’vegivenuptheideanow,’saidJames.

THREEFROMDUNSTERVILLE

OnceuponatimetherewaserectedinLongacreSquare,NewYork,alargewhitestatue,labelled‘OurCity’,thefigureofawomaninGrecianrobesholdingaloftashield.Criticalcitizensobjectedtoitforvariousreasons,butitsrealfaultwasthatitssymbolismwasfaulty.ThesculptorshouldhaverepresentedNewYorkasaconjurorineveningdress,smilingblandlyashechangedarabbitintoabowlofgoldfish.Forthat,aboveallelse,isNewYork’sspeciality.Itchanges.

Between1May,whenshesteppedoffthetrain,and16May,whenshereceivedEddyMoore’slettercontainingtheinformationthathehadfoundherapostasstenographerintheofficeofJoeRendal,ithadchangedMaryHillquiteremarkably.

MarywasfromDunsterville,whichisinCanada.EmigrationsfromDunstervillewererare.Itisasomnolenttown;and,asarule,youngmenborntherefollowintheirfather’sfootsteps,workingonthepaternalfarmorhelpinginthepaternalstore.Occasionallyadaringspiritwillbreakaway,butseldomfartherthanMontreal.Twoonlyoftheyoungergeneration,JoeRendalandEddyMoore,hadsetouttomaketheirfortunesinNewYork;andboth,despitethegloomypropheciesofthevillagesages,hadprospered.

Mary,thirdandlastemigrant,didnotaspiretosuchheights.AllshedemandedfromNewYorkforthepresentwasthatitshouldpayheralivingwage,andtothatend,havingstudiedbystealthtypewritingandshorthand,shehadtakentheplunge,thrillingwithexcitementandtheromanceofthings;andNewYorkhadlookedather,raiseditseyebrows,andlookedawayagain.Ifeverycityhasavoice,NewYork’satthatmomenthadsaid‘Huh!’ThishaddampedMary.Shesawthatthereweregoingtobeobstacles.Foronething,shehaddependedsogreatlyonEddyMoore,andhehadfailedher.Threeyearsbefore,atachurchfestival,hehadstatedspecificallythathewoulddieforher.Perhapshewasstillwillingtodothat—shehadnotinquired—but,atanyrate,hedidnotseehiswaytoemployingherasasecretary.Hehadbeenveryniceaboutit.Hehadsmiledkindly,takenheraddress,andsaidhewoulddowhathecould,andhadthenhurriedofftomeetamanatlunch.Buthehadnotgivenheraposition.Andasthedayswentbyandshefoundnoemployment,andherlittlestockofmoneydwindled,andnowordcamefromEddy,NewYorkgottoworkandchangedheroutlookonthingswonderfully.Whathadseemedromanticbecamemerelyfrightening.Whathadbeenexcitinggaveherafeelingofdazedhelplessness.

ButitwasnotuntilEddy’slettercamethatsherealizedthecompletenessofthechange.On1MayshewouldhavethankedEddypolitelyforhistrouble,adding,however,thatshewouldreallyprefernottomeetpoorJoeagain.On16MayshewelcomedhimassomethingHeaven–sent.Thefactthatshewastobeemployedoutweighedathousand–foldthefactthatheremployerwastobeJoe.

ItwasnotthatshedislikedJoe.Shewassorryforhim.

SherememberedJoe,asilent,shamblingyouth,allhands,feet,andshyness,whohadspentmostofhissparetimetwistinghisfingersandstaringadoringlyatherfromafar.The

opinionofthoseinthesocialwhirlofDunstervillehadbeenthatitwashishopelesspassionforherthathadmadehimflytoNewYork.Itwouldbeembarrassingmeetinghimagain.Itwouldrequiretacttodiscouragehissilentworshippingwithoutwoundinghimmoredeeply.Shehatedhurtingpeople.

But,evenatthecostofthat,shemustacceptthepost.TorefusemeantignominiousretreattoDunsterville,andfromthatherpriderevolted.ShemustrevisitDunstervilleintriumphornotatall.

JoeRendal’sofficewasintheheartofthefinancialdistrict,situatedabouthalf–wayupabuildingthat,toMary,rearedamidstthelessimpressivearchitectureofherhome–town,seemedtoreachnearlytothesky.Aproud–lookingoffice–boy,apparentlybaffledandmortifiedbytheinformationthatshehadanappointment,tookhername,andshesatdown,filledwithafinemixedassortmentofemotions,towait.

ForthefirsttimesinceherarrivalinNewYorkshefeltalmosteasyinhermind.NewYork,withitsshoving,jostling,hurryingcrowds;agiantfowl–run,fullofhumanfowlsscurryingtoandfro;clucking,everonthelook–outforsomedesiredmorsel,andeverreadytoswoopdownandsnatchitfromitstemporarypossessor,hadnumbedher.Butnowshefeltaslackeningofthestrain.NewYorkmightbetoomuchforher,butshecouldcopewithJoe.

Thehaughtyboyreturned.MrRendalwasdisengaged.Sheroseandwentintoaninnerroom,whereabigmanwasseatedatadesk.

ItwasJoe.Therewasnodoubtaboutthat.ButitwasnottheJoesheremembered,heofthetwistedringersandsilentstare.Inhiscase,NewYorkhadconjuredeffectively.Hewasbetter–looking,better–dressed,improvedineveryrespect.IntheolddaysonehadnoticedthehandsandfeetanddeducedthepresenceofJoesomewhereinthebackground.Nowtheyweremerelyadjuncts.ItwaswitharushofindignationthatMaryfoundherselfbucolicandawkward.AwkwardwithJoe!Itwasanoutrage.

Hismannerheightenedthefeeling.Ifhehadgiventheleastsignofembarrassmentshemighthavesoftenedtowardshim.Heshowednoembarrassmentwhatever.Hewasverymuchathisease.Hewascheerful.Hewasevenflippant.

‘Welcometoourbeautifullittlecity,’hesaid.

Marywasfilledwithahelplessanger.Whatrighthadhetoignorethepastinthisway,tobehaveasifherpresencehadneverreducedhimtopulp?

‘Won’tyousitdown?’hewenton.‘It’ssplendid,seeingyouagain,Mary.You’relookingverywell.HowlonghaveyoubeeninNewYork?Eddytellsmeyouwanttobetakenonasasecretary.Asithappens,thereisavacancyforjustthatinthisoffice.Abig,widevacancy,leftbyaladywhodepartedyesterdayinashowerofburningwordsandhairpins.Shesaidshewouldneverreturn,andbetweenourselves,thatwastherightguess.Wouldyoumindlettingmeseewhatyoucando?Willyoutakethisletterdown?’

CertainlytherewassomethingcompellingaboutthisnewJoe.Marytookthepencilandpadwhichheoffered—andshetookthemmeekly.UntilthismomentshehadalwaysbeenastonishedbythereportswhichfilteredthroughtoDunstervilleofhissuccessinthebigcity.Ofcourse,nobodyhadeverdoubtedhisperseverance;butittakessomethingmore

thanperseverancetofightNewYorkfairlyandsquarely,andwin.AndJoehadthatsomething.Hehadforce.Hewassureofhimself.

‘Readitplease,’hesaid,whenhehadfinisheddictating.‘Yes,that’sallright.You’lldo.’

ForamomentMarywasonthepointofrefusing.Amaddesiregrippedhertoassertherself,tomakeplainherresentmentatthisrevoltoftheserf.Thenshethoughtofthosescuttling,cluckingcrowds,andherheartfailedher.

‘Thankyou,’shesaid,inasmallvoice.

Asshespokethedooropened.

‘Well,well,well!’saidJoe.‘Hereweallare!Comein,Eddy.Maryhasjustbeenshowingmewhatshecando.’

IftimehaddonemuchforJoe,ithaddonemoreforhisfellow–emigrant,EddyMoore.Hehadalwaysbeengood–lookingand—accordingtolocalstandards—presentable.Tall,slim,withdarkeyesthatmadeyoucatchyourbreathwhentheylookedintoyours,andareadyflowofspeech,hehadbeenDunsterville’sprizeexhibit.Andherehewaswithallhisexcellenceheightenedandaccentuatedbythepolishofthecity.Hehadfilledout.Hisclotheswerewonderful.Andhisvoice,whenhespoke,hadjustthatsamemusicalquality.

‘SoyouandJoehavefixeditup?Capital!Shallweallgoandlunchsomewhere?’

‘Gotanappointment,’saidJoe.‘I’mlatealready.Behereattwosharp,Mary.’Hetookuphishatandwentout.

TheeffectofEddy’ssuavityhadbeentomakeMaryforgetthepositioninwhichshenowstoodtoJoe.Eddyhadcreatedforthemomentquiteanold–timeatmosphereofgoodfellowship.ShehatedJoeforshatteringthisandremindingherthatshewashisemployee.HerquickflushwasnotlostonEddy.

‘DearoldJoeisalittleabruptsometimes,’hesaid.‘But—’

‘He’sapig!’saidMary,defiantly.

‘Butyoumustn’tmindit.NewYorkmakesmenlikethat.’

‘Ithasn’tmadeyou—nottome,atanyrate.Oh,Eddy,’shecried,impulsively,‘I’mfrightened.IwishIhadnevercomehere.You’retheonlythinginthiswholecitythatisn’thateful.’

‘Poorlittlegirl!’hesaid.‘Nevermind.Letmetakeyouandgiveyousomelunch.Comealong.’

Eddywassoothing.Therewasnodoubtofthat.Hestayedherwithmincedchickenandcomfortedherwithsoftshelledcrab.Hisvoicewasalullaby,lullingherJoe–harassednervestorest.

Theydiscussedthedearolddays.AcarpermighthavesaidthatEddywastheleastbitvagueonthesubjectofthedearolddays.Acarpermighthavepointedoutthatthediscussionofthedearolddays,whenyoucametoanalyseit,waspracticallyamonologueonMary’spart,punctuatedwithmusical‘Yes,yes’s’fromhercompanion.Butwhocareswhatcarpersthink?Maryherselfhadnofaulttofind.IntheroarofNewYork

Dunstervillehadsuddenlybecomeverydeartoher,andshefoundinEddyasympatheticsoultowhomshecouldopenherheart.

‘Doyouremembertheoldschool,Eddy,andhowyouandIusedtowalktheretogether,youcarryingmydinner–basketandhelpingmeoverthefences?’

‘Yes,yes.’

‘Andwe’dgatherhickory–nutsandpersimmons?’

‘Persimmons,yes,’murmuredEddy.

‘Doyouremembertheprizestheteachergavetheonewhogotbestmarksinthespellingclass?AndthetreatsatChristmas,whenweallgottwelvesticksofstripedpeppermintcandy?Anddrawingthewateroutofthewellinthatoldwoodenbucketinthewinter,andpouringitoutintheplaygroundandskatingonitwhenitfroze?Andwasn’titcoldinthewinter,too!Doyourememberthestoveintheschool–room?Howweusedtocrowdroundit!’

‘Thestove,yes,’saidEddy,dreamily.‘Ah,yes,thestove.Yes,yes.Thosewerethedearolddays!’Maryleanedherelbowsonthetableandherchinonherhands,andlookedacrossathimwithsparklingeyes.

‘Oh,Eddy,’shesaid,‘youdon’tknowhowniceitistomeetsomeonewhoremembersallaboutthoseoldtimes!IfeltahundredmillionmilesfromDunstervillebeforeIsawyou,andIwashomesick.Butnowit’salldifferent.’

‘PoorlittleMary!’

‘Doyouremember—?’

Heglancedathiswatchwithsomehaste.

‘It’stwoo’clock,’hesaid.‘Ithinkweshouldbegoing.’

Mary’sfacefell.

‘Backtothatpig,Joe!Ihatehim.AndI’llshowhimthatIdo!’

Eddylookedalmostalarmed.

‘I—Ishouldn’tdothat,’hesaid.‘Idon’tthinkIshoulddothat.It’sonlyhismanneratfirst.You’llgettolikehimbetter.He’sanawfullygoodfellowreally,Joe.Andifyou—er—quarrelledwithhimyoumightfindithard—whatImeanis,it’snotsoeasytopickupjobsinNewYork,Ishouldn’tliketothinkofyou,Mary,’headded,tenderly,‘huntingforajob—tired—perhapshungry—’

Mary’seyesfilledwithtears.

‘Howgoodyouare,Eddy!’shesaid.‘AndI’mhorrid,grumblingwhenIoughttobethankingyouforgettingmetheplace.I’llbenicetohim—ifIcan—asniceasIcan.’

‘That’sright.Dotry.Andweshallbeseeingquitealotofeachother.Wemustoftenlunchtogether.’

Maryre–enteredtheofficenotwithoutsometrepidation.TwohoursagoitwouldhaveseemedabsurdtobefrightenedofJoe,butEddyhadbroughtithometoheragainhow

completelyshewasdependentonherformerserf’sgood–will.Andhehadtoldhertobebackattwosharp,anditwasnownearlyaquarterpast.

Theouterofficewasempty.Shewentonintotheinnerroom.

ShehadspeculatedasshewentonJoe’sprobableattitude.Shehadpicturedhimasannoyed,evenrude.Whatshewasnotpreparedforwastofindhimonallfours,gruntingandrootingaboutinapileofpapers.Shestoppedshort.

‘Whatareyoudoing?’shegasped.

‘Ican’tthinkwhatyoumeant,’hesaid.‘Theremustbesomemistake.I’mnotevenapassablepig.Icouldn’tdeceiveanovice.’

Heroseanddustedhisknees.

‘Yetyouseemedabsolutelycertainintherestaurantjustnow.Didyounoticethatyouweresittingneartoasortofjungleofpottedpalms?Iwaslunchingimmediatelyontheothersideoftheforest.’

Marydrewherselfupandfixedhimwithaneyethatshonewithrageandscorn.

‘Eavesdropper!’shecried.

‘Notguilty,’hesaid,cheerfully.‘Ihadn’tanotionthatyouweretheretillyoushouted,“ThatpigJoe,Ihatehim!”andalmostdirectlyafterwardsIleft.’

‘Ididnotshout.’

‘Mydeargirl,youcrackedawine–glassatmytable.ThemanIwaslunchingwithjumpedcleanoutofhisseatandswallowedhiscigar.Yououghttobemorecareful!’

Marybitherlip.

‘Andnow,Isuppose,youaregoingtodismissme?’

‘Dismissyou?Notmuch.Thethinghassimplyconfirmedmyhighopinionofyourqualifications.Theidealsecretarymusthavetwoqualities:shemustbeabletosec.andshemustthinkheremployerapig.Youfillthebill.Wouldyoumindtakingdownthisletter?’

*****

LifewasveryswiftandstimulatingforMaryduringtheearlydaysofherprofessionalcareer.Theinnerworkingsofabusybroker’sofficearealwaysinterestingtothestranger.Shehadneverunderstoodhowbusinessmenmadetheirmoney,andshedidnotunderstandnow;butitdidnottakeherlongtoseethatiftheywerealllikeJoeRendaltheyearnedit.Thereweredaysofcomparativecalm.Thereweredaysthatwerebusy.Andthereweredaysthatpackedintothespaceofafewhourstheconcentratedessenceofamusic–hallknock–aboutsketch,anearthquake,afootballscrummage,andtherush–hourontheTube;whentheofficewasfullofshoutingmen,whenstrangefiguresdivedinandoutandbangeddoorslikecharactersinanoldfarce,andHarold,theproudoffice–boy,losthisairofbeingonthepointoflunchingwithadukeattheclubandperspiredlikeoneoftheproletariat.OntheseoccasionsyoucouldnothelpadmiringJoe,evenifyouhatedhim.Whenamanisdoinghisownjobwell,itisimpossiblenottoadmirehim.AndJoe

didhisjobwell,superlativelywell.Hewaseverywhere.Whereotherstrotted,hesprang.Whereothersraisedtheirvoices,heyelled.Whereotherswereintwoplacesatonce,hewasinthreeandmovingtowardsafourth.

TheseupheavalshadtheeffectonMaryofmakingherfeelcuriouslylinkedtothefirm.Onordinarydaysworkwaswork,butontheseoccasionsofstormandstressitwasafight,andshelookedoneverymemberofthelittlebandgroupedunderthebannerofJ.Rendalasabrother–in–arms.ForJoe,whilethebattleraged,shewouldhavedoneanything.Herresentmentatbeingunderhisordersvanishedcompletely.Hewashercaptain,andsheamereunitinthefiringline.Itwasaprivilegetodowhatshewastold.Andiftheordercamesharpandabrupt,thatonlymeantthatthefightingwasfierceandthatshewasallthemorefortunateinbeinginapositiontobeofservice.

Thereactionwouldcomewiththeendofthefight.Herprivatehostilitiesbeganwhenthefirm’sceased.Shebecameanordinaryindividualagain,andsodidJoe.AndtoJoe,asanordinaryindividual,sheobjected.Therewasanindefinablesomethinginhismannerwhichjarredonher.Shecametotheconclusionthatitwasprincipallyhisinsufferablegood–humour.Ifonlyhewouldlosehistemperwithhernowandthen,shefelthewouldbebearable.Helostitwithothers.Whynotwithher?Because,shetoldherselfbitterly,hewantedtoshowherthatshematteredsolittletohimthatitwasnotworthwhilequarrellingwithher;becausehewantedtoputherinthewrong,tobesuperior.Shehadaperfectrighttohateamanwhotreatedherinthatway.

Shecomparedhim,tohisdisadvantage,withEddy.Eddy,duringthesedays,continuedtobemoreandmoreofacomfort.Itrathersurprisedherthathefoundsomuchtimetodevotetoher.Whenshehadfirstcalledonhim,onherarrivalinthecity,hehadgivenhertheimpression—more,sheadmitted,byhismannerthanhiswords—thatshewasnotwanted.Hehadshownnodispositiontoseekhercompany.Butnowheseemedalwaystobeonhand.Totakeherouttolunchappearedtobehischiefhobby.

OneafternoonJoecommentedonit,withthatairofsuppressinganindulgentsmilewhichMaryfoundsotrying.

‘IsawyouandEddyatStephano’sjustnow,’hesaid,betweensentencesofaletterwhichhewasdictating.‘You’reseeingagreatdealofEddy,aren’tyou?’

‘Yes,’saidMary.‘He’sverykind.HeknowsI’mlonely.’Shepaused.‘Hehasn’tforgottentheolddays,’shesaid,defiantly.

Joenodded.

‘GoodoldEddy!’hesaid.

TherewasnothinginthewordstomakeMaryfireup,butmuchinthewaytheywerespoken,andshefiredupaccordingly.

‘Whatdoyoumean?’shecried.

‘Mean?’queriedJoe.

‘You’rehintingatsomething.IfyouhaveanythingtosayagainstEddy,whydon’tyousayitstraightout?’

‘It’sagoodworkingruleinlifenevertosayanythingstraightout.Speakinginparables,Iwillobservethat,ifAmericawasamonarchyinsteadofarepublicandpeopleherehadtitles,EddywouldbeacertaintyforfirstEarlofPearlStreet.’

DignityfoughtwithcuriosityinMaryforamoment.Thelatterwon.

‘Idon’tknowwhatyoumean!WhyPearlStreet?’

‘Goandhavealookatit.’

Dignityrecovereditsground.Marytossedherhead.

‘Wearewastingagreatdealoftime,’shesaid,coldly.‘ShallItakedowntherestofthisletter?’

‘Greatidea!’saidJoe,indulgently.‘Do.’

*****

Apoliceman,broodingonlifeintheneighbourhoodofCityHallParkandBroadwaythatevening,awokewithastartfromhismeditationstofindhimselfbeingaddressedbyayounglady.Theyoungladyhadlargegreyeyesandaslimfigure.Sheappealedtotheaesthetictasteofthepoliceman.

‘Holdtome,lady,’hesaid,withgallantalacrity.‘I’llseeyezacrost.’

‘Thankyou,Idon’twanttocross,’shesaid.‘Officer!’

Thepolicemanratherlikedbeingcalled‘Officer’.

‘Ma’am?’hebeamed.

‘Officer,doyouknowastreetcalledPearlStreet?’

‘Idothat,ma’am.’

Shehesitated.‘Whatsortofstreetisit?’

Thepolicemansearchedinhismindforaneatdefinition.

‘Darnedcrooked,miss,’hesaid.

Hethenproceededtopointtheway,buttheladyhadgone.

ItwasabombinabluedressthatJoefoundwaitingforhimattheofficenextmorning.Hesurveyeditinsilence,thenraisedhishandsoverhishead.

‘Don’tshoot,’hesaid.‘What’sthematter?’

‘WhatrighthadyoutosaythataboutEddy?YouknowwhatImean—aboutPearlStreet.’

Joelaughed.

‘DidyoutakealookatPearlStreet?’

Mary’sangerblazedout.

‘Ididn’tthinkyoucouldbesomeanandcowardly,’shecried.‘Yououghttobeashamedtotalkaboutpeoplebehindtheirbacks,when—when—besides,ifhe’swhatyousay,howdidithappenthatyouengagedmeonhisrecommendation?’

Helookedatherforaninstantwithoutreplying.‘I’dhaveengagedyou,’hesaid,‘ontherecommendationofasyndicateofforgersandthree–card–trickmen.’

Hestoodfingeringapileofpapersonthedesk.

‘Eddyisn’ttheonlypersonwhorememberstheolddays,Mary,’hesaidslowly.

Shelookedathim,surprised.Therewasanoteinhisvoicethatshehadnotheardbefore.Shewasconsciousofacuriousembarrassmentandasubtlerfeelingwhichshecouldnotanalyse.Butbeforeshecouldspeak,Harold,theoffice–boy,enteredtheroomwithacard,andtheconversationwassweptawayonatidalwaveofwork.

*****

Joemadenoattempttoresumeit.Thatmorninghappenedtobeoneoftheearthquake,knock–about–sketchmornings,andconversation,whattherewasofit,consistedofbrief,strenuousremarksofapurelybusinessnature.

ButatintervalsduringthedayMaryfoundherselfreturningtohiswords.Theireffectonhermindpuzzledher.Itseemedtoherthatsomehowtheycausedthingstoaltertheirperspective.InsomewayJoehadbecomemorehuman.ShestillrefusedtobelievethatEddywasnotallthatwaschivalrousandnoble,butherangeragainstJoeforhisinsinuationshadgivenwaytoafeelingofregretthatheshouldhavemadethem.Sheceasedtolookonhimassomethingwantonlymalevolent,aThersitesrecklesslyslanderinghisbetters.Shefeltthattheremusthavebeenamisunderstandingsomewhereandwassorryforit.

Thinkingitover,shemadeuphermindthatitwasforhertoremovethismisunderstanding.Thedayswhichfollowedstrengthenedthedecision;fortheimprovementinJoewassteadilymaintained.Theindefinablesomethinginhismannerwhichhadsoirritatedherhadvanished.Ithadbeen,whenithadexisted,sonebulousthatwordswerenotneededtoeliminateit.Indeed,evennowshecouldnotsayexactlyinwhatithadconsisted.Sheonlyknewthattheatmospherehadchanged.Withoutawordspokenoneithersideitseemedthatpeacehadbeenestablishedbetweenthem,anditamazedherwhatadifferenceitmade.Shewassoothedandhappy,andkindlydisposedtoallmen,andeverydayfeltmorestronglythenecessityofconvincingJoeandEddyofeachother’smerits,or,rather,ofconvincingJoe,forEddy,sheadmitted,alwaysspokemostgenerouslyoftheother.

ForaweekEddydidnotappearattheoffice.Ontheeighthday,however,herangheruponthetelephone,andinvitedhertolunch.

LaterinthemorningJoehappenedtoaskherouttolunch.

‘I’msosorry,’saidMary;‘I’vejustpromisedEddy.HewantsmetomeethimatStephano’s,but—’Shehesitated.‘Whyshouldn’twealllunchtogether?’shewenton,impulsively.

Shehurriedon.Thiswasheropening,butshefeltnervous.ThesubjectofEddyhadnotcomeupbetweenthemsincethatmemorableconversationaweekbefore,andshewasuncertainofherground.

‘IwishyoulikedEddy,Joe,’shesaid.‘He’sveryfondofyou,anditseemssuchashame

that—Imean—we’reallfromthesameoldtown,and—oh,IknowIputitbadly,but—’

‘Ithinkyouputitverywell,’saidJoe;‘andifIcouldlikeamantoorderI’ddoittoobligeyou.But—well,I’mnotgoingtokeepharpingonit.Perhapsyou’llseethroughEddyyourselfoneofthesedays.’

AsenseofthehopelessnessofhertaskoppressedMary.Sheputonherhatwithoutreplying,andturnedtogo.

Atthedoorsomeimpulsecausedhertoglanceback,andasshedidsoshemethiseye,andstoodstaring.HewaslookingatherasshehadsooftenseenhimlookthreeyearsbeforeinDunsterville—humbly,appealingly,hungrily.

Hetookastepforward.Asortofpanicseizedher.Herfingerswereonthedoor–handle.Sheturnedit,andthenextmomentwasoutside.

Shewalkedslowlydownthestreet.Shefeltshaken.ShehadbelievedsothoroughlythathisloveforherhadvanishedwithhisshynessandawkwardnessinthestruggleforsuccessinNewYork.Hiswords,hismanner—everythinghadpointedtothat.Andnow—itwasasifthosethreeyearshadnotbeen.Nothinghadaltered,unlessitwere—herself.

Hadshealtered?Hermindwasinawhirl.Thisthinghadaffectedherlikesomephysicalshock.Thecrowdsandnoisesofthestreetbewilderedher.Ifonlyshecouldgetawayfromthemandthinkquietly—

Andthensheheardhernamespoken,andlookedround,toseeEddy.

‘Gladyoucouldcome,’hesaid.‘I’vesomethingIwanttotalktoyouabout.It’llbequietatStephano’s.’

Shenoticed,almostunconsciously,thatheseemednervous.Hewasunwontedlysilent.Shewasgladofit.Ithelpedhertothink.

Hegavethewaiteranorder,andbecamesilentagain,drummingwithhisfingersonthecloth.Hehardlyspoketillthemealwasoverandthecoffeewasonthetable.Thenheleantforward.

‘Mary,’hesaid,‘we’vealwaysbeenprettygoodfriends,haven’twe?’

Hisdarkeyeswerelookingintohers.Therewasanexpressioninthemthatwasstrangetoher.Hesmiled,butitseemedtoMarythattherewaseffortbehindthesmile.

‘Ofcoursewehave,Eddy,’shesaid.Hetouchedherhand.

‘DearlittleMary!’hesaid,softly.

Hepausedforamoment.

‘Mary,’hewenton,‘youwouldliketodomeagoodturn?Youwould,wouldn’tyou,Mary?’

‘Why,Eddy,ofcourse!’

Hetouchedherhandagain.Thistime,somehow,theactiongratedonher.Before,ithadseemedimpulsive,amerespontaneousevidenceoffriendship.Nowtherewasasuggestionofartificiality,—ofcalculation.Shedrewbackalittleinherchair.Deepdown

inhersomewatchfulinstincthadsoundedanalarm.Shewasonguard.

Hedrewinaquickbreath.

‘It’snothingmuch.Nothingatall.It’sonlythis.I—I—JoewillbewritingalettertoamancalledWestononThursday—Thursdayremember.Therewon’tbeanythinginit—nothingofimportance—nothingprivate—but—I—Iwantyoutomailmeacopyofit,Mary.A—acopyof—’

Shewaslookingathimopen–eyed.Herfacewaswhiteandshocked.

‘Forgoodness’sake,’hesaid,irritably,‘don’tlooklikethat.I’mnotaskingyoutocommitmurder.What’sthematterwithyou?Lookhere,Mary;you’lladmityouowemesomething,Isuppose?I’mtheonlymaninNewYorkthat’severdoneanythingforyou.Didn’tIgetyouyourjob?Well,then,it’snotasifIwereaskingyoutodoanythingdangerous,ordifficult,or—’

Shetriedtospeak,butcouldnot.Hewentonrapidly.Hedidnotlookather.Hiseyeswanderedpasther,shiftingrestlessly.

‘Lookhere,’hesaid;‘I’llbesquarewithyou.You’reinNewYorktomakemoney.Well,youaren’tgoingtomakeithammeringatypewriter.I’mgivingyouyourchance.I’mgoingtobesquarewithyou.Letmeseethatletter,and—’

Hisvoicediedawayabruptly.Theexpressiononhisfacechanged.Hesmiled,andthistimetheeffortwasobvious.

‘Halloa,Joe!’hesaid.

Maryturned.Joewasstandingatherside.Helookedverylargeandwholesomeandrestful.

‘Idon’twanttointrude,’hesaid;‘butIwantedtoseeyou,Eddy,andIthoughtIshouldcatchyouhere.IwrotealettertoJackWestonyesterday—afterIgothomefromtheoffice—andonetoyou;andsomehowImanagedtoposttheminthewrongenvelopes.Itdoesn’tmattermuch,becausetheybothsaidthesamething.’

‘Thesamething?’

‘Yes;ItoldyouIshouldbewritingtoyouagainonThursday,totipyousomethinggoodthatIwasexpectingfromoldLongwood.JackWestonhasjustrungmeuponthe‘phonetosaythathegotaletterthatdoesn’tbelongtohim.IexplainedtohimandthoughtI’ddropinhereandexplaintoyou.Why,what’syourhurry,Eddy?’

Eddyhadrisenfromhisseat.

‘I’mduebackattheoffice,’hesaid,hoarsely.

‘Busyman!I’mhavingaslackday.Well,good–bye.I’llseeMaryback.’

Joeseatedhimselfinthevacantchair.

‘You’relookingtired,’hesaid.‘DidEddytalktoomuch?’

‘Yes,hedid…Joe,youwereright.’

‘Ah—Mary!’Joechuckled.‘I’lltellyousomethingIdidn’ttellEddy.Itwasn’tentirely

throughcarelessnessthatIpostedthoselettersinthewrongenvelopes.Infact,tobeabsolutelyfrank,itwasn’tthroughcarelessnessatall.There’sanoldgentlemaninPittsburghbythenameofJohnLongwood,whooccasionallyisgoodenoughtoinformmeofsomeofhisintendeddoingsonthemarketadayorsobeforetherestoftheworldknowsthem,andEddyhasalwaysshownastrongdesiretogetearlyinformationtoo.Doyouremembermytellingyouthatyourpredecessorattheofficeleftalittleabruptly?Therewasareason.Iengagedherasaconfidentialsecretary,andsheoverdidit.SheconfidedinEddy.FromthelookonyourfaceasIcameinIgatheredthathehadjustbeenproposingthatyoushouldperformasimilaractofChristiancharity.Hadhe?’

Maryclenchedherhands.

‘It’sthisawfulNewYork!’shecried.‘EddywasneverlikethatinDunsterville.’

‘Dunstervilledoesnotofferquitethesamescope,’saidJoe.

‘NewYorkchangeseverything,’Maryreturned.‘IthaschangedEddy—ithaschangedyou.’

Hebenttowardsherandloweredhisvoice.

‘Notaltogether,’hesaid.‘I’mjustthesameinoneway.I’vetriedtopretendIhadaltered,butit’snouse.Igiveitup.I’mstilljustthesamepoorfoolwhousedtohangroundstaringatyouinDunsterville.’

Awaiterwasapproachingthetablewiththeair,whichwaiterscultivate,ofjusthappeningbychancetobegoinginthatdirection.Joeleanedfartherforward,speakingquickly.

‘Andforwhom,’hesaid,‘youdidn’tcareasingle,solitarysnapofyourfingers,Mary.’

Shelookedupathim.Thewaiterhovered,poisingforhisswoop.Suddenlyshesmiled.

‘NewYorkhaschangedmetoo,Joe,’shesaid.

‘Mary!’hecried.

‘Zepill,sare,’observedthewaiter.

Joeturned.

‘Zewhat!’heexclaimed.‘Well,I’mhanged!Eddy’sgoneoffandleftmetopayforhislunch!Thatman’sawonder!Whenitcomestobrain–work,he’sinaclassbyhimself.’Hepaused.‘ButIhavetheluck,’hesaid.

THETUPPENNYMILLIONAIRE

InthecrowdthatstrolledonthePromenadedesEtrangers,enjoyingthemorningsunshine,thereweresomewhohadcometoRovillefortheirhealth,otherswhowishedtoavoidtherigoursoftheEnglishspring,andmanymorewholikedtheplacebecauseitwascheapandclosetoMonteCarlo.

NoneofthesemotiveshadbroughtGeorgeAlbertBalmer.Hewastherebecause,threeweeksbefore,HaroldFlowerhadcalledhimavegetable.

Whatisitthatmakesmendoperilousdeeds?WhydoesamangooverNiagaraFallsinabarrel?Notforhishealth.Halfanhourwithaskipping–ropewouldbeequallybeneficialtohisliver.No;inninecasesoutoftenhedoesittoprovetohisfriendsandrelationsthatheisnotthemild,steady–goingpersontheyhavealwaysthoughthim.Observethemusic–hallacrobatashepreparestoswingfromtheroofbyhiseyelids.Hisgazesweepsthehouse.‘Itisn’ttrue,’itseemstosay.‘I’mnotajelly–fish.’

ItwassowithGeorgeBalmer.

InLondonatthepresentmomentthereexistsomethousandsofrespectable,neatly–dressed,mechanical,unenterprisingyoungmen,employedatmodestsalariesbyvariousbanks,corporations,stores,shops,andbusinessfirms.Theyareputtoworkwhenyoung,andtheystayput.Theyaremussels.Eachhashisspecialplaceontherock,andremainsgluedtoitallhislife.

TothesethousandsGeorgeAlbertBalmerbelonged.Hedifferedinnodetailfromtherestofthegreatarmy.Hewasasrespectable,asneatly–dressed,asmechanical,andasunenterprising.Hislifewasbounded,east,west,north,andsouth,bythePlanetInsuranceCompany,whichemployedhim;andthattherewereotherwaysinwhichamanmightfulfilhimselfthanbygivingdailyimitationsbehindacounterofamechanicalfigurewalkinginitssleephadneverseriouslycrossedhismind.

OnGeorge,attheageoftwenty–four,theredescended,outofadearsky,alegacyofathousandpounds.

Physically,heremainedunchangedbeneaththeshock.Notraceofhauteurcreptintohisbearing.Whentheheadofhisdepartment,callinghisattentiontoatechnicalflawinhisworkofthepreviousafternoon,addressedhimas‘Here,you—youngwhat’s–your–confounded–name!’hedidnotpointoutthatthiswasnowaytospeaktoagentlemanofproperty.YouwouldhavesaidthatthesuddensmileofFortunehadfailedtounsettlehim.

Butallthewhilehismind,knockedheadoverheels,waslyinginalimpheap,wonderingwhathadstruckit.

Tohim,inhisdazedstate,cameHaroldFlower.Harold,messengertothePlanetInsuranceCompanyandoneofthemostassiduousmoney–borrowersinLondon,hadlistenedtotheofficegossipaboutthelegacyasiftothestrainsofsomegrand,sweetanthem.Hewasabibulousindividualofuncertainage,who,intheintervalsofcreepingabouthisduties,keptaneyeopenforpossibleadditionstohisstaffofcreditors.Mostoftheclerksatthe

Planethadbeenlaidundercontributionbyhimintheirtime,forHaroldhadawaywithhimthatwasgoodforthreepenceanypay–day,anditseemedtohimthatthingshadcometoasorrypassifhecouldnotextractsomethingspecialfromPlutocratBalmerinhishourofrejoicing.

ThroughoutthedayheshadowedGeorge,and,shortlybeforeclosing–time,backedhimintoacorner,tappedhimonthechest,andrequestedthetemporaryloanofasovereign.

Inthesamebreathhetoldhimthathewasagentleman,thatamessenger’slifewaspracticallythatofablankyslave,andthatayoungmanofspiritwhowishedtoaddtohisalreadylargefortunewouldhaveabitonGiantGooseberryfortheCityandSuburban.Hethenpausedforareply.

Now,allthroughthedayGeorgehadbeenassailedbyasteadystreamofdeterminedear–biters.Againandagainhehadbeenstakedoutasanore–producingclaimbymenwhomitwouldhavebeenimpolitictorebuff.Hewastiredoflending,andinamoodtoresentunauthorizeddemands.HaroldFlower’sstruckhimasparticularlyunauthorized.Hesaidso.

IttooksomelittletimetoconvinceMrFlowerthathereallymeantit,but,realizingatlastthegrimtruth,hedrewalongbreathandspoke.

‘Ho!’hesaid.‘Afraidyoucan’tspareit,can’tyou?Agentlemancomesandasksyouwithtackandcivilityforatemp’yloanofabout‘arfnothing,andallyoudoistocurseandswearathim.DoyouknowwhatIcallyou—youandyourthousandquid?Atuppennymillionaire,that’swhatIcallyou.Keepyourbloomingmoney.That’sallIask.Keepit.Muchgoodyou’llgetoutofit.Iknowyoursort.You’llneverhaveanypleasureofit.Notyou.You’rethecarefulsort.You’llputitintoConsols,youwill,anddrawyourthree–ha’penceayear.Moneywasn’tmeantforyourkind.Itdon’tmeannothingtoyou.Youain’tgotthegoinyoutoappreciateit.Avegetable—that’sallyouare.Ablankylittlevegetable.Ablankylittlegor–blimeyvegetable.Iseenturnipswithmorespiritin‘emthatwhatyou’vegot.AndBrusselssprouts.Yes,andparsnips.’

Itisdifficulttowalkawaywithdignitywhenamanwithahoarsevoiceandawateryeyeiscomparingyoutoyourdisadvantagewithaparsnip,andGeorgedidnotcomeanywherenearachievingthefeat.Butheextricatedhimselfsomehow,andwenthomebrooding.

MrFlower’sremarksrankledparticularlybecauseitsohappenedthatConsolsweretheidenticalinvestmentonwhichhehaddecided.HisUncleRobert,withwhomhelivedasapayingguest,hadstronglyadvocatedthem.Alsotheyhadsuggestedthemselvestohimindependently.

ButHaroldFlower’swordsgavehimpause.Theymadehimthink.Fortwoweeksandsomedayshethought,flushinguncomfortablywheneverhemetthatwaterybutcontemptuouseye.Andthencamethedayofhisannualvacation,andwithitinspiration.Hesoughtoutthemessenger,whomtillnowhehadcarefullyavoided.

‘Er—Flower,’hesaid.

‘Melord?’

‘Iamtakingmyholidaytomorrow.Willyouforwardmyletters?Iwillwireyouthe

address.Ihavenotsettledonmyhotelyet.Iampoppingover’—hepaused—‘Iampoppingover,’heresumed,carelessly,‘toMonte.’

‘Towho?’inquiredMrFlower.

‘ToMonte.MonteCarlo,youknow.’

MrFlowerblinkedtwicerapidly,thenpulledhimselftogether.

‘Yus,Idon’tthink!’hesaid.

Andthatsettledit.

TheGeorgewhostrolledthatpleasantmorningonthePromenadedesStrangersdifferedbothexternallyandinternallyfromtheGeorgewhohadfallenoutwithHaroldFlowerintheofficesofthePlanetInsuranceCompany.Foradayafterhisarrivalhehadclungtothegarbofmiddle–classEngland.Onthesecondhehaddiscoveredthatthiswasunpleasantlywarmand,worse,conspicuous.AttheCasinoMunicipalethateveninghehadobservedamanwearinganarrangementinbrightyellowvelvetwithoutattractingattention.Thesighthadimpressedhim.NextmorninghehademergedfromhishotelinaflannelsuitsolightthatithadbeenunanimouslycondemnedasimpossiblebyhisUncleRobert,hisAuntLouisa,hisCousinsPercy,Eva,andGeraldine,andhisAuntLouisa’smother,andatashopintheRueLasallehadspenttwentyfrancsonaHomburghat.AndRovillehadtakenitwithoutblinking.

Internallyhisalterationhadbeenevenmoreconsiderable.RovillewasnotMonteCarlo(inwhichgayspothehadremainedonlylongenoughtosendapicturepost–cardtoHaroldFlowerbeforeretiringdownthecoasttofindsomethingcheaper),butithadbeenarevelationtohim.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehewasseeingcolour,anditintoxicatedhim.Thesilkybluenessoftheseawasstartling.ThepurewhiteofthegreathotelsalongthepromenadeandtheCasinoMunicipalefascinatedhim.Hewasdazzled.AttheCasinothepillarswerecrimsonandcream,thetablessky–blueandpink.Seatedonagreen–and–whitestripedchairhewatchedarevue,ofwhichfromstarttofinishheunderstoodbutoneword—‘out’,towit—absorbedinthedoingsofared–moustachedgentlemaninbluewhowrangledinrapidFrenchwithablack–moustachedgentlemaninyellow,whileasnow–whitecommereandacompereinamauveflannelsuitlookedonatthebrawl.

ItwasduringthateveningthatthereflittedacrosshismindthefirstsuspicionhehadeverhadthathisUncleRobert’smentaloutlookwasalittlelimited.

Andnow,ashepacedthepromenade,watchingthestirandbustleofthecrowd,hedefinitelycondemnedhisabsentrelativeasanarrow–mindedchump.

Ifthebrownbootswhichhehadpolishedsoassiduouslyinhisbedroomthatmorningwiththeinsideofabanana–skin,andwhichnowgleamedforthefirsttimeonhisfeet,hadafault,itwasthattheywereashadetight.Topromenadewiththegaycrowd,therefore,foranylengthoftimewasinjudicious;andGeorge,warnedbyared–hotshootingsensationthatthemomenthadarrivedforrest,sankdowngracefullyonaseat,toriseatonceondiscoveringthatbetweenhimanditwassomethingoblongwithsharpcorners.

Itwasabook—afatnewnovel.Georgedrewitoutandinspectedit.Therewasanameinside—JuliaWaveney.

George,fromboyhoodup,hadbeenraisedinthatschoolofthoughtwhosewatchwordis‘Findingsarekeepings’,and,havingascertainedthattherewasnoaddressattachedtothename,hewasonthepoint,Iregrettosay,ofpouchingthevolume,whichalreadyhelookeduponashisown,whenafiguredetacheditselffromthecrowd,andhefoundhimselfgazingintoapairofgreyand,tohisstartledconscience,accusingeyes.

‘Oh,thankyou!Iwasafraiditwaslost.’

Shewasbreathingquickly,andtherewasaslightflushonherface.ShetookthebookfromGeorge’sunresistinghandandrewardedhimwithasmile.

‘Imissedit,andIcouldn’tthinkwhereIcouldhaveleftit.ThenIrememberedthatIhadbeensittinghere.Thankyousomuch.’

Shesmiledagain,turned,andwalkedaway,leavingGeorgetoreckonupallthesocialsolecismshehadcontrivedtocommitinthespaceofasinglemoment.Hehadremainedseated,heremindedhimself,throughouttheinterview;one.Hehadnotraisedhishat,thatfascinatingHomburgsimplymadetoberaisedwithadebonairswishundersuchconditions;two.Callitthree,becauseheoughttohaveraisedittwice.Hehadgapedlikeafool;four.And,five,hehadnotutteredasinglewordofacknowledgementinreplytoherthanks.

Fivevastbloomersinunderaminute!Whatcouldshehavethoughtofhim?Thesunceasedtoshine.Whatsortofanutteroutsidercouldshehaveconsideredhim?Aneastwindsprangup.WhatkindofaCockneybounderandcadcouldshehavetakenhimfor?Theseaturnedtoanoilygrey;andGeorge,rising,strodebackinthedirectionofhishotelinamoodthatmadehimforgetthathehadbrownbootsonatall.

Hismindwasactive.SeveraltimessincehehadcometoRovillehehadbeenconsciousofasensationwhichhecouldnotunderstand,avague,yearningsensation,afeelingthat,splendidaseverythingwasinthisparadiseofcolour,therewasneverthelesssomethinglacking.Nowheunderstood.Youhadtobeinlovetogetthefullflavourofthesevividwhitesandblues.Hewasgettingitnow.Hismoodofdejectionhadpassedswiftly,tobesucceededbyanexhilarationsuchashehadonlyfeltonceinhislifebefore,abouthalf–waythroughadinnergiventothePlanetstaffonaprincelyscalebyaretiringgeneralmanager.

Hewasexalted.Nothingseemedimpossibletohim.Hewouldmeetthegirlagainonthepromenade,hetoldhimself,dashinglyrenewtheacquaintance,showherthathewasnotthegapingidiothehadappeared.Hisimaginationdonneditsseven–leagueboots.Hesawhimselfproposing—eloquently—accepted,married,livinghappilyeverafter.

Itoccurredtohimthatanexcellentfirstmovewouldbetofindoutwhereshewasstaying.Heboughtapaperandturnedtothelistofvisitors.MissWaveney.Wherewasit.Heranhiseyedownthecolumn.

Andthen,withacrash,downcamehisair–castlesinhideousruin.

‘HotelCercledelaMediterranee.LordFrederickWeston.TheCountessofSouthborneandtheHon.AdelaideLiss.LadyJuliaWaveney—’

Hedroppedthepaperandhobbledontohishotel.Hisbootshadbeguntohurthimagain,

forhenolongerwalkedonair.

*****

AtRovillethereareseveralinstitutionsprovidedbythemunicipalityforthepurposeofenablingvisitorstemporarilytokillthought.ChiefamongtheseistheCasinoMunicipale,where,foraprice,thesorrowfulmayobtainoblivionbymeansoftheingeniousgameofboule.DisappointedloversatRovilletaketobouleasinotherplacestheymighttaketodrink.Itisafascinatinggame.Awooden–facedhighpriestflicksaredindia–rubberballintoapolishedoakenbowl,atthebottomofwhichareholes,eachbearinganumberuptonine.Theballswingsroundandroundlikeaplanet,slowsdown,stumblesamongtheholes,restsforamomentintheonewhichyouhavebacked,thenhopsintothenextone,andyoulose.IfevertherewasapastimecalculatedtoplaceyoungAdamCupidinthebackground,thisisit.

TothebouletablesthatnightfledGeorgewithhishopelesspassion.Fromtheinstantwhenhereadthefatalwordsinthepaperhehadrecognizeditshopelessness.Allotherobstacleshehadbeenpreparedtoovercome,butatitle—no.Hehadnoillusionsastohisplaceinthesocialscale.TheLadyJuliasofthisworlddidnotmarryinsuranceclerks,eveniftheirlatemother’scousinhadleftthemathousandpounds.Thatday–dreamwasdefinitelyended.Itwasathingofthepast—alloverexcepttheheartache.

BywayofapreliminarysipofthewatersofLethe,beforebeginningthefulldraught,heplacedafranconnumbersevenandlost.Anotherfranconsixsufferedthesamefate.Hethrewafive–franccart–wheelrecklesslyonevens.Itwon.

Itwasenough.Thrustinghishatonthebackofhisheadandwedginghimselffirmlyagainstthetable,hesettleddowntomakeanightofit.

Thereisnothinglikebouleforabsorbingthemind.ItwassometimebeforeGeorgebecameawarethatahandwasproddinghimintheribs.Heturned,irritated.Immediatelybehindhim,fillingthelandscape,weretwostoutFrenchmen.But,evenashesearchedhisbrainforwordsthatwouldconveytothemintheirnativetonguehisdisapprovalofthisjostling,heperceivedthatthey,thoughstoutandinageneralwayoffensive,wereinthisparticularrespectguiltless.Theproddinghandbelongedtosomebodyinvisiblebehindthem.Itwassmallandgloved,awoman’shand.Itheldafive–francpiece.

Theninagap,causedbyamovementinthecrowd,hesawthefaceofLadyJuliaWaveney.

Shesmiledathim.

‘Oneight,please,wouldyoumind?’heheardhersay,andthenthecrowdshiftedagainandshedisappeared,leavinghimholdingthecoin,hismindinawhirl.

Thegameofbouledemandsundividedattentionfromitsdevotees.Toplaywithamindfullofothermattersisamistake.ThismistakeGeorgemade.Hardlyconsciousofwhathewasdoing,heflungthecoinontheboard.Shehadaskedhimtoplaceitoneight,andhethoughtthathehadplaceditoneight.That,inreality,blindedbyemotion,hehadplaceditonthreewasafactwhichcamehometohimneitherthennorlater.

Consequently,whentheballceasedtorollandasepulchralvoicecroakedthenewsthat

eightwasthewinningnumber,hefixedonthecroupieragazethatbeganbybeingjoyfulandexpectantandended,thecroupierremainingentirelyunresponsive,bybeingwrathful.

Heleanedtowardshim.

‘Monsieur,’hesaid.‘Moi!J’aijetecinqfrancssurhuit!’

Thecroupierwasamanwithapointedmoustacheandanairofhavingseenallthesorrowandwickednessthattherehadeverbeenintheworld.Hetwistedtheformerandpermittedafaintsmiletodeepenthemelancholyofthelatter,buthedidnotspeak.

Georgemovedtohisside.ThetwostoutFrenchmenhadstrolledoff,leavingelbow–roombehindthem.

Hetappedthecroupierontheshoulder.

‘Isay,’hesaid.‘What’sthegame?J’aijetecinqfrancssurhuit,Itellyou,moi!’

AforgottenidiomfromthedaysofboyhoodandFrenchexercisescametohim.

‘Moiquiparle,’headded.

‘Messieurs,faitesvosjeux,’croonedthecroupier,inadetachedmanner.

TothenormalGeorge,astomostEnglishmenofhisage,theonecardinalruleinlifewasatallcoststoavoidrenderinghimselfconspicuousinpublic.ThanGeorgenormal,novioletthateverhiditselfinamossybankcouldhavehadagreaterdistasteforscenes.Buttonighthewasnotnormal.Rovilleanditscolourhadwroughtasortoffeverinhisbrain.Boulehadincreasedit.Andlovehadcausedittorage.Ifthishadbeenentirelyhisownaffairitisprobablethatthecroupier’sfrigidcalmwouldhavequelledhimandhewouldhaveretired,fermentingbutbaffled.Butitwasnothisownaffair.Hewasfightingthecauseoftheonlygirlintheworld.Shehadtrustedhim.Couldhefailher?No,hewasdashedifhecould.Hewouldshowherwhathewasmadeof.Hisheartswelledwithinhim.Athrillpermeatedhisentirebeing,startingathisheadandrunningoutathisheels.Hefelttremendous—asortofblendofOliverCromwell,aBerserkwarrior,andSirGalahad.

‘Monsieur,’hesaidagain.‘Hi!Whataboutit?’

Thistimethecroupierdidspeak.

‘C’estfini,’hesaid;andprintcannotconveythepensivescornofhisvoice.ItstungGeorge,inhisexaltedmood,likeablow.Finished,wasit?Allright,nowhewouldshowthem.Theyhadaskedforit,andnowtheyshouldgetit.Howmuchdiditcometo?Fivefrancsthestakehadbeen,andyougotseventimesyourstake.Andyougotyourstakeback.Hewasnearlyforgettingthat.Fortyfrancsinall,then.Twoofthosegoldwhat–d’you–call’ems,infact.Verywell,then.

Heleanedforwardquicklyacrossthecroupier,snatchedthelidoffthegoldtray,andremovedtwolouis.

Itisaremarkablefactinlifethatthesceneswhichwehaverehearsedinourmindsneverhappenaswehavepicturedthemhappening.Inthepresentcase,forinstance,ithadbeenGeorge’sintentiontohandlethesubsequentstagesofthislittledisputewithaneasydignity.Hehadproposed,themoneyobtained,tohanditovertoitsrightfulowner,raise

hishat,andretirewithanair,agallantchampionoftheoppressed.Itwasprobablyaboutone–sixteenthofasecondafterhishandhadclosedonthecoinsthatherealizedinthemostvividmannerthatthesewerenotthelinesonwhichtheincidentwastodevelop,and,withallhisheart,hecongratulatedhimselfonhavingdiscardedthosebrownbootsinfavourofawornbutroomypairofgent’sOxfords.

Foramomenttherewasapauseandasilenceofutterastonishment,whilethemindsofthosewhohadwitnessedtheaffairadjustedthemselvestothemarvel,andthentheworldbecamefullofstartingeyes,yellingthroats,andclutchinghands.Fromalloverthecasinofreshunitsswarmedlikebeestoswellthecrowdatthecentreofthings.Promenadersceasedtopromenade,waiterstowait.Elderlygentlemensprangontotables.

ButinthatmomentarypauseGeorgehadgotoffthemark.Thetableatwhichhehadbeenstandingwastheonenearesttothedoor,andhehadbeenonthedoorsideofit.Asthefirsteyesbegantostart,thefirstthroatstoyell,andthefirsthandstoclutch,hewaspassingthecounterofthemoney–changer.Hechargedtheswing–dooratfullspeed,and,truetoitsmission,itswung.Hehadavagueglimpsefromthecornerofhiseyeofthehat–and–cloakcounter,andthenhewasinthesquarewiththecoldnightbreezeblowingonhisforeheadandthestarswinkingdownfromthebluesky.

Apaper–selleronthepavement,everthemanofbusiness,steppedforwardandofferedhimthePariseditionoftheDailyMail,and,beinginthedirectlineoftransit,shotswiftlyintotheroadandfellintoaheap,whileGeorge,shakenbutgoingwell,turnedofftotheleft,wherethereseemedtoberathermoredarknessthananywhereelse.

Andthenthecasinodisgorgedthepursuers.

ToGeorge,lookinghastilyoverhisshoulder,thereseemedathousandofthem.Thesquarerangwiththeircries.Hecouldnotunderstandthem,butgatheredthattheywereuncomplimentary.Atanyrate,theystimulatedalittlemanineveningdressstrollingalongthepavementtowardshim,tobecomesuddenlyanimatedandtoleapfromsidetosidewithoutstretchedarms.

PanicmakesHarlequinthree–quartersofusall.ForonewhohadneverplayedRugbyfootballGeorgehandledthesituationwell.Hedrewthedefencewithafeinttotheleft,then,swervingtotheright,shotpastintothefriendlydarkness.Frombehindcametheringingoffeetandanevergrowingdin.

Itisoneofthefewcompensationsafugitivepursuedbyacrowdenjoysthat,whilehehasspaceforhismanoeuvres,thosewhopursuearehamperedbytheirnumbers.InthelittleregimentthatpoundedathisheelsitisprobablethatthereweremanyfasterrunnersthanGeorge.Ontheotherhand,thereweremanyslower,andintheearlystagesofthechasetheseimpededtheirswifterbrethren.Attheendofthefirsthalf–minute,therefore,George,notsparinghimself,haddrawnwellahead,andforthefirsttimefoundleisureforconnectedthought.

Hisbrainbecamepreternaturallyalert,sothatwhen,roundingacorner,heperceivedenteringthemainroadfromaside–streetinfrontofhimasmallknotofpedestrians,hedidnotwaver,butwasseizedwithakeenspasmofpresenceofmind.Withoutpausinginhisstride,hepointedexcitedlybeforehim,andatthesamemomentshoutedthewords,‘La!La!Vite!Vite!’

HisstockofFrenchwassmall,butitrantothat,andforhispurposeitwasample.TheFrenchtemperamentisnotstolid.WhentheFrenchtemperamentseesamanrunningrapidlyandpointingintothemiddledistanceandhearshimshouting,‘La!La!Vite!Vite!‘itdoesnotstoptomakeformalinquiries.Itsprintslikeamustang.Itdidsonow,withthehappyresultthatamomentlaterGeorgewasracingdowntheroad,thecentreandrecognizedleaderofanenthusiasticbandofsix,which,inthenexttwentyyards,swelledtoeleven.

Fiveminuteslater,inawine–shopneartheharbour,hewassippingthefirstglassofabottleofcheapbutcomfortingvinordinairewhileheexplainedtotheinterestedproprietor,bymeansofamixtureofEnglish,brokenFrench,andgesturesthathehadbeenhelpingtochaseathief,buthadbeenforcedbyfatiguetoretireprematurelyforrefreshment.Theproprietorgathered,however,thathehadeveryconfidenceinthezealofhisstillactivecolleagues.

ItisconvincingevidenceoftheextenttowhichlovehadtriumphedoverprudenceinGeorge’ssoulthattheadvisabilityoflyinghidinhishotelonthefollowingdaydidnotevencrosshismind.Immediatelyafterbreakfast,orwhatpassedforitatRoville,hesetoutfortheHotelCercledelaMediterraneetohandoverthetwolouistotheirowner.

LadyJulia,hewasinformedonarrival,wasout.Theporter,politelygenial,advisedmonsieurtoseekheronthePromenadedesEtrangers.

Shewasthere,onthesameseatwhereshehadleftthebook.

‘Goodmorning,’hesaid.

Shehadnotseenhimcoming,andshestartedathisvoice.Theflushwasbackonherfaceassheturnedtohim.Therewasalookofastonishmentinthegreyeyes.

Heheldoutthetwolouis.

‘Icouldn’tgivethemtoyoulastnight,’hesaid.

Ahorribleideaseizedhim.Ithadnotoccurredtohimbefore.

‘Isay,’hestammered—‘Isay,Ihopeyoudon’tthinkIhadrunoffwithyourwinningsforgood!Thecroupierwouldn’tgivethemup,youknow,soIhadtograbthemandrun.Theycametoexactlytwolouis.Youputonfivefrancs,youknow,andyougetseventimesyourstake.I—’

Anelderlyladyseatedonthebench,whohadloomedfrombehindaparasoltowardsthemiddleoftheseremarks,brokeabruptlyintospeech.

‘Whoisthisyoungman?’

Georgelookedather,startled.Hehadhardlybeenawareofherpresencetillnow.Rapidlyhediagnosedherasamother—oraunt.Shelookedmorelikeanaunt.Ofcourse,itmustseemoddtoher,hischarginginlikethis,aperfectstranger,andbeginningtochatwithherdaughter,orniece,orwhateveritwas.Hebegantojustifyhimself.

‘Imetyour—thisyounglady’—somethingtoldhimthatwasnottheproperwaytoputit,buthangit,whatelsecouldhesay?—‘atthecasinolastnight.’

Hestopped.Theeffectofhiswordsontheelderlyladywasremarkable.Herfaceseemed

toturntostoneandbecomeallsharppoints.Shestaredatthegirl.

‘Soyouweregamblingatthecasinolastnight?’shesaid.

Sherosefromtheseat,afrozenstatueofdispleasure.

‘Ishallreturntothehotel.Whenyouhavearrangedyourfinancialtransactionswithyour—friend,Ishouldliketospeaktoyou.Youwillfindmeinmyroom.’

Georgelookedafterherdumbly.

Thegirlspoke,inacuriouslystrainedvoice,asifshewerespeakingtoherself.

‘Idon’tcare,’shesaid.‘I’mglad.’

Georgewasconcerned.

‘I’mafraidyourmotherisoffended,LadyJulia.’

Therewasapuzzledlookinhergreyeyesastheymethis.Thentheylitup.Sheleanedbackintheseatandbegantolaugh,softlyatfirst,andthenwithanotethatjarredonGeorge.Whateverthehumourofthesituation—andhehadnotdetecteditatpresent—thismirth,hefelt,wasunnaturalandexcessive.

Shecheckedherselfatlength,andaflushcreptoverherface.

‘Idon’tknowwhyIdidthat,’shesaid,abruptly.‘I’msorry.Therewasnothingfunnyinwhatyousaid.ButI’mnotLadyJulia,andIhavenomother.ThatwasLadyJuliawhohasjustgone,andIamnothingmoreimportantthanhercompanion.’

‘Hercompanion!’

‘Ihadbettersayherlatecompanion.Itwillsoonbethat.Ihadstrictorders,yousee,nottogonearthecasinowithouther—andIwent.’

‘Then—thenI’velostyouyourjob—Imean,yourposition!Ifithadn’tbeenformeshewouldn’thaveknown.I—’

‘Youhavedonemeagreatservice,’shesaid.‘YouhavecutthepainterformewhenIhavebeentryingformonthstomusterupthecouragetocutitformyself.Idon’tsupposeyouknowwhatitistogetintoagrooveandlongtogetoutofitandnothavethepluck.MybrotherhasbeenwritingtomeforalongtimetojoinhiminCanada.AndIhadn’tthecourage,ortheenergy,orwhateveritisthattakespeopleoutofgrooves.IknewIwaswastingmylife,butIwasfairlyhappy—atleast,notunhappy;so—well,thereitwas.Isupposewomenarelikethat.’

‘Andnow—?’

‘Andnowyouhavejerkedmeoutofthegroove.IshallgoouttoBobbythefirstboat.’

Hescratchedtheconcretethoughtfullywithhisstick.

‘It’sahardlifeoutthere,’hesaid.

‘Butitisalife.’

Helookedatthestrollersonthepromenade.Theyseemedveryfaraway—inanotherworld.

‘Lookhere,’hesaid,hoarsely,andstopped.‘MayIsitdown?’heasked,abruptly.‘I’vegotsomethingtosay,andIcan’tsayitwhenI’mlookingatyou.’

Hesatdown,andfastenedhisgazeonayachtthatswayedatanchoragainstthecloudlesssky.

‘Lookhere,’hesaid.‘Willyoumarryme?’

Heheardherturnquickly,andfelthereyesuponhim.Hewentondoggedly.

‘Iknow,’hesaid,‘weonlymetyesterday.YouprobablythinkI’mmad.’

‘Idon’tthinkyou’remad,’shesaid,quietly.‘Ionlythinkyou’retooquixotic.You’resorryformeandyouarelettingakindimpulsecarryyouaway,asyoudidlastnightatthecasino.It’slikeyou.’

Forthefirsttimeheturnedtowardsher.

‘Idon’tknowwhatyousupposeIam,’hesaid,‘butI’lltellyou.I’maclerkinaninsuranceoffice.Igetahundredayearandtendays’holiday.Didyoutakemeforamillionaire?IfIam,I’monlyatuppennyone.Somebodyleftmeathousandpoundsafewweeksago.That’showIcometobehere.Nowyouknowallaboutme.Idon’tknowanythingaboutyouexceptthatIshallneverloveanybodyelse.Marryme,andwe’llgotoCanadatogether.YousayI’vehelpedyououtofyourgroove.Well,I’veonlyonechanceofgettingoutofmine,andthat’sthroughyou.Ifyouwon’thelpme,Idon’tcareifIgetoutofitornot.Willyoupullmeout?’

Shedidnotspeak.Shesatlookingouttosea,pastthemany–colouredcrowd.

Hewatchedherface,butherhatshadedhereyesandhecouldreadnothinginit.

Andthen,suddenly,withoutquiteknowinghowithadgotthere,hefoundthatherhandwasinhis,andhewasclutchingitasadrowningmanclutchesarope.

Hecouldseehereyesnow,andtherewasamessageinthemthatsethisheartracing.Agreatcontentfilledhim.Shewassocompanionable,suchafriend.Itseemedincredibletohimthatitwasonlyyesterdaythattheyhadmetforthefirsttime.

‘Andnow,’shesaid,‘wouldyoumindtellingmeyourname?’

*****

Thelittlewavesmurmuredastheyrolledlazilyupthebeach.Somewherebehindthetreesinthegardensabandhadbeguntoplay.Thebreeze,blowinginfromtheblueMediterranean,waschargedwithsaltandhappiness.Andfromaseatonthepromenade,ayoungmansweptthecrowdwithadefiantgaze.

‘Itisn’ttrue,’itseemedtosay.‘I’mnotajelly–fish.’

AHEADOFSCHEDULEItwastoWilson,hisvalet,withwhomhefrequentlychattedinairyfashionbeforerisingofamorning,thatRolloFinchfirstdisclosedhisgreatidea.Wilsonwasamanofsilenthabit,andmenofsilenthabitrarelyescapedRollo’sconfidences.

‘Wilson,’hesaidonemorningfromtherecessesofhisbed,asthevaletenteredwithhisshaving–water,‘haveyoueverbeeninlove?’

‘Yes,sir,’saidthevalet,unperturbed.

Onewouldhardlyhaveexpectedtheanswertobeintheaffirmative.Likemostvaletsandallchauffeurs,Wilsongavetheimpressionofbeingabovethesofteremotions.

‘Whathappened?’inquiredRollo.

‘Itcametonothing,sir,’saidWilson,beginningtostroptherazorwithnoappearanceofconcern.

‘Ah!’saidRollo.‘AndIbetIknowwhy.Youdidn’tgotherightwaytowork.’

‘No,sir?’

‘Notonefellowinahundreddoes.Iknow.I’vethoughtitout.I’vebeenthinkingthedeuceofalotaboutitlately.It’sdashedtricky,thismakinglove.Mostfellowshaven’tanotionhowtoworkit.Nosystem.Nosystem,Wilson,oldscout.’

‘No,sir?’

‘Now,Ihaveasystem.AndI’lltellityou.Itmaydoyouabitofgoodnexttimeyoufeelthatimpulse.You’renotdeadyet.Now,mysystemissimplytogotoitgradually,bydegrees.Workbyschedule.SeewhatImean?’

‘Notentirely,sir.’

‘Well,I’llgiveyouthedetails.Firstthing,youwanttofindthegirl.’

‘Justso,sir.’

‘Well,whenyou’vefoundher,whatdoyoudo?Youjustlookather.SeewhatImean?’

‘Notentirely,sir.’

‘Lookather,myboy.That’sjustthestart—thefoundation.Youdevelopfromthat.Butyoukeepaway.That’sthepoint.I’vethoughtthisthingout.Mindyou,Idon’tclaimabsolutelyallthecreditfortheideamyself.It’sbywayofbeingbasedonChristianScience.Absenttreatment,andallthat.Butmostofit’smine.Allthefinework.’

‘Yes,sir?’

‘Yes.Absolutelyallthefinework.Here’sthethinginanutshell.Youfindthegirl.Right.Ofcourse,you’vegottomeetheronce,justtoestablishtheconnexion.Thenyougetbusy.Firstweek,looks.Justlookather.Secondweek,letters.Writetohereveryday.Thirdweek,flowers.Sendhersomeeveryafternoon.Fourthweek,presentswithabitmore

classaboutthem.Bitofjewellerynowandthen.SeewhatImean?Fifthweek,—lunchesandsuppersandthings.Sixthweek,propose,thoughyoucandoitinthefifthweekifyouseeachance.You’vegottoleavethattothefellow’sjudgement.Well,thereyouare.SeewhatImean?’

Wilsonstroppedhismaster’srazorthoughtfully.

‘Atrifleelaborate,sir,isitnot?’hesaid.

Rollothumpedthecounterpane.

‘Iknewyou’dsaythat.That’swhatninefellowsoutoftenwouldsay.They’dwanttorushit.Itellyou,Wilson,oldscout,youcan’trushit.’

Wilsonbroodedawhile,hismindbackinthepassionatepast.

‘InMarketBumpstead,sir—’

‘WhatthedeuceisMarketBumpstead?’

‘Avillage,sir,whereIliveduntilIcametoLondon.’

‘Well?’

‘InMarketBumpstead,sir,theprevailingcustomwastoescorttheyoungladyhomefromchurch,buyhersomelittlepresent—someribbons,possibly—nextday,takeherforawalk,andkissher,sir.’

Wilson’svoice,asheunfoldedthesedevicesofthedashingyouthofMarketBumpstead,hadtakenonananimationquiteunsuitabletoaconscientiousvalet.Hegavetheimpressionofamanwhodoesnotdependonidlerumourforhisfacts.Hiseyegleamedunprofessionallyforamomentbeforeresumingitshabitualexpressionofquietintrospection.

Rolloshookhishead.

‘Thatsortofthingmightworkinavillage,’hesaid,‘butyouwantsomethingbetterforLondon.’

*****

RolloFinch—inthepresentunsatisfactorystateofthelawparentsmaystillchristenachildRollo—wasayouthtowhomNaturehadgivenacheerfuldispositionnotmarredbyanysuperfluityofbrain.EveryonelikedRollo—thegreatmajorityonsight,therestassoonastheyheardthathewouldbeamillionaireonthedeathofhisUncleAndrew.Thereisasubtlesomething,asortofnebulouscharm,asitwere,aboutyoungmenwhowillbemillionairesonthedeathoftheirUncleAndrewwhichsoftenstheruggedestmisanthrope.

Rollo’smotherhadbeenaMissGalloway,ofPittsburgh,Pennsylvania,U.S.A.;andAndrewGalloway,theworld–famousBracesKing,theinventorandproprietoroftheinimitable‘TriedandProven’,washerbrother.Hisbraceshadpenetratedtoeverycorneroftheearth.WherevercivilizationreignedyouwouldfindmenwearingGalloway’s‘TriedandProven’.

BetweenRolloandthishumanbenefactortherehadalwaysexistedfriendlyrelations,anditwasanopensecretthat,unlesshisuncleweretomarryandsupplytheworldwithlittle

Gallowaysaswellasbraces,theyoungmanwouldcomeintohismoney.

SoRollomovedonhiswaythroughlife,popularandhappy.Alwaysmerryandbright.ThatwasRollo.

Ornearlyalways.Forthereweremoments—weallhaveourgreyermoments—whenhecouldhavewishedthatMrGallowayhadbeenatrifleolderoratriflelessrobust.TheBracespotentatewasatpresentpassing,inexcellenthealth,throughtheIndiansummeroflife.Hewas,moreover,ashasbeenstated,bybirthandresidenceaPittsburghman.Andthetendencyofmiddle–agedPittsburghmillionairestomarrychorus–girlsisnotoriouslylikethehominginstinctofpigeons.Something—itmaybethesmoke—seemstoworkonthemlikeacharm.

InthecaseofAndrewGalloway,Naturehadbeenthwarteduptillnowbytheaccidentofanunfortunateattachmentinearlylife.Thefactswerenotfullyknown,butitwasgenerallyunderstoodthathisfianceehadexercisedWoman’sprerogativeandchangedhermind.Also,thatshehaddonethisontheactualwedding–day,causingannoyancetoall,andhadclinchedthematterbyelopingtoJerseyCitywiththeprospectivebridegroom’sowncoachman.Whateverthefacts,therewasnodoubtabouttheirresult.MrGalloway,havingabjuredwomanutterly,hadflunghimselfwithmoodyenergyintothemanufactureandpropagationofhis‘TriedandProven’Braces,andhadfoundconsolationiniteversince.Hewouldbestrong,hetoldhimself,likehisbraces.Heartsmightsnapbeneathasuddenstrain.Notsothe‘TriedandProven’.Lovemighttugandtugagain,butnevermoreshouldthetrousersofpassionbreakawayfromthetough,masterfulbracesofself–control.

AsMrGallowayhadbeeninthisframeofmindforamatterofelevenyears,itseemedtoRollonotunreasonabletohopethathemightcontinueinitpermanently.Hehadtheverystrongestobjectiontohisunclemarryingachorus–girl;and,astheyearswentonandthedisasterdidnothappen,hishopesofplayingtheroleofheirtillthefallofthecurtaingrewstrongerandstronger.Hewasoneofthoseyoungmenwhomustbeheirsornothing.Thisistheageofthespecialist,andyearsagoRollohadsettledonhiscareer.Evenasaboy,hardlycapableofconnectedthought,hehadbeenconvincedthathisspeciality,theonethinghecoulddoreallywell,wastoinheritmoney.Allhewantedwasachance.ItwouldbebitterifFateshouldwithholditfromhim.

Hedidnotobjectonprincipletomenmarryingchorus–girls.Onthecontrary,hewantedtomarryonehimself.

Itwasthisfactwhichhadgiventhatturntohisthoughtswhichhadfinallyresultedintheschedule.

*****

ThefirstintimationthatWilsonhadthattheschedulewasactuallytobeputintopracticaloperationwaswhenhisemployer,oneMondayevening,requestedhimtobuyamedium–sizedbunchofthebestredrosesanddeliverthempersonally,withanote,toMissMargueriteParkeratthestage–dooroftheDukeofCornwall’sTheatre.

Wilsonreceivedtheorderinhiscustomarygravelydeferentialmanner,andwasturningtogo;butRollohadmoretoadd.

‘Flowers,Wilson,’hesaid,significantly.

‘SoIunderstoodyoutosay,sir.Iwillseetoitatonce.’

‘SeewhatImean?Thirdweek,Wilson.’

‘Indeed,sir?’

Rolloremainedforamomentinwhathewouldhavecalledthought.

‘Charminggirl,Wilson.’

‘Indeed,sir?’

‘Seentheshow?’

‘Notyet,sir.’

‘Youshould,’saidRollo,earnestly.‘Takemyadvice,oldscout,andseeitfirstchanceyouget.It’stopping.I’vehadthesameseatinthemiddleofthefrontrowofthestallsfortwoweeks.’

‘Indeed,sir?’

‘Looks,Wilson!Thegoodoldschedule.’

‘Haveyounoticedanysatisfactoryresults,sir?’

‘It’sworking.OnSaturdaynightshelookedatmefivetimes.She’sadelightfulgirl,Wilson.Nice,quietgirl—nottheusualsort.ImetherfirstatalunchatOddy’s.She’sthelastgirlontheO.P.side.I’msureyou’dlikeher,Wilson.’

‘Ihaveeveryconfidenceinyourtaste,sir.’

‘You’llseeherforyourselfthisevening.Don’tletthefellowatthestage–doorputyouoff.Sliphimhalfacrownoracoupleofquidorsomething,andsayyoumustseeherpersonally.Areyouacloseobserver,Wilson?’

‘Ithinkso,sir.’

‘BecauseIwantyoutonoticeparticularlyhowshetakesit.Seethatshereadsthenoteinyourpresence.I’vetakenagooddealoftroubleoverthatnote,Wilson.It’sagoodnote.Wellexpressed.Watchherfacewhileshe’sreadingit.’

‘Verygood,sir.Excuseme,sir.’

‘Eh?’

‘Ihadalmostforgottentomentionit.MrGallowayranguponthetelephoneshortlybeforeyoucamein.’

‘What!IsheinEngland?’

MrGallowaywasinthehabitoftakingoccasionaltripstoGreatBritaintoconferwiththegeneralmanagerofhisLondonbranch.Rollohadgrownaccustomedtoreceivingnonoticeofthesevisits.

‘HearrivedtwodaysagoontheBaltic,sir.HeleftamessagethathewasinLondonforaweek,andwouldbegladifyouwoulddinewithhimtomorrowathisclub.’

Rollonodded.OntheseoccasionsitwashispracticetoholdhimselfunreservedlyatMrGalloway’sdisposal.Thelatter’sinvitationswereroyalcommands.Rollowasgladthatthevisithadhappenednow.Inanothertwoweeksitmighthavebeendisastroustotheschedule.

TheclubtowhichtheBracesKingbelongedwasarichlybutgloomilyfurnishedbuildinginPallMall,aplaceofsoftcarpets,shadedlights,andwhispers.Grave,elderlymenmovednoiselesslytoandfro,orsatinmeditativesilenceindeeparm–chairs.Sometimesthevisitorfeltthathewasinacathedral,sometimesinaTurkishbath;whilenowandthentherewasasuggestionofthewaiting–roomofamorethanusuallyprosperousdentist.Itwasmagnificent,butnotexhilarating.

Rollowasshownintothesmoking–room,wherehisunclereceivedhim.TherewasagooddealofMrAndrewGalloway.Grief,gnawingathisheart,hadnotsaggedhisamplewaistcoat,whichprecededhimashemovedinmuchthesamemannerasBirnamWoodsprecededthearmyofMacduff.Awell–nourishedhandcreptroundthecorneroftheedificeandenvelopedRollo’sinapowerfulgrip.

‘Ah,myboy!’bellowedMrGallowaycheerfully.Hisvoicewasalwaysloud.‘Gladyou’vecome.’

ItwouldbeabsurdtosaythatRollolookedathisunclekeenly.Hewasnotcapableoflookingkeenlyatanyone.Butcertainlyapuzzledexpressioncameintohisface.Whetheritwastheheartinessoftheother’shand–shakeortheunusualcheerinessofhisvoice,hecouldnotsay;butsomethinggavehimtheimpressionthatacuriouschangehadcomeovertheBracesKing.WhentheyhadmetbeforeduringthelastfewyearsMrGallowayhadbeenpracticallysixteenstonefiveofbloodandiron—oneofthosestern,souredmen.HisattitudehadbeenthatofoneforwhomLife’smusichadceased.Hadhetheninsertedanotherrecord?Hismannerconveyedthatidea.

SustainedthoughtalwaysgaveRolloaheadache.Heceasedtospeculate.

‘Stillgotthesamechefhere,uncle?’hesaid.‘Deucedbrainyfellow.Ialwayslikedininghere.’

‘Here!’MrGallowaysurveyedthesomnolentoccupantsoftheroomwithspiritedscorn.‘Wearen’tgoingtodineinthisforsakenoldmausoleum.I’vesentinmyresignationtoday.IfIfindmyselfwantingthissortofthingatanytime,I’llgotoParisandhuntuptheMorgue.Bunchofolddead–beats!Bah!I’veengagedatableatRomano’s.That’smoreinmyline.Getyourcoat,andlet’sbegoing.’

InthecabRolloriskedtheheadache.Atwhatevercostthisthingmustbeponderedover.Hisuncleprattledgailythroughoutthejourney.Oncehewhooped—someweird,forgottencollegeyell,draggedfromthemistydepthsofthepast.Itwaspassingstrange.AndinthisunusualmannerthetworolledintotheStrand,anddrewupatRomano’sdoor.

MrGallowaywasagoodtrencherman.Ataveryearlydatehehadrealizedthatamanwhowishestomakesatisfactorybracesmustkeephisstrengthup.Hewantedagooddealherebelow,andhewanteditwarmandwellcooked.Itwas,therefore,notimmediatelythathisdinnerwithRollobecameafeastofreasonandaflowofsoul.Indeed,thetworevellershadlightedtheircigarsbeforetheeldergaveforthanyremarkthatwasnot

purelygastronomic.

Whenhedidjerktheconversationupontoahigherplane,hejerkedithard.Hesentitshootingintotherealmsofthesoulfulwithawhiz.

‘Rollo,’hesaid,blowingasmoke–ring,‘doyoubelieveinaffinities?’

Rollo,intheactofsippingaliqueurbrandy,loweredhisglassinsurprise.HisheadwassingingslightlyastheresultofsomeratherspiritedBollinger(extrasec),andhewonderedifhehadheardaright.

MrGallowaycontinued,hisvoicerisingashespoke.

‘Myboy,’hesaid,‘Ifeelyoungtonightforthefirsttimeinyears.And,hangit,I’mnotsoold!Menhavemarriedattwicemyage.’

Strictlyspeaking,thiswasincorrect,unlessonecountedMethuselah;butperhapsMrGallowayspokefiguratively.

‘Threetimesmyage,’heproceeded,leaningbackandblowingsmoke,therebymissinghisnephew’sagitatedstart.‘Fourtimesmyage.Fivetimesmyage.Six—’

Hepulledhimselftogetherinsomeconfusion.Agenerouswine,thatBollinger.Hemustbecareful.

Hecoughed.

‘Areyou—youaren’t—areyou—’Rollopaused.‘Areyouthinkingofgettingmarried,uncle?’

MrGalloway’sgazewasstillontheceiling.

‘Agreatdealofnonsense,’heyelledseverely,‘istalkedaboutmenloweringthemselvesbymarryingactresses.Iwasaguestatasupper–partylastnightatwhichanactresswaspresent.Andamorecharming,sensiblegirlIneverwishtomeet.Notoneofyoursilly,brainlesschitswhodon’tknowthedifferencebetweenlobsterNewburgandcanvas–backduck,andwhoprefersweetchampagnetodry.No,sir!Notoneofyourmincing,affectedkindwhopretendtheynevertouchanythingexceptaspoonfulofcoldconsomme.No,sir!Good,healthyappetite.Enjoyedherfood,andknewwhyshewasenjoyingit.Igiveyoumyword,myboy,untilImetherIdidn’tknowawomanexistedwhocouldtalksodamnedsensiblyaboutabavaroiseaurhum.’

Hesuspendedhisstrikingtributeinordertorelighthiscigar.

‘Shecanuseachafing–dish,’heresumed,hisvoicevibratingwithemotion.‘Shetoldmeso.Shesaidshecouldfixchickensothatamanwouldleavehomeforit.’Hepaused,momentarilyovercome.‘AndWelshrarebits,’headdedreverently.

Hepuffedhardathiscigar.

‘Yes,’hesaid.‘Welshrarebits,too.Andbecause,’heshoutedwrathfully,‘because,forsooth,sheearnsanhonestlivingbysinginginthechorusofacomicopera,awholebunchofsnivellingidiotswillsayIhavemadeafoolofmyself.Letthem!’hebellowed,sittingupandglaringatRollo.‘Isay,letthem!I’llshowthemthatAndrewGallowayisnotthemanto—to—isnottheman—’Hestopped.‘Well,anyway,I’llshowthem,’he

concludedratherlamely.

Rolloeyedhimwithfallenjaw.Hisliqueurhadturnedtowormwood.Hehadbeenfearingthisforyears.YoumaydriveoutNaturewithapitchfork,butshewillreturn.Bloodwilltell.OnceaPittsburghmillionaire,alwaysaPittsburghmillionaire.Forelevenyearshisunclehadfoughtagainsthisnaturalpropensities,withapparentsuccess;butNaturehadwonintheend.Hiswordscouldhavenoothermeaning.AndrewGallowaywasgoingtomarryachorus–girl.

MrGallowayrappedonthetable,andorderedanotherkummel.

‘MargueriteParker!’heroareddreamily,rollingthewordsroundhistongue,likeport.

‘MargueriteParker!’exclaimedRollo,boundinginhischair.

Hisunclemethiseyesternly.

‘ThatwasthenameIsaid.Youseemtoknowit.Perhapsyouhavesomethingtosayagainstthelady.Eh?Haveyou?Haveyou?Iwarnyoutobecareful.WhatdoyouknowofMissParker?Speak!’

‘Er—no,no.Oh,no!Ijustknowthename,that’sall.I—IratherthinkImetheronceatlunch.Oritmayhavebeensomebodyelse.Iknowitwassomeone.’

Heplungedathisglass.Hisuncle’sgazerelaxeditsausterity.

‘Ihopeyouwillmeethermanymoretimesatlunch,myboy.Ihopeyouwillcometolookuponherasasecondmother.’

ThiswaswhereRolloaskedifhemighthavealittlemorebrandy.

Whentherestorativecamehedrankitatagulp;thenlookedacrossathisuncle.Thegreatmanstillmused.

‘Er—whenisittobe?’askedRollo.‘Thewedding,andallthat?’

‘HardlybeforetheFall,Ithink.No,notbeforetheFall.Ishallbebusytillthen.Ihavetakennostepsinthematteryet.’

‘Nosteps?Youmean—?Haven’tyou—haven’tyouproposed?’

‘Ihavehadnotime.Bereasonable,myboy;bereasonable.’

‘Oh!’saidRollo.

Hebreathedalongbreath.Asuspicionofsilverlininghadbecomevisiblethroughtheclouds.

‘Idoubt,’saidMrGalloway,meditatively,‘ifIshallbeabletofindtimetilltheendoftheweek.Iamverybusy.Letmesee.Tomorrow?No.Meetingoftheshareholders.Thursday?Friday?No.No,itwillhavetostandovertillSaturday.AfterSaturday’smatinee.Thatwilldoexcellently.’

*****

Thereisadramaticspectacletobeobservedeverydayinthislandofours,which,thoughdeservingofrecognition,noartisthasyetpicturedoncanvas.Wealludetothesuburban

season–ticketholder’ssuddenflashofspeed.Everyonemusthaveseenatonetimeoranotherahappy,bright–facedseason–ticketholderstrollingplacidlytowardsthestation,humming,perhaps,inhislight–heartedness,somegayair.Hefeelssecure.Fatecannottouchhim,forhehaslefthimselfforonceplentyoftimetocatchthat8.50,forwhichhehassooftensprintedlikethegazelleoftheprairie.Ashestrolls,suddenlyhiseyefallsonthechurchclock.Thenextmomentwithapassionatecryheisendeavouringtolowerhisrecordforthefifty–yarddash.Allthewhilehiswatchhasbeenfifteenminutesslow.

InjustsuchacasewasRolloFinch.Hehadfanciedthathehadplentyoftime.Andnow,inaninstant,thefactwasborneinuponhimthathemusthurry.

Forthegreaterpartofthenightofhisuncle’sdinnerhelaysleepless,vainlyendeavouringtofindawayoutofthedifficulty.Itwasnottillearlymorningthathefacedtheinevitable.Hehatedtoabandontheschedule.Todosomeantchangingawell–orderedadvanceintoaforlornhope.Butcircumstancescompelledit.Therearemomentswhenspeedalonecansavelove’sseason–ticketholder.

Onthefollowingafternoonheacted.Itwasnooccasionforstint.Hehadtocondenseintoonedaythecarefullyconsideredmovementsoftwoweeks,andtothebestofhisabilityhedidso.Heboughtthreebouquets,abracelet,andagoldBillikenwithrubyeyes,andsentthemtothetheatrebymessenger–boy.Withthemwentaninvitationtosupper.

Then,withthefeelingthathehaddoneallthatwaspossible,hereturnedtohisflatandwaitedforthehour.

Hedressedwithmorethanusualcarethatnight.Yourwisegeneralneverthrowsawayamove.Hewasparticularabouthistie.Asarule,Wilsonselectedoneforhim.ButtherehadbeentimeswhenWilsonhadmademistakes.OnecouldnotrelyabsolutelyonWilson’stasteinties.Hedidnotblamehim.BettermenthanWilsonhadgonewrongoveraneveningtie.Buttonighttheremustbenotakingofchances.

‘Wheredowekeepourties,Wilson?’heasked.

‘Theclosettotherightofthedoor,sir.Thefirsttwelveshallowshelves,countingfromthetop,sir.Theycontainafairselectionofourvariouscravats.Replicasinbulkaretobefoundinthethirdnestofdrawersinyourdressing–room,sir.’

‘Ionlywantone,mygoodman.I’mnotaregiment.Ah!Istakeallonthisone.Notaword,Wilson.Nodiscussion.ThisisthetieIwear.What’sthetime?’

‘Eightminutestoeleven,sir.’

‘Imustbeoff.Ishallbelate.Ishan’twantyouanymoretonight.Don’twaitforme.’

‘Verygood,sir.’

Rollolefttheroom,palebutdetermined,andhailedataxi.

*****

Itisapleasantspot,thevestibuleoftheCarltonHotel.Glare—glitter—distantmusic—fairwomen—bravemen.Butonecanhavetoomuchofit,andasthemomentspass,andshedoesnotarrive,achillseemstocreepintotheatmosphere.Wewaiton,hopingagainsthope,andatlast,justaswaitersandcommissionairesarebeginningtoeyeuswith

suspicion,wefacethetruth.Sheisnotcoming.Thenoutwecrawlintocold,callousPallMall,andsohome.Youhavebeenthroughit,dearreader,andsohaveI.

Andso,atelevenforty–fivethatevening,hadRollo.Forafullthree–quartersofanhourhewaited,scanningthefaceofeachnewarrivalwiththeanxiousscrutinyofalostdogseekingitsmaster;butatfourteenminutestotwelvethelastfaintflickerofhopehaddiedaway.Agirlmaybeaquarterofanhourlateforsupper.Shemaybehalfanhourlate.Butthereisalimit,andtoRollo’smindforty–fiveminutespassedit.AttenminutestotwelveauniformedofficialoutsidetheCarltonsignalledtoataxi–cab,andthereentereditayoungmanwhosefaithinWomanwasdead.

Rollomeditatedbitterlyashedrovehome.Itwasnotsomuchthefactthatshehadnotcomethatstirredhim.Manythingsmaykeepagirlfromsupper.Itwasthecalmwayinwhichshehadignoredtheinvitation.Whenyousendagirlthreebouquets,abracelet,andagoldBillikenwithrubyeyes,youdonotexpectanentireabsenceofrecognition.Evenapenny–in–the–slotmachinetreatsyoubetterthanthat.Itmaygiveyouhairpinswhenyouwantmatchesbutatleastittakessomenoticeofyou.

Hewasstilldeepingloomythoughtwhenheinsertedhislatchkeyandopenedthedoorofhisflat.

Hewasrousedfromhisreflectionsbyalaughfromthesitting–room.Hestarted.Itwasapleasantlaugh,andmusical,butitsentRollodiving,outraged,forthehandleofthedoor.Whatwasawomandoinginhissitting–roomatthishour?Washisflatanhotel?

Theadventofanunbiddenguestrarelyfailstoproduceacertaingene.ThesuddenappearanceofRollocausedadeadsilence.

ItwasbrokenbythefallofachaironthecarpetasWilsonrosehurriedlytohisfeet.

Rollostoodinthedoorway,animpressivestatueofrestrainedindignation.Hecouldseetheoutlyingportionsofagirlinblueatthefurtherendofthetable,butWilsonobscuredhisvision.

‘Didn’texpectyouback,sir,’saidWilson.

Forthefirsttimeinthehistoryoftheiracquaintancehisaccustomedcalmseemedsomewhatruffled.

‘SoIshouldthink,’saidRollo.‘Ibelieveyou,byGeorge!’

‘Youhadbetterexplain,Jim,’saidadispassionatevoicefromtheendofthetable.

Wilsonsteppedaside.

‘Mywife,sir,’hesaid,apologetically,butwithpride.

‘Yourwife!’

‘Weweremarriedthismorning,sir.’

TheladynoddedcheerfullyatRollo.Shewassmallandslight,withanimpudentnoseandamassofbrownhair.

‘Awfullygladtomeetyou,’shesaid,crackingawalnut.

Rollogaped.

Shelookedathimagain.

‘We’vemet,haven’twe?Ohyes,Iremember.Wemetatlunchonce.Andyousentmesomeflowers.Itwaseversokindofyou,’shesaid,beaming.

Shecrackedanothernut.Sheseemedtoconsiderthattheintroductionswerecompleteandthatformalitycouldnowbedispensedwithoncemore.Sheappearedatpeacewithallmen.

ThesituationwasslippingfromRollo’sgrip.Hecontinuedtogape.

Thenherememberedhisgrievance.

‘Ithinkyoumighthaveletmeknowyouweren’tcomingtosupper.’

‘Supper?’

‘Isentanotetothetheatrethisafternoon.’

‘Ihaven’tbeentothetheatretoday.TheyletmeoffbecauseIwasgoingtobemarried.I’msosorry.Ihopeyoudidn’twaitlong.’

Rollo’sresentmentmeltedbeforethefriendlinessofhersmile.

‘Hardlyanytime,’hesaid,untruthfully.

‘IfImightexplain,sir,’saidWilson.

‘ByGeorge!Ifyoucan,you’llsavemefromabrainstorm.Cutloose,anddon’tbeafraidyou’llboreme.Youwon’t.’

‘MrsWilsonandIareoldfriends,sir.Wecomefromthesametown.Infact—’

Rollo’sfacecleared.

‘ByGeorge!Marketwhat’s–its–name!Why,ofcourse.Thenshe—’

‘Justso,sir.Ifyourecollect,youaskedmeonceifIhadeverbeeninlove,andIrepliedintheaffirmative.’

‘Anditwas—’

‘MrsWilsonandIwereengagedtobemarriedbeforeeitherofuscametoLondon.Therewasamisunderstanding,whichwasentirelymy—’

‘Jim!Itwasmine.’

‘No,itwasallthroughmybeingafool.’

‘Itwasnot.Youknowitwasn’t!’

Rollointervened.

‘Well?’

‘Andwhenyousentmewiththeflowers,sir—well,wetalkeditoveragain,and—thatwashowitcameabout,sir.’

Thebridelookedupfromherwalnuts.

‘Youaren’tangry?’shesmiledupatRollo.

‘Angry?’Hereflected.Ofcourse,itwasonlyreasonablethatheshouldbealittle—well,notexactlyangry,but—Andthenforthefirsttimeitcametohimthatthesituationwasnotentirelywithoutitscompensations.UntilthatmomenthehadcompletelyforgottenMrGalloway.

‘Angry?’hesaid.‘GreatScott,no!JollygladIcamebackintimetogetabitofthewedding–breakfast.Iwantit,Icantellyou.I’mhungry.Hereweallare,eh?Let’senjoyourselves.Wilson,oldscout,bustleaboutandgiveusyourimitationofabridegroommixinga“B.andS.”forthebestman.MrsWilson,ifyou’lllookinatthetheatretomorrowyou’llfindoneortwosmallweddingpresentswaitingforyou.Threebouquets—they’llbeabitwithered,I’mafraid—abracelet,andagoldBillikenwithrubyeyes.Ihopehe’llbringyouluck.Oh,Wilson!’

‘Sir?’

‘Touchingthislittlebusiness—don’tanswerifit’sadelicatequestion,butIshouldliketoknow—Isupposeyoudidn’ttrytheschedule.What?MoretheMarketThingummymethod,eh?Theoneyoudescribedtome?’

‘MarketBumpstead,sir?’saidWilson.‘Onthoselines.’

Rollonoddedthoughtfully.

‘Itseemstome,’hesaid,‘theyknowathingortwodowninMarketBumpstead.’

‘Averyrisinglittleplace,sir,’assentedWilson.

SIRAGRAVAINEATALEOFKINGARTHUR’SROUNDTABLE

Sometimeago,whenspendingadelightfulweek–endattheancestralcastleofmydearoldfriend,theDukeofWeatherstonhope(pronouncedWop),Icameacrossanoldblack–letterMS.Itisonthisthatthestorywhichfollowsisbased.

Ihavefounditnecessarytotouchthethingupalittlehereandthere,forwritersinthosedayswereweakinconstruction.Theirideaoftellingastorywastotakealongbreathandstartdroningawaywithoutanystopsordialoguetillthethingwasover.

Ihavealsocondensedthetitle.Intheoriginalitran,‘“HowitcameaboutthatyegoodKnightSirAgravaineyeDolorousofyeTableRounddidfareforthtosuccouradamselindistressandafterdiversjourneyingsandperilsbyfloodandbyfielddidwinherforhisbrideandrighthappilydidtheytwainliveeverafterwards,”byAmbroseyemonk.’

Itwasaprettysnappytitleforthosedays,butwehavesuchahighstandardintitlesnowadaysthatIhavefeltcompelledtoomitafewyardsofit.

Wemaynowproceedtothestory.

*****

Thegreattournamentwasinfullswing.Allthroughtheafternoonboiler–platedknightsonmettlesomechargershadhurledthemselvesoneachother’sspears,tothevastcontentmentofall.Brighteyesshone;handkerchiefsfluttered;musicalvoicesurgedchosenchampionstoknockthecoverofftheirbrawnyadversaries.Thecheapseatshadlongsincebecomehoarsewithemotion.Allroundthearenarosethecriesofitinerantmerchants:‘Icedmalvoisie,’‘Score–cards;yecannottellthejousterswithoutascore–card.’Allwasrevelryandexcitement.

Ahushfellonthethrong.Fromeitherendofthearenaamountedknightinarmourhadentered.

Theheraldraisedhishand.

‘Ladeez’ngemmen!BattlingGalahadandAgravainetheDolorous.Galahadonmyright,Agravaineonmyleft.Squiresoutofthering.Time!’

AspeculatoramongthecrowdofferedsixtooneonGalahad,butfoundnotakers.Norwasthepublic’scautionwithoutreason.

Amomentlaterthetwohadmetinacloudofdust,andAgravaine,shootingoverhishorse’scrupper,hadfallenwithametallicclang.

Hepickedhimselfup,andlimpedslowlyfromthearena.Hewasnotunusedtothissortofthing.Indeed,nothingelsehadhappenedtohiminhiswholejoustingcareer.

ThetruthwasthatSirAgravainetheDolorouswasoutofhiselementatKingArthur’scourt,andheknewit.Itwasthisknowledgethathadgivenhimthatsettledairof

melancholyfromwhichhederivedhistitle.

UntilIcameuponthisblack–letterMS.Ihadbeenundertheimpression,like,Ipresume,everybodyelse,thateveryKnightoftheRoundTablewasamodelofphysicalstrengthandbeauty.Malorysaysnothingtosuggestthecontrary.NordoesTennyson.Butapparentlytherewereexceptions,ofwhomSirAgravainetheDolorousmusthavebeenthechief.

Therewas,itseems,nothingtomitigatethisunfortunateman’sphysicaldeficiencies.Thereisaplaceintheworldforthestrong,uglyman,andthereisaplacefortheweak,handsomeman.Buttofallshortbothinfeaturesandinmuscleistostakeyourallonbrain.AndinthedaysofKingArthuryoudidnotfindthepopulaceturningouttodohomagetobrain.Itwasadrugonthemarket.Agravainewasagooddealbetterequippedthanhiscontemporarieswithgreymatter,buthisheightinhissockswasbutfivefeetfour;andhismuscles,thoughhehadtakenthreecorrespondencecoursesinphysicalculture,remaineddistressinglyflaccid.Hiseyeswerepaleandmild,hisnosesnub,andhischinrecededsharplyfromhislowerlip,asifNature,designinghim,hadhadtoleaveoffinahurryandfinishthejobanyhow.Theupperteeth,protruding,completedtheresemblancetoanervousrabbit.

Handicappedinthismanner,itisnowonderthatheshouldfeelsadandlonelyinKingArthur’scourt.Atheartheachedforromance;butromancepassedhimby.Theladiesofthecourtignoredhisexistence,while,asforthosewanderingdamselswhocameperiodicallytoCamelottocomplainofthebehaviourofdragons,giants,andthelike,andtoaskpermissionofthekingtotakeaknightbackwiththemtofighttheircause(justas,nowadays,onegoesoutandcallsapoliceman),hesimplyhadnochance.ThechoicealwaysfellonLancelotorsomeotherpopularfavourite.

*****

Thetournamentwasfollowedbyafeast.Inthosebravedaysalmosteverythingwasfollowedbyafeast.Thescenewasgayandanimated.Fairladies,braveknights,churls,varlets,squires,scurvyknaves,men–at–arms,malapertrogues—allweremerry.AllsaveAgravaine.Hesatsilentandmoody.TothejestsofDagonetheturnedadeafear.Andwhenhisneighbour,SirKay,arguingwithSirPercivaleoncurrentform,appealedtohimtobackuphisstatementthatSirGawain,thoughaworkman–likemiddle–weight,lackedthepunch,hedidnotanswer,thoughthesubjectwasoneonwhichheheldstrongviews.Hesaton,brooding.

Ashesatthere,aman–at–armsenteredthehall.

‘Yourmajesty,’hecried,‘adamselindistresswaitswithout.’

Therewasamurmurofexcitementandinterest.

‘Showherin,’saidtheking,beaming.

Theman–at–armsretired.Aroundthetabletheknightswerestrugglingintoanuprightpositionintheirseatsandtwirlingtheirmoustaches.Agravainealonemadenomovement.Hehadbeenthroughthissortofthingsooften.Whatweredistresseddamselstohim?Hiswholedemeanoursaid,asplainlyasifhehadspokenthewords,‘What’stheuse?’

Thecrowdatthedoorparted,andthroughtheopeningcameafigureatthesightofwhomtheexpectantfacesoftheknightsturnedpalewithconsternation.Forthenew–comerwasquitetheplainestgirlthosestatelyhallshadeverseen.Possiblytheonlyplaingirltheyhadeverseen,fornoinstanceisrecordedinourauthoritiesoftheexistenceatthatperiodofanysuch.

Theknightsgazedatherblankly.Thosewerethegrandolddaysofchivalry,whenathousandswordswouldleapfromtheirscabbardstoprotectdefencelesswoman,ifshewerebeautiful.Thepresentseemedsomethinginthenatureofaspecialcase,andnobodywasquitecertainastothecorrectprocedure.

Anawkwardsilencewasbrokenbytheking.

‘Er—yes?’hesaid.

Thedamselhalted.

‘Yourmajesty,’shecried,‘Iamindistress.Icravehelp!’

‘Justso,’saidtheking,uneasily,flashinganapprehensiveglanceattherowsofperturbedfacesbeforehim.‘Justso.What—er—whatistheexactnatureofthe—ah—trouble?Anyassistancethesegallantknightscanrenderwill,Iamsure,be—ah—eagerlyrendered.’

Helookedimploringlyatthesilentwarriors.Asarule,thisspeechwasthesignalforroarsofapplause.Butnowtherewasnotevenamurmur.

‘Imaysayenthusiastically,’headded.

Notasound.

‘Precisely,’saidtheking,evertactful.‘Andnow—youweresaying?’

‘IamYvonne,thedaughterofEarlDormoftheHills,’saidthedamsel,‘andmyfatherhassentmetoaskprotectionfromagallantknightagainstafierydragonthatravagesthecountry–side.’

‘Adragon,gentlemen,’saidtheking,aside.Itwasusuallyasafedraw.Nothingpleasedtheknightofthattimemorethanabriskboutwithadragon.Butnowthetemptingwordwasreceivedinsilence.

‘Fiery,’saidtheking.

Somemoresilence.

Thekinghadrecoursetothedirectappeal.‘SirGawain,thisCourtwouldbegreatlyindebtedtoyouif—’

SirGawainsaidhehadstrainedamuscleatthelasttournament.

‘SirPelleas.’

Theking’svoicewasgrowingflatwithconsternation.Thesituationwasunprecedented.

SirPelleassaidhehadaningrowingtoe–nail.

Theking’seyerolledinanguisharoundthetable.Suddenlyitstopped.Itbrightened.Hislookofdismaychangedtooneofrelief.

Aknighthadrisentohisfeet.ItwasAgravaine.

‘Ah!’saidtheking,drawingadeepbreath.

SirAgravainegulped.Hewasfeelingmorenervousthanhehadeverfeltinhislife.Neverbeforehadherisentovolunteerhisservicesinamatterofthiskind,andhisstateofmindwasthatofasmallboyabouttorecitehisfirstpieceofpoetry.

Itwasnotonlytheconsciousnessthateveryeye,exceptoneofSirBalin’swhichhadbeenclosedinthetournamentthatafternoon,wasuponhim.Whatmadehimfeellikeamildgentlemaninapost–officewhohasaskedtheladyassistantifshewillhavetimetoattendtohimsoonandhascaughthereye,wasthefactthathethoughthehadobservedthedamselYvonnefrownasherose.Hegroanedinspirit.Thisdamsel,hefelt,wantedthepropergoodsornoneatall.ShemightnotbeabletogetSirLancelotorSirGalahad;butshewasnotgoingtobesatisfiedwithahalf–portion.

ThefactwasthatSirAgravainehadfalleninloveatfirstsight.ThemomenthehadcaughtaglimpseofthedamselYvonne,helovedherdevotedly.Tootherssheseemedplainandunattractive.TohimshewasaQueenofBeauty.Hewasamazedattheinexplicableattitudeoftheknightsaroundhim.Hehadexpectedthemtoriseinabodytoclamourforthechanceofassistingthisradiantvision.Hecouldhardlybelieve,evennow,thathewaspositivelytheonlystarter.

‘ThisisSirAgravainetheDolorous,’saidthekingtothedamsel.‘Willyoutakehimasyourchampion?’

Agravaineheldhisbreath.Butallwaswell.Thedamselbowed.

‘Then,SirAgravaine,’saidtheking,‘perhapsyouhadbetterhaveyourchargersentroundatonce.Iimaginethatthematterispressing—timeand—er—dragonswaitfornoman.’

TenminuteslaterAgravaine,stilldazed,wasjoggingalongtothehills,withthedamselbyhisside.

Itwassometimebeforeeitherofthemspoke.Thedamselseemedpreoccupied,andAgravaine’smindwasawelterofconfusedthoughts,themostprominentofwhichandtheonetowhichhekeptreturningbeingthestartlingreflectionthathe,whohadpinedforromancesolong,hadgotitnowinfullmeasure.

Adragon!Fierywithal.Washeabsolutelycertainthathewascapableofhandlinganargumentwithafierydragon?Hewouldhavegivenmuchforalittlepreviousexperienceofthissortofthing.Itwastoolatenow,buthewishedhehadhadtheforethoughttogetMerlintoputupamagicprescriptionforhim,renderinghimimmunetodragon–bites.Butdiddragonsbite?Ordidtheywhackatyouwiththeirtails?Orjustblowfire?

Therewereadozensuchpointsthathewouldhavelikedtohavesettledbeforestarting.Itwassillytostartoutonaventureofthissortwithoutspecialknowledge.Hehadhalfamindtopleadaforgottenengagementandgostraightback.

Thenhelookedatthedamsel,andhismindwasmadeup.Whatdiddeathmatterifhecouldserveher?

Hecoughed.Shecameoutofherreveriewithastart.

‘Thisdragon,now?’saidAgravaine.

Foramomentthedamseldidnotreply.‘Afearsomeworm,SirKnight,’shesaidatlength.‘Itravenethbydayandbynight.Itbreathesfirefromitsnostrils.’

‘Doesit!’saidAgravaine.‘Doesit!Youcouldn’tgivesomeideawhatitlookslike,whatkindofsizeitis?’

‘Itsbodyisasthickastenstouttrees,anditsheadtouchestheclouds.’

‘Doesit!’saidAgravainethoughtfully.‘Doesit!’

‘Oh,SirKnight,Iprayyouhaveacare.’

‘Iwill,’saidAgravaine.Andhehadseldomsaidanythingmorefervently.Thefuturelookedaboutasbadasitcouldbe.Anyhopeshemayhaveentertainedthatthisdragonmightturnouttobecomparativelysmallandinoffensiveweredissipated.Thiswasplainlynodebilitatedwreckofadragon,itsgrowthstuntedbyexcessive–fire–breathing.Abodyasthickastenstouttrees!Hewouldnotevenhavethemelancholysatisfactionofgivingthecreatureindigestion.Foralltheimpressionhewaslikelytomakeonthatvastinterior,hemightaswellbeasaltedalmond.

Astheywerespeaking,adimmassontheskylinebegantotakeshape.

‘Behold!’saidthedamsel.‘Myfather’scastle.’Andpresentlytheywereridingacrossthedrawbridgeandthroughthegreatgate,whichshutbehindthemwithaclang.

Astheydismountedamancameoutthroughadooratthefartherendofthecourtyard.

‘Father,’saidYvonne,‘thisisthegallantknightSirAgravaine,whohascometo—’itseemedtoAgravainethatshehesitatedforamoment.

‘Totackleourdragon?’saidthefather.‘Excellent.Comerightin.’

EarlDormoftheHills,wasasmall,elderlyman,withwhatAgravaineconsideredadistinctlyfurtiveairabouthim.Hiseyesweretooclosetogether,andhewasover–lavishwithaweak,cunningsmile.EvenAgravaine,whowasinthemoodtolikethewholefamily,ifpossible,forYvonne’ssake,couldnothelpfeelingthatappearanceswereagainstthisparticularexhibit.Hemighthaveaheartofgoldbeneaththeoutwardaspectofaconfidence–trickexpertwhosehobbywasdog–stealing,buttherewasnodoubtthathisexteriordidnotinspireagenialglowofconfidence.

‘Verygoodofyoutocome,’saidtheearl.

‘It’sapleasure,’saidAgravaine.‘Ihavebeenhearingallaboutthedragon.’

‘Agreatscourge,’agreedhishost.‘Wemusthavealongtalkaboutitafterdinner.’

ItwasthecustominthosedaysinthestatelyhomesofEnglandforthewholestrengthofthecompanytotaketheirmealstogether.Theguestssatattheuppertable,theladiesinagalleryabovethem,whiletheusualdroveofmen–at–arms,archers,malapertrogues,varlets,scurvyknaves,scullions,andplug–ugliesattachedtoallmedievalhouseholds,squashedinnearthedoor,wherevertheycouldfindroom.

TheretinueofEarlDormwasnotstrongnumerically—thehouseholdbeing,tojudgefromappearances,onethathadseenbetterdays;butitstruckAgravainethatwhatitlackedin

numbersitmadeupintoughness.Amongallthoseatthebottomoftheroomtherewasnotonewhomitwouldhavebeenagreeabletomeetaloneinadarkalley.Ofallthoseforeheadsnotoneachievedaheightofmorethanonepointnoughtfourinches.Asinistercollection,indeed,andonewhich,Agravainefelt,shouldhavebeencapableofhandlingwithouthisassistanceanydragonthatevercameintotheworldtostimulatetheasbestosindustry.

Hewasrousedfromhisreflectionsbythevoiceofhishost.

‘Ihopeyouarenottiredafteryourjourney,SirAgravaine?Mylittlegirldidnotboreyou,Itrust?Weareveryquietfolkhere.Countrymice.Butwemusttrytomakeyourvisitinteresting.’

Agravainefeltthatthedragonmightbecountedupontodothat.Hesaidasmuch.

‘Ah,yes,thedragon,’saidEarlDorm,‘Iwasforgettingthedragon.Iwanttohavealongtalkwithyouaboutthatdragon.Notnow.Lateron.’

HiseyecaughtAgravaine’s,andhesmiledthatweak,cunningsmileofhis.Andforthefirsttimetheknightwasconsciousofacuriousfeelingthatallwasnotsquareandaboveboardinthiscastle.Aconvictionbegantostealoverhimthatinsomewayhewasbeingplayedwith,thatsomegamewasafootwhichhedidnotunderstand,that—inaword—therewasdirtyworkatthecross–roads.

Therewasatouchofmysteryintheatmospherewhichmadehimvaguelyuneasy.Whenafierydragonisravagingthecountry–sidetosuchanextentthattheS.O.S.callhasbeensentouttotheRoundTable,aknighthasarighttoexpectthemonstertobethemainthemeofconversation.Thetendencyonhishost’spartwasapparentlytoavoidtouchingonthesubjectatall.Hewasvagueandelusive;andtheonetopiconwhichanhonestmanisnotvagueandelusiveisthatoffierydragons.Itwasnotright.Itwasasifoneshouldphoneforthepoliceandengagethem,onarrival,inadiscussionontheday’sfootballresults.

AwaveofdistrustsweptoverAgravaine.Hehadheardstoriesofrobberchiefswholuredstrangersintotheirstrongholdsandthenheldthemprisonerswhilethepublicnervouslydodgedtheiranxiousfriendswhohadformedsubscriptionliststomakeuptheransom.Couldthisbesuchacase?Themancertainlyhadanevasivemannerandasmilewhichwouldhavejustifiedanyjuryinreturningaverdictwithoutleavingthebox.Ontheotherhand,therewasYvonne.Hisreasonrevoltedagainsttheideaofthatsweetgirlbeingapartytoanysuchconspiracy.

No,probablyitwasonlytheEarl’sunfortunatemanner.Perhapshesufferedfromsomemuscularweaknessofthefacewhichmadehimsmilelikethat.

Nevertheless,hecertainlywishedthathehadnotallowedhimselftobedeprivedofhisswordandarmour.AtthetimeithadseemedtohimthattheEarl’sremarkthatthelatterneededpolishingandtheformerstroppingbetrayedonlyakindlyconsiderationforhisguest’swell–being.Now,ithadtheaspectofbeingpartofacarefully–constructedplot.

Ontheotherhand—herephilosophycametohisrescue—ifanybodydidmeantostartanything,hisswordandarmourmightjustaswellnotbethere.Anyoneofthosemammothlow–browsatthedoorcouldeathim,armourandall.

Heresumedhismeal,uneasybutresigned.

DinneratEarlDorm’swasnolunch–counterscuffle.Itstartedearlyandfinishedlate.ItwasnottillanadvancedhourthatAgravainewasconductedtohisroom.

Theroomwhichhadbeenallottedtohimwashighupintheeasterntower.Itwasaniceroom,buttooneinAgravaine’sstateofsuppressedsuspicionatrifletoosolidlyupholstered.Thedoorwasofthethickestoak,studdedwithironnails.Ironbarsformedaneatpatternacrosstheonlywindow.

HardlyhadAgravaineobservedthesethingswhenthedooropened,andbeforehimstoodthedamselYvonne,paleoffaceandpantingforbreath.

Sheleanedagainstthedoorpostandgulped.

‘Fly!’shewhispered.

Reader,ifyouhadcometospendthenightinthelonelycastleofaperfectstrangerwithashiftyeyeandarogues’gallerysmile,andonretiringtoyourroomhadfoundthedoorkick–proofandthewindowbarred,andif,immediatelyafteryourdiscoveryofthesephenomena,awhite–facedyoungladyhadplungedinuponyouandurgedyoutoimmediateflight,wouldn’tthatjaryou?

ItjarredAgravaine.

‘Eh?’hecried.

‘Fly!Fly,SirKnight.’

Anotherfootstepsoundedinthepassage.Thedamselgaveastartledlookoverhershoulder.

‘Andwhat’sallthis?’

EarlDormappearedinthedim–litcorridor.Hisvoicehadanastytinkleinit.

‘Your—yourdaughter,’saidAgravaine,hurriedly,‘wasjusttellingmethatbreakfastwould—’

Thesentenceremainedunfinished.Asuddenmovementoftheearl’shand,andthegreatdoorbangedinhisface.Therecamethesoundofaboltshootingintoitssocket.Akeyturnedinthelock.Hewastrapped.

Outside,theearlhadseizedhisdaughterbythewristandwasadministeringapaternalcross–examination.

‘Whatwereyousayingtohim?’

Yvonnedidnotflinch.

‘Iwasbiddinghimfly.’

‘Ifhewantstoleavethiscastle,’saidtheearl,grimly,‘he’llhaveto.’

‘Father,’saidYvonne,’Ican’t.’

‘Can’twhat?’

‘Ican’t.’

Hisgriponherwristtightened.Fromtheothersideofthedoorcamethemuffledsoundofblowsonthesolidoak.‘Oh?’saidEarlDorm.‘Youcan’t,eh?Well,listentome.You’vegotto.Doyouunderstand?Iadmithemightbebetter–looking,but—’

‘Father,Ilovehim.’

Hereleasedherwrist,andstaredatherintheuncertainlight.

‘Youlovehim!’

‘Yes.’

‘Thenwhat—?Why?Well,Ineverdidunderstandwomen,’hesaidatlast,andstumpedoffdownthepassage.

Whilethiscrypticconversationwasinprogress,Agravaine,hisworstapprehensionsrealized,wastryingtobatterdownthedoor.Afterafewmoments,however,herealizedthefutilityofhisefforts,andsatdownonthebedtothink.

Attheriskofforfeitingthereader’srespect,itmustbeadmittedthathisfirstemotionwasoneofprofoundrelief.Ifhewaslockeduplikethis,itmustmeanthatthatdragonstorywasfictitious,andthatalldangerwasatanendofhavingtopithisinexperienceagainstaraveningmonsterwhohadspentalifetimedevouringknights.Hehadneverlikedtheprospect,thoughhehadbeenpreparedtogothroughwithit,andtofeelthatitwasdefinitelycancelledmadeupforagooddeal.

Hismindnextturnedtohisimmediatefuture.Whatweretheygoingtodowithhim?Onthispointhefelttolerablycomfortable.Thisimprisonmentcouldmeannothingmorethanthathewouldbecompelledtodisgorgearansom.Thisdidnottroublehim.Hewasrich,and,nowthatthesituationhadbeenswitchedtoapurelybusinessbasis,hefeltthathecouldhandleit.

Inanycase,therewasnothingtobegainedbysittingup,sohewenttobed,likeagoodphilosopher.

Thesunwaspouringthroughthebarredwindowwhenhewasawokenbytheentranceofagiganticfigurebearingfoodanddrink.

Herecognizedhimasoneofthescurvyknaveswhohaddinedatthebottomoftheroomthenightbefore—avast,beetle–browedfellowwithasquint,amopofredhair,andageniusforsilence.ToAgravaine’sattemptstoengagehiminconversationherepliedonlywithgrunts,andinashorttimelefttheroom,closingandlockingthedoorbehindhim.

Hewassucceededatduskbyanotherofaboutthesamesizeandugliness,andwithevenlessconversationalelan.Thisonedidnotevengrunt.

Small–talk,itseemed,wasnotanartcultivatedinanygreatmeasurebythelowerordersintheemploymentofEarlDorm.

Thenextdaypassedwithoutincident.Inthemorningthestrabismicplug–uglywiththeredhairbroughthimfoodanddrink,whileintheeveningthenon–grunterdidthehonours.Itwasapeacefullife,buttendingtowardsmonotony,andAgravainewassoonintheframeofmindwhichwelcomesanybreakinthedailyround.

Hewasfortunateenoughtogetit.

Hehadcomposedhimselfforsleepthatnight,andwasjustdroppingcomfortablyoff,whenfromtheothersideofthedoorheheardthesoundofangryvoices.

Itwasenoughtoarousehim.Onthepreviousnightsilencehadreigned.Evidentlysomethingoutoftheordinarywastakingplace.

Helistenedintentlyanddistinguishedwords.

‘WhowasitIdidseetheecomingdowntheroadwith?’

‘Whowasitthoudidstseemecomingdowntheroadwith?’

‘Aye,whowasitIdidseetheecomingdowntheroadwith?’

‘Whodostthouthinkthouart?’

‘WhodoIthinkthatIam?’

‘Aye,whodostthouthinkthouart?’

Agravainecouldmakenothingofit.Asamatteroffact,hewashearingthefirstgenuinecross–talkthathadeveroccurredinthosedim,pre–music–halldays.InyearstocomedialogueontheselineswastobepopularthroughoutthelengthandbreadthofGreatBritain.Buttillthenithadbeenunknown.

Thevoicesgrewangrier.Toaninitiatedlisteneritwouldhavebeenplainthatinashortwhilewordswouldbefoundinadequateandthedagger,thatmedievalforerunneroftheslap–stick,broughtintoplay.ButtoAgravaine,allinexperienced,itcameasasurprisewhensuddenlywithamuffledthudtwobodiesfellagainstthedoor.Therewasascufflingnoise,somegroans,andthensilence.

Andthenwithamazementheheardtheboltshootbackandakeygrateinthekeyhole.

Thedoorswungopen.Itwasdarkoutside,butAgravainecoulddistinguishafemaleform,and,beyond,ashapelessmasswhichhetookcorrectlytobetheremainsofthetwoplug–uglies.

‘ItisI,Yvonne,’saidavoice.

‘Whatisit?Whathasbeenhappening?’

‘ItwasI.Isetthemagainsteachother.Theybothlovedoneofthekitchen–maids.Imadethemjealous.ItoldWaltprivilythatshehadfavouredDickon,andDickonprivilythatshelovedWalt.Andnow—’

Sheglancedattheshapelessheap,andshuddered.Agravainenodded.

‘Nowedding–bellsforher,’hesaid,reverently.

‘AndIdon’tcare.Ididittosaveyou.Butcome!Wearewastingtime.Come!Iwillhelpyoutoescape.’

Amanwhohasbeenshutupfortwodaysinasmallroomisseldomslowoffthemarkwhenachancepresentsitselfoftakingexercise.Agravainefollowedwithoutaword,andtogethertheycreptdownthedarkstaircaseuntiltheyhadreachedthemainhall.From

somewhereinthedistancecametherhythmicsnoresofscurvyknavesgettingtheireighthours.

SoftlyYvonneunboltedasmalldoor,and,passingthroughit,Agravainefoundhimselflookingupatthestars,whilethegreatwallsofthecastletoweredabovehim.

‘Good–bye,’saidYvonne.

Therewasapause.ForthefirsttimeAgravainefoundhimselfexaminingtheexactpositionofaffairs.Afterhissojournintheguardedroom,freedomlookedverygoodtohim.ButfreedommeantpartingfromYvonne.

Helookedattheskyandhelookedatthecastlewalls,andhetookastepbacktowardsthedoor.

‘I’mnotsosureIwanttogo,’hesaid.

‘Oh,fly!Fly,SirKnight!’shecried.

‘Youdon’tunderstand,’saidAgravaine.‘Idon’twanttoseemtobesayinganythingthatmightbeinterpretedasintheleastderogatorytoyourfatherinanywaywhatever,butwithoutprejudice,surelyheisjustaplain,ordinarybrigand?Imeanit’sonlyaquestionofaransom?AndIdon’tintheleastobject—’

‘No,no,no.’Hervoicetrembled.‘Hewouldasknoransom.’

‘Don’ttellmehekidnapspeoplejustasahobby!’

‘Youdon’tunderstand.He—No,Icannottellyou.Fly!’

‘Whatdon’tIunderstand?’

Shewassilent.Thenshebegantospeakrapidly.‘Verywell.Iwilltellyou.Listen.Myfatherhadsixchildren,alldaughters.Wewerepoor.Wehadtostayburiedinthisout–of–the–wayspot.Wesawnoone.Itseemedimpossiblethatanyofusshouldevermarry.Myfatherwasindespair.Thenhesaid,“Ifwecannotgettotown,thetownmustcometous.”SohesentmysisterYseulttoCamelottoaskthekingtoletushaveaknighttoprotectusagainstagiantwiththreeheads.Therewasnogiant,butshegottheknight.ItwasSirSagramore.Perhapsyouknewhim?’

Agravainenodded.Hebegantoseedaylight.

‘MysisterYseultwasverybeautiful.AfterthefirstdaySirSagramoreforgotallaboutthegiant,andseemedtowanttodonothingelseexcepthaveYseultshowhimhowtoplaycat’scradle.Theyweremarriedtwomonthslater,andmyfathersentmysisterElainetoCamelottoaskforaknighttoprotectusagainstawildunicorn.’

‘Andwhobit?’askedAgravaine,deeplyinterested.

‘SirMalibranofDevon.Theyweremarriedwithinthreeweeks,andmyfather—Ican’tgoon.Youunderstandnow.’

‘Iunderstandthemainidea,’saidAgravaine.‘Butinmycase—’

‘Youweretomarryme,’saidYvonne.Hervoicewasquietandcold,butshewasquivering.

Agravainewasconsciousofadull,heavyweightpressingonhisheart.Hehadknownhislovewashopeless,butevenhopelessnessisthebetterforbeingindefinite.Heunderstoodnow.

‘Andyounaturallywanttogetridofmebeforeitcanhappen,’hesaid.‘Idon’twonder.I’mnotvain…Well,I’llgo.IknewIhadnochance.Good–bye.’

Heturned.Shestoppedhimwithasharpcry.

‘Whatdoyoumean?Youcannotwishtostaynow?Iamsavingyou.’

‘Savingme!IhavelovedyousincethemomentyouenteredtheHallatCamelot,’saidAgravaine.

Shedrewinherbreath.

‘You—youloveme!’

Theylookedateachotherinthestarlight.Sheheldoutherhands.

‘Agravaine!’

Shedroopedtowardshim,andhegatheredherintohisarms.Foranovice,hedidituncommonlywell.

ItwasaboutsixmonthslaterthatAgravaine,havingriddenintotheforest,calleduponaWiseManathiscell.

InthosedaysalmostanyonewhowasnotaperfectboneheadcouldsetupasaWiseManandgetawaywithit.Allyouhadtodowastoliveinaforestandgrowawhitebeard.ThisparticularWiseMan,forawonder,hadacertainamountofrudesagacity.Helistenedcarefullytowhattheknighthadtosay.

‘Ithaspuzzledmetosuchanextent,’saidAgravaine,‘thatIfeltthatImustconsultaspecialist.Youseeme.Takeagoodlookatme.Whatdoyouthinkofmypersonalappearance?Youneedn’thesitate.It’sworsethanthat.IamtheugliestmaninEngland.’

‘Wouldyougoasfarasthat?’saidtheWiseMan,politely.

‘Farther.Andeverybodyelsethinksso.Everybodyexceptmywife.ShetellsmethatIamamodelofmanlybeauty.YouknowLancelot?Well,shesaysIhaveLancelotwhippedtoacustard.Whatdoyoumakeofthat?Andhere’sanotherthing.Itisperfectlyobvioustomethatmywifeisoneofthemostbeautifulcreaturesinexistence.Ihaveseenthemall,andItellyouthatshestandsalone.SheisliterallymaroonedinClassA,allbyherself.Yetsheinsiststhatsheisplain.Whatdoyoumakeofit?’

TheWiseManstrokedhisbeard.

‘Myson,’hesaid,‘thematterissimple.Truelovetakesnoaccountoflooks.’

‘No?’saidAgravaine.

‘Youtwoareaffinities.Therefore,toyoutheoutwardaspectisnothing.Putitlikethis.Loveisathingummybobwhowhat–d’you–call–its.’

‘I’mbeginningtosee,’saidAgravaine.

‘WhatImeantwasthis.LoveisawizardgreaterthanMerlin.Heplaysoddtrickswiththeeyesight.’

‘Yes,’saidAgravaine.

‘Or,putitanotherway.LoveisasculptorgreaterthanPraxiteles.Hetakesanunsightlypieceofclayandmouldsitintoathingdivine.’

‘Igetyou,’saidAgravaine.

TheWiseManbegantowarmtohiswork.

‘Orshallwesay—’

‘IthinkImustbegoing,’saidAgravaine.‘IpromisedmywifeIwouldbebackearly.’

‘Wemightputit—’begantheWiseManperseveringly.

‘Iunderstand,’saidAgravaine,hurriedly.‘Iquiteseenow.Good–bye.’

TheWiseMansighedresignedly.

‘Good–bye,SirKnight,’hesaid.‘Good–bye.Payatyedesk.’

AndAgravainerodeonhiswaymarvelling.

THEGOAL-KEEPERANDTHEPLUTOCRATThemaindifficultyinwritingastoryistoconveytothereaderclearlyyetterselythenaturesanddispositionsofone’sleadingcharacters.Brevity,brevity—thatisthecry.Perhaps,afterall,theplay–billstyleisthebest.Inthisdramaoflove,football(Associationcode),andpolitics,then,theprincipalsareasfollows,intheirorderofentry:

ISABELRACKSTRAW(anangel).

THEHON.CLARENCETRESILLIAN(aGreekgod).

LADYRUNNYMEDE(aproudoldaristocrat).

MRRACKSTRAW(amulti–millionaireCitymanandRadicalpolitician).

MoreaboutClarencelater.ForthemomentlethimgoasaGreekgod.Therewereothersides,too,toMrRackstraw’scharacter,butforthemomentlethimgoasamulti–millionaireCitymanandRadicalpolitician.Notthatitissatisfactory;itistoomild.TheRadicalpoliticsofotherRadicalpoliticianswereasskim–milktotheRadicalpoliticsofRadicalPoliticianRackstraw.WhereMrLloydGeorgereferredtotheHouseofLordsasblitheringbackwoodsmenandasinineanachronisms,MrRackstrawscornedtobesoguardedinhisspeech.Hedidnotmincehiswords.Hisattitudetowardsamemberofthepeeragewasthatoftheterriertotheperambulatingcat.

ItwasatacharitybazaarthatIsabelandClarencefirstmet.IsabelwaspresidingovertheBilliken,Teddy–bear,andFancyGoodsstall.Thereshestood,thatslim,radiantgirl,bouncingArdentYouthoutofitsfather’shard—earnedwithasmilethatalonewasnearlyworththemoney,whensheobserved,approaching,thehandsomestmanshehadeverseen.Itwas—thisisnotoneofthosemysterystories—itwasClarenceTresillian.Overtheheadsofthebevyofgildedyouthswhoclusteredroundthestalltheireyesmet.AthrillranthroughIsabel.Shedroppedhereyes.ThenextmomentClarencehadmadehisspring;thegildedyouthshadshreddedawaylikeamist,andhewasleaningtowardsher,openingnegotiationsforthepurchaseofayellowTeddy–bearatsixteentimesitsfacevalue.

Hereturnedatintervalsduringtheafternoon.OverthesecondTeddy–beartheybecamefriendly,overthethirdintimate.Heproposedasshewaswrappingupthefourthgolliwog,andshegavehimherheartandtheparcelsimultaneously.Atsixo’clock,carryingfourTeddy–bears,sevenphotographframes,fivegolliwogs,andabilliken,Clarencewenthometotellthenewstohisparents.

Clarence,whennotattheUniversity,livedwithhisfatherandmotherinBelgraveSquare.HismotherhadbeenaMissTrotter,ofChicago,anditwasonherdowrythattheRunnymedescontrivedtomakebothendsmeet.Foranoblefamilytheywereinsomewhatstraitenedcircumstancesfinancially.Theylived,simplyandwithoutenvyoftheirrichfellow–citizens,ontheirhundredthousandpoundsayear.Theyaskednomore.Itenabledthemtoentertainonamodestscale.ClarencehadbeenabletogotoOxford;hiselderbrother,LordStaines,intotheGuards.Thegirlscouldbuyanoccasionalnewfrock.Onthewhole,theywereathoroughlyhappy,contentedEnglishfamilyofthebestsort.Mr

Trotter,itistrue,wassomethingofadrawback.Hewasaruggedoldtaintedmillionaireoftheoldschool,withafondnessforshirt–sleevesandatendencytogiveunduepublicitytotoothpicks.Buthehadbeenmadetounderstandatanearlydatethatthedead–lineforhimwasthefarthershoreoftheAtlanticOcean,andhenowgavelittletrouble.

Havingdressedfordinner,Clarenceproceededtothelibrary,wherehefoundhismotherinhystericsandhisfatherinastateofcollapseonthesofa.Clarencewastoowell–bredtomakeanycomment.AtrueRunnymede,heaffectedtonoticenothing,and,pickinguptheeveningpaper,begantoread.Theannouncementofhisengagementcouldbepostponedtoamoresuitabletime.

‘Clarence!’whisperedavoicefromthesofa.

‘Yes,father?’

Thesilver–hairedoldmangaspedforutterance.

‘I’velostmylittleveto,’hesaid,brokenly,atlength.

‘Wheredidyouseeitlast?’askedClarence,everpractical.

‘It’sthatfellowRackstraw!’criedtheoldman,infeeblerage.‘ThatbounderRackstraw!He’sthemanbehinditall.Therobber!’

‘Clarence!’

Itwashismotherwhospoke.Hervoiceseemedtoriptheairintoamillionshredsandstamponthem.TherearefewthingsmoreterriblethanaChicagovoiceraisedinexcitementoranguish.

‘Mother?’

‘Nevermindyourpopandhisoldveto.Hedidn’tknowhehadonetillthepapersaidhe’dlostit.Youlistentome.Clarence,weareruined.’

Clarencelookedatherinquiringly.

‘Ruinedmuch?’heasked.

‘Bed–rock,’saidhismother.‘Ifwehavesixtythousanddollarsayearafterthis,it’sallweshallhave.’

Alowhowlescapedfromthestrickenoldmanonthesofa.

Clarencebetrayednoemotion.

‘Ah,’hesaid,calmly.‘Howdidithappen?’

‘I’vejusthadacablefromChicago,fromyourgrand–pop.He’sbeentryingtocornerwheat.Healwayswasanimpulsiveoldgazook.’

‘Butsurely,’saidClarence,adimrecollectionofsomethinghehadheardorreadsomewherecomingtohim,‘isn’tcorneringwheataratherprofitableprocess?’

‘Sure,’saidhismother.‘Sureitis.Iguessdad’stryatcorneringwheatwasaboutthemostprofitablethingthateverhappened—totheotherfellows.Itseemsliketheygotbusyandclubbedfifty–sevenvarietiesofHadesoutofyouroldgrand–pop.He’sgottogiveupalot

ofhisexpensivehabits,andoneofthemissendingmoneytous.That’showitis.’

‘Andontopofthat,mindyou,’moanedLordRunnymede,‘Ilosemylittleveto.It’sbitter—bitter.’

Clarencelitacigaretteanddrewatitthoughtfully.‘Idon’tseehowwe’regoingtomanageontwelvethousandquidayear,’hesaid.

Hismothercrisplyrevisedhispronouns.

‘Wearen’t,’shesaid.‘You’vegottogetoutandhustle.’

Clarencelookedatherblankly.

‘Me?’

‘You.’

‘Work?’

‘Work.’

Clarencedrewadeepbreath.

‘Work?Well,ofcourse,mindyou,fellowsdowork,’hewenton,thoughtfully.‘IwaslunchingwithamanattheBachelor’sonlyyesterdaywhosworeheknewafellowwhohadmetamanwhosecousinworked.ButIdon’tseewhatIcoulddo,don’tyouknow.’

Hisfatherraisedhimselfonthesofa.

‘Haven’tIgivenyoutheeducationofanEnglishgentleman?’

‘That’sthedifficulty,’saidClarence.

‘Can’tyoudoanything?’askedhismother.

‘Well,Icanplayfooter.ByJove,I’llsignonasapro.I’lltakeanewname.I’llcallmyselfJones.Icangetsignedoninaminute.Anyclubwilljumpatme.’

Thiswasnoidleboast.SinceearlychildhoodClarencehadconcentratedhisenergiesonbecomingafootballer,andwasnowanexceedinglyfinegoal–keeper.Itwasapleasingsighttoseehim,poisedononefootintheattitudeofaSalomedancer,withoneeyeonthemanwiththeball,theothergazingcoldlyontherestoftheoppositionforwardline,uncurlabruptlylikethemain–springofawatchandstopahotone.Clarenceingoalwasthenearestapproachtoanindia–rubberacrobatandsocietycontortionisttobeseenoffthemusic–hallstage.Hewas,inbrief,hotstuff.Hehadthegoods.

Scarcelyhadheutteredthesemomentouswordswhenthebutlerenteredwiththeannouncementthathewaswantedbyaladyonthetelephone.

ItwasIsabel,disturbedandfearful.

‘Oh,Clarence,’shecried,‘mypreciousangelwonder–child,Idon’tknowhowtobegin.’

‘Beginjustlikethat,’saidClarence,approvingly.‘It’stopping.Youcan’tbeatit.’

‘Clarence,aterriblethinghashappened.Itoldpapaofourengagement,andhewouldn’thearofit.Hec–calledyouaap–p–p—’

‘Awhat?’

‘Apr–pr–pr—’

‘He’swrong.I’mnothingofthesort.Hemustbethinkingofsomeoneelse.’

‘Apreposterousexcrescenceonthesocialcosmos.Hedoesn’tlikeyourfatherbeinganearl.’

‘Amanmaybeanearlandstillagentleman,’saidClarence,notwithoutatouchofcoldnessinhisvoice.

‘Iforgottotellhimthat.ButIdon’tthinkitwouldmakeanydifference.HesaysIshallonlymarryamanwhoworks.’

‘Iamgoingtowork,dearest,’saidClarence.‘Iamgoingtoworklikeahorse.Something—Iknownotwhat—tellsmeIshallberathergoodatwork.AndonedaywhenI—’

‘Good–bye,’saidIsabel,hastily.‘Ihearpapacoming.’

*****

Clarence,ashehadpredicted,foundnodifficultyinobtainingemployment.Hewassignedonatonce,underthenameofJones,byHoundsditchWednesday,thepremiermetropolitanclub,andembarkedatonceonhisnewcareer.

TheseasonduringwhichClarenceTresilliankeptgoalforHoundsditchWednesdayisdestinedtolivelonginthememoryoffollowersofprofessionalfootball.Probablyneverinthehistoryofthegamehastherebeensuchpersistentandwidespreadmortalityamongthemoredistantrelativesofoffice–boysandjuniorclerks.StatisticianshaveestimatedthatifallthegrandmothersalonewhoperishedbetweenthemonthsofSeptemberandAprilthatseasoncouldhavebeenplacedendtoend,theywouldhavereachedfromHydeParkCornertotheoutskirtsofManchester.AnditwasClarencewhowasresponsibleforthisholocaust.PrevioustotheopeningoftheseasonscepticshadshakentheirheadsovertheWednesday’schancesintheFirstLeague.Otherclubshadboughtupthebestmeninthemarket,leavingonlyamixedassortmentofinferiorScotsmen,Irishmen,andNorthcountrymentoupholdthehonouroftheLondonclub.

Andthen,likeameteor,ClarenceTresillianhadflashedupontheworldoffootball.Intheopeninggamehehadbehavedinthegoal–mouthlikeaChinesecracker,andexhibitedanabsolutelyimpassabledefence;andfromthenonward,exceptforanoccasionalcheck,HoundsditchWednesdayhadneverlookedback.

AmongthespectatorswhoflockedtotheHoundsditchgroundtowatchClarenceperformthereappearedweekafterweekalittle,grey,dried–upman,insignificantexceptforacertainhappychoiceoflanguageinmomentsofemotionandanenthusiasmfarsurpassingthatoftheordinaryspectator.Tothetrainedeyetherearesubtledistinctionsbetweenfootballenthusiasts.Thismanbelongedtothecomparativelysmallclassofthosewhohavefootballonthecerebrum.

FatehadmadeDanielRackstrawamillionaireandaRadical,butathearthewasaspectatoroffootball.Henevermissedamatch.Hislibraryoffootballliteraturewasthefinestinthecountry.Hisfootballmuseumhadbutoneequal,thatofMrJacobDodson,of

Manchester.Betweenthemthetwohadcornered,atenormousexpense,thecuriomarketofthegame.ItwasRackstrawwhohadsecuredtheauthenticpairofbootsinwhichBloomerhadfirstplayedforEngland;butitwasDodsonwhopossessedthepaintedindia–rubberballusedbyMeredithwhenaboy—probablythefirstthingexceptanurseeverkickedbythattalentedfoot.Thetwomenwerefriends,asfarasrivalconnoisseurscanbefriends;andMrDodson,whenatleisure,wouldfrequentlypayavisittoMrRackstraw’scountryhouse,wherehewouldspendhoursgazingwistfullyattheBloomerboots,buoyeduponlybythethoughtsoftheMeredithballathome.

IsabelsawlittleofClarenceduringthewintermonths,exceptfromadistance.Shecontentedherselfwithclippingphotographsofhimfromthesportingpapers.Eachwasalittlemoreunlikehimthanthelast,andthislentvarietytothecollection.Herfathermarkedhernew–bornenthusiasmforthegamewithapproval.Ithadbeensecretlyagreatgrieftotheoldgentlemanthathisonlychilddidnotknowthedifferencebetweenalinesmanandaninsideright,and,more,didnotseemtocaretoknow.Hefelthimselfdrawnclosertoher.Anunderstanding,aspleasantasitwasnewandstrange,begantospringupbetweenparentandchild.

AsforClarence,howeasyitwouldbetohaulupone’sslackstopracticallyanunlimitedextentonthesubjectofhisemotionsatthistime.Onecanfigurehim,afterthegameisoverandthegaythronghasdispersed,creepingmoodily—butwhat’stheuse?Brevity—thatisthecry.Brevity.Letuson.

Themonthsspedby;theCup–tiesbegan,andsoonitwasevidentthattheFinalmustbefoughtoutbetweenHoundsditchWednesdayandMrJacobDodson’spetteam,ManchesterUnited.WitheachmatchtheWednesdayseemedtoimprove.ClarencewasaGibraltaramonggoal–keepers.

ThoseweredeliriousdaysforDanielRackstraw.Longbeforethefourthroundhisvoicehaddwindledtoahuskywhisper.Deeplinesappearedonhisforehead;foritisanawfulthingforafootballenthusiasttobecompelledtoapplaud,intheverymiddleoftheCup–ties,purelybymeansoffacialexpression.InthistimeofafflictionhefoundIsabelanever–increasingcomforttohim.Sidebysidetheywouldsit,andtheoldman’sfacewouldloseitsdrawnlook,andlightup,asherclearyoungsopranopealedoutoverthedin,urgingthisplayertoshoot,thattokicksomeopponentintheface;ordescribingtherefereeinnouncertaintermsasareincarnationofthelateMrDickTurpin.

AndnowthedayoftheFinalattheCrystalPalaceapproached,andallEnglandwasalert,confidentofarecord–breakingcontest.Butalas!HowtrulydoesEpictetusobserve:‘Weknownotwhatawaitethusroundthecorner,andthehandthatcountethitschickenseretheybehatchedoft–timesdothbutsteponthebanana–skin.’Theprophetswhoanticipatedastrugglekeenerthananyinfootballhistoryweredestinedtobeprovedfalse.

Itwasnotthattheirjudgementofformwasatfault.Ontherunoftheseason’splayHoundsditchWednesdayv.ManchesterUnitedshouldhavebeenthetwomostevenly–matchedteamsinthehistoryofthegame.Forward,thelatterheldaslightsuperiority;butthiswasbalancedbytheinspiredgoal–keepingofClarenceTresillian.Eventhekeenestsupportersofeithersidewerenotconfident.Theyarguedatlength,figuringouttheoddswiththeaidofstubsofpencilsandthebacksofenvelopes,buttheywerenotconfident.

Outofallthosefrenziedmillionstwomenalonehadnodoubts.MrDanielRackstrawsaidthathedidnotdesiretobeunfairtoManchesterUnited.HewishedittobeclearlyunderstoodthatintheirownclassManchesterUnitedmightquitepossiblyshowtoconsiderableadvantage.Insomeruralleague,forinstance,hedidnotdenythattheymightsweepallbeforethem.ButwhenitcametocompetingwithHoundsditchWednesday—herewordsfailedMrRackstraw.

MrJacobDodson,interviewedbytheManchesterWeeklyFootballBoot,statedthathisdecision,arrivedatafteracloseandcarefulstudyoftheworkofbothteams,wasthatHoundsditchWednesdayhadratherlesschanceintheforthcomingtourneythanastuffedratintheBatterseaDogs’Home.Itwashiscarefully–consideredopinionthatinacontestwiththesecondelevenofavillageChurchLads’Brigade,HoundsditchWednesdaymight,withaneffort(concedingthemthatsliceofluckwhichsooftenturnsthetideofagame),scrapehome.ButwhenitwasaquestionofmeetingateamlikeManchesterUnited—hereMrDodson,shrugginghisshouldersdespairingly,sankbackinhischair,andwatchfulsecretariesbroughthimroundwithoxygen.

Throughoutthewholecountrynothingbuttheapproachingmatchwasdiscussed.Wherevercivilizationreigned,andinportionsofLiverpool,onequestionalonewasoneverylip:Whowouldwin?Octogenariansmumbledit.Infantslispedit.TiredCitymen,trampledunderfootintherushfortheirtram,askeditoftheambulanceattendantswhocarriedthemtothehospital.

Andthen,onebright,clearmorning,whenthebirdssangandallNatureseemedfairandgay,ClarenceTresilliandevelopedmumps.

Londonwasinaferment.Icouldhavewishedtogointodetails,todescribeincrisp,burningsentencesthepanicthatsweptlikeatornadothroughamillionhomes.Alittleencouragement,theslightestsofteningoftheeditorialausterityandthethingwouldhavebeendone.Butno.Brevity.Thatwasthecry.Brevity.Letuson.

HoundsditchWednesdaymetManchesterUnitedattheCrystalPalace,andfornearlytwohoursthesweatofagonytrickledunceasinglydownthecorrugatedforeheadsofthepatriotsinthestands.ThemenfromManchester,freedfromthefearofClarence,smiledgrimsmilesandproceededtopileuppoints.ItwasinvainthattheHoundsditchbacksandhalfbacksskimmedlikeswallowsaboutthefield.Theycouldnotkeepthescoredown.FromstarttofinishHoundsditchwereabeatenside.

Londonduringthatblackperiodwasadesert.GloomgrippedtheCity.IndistantBrixtonred–eyedwivesfacedsilently–scowlinghusbandsattheeveningmeal,andthechildrenweresentearlytobed.Newsboyscalledtheextrasinawhisper.

FewtookthetragedymorenearlytoheartthanDanielRackstraw.Leavingthegroundwiththeairofafathermourningoversomeprodigalson,heencounteredMrJacobDodson,ofManchester.

Now,MrDodsonwasperhapstheslightestbitshyonthefinerfeelings.Heshouldhaverespectedthegriefofafallenfoe.Heshouldhaveabstainedfromexulting.Buthewasintooexhilaratedaconditiontobemagnanimous.SightingMrRackstraw,headdressedhimselfjoyouslytothetaskofrubbingthethingin.MrRackstrawlistenedinsilentanguish.

‘IfwehadhadJones—’hesaidatlength.

‘That’swhattheyallsay,’whoopedMrDodson,‘Jones!Who’sJones?’

‘IfwehadhadJones,weshouldhave—’Hepaused.Anideahadflasheduponhisoverwroughtmind.‘Dodson,’hesaid,‘lookhere.WaittillJonesiswellagain,andletusplaythisthingoffagainforanythingyoulikeasideinmyprivatepark.’

MrDodsonreflected.

‘You’reon,’hesaid.‘Whatsidebet?Amillion?Twomillion?Three?’

MrRackstrawshookhisheadscornfully.

‘Amillion?Whowantsamillion?I’llputupmyBloomerbootagainstyourMeredithball.Doesthatgo?’

‘Ishouldsayitdid,’saidMrDodson,joyfully.‘I’vebeenwantingthatbootforyears.It’slikefindingitinone’sChristmasstocking.’

‘Verywell,’saidMrRackstraw.‘Thenlet’sgetitfixedup.’

Honestly,itisbutadog’slife,thatoftheshort–storywriter.IparticularlywishedatthispointtointroduceadescriptionofMrRackstraw’scountryhouseandestate,featuringtheprivatefootballgroundwithitsfringeofnobletrees.Itwouldhaveservedadoublepurpose,notonlycharmingtheloverofnature,butactingasafinestimulustotheyouthofthecountry,showingthemthesortofhometheywouldbeabletobuysomedayiftheyworkedhardandsavedtheirmoney.Butno.Youshallhavethreeguessesastowhatwasthecry.Yougiveitup?ItwasBrevity—brevity!Letuson.

ThetwoteamsarrivedatMrRackstraw’shouseintimeforlunch.Clarence,hisfeaturesoncemorereducedtotheircustomaryfinely–chiselledproportions,alightedfromtheautomobilewithaswellingheart.PresentlyhefoundanopportunitytoslipawayandmeetIsabel.Iwillpasslightlyoverthemeetingofthetwolovers.Iwillnotdescribethedewysoftnessoftheireyes,thecatchingoftheirbreath,theirmurmuredendearments.Icould,mindyou.ItisatjustsuchdescriptionsthatIamparticularlyhappy.ButIhavegrowndiscouraged.Myspiritisbroken.ItisenoughtosaythatClarencehadreachedalevelofemotionaleloquencerarelymetwithamonggoal–keepersoftheFirstLeague,whenIsabelbrokefromhimwithastartledexclamation,andvanished;and,lookingoverhisshoulder,ClarenceobservedMrDanielRackstrawmovingtowardshim.

Itwasevidentfromthemillionaire’sdemeanourthathehadseennothing.Thelookonhisfacewasanxious,butnotwrathful.HesightedClarence,andhurrieduptohim.

‘Jones,’hesaid,‘I’vebeenlookingforyou.Iwantawordwithyou.’

‘Athousand,ifyouwishit,’saidClarence,courteously.

‘Now,lookhere,’saidMrRackstraw.‘Iwanttoexplaintoyoujustwhatthisgamemeanstome.Don’trunawaywiththeideaI’vehadyoufellowsdowntoplayanexhibitiongamejusttokeepmemerryandbright.IfHoundsditchwinstoday,itmeansthatIshallbeabletoholdupmyheadagainandlookmyfellow–manintheface,insteadofcrawlingroundonmystomachandfeelinglikeablack–beetleunderasteam–roller.Doyougetthat?’

‘Ido,’repliedClarence.

‘Andnotonlythat,’wentonthemillionaire.‘There’smore.IhaveputupmyBloomerbootagainstMrDodson’sMeredithballasasidebet.Youunderstandwhatthatmeans?Itmeansthateitheryouwinormylifeissouredforever.See?’

‘Ihavegotyou,’saidClarence.

‘Good.ThenwhatIwantedtosaywasthis.Todayisyourdayforkeepinggoalasyou’veneverkeptgoalbefore.Everythingdependsonyou.Withyoukeepinggoallikemotherusedtomakeit,Houndsditcharesafe.Otherwisetheyarecompletelyinthebouillon.It’sonethingortheother.It’salluptoyou.Win,andthere’sfourthousandpoundswaitingforyouabovewhatyousharewiththeothers.’

Clarencewavedhishanddeprecatingly.

‘MrRackstraw,’hesaid,‘keepyourdross.Icarenothingformoney.AllIaskofyou,’proceededClarence,‘isyourconsenttomyengagementtoyourdaughter.’

MrRackstrawlookedsharplyathim.

‘Repeatthat,’hesaid.‘Idon’tthinkIquitegotit.’

‘AllIaskisyourconsenttomyengagementtoyourdaughter.’

‘Youngman,’saidMrRackstraw,notwithoutatouchofadmiration,‘Iadmirecheek.Butthereisalimit.Thatlimityouhavepassedsofarthatyou’dneedtolookforitwithatelescope.’

‘Yourefuseyourconsent?’

‘Ineversaidyouweren’tacleverguesser.’

‘Why?’

MrRackstrawlaughed.Oneofthosenasty,sharp,metalliclaughsthathityoulikeabullet.

‘Howwouldyousupportmydaughter?’

‘Iwasthinkingthatyouwouldhelptosomeextent.’

‘Youwere,wereyou?’

‘Iwas.’

‘Oh?’

MrRackstrawemittedanotherofthoselaughs.

‘Well,’hesaid,‘it’soff.Youcantakethatascomingfromanauthoritativesource.Nowedding–bellsforyou.’

Clarencedrewhimselfup,fireflashingfromhiseyesandabittersmilecurvinghisexpressivelips.

‘AndnoMeredithballforyou!’hecried.

MrRackstrawstartedasifsomestronghandhadplungedanaugerintohim.

‘What?’heshouted.

Clarenceshruggedhissuperbly–modelledshouldersinsilence.

‘Come,come,’saidMrRackstraw,‘youwouldn’tletalittleprivatedifferencelikethatinfluenceyouinareallyimportantthinglikethisfootballmatch,wouldyou?’

‘Iwould.’

‘Youwouldpracticallyblackmailthefatherofthegirlyoulove?’

‘Everytime.’

‘Herwhite–hairedoldfather?’

‘Thecolourofhishairwouldnotaffectme.’

‘Nothingwouldmoveyou?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then,byGeorge,you’rejusttheson–in–lawIwant.YoushallmarryIsabel;andI’lltakeyouintopartnershipinmybusinessthisveryday.I’vebeenlookingforagoodable–bodiedbanditlikeyouforyears.YoumakeCaptainKiddlooklikeapreliminarythree–roundbout.Myboy,we’llbethegreatestcombination,youandI,thattheCityhaseverseen.Shakehands.’

ForamomentClarencehesitated.Thenhisbetternatureprevailed,andhespoke.

‘MrRackstraw,’hesaid,‘Icannotdeceiveyou.’

‘Thatwon’tmatter,’saidtheenthusiasticoldman.‘Ibetyou’llbeabletodeceiveeverybodyelse.Iseeitinyoureye.Myboy,we’llbethegreatest—’

‘MynameisnotJones.’

‘Norismine.Whatdoesthatmatter?’

‘MynameisTresillian.TheHon.Tresillian.IamtheyoungersonoftheEarlofRunnymede.Toamanofyourpoliticalviews—’

‘Nonsense,nonsense,’saidMrRackstraw.‘Whatarepoliticalviewscomparedwiththechanceofgettingagoal–keeperlikeyouintothefamily?IrememberIsabelsayingsomethingtomeaboutyou,butIdidn’tknowwhoyouwerethen.’

‘Iamapreposterousexcrescenceonthesocialcosmos,’saidClarence,eyeinghimdoubtfully.

‘ThenI’llbeonetoo,’criedMrRackstraw.‘IownI’vesetmyfaceagainstithitherto,butcircumstancesaltercases.I’llringupthePrimeMinisteronthephonetomorrow,andbuyatitlemyself.’

Clarence’slastscruplewasremoved.Silentlyhegrippedtheoldman’shand,outstretchedtomeethis.

Littleremainstobesaid,butIamgoingtosayit,ifitsnows.Iamatmybestinthesetenderscenesofidyllicdomesticity.

Fouryearshavepassed.OncemoreweareintheRackstrawhome.Aladyiscomingdownthestairs,leadingbythehandherlittleson.ItisIsabel.Theyearshavedealtlightlywithher.Sheisstillthesamestately,beautifulcreaturewhomIwouldhavedescribedindetail

longagoifIhadbeengivenhalfachance.Atthefootofthestairsthechildstopsandpointsatasmall,roundobjectinaglasscase.

‘Wah?’hesays.

‘That?’saidIsabel.‘ThatistheballMrMeredithusedtoplaywithwhenhewasalittleboy.’

Shelooksatadoorontheleftofthehall,andputsafingertoherlip.

‘Hush!’shesays.‘Wemustbequiet.Daddyandgrandpaarebusyintherecorneringwheat.’

Andsoftlymotherandchildgooutintothesunlitgarden.

INALCALA

InAlcala,asinmostofNewYork’sapartmenthouses,thescheduleofpricesislikeabadlyrolledcigarette—thickinthemiddleandthinatbothends.Theroomshalf–wayupareexpensive;someofthemalmostasexpensiveasifFashion,insteadofbeinggoneforever,werestilllingering.Thetoproomsarecheap,theground–floorroomscheaperstill.

Cheapestofallwasthehall–bedroom.Itsfurniturewasofthesimplest.Itconsistedofachair,anotherchair,aworncarpet,andafolding–bed.Thefolding–bedhadanairofdepressionandbaffledhopes.Foryearsithadbeentryingtolooklikeabookcaseinthedaytime,andnowitlookedmorelikeafolding–bedthanever.Therewasalsoaplaindealtable,muchstainedwithink.Atthis,nightafternight,sometimesfarintothemorning,RutherfordMaxwellwouldsitandwritestories.Nowandthenithappenedthatonewouldbeagoodstory,andfindamarket.

RutherfordMaxwellwasanEnglishman,andtheyoungersonofanEnglishman;andhislotwasthelotoftheyoungersonsalltheworldover.HewasbyprofessiononeofthenumerousemployeesoftheNewAsiaticBank,whichhasitsbranchesallovertheworld.Itisasound,trustworthyinstitution,andsteady–goingrelativeswouldassureRutherfordthathewasluckytohavegotaberthinit.Rutherforddidnotagreewiththem.Howeversoundandtrustworthy,itwasnotexactlyromantic.Nordiditerronthesideofover–lavishnesstothosewhoservedit.Rutherford’ssalarywassmall.Sowerehisprospects—ifheremainedinthebank.Ataveryearlydatehehadregisteredavowthathewouldnot.Andtheroadthatledoutofitforhimwastheuphillroadofliterature.

Hewasthankfulforsmallmercies.Fatehadnotbeenover–kinduptothepresent,butatleastshehaddispatchedhimtoNewYork,thecentreofthings,wherehewouldhavethechancetotry,insteadoftosomespotoffthemap.Whetherhewonorlost,atanyratehewasinthering,andcouldfight.SoeverynighthesatinAlcala,andwrote.Sometimeshewouldonlytrytowrite,andthatwastorture.

ThereisneveranhourofthedayornightwhenAlcalaiswhollyasleep.Themiddleofthehouseisasortofchorus–girlbelt,whileintheupperroomstherearereportersandothernightbirds.Longafterhehadgonetobed,Rutherfordwouldhearfootstepspassinghisdoorandthesoundofvoicesinthepassage.Hegrewtowelcomethem.Theyseemedtoconnecthimwiththeouterworld.Butforthemhewasaloneafterhehadlefttheoffice,utterlyalone,asitispossibletobeonlyintheheartofagreatcity.Somenightshewouldhearscrapsofconversations,atrareintervalsaname.Heusedtobuildupinhismindidentitiesfortheownersofthenames.Oneinparticular,Peggy,gavehimmuchfoodforthought.Hepicturedherasbrightandvivacious.Thiswasbecauseshesangsometimesasshepassedhisdoor.Shehadbeensingingwhenhefirstheardhername.‘Oh,cutitout,Peggy,’agirl’svoicehadsaid.‘Don’tyougetenoughofthattuneatthetheatre?’HefeltthathewouldliketomeetPeggy.

Junecame,andJuly,makinganovenofNewYork,bringingclose,scorchingdaysandnightswhenthepenseemedmadeoflead;andstillRutherfordworkedon,sippingice–

water,inhisshirt–sleeves,andfillingthesheetsofpaperslowly,butwithadoggedpersistencewhichtheweathercouldnotkill.Despitetheheat,hewascheerful.Thingswerebeginningtorunhiswayalittlenow.Anovelette,anairytrifle,conceivedindayswhenthethermometerwasloweranditwaspossibletothink,andworkedoutalmostmechanically,hadbeenacceptedbyamagazineofahigherstandingthanthosewhichhithertohadshownhimhospitality.Hebegantodreamofaholidayinthewoods.Theholidayspiritwasabroad.Alcalawasemptyingitself.Itwouldnotbelongbeforehetoowouldbeabletogetaway.

Hewassodeepinhisthoughtsthatatfirsthedidnotheartheknockingatthedoor.Butitwasasharp,insistentknocking,andforceditselfuponhisattention.Hegotupandturnedthehandle.

Outsideinthepassagewasstandingagirl,tallandsleepy–eyed.Sheworeapicture–hatandacostumethekeynoteofwhichwasacertainaggressiveattractiveness.Therewasnoroomfordoubtastowhichparticularbrandofscentwasherfavouriteatthemoment.

ShegazedatRutherforddully.LikeBanquo’sghost,shehadnospeculationinhereyes.Rutherfordlookedatherinquiringly,somewhatconsciousofhisshirt–sleeves.

‘Didyouknock?’hesaid,opening,asamanmustdo,withtheinevitablefoolishquestion.

Theapparitionspoke.

‘Say,’shesaid,‘gotacigarette?’

‘I’mafraidIhaven’t,’saidRutherford,apologetically.‘I’vebeensmokingapipe.I’mverysorry.’

‘What?’saidtheapparition.

‘I’mafraidIhaven’t.’

‘Oh!’Apause.‘Say,gotacigarette?’

TheintellectualpressureoftheconversationwasbeginningtobealittletoomuchforRutherford.Combinedwiththeheatofthenightitmadehisheadswim.

Hisvisitoradvancedintotheroom.Arrivingatthetable,shebeganfiddlingwithitscontents.Thepenseemedtofascinateher.Shepickeditupandinspecteditclosely.

‘Say,whatd’youcallthis?’shesaid.

‘That’sapen,’saidRutherford,soothingly.‘Afountain–pen.’

‘Oh!’Apause.‘Say,gotacigarette?’

Rutherfordclutchedachairwithonehand,andhisforeheadwiththeother.Hewasinsorestraits.

AtthismomentRescuearrived,notbeforeitwasneeded.Abrisksoundoffootstepsinthepassage,andthereappearedinthedoorwayasecondgirl.

‘Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing,Gladys?’demandedthenew–comer.‘Youmustn’tcomebuttingintofolks’roomsthisway.Who’syourfriend?’

‘MynameisMaxwell,’beganRutherfordeagerly.

‘Whatsay,Peggy?’saidtheseekeraftercigarettes,droppingasheetofmanuscripttothefloor.

Rutherfordlookedatthegirlinthedoorwaywithinterest.SothiswasPeggy.Shewaslittle,andtrimoffigure.Thatwashowhehadalwaysimaginedher.Herdresswassimplerthantheother’s.Thefacebeneaththepicture–hatwassmallandwell–shaped,thenosedelicatelytip–tilted,thechindetermined,themouthalittlewideandsuggestinggood–humour.Apairofgreyeyeslookedsteadilyintohisbeforetransferringthemselvestothestatuesquebeingatthetable.

‘Don’tmonkeywiththeman’sinkwell,Gladys.Comealonguptobed.’

‘What?Say,gotacigarette?’

‘There’splentyupstairs.Comealong.’

Theotherwentwithperfectdocility.Atthedoorshepaused,andinspectedRutherfordwithagravestare.

‘Goodnight,boy!’shesaid,withhaughtycondescension.

‘Goodnight!’saidRutherford.

‘Pleasedtohavemetyou.Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight!’saidRutherford.

‘Goodnight!’

‘Comealong,Gladys,’saidPeggy,firmly.

Gladyswent.

Rutherfordsatdownanddabbedhisforeheadwithhishandkerchief,feelingalittleweak.Hewasnotusedtovisitors.

2

Hehadlithispipe,andwasre–readinghisnight’sworkpreparatorytoturningin,whentherewasanotherknockatthedoor.Thistimetherewasnowaiting.Hewasinthestateofmindwhenonehearsthesmallestnoise.

‘Comein!’hecried.

ItwasPeggy.

Rutherfordjumpedtohisfeet.

‘Won’tyou—’hebegan,pushingthechairforward.

Sheseatedherselfwithcomposureonthetable.Shenolongerworethepicture–hat,andRutherford,lookingather,cametotheconclusionthatthechangewasanimprovement.

‘This’lldoforme,’shesaid.‘ThoughtI’djustlookin.I’msorryaboutGladys.Sheisn’toftenlikethat.It’sthehotweather.’

‘Itishot,’saidRutherford.

‘You’venoticedit?Bullyforyou!BacktothebenchforSherlockHolmes.DidGladystry

toshootherself?’

‘Goodheavens,no!Why?’

‘Shedidonce.ButIstolehergun,andIsupposeshehasn’tthoughttogetanother.She’sagoodgirlreally,onlyshegetslikethatsometimesinthehotweather.’Shelookedroundtheroomforamoment,thengazedunwinkinglyatRutherford.‘Whatdidyousayyournamewas?’sheasked.

‘RutherfordMaxwell.’

‘Gee!That’sgoingsome,isn’tit?Wantsamputation,anamelikethat.Icallitmeantogiveapoor,defencelesskidacuss–wordlike—what’sit?Rutherford?Igotit—togothroughtheworldwith.Haven’tyougotsomethingshorter—Tom,orCharlesorsomething?’

‘I’mafraidnot.’

Theround,greyeyesfixedhimagain.

‘IshallcallyouGeorge,’shedecidedatlast.

‘Thanks,Iwishyouwould,’saidRutherford.

‘Georgeitis,then.YoucancallmePeggy.PeggyNorton’smyname.’

‘Thanks,Iwill.’

‘Say,you’reEnglish,aren’tyou?’shesaid.

‘Yes.Howdidyouknow?’

‘You’resostrongonthegratitudething.It’s“Thanks,thanks,”allthetime.NotthatImindit,George.’

‘Thanks.Sorry.Ishouldsay,“Oh,youPeggy!”’

Shelookedathimcuriously.

‘Howd’youlikeNewYork,George?’

‘Fine—tonight.’

‘BeentoConey?’

‘Notyet.’

‘Youshould.Say,whatdoyoudo,George?’

‘WhatdoIdo?’

‘Cutitout,George!Don’tanswerbackasthoughwewereavaudevilleteamdoingacross–talkact.Whatdoyoudo?WhenyourbosscrowdsyourenvelopeontoyouSaturdays,what’sitfor?’

‘I’minabank.’

‘Likeit?’

‘Hateit!’

‘Whydon’tyouquit,then?’

‘Can’taffordto.There’smoneyinbeinginabank.Notmuch,it’strue,butwhatthereisofitisgood.’

‘Whatareyoudoingoutofbedatthistimeofnight?Theydon’tworkyouallday,dothey?’

‘No;they’dliketo,buttheydon’t.Ihavebeenwriting.’

‘Writingwhat?Say,youdon’tmindmyputtingyouonthewitness–stand,doyou?Ifyoudo,sayso,andI’llcutouttheDistrictAttorneyactandtalkabouttheweather.’

‘Notabit,really,Iassureyou.Pleaseaskasmanyquestionsasyoulike.’

‘Guessthere’snodoubtaboutyourbeingEnglish,George.Wedon’thavetimeoverheretoshootitofflikethat.Ifyou’dhavejustsaid“Sure!”I’dhavegotalineonyourmeaning.Youdon’tmindmedoingschool–marm,George,doyou?It’sallforyourgood.’

‘Sure,’saidRutherford,withagrin.

Shesmiledapprovingly.

‘That’sbetter!You’reLittleWillie,theAptPupil,allright.Whatwerewetalkingaboutbeforeweswitchedoffontotheeducationalrail?Iknow—aboutyourwriting.Whatwereyouwriting?’

‘Astory.’

‘Forapaper?’

‘Foramagazine.’

‘What!OneofthefictionstoriesabouttheGibsonheroandthegirlwhoselifehesaved,likeyouread?’

‘That’stheidea.’

Shelookedathimwithanewinterest.

‘Gee,George,who’dhavethoughtit!Fancyyoubeingoneofthehigh–brows!Yououghttohangoutasign.Youlookjustordinary.’

‘Thanks!’

‘Imeanasfarasthegreymattergoes.Ididn’tmeanyouwereabadlooker.You’renot.You’vegotniceeyes,George.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Iliketheshapeofyournose,too.’

‘Isay,thanks!’

‘Andyourhair’sjustlovely!’

‘Isay,really.Thanksawfully!’

Sheeyedhiminsilenceforamoment.Thensheburstout:

‘Yousayyoudon’tlikethebank?’

‘Icertainlydon’t.’

‘Andyou’dliketostrikesomepayinglineofbusiness?’

‘Sure.’

‘Thenwhydon’tyoumakeyourfortunebyhiringyourselfouttoamuseumasthebiggesthumanclamincaptivity?That’swhatyouare.Yousittherejustsaying“Thanks,”and“BaiJawve,thanksawf’lly,”whileagirl’stellingyounicethingsaboutyoureyesandhair,andyoudon’tdoathing!’

Rutherfordthrewbackhisheadandroaredwithlaughter.

‘I’msorry!’hesaid.‘Slownessisournationalfailing,youknow.’

‘Ibelieveyou.’

‘Tellmeaboutyourself.Youknowallaboutme,bynow.Whatdoyoudobesidesbrighteningupthedulleveningsofpoordevilsofbank–clerks?’

‘Giveyouthreeguesses.’

‘Stage?’

‘Gee!You’rethehumansleuthallright,allright!It’sahome–runeverytimewhenyougetyourdeductivetheoriesunlimbered.Yes,George;thestageitis.I’manactorine—oneoftheponyballetinTheIslandofGirlsattheMelody.Seenourshow?’

‘Notyet.I’llgotomorrow.’

‘Great!I’llletthemknow,sothattheycanhavetheawningoutandtheredcarpetdown.It’sacutelittlepiece.’

‘SoI’veheard.’

‘Well,ifIseeyouinfronttomorrow,I’llgiveyouhalfasmile,sothatyoushan’tfeelyouhaven’tgotyourmoney’sworth.Goodnight,George!’

‘Goodnight,Peggy!’

Shejumpeddownfromthetable.Hereyewascaughtbythephotographsonthemantelpiece.Shebegantoexaminethem.

‘WhoaretheseWillies?’shesaid,pickingupagroup.

‘Thatisthefootballteamofmyoldschool.Theloutwiththesheepishsmirk,holdingtheball,ismyselfasIwasbeforethecaresoftheworldsouredme.’

Hereyewanderedalongthemantelpiece,andsheswoopeddownonacabinetphotographofagirl.

‘Andwho’sthis,George?’shecried.

Hetookthephotographfromher,andreplacedit,withacuriousblendofshynessanddefiance,intheverycentreofthemantelpiece.Foramomenthestoodlookingintentlyatit,hiselbowsrestingontheimitationmarble.

‘Whoisit?’askedPeggy.‘Wakeup,George.Who’sthis?’

Rutherfordstarted.

‘Sorry,’hesaid.‘Iwasthinkingaboutsomething.’

‘Ibetyouwere.Youlookedlikeit.Well,whoisshe?’

‘Eh!Oh,that’sagirl.’

Peggylaughedsatirically.

‘Thanksawf’lly,asyouwouldsay.I’vegoteyes,George.’

‘Inoticedthat,’saidRutherford,smiling.‘Charmingones,too.’

‘Gee!Whatwouldshesayifsheheardyoutalkinglikethat!’

Shecameastepnearer,lookingupathim.Theireyesmet.

‘Shewouldsay,’saidRutherford,slowly:‘“Iknowyouloveme,andIknowIcantrustyou,andIhaven’ttheslightestobjectiontoyourtellingMissNortonthetruthabouthereyes.MissNortonisadear,goodlittlesort,oneofthebest,infact,andIhopeyou’llbegreatpals!”’

Therewasasilence.

‘She’dsaythat,wouldshe?’saidPeggy,atlast.

‘Shewould.’

Peggylookedatthephotograph,andbackagainatRutherford.

‘You’reprettyfondofher,George,Iguess,aren’tyou?’

‘Iam,’saidRutherford,quietly.

‘George.’

‘Yes?’

‘George,she’saprettygoodlongwayaway,isn’tshe?’

Shelookedupathimwithacuriouslightinhergreyeyes.Rutherfordmetherglancesteadily.

‘Nottome,’hesaid.‘She’sherenow,andallthetime.’

HesteppedawayandpickedupthesheafofpaperswhichhehaddroppedatPeggy’sentrance.Peggylaughed.

‘Goodnight,Georgieboy,’shesaid.‘Imustn’tkeepyouupanymore,oryou’llbelateinthemorning.Andwhatwouldthebankdothen?Smashorsomething,Iguess.Goodnight,Georgie!Seeyouagainoneoftheseoldevenings.’

‘Goodnight,Peggy!’

Thedoorclosedbehindher.Heheardherfootstepshesitate,stop,andthenmovequicklyononcemore.

3

Hesawmuchofherafterthisfirstvisit.Graduallyitbecameanunderstoodthingbetweenthemthatsheshouldlookinonherreturnfromthetheatre.Hegrewtoexpecther,andtofeelrestlesswhenshewaslate.Onceshebroughtthecigarette–lovingGladyswithher,buttheexperimentwasnotasuccess.Gladyswaslanguidandratheroverpoweringlyrefined,andconversationbecameforced.Afterthat,Peggycamealone.

Generallyshefoundhimworking.Hisindustryamazedher.

‘Gee,George,’shesaidonenight,sittinginherfavouriteplaceonthetable,fromwhichhehadmovedalittlepileofmanuscripttomakeroomforher.‘Don’tyoueverletupforasecond?Seemstomeyouwriteallthetime.’

Rutherfordlaughed.

‘I’lltakearest,’hesaid,‘whenthere’sabitmoredemandformystuffthanthereisatpresent.WhenI’minthetwenty–cents–a–wordclassI’llwriteonceamonth,andspendtherestofmytimetravelling.’

Peggyshookherhead.

‘Notravellingformine,’shesaid.‘Seemstomeit’sjustcussednessthatmakespeoplegoawayfromBroadwaywhenthey’vegotplunksenoughtostaythereandenjoythemselves.’

‘DoyoulikeBroadway,Peggy?’

‘DoIlikeBroadway?Doesakidlikecandy?Why,don’tyou?’

‘It’sallrightforthetime.It’snotmyideal.’

‘Oh,andwhatparticularsortoflittleoldParadisedoyouhankerafter?’

Hepuffedathispipe,andlookeddreamilyatherthroughthesmoke.

‘WayoverinEngland,Peggy,there’sacountycalledWorcestershire.Andsomewhereneartheedgeofthatthere’sagreyhousewithgables,andthere’salawnandameadowandashrubbery,andanorchardandarose–garden,andabigcedarontheterracebeforeyougettotherose–garden.Andifyouclimbtothetopofthatcedar,youcanseetheriverthroughtheappletreesintheorchard.Andinthedistancetherearehills.And—’

‘Ofalltherubejoints!’exclaimedPeggy,indeepdisgust.‘Why,adayofthatwouldbeabouttwenty–threehoursandabittoolongforme.Broadwayformine!PutmewhereIcantouchForty–SecondStreetwithoutover–balancing,andthenyoucanleaveme.Ineverthoughtyouweresuchahayseed,George.’

‘Don’tworry,Peggy.It’llbealongtime,Iexpect,beforeIgothere.I’vegottomakemyfortunefirst.’

‘GettinganywhereneartheJohnD.classyet?’

‘I’vestillsomewaytogo.Butthingsaremoving,Ithink.Doyouknow,Peggy,youremindmeofalittleBilliken,sittingonthattable?’

‘Thankyou,George.Ialwaysknewmymouthwasratherwide,butIdidthinkIhadBillikentothebad.DoyoudothatsortofCandidFriendstuntwithher?’Shepointedtothephotographonthemantelpiece.Itwasthefirsttimesincethenightwhentheyhadmet

thatshehadmadeanyallusiontoit.Bysilentagreementthesubjecthadbeenruledoutbetweenthem.‘Bytheway,younevertoldmehername.’

‘Halliday,’saidRutherford,shortly.

‘Whatelse?’

‘Alice.’

‘Don’tbiteatme,George!I’mnothurtingyou.Tellmeabouther.I’minterested.Doessheliveinthegreyhousewiththepigsandchickensandallthemroses,andtherestoftherubeoutfit?’

‘No.’

‘Bechummy,George.What’sthematterwithyou?’

‘I’msorry,Peggy,’hesaid.‘I’mafool.It’sonlythatitallseemssodamnedhopeless!HereamI,earningabouthalfadollarayear,and—Still,it’snousekicking,isit?Besides,Imaymakeahome–runwithmywritingoneofthesedays.That’swhatImeantwhenIsaidyouwereaBilliken,Peggy.Doyouknow,you’vebroughtmeluck.EversinceImetyou,I’vebeendoingtwiceaswell.You’remymascot.’

‘Bullyforme!We’veallgotourusesintheworld,haven’twe?IwonderifitwouldhelpanyifIwastokissyou,George?’

‘Don’tyoudoit.Onemustn’tworkamascottoohard.’

Shejumpeddown,andcameacrosstheroomtowherehesat,lookingdownathimwiththeround,greyeyesthatalwaysremindedhimofakitten’s.

‘George!’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh,nothing!’

Sheturnedawaytothemantelpiece,andstoodgazingatthephotograph,herbacktowardshim.

‘George!’

‘Hullo?’

‘Say,whatcoloureyeshasshegot?’

‘Grey.’

‘Likemine?’

‘Darkerthanyours.’

‘Nicerthanmine?’

‘Don’tyouthinkwemighttalkaboutsomethingelse?’

Sheswunground,herfistsclenched,herfaceblazing.

‘Ihateyou!’shecried.‘Ido!IwishI’dneverseenyou!Iwish—’

Sheleanedonthemantelpiece,buryingherfaceinherarms,andburstintoapassionofsobs.Rutherfordleapedup,shockedandhelpless.Hesprangtoher,andplacedahandgentlyonhershoulder.

‘Peggy,oldgirl—’

Shebrokefromhim.

‘Don’tyoutouchme!Don’tyoudoit!Gee,IwishI’dneverseenyou!’

Sherantothedoor,dartedthrough,andbangeditbehindher.

Rutherfordremainedwherehestood,motionless.Then,almostmechanically,hefeltinhispocketformatches,andrelithispipe.

Halfanhourpassed.Thenthedooropenedslowly.Peggycamein.Shewaspale,andhereyeswerered.Shesmiled—apatheticlittlesmile.

‘Peggy!’

Hetookasteptowardsher.

Sheheldoutherhand.

‘I’msorry,George.Ifeelmean.’

‘Dearoldgirl,whatrot!’

‘Ido.Youdon’tknowhowmeanIfeel.You’vebeenrealnicetome,George.ThoughtI’dlookinandsayIwassorry.Goodnight,George!’

Onthefollowingnighthewaited,butshedidnotcome.Thenightswentby,andstillshedidnotcome.Andonemorning,readinghispaper,hesawthatTheIslandofGirlshadgonewesttoChicago.

4

ThingswerenotrunningwellforRutherford.Hehadhadhisvacation,agoldenfortnightoffreshairandsunshineintheCatskills,andwasbackinAlcala,tryingwithpoorsuccess,topickupthethreadsofhiswork.ButthoughtheIndianSummerhadbegun,andtherewasenergyintheair,nightafternighthesatidleinhisroom;nightafternightwentwearilytobed,oppressedwithadullsenseoffailure.Hecouldnotwork.Hewasrestless.Histhoughtswouldnotconcentratethemselves.Somethingwaswrong;andheknewwhatitwas,thoughhefoughtagainstadmittingittohimself.ItwastheabsenceofPeggythathadbroughtaboutthechange.Nottillnowhadherealizedtothefullhowgreatlyhervisitshadstimulatedhim.Hehadcalledherlaughinglyhismascot;butthethingwasnojoke.Itwastrue.Herabsencewasrobbinghimofthepowertowrite.

Hewaslonely.ForthefirsttimesincehehadcometoNewYorkhewasreallylonely.Solitudehadnothurthimtillnow.Inhisblackmomentsithadbeenenoughforhimtolookupatthephotographonthemantelpiece,andinstantlyhewasalonenolonger.Butnowthephotographhadlostitsmagic.Itcouldnotholdhim.Alwayshismindwouldwanderbacktothelittle,black–hairedghostthatsatonthetable,smilingathim,andquestioninghimwithitsgreyeyes.

Andthedayswentby,unvaryingintheirmonotony.Andalwaystheghostsatonthetable,

smilingathim.

WiththeFallcamethereopeningofthetheatres.OnebyonetheelectricsignsblazedoutalongBroadway,spreadingthemessagethatthedulldayswereover,andNewYorkwasitselfagain.AttheMelody,whereagesagoTheIslandofGirlshadrunitslight–heartedcourse,anewmusicalpiecewasinrehearsal.Alcalawasfulloncemore.Thenightlysnatchesofconversationoutsidehisdoorhadrecommenced.Helistenedforhervoice,butheneverheardit.

Hesatup,waiting,intothesmallhours,butshedidnotcome.Oncehehadbeentryingtowrite,andhadfallen,asusual,tobrooding—therewasasoftknockatthedoor.Inaninstanthehadboundedfromhischair,andturnedthehandle.Itwasoneofthereportersfromupstairs,whohadrunoutofmatches.Rutherfordgavehimahandful.Thereporterwentout,wonderingwhatthemanhadlaughedat.

ThereisbalminBroadway,especiallybynight.Depressionvanishesbeforethecheerfulnessofthegreatwhitewaywhenthelightsarelitandthehumantideisinfullflood.RutherfordhaddevelopedoflateahabitofpatrollingtheneighbourhoodofForty–SecondStreetattheatre–time.Hefounditdidhimgood.Thereisagaiety,abonhomie,intheatmosphereoftheNewYorkstreets.Rutherfordlovedtostandonthesidewalkandwatchthepassers–by,weavingstoriesroundthem.

OnenighthiswanderingshadbroughthimtoHeraldSquare.Thetheatreswerejustemptyingthemselves.Thiswasthetimehelikedbest.Hedrewtoonesidetowatch,andashemovedhesawPeggy.

Shewasstandingatthecorner,buttoningaglove.Hewasbyhersideinaninstant.

‘Peggy!’hecried.

Shewaslookingpaleandtired,butthecolourcamebacktohercheeksassheheldoutherhand.Therewasnotraceofembarrassmentinhermanner;onlyafrankpleasureatseeinghimagain.

‘Wherehaveyoubeen?’hesaid.‘Icouldn’tthinkwhathadbecomeofyou.’

Shelookedathimcuriously.

‘Didyoumissme,George?’

‘Missyou?OfcourseIdid.Mywork’sbeengoingalltopiecessinceyouwentaway.’

‘Ionlycamebacklastnight.I’minthenewpieceattheMadison.Gee,I’mtired,George!We’vebeenrehearsingallday.’

Hetookherbythearm.

‘Comealongandhavesomesupper.Youlookwornout.ByJove,Peggy,it’sgoodseeingyouagain!CanyouwalkasfarasRector’s,orshallIcarryyou?’

‘GuessIcanwalkthatfar.ButRector’s?Hasyourrichunclediedandleftyouafortune,George?’

‘Don’tyouworry,Peggy.Thisisanoccasion.IthoughtIwasnevergoingtoseeyouagain.I’llbuyyouthewholehotel,ifyoulike.’

‘Justsupper’lldo,Iguess.You’regettingquitetherounder,George.’

‘YoubetIam.Thereareallsortsofsidestomycharacteryou’veneversomuchasdreamedof.’

TheyseemedtoknowPeggyatRector’s.Paul,theheadwaiter,beameduponherpaternally.Oneortwomenturnedandlookedafterherasshepassed.Thewaiterssmiledslightbutfriendlysmiles.Rutherford,intentonher,noticednoneofthesethings.

Despiteherprotests,heorderedanelaborateandexpensivesupper.Hewasparticularaboutthewine.Thewaiter,whohadbeendoubtfulabouthim,waswonover,andwentofftoexecutetheorder,reflectingthatitwasneversafetojudgeamanbyhisclothes,andthatRutherfordwasprobablyoneoftheseeccentricyoungmillionaireswhodidn’tcarehowtheydressed.

‘Well?’saidPeggy,whenhehadfinished.

‘Well?’saidRutherford.

‘You’relookingbrown,George.’

‘I’vebeenawayintheCatskills.’

‘Stillasstrongontherubepropositionasever?’

‘Yes.ButBroadwayhasitspoints,too.’

‘Oh,you’rebeginningtoseethat?Gee,I’mgladtobeback.I’vehadenoughoftheWildWest.IfanybodyevertriestosteeryouwestofEleventhAvenue,George,don’tyougo.There’snothingdoing.Howhaveyoubeenmakingoutatyourwritingstunt?’

‘Prettywell.ButIwantedyou.Iwaslostwithoutmymascot.I’vegotastoryinthismonth’sWilson’s.Alongstory,andpaidaccordingly.That’swhyI’mabletogoaboutgivingsupperstogreatactresses.’

‘Ireaditonthetrain,’saidPeggy.‘It’sdandy.Doyouknowwhatyououghttodo,George?Yououghttoturnitintoaplay.There’saheapofmoneyinplays.’

‘Iknow.Butwhowantsaplaybyanunknownman?’

‘IknowwhowouldwantWillieintheWilderness,ifyoumadeitintoaplay,andthat’sWinfieldKnight.Everseenhim?’

‘IsawhiminTheOutsider.He’sclever.’

‘He’sIt,ifhegetsaparttosuithim.Ifhedoesn’t,hedon’tamounttoarowofbeans.It’sjustagamble.Thisthinghe’sinnowisnogood.Thepartdoesn’tbegintofithim.Inamonthhe’llbesquealingforanotherplay,so’syoucanhearhiminConnecticut.’

‘Heshallnotsquealinvain,’saidRutherford.‘Ifhewantsmywork,whoamIthatIshouldstandinthewayofhissimplepleasures?I’llstartonthethingtomorrow.’

‘Icanhelpyousometoo,Iguess.IusedtoknowWinfieldKnight.Icanputyouwiseonlotsofthingsabouthimthat’llhelpyouworkupWillie’scharacterso’sit’llfithimlikeaglove.’

Rutherfordraisedhisglass.

‘Peggy,’hesaid,‘you’remorethanamascot.YououghttobedrawingabigcommissiononeverythingIwrite.Itbeatsmehowanyoftheseotherfellowseverwriteanythingwithoutyoutheretohelpthem.Iwonderwhat’sthemostexpensivecigartheykeephere?Imusthaveit,whateveritis.Noblesseoblige.Wepopularplaywrightsmustn’tbeseeninpublicsmokinganycheapstuff.’

*****

ItwasRutherford’sartistictemperamentwhich,whentheylefttherestaurant,madehimhailataxi–cab.Taxi–cabsarenotforyoungmendrawinginfinitesimalsalariesinbanks,evenifthosesalariesaresupplementedatrareintervalsbyashortstoryinamagazine.PeggywasforreturningtoAlcalabycar,butRutherfordrefusedtocountenancesuchananti–climax.

Peggynestledintothecornerofthecab,withatiredsigh,andtherewassilenceastheymovedsmoothlyupBroadway.

Hepeeredatherinthedimlight.Shelookedverysmallandwistfulandfragile.Suddenlyanintensedesiresurgedoverhimtopickherupandcrushhertohim.Hefoughtagainstit.Hetriedtofixhisthoughtsonthegirlathome,totellhimselfthathewasamanofhonour.Hisfingers,grippingtheedgeoftheseat,tightenedtilleverymuscleofhisarmwasrigid.

Thecab,crossingaroughpieceofroad,joltedPeggyfromhercorner.Herhandfellonhis.

‘Peggy!’hecried,hoarsely.

Hergreyeyeswerewet.Hecouldseethemglisten.Andthenhisarmswereroundher,andhewascoveringherupturnedfacewithkisses.

ThecabdrewupattheentrancetoAlcala.Theyalightedinsilence,andwithoutawordmadetheirwaythroughintothehall.Fromforceofhabit,Rutherfordglancedattheletter–rackonthewallatthefootofthestairs.Therewasoneletterinhispigeon–hole.

Mechanicallyhedrewitout;and,ashiseyesfellonthehandwriting,somethingseemedtosnapinsidehim.

HelookedatPeggy,standingonthebottomstair,andbackagainattheenvelopeinhishand.Hismoodwaschangingwithaviolencethatlefthimphysicallyweak.Hefeltdazed,asifhehadwakenedoutofatrance.

Withastrongefforthemasteredhimself.Peggyhadmountedafewsteps,andwaslookingbackathimoverhershoulder.Hecouldreadthemeaningnowinthegreyeyes.

‘Goodnight,Peggy,’hesaidinalowvoice.Sheturned,facinghim,andforamomentneithermoved.

‘Goodnight!’saidRutherfordagain.

Herlipsparted,asifshewereabouttospeak,butshesaidnothing.

Thensheturnedagain,andbegantowalkslowlyupstairs.

Hestoodwatchinghertillshehadreachedthetopofthelongflight.Shedidnotlook

back.

5

Peggy’snightlyvisitsbeganafreshafterthis,andtheghostonthetabletroubledRutherfordnomore.Hisrestlessnesslefthim.Hebegantowritewithanewvigourandsuccess.Inafteryearshewrotemanyplays,mostofthemgood,clear–cutpiecesofwork,butnonethatcamefromhimwiththeutterabsenceoflabourwhichmadethewritingofWillieintheWildernessajoy.Hewroteeasily,withouteffort.AndalwaysPeggywasthere,helping,stimulating,encouraging.

Sometimes,whenhecameinafterdinnertosettledowntowork,hewouldfindapieceofpaperonhistablecoveredwithherschoolgirlscrawl.Itwouldrunsomewhatasfollows:

‘Heisproudofhisarms.Theyareskinny,buthethinksthemthelimit.Betterputinashirt–sleevesceneforWilliesomewhere.’

‘Hethinkshehasabeautifulprofile.Couldn’tyoumakeoneofthegirlssaysomethingaboutWilliehavingthegoodsinthatline?’

‘Heiscrazyaboutgolf.’

‘HeisproudofhisFrenchaccent.Couldn’tyoumakeWilliespeakalittlepieceinFrench?’

‘He’beingWinfieldKnight.

*****

Andso,littlebylittle,thecharacterofWilliegrew,tillitceasedtobetheWillieofthemagazinestory,andbecameWinfieldKnighthimself,withimprovements.ThetaskbegantofascinateRutherford.Itwaslikeplanningapleasantsurpriseforachild.‘He’lllikethat,’hewouldsaytohimself,ashewroteinsomespeechenablingWillietodisplayoneoftheaccomplishments,realorimagined,oftheabsentactor.Peggyreadit,andapproved.ItwasshewhosuggestedthebigspeechinthesecondactwhereWilliedescribedtheprogressofhisloveaffairintermsofthegolf–links.Fromher,too,cameinformationastolittletraitsintheman’scharacterwhichthestrangerwouldnothavesuspected.

AstheplayprogressedRutherfordwasamazedatthecompletenessofthecharacterhehadbuilt.Itlived.Willieinthemagazinestorymighthavebeenanyone.Hefittedintothestory,butyoucouldnotseehim.Hehadnorealindividuality.ButWillieintheplay!Hefeltthathewouldrecognizehiminthestreet.TherewasallthedifferencebetweenthetwothatthereisbetweenanamelessfigureinsomecheappictureandaportraitbySargent.Thereweretimeswhenthestoryoftheplayseemedthintohim,andtheothercharacterswooden,butinhisblackestmoodshewassureofWillie.Allthecontradictionsinthecharacterrangtrue:thehumour,thepathos,thesurfacevanitycoveringarealdiffidence,thestrengthandweaknessfightingoneanother.

‘You’realive,myson,’saidRutherford,admiringly,ashereadthesheets.‘Butyoudon’tbelongtome.’

Atlasttherecamethedaywhentheplaywasfinished,whenthelastlinewaswritten,andthelastpossiblealterationmade;andlater,thedaywhenRutherford,bearingthebrown–

paper–coveredpackageunderhisarm,calledatthePlayers’ClubtokeepanappointmentwithWinfieldKnight.

AlmostfromthefirstRutherfordhadafeelingthathehadmetthemanbefore,thatheknewhim.Astheiracquaintanceprogressed—theactorwasinanexpansivemood,andtalkedmuchbeforecomingtobusiness—thefeelinggrew.Thenheunderstood.ThiswasWillie,andnoother.Thelikenesswasextraordinary.Littleturnsofthought,littleexpressions—theywereallintheplay.

Theactorpausedinadescriptionofhowhehadalmostbeatenachampionatgolf,andlookedattheparcel.

‘Isthattheplay?’hesaid.

‘Yes,’saidRutherford.‘ShallIreadit?’

‘GuessI’lljustlookthroughitmyself.Where’sActI?Hereweare!Haveacigarwhileyou’rewaiting?’

Rutherfordsettledhimselfinhischair,andwatchedtheother’sface.Forthefirstfewpages,whichcontainedsometamedialoguebetweenminorcharacters,itwasblank.

‘“EnterWillie,”’hesaid.‘AmIWillie?’

‘Ihopeso,’saidRutherford,withasmile.‘It’sthestarpart.’

‘H’m.’

Hewentonreading.Rutherfordwatchedhimwithfurtivekeenness.Therewasalinecomingatthebottomofthepagewhichhewasthenreadingwhichoughttohithim,anepigramongolf,awhimsicalthoughtputalmostexactlyashehadputithimselffiveminutesbackwhentellinghisgolfstory.

Theshotdidnotmissfire.ThechucklefromtheactorandthesighofrelieffromRutherfordwerealmostsimultaneous.WinfieldKnightturnedtohim.

‘That’sadandylineaboutgolf,’saidhe.

Rutherfordpuffedcomplacentlyathiscigar.

‘There’slotsmoreoftheminthepiece,’hesaid.

‘Bullyforyou,’saidtheactor.Andwentonreading.

Three–quartersofanhourpassedbeforehespokeagain.Thenhelookedup.

‘It’sme,’hesaid;‘it’smeallthetime.IwishI’dseenthisbeforeIputonthepunkI’mdoingnow.Thisismefromthedriveoffthetee.It’sgreat!Say,what’llyouhave?’

Rutherfordleanedbackinhischair,hismindinawhirl.Hehadarrivedatlast.Hisstruggleswereover.Hewouldnotadmitofthepossibilityoftheplaybeingafailure.Hewasamademan.Hecouldgowherehepleased,anddoashepleased.

ItgavehimsomethingofashocktofindhowpersistentlyhisthoughtsrefusedtoremaininEngland.Tryashemighttokeepthemthere,theykeptflittingbacktoAlcala.

6

WillieintheWildernesswasnotafailure.Itwasatriumph.Principally,itistrue,apersonaltriumphforWinfieldKnight.Everyonewasagreedthathehadneverhadapartthatsuitedhimsowell.Criticsforgavetheblundersofthepieceforthesakeofitsprincipalcharacter.Theplaywasacuriouslyamateurishthing.ItwasonlylaterthatRutherfordlearnedcraftandcaution.WhenhewroteWilliehewasacolt,ramblinguncheckedthroughthefieldofplay–writing,ignorantofitspitfalls.But,withallitsfaults,WillieintheWildernesswasasuccess.Itmight,asonecriticpointedout,bemoreofamonologueactforWinfieldKnightthanaplay,butthatdidnotaffectRutherford.

ItwaslateontheopeningnightwhenhereturnedtoAlcala.Hehadtriedtogetawayearlier.HewantedtoseePeggy.ButWinfieldKnight,flushedwithsuccess,wasinhismostexpansivemood.HeseizeduponRutherfordandwouldnotlethimgo.Therewassupper,agay,uproarioussupper,atwhicheverybodyseemedtobecongratulatingeverybodyelse.Menhehadnevermetbeforeshookhimwarmlybythehand.Somebodymadeaspeech,despitetheeffortsoftherestofthecompanytopreventhim.Rutherfordsatthere,dazed,outoftouchwiththemoodoftheparty.HewantedPeggy.Hewastiredofallthisexcitementandnoise.Hehadhadenoughofit.Allheaskedwastobeallowedtoslipawayquietlyandgohome.Hewantedtothink,totryandrealizewhatallthismeanttohim.

Atlengththepartybrokeupinonelastexplosionofhandshakingandcongratulations;and,eludingWinfieldKnight,whoproposedtotakehimofftohisclub,hestartedtowalkupBroadway.

ItwaslatewhenhereachedAlcala.Therewasalightinhisroom.Peggyhadwaiteduptohearthenews.

Shejumpedoffthetableashecamein.

‘Well?’shecried.

Rutherfordsatdownandstretchedouthislegs.

‘It’sasuccess,’hesaid.‘Atremendoussuccess!’

Peggyclappedherhands.

‘Bullyforyou,George!Iknewitwouldbe.Tellmeallaboutit.WasWinfieldgood?’

‘Hewasthewholepiece.Therewasnothinginitbuthim.’Heroseandplacedhishandsonhershoulders.‘Peggy,oldgirl,Idon’tknowwhattosay.YouknowaswellasIdothatit’sallowingtoyouthatthepiecehasbeenasuccess.IfIhadn’thadyourhelp—’

Peggylaughed.

‘Oh,beatit,George!’shesaid.‘Don’tyoucomejollyingme.Ilooklikeahigh–browplaywright,don’tI!No;I’mrealgladyou’vemadeahit,George,butdon’tstarthandingoutanystoryaboutit’snotbeingyourown.Ididn’tdoathing.’

‘Youdid.Youdideverything.’

‘Ididn’t.But,say,don’tlet’sstartquarrelling.Tellmemoreaboutit.Howmanycallsdidyoutake.’

Hetoldherallthathadhappened.Whenhehadfinished,therewasasilence.

‘Iguessyou’llbequittingsoon,George?’saidPeggy,atlast.‘Nowthatyou’vemadeahome–run.You’llbegoingbacktothatrubejoint,withthecowsandhens—isn’tthatit?’

Rutherforddidnotreply.Hewasstaringthoughtfullyatthefloor.Hedidnotseemtohaveheard.

‘Iguessthatgirl’llbegladtoseeyou,’shewenton.‘Shallyoucabletomorrow,George?Andthenyou’llgetmarriedandgoandliveintherubehouse,andbecomearegularhayseedand—’Shebrokeoffsuddenly,withacatchinhervoice.‘Gee,’shewhispered,halttoherself,‘I’llbesorrywhenyougo,George.’

Hesprangup.

‘Peggy!’

Heseizedherbythearm.Heheardthequickintakeofherbreath.

‘Peggy,listen!’Hegrippedhertillshewincedwithpain.‘I’mnotgoingback.I’mnevergoingback.I’macad,I’mahound!IknowIam.ButI’mnotgoingback.I’mgoingtostayherewithyou.Iwantyou,Peggy.Doyouhear?Iwantyou!’

Shetriedtodrawherselfaway,butheheldher.

‘Iloveyou,Peggy!Peggy,willyoubemywife?’

Therewasutterastonishmentinhergreyeyes.Herfacewasverywhite.

‘Willyou,Peggy?’

Hedroppedherarm.

‘Willyou,Peggy?’

‘No!’shecried.

Hedrewback.

‘No!’shecriedsharply,asifithurthertospeak.‘Iwouldn’tplayyousuchameantrick.I’mtoofondofyou,George.There’sneverbeenanybodyjustlikeyou.You’vebeenmightygoodtome.I’venevermetamanwhotreatedmelikeyou.You’retheonlyrealwhitemanthat’severhappenedtome,andIguessI’mnotgoingtoplayyoualow–downtricklikespoilingyourlife.George,Ithoughtyouknew.Honest,Ithoughtyouknew.HowdidyouthinkIlivedinaswellplacelikethis,ifyoudidn’tknow?HowdidyousupposeeveryoneknewmeatRector’s?HowdidyouthinkI’dmanagedtofindoutsomuchaboutWinfieldKnight?Can’tyouguess?’

Shedrewalongbreath.

‘I—’

Heinterruptedherhoarsely.

‘Isthereanyonenow,Peggy?’

‘Yes,’shesaid,‘thereis.’

‘Youdon’tlovehim,Peggy,doyou?’

‘Lovehim?’Shelaughedbitterly.‘No;Idon’tlovehim.’

‘Thencometome,dear,’hesaid.

Sheshookherheadinsilence.Rutherfordsatdown,hischinrestinginhishands.Shecameacrosstohim,andsmoothedhishair.

‘Itwouldn’tdo,George,’shesaid.‘Honest,itwouldn’tdo.Listen.Whenwefirstmet,I—Iratherlikedyou,George,andIwasmadatyouforbeingsofondoftheothergirlandtakingnonoticeofme—notinthewayIwanted,andItried—Gee,Ifeelmean.Itwasallmyfault.Ididn’tthinkitwouldmatter.Theredidn’tseemnochancethenofyourbeingabletogobackandhavethesortofgoodtimeyouwanted;andIthoughtyou’djuststayhereandwe’dbepalsand—butnowyoucangoback,it’salldifferent.Icouldn’tkeepyou.Itwouldbetoomean.Yousee,youdon’treallywanttostop.Youthinkyoudo,butyoudon’t!’

‘Iloveyou,’hemuttered.

‘You’llforgetme.It’salljustaBroadwaydream,George.Thinkofitlikethat.Broadway’sgotyounow,butyoudon’treallybelong.You’renotlikeme.It’snotinyourblood,so’syoucan’tgetitout.It’sthechickensandrosesyouwantreally.JustaBroadwaydream.That’swhatitis.George,whenIwasakid,Iremembercryingandcryingforalumpofcandyinthewindowofastoretilloneofmybrothersupandboughtitformejusttostoptheracket.Gee!ForaboutaminuteIwasthebusiestthingthateverhappened,eatingaway.Andthenitdidn’tseemtointerestmenomore.Broadway’slikethatforyou,George.Yougobacktothegirlandthecowsandallofit.It’llhurtsome,Iguess,butIreckonyou’llbegladyoudid.’

Shestoopedswiftly,andkissedhimontheforehead.

‘I’llmissyou,dear,’shesaid,softly,andwasgone.

*****

Rutherfordsaton,motionless.Outside,theblacknesschangedtogrey,andthegreytowhite.Hegotup.Hefeltverystiffandcold.

‘ABroadwaydream!’hemuttered.

Hewenttothemantelpieceandtookupthephotograph.Hecarriedittothewindowwherehecouldseeitbetter.

Ashaftofsunlightpiercedthecurtainsandfelluponit.