diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 11045-0.txt | 5513 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11045-8.txt | 5931 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11045-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 118000 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11045.txt | 5931 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11045.zip | bin | 0 -> 117969 bytes |
8 files changed, 17391 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/11045-0.txt b/11045-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..88eaa19 --- /dev/null +++ b/11045-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5513 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11045 *** + +THE GHOST-SHIP + +by Richard Middleton + + + + Thanks are due to the Editors of _The Century_, + _English Review_, _Vanity Fair_, and _The Academy_, for + permission to reproduce most of the stories in this volume. + + + + +Preface + +The other day I said to a friend, "I have just been reading in proof +a volume of short stories by an author named Richard Middleton. He is +dead. It is an extraordinary book, and all the work in it is full of +a quite curious and distinctive quality. In my opinion it is very +fine work indeed." + +It would be so simple if the business of the introducer or +preface-writer were limited to such a straightforward, honest, and +direct expression of opinion; unfortunately that is not so. For most +of us, the happier ones of the world, it is enough to say "I like +it," or "I don't like it," and there is an end: the critic has to +answer the everlasting "Why?" And so, I suppose, it is my office, +in this present instance, to say why I like the collection of tales +that follows. + +I think that I have found a hint as to the right answer in two of +these stories. One is called "The Story of a Book," the other "The +Biography of a Superman." Each is rather an essay than a tale, though +the form of each is narrative. The first relates the sad bewilderment +of a successful novelist who feels that, after all, his great work +was something less than nothing. + + He could not help noticing that London had discovered the + secret which made his intellectual life a torment. The + streets were more than a mere assemblage of houses, + London herself was more than a tangled skein of streets, + and overhead heaven was more than a meeting-place of + individual stars. What was this secret that made words + into a book, houses into cities, and restless and + measurable stars into an unchanging and immeasurable + universe? + +Then from "The Biography of a Superman" I select this very striking +passage:-- + + Possessed of an intellect of great analytic and + destructive force, he was almost entirely lacking + in imagination, and he was therefore unable + to raise his work to a plane in which the mutually + combative elements of his nature might have been + reconciled. His light moments of envy, anger, and + vanity passed into the crucible to come forth + unchanged. He lacked the magic wand, and his work + never took wings above his conception. + +Now compare the two places; "the streets were more than a mere +assemblage of houses;" . . . "his light moments . . . passed into the +crucible to come forth unchanged. He lacked the magic wand." I think +these two passages indicate the answer to the "why" that I am forced +to resolve; show something of the secret of the strange charm which +"The Ghost-Ship" possesses. + +It delights because it is significant, because it is no mere +assemblage of words and facts and observations and incidents, it +delights because its matter has not passed through the crucible +unchanged. On the contrary, the jumble of experiences and impressions +which fell to the lot of the author as to us all had assuredly been +placed in the athanor of art, in that furnace of the sages which is +said to be governed with wisdom. Lead entered the burning of the +fire, gold came forth from it. + +This analogy of the process of alchemy which Richard Middleton has +himself suggested is one of the finest and the fittest for our +purpose; but there are many others. The "magic wand" analogy comes to +much the same thing; there is the like notion of something ugly and +insignificant changed to something beautiful and significant. +Something ugly; shall we not say rather something formless transmuted +into form! After all, the Latin Dictionary declares solemnly that +"beauty" is one of the meanings of "forma" And here we are away from +alchemy and the magic wand ideas, and pass to the thought of the +first place that I have quoted: "the streets were more than a mere +assemblage of houses," The puzzle is solved; the jig-saw--I think +they call it--has been successfully fitted together, There in a box +lay all the jagged, irregular pieces, each in itself crazy and +meaningless and irritating by its very lack of meaning: now we see +each part adapted to the other and the whole is one picture and one +purpose. + +But the first thing necessary to this achievement is the recognition +of the fact that there is a puzzle. There are many people who go +through life persuaded that there isn't a puzzle at all; that it was +only the infancy and rude childhood of the world which dreamed a vain +dream of a picture to be made out of the jagged bits of wood, There +never has been a picture, these persons say, and there never will be +a picture, all we have to do is to take the bits out of the box, look +at them, and put them back again. Or, returning to Richard +Middleton's excellent example: there is no such thing as London, +there are only houses. No man has seen London at any time; the very +word (meaning "the fort on the lake") is nonsensical; no human eye +has ever beheld aught else but a number of houses; it is clear that +this "London" is as mythical and monstrous and irrational a concept +as many others of the same class. Well, people who talk like that are +doubtless sent into the world for some useful but mysterious process; +but they can't write real books. Richard Middleton knew that there +was a puzzle; in other words, that the universe is a great mystery; +and this consciousness of his is the source of the charm of "The +Ghost Ship." + +I have compared this orthodox view of life and the +universe and the fine art that results from this view to the solving +of a puzzle; but the analogy is not an absolutely perfect one. For if +you buy a jig-saw in a box in the Haymarket, you take it home with +you and begin to put the pieces together, and sooner or later the +toil is over and the difficulties are overcome: the picture is clear +before you. Yes, the toil is over, but so is the fun; it is but poor +sport to do the trick all over again. And here is the vast +inferiority of the things they sell in the shops to the universe: our +great puzzle is never perfectly solved. We come across marvellous +hints, we join line to line and our hearts beat with the rapture of a +great surmise; we follow a certain track and know by sure signs and +signals that we are not mistaken, that we are on the right road; we +are furnished with certain charts which tell us "here there be +water-pools," "here is a waste place," "here a high hill riseth," and +we find as we journey that so it is. But, happily, by the very nature +of the case, we can never put the whole of the picture together, we +can never recover the perfect utterance of the Lost Word, we can +never say "here is the end of all the journey." Man is so made that +all his true delight arises from the contemplation of mystery, and +save by his own frantic and invincible folly, mystery is never taken +from him; it rises within his soul, a well of joy unending. + +Hence it is that the consciousness of this mystery, resolved into the +form of art, expresses itself usually (or always) by symbols, by the +part put for the whole. Now and then, as in the case of Dante, as it +was with the great romance-cycle of the Holy Graal, we have a sense +of completeness. With the vision of the Angelic Rose and the sentence +concerning that Love which moves the sun and the other stars there is +the shadow of a catholic survey of all things; and so in a less +degree it is as we read of the translation of Galahad. Still, the +Rose and the Graal are but symbols of the eternal verities, not those +verities themselves in their essences; and in these later days when +we have become clever--with the cleverness of the Performing Pig--it +is a great thing to find the most obscure and broken indications of +the things which really are. There is the true enchantment of true +romance in the Don Quixote--for those who can understand--but it is +delivered in the mode of parody and burlesque; and so it is with the +extraordinary fantasy, "The Ghost-Ship," which gives its name to this +collection of tales. Take this story to bits, as it were; analyse it; +you will be astonished at its frantic absurdity: the ghostly galleon +blown in by a great tempest to a turnip-patch in Fairfield, a little +village lying near the Portsmouth Road about half-way between London +and the sea; the farmer grumbling at the loss of so many turnips; the +captain of the weird vessel acknowledging the justice of the claim +and tossing a great gold brooch to the landlord by way of satisfying +the debt; the deplorable fact that all the decent village ghosts +learned to riot with Captain Bartholomew Roberts; the visit of the +parson and his godly admonitions to the Captain on the evil work he +was doing; mere craziness, you will say? + +Yes; but the strange thing is that as, in spite of all jocose tricks +and low-comedy misadventures, Don Quixote departs from us with a +great light shining upon him; so this ghost-ship of Richard +Middleton's, somehow or other, sails and anchors and re-sails in an +unearthly glow; and Captain Bartholomew's rum that was like hot oil +and honey and fire in the veins of the mortals who drank of it, has +become for me one of the _nobilium poculorum_ of story. And thus did +the ship put forth from the village and sail away in a great tempest +of wind--to what unimaginable seas of the spirit! + + The wind that had been howling outside + like an outrageous dog had all of a sudden + turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a + Christmas Eve. + + We went to the door, and the wind burst it + open so that the handle was driven clean into + the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think + much of that at the time; for over our heads, + sailing very comfortably through the windy + stars, was the ship that had passed the + summer in landlord's field. Her portholes + and her bay-window were blazing with lights, + and there was a noise of singing and fiddling + on her decks. "He's gone," shouted landlord + above the storm, "and he's taken half the + village with him!" I could only nod in + answer, not having lungs like bellows of + leather. + +I declare I would not exchange this short, crazy, enchanting fantasy +for a whole wilderness of seemly novels, proclaiming in decorous +accents the undoubted truth that there are milestones on the +Portsmouth Road. + + Arthur Machen. + + + + +The Ghost-Ship + +Fairfield is a little village lying near the Portsmouth Road about +half-way between London and the sea. Strangers who find it by +accident now and then, call it a pretty, old-fashioned place; we who +live in it and call it home don't find anything very pretty about it, +but we should be sorry to live anywhere else. Our minds have taken +the shape of the inn and the church and the green, I suppose. At all +events we never feel comfortable out of Fairfield. + +Of course the Cockneys, with their vasty houses and noise-ridden +streets, can call us rustics if they choose, but for all that +Fairfield is a better place to live in than London. Doctor says that +when he goes to London his mind is bruised with the weight of the +houses, and he was a Cockney born. He had to live there himself when +he was a little chap, but he knows better now. You gentlemen may +laugh--perhaps some of you come from London way--but it seems to me +that a witness like that is worth a gallon of arguments. + +Dull? Well, you might find it dull, but I assure you that I've +listened to all the London yarns you have spun tonight, and they're +absolutely nothing to the things that happen at Fairfield. It's +because of our way of thinking and minding our own business. If one +of your Londoners were set down on the green of a Saturday night when +the ghosts of the lads who died in the war keep tryst with the lasses +who lie in the church-yard, he couldn't help being curious and +interfering, and then the ghosts would go somewhere where it was +quieter. But we just let them come and go and don't make any fuss, +and in consequence Fairfield is the ghostiest place in all England. +Why, I've seen a headless man sitting on the edge of the well in +broad daylight, and the children playing about his feet as if he were +their father. Take my word for it, spirits know when they are well +off as much as human beings. + +Still, I must admit that the thing I'm going to tell you about was +queer even for our part of the world, where three packs of +ghost-hounds hunt regularly during the season, and blacksmith's +great-grandfather is busy all night shoeing the dead gentlemen's +horses. Now that's a thing that wouldn't happen in London, because of +their interfering ways, but blacksmith he lies up aloft and sleeps as +quiet as a lamb. Once when he had a bad head he shouted down to them +not to make so much noise, and in the morning he found an old guinea +left on the anvil as an apology. He wears it on his watch-chain now. +But I must get on with my story; if I start telling you about the +queer happenings at Fairfield I'll never stop. + +It all came of the great storm in the spring of '97, the year that we +had two great storms. This was the first one, and I remember it very +well, because I found in the morning that it had lifted the thatch of +my pigsty into the widow's garden as clean as a boy's kite. When I +looked over the hedge, widow--Tom Lamport's widow that was--was +prodding for her nasturtiums with a daisy-grubber. After I had +watched her for a little I went down to the "Fox and Grapes" to tell +landlord what she had said to me. Landlord he laughed, being a +married man and at ease with the sex. "Come to that," he said, "the +tempest has blowed something into my field. A kind of a ship I +think it would be." + +I was surprised at that until he explained that it was only a +ghost-ship and would do no hurt to the turnips. We argued that +it had been blown up from the sea at Portsmouth, and then we +talked of something else. There were two slates down at the +parsonage and a big tree in Lumley's meadow. It was a rare +storm. + +I reckon the wind had blown our ghosts all over England. +They were coming back for days afterwards with foundered horses +and as footsore as possible, and they were so glad to get back +to Fairfield that some of them walked up the street crying like +little children. Squire said that his great-grandfather's +great-grandfather hadn't looked so dead-beat since the battle +of Naseby, and he's an educated man. + +What with one thing and another, I should think it was a week before +we got straight again, and then one afternoon I met the landlord on +the green and he had a worried face. "I wish you'd come and have a +look at that ship in my field," he said to me; "it seems to me it's +leaning real hard on the turnips. I can't bear thinking what the +missus will say when she sees it." + +I walked down the lane with him, and sure enough there was a +ship in the middle of his field, but such a ship as no man had +seen on the water for three hundred years, let alone in the +middle of a turnip-field. It was all painted black and covered +with carvings, and there was a great bay window in the stern +for all the world like the Squire's drawing-room. There was a +crowd of little black cannon on deck and looking out of her +port-holes, and she was anchored at each end to the hard +ground. I have seen the wonders of the world on picture-postcards, +but I have never seen anything to equal that. + +"She seems very solid for a ghost-ship," I said, seeing the landlord +was bothered. + +"I should say it's a betwixt and between," he answered, puzzling it +over, "but it's going to spoil a matter of fifty turnips, and missus +she'll want it moved." We went up to her and touched the side, and it +was as hard as a real ship. "Now there's folks in England would call +that very curious," he said. + +Now I don't know much about ships, but I should think that that +ghost-ship weighed a solid two hundred tons, and it seemed to me +that she had come to stay, so that I felt sorry for landlord, who was +a married man. "All the horses in Fairfield won't move her out of my +turnips," he said, frowning at her. + +Just then we heard a noise on her deck, and we looked up and saw that +a man had come out of her front cabin and was looking down at us very +peaceably. He was dressed in a black uniform set out with rusty gold +lace, and he had a great cutlass by his side in a brass sheath. "I'm +Captain Bartholomew Roberts," he said, in a gentleman's voice, "put +in for recruits. I seem to have brought her rather far up the +harbour." + +"Harbour!" cried landlord; "why, you're fifty miles from the sea." + +Captain Roberts didn't turn a hair. "So much as that, is it?" he said +coolly. "Well, it's of no consequence." + +Landlord was a bit upset at this. "I don't want to be unneighbourly," +he said, "but I wish you hadn't brought your ship into my field. You +see, my wife sets great store on these turnips." + +The captain took a pinch of snuff out of a fine gold box that he +pulled out of his pocket, and dusted his fingers with a silk +handkerchief in a very genteel fashion. "I'm only here for a few +months," he said; "but if a testimony of my esteem would pacify your +good lady I should be content," and with the words he loosed a great +gold brooch from the neck of his coat and tossed it down to landlord. + +Landlord blushed as red as a strawberry. "I'm not denying she's fond +of jewellery," he said, "but it's too much for half a sackful of +turnips." And indeed it was a handsome brooch. + +The captain laughed. "Tut, man," he said, "it's a forced sale, and +you deserve a good price. Say no more about it;" and nodding good-day +to us, he turned on his heel and went into the cabin. Landlord walked +back up the lane like a man with a weight off his mind. "That tempest +has blowed me a bit of luck," he said; "the missus will be much +pleased with that brooch. It's better than blacksmith's guinea, any +day." + +Ninety-seven was Jubilee year, the year of the second Jubilee, you +remember, and we had great doings at Fairfield, so that we hadn't +much time to bother about the ghost-ship though anyhow it isn't our +way to meddle in things that don't concern us. Landlord, he saw his +tenant once or twice when he was hoeing his turnips and passed the +time of day, and landlord's wife wore her new brooch to church every +Sunday. But we didn't mix much with the ghosts at any time, all +except an idiot lad there was in the village, and he didn't know the +difference between a man and a ghost, poor innocent! On Jubilee Day, +however, somebody told Captain Roberts why the church bells were +ringing, and he hoisted a flag and fired off his guns like a loyal +Englishman. 'Tis true the guns were shotted, and one of the round +shot knocked a hole in Farmer Johnstone's barn, but nobody thought +much of that in such a season of rejoicing. + +It wasn't till our celebrations were over that we noticed that +anything was wrong in Fairfield. 'Twas shoemaker who told me first +about it one morning at the "Fox and Grapes." "You know my great +great-uncle?" he said to me. + +"You mean Joshua, the quiet lad," I answered, knowing him well. + +"Quiet!" said shoemaker indignantly. "Quiet you call him, coming home +at three o'clock every morning as drunk as a magistrate and waking up +the whole house with his noise." + +"Why, it can't be Joshua!" I said, for I knew him for one of the most +respectable young ghosts in the village. + +"Joshua it is," said shoemaker; "and one of these nights he'll find +himself out in the street if he isn't careful." + +This kind of talk shocked me, I can tell you, for I don't like to +hear a man abusing his own family, and I could hardly believe that a +steady youngster like Joshua had taken to drink. But just then in +came butcher Aylwin in such a temper that he could hardly drink his +beer. "The young puppy! the young puppy!" he kept on saying; and it +was some time before shoemaker and I found out that he was talking +about his ancestor that fell at Senlac. + +"Drink?" said shoemaker hopefully, for we all like company in our +misfortunes, and butcher nodded grimly. + +"The young noodle," he said, emptying his tankard. + +Well, after that I kept my ears open, and it was the same story all +over the village. There was hardly a young man among all the ghosts +of Fairfield who didn't roll home in the small hours of the morning +the worse for liquor. I used to wake up in the night and hear them +stumble past my house, singing outrageous songs. The worst of it was +that we couldn't keep the scandal to ourselves and the folk at +Greenhill began to talk of "sodden Fairfield" and taught their +children to sing a song about us: + + "Sodden Fairfield, sodden Fairfield, has no use for bread-and-butter, + Rum for breakfast, rum for dinner, rum for tea, and rum for supper!" + +We are easy-going in our village, but we didn't like that. + +Of course we soon found out where the young fellows went to get the +drink, and landlord was terribly cut up that his tenant should have +turned out so badly, but his wife wouldn't hear of parting with the +brooch, so that he couldn't give the Captain notice to quit. But as +time went on, things grew from bad to worse, and at all hours of the +day you would see those young reprobates sleeping it off on the +village green. Nearly every afternoon a ghost-wagon used to jolt down +to the ship with a lading of rum, and though the older ghosts seemed +inclined to give the Captain's hospitality the go-by, the youngsters +were neither to hold nor to bind. + +So one afternoon when I was taking my nap I heard a knock at the +door, and there was parson looking very serious, like a man with a +job before him that he didn't altogether relish. "I'm going down to +talk to the Captain about all this drunkenness in the village, and I +want you to come with me," he said straight out. + +I can't say that I fancied the visit much, myself, and I tried to +hint to parson that as, after all, they were only a lot of ghosts it +didn't very much matter. + +"Dead or alive, I'm responsible for the good conduct," he said, "and +I'm going to do my duty and put a stop to this continued disorder. +And you are coming with me John Simmons." So I went, parson being a +persuasive kind of man. + +We went down to the ship, and as we approached her I could see the +Captain tasting the air on deck. When he saw parson he took off his +hat very politely and I can tell you that I was relieved to find that +he had a proper respect for the cloth. Parson acknowledged his salute +and spoke out stoutly enough. "Sir, I should be glad to have a word +with you." + +"Come on board, sir; come on board," said the Captain, and I could +tell by his voice that he knew why we were there. Parson and I +climbed up an uneasy kind of ladder, and the Captain took us into the +great cabin at the back of the ship, where the bay-window was. It was +the most wonderful place you ever saw in your life, all full of gold +and silver plate, swords with jewelled scabbards, carved oak chairs, +and great chests that look as though they were bursting with guineas. +Even parson was surprised, and he did not shake his head very hard +when the Captain took down some silver cups and poured us out a drink +of rum. I tasted mine, and I don't mind saying that it changed my +view of things entirely. There was nothing betwixt and between about +that rum, and I felt that it was ridiculous to blame the lads for +drinking too much of stuff like that. It seemed to fill my veins with +honey and fire. + +Parson put the case squarely to the Captain, but I didn't listen much +to what he said; I was busy sipping my drink and looking through the +window at the fishes swimming to and fro over landlord's turnips. +Just then it seemed the most natural thing in the world that they +should be there, though afterwards, of course, I could see that that +proved it was a ghost-ship. + +But even then I thought it was queer when I saw a drowned sailor +float by in the thin air with his hair and beard all full of bubbles. +It was the first time I had seen anything quite like that at +Fairfield. + +All the time I was regarding the wonders of the deep parson was +telling Captain Roberts how there was no peace or rest in the village +owing to the curse of drunkenness, and what a bad example the +youngsters were setting to the older ghosts. The Captain listened +very attentively, and only put in a word now and then about boys +being boys and young men sowing their wild oats. But when parson had +finished his speech he filled up our silver cups and said to parson, +with a flourish, "I should be sorry to cause trouble anywhere where I +have been made welcome, and you will be glad to hear that I put to +sea tomorrow night. And now you must drink me a prosperous voyage." +So we all stood up and drank the toast with honour, and that noble +rum was like hot oil in my veins. + +After that Captain showed us some of the curiosities he had brought +back from foreign parts, and we were greatly amazed, though +afterwards I couldn't clearly remember what they were. And then I +found myself walking across the turnips with parson, and I was +telling him of the glories of the deep that I had seen through the +window of the ship. He turned on me severely. "If I were you, John +Simmons," he said, "I should go straight home to bed." He has a way +of putting things that wouldn't occur to an ordinary man, has parson, +and I did as he told me. + +Well, next day it came on to blow, and it blew harder and harder, +till about eight o'clock at night I heard a noise and looked out into +the garden. I dare say you won't believe me, it seems a bit tall even +to me, but the wind had lifted the thatch of my pigsty into the +widow's garden a second time. I thought I wouldn't wait to hear what +widow had to say about it, so I went across the green to the "Fox and +Grapes", and the wind was so strong that I danced along on tiptoe +like a girl at the fair. When I got to the inn landlord had to help +me shut the door; it seemed as though a dozen goats were pushing +against it to come in out of the storm. + +"It's a powerful tempest," he said, drawing the beer. "I hear there's +a chimney down at Dickory End." + +"It's a funny thing how these sailors know about the weather," I +answered. "When Captain said he was going tonight, I was thinking it +would take a capful of wind to carry the ship back to sea, but now +here's more than a capful." + +"Ah, yes," said landlord, "it's tonight he goes true enough, and, +mind you, though he treated me handsome over the rent, I'm not sure +it's a loss to the village. I don't hold with gentrice who fetch +their drink from London instead of helping local traders to get their +living." + +"But you haven't got any rum like his," I said, to draw him out. + +His neck grew red above his collar, and I was afraid I'd gone too +far; but after a while he got his breath with a grunt. + +"John Simmons," he said, "if you've come down here this windy night +to talk a lot of fool's talk, you've wasted a journey." + +Well, of course, then I had to smooth him down with praising his rum, +and Heaven forgive me for swearing it was better than Captain's. For +the like of that rum no living lips have tasted save mine and +parson's. But somehow or other I brought landlord round, and +presently we must have a glass of his best to prove its quality. + +"Beat that if you can!" he cried, and we both raised our glasses to +our mouths, only to stop half-way and look at each other in amaze. +For the wind that had been howling outside like an outrageous dog had +all of a sudden turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a Christmas +Eve. + +"Surely that's not my Martha," whispered landlord; Martha being his +great-aunt that lived in the loft overhead. + +We went to the door, and the wind burst it open so that the handle +was driven clean into the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think +about that at the time; for over our heads, sailing very comfortably +through the windy stars, was the ship that had passed the summer in +landlord's field. Her portholes and her bay-window were blazing with +lights, and there was a noise of singing and fiddling on her decks. +"He's gone," shouted landlord above the storm, "and he's taken half +the village with him!" I could only nod in answer, not having lungs +like bellows of leather. + +In the morning we were able to measure the strength of the storm, and +over and above my pigsty there was damage enough wrought in the +village to keep us busy. True it is that the children had to break +down no branches for the firing that autumn, since the wind had +strewn the woods with more than they could carry away. Many of our +ghosts were scattered abroad, but this time very few came back, all +the young men having sailed with Captain; and not only ghosts, for a +poor half-witted lad was missing, and we reckoned that he had stowed +himself away or perhaps shipped as cabin-boy, not knowing any better. + +What with the lamentations of the ghost-girls and the grumbling of +families who had lost an ancestor, the village was upset for a while, +and the funny thing was that it was the folk who had complained most +of the carryings-on of the youngsters, who made most noise now that +they were gone. I hadn't any sympathy with shoemaker or butcher, who +ran about saying how much they missed their lads, but it made me +grieve to hear the poor bereaved girls calling their lovers by name +on the village green at nightfall. It didn't seem fair to me that +they should have lost their men a second time, after giving up life +in order to join them, as like as not. Still, not even a spirit can +be sorry for ever, and after a few months we made up our mind that +the folk who had sailed in the ship were never coming back, and we +didn't talk about it any more. + +And then one day, I dare say it would be a couple of years after, +when the whole business was quite forgotten, who should come +trapesing along the road from Portsmouth but the daft lad who had +gone away with the ship, without waiting till he was dead to become a +ghost. You never saw such a boy as that in all your life. He had a +great rusty cutlass hanging to a string at his waist, and he was +tattooed all over in fine colours, so that even his face looked like +a girl's sampler. He had a handkerchief in his hand full of foreign +shells and old-fashioned pieces of small money, very curious, and he +walked up to the well outside his mother's house and drew himself a +drink as if he had been nowhere in particular. + +The worst of it was that he had come back as soft-headed as he went, +and try as we might we couldn't get anything reasonable out of him. +He talked a lot of gibberish about keel-hauling and walking the +plank and crimson murders--things which a decent sailor should know +nothing about, so that it seemed to me that for all his manners +Captain had been more of a pirate than a gentleman mariner. But to +draw sense out of that boy was as hard as picking cherries off a +crab-tree. One silly tale he had that he kept on drifting back to, +and to hear him you would have thought that it was the only thing +that happened to him in his life. "We was at anchor," he would say, +"off an island called the Basket of Flowers, and the sailors had +caught a lot of parrots and we were teaching them to swear. Up and +down the decks, up and down the decks, and the language they used +was dreadful. Then we looked up and saw the masts of the Spanish +ship outside the harbour. Outside the harbour they were, so we threw +the parrots into the sea and sailed out to fight. And all the +parrots were drownded in the sea and the language they used was +dreadful." That's the sort of boy he was, nothing but silly talk of +parrots when we asked him about the fighting. And we never had a +chance of teaching him better, for two days after he ran away again, +and hasn't been seen since. + +That's my story, and I assure you that things like that are happening +at Fairfield all the time. The ship has never come back, but somehow +as people grow older they seem to think that one of these windy +nights she'll come sailing in over the hedges with all the lost +ghosts on board. Well, when she comes, she'll be welcome. There's one +ghost-lass that has never grown tired of waiting for her lad to +return. Every night you'll see her out on the green, straining her +poor eyes with looking for the mast-lights among the stars. A +faithful lass you'd call her, and I'm thinking you'd be right. + +Landlord's field wasn't a penny the worse for the visit, but they do +say that since then the turnips that have been grown in it have +tasted of rum. + + + + +A Drama Of Youth + + I + +For some days school had seemed to me even more tedious than usual. +The long train journey in the morning, the walk through Farringdon +Meat Market, which æsthetic butchers made hideous with mosaics of the +intestines of animals, as if the horror of suety pavements and bloody +sawdust did not suffice, the weariness of inventing lies that no one +believed to account for my lateness and neglected homework, and the +monotonous lessons that held me from my dreams without ever for a +single instant capturing my interest--all these things made me ill +with repulsion. Worst of all was the society of my cheerful, +contented comrades, to avoid which I was compelled to mope in +deserted corridors, the prey of a sorrow that could not be enjoyed, a +hatred that was in no way stimulating. At the best of times the +atmosphere of the place disgusted me. Desks, windows, and floors, and +even the grass in the quadrangle, were greasy with London soot, and +there was nowhere any clean air to breathe or smell. I hated the +gritty asphalt that gave no peace to my feet and cut my knees when my +clumsiness made me fall. I hated the long stone corridors whose +echoes seemed to me to mock my hesitating footsteps when I passed +from one dull class to another. I hated the stuffy malodorous +classrooms, with their whistling gas-jets and noise of inharmonious +life. I would have hated the yellow fogs had they not sometimes +shortened the hours of my bondage. That five hundred boys shared this +horrible environment with me did not abate my sufferings a jot; for +it was clear that they did not find it distasteful, and they +therefore became as unsympathetic for me as the smell and noise and +rotting stones of the school itself. + +The masters moved as it were in another world, and, as the classes +were large, they understood me as little as I understood them. They +knew that I was idle and untruthful, and they could not know that I +was as full of nerves as a girl, and that the mere task of getting to +school every morning made me physically sick. They punished me +repeatedly and in vain, for I found every hour I passed within the +walls of the school an overwhelming punishment in itself, and nothing +I made any difference to me. I lied to them because they expected it, +and because I had no words in which to express the truth if I knew +it, which is doubtful. For some reason I could not tell them at home +why I got on so badly at school, or no doubt they would have taken me +away and sent me to a country school, as they did afterwards. Nearly +all the real sorrows of childhood are due to this dumbness of the +emotions; we teach children to convey facts by means of words, but we +do not teach them how to make their feelings intelligible. +Unfortunately, perhaps, I was very happy at night with my story-books +and my dreams, so that the real misery of my days escaped the +attention of the grown-up people. Of course I never even thought of +doing my homework, and the labour of inventing new lies every day to +account for my negligence became so wearisome that once or twice I +told the truth and simply said I had not done it; but the masters +held that this frankness aggravated the offence, and I had to take up +anew my tiresome tale of improbable calamities. Sometimes my stories +were so wild that the whole class would laugh, and I would have to +laugh myself; yet on the strength of this elaborate politeness to +authority I came to believe myself that I was untruthful by nature. + +The boys disliked me because I was not sociable, but after a time +they grew tired of bullying me and left me alone. I detested them +because they were all so much alike that their numbers filled me with +horror. I remember that the first day I went to school I walked round +and round the quadrangle in the luncheon-hour, and every boy who +passed stopped me and asked me my name and what my father was. When I +said he was an engineer every one of the boys replied, "Oh! the man +who drives the engine." The reiteration of this childish joke made me +hate them from the first, and afterwards I discovered that they were +equally unimaginative in everything they did. Sometimes I would stand +in the midst of them, and wonder what was the matter with me that I +should be so different from all the rest. When they teased me, +repeating the same questions over and over again, I cried easily, +like a girl, without quite knowing why, for their stupidities could +not hurt my reason; but when they bullied me I did not cry, because +the pain made me forget the sadness of my heart. Perhaps it was +because of this that they thought I was a little mad. + +Grey day followed grey day, and I might in time have abandoned +all efforts to be faithful to my dreams, and achieved a kind of +beast-like submission that was all the authorities expected of +notorious dunces. I might have taught my senses to accept the +evil conditions of life in that unclean place; I might even have +succeeded in making myself one with the army of shadows that +thronged in the quadrangle and filled the air with meaningless +noise. + +But one evening when I reached home I saw by the faces of the +grown-up people that something had upset their elaborate +precautions for an ordered life, and I discovered that my brother, +who had stayed at home with a cold, was ill in bed with the +measles. For a while the significance of the news escaped me; +then, with a sudden movement of my heart, which made me feel ill, +I realised that probably I would have to stay away from school +because of the infection. My feet tapped on the floor with joy, +though I tried to appear unconcerned. Then, as I nursed my sudden +hope of freedom, a little fearfully lest it should prove an +illusion, a new and enchanting idea came to me. I slipped from the +room, ran upstairs to my bedroom and, standing by the side of my +bed, tore open my waistcoat and shirt with clumsy, trembling +fingers. One, two, three, four, five! I counted the spots in a +triumphant voice, and then with a sudden revulsion sat down on the +bed to give the world an opportunity to settle back in its place. +I had the measles, and therefore I should not have to go back to +school! I shut my eyes for a minute and opened them again, but +still I had the measles. The cup of happiness was at my lips, but +I sipped delicately because it was full to the brim, and I would +not spill a drop. + +This mood did not last long. I had to run down the house and tell +the world the good news. The grown-up people rebuked my joyousness, +while admitting that it might be as well that I should have the +measles then as later on. In spite of their air of resignation I +could hardly sit still for excitement. I wanted to go into the +kitchen and show my measles to the servants, but I was told to stay +where I was in front of the fire while my bed was moved into my +brother's room. So I stared at the glowing coals till my eyes +smarted, and dreamed long dreams. I would be in bed for days, all +warm from head to foot, and no one would interrupt my pleasant +excursions in the world I preferred to this. If I had heard of the +beneficent microbe to which lowed my happiness, I would have +mentioned it in my prayers. + +Late that night, I called over to my brother to ask how long measles +lasted. He told me to go to sleep, so that I knew he did not know the +answer to my question. I lay at ease tranquilly turning the problem +over in my mind. Four weeks, six weeks, eight weeks; why, if I was +lucky, it would carry me through to the holidays! At all events, +school was already very far away, like a nightmare remembered at +noon. I said good-night to my brother, and received an irritated +grunt in reply. I did not mind his surliness; tomorrow when I woke +up, I would begin my dreams. + + II + +When I found myself in bed in the morning, already sick at heart +because even while I slept I could not forget the long torment of my +life at school, I would lie still for a minute or two and try to +concentrate my shuddering mind on something pleasant, some little +detail of the moment that seemed to justify hope. Perhaps I had some +money to spend or a holiday to look forward to; though often enough I +would find nothing to save me from realising with childish intensity +the greyness of the world in which it was my fate to move. I did not +want to go out into life; it was dull and gruel and greasy with soot. +I only wanted to stop at home in any little quiet corner out of +everybody's way and think my long, heroic thoughts. But even while I +mumbled my hasty breakfast and ran to the station to catch my train +the atmosphere of the school was all about me, and my dreamer's +courage trembled and vanished. + +When I woke from sleep the morning after my good fortune, I did not +at first realise the extent of my happiness; I only knew that deep in +my heart I was conscious of some great cause for joy. Then my eyes, +still dim with sleep, discovered that I was in my brother's bedroom, +and in a flash the joyful truth was revealed to me. I sat up and +hastily examined my body to make sure that the rash had not +disappeared, and then my spirit sang a song of thanksgiving of which +the refrain was, "I have the measles!" I lay back in bed and enjoyed +the exquisite luxury of thinking of the evils that I had escaped. For +once my morbid sense of atmosphere was a desirable possession and +helpful to my happiness. It was delightful to pull the bedclothes +over my shoulders and conceive the feelings of a small boy who should +ride to town in a jolting train, walk through a hundred kinds of dirt +and a hundred disgusting smells to win to prison at last, where he +should perform meaningless tasks in the distressing society of five +hundred mocking apes. It was pleasant to see the morning sun and feel +no sickness in my stomach, no sense of depression in my tired brain. +Across the room my brother gurgled and choked in his sleep, and in +some subtle way contributed to my ecstasy of tranquillity. I was no +longer concerned for the duration of my happiness. I felt that this +peace that I had desired so long must surely last for ever. + +To the grown-up folk who came to see us during the day--the +doctor, certain germ-proof unmarried aunts, truculently maternal, +and the family itself--my brother's case was far more interesting +than mine because he had caught the measles really badly. I just +had them comfortably; enough to be infectious, but not enough to +feel ill, so I was left in pleasant solitude while the women +competed for the honour of smoothing my brother's pillow and +tiptoeing in a fidgeting manner round his bed. I lay on my back +and looked with placid interest at the cracks in the ceiling. They +were like the main roads in a map, and I amused myself by building +little houses beside them--houses full of books and warm +hearthrugs, and with a nice pond lively with tadpoles in the +garden of each. From the windows of the houses you could watch all +the traffic that went along the road, men and women and horses, +and best of all, the boys going to school in the morning--boys who +had not done their homework and who would be late for prayers. +When I talked about the cracks to my brother he said that perhaps +the ceiling would give way and fall on our heads. I thought about +this too, and found it quite easy to picture myself lying in the +bed with a smashed head, and blood all over the pillow. Then it +occurred to me that the plaster might smash me all over, and my +impressions of Farringdon Meat Market added a gruesome vividness +to my conception of the consequences. I always found it pleasant +to imagine horrible things; it was only the reality that made me +sick. + +Towards nightfall I became a little feverish, and I heard the +grown-ups say that they would give me some medicine later on. +Medicine for me signified the nauseous powders of Dr. Gregory, +so I pretended to be asleep every time anyone came into the +room, in order to escape my destiny, until at last some one +stood by my bedside so long that I became cramped and had to +pretend to wake up. Then I was given the medicine, and found to +my surprise that it was delicious and tasted of oranges. I felt +that there had been a mistake somewhere, but my head sat a +little heavily on my shoulders, and I would not trouble to fix +the responsibility. This time I fell asleep in earnest, and woke +in the middle of the night to find my brother standing by my +bed, making noises with his mouth. I thought that he had gone +mad, and would kill me perhaps, but after a time he went back to +bed saying all the bad words he knew. The excitement had made me +wide awake, and I tossed about thinking of the cracked ceiling +above my head. The room was quite dark, and I could see nothing, +so that it might be bulging over me without my knowing it. I +stood up in bed and stretched up my arm, but I could not reach +the ceiling; yet when I lay down again I felt as though it had +sunk so far, that it was touching my hair, and I found it +difficult to breathe in such a small space. I was afraid to move +for fear of bringing it down upon me, and in a short while the +pressure upon my body became unbearable, and I shrieked out for +help. Some one came in and lit the gas, and found me looking +very foolish and my brother delirious. I fell asleep almost +immediately, but was conscious through my dreams that the gas +was still alight and that they were watching by my brother's +bedside. + +In the morning he was very ill and I was no longer feverish, so it +was decided to move me back into my own bedroom. I was wrapped up in +the bedclothes and told to sit still while the bed was moved. I sat +in an armchair, feeling like a bundle of old clothes, and looking at +the cracks in the ceiling which seemed to me like roads. I knew that +I had already lost all importance as an invalid, but I was very +happy nevertheless. For from the window of one of my little houses I +was watching the boys going to school, and my heart was warm with +the knowledge of my own emancipation. As my legs hung down from the +chair I found it hard to keep my slippers on my stockingless feet. + + III + +There followed for me a period of deep and unbroken +satisfaction. I was soon considered well enough to get up, and I +lived pleasantly between the sofa and the fireside waiting on my +brother's convalescence, for it had been settled that I should +go away with him to the country for a change of air. I read +Dickens and Dumas in English, and made up long stories in which +I myself played important but not always heroic parts. By means +of intellectual exercises of this kind I achieved a tranquillity +like that of an old man, fearing nothing, desiring nothing, +regretting nothing. I no longer reckoned the days or the hours, +I content to enjoy a passionless condition of being that asked +no questions and sought none of me, nor did I trouble to number +my journeys in the world of infinite shadows. But in that long +hour of peace I realised that in some inexplicable way I was +interested in the body of a little boy, whose hands obeyed my +unspoken wishes, whose legs sprawled before me on the sofa. I +knew that before I met him, this boy, whose littleness surprised +me, had suffered ill dreams in a nameless world, and now, worn +out with tears and humiliation and dread of life, he slept, and +while he slept I watched him dispassionately, as I would have +looked at a crippled daddy-long-legs. To have felt compassion +for him would have disturbed the tranquillity that was a +necessary condition of my existence, so I contented myself with +noticing his presence and giving him a small part in the pageant +of my dreams. He was not so beautiful as I wished all my +comrades to be, and he was besides very small; but shadows are +amiable play-friends, and they did not blame him because he +cried when he was teased and did not cry when he was beaten, or +because the wild unreason of his sorrow made him find cause for +tears in the very fullness of his rare enjoyment. For the first +time in my life it seems to me I saw this little boy as he was, +squat-bodied, big-headed, thick-lipped, and with a face swept +clean of all emotions save where his two great eyes glowed with +a sulky fire under exaggerated eyebrows. I noticed his grimy +nails, his soiled collar, his unbrushed clothes, the patent +signs of defeat changing to utter rout, and from the heights of +my great peace I was not sorry for him. He was like that, other +boys were different, that was all. + +And then on a day fear returned to my heart, and my newly discovered +Utopia was no more. I do not know what chance word of the grown-up +people or what random thought of mine did the mischief; but of a +sudden I realised that for all my dreaming I was only separated by a +measurable number of days from the horror of school. Already I was +sick with fear, and in place of my dreams I distressed myself by +visualising the scenes of the life I dreaded--the Meat Market, the +dusty shadows of the gymnasium, the sombre reticence of the great +hall. All that my lost tranquillity had given me was a keener sense +of my own being; my smallness, my ugliness, my helplessness in the +face of the great cruel world. Before I had sometimes been able to +dull my emotions in unpleasant circumstances and thus achieve a +dogged calm; now I was horribly conscious of my physical sensations, +and, above all, of that deadly sinking in my stomach called fear. I +clenched my hands, telling myself that I was happy, and trying to +force my mind to pleasant thoughts; but though my head swam with the +effort, I continued to be conscious that I was afraid. In the midst +of my mental struggles I discovered that even if I succeeded in +thinking happy things I should still have to go back to school after +all, and the knowledge that thought could not avert calamity was +like a bruise on my mind. I pinched my arms and legs, with the idea +that immediate pain would make me forget my fears for the future; +but I was not brave enough to pinch them really hard, and I could +not forget the motive for my action. I lay back on the sofa and +kicked the cushions with my feet in a kind of forlorn anger. Thought +was no use, nothing was any use, and my stomach was sick, sick with +fear. And suddenly I became aware of an immense fatigue that +overwhelmed my mind and my body, and made me feel as helpless as a +little child. The tears that were always near my eyes streamed down +my face, making my cheek sore against the wet cushion, and my breath +came in painful, ridiculous gulps. For a moment I made an effort to +control my grief; and then I gave way utterly, crying with my whole +body like a little child, until, like a little child, I fell asleep. + +When I awoke the room was grey with dusk, and I sat up with a +swaying head, glad to hide the shame of my foolish swollen face +amongst the shadows. My mouth was still salt with tears, and I was +very thirsty, but I was always anxious to hide my weakness from +other people, and I was afraid that if I asked for something to +drink they would see that I had been crying. The fire had gone out +while I slept, and I felt cold and stiff, but my abandonment of +restraint had relieved me, and my fear was now no more than a vague +unrest. My mind thought slowly but very clearly. I saw that it was a +pity that I had not been more ill than I was, for then, like my +brother, I should have gone away for a month instead of a fortnight. +As it was, everybody laughed at me because I looked so well, and +said they did not believe that I had been ill at all. If I had +thought of it earlier I might have been able to make myself worse +somehow or other, but now it was too late. When the maid came in and +lit the gas for tea she blamed me for letting the fire out, and told +me that I had a dirty face. I was glad of the chance to slip away +and wash my burning cheeks in cold water. When I had finished and +dried my face on the rough towel I looked at myself in the glass. I +looked as if I had been to the seaside for a holiday, my cheeks were +so red! + +That night as I lay sleepless in my bed, seeking for a cool place +between the sheets in which to rest my hot feet, the sickness of fear +returned to me, and I knew that I was lost. I shut my eyes tightly, +but I could not shut out the vivid pictures of school life that my +memory had stored up for my torment; I beat my head against the +pillow, but I could not change my thoughts. I recalled all the +possible events that might interfere with my return to school, a new +illness, a railway accident, even suicide, but my reason would not +accept these romantic issues. I was helpless before my destiny, and +my destiny made me I afraid. + +And then, perhaps I was half asleep or fond with fear, I leapt out of +bed and stood in the middle of the room to meet life and fight it. +The hem of my nightshirt tickled my shin and my feet grew cold on the +carpet; but though I stood ready with my fists clenched I could see +no adversary among the friendly shadows, I could hear no sound but +the I drumming of the blood against the walls of my head. I got back +into bed and pulled the bedclothes about my chilled body. It seemed +that life would not fight fair, and being only a little boy and not +wise like the grown-up people, I could find no way in which to outwit +it. + + IV + +My growing panic in the face of my imminent return to school spoilt +my holiday, and I watched my brother's careless delight in the Surrey +pine-woods with keen envy. It seemed to me that it was easy for him +to enjoy himself with his month to squander; and in any case he was a +healthy, cheerful boy who liked school well enough when he was there, +though of course he liked holidays better. He had scant patience with +my moods, and secretly I too thought they were wicked. We had been +taught to believe that we alone were responsible for our sins, and it +did not occur to me that the causes of my wickedness might lie beyond +my control. The beauty of the scented pines and the new green of the +bracken took my breath and filled my heart with a joy that changed +immediately to overwhelming grief; for I could not help contrasting +this glorious kind of life with the squalid existence to which I must +return so soon. I realised so fiercely the force of the contrast that +I was afraid to make friends with the pines and admire the palm-like +beauty of the bracken lest I should increase my subsequent anguish; +and I hid myself in dark corners of the woods to fight the growing +sickness of my body with the feeble weapons of my panic-stricken +mind. There followed moments of bitter sorrow, when I blamed myself +for not taking advantage of my hours of freedom, and I hurried along +the sandy lanes in a desolate effort to enjoy myself before it was +too late. + +In spite of the miserable manner in which I spent my days, the +fortnight seemed to pass with extraordinary rapidity. As the end +approached, the people around me made it difficult for me to conceal +my emotions, the grown-ups deducing from my melancholy that I was +tired of holidays and would be glad to get back to school, and my +brother burdening me with idle messages to the other boys-messages +that shattered my hardly formed hope that school did not really +exist. I stood ever on the verge of tears, and I dreaded meal-times, +when I had to leave my solitude, lest some turn of the conversation +should set me weeping before them all, and I should hear once more +what I knew very well myself, that it was a shameful thing for a boy +of my age to cry like a little girl. Yet the tears were there and the +hard lump in my throat, and I could not master them, though I stood +in the woods while the sun set with a splendour that chilled my +heart, and tried to drain my eyes dry of their rebellious, bitter +waters. I would choke over my tea and be rebuked for bad manners. + +When the last day came that I had feared most of all, I succeeded in +saying goodbye to the people at the house where I had stopped, and in +making the mournful train journey home without disgracing myself. It +seemed as though a merciful stupor had dulled my senses to a mute +acceptance of my purgatory. I slept in the train, and arrived home so +sleepy that I was allowed to go straight to bed without comment. For +once my body dominated my mind, and I slipped between the sheets in +an ecstasy of fatigue and fell asleep immediately. + +Something of this rare mood lingered with me in the morning, and it +was not until I reached the Meat Market that I realised the extent of +my misfortune. I saw the greasy, red-faced men with their hands and +aprons stained with blood. I saw the hideous carcases of animals, the +masses of entrails, the heaps of repulsive hides; but most clearly of +all I saw an ugly sad little boy with a satchel of books on his back +set down in the midst of an enormous and hostile world. The windows; +and stones of the houses were black with soot, and before me there +lay school, the place that had never brought me anything but sorrow +and humiliation. I went on, but as I slid on the cobbles, my mind +caught an echo of peace, the peace of pine-woods and heather, the +peace of the library at home, and, my body trembling with revulsion, +I leant against a lamp-post, deadly sick. Then I turned on my heels +and walked away from the Meat Market and the school for ever. As I +went I cried, sometimes openly before all men, sometimes furtively +before shop-windows, dabbing my eyes with a wet pocket-handkerchief, +and gasping for breath. I did not care where my feet led me, I would +go back to school no more. + +I had played truant for three days before the grown-ups discovered +that I had not returned to school. They treated me with that +extraordinary consideration that they always extended to our great +crimes and never to our little sins of thoughtlessness or high +spirits. The doctor saw me. I was told that I would be sent to a +country school after the next holidays, and meanwhile I was allowed +to return to my sofa and my dreams. I lay there and read Dickens and +was very happy. As a rule the cat kept me company, and I was pleased +with his placid society, though he made my legs cramped. I thought +that I too would like to be a cat. + + + + +The New Boy + + I + +When I left home to go to boarding-school for the first time I did +not cry like the little boys in the story-books, though I had never +been away from home before except to spend holidays with relatives. +This was not due to any extraordinary self-control on my part, for I +was always ready to shed tears on the most trivial occasion. But as a +fact I had other things to think about, and did not in the least +realise the significance of my journey. I had lots of new clothes and +more money in my pocket than I had ever had before, and in the +guard's van at the back of the train there was a large box that I had +packed myself with jam and potted meat and cake. In this, as in other +matters, I had been aided by the expert advice of a brother who was +himself at a school in the North, and it was perhaps natural that in +the comfortable security of the holidays he should have given me an +almost lyrical account of the joys of life at a boarding-school. +Moreover, my existence as a day-boy in London had been so unhappy; +that I was prepared to welcome any change, so at most I felt only a +vague unease as to the future. + +After I had glanced at my papers, I sat back and stared at my eldest +brother, who had been told off to see me safely to school. At that +time I did not like him because he seemed to me unduly insistent on +his rights and I could not help wondering at the tactlessness of the +grown-up people in choosing him as my travelling companion. With any +one else this journey might have been a joyous affair but there were +incidents between us that neither of us would forget, so that I +could find nothing better than an awkward politeness with which to +meet his strained amiability. He feigned an intense interest in his +magazine while I looked out of window, with one finger in my +waistcoat pocket, scratching the comfortable milled edges of my +money. When I saw little farm-houses, forgotten in the green dimples +of the Kentish hills, I thought that it would be nice to live there +with a room full of story-books, away from the discomforts and +difficulties of life. Like a cat, I wanted to dream somewhere where +I would not be trodden on, somewhere where I would be neglected by +friends and foes alike. This was my normal desire, but side by side +with my craving for peace I was aware of a new and interesting +emotion that suggested the possibility of a life even more +agreeable. The excitement of packing my box with provender like a +sailor who was going on a long voyage, the unwonted thrill of having +a large sum of money concealed about my person, and above all the +imaginative yarns of my elder brother, had fired me with the thought +of adventure. His stories had been filled with an utter contempt for +lessons and a superb defiance of the authorities, and had ranged +from desperate rabbit-shooting parties on the Yorkshire Wolds to +illicit feasts of Eccles cakes and tinned lobster in moonlit +dormitories. I thought that it would be pleasant to experience this +romantic kind of life before settling down for good with my dreams. + +The train wandered on and my eldest brother and I looked at each +other constrainedly. He had already asked me twice whether I had my +ticket, and I realised that he could not think of any other neutral +remark that fitted the occasion. It occurred to me to say that the +train was slow, but I remembered with a glow of anger how he had once +rubbed a strawberry in my face because I had taken the liberty of +offering it to one of his friends, and I held my peace. I had prayed +for his death every night for three weeks after that, and though he +was still alive the knowledge of my unconfessed and unrepented +wickedness prevented me from being more than conveniently polite, he +thought I was a cheeky little toad and I thought he was a bully, so +we looked at each other and did not speak. We were both glad, +therefore, when the train pulled up at the station that bore the name +of my new school. + +My first emotion was a keen regret that my parents had not sent me +to a place where the sun shone. As we sat in the little omnibus +that carried us from the station to the town, with my precious +boxes safely stored on the roof, we passed between grey fields +whose featureless expanses melted changelessly into the grey sky +overhead. The prospect alarmed me, for it seemed to me that this +was not a likely world for adventures; nor was I reassured by the +sight of the town, whose one long street of low, old-fashioned +houses struck me as being mean and sordid. I was conscious that +the place had an unpleasant smell, and I was already driven to +thinking of my pocket-money and my play-box--agreeable thoughts +which I had made up my mind in the train to reserve carefully for +possible hours of unhappiness. But the low roof of the omnibus was +like a limit to my imagination, and my body was troubled by the +displeasing contact of the velvet cushions. I was still wondering +why this made my wrists ache, when the omnibus lurched from the +cobbles on to a gravel drive, and I saw the school buildings +towering all about me like the walls of a prison. I jumped out and +stretched my legs while the driver climbed down to collect the +fares. He looked at me without a jot of interest, and I knew that +he must have driven a great many boys from the station to the +school in the course of his life. + +A man appeared in shirt-sleeves of grey flannel and wheeled my boxes +away on a little truck, and after a while a master came down and +showed us, in a perfunctory manner, over the more presentable +quarters of the school. My brother was anxious to get away, because +he had not been emancipated long enough to find the atmosphere of +dormitories and class-rooms agreeable. I was naturally interested, +in my new environment, but the presence of the master constrained +me, and I was afraid to speak in front of this unknown man whom it +was my lot to obey, so we were all relieved when our hurried +inspection was over. He told me that I was at liberty to do what I +pleased till seven o'clock, so I went for a walk through the town +with my brother. + +The day was drawing to a chill grey close, and the town was filled +with a clammy mist tainted with the odour of sewage, due, I +afterwards discovered, to the popular abuse of the little stream +that gave the place its name. Even my brother could not entirely +escape the melancholy influence of the hour and the place, and he +was glad to take me into a baker's shop and have tea. By now the +illusion of adventure that had reconciled me to leaving home was in +a desperate state, and I drank my tea and consumed my cakes without +enjoyment. If life was always going to be the same--if in fleeing +one misfortune I had merely brought on myself the pain of becoming +accustomed to another--I felt sure that my meagre stoicism would not +suffice to carry me through with credit. I had failed once, I would +fail again. I looked forward with a sinking heart to a tearful and +uncomfortable future. + +There was only a very poor train service, so my brother had plenty of +time to walk back to the station, and it was settled that I should go +part of the way with him. As we walked along the white road, that +stretched between uniform hedgerows of a shadowy greyness, I saw that +he had something on his mind. In this hour of my trial I was willing +to forget the past for the sake of talking for a few minutes with +some human being whom I knew, but he returned only vague answers to +my eager questions. At last he stopped in the middle of the road, and +said I had better turn back. I would liked to have walked farther +with him, but I was above all things anxious to keep up appearances, +so I said goodbye in as composed a voice as I could find. My brother +hesitated for a minute; then with a timid glance at heaven he put his +hand in his pocket, pulled out half a crown which he gave me, and +walked rapidly away. I saw in a flash that for him, too, it had been +an important moment; he had tipped his first schoolboy, and +henceforth he was beyond all question grown up. + +I did not like him, but I watched him disappear in the dusk with a +desolate heart. At that moment he stood for a great many things that +seemed valuable to me, and I would have given much to have been +walking by his side with my face towards home and my back turned to +the grey and unsavoury town to which I had to bear my despondent +loneliness. Nevertheless I stepped out staunchly enough, in order +that my mind should take courage from the example of my body. I +thought strenuously of my brother's stories, of my play-box packed +for a voyage, of the money in my pocket increased now by my eldest +brother's unexpected generosity; and by dint of these violent mental +exercises I had reduced my mind to a comfortable stupor by the time I +reached the school gates. There I was overcome by shyness, and +although I saw lights in the form-rooms and heard the voices of boys, +I stood awkwardly in the playground, not knowing where I ought to go. +The mist in the air surrounded the lights with a halo, and my +nostrils were filled with the acrid smell of burning leaves. + +I had stood there a quarter of an hour perhaps, when a boy came up +and spoke to me, and the sound of his voice gave me a shock. I think +it was the first time in my life a boy had spoken kindly to me. He +asked me my name, and told me that it would be supper-time in five +minutes, so that I could go and sit in the dining-hall and wait. +"You'll be all right, you know," he said, as he passed on; "they're +not a bad lot of chaps." The revulsion nearly brought on a +catastrophe, for the tears rose to my eyes and I gazed after him with +a swimming head. I had prepared myself to receive blows and insults +with a calm brow, but I had no armour with which to oppose the noble +weapons of sympathy and good fellowship. They overcame the stubborn +hatred with which I was accustomed to meet life, and left me +defenceless. I felt as if I had been face to face with the hero of a +dream. + +As I sat at supper before a long table decorated with plates of +bread-and-butter and cheese I saw my friend sitting at the other end +of the room, so I asked the boy next to me to tell me his name. "Oh," +he said, looking curiously at my blushes, "you mean old mother F----. +He's pious, you know; reads the Bible and funks at games and all +that." + +There are some things which no self-respecting schoolboy can afford +to forgive. I had made up my mind that it was not pleasant to be an +Ishmael, that as far as possible I would try to be an ordinary boy at +my new school. My experiences in London had taught me caution, and I +was anxious not to compromise my position at the outset by making an +unpopular friend. So I nodded my head sagely in reply, and looked at +my new-discovered hero with an air of profound contempt. + + II + +The days that followed were not so uncomfortable as my first grey +impression of the place had led me to expect. I proved to my own +intense astonishment to be rather good at lessons, so that I got on +well with the masters, and the boys were kind enough in their +careless way. I had plenty of pocket-money, and though I did not +shine at Association football, for in London I had only watched the +big boys playing Rugby, I was not afraid of being knocked about, +which was all that was expected of a new boy. Most of my +embarrassments were due to the sensitiveness that made me dislike +asking questions--a weakness that was always placing me in false +positions. But my efforts to make myself agreeable to the boys were +not unsuccessful, and while I looked in vain for anything like the +romantic adventures of which my brother had spoken, I sometimes found +myself almost enjoying my new life. + +And then, as the children say in the streets of London, I woke +up, and discovered that I was desperately home-sick. Partly no +doubt this was due to a natural reaction, but there were other +more obvious causes. For one thing my lavish hospitality had +exhausted my pocket-money in the first three weeks, and I was +ashamed to write home for more so soon. This speedy end to my +apparent wealth certainly made it easier for the boys to find +out that I was not one of themselves, and they began to look at +me askance and leave me out of their conversations. I was made +to feel once more that I had been born under a malignant star +that did not allow me to speak or act as they did. I had not +their common sense, their blunt cheerfulness, their complete +lack of sensibility, and while they resented my queerness they +could not know how anxious I was to be an ordinary boy. When I +saw that they mistrusted me I was too proud to accept the crumbs +of their society like poor mother F----, and I withdrew myself into +a solitude that gave me far too much time in which to examine my +emotions. I found out all the remote corners of the school in +which it was possible to be alone, and when the other boys went +for walks in the fields, I stayed in the churchyard close to the +school, disturbing the sheep in their meditations among the +tomb-stones, and thinking what a long time it would be before I +was old enough to die. + +Now that the first freshness of my new environment had worn off, I +was able to see my life as a series of grey pictures that repeated +themselves day by day. In my mind these pictures were marked off +from each other by a sound of bells. I woke in the morning in a bed +that was like all the other beds, and lay on my back listening to +the soft noises of sleep that filled the air with rumours of healthy +boys. The bell would ring and the dormitory would break into an +uproar, splashing of water, dropping of hair-brushes and shouts of +laughter, for these super-boys could laugh before breakfast. Then we +all trooped downstairs and I forced myself to drink bad coffee in a +room that smelt of herrings. The next bell called us to chapel, and +at intervals during the morning other bells called us from one class +to another. Dinner was the one square meal we had during the day, +and as it was always very good, and there was nothing morbid about +my appetite, I looked forward to it with interest. After dinner we +played football. I liked the game well enough, but the atmosphere of +mud and forlorn grey fields made me shudder, and as I kept goal I +spent my leisure moments in hardening my æesthetic impressions. I +never see the word football today without recalling the curious +sensation caused by the mud drying on my bare knees. After football +were other classes, classes in which it was sometimes very hard to +keep awake, for the school was old, and the badly ventilated +class-rooms were stuffy after the fresh air. Then the bell summoned +us to evening chapel and tea--a meal which we were allowed to +improve with sardines and eggs and jam, if we had money to buy them +or a hamper from home. After tea we had about two hours to ourselves +and then came preparation, and supper and bed. Everything was +heralded by a bell, and now and again even in the midst of lessons +I would hear the church-bell tolling for a funeral. + +I think my hatred of bells dated back to my early childhood, when the +village church, having only three bells, played the first bar of +"Three Blind Mice" a million times every Sunday evening, till I could +have cried for monotony and the vexation of the thwarted tune. But at +school I had to pay the penalty for my prejudice every hour of the +day. Especially I suffered at night during preparation, when they +rang the curfew on the church bells at intolerable length, for these +were tranquil hours to which I looked forward eagerly. We prepared +our lessons for the morrow in the Great Hall, and I would spread my +books out on the desk and let my legs dangle from the form in a +spirit of contentment for the troubled day happily past. Over my head +the gas stars burned quietly, and all about me I heard the restrained +breathing of comrades, like a noise of fluttering moths. And then, +suddenly, the first stroke of the curfew would snarl through the air, +filling the roof with nasal echoes, and troubling the quietude of my +mind with insistent vibrations. I derived small satisfaction from +cursing William the Conqueror, who, the history book told me, was +responsible for this ingenious tyranny. The long pauses between the +strokes held me in a state of strained expectancy until I wanted to +howl. I would look about me for sympathy and see the boys at their +lessons, and the master on duty reading quietly at his table. The +curfew rang every night, and they did not notice it at all. + +The only bell I liked to hear was the last bell that called us to our +brief supper and to bed, for once the light was out and my body was +between the sheets I was free to do what I would, free to think or to +dream or to cry. There was no real difference between being in bed at +school or anywhere else; and sometimes I would fill the shadows of +the dormitory with the familiar furniture of my little bedroom at +home, and pretend that I was happy. But as a rule I came to bed +brimming over with the day's tears, and I would pull the bedclothes +over my head so that the other boys should not know that I was +homesick, and cry until I was sticky with tears and perspiration. + +The discipline at school did not make us good boys, but it made us +civilised; it taught us to conceal our crimes. And as home-sickness +was justly regarded as a crime of ingratitude to the authorities and +to society in general, I had to restrain my physical weakness during +the day, and the reaction from this restraint made my tears at night +almost a luxury. My longing for home was founded on trifles, but it +was not the less passionate. I hated this life spent in walking on +bare boards, and the blank walls and polished forms of the school +appeared to me to be sordid. When now and again I went into one of +the master's studies and felt a carpet under my feet, and saw a +pleasant litter of pipes and novels lying on the table, it seemed to +me that I was in a holy place, and I looked at the hearthrug, the +wallpaper, and the upholstered chairs with a kind of desolate love +for things that were nice to see and touch. I suppose that if we had +been in a workhouse, a prison, or a lunatic asylum, our æesthetic +environment would have been very much the same as it was at school; +and afterwards when I went with the cricket and football teams to +other grammar schools they all gave me the same impression of clean +ugliness. It is not surprising that few boys emerge from their school +life with that feeling for colour and form which is common to nearly +all children. + +There was something very unpleasant to me in the fact that we all +washed with the same kind of soap, drank out of the same kind of cup, +and in general did the same things at the same time. The school +timetable robbed life of all those accidental variations that make it +interesting. Our meals, our games, even our hours of freedom seemed +only like subtle lessons. We had to eat at a certain hour whether we +were hungry or not, we had to play at a certain hour when perhaps we +wanted to sit still and be quiet. The whole school discipline tended +to the formation of habits at the expense of our reasoning faculties. +Yet the astonishing thing to me was that the boys themselves set up +standards of conduct that still further narrowed the possibilities of +our life. It was bad form to read too much, to write home except on +Sundays, to work outside the appointed hours, to talk to the day-boys, +to cultivate social relationships with the masters, to be Cambridge +in the boat-race, and in fine to hold any opinion or follow any +pursuit that was not approved by the majority. It was only by hiding +myself away in corners that I could enjoy any liberty of spirit, and +though my thoughts were often cheerless when I remembered the +relative freedom of home life, I preferred to linger with them rather +than to weary myself in breaking the little laws of a society for +which I was in no way fitted. + +These were black days, rendered blacker by my morbid fear of the +physical weakness that made me liable to cry at any moment, sometimes +even without in the least knowing why. I was often on the brink of +disaster, but my fear of the boys' ridicule prevented me from +publicly disgracing myself. Once the headmaster called a boy into +his study, and he came out afterwards with red eyelids and a puffed +face. When they heard that his mother had died suddenly in India, all +the boys thought that these manifestations of sorrow were very +creditable, and in the best of taste, especially as he did not let +anybody see him crying. For my part I looked at him with a kind of +envy, this boy who could flaunt his woe where he would. I, too, had +my unassuageable sorrow for the home that was dead to me those +forlorn days; but I could only express it among the tombs in the +churchyard, or at night, muffled between the blankets, when the +silent dormitory seemed to listen with suspicious ears. + + III + +A consoling scrap of wisdom which unfortunately children do not find +written large in their copybooks is that sorrow is as transitory as +happiness. Although my childhood was strewn with the memorial wreaths +of dead miseries, I always had a morbid sense that my present +discomforts were immortal. So I had quite made up my mind that I +would continue to be unhappy at school, when the intervention of two +beings whom I had thought utterly remote from me, gave me a new +philosophy and reconciled me to life. The first was a master, who +found me grieving in one of my oubliettes and took me into his study +and tried to draw me out. Kindness always made me ineloquent, and +as I sat in his big basket chair and sniffed the delightful odour of +his pipe, I expressed myself chiefly in woe-begone monosyllables and +hiccoughs. Nevertheless he seemed to understand me very well, and +though he did not say much, I felt by the way in which he puffed out +great, generous clouds of smoke, that he sympathised with me. He told +me to come and see him twice a week, and that I was at liberty to +read any of his books, and in general gave me a sense that I was +unfortunate rather than criminal. This did me good, because a large +part of my unhappiness was due to the fact that constant suppression +by majorities had robbed me of my self-respect. It is better for a +boy to be conceited than to be ashamed of his own nature, and to +shudder when he sees his face reflected in a glass. + +My second benefactor was nominally a boy, though in reality he was +nearly as old as the master, and was leaving at the end of the term +to go up to Oxford. He took me by the shoulder one evening in the +dusk, and walked me round and round the big clump of rhododendrons +that stood in the drive in front of the school. I did not understand +half he said, but to my great astonishment I heard him confessing +that he had always been unhappy at school, although at the end he +was captain in lessons, in games, in everything. I was, of course, +highly flattered that this giant should speak to me as an equal, and +admit me to his confidences. But I was even more delighted with the +encouraging light he threw on school life. "You're only here for a +little spell, you know; you'll be surprised how short it is. And +don't be miserable just because you're different. I'm different; it's +a jolly good thing to be different." I was not used, to people who +took this wide view of circumstance, and his voice in the shadows +sounded like some one speaking in a story-book. Yet although his +monologue gave me an entirely new conception of life, no more of it +lingers in my mind, save his last reflective criticism. "All the +same, I don't see why you should always have dirty nails." He never +confided in me again, and I would have died rather than have reminded +him of his kindly indiscretion; but when he passed me in the +playground he seemed to look at me with a kind of reticent interest, +and it occurred to me that after all my queerness might not be such a +bad thing, might even be something to be proud of. + +The value of this discovery to me can hardly be exaggerated. Hitherto +in my relationships with the boys I had fought nothing but losing +battles, for I had taken it for granted that they were right and I +was wrong. But now that I had hit on the astonishing theory that the +individual has the right to think for himself, I saw quite clearly +that most of their standards of conduct sprang from their sheep-like +stupidity. They moved in flocks because they had not the courage to +choose a line for themselves. The material result of this new theory +of life was to make me enormously conceited, and I moved among my +comrades with a mysterious confidence, and gave myself the airs of a +Byron in knickerbockers. My unpopularity increased by leaps and +bounds, but so did my moral courage, and I accepted the belated +efforts of my school-fellows to knock the intelligence out of me as +so many tributes to the force of my individuality. I no longer cried +in my bed at night, but lay awake enraptured at the profundity of my +thoughts. After years of unquestioning humility I enjoyed a prolonged +debauch of intellectual pride, and I marvelled at the little boy of +yesterday who had wept because he could not be an imbecile. It was +the apotheosis of the ugly duckling, and I saw my swan's plumage +reflected in the placid faces of the boys around me, as in the vacant +waters of a pool. As yet I did not dream of a moulting season, still +less that a day would come when I should envy the ducks their +domestic ease and the unthinking tranquillity of their lives. A +little boy may be excused for not realising that Hans Andersen's +story is only the prelude to a sadder story that he had not the heart +to write. + +My new freedom of spirit gave me courage to re-examine the emotional +and æesthetic values of my environment. I could not persuade myself +that I liked the sound of bells, and the greyness of the country in +winter-time still revolted me, as though I had not yet forgotten the +cheerful reds and greens and blues of the picture-books that filled +my mind as a child with dreams of a delightful world. But now that I +was wise enough to make the best of my unboyish emotionalism, I began +to take pleasure in certain phases of school-life. Though I was +devoid of any recognisable religious sense I liked the wide words in +the Psalms that we read at night in the school chapel. This was not +due to any precocious recognition of their poetry, but to the fact +that their intense imagery conjured up all sorts of precious visions +in my mind, I could see the hart panting after the water-brooks, in +the valleys of Exmoor, where I had once spent an enchanted holiday. I +could see the men going down to the sea in ships, and the stormy +waves, and the staggering, fearful mariners, for I had witnessed a +great tempest off Flamborough Head. Even such vague phrases as "the +hills" gave me an intense joy. I could see them so clearly, those +hills, chalky hills covered with wild pansies, and with an all-blue +sky overhead, like the lid of a chocolate-box. I liked, too, the +services in the old church on Sunday nights, when the lights were +lowered for the sermon, and I would put my hands over my ears and +hear the voice of the preacher like the drone of a distant bee. After +church the choral society used to practise in the Great Hall, and as +I walked round the school buildings, snatches of their singing would +beat against my face like sudden gusts of wind. When I listened at +the doors of my form-room I heard the boys talking about football +matches, or indulging their tireless passion for unimaginative +personalities; I would stand on the mat outside wondering whether I +would be allowed to read if I went in. + +I looked forward to Tuesday night, which was my bath-night, +almost as much as to Sunday. The school sanitary arrangements +were primitive, and all the water had to be fetched in pails, +and I used to like to see the man tipping the hot water into the +bath and flinging his great body back to avoid the steam that +made his grey flannel shirt-sleeves cling to his hairy arms. +Most of the boys added a lot of cold water, but I liked to boil +myself because the subsequent languor was so pleasant. The +matron would bring our own bath towels warm from the fire, and I +would press mine against my face because it smelt of childhood +and of home. I always thought my body looked pretty after a +really hot bath; its rosiness enabled me to forgive myself for +being fat. + +One very strong impression was connected with the only master in the +school whom I did not like. He was a German, and as is the case with +others of his nationality, a spray of saliva flew from his lips when +he was angry, and seeing this, I would edge away from him in alarm. +Perhaps it was on this account that he treated me with systematic +unfairness and set himself the unnecessary task of making me +ridiculous in the eyes of the other boys. One night I was wandering +in the playground and heard him playing the violin in his study. My +taste in music was barbarian; I liked comic songs, which I used to +sing to myself in a lugubrious voice, and in London the plaintive +clamour of the street-organs had helped to make my sorrows +rhythmical. But now, perhaps for the first time, I became aware of +the illimitable melancholy that lies at the heart of all great +music. It seemed to me that the German master, the man whom I hated, +had shut himself up alone in his study, and was crying aloud. I knew +that if he was unhappy, it must be because he too was an Ishmael, a +personality, one of the different ones. A great sympathy woke within +me, and I peeped through the window and saw him playing with his +face all shiny with perspiration and a silk handkerchief tucked +under his chin. I would have liked to have knocked at his door and +told him that I knew all about these things, but I was afraid that +he would think me cheeky and splutter in my face. + +The next day in his class, I looked at him hopefully, in the light +of my new understanding, but it did not seem to make any difference. +He only told me to get on with my work. + +The term drew to a close, and most of the boys in my form-room +ticked off the days on lists, in which the Sundays were written in +red ink to show that they did not really count. As time went on they +grew more and more boisterous, and wherever I went I heard them +telling one another how they were going to spend their holidays. It +was surprising to me that these boys who were so ordinary during +term-time should lead such adventurous lives in the holidays, and I +felt a little envious of their good fortune. They talked of visiting +the theatre and foreign travel in a matter-of-fact way that made me +think that perhaps after all my home-life was incomplete. I had +never been out of England, and my dramatic knowledge was limited to +pantomimes, for which these enthusiastic students of musical comedy +expressed a large contempt. Some of them were allowed to shoot with +real guns in the holidays, which reminded me of the worst excesses +of my brother in Yorkshire. Examining my own life, I had often come +to the conclusion that adventures did not exist outside books. But +the boys shook this comforting theory with their boastful +prophecies, and I thought once more that perhaps it was my +misfortune that they did not happen to me. I began to fear that I +would find the holidays tame. + +There were other considerations that made me look forward to the end +of the term with misgiving. Since it had been made plain to me that I +was a remarkable boy, I had rather enjoyed my life at school. I had +conceived myself as strutting with a measured dignity before a +background of the other boys--a background that moved and did not +change, like a wind-swept tapestry; but I was quite sure that I would +not be allowed to give myself airs at home. It seemed to me that a +youngest brother's portion of freedom would compare but poorly with +the measure of intellectual liberty that I had secured for myself at +school. My brothers were all very well in their way, but I would be +expected to take my place in the background and do what I was told. I +should miss my sense of being superior to my environment, and my +intensely emotional Sundays would no longer divide time into weeks. +The more I thought of it, the more I realised that I did not want to +go home. + +On the last night of the term, when the dormitory had at length +become quiet, I considered the whole case dispassionately in my bed. +The labour of packing my play-box and writing labels for my luggage +had given me a momentary thrill, but for the rest I had moved among +my insurgent comrades with a chilled heart. I knew now that I was +too greedy of life, that I always thought of the pleasant side of +things when they were no longer within my grasp; but at the I same +time my discontent was not wholly unreasonable. I had learnt more +of myself in three months than I had in all my life before, and from +being a nervous, hysterical boy I had arrived at a complete +understanding of my emotions, which I studied with an almost adult +calmness of mind. I knew that in returning to the society of my +healthy, boyish brothers, I was going back to a kind of life for +which I was no longer fitted. I had changed, but I had the sense to +see that it was a change that would not appeal to them, and that in +consequence I would have another and harder battle to fight before I +was allowed to go my own way. + +I saw further still. I saw that after a month at home I would +not want to come back to school, and that I should have to +endure another period of despondency. I saw that my whole school +life would be punctuated by these violent uprootings, that the +alternation of term-time and holidays would make it impossible +for me to change life into a comfortable habit, and that even to +the end of my school-days it would be necessary for me to +preserve my new-found courage. + +As I lay thinking in the dark I was proud of the clarity of my +mind, and glad that I had at last outwitted the tears that had made +my childhood so unhappy. I heard, the boys breathing softly around +me--those wonderful boys who could sleep even when they were +excited--and I felt that I was getting the better of them in thinking +while they slept. I remembered the prefect who had told me that we +were there only for a spell, but I did not speculate as to what +would follow afterwards. All that I had to do was to watch myself +ceaselessly, and be able to explain to myself everything that I felt +I and did. In that way I should always be strong I enough to guard +my weaknesses from the eyes of the jealous world in which I moved. + +The church bells chimed the hour, and I turned over and went to +sleep. + + + + +On the Brighton Road + +Slowly the sun had climbed up the hard white downs, till it broke +with little of the mysterious ritual of dawn upon a sparkling world +of snow. There had been a hard frost during the night, and the birds, +who hopped about here and there with scant tolerance of life, left no +trace of their passage on the silver pavements. In places the +sheltered caverns of the hedges broke the monotony of the whiteness +that had fallen upon the coloured earth, and overhead the sky melted +from orange to deep blue, from deep blue to a blue so pale that it +suggested a thin paper screen rather than illimitable space. Across +the level fields there came a cold, silent wind which blew a fine +dust of snow from the trees, but hardly stirred the crested hedges. +Once above the skyline, the sun seemed to climb more quickly, and as +it rose higher it began to give out a heat that blended with the +keenness of the wind. + +It may have been this strange alternation of heat and cold that +disturbed the tramp in his dreams, for he struggled tor a moment with +the snow that covered him, like a man who finds himself twisted +uncomfortably in the bed-clothes, and then sat up with staring, +questioning eyes. "Lord! I thought I was in bed," he said to himself +as he took in the vacant landscape, "and all the while I was out +here." He stretched his limbs, and, rising carefully to his feet, +shook the snow off his body. As he did so the wind set him shivering, +and he knew that his bed had been warm. + +"Come, I feel pretty fit," he thought. "I suppose I am lucky to wake +at all in this. Or unlucky--it isn't much of a business to come back +to." He looked up and saw the downs shining against the blue, like +the Alps on a picture-postcard. "That means another forty miles or +so, I suppose," he continued grimly. "Lord knows what I did yesterday. +Walked till I was done, and now I'm only about twelve miles from +Brighton. Damn the snow, damn Brighton, damn everything!" The sun +crept higher and higher, and he started walking patiently along the +road with his back turned to the hills. + +"Am I glad or sorry that it was only sleep that took me, glad or +sorry, glad or sorry?" His thoughts seemed to arrange themselves in a +metrical accompaniment to the steady thud of his footsteps, and he +hardly sought an answer to his question. It was good enough to walk +to. + +Presently, when three milestones had loitered past, he overtook a +boy who was stooping to light a cigarette. He wore no overcoat, and +looked unspeakably fragile against the snow, "Are you on the road, +guv'nor?" asked the boy huskily as he passed. + +"I think I am," the tramp said. + +"Oh! then I'll come a bit of the way with you if you don't walk too +fast. It's bit lonesome walking this time of day." + +The tramp nodded his head, and the boy started limping along by his +side. + +"I'm eighteen," he said casually. "I bet you thought I was younger." + +"Fifteen, I'd have said." + +"You'd have backed a loser. Eighteen last August, and I've been on +the road six years. I ran away from home five times when I was a +little 'un, and the police took me back each time. Very good to me, +the police was. Now I haven't got a home to run away from." + +"Nor have I," the tramp said calmly. + +"Oh, I can see what you are," the boy panted; "you're a gentleman +come down. It's harder for you than for me." The tramp glanced at the +limping, feeble figure and lessened his pace. + +"I haven't been at it as long as you have," he admitted. + +"No, I could tell that by the way you walk. You haven't got tired +yet. Perhaps you expect something at the other end?" + +The tramp reflected for a moment. "I don't know," he said bitterly, +"I'm always expecting things." + +"You'll grow out of that;" the boy commented. "It's warmer in London, +but it's harder to come by grub. There isn't much in it really." + +"Still, there's the chance of meeting somebody there who will +understand--" + +"Country people are better," the boy interrupted. "Last night I took +a lease of a barn for nothing and slept with the cows, and this +morning the farmer routed me out and gave me tea and toke because I +was so little. Of course, I score there; but in London, soup on the +Embankment at night, and all the rest of the time coppers moving you +on." + +"I dropped by the roadside last night and slept where I fell. It's a +wonder I didn't die," the tramp said. The boy looked at him sharply. + +"How did you know you didn't?" he said. + +"I don't see it," the tramp said, after a pause. + +"I tell you," the boy said hoarsely, "people like us can't get away +from this sort of thing if we want to. Always hungry and thirsty and +dog-tired and walking all the while. And yet if anyone offers me a +nice home and work my stomach feels sick. Do I look strong? I know +I'm little for my age, but I've been knocking about like this for six +years, and do you think I'm not dead? I was drowned bathing at +Margate, and I was killed by a gypsy with a spike; he knocked my head +and yet I'm walking along here now, walking to London to walk away +from it again, because I can't help it. Dead! I tell you we can't get +away if we want to." + +The boy broke off in a fit of coughing, and the tramp paused while he +recovered. + +"You'd better borrow my coat for a bit, Tommy," he said, "your +cough's pretty bad." + +"You go to hell!" the boy said fiercely, puffing at his cigarette; +"I'm all right. I was telling you about the road. You haven't got +down to it yet, but you'll find out presently. We're all dead, all of +us who're on it, and we're all tired, yet somehow we can't leave it. +There's nice smells in the summer, dust and hay and the wind smack in +your face on a hot day--and it's nice waking up in the wet grass on a +fine morning. I don't know, I don't know--" he lurched forward +suddenly, and the tramp caught him in his arms. + +"I'm sick," the boy whispered--"sick." + +The tramp looked up and down the road, but he could see no houses or +any sign of help. Yet even as he supported the boy doubtfully in the +middle of the road a motor car suddenly flashed in the middle +distance, and came smoothly through the snow. + +"What's the trouble?" said the driver quietly as he pulled up. "I'm a +doctor." He looked at the boy keenly and listened to his strained +breathing. + +"Pneumonia," he commented. "I'll give him a lift to the infirmary, +and you, too, if you like." + +The tramp thought of the workhouse and shook his head "I'd rather +walk," he said. + +The boy winked faintly as they lifted him into the car. + +"I'll meet you beyond Reigate," he murmured to the tramp. "You'll +see." And the car vanished along the white road. + +All the morning the tramp splashed through the thawing snow, but at +midday he begged some bread at a cottage door and crept into a lonely +barn to eat it. It was warm in there, and after his meal he fell +asleep among the hay. It was dark when he woke, and started trudging +once more through the slushy roads. + +Two miles beyond Reigate a figure, a fragile figure, slipped out of +the darkness to meet him. + +"On the road, guv'nor?" said a husky voice. "Then I'll come a bit of +the way with you if you don't walk too fast. It's a bit lonesome +walking this time of day." + +"But the pneumonia!" cried the tramp, aghast. + +"I died at Crawley this morning," said the boy. + + + + +A Tragedy In Little + + I + +Jack, the postmaster's little son, stood in the bow-window of the +parlour and watched his mother watering the nasturtiums in the front +garden. A certain intensity of purpose was expressed by the manner in +which she handled the water-pot. For though it was a fine afternoon +the carrier's man had called over the hedge to say that there would +be a thunderstorm during the night, and every one knew that he never +made a mistake about the weather. Nevertheless, Jack's mother watered +the plants as if he had not spoken, for it seemed to her that this +meteorological gift smacked a little of sorcery and black magic; but +in spite of herself she felt sure that there would be a thunderstorm +and that her labour was therefore vain, save perhaps as a protest +against idle superstition. It was in the same spirit that she carried +an umbrella on the brightest summer day. + +Jack had been sent indoors because he would get his legs in the way +of the watering-pot in order to cool them, so now he had to be +content to look on, with his nose pressed so tightly against the +pane that from outside it looked like the base of a sea-anemone +growing in a glass tank. He could no longer hear the glad chuckle +of the watering-pot when the water ran out, but, on the other hand, +he could write his name on the window with his tongue, which he +could not have done if he had been in the garden. Also he had some +sweets in his pocket, bought with a halfpenny stolen from his own +money-box, and as the window did not taste very nice he slipped one +into his mouth and sucked it with enjoyment. He did not like being +in the parlour, because he had to sit there with his best clothes on +every Sunday afternoon and read the parish magazine to his sleepy +parents. But the front window was lovely, like a picture, and, +indeed, he thought that his mother, with the flowers all about her +and the red sky overhead, was like a lady on one of the beautiful +calendars that the grocer gave away at Christmas. He finished his +sweet and started another; he always meant to suck them right +through to make them last longer, but when the sweet was half +finished he invariably crunched it up. His father had done the same +thing as a boy. + +The room behind him was getting dark, but outside the sky seemed to +be growing lighter, and mother still stooped from bed to bed, moving +placidly, like a cow. Sometimes she put the watering-pot down on the +gravel path, and bent to uproot a microscopic weed or to pull the +head off a dead flower. Sometimes she went to the well to get some +more water, and then Jack was sorry that he had been shut indoors, +for he liked letting the pail down with a run and hearing it bump +against the brick sides. Once he tapped upon the window for +permission to come out, but mother shook her head vigorously without +turning round; and yet his stockings were hardly wet at all. + +Suddenly mother straightened herself, and Jack looked up and saw his +father leaning over the gate. He seemed to be making grimaces, and +Jack made haste to laugh aloud in the empty room, because he knew +that he was good at seeing his father's jokes. Indeed it was a funny +thing that father should come home early from work and make faces at +mother from the road. Mother, too, was willing to join in the fun, +for she knelt down among the wet flowers, and as her head drooped +lower and lower it looked, for one ecstatic moment, as though she +were going to turn head over heels. But she lay quite still on the +ground, and father came half-way through the gate, and then turned +and ran off down the hill towards the station. Jack stood in the +window, clapping his hands and laughing; it was a strange game, but +not much harder to understand than most of the amusements of the +grown-up people. + +And then as nothing happened, as mother did not move and father did +not come back, Jack grew frightened. The garden was queer and the +room was full of darkness, so he beat on the window to change the +game. Then, since mother did not shake her head, he ran out into the +garden, smiling carefully in case he was being silly. First he went +to the gate, but father was quite small far down the road, so he +turned back and pulled the sleeve of his mother's dress, to wake her. +After a dreadful while mother got up off the ground with her skirt +all covered with wet earth. Jack tried to brush it off with his hands +and made a mess of it, but she did not seem to notice, looking across +the garden with such a desolate face, that when he saw it he burst +into tears. For once mother let him cry himself out without seeking +to comfort him; when he sniffed dolefully, his nostrils were full of +the scent of crushed marigolds. He could not help watching her hands +through his tears; it seemed as though they were playing together at +cat's-cradle; they were not still for a moment. But it was her face +that at once frightened and interested him. One minute it looked +smooth and white as if she was very cross, and the next minute it was +gathered up in little folds as if she was going to sneeze. Deep down +in him something chuckled, and he jumped for fear that the cross part +of her had heard it. At intervals during the evening, while mother +was getting him his supper, this chuckle returned to him, between +unnoticed fits of crying. Once she stood holding a plate in the +middle of the room for quite five minutes, and he found it hard to +control his mirth. If father had been there they would have had good +fun together, teasing mother, but by himself he was not sure of his +ground. And father did not come back, and mother did not seem to hear +his questions. + +He had some tomatoes and rice-pudding for his supper, and as mother +left him to help himself to brown sugar he enjoyed it very much, +carefully leaving the skin of the rice-pudding to the last, because +that was the part he liked best. After supper he sat nodding at the +open window, looking out over the plum-trees to the sky beyond, where +the black clouds were putting out the stars one by one. The garden +smelt stuffy, but it was nice to be allowed to sit up when you felt +really sleepy. On the whole he felt that it had been a pleasant, +exciting sort of day, though once or twice mother had frightened him +by looking so strange. There had been other mysterious days in his +life, however; perhaps he was going to have another little dead +sister. Presently he discovered that it was delightful to shut your +eyes and nod your head and pretend that you were going to sleep; it +was like being in a swing that went up and up and never came down +again. It was like being in a rowing-boat on the river after a +steamer had gone by. It was like lying in a cradle under a lamplit +ceiling, a cradle that rocked gently to and fro while mother sang +far-away songs. + +He was still a baby when he woke up, and he slipped off his chair +and staggered blindly across the room to his mother, with his +knuckles in his eyes like a little, little boy. He climbed into her +lap and settled himself down with a grunt of contentment. There was +a mutter of thunder in his ears, and he felt great warm drops of +rain falling on his face. And into his dreams he carried the dim +consciousness that the thunderstorm had begun. + + II + +The next morning at breakfast-time father had not come back, and +mother said a lot of things that made Jack feel very uncomfortable. +She herself had taught him that any one who said bad things about +his father was wicked, but now it seemed that she was trying to tell +him something about father that was not nice. She spoke so slowly +that he hardly understood a word she said, though he gathered that +father had stolen something, and would be put in prison if he was +caught. With a guilty pang he remembered his own dealings with his +money-box, and he determined to throw away the rest of the sweets +when, nobody was looking. Then mother made the astounding statement +that he was not to go to school that day, but his sudden joy was +checked a little when she said he was not to go out at all, except +into the back garden. It seemed to Jack that he must be ill, but +when he made this suggestion to mother, she gave up her explanations +with a sigh. Afterwards she kept on saying aloud, "I must think, I +must think!" She said it so often that Jack started keeping count on +his fingers. + +The day went slowly enough, for the garden was wet after the +thunderstorm, and mother would not play any games. Just before +tea-time two gentlemen called and talked to mother in the +parlour, and after a while they sent for Jack to answer some +questions about father, though mother was there all the time. +They seemed nice gentlemen, but mother did not ask them to stop +to tea, as Jack expected. He thought that perhaps she was sorry +that she had not done so, for she was very sad all tea-time, and +let him spread his own bread and jam. When tea was over things +were very dull, and at last Jack started crying because there +was nothing else to do. Presently he heard a little noise and +found that mother was crying as well. This seemed to him so +extraordinary that he stopped crying to watch her; the tears ran +down her cheeks very quickly, and she kept on wiping them away +with her handkerchief, but if she held her handkerchief to her +eyes perhaps they would not be able to come out at all. It +occurred to him that possibly she was sorry she had said, wicked +things about father, and to comfort her, for it made him feel +fidgety to see her cry, he whispered to her that he would not +tell. But she stared at him hopelessly through her red eyelids, +and he felt that he had not said the right thing. She called him +her poor boy, and yet it appeared that he was not ill. It was +all very mysterious and uncomfortable, and it would be a good +thing when father came back and everything went on as before, +even though he had to go back to school. + +Later on the woman from the mill came in to sit with mother. She +brought Jack some sweets, but instead of playing with him she burst +into tears. She made more noise when she cried than mother; in fact +he was afraid that in a minute he would have to laugh at her +snortings, so he went into the parlour and sat there in the dark, +eating his sweets, and knitting his brow over the complexities of +life. He could see five stars, and there was a light behind the red +curtain of the front bedroom at Arber's farm. It was about twelve +times as large as a star, and a much prettier colour. By nearly +closing his eyes he could see everything double, so that there were +ten stars and two red lights; he was trying to make everything come +treble when the gate clicked and he saw his father's shadow. He was +delighted with this happy end to a tiresome day, and as he ran +through the passage he called out to mother to say that father was +back. Mother did not answer, but he heard a bit of noise in the +kitchen as he opened the front door. + +He said "Good evening" in the grown-up voice that father encouraged, +but father slipped in and shut the door without saying a word. Every +night when he came back from the post-office he brought Jack the +gummed edgings off the sheets of stamps, and Jack held out his hand +for them as a matter of course. Automatically father felt in his +overcoat pocket and pulled out a great handful. "Take care of them, +they're the last you'll get," he said; but when Jack asked why, his +father looked at him with the same hopeless expression that he had +found in his mother's eyes a short while before. Jack felt a little +cross that every one should be so stupid. + +When they went into the kitchen everybody looked very strange, and +Jack sat down in the corner and listened for an explanation. As a +rule the conversation of the grown-up people did not amuse him, but +tonight he felt that something had happened, and that if he kept +quiet he might find out what it was. He had noticed before that when +the grown-ups talked they always said the same things over and over +again, and now they were worse than usual. Father said, "It's no +good, I've got to go through it;" the mill-woman said, "Whatever made +you do it, George?" And mother said, "Nothing will ever happen to me +again!" They all went on saying these things till Jack grew tired of +listening, and started plaiting his stamp-paper into a mat. If you +did it very neatly it was almost as good as an ordinary sheet of +paper by the time you had finished. By and by, while he was still at +work, the mill-woman brought him his supper on a plate, and raising +his head he saw that father and mother were sitting close together, +looking at each other, and saying nothing at all. He was very +disappointed that although father had come home they had not had any +jokes all the evening, and as they were all so dull he did not very +much mind being sent to bed when he had finished his supper. When he +said good-night to father, he noticed that his boots were very muddy, +as if he had walked a long way like a common postman. He made a joke +about this, but they all looked at him as if he had said something +wrong, so he hurried out of the room, glad to get away from these +people whose looks had no reasonable significance, and whose words +had no discoverable meaning. It had been a bad day, and he hoped +mother would let him go back to school the next morning. + +And yet though he took off his clothes and got into bed, the day was +not quite over. He had only dozed for a few minutes when he was +roused by a noise down below, and slipping out on to the staircase he +heard the mill-woman saying good-night in the passage. When she had +gone and the door had banged behind her, he listened still, and heard +his mother crying and his father talking on and on in a strange, +hoarse voice. Somehow these incomprehensible sounds made him feel +lonely, and he would have liked to have gone downstairs and sat on +his mother's lap and blinked drowsily in his father's face, as he had +done often enough before. But he was always shy in the presence of +strangers, and he felt that he did not know this woman who wept and +this man who did not laugh. His father was his play-friend, the +sharer of all his fun; his mother was a quiet woman who sat and +sewed, and sometimes told them not to be silly, which was the best +joke of all. It was not right for people to alter. But the thought of +his bedroom made him desolate, and at last he plucked up his courage, +and crept downstairs on bare feet. Father and mother had gone back +into the kitchen, and he peeped through the crack of the door to see +what they were doing. Mother was still crying, always crying, but he +had to change his position before he could see father. Then he turned +on his heels and ran upstairs trembling with fear and disgust. For +father, the man of all the jokes, the man of whom burglars were +afraid and compared with whom all other little boys' fathers were as +dirt, was crying like a little girl. + +He jumped into bed and pulled the bedclothes over his face to shut +out the ugliness of the world. + + III + +When Jack woke up the next morning he found that the room was full of +sunshine, and that father was standing at the end of the bed. The +moment Jack opened his eyes, he began telling him something in a +serious voice, which was alone sufficient to prevent Jack from +understanding what he said. Besides, he used a lot of long words, and +Jack thought that it was silly to use long words before breakfast, +when nobody could be expected to remember what they meant. Father's +body neatly fitted the square of the window, and the sunbeams shone +in all round it and made it look splendid; and if Jack had not +already forgotten the unfortunate impression of the night before, +this would have enabled him to overcome it. Every now and then father +stopped to ask him if he understood, and he said he did, hoping to +find out what it was all about later on. It seemed, however, that +father was not going to the post-office any more, and this caused +Jack to picture a series of delightfully amusing days. When father +had finished talking he appeared to expect Jack to say something, but +Jack contented himself with trying to look interested, for he knew +that it was always very stupid of little boys not to understand +things they didn't understand. In reality he felt as if he had been +listening while his father argued aloud with himself, talking up and +down like an earthquake map. + +At breakfast they were still subdued, but afterwards, as the morning +wore on, father became livelier and helped Jack to build a hut in +the back garden. They built it of bean-sticks against the wall at the +end, and father broke up a packing-case to get planks for the roof. +Only mother still had a sad face, and it made Jack angry with her, +that she should be such a spoil-fun. After dinner, while Jack was +playing in the hut, Mr. Simmons, of the police-station, and another +gentleman called to take father for a walk, and Jack went down to the +front to see them off. Jack knew Mr. Simmons very well; he had been +to tea with his little boy, but though he thought him a fine sort of +man he could not help feeling proud of his father when he saw them +side by side. Mr. Simmons looked as if he were ashamed of himself, +while father walked along with square shoulders and a high head as if +he had just done something splendid. The other gentleman looked like +nothing at all beside father. + +When they were out of sight Jack went into the house and found mother +crying in the kitchen. As he felt more tolerant in his after-dinner +mood, he tried to cheer her up by telling her how fine father had +looked beside the other two men. Mother raised her face, all swollen +and spoilt with weeping, and gazed at her son in astonishment. "They +are taking him to prison," she wailed, "and God knows what will +become of us." + +For a moment Jack felt alarmed. Then a thought came to him and he +smiled, like a little boy who has just found a new and delightful +game. "Never mind, mother," he said, "we'll help him to escape." + +But mother would not stop crying. + + + + +Shepherd's Boy + +The path climbed up and up and threatened to carry me over the +highest point of the downs till it faltered before a sudden +outcrop of chalk and swerved round the hill on the level. I was +grateful for the respite, for I had been walking all day and my +knapsack was growing heavy. Above me in the blue pastures of the +skies the cloud-sheep were grazing, with the sun on their snowy +backs, and all about me the grey sheep of earth were cropping +the wild pansies that grew wherever the chalk had won a covering +of soil. + +Presently I came upon the shepherd standing erect by the path, a +tall, spare man with a face that the sun and the wind had robbed of +all expression. The dog at his feet looked more intelligent than he. +"You've come up from the valley," he said as I passed; "perhaps +you'll have seen my boy?" + +"I'm sorry, I haven't," I said, pausing. + +"Sorrow breaks no bones," he muttered, and strode away with his dog +at his heels. It seemed to me that the dog was apologetic for his +master's rudeness. + +I walked on to the little hill-girt village, where I had made up my +mind to pass the night. The man at the village shop said he would put +me up, so I took off my knapsack and sat down on a sackful of cattle +cake while the bacon was cooking. + +"If you came over the hill, you'll have met shepherd," said the man, +"and he'll have asked you for his boy." + +"Yes, but I hadn't seen him." + +The shopman nodded. "There are clever folk who say you can see him, +and clever folk who say you can't. The simple ones like you and me, +we say nothing, but we don't see him. Shepherd hasn't got no boy." + +"What! is it a joke?" + +"Well, of course it may be," said the shop-man guardedly, "though I +can't say I've heard many people laughing at it yet. You see, +shepherd's boy he broke his neck. . . . + +"That was in the days before they built the fence above the big +chalk-pit that you passed on your left coming down. A dangerous +place it used to be for the sheep, so shepherd's boy he used to lie +along there to stop them dropping into it, while shepherd's dog he +stopped them from going too far. And shepherd he used to come down +here and have his glass, for he took it then like you or me. He's +blue ribbon now. + +"It was one night when the mists were out on the hills, and maybe +shepherd had had a glass too much, or maybe he got a bit lost in the +smoke. But when he went up there to bring them home, he starts +driving them into the pit as straight as could be. Shepherd's boy he +hollered out and ran to stop them, but four-and-twenty of them went +over, and the lad he went with them. You mayn't believe me, but five +of them weren't so much as scratched, though it's a sixty feet drop. +Likely they fell soft on top of the others. But shepherd's boy he was +done. + +"Shepherd he's a bit spotty now, and most times he thinks the boy's +still with him. And there are clever folk who'll tell you that +they've seen the boy helping shepherd's dog with the sheep. That +would be a ghost now, I shouldn't wonder. I've never seen it, but +then I'm simple, as you might say. + +"But I've had two boys myself, and it seems to me that a boy like +that, who didn't eat and didn't get into mischief, and did his work, +would be the handiest kind of boy to have about the place." + + + + +The Passing of Edward + +I found Dorothy sitting sedately on the beach, with a mass of black +seaweed twined in her hands and her bare feet sparkling white in the +sun. Even in the first glow of recognition I realised that she was +paler than she had been the summer before, and yet I cannot blame +myself for the tactlessness of my question. + +"Where's Edward?" I said; and I looked about the sands for a sailor +suit and a little pair of prancing legs. + +While I looked Dorothy's eyes watched mine inquiringly, as if she +wondered what I might see. + +"Edward's dead," she said simply. "He died last year, after you +left." + +For a moment I could only gaze at the child in silence, and ask +myself what reason there was in the thing that had hurt her so. Now +that I knew that Edward played with her no more, I could see that +there was a shadow upon her face too dark for her years, and that she +had lost, to some extent, that exquisite carelessness of poise which +makes children so young. Her voice was so calm that I might have +thought her forgetful had I not seen an instant of patent pain in her +wide eyes. + +"I'm sorry," I said at length "very, very, sorry indeed. I had +brought down my car to take you for a drive, as I promised." + +"Oh! Edward _would_ have liked that," she answered thoughtfully; "he +was so fond of motors." She swung round suddenly and looked at the +sands behind her with staring eyes. + +"I thought I heard--" she broke off in confusion. + +I, too, had believed for an instant that I had heard something +that was not the wind or the distant children or the smooth sea +hissing along the beach. During that golden summer which linked +me with the dead, Edward had been wont, in moments of elation, +to puff up and down the sands, in artistic representation of a +nobby, noisy motor-car. But the dead may play no more, and there +was nothing there but the sands and the hot sky and Dorothy. + +"You had better let me take you for a run, Dorothy," I said. "The man +will drive, and we can talk as we go along." + +She nodded gravely, and began pulling on her sandy stockings. + +"It did not hurt him," she said inconsequently. + +The restraint in her voice pained me like a blow. + +"Oh, don't, dear, don't!" I cried, "There is nothing to do but +forget." + +"I have forgotten, quite," she answered, pulling at her shoe-laces +with calm fingers. "It was ten months ago." + +We walked up to the front, where the car was waiting, and Dorothy +settled herself among the cushions with a little sigh of contentment, +the human quality of which brought me a certain relief. If only she +would laugh or cry! I sat down by her side, but the man waited by the +open door. + +"What is it?" I asked. + +"I'm sorry, sir," he answered, looking about him in confusion, "I +thought I saw a young gentleman with you." + +He shut the door with a bang, and in a minute we were running through +the town. I knew that Dorothy was watching my face with her wounded +eyes; but I did not look at her until the green fields leapt up on +either side of the white road. + +"It is only for a little while that we may not see him," I said; "all +this is nothing." + +"I have forgotten," she repeated. "I think this is a very nice +motor." + +I had not previously complained of the motor, but I was wishing then +that it would cease its poignant imitation of a little dead boy, a +boy who would play no more. By the touch of Dorothy's sleeve against +mine I knew that she could hear it too. And the miles flew by, green +and brown and golden, while I wondered what use I might be in the +world, who could not help a child to forget, Possibly there was +another way, I thought. + +"Tell me how it happened," I said. + +Dorothy looked at me with inscrutable eyes, and spoke in a voice +without emotion. + +"He caught a cold, and was very ill in bed. I went in to see him, +and he was all white and faded. I said to him, `How are you Edward?' +and he said, `I shall get up early in the morning to catch beetles.' +I didn't see him any more." + +"Poor little chap!" I murmured. + +"I went to the funeral," she continued monotonously, "It was very +rainy, and I threw a little bunch of flowers down into the hole. +There was a whole lot of flowers there; but I think Edward liked +apples better than flowers." + +"Did you cry?" I said cruelly. + +She paused. "I don't know. I suppose so. It was a long time ago; I +think I have forgotten." + +Even while she spoke I heard Edward puffing along the sands: Edward +who had been so fond of apples. + +"I cannot stand this any longer," I said aloud. "Let's get out and +walk in the woods for a change." + +She agreed, with a depth of comprehension that terrified me; and the +motor pulled up with a jerk at a spot where hardly a post served to +mark where the woods commenced and the wayside grass stopped. We took +one of the dim paths which the rabbits had made and forced our way +through the undergrowth into the peaceful twilight of the trees. + +"You haven't got very sunburnt this year," I said as we walked. + +"I don't know why. I've been out on the beach all the days. +Sometimes I've played, too." + +I did not ask her what games she had played, or who had been her +play-friend. Yet even there in the quiet woods I knew that Edward was +holding her back from me. It is true that, in his boy's way, he had +been fond of me; but I should not have dared to take her out without +him in the days when his live lips had filled the beach with song, +and his small brown body had danced among the surf. Now it seemed +that I had been disloyal to him. + +And presently we came to a clearing where the leaves of forgotten +years lay brown and rotten beneath our feet, and the air was full of +the dryness of death. + +"Let's be going back. What do you think, Dorothy?" I said. + +"I think," she said slowly,--"I think that this would be a very good +place to catch beetles." + +A wood is full of secret noises, and that is why, I suppose, we +heard a pair of small quick feet come with a dance of triumph +through the rustling bracken. For a minute we listened deeply, and +then Dorothy broke from my side with a piercing call on her lips. + +"Oh, Edward, Edward!" she cried; "Edward!" + +But the dead may play no more, and presently she came back to me with +the tears that are the riches of childhood streaming down her face. + +"I can hear him, I can hear him," she sobbed; "but I cannot see him. +Never, never again." + +And so I led her back to the motor. But in her tears I seemed to +find a promise of peace that she had not known before. + +Now Edward was no very wonderful little boy; it may be that he was +jealous and vain and greedy; yet now, it seemed as he lay in his +small grave with the memory of Dorothy's flowers about him, he had +wrought this kindness for his sister. Yes, even though we heard no +more than the birds in the branches and the wind swaying the scented +bracken; even though he had passed with another summer, and the dead +and the love of the dead may rise no more from the grave. + + + + +The Story Of A Book + + I. THE WRITER + +The history of a book must necessarily begin with the history of its +author, for surely in these enlightened days neither the youngest nor +the oldest of critics can believe that works of art are found under +gooseberry-bushes or in the nests of storks. In truth, I am by no +means sure that everybody knew this before the publication of "The +Man Shakespeare," and for the sake of a mystified posterity it may be +well to explain that there was once a school of criticism that +thought it indecent to pry into that treasure-house of individuality +from which, if we reject the nursery hypotheses mentioned above, it +is clearly obvious that authors derive their works. That the drama +must needs be closely related to the dramatist is just one of those +simple discoveries that invariably elude the subtle professional +mind; but in this wiser hour I may be permitted to assume that the +author was the conscious father of his novel, and that he did not +find it surprisingly in his pocket one morning, like a bad shilling +taken in change from the cabman overnight. + +Before he published his novel at the ripe age of thirty-seven the +author had lived an irreproachable and gentlemanly life. Born with at +least a German-silver spoon in his mouth, he passed, after a normally +eventful childhood, through a respectable public school, and spent +several agreeable years at Cambridge without taking a degree. He then +went into his uncle's office in the City, where he idled daily from +ten to four, till in due course he was admitted to a partnership, +which enabled him to reduce his hours of idleness to eleven to three. +These details become important when we reflect that from his +childhood on the author had a great deal of time at his disposal. If +he had been entirely normal, he would have accepted the conventions +of the society to which he belonged, and devoted himself to motoring, +bridge, and the encouragement of the lighter drama. But some +deep-rooted habit of his childhood, or even perhaps some remote +hereditary taint, led him to spend an appreciable fraction of his +leisure time in the reading of works of fiction. Unlike most lovers +of light literature, he read with a certain mental concentration, and +was broad-minded enough to read good novels as well as bad ones. + +It is a pleasant fact that it is impossible to concentrate one's mind +on anything without in time becoming wiser, and in the course of +years the author became quite a skilful critic of novels. From the +first he had allowed his reading to colour his impressions of life, +and had obediently lived in a world of blacks and whites, of heroes +and heroines, of villains and adventuresses, until the grateful +discovery of the realistic school of fiction permitted him to believe +that men and women were for the most part neither good nor bad, but +tabby. Moreover, the leisurely reading of many sentences had given +him some understanding of the elements of style. He perceived that +some combinations of words were illogical, and that others were +unlovely to the ear; and at the same time he acquired a vocabulary +and a knowledge of grammar and punctuation that his earlier education +had failed to give him. He read new novels at his writing-table, and +took pleasure in correcting the mistakes of their authors in ink. +When he had done this, he would hand them to his wife, who always +read the end first, and, indeed, rarely pursued her investigation of +a book beyond the last chapter. + +We buy knowledge with illusions, and pay a high price for it, for the +acquirement of quite a small degree of wisdom will deprive us of a +large number of pleasant fancies. So it was with the author, who +found his joy in novel-reading diminishing rapidly as his critical +knowledge increased. He was no longer able to lose himself between +the covers of a romance, but slid his paper-knife between the pages +of a book with an unwholesome readiness to be irritated by the +ignorance and folly of the novelist. His destructive criticism of +works of fiction became so acute that it was natural that his +unlettered friends should suggest that he himself ought to write a +novel. For a long while he was content to receive the flattering +suggestion with a reticent smile that masked his conviction that +there was a difference between criticism and creation. But as he grew +older the imperfections in the books he read ceased to give him the +thrill of the successful explorer in sight of the expected, and time +began to trickle too slowly through his idle fingers. One day he sat +down and wrote "Chapter I." at the head of a sheet of quarto paper. + +It seemed to him that the difficulty was only one of selection, and +he wrote two-thirds of a novel with a breathless ease of creation +that made him marvel at himself and the pitiful struggles of less +gifted novelists. Then in a moment of insight he picked up his +manuscript and realised that what he had written was childishly +crude. He had felt his story while he wrote it, but somehow or other +he had failed to get his emotions on paper, and he saw quite clearly +that it was worse and not better than the majority of the books which +he had held up to ridicule. + +There was a certain doggedness in his character that might have made +him a useful citizen but for that unfortunate hereditary spoon, and +he wrote "Chapter I." at the head of a new sheet of quarto paper long +before the library fire had reached the heart of his first luckless +manuscript. This time he wrote more slowly, and with a waning +confidence that failed him altogether when he was about half-way +through. Reading the fragment dispassionately he thought there were +good pages in it, but, taken as a whole, it was unequal, and moved +forward only by fits and starts. He began again with his late +manuscript spread about him on the table for reference. At the fifth +attempt he succeeded in writing a whole novel. + +In the course of his struggles he had acquired a philosophy of +composition. Especially he had learned to shun those enchanted hours +when the labour of creation became suspiciously easy, for he had +found by experience that the work he did in these moments of +inspiration was either bad in itself or out of key with the preceding +chapters. He thought that inspiration might be useful to poets or +writers of short stories, but personally as a novelist he found it a +nuisance. By dint of hard work, however, he succeeded in eliminating +its evil influence from his final draft. He told himself that he had +no illusions as to the merits of his book. He knew he was not a man +of genius, but he knew also that the grammar and the punctuation of +his novel were far above the average of such works, and although he +could not read Sir Thomas Browne or Walter Pater with pleasure, he +felt sure that his book was written in a straightforward and +gentlemanly style. He was prepared to be told that his use of the +colon was audacious, and looked forward with pleasure to an agreeable +controversy on the question. + +He read his book to his friends, who made suggestions that would have +involved its rewriting from one end to the other. He read it to his +enemies, who told him that it was nearly good enough to publish; he +read it to his wife, who said that it was very nice, and that it was +time to dress for dinner. No one seemed to realise that it was the +most important thing he had ever done in his life. This quickened his +eagerness to get it published--an eagerness only tempered by a very +real fear of those knowing dogs, the critics. He could not forget +that he had criticised a good many books himself in terms that would +have made the authors abandon their profession if they had but heard +his strictures; and he had read notices in the papers that would have +made him droop with shame if they had referred to any work of his. +When these sombre thoughts came to him he would pick up his book and +read it again, and in common fairness he had to admit to himself that +he found it uncommonly good. + +One day, after a whole batch of ungrammatical novels had reached him +from the library, he posted his manuscript to his favourite +publisher. He had heard stories of masterpieces many times rejected, +so he did not tell his wife what he had done. + + II. The Sleepy Publisher + +The publisher to whom our author had confided his manuscript stood, +like all publishers, at the very head of his profession. His business +was conducted on sound conservative lines, which means that though he +had regretfully abandoned the three-volume novel for the novel +published at six shillings, he was not among the intrepid +revolutionaries who were beginning to produce new fiction at a still +lower price. Besides novels he published solid works of biography at +thirty-one and six, art books at a guinea, travel books at fifteen +shillings, flighty historical works at twelve-and-sixpence, and cheap +editions of Montaigne's Essays and "Robinson Crusoe" at a shilling. +Some idea of his business methods may be derived from the fact that +it pleased him to reflect that all the other publishers were +producing exactly the same books as he was. And though he would admit +that the trade had been ruined by competition and the outrageous +royalties demanded by successful authors, and, further, that he made +a loss on every separate department of his business, in some +mysterious fashion the business as a whole continued to pay him very +well. He left the active part of the management to a confidential +clerk, and contented himself with signing cheques and interviewing +authors. + +With such a publisher the fate of our author's book was never in +doubt. If it was lacking in those qualities that might be expected to +commend it to the reading public, it was conspicuously rich in those +merits that determine the favourable judgment of publishers' readers. +It was above all things a gentlemanly book, without violence and +without eccentricities. It was carefully and grammatically written; +but it had not that exotic literary flavour which is so tiresome on a +long railway journey. It could be put into the hands of any +schoolgirl, and at most would merely send her to sleep. The only +thing that could be said against it was that the author's dread of +inspiration had made it grievously dull, but it was the publisher's +opinion that after a glut of sensational fiction the six-shilling +public had come to regard dullness as the hall-mark of literary +merit. He had no illusions as to its possible success, but, on the +other hand, he knew that he could not lose any money on it, so he +wrote a letter to the author inviting him to an interview. + +As soon as he had read the letter the author told himself that he +had been certain all along that his book would be accepted. +Nevertheless, he went to the interview moved by certain emotional +flutterings against which circumstance had guarded him ever since +his boyhood. He found this mild excitation of the nervous system by +no means unpleasant. It was like digesting a new and subtle liqueur +that made him light-footed and tingled in the tips of his fingers. +He recalled a phrase that had greatly pleased him in the early days +of his novel. "As the sun colours flowers, so Art colours life." It +seemed to him that this was beginning to come true, and that life +was already presenting itself to him in a gayer, brighter dress. He +reached the publisher's office, therefore, in an unwontedly +receptive mood, and was tremendously impressed by the rudeness of +the clerks, who treated authors as mendicants and expressed their +opinion of literature by handling books as if they were bundles of +firewood. + +The publisher looked at him under heavy eyelids, recognised his +position in the social scale, and reflected with satisfaction that +his acquaintances could be relied on to purchase at least a hundred +copies. The interview did not at all take the lines that the author +in his innocence had expected, and in a surprisingly short space of +time he found himself bowed out, with the duplicate of a contract in +the pocket of his overcoat. In the outer office the confidential +clerk took him in hand and led him to the door of an enormous cellar, +lit by electricity and filled from one end to the other with bales +and heaps of books. "Books!" said the confidential clerk, with the +smile of a gamekeeper displaying his hand-reared pheasants. "There +are a great many," the author said timidly. + +"Of course, we do not keep our stock here," the clerk explained. +"These are just samples." It was sometimes necessary to remind +inexperienced writers that the publication of their first book was +only a trivial incident in the history of a great publishing house. +The author had a sad vision of his novel as a little brick in a +monstrous pyramid built of books, and the clerk mentally decided that +he was not the kind of man to turn up every day at the office to ask +them how they were getting on. + +The author was a little dazed when he emerged into the street and the +sunshine. His book, which an hour before had seemed the most +important thing in the world, had, become almost insignificant in the +light of that vast collection of printed matter, and in some subtle +way he felt that he had dwindled with it. The publisher had praised +it without enthusiasm and had not specified any of its merits; he had +not even commented on his fantastic use of the colon. The author had +lived with it now for many months--it had become a part of his +personality, and he felt that he had betrayed himself in delivering +it into the hands of strangers who could not understand it. He had +the reticence of the well-bred Englishman, and though he told himself +reassuringly that his novel in no way reflected his private life, he +could not quite overcome the sentiment that it was a little vulgar to +allow alien eyes to read the product of his most intimate thoughts. +He had really been shocked at the matter-of-fact way in which every +one at the office had spoken of his book, and the sight of all the +other books with which it would soon be inextricably confused had +emphasised the painful impression. This all seemed to rob the +author's calling of its presumed distinction, and he looked at the +men and women who passed him on the pavement, and wondered whether +they too had written books. + +This mood lasted for some weeks, at the end of which time he received +the proofs, which he read and re-read with real pleasure before +setting himself to correcting them with meticulous care. He performed +this task with such conscientiousness, and made so many minor +alterations--he changed most of those flighty colons to more +conventional semicolons--that the confidential clerk swore terribly +when he glanced at the proofs before handing them to a boy, with +instructions to remove three-quarters of the offending emendations. +A week or two later there happened one of those strange little +incidents that make modern literary history. It was a bright, sunny +afternoon; the publisher had been lunching with the star author of +the firm, a novelist whose books were read wherever the British flag +waved and there was a circulating library to distribute them, and +now, in the warm twilight of the lowered blinds he was enjoying +profound thoughts, delicately tinted by burgundy and old port. The +shrewdest men make mistakes, and certainly it was hardly wise of the +confidential clerk to choose this peaceful moment to speak about our +author's book. "I suppose we shall print a thousand?" he said. "Five +thousand!" ejaculated the publisher. What was he thinking about? Was +he filling up an imaginary income-tax statement, or was he trying to +estimate the number of butterflies that seemed to float in the amber +shadows of the room? The clerk did not know. "I suppose you mean one +thousand, sir?" he said gently. The publisher was now wide awake. He +had lost all his butterflies, and he was not the man to allow himself +to be sleepy in the afternoon. "I said five thousand!" The clerk bit +his lip and left the room. + +The author never heard of this brief dialogue; probably if he had +been present he would have missed its significance. He would never +have connected it with the flood of paragraphs that appeared in the +Press announcing that the acumen of the publisher had discovered a +new author of genius--paragraphs wherein he was compared with +Dickens, Thackeray, Flaubert, Richardson, Sir Walter Besant, Thomas +Browne, and the author of "An Englishwoman's Love-letters." As it +was, it did not occur to him to wonder why the publisher should spend +so much money on advertising a book of which he had seemed to have +but a half-hearted appreciation. After all it was his book, and the +author felt that it was only natural that as the hour of publication +drew near the world of letters should show signs of a dignified +excitement. + + III. The Critic Errant + +There are some emotions so intimate that the most intrepid writer +hesitates to chronicle them lest it should be inferred that he +himself is in the confessional. We have endeavoured to show our +author as a level-headed English-man with his nerves well under +control and an honest contempt for emotionalism in the stronger sex; +but his feelings in the face of the first little bundle of reviews +sent him by the press-cutting agency would prove this portrait +incomplete. He noticed with a vague astonishment that the flimsy +scraps of paper were trembling in his fingers like banknotes in the +hands of a gambler, and he laid them down on the breakfast-table in +disgust of the feminine weakness. This unmistakable proof that he had +written a book, a real book, made him at once happy and uneasy. These +fragments of smudged prints were his passport into a new and +delightful world; they were, it might be said, the name of his +destination in the great republic of letters, and yet he hesitated to +look at them. He heard of the curious blindness of authors that made +it impossible for them to detect the most egregious failings in their +own work, and it occurred to him that this might be his malady. Why: +had he published his book? He felt at that moment that he had taken +too great a risk. It would have been so easy to have had it privately +printed and contented himself with distributing it among his friends. +But these people were paid for writing about books, these critics who +had sent Keats to his gallipots and Swinburne to his fig-tree, might +well have failed to have recognised that his book was sacred, because +it was his own. + +When he had at last achieved a fatalistic tranquillity, he once more +picked up the notices, and this time he read them through carefully. +The _Rutlandshire Gazette_ quoted Shakespeare, the _Thrums Times_ +compared him with Christopher North, the _Stamford-bridge Herald_ +thought that his style resembled that of Macaulay, but they were +unanimous in praising his book without reservation. It seemed to the +author that he was listening to the authentic voice of fame. He +rested his chin on his hand and dreamed long dreams. + +He could afford in this hour of his triumph to forget the annoyances +he had undergone since his book was first accepted. The publisher, +with a large first edition to dispose of, had been rather more than +firm with the author. He had changed the title of the book from +"Earth's Returns"--a title that had seemed to the author dignified +and pleasantly literary--to "The Improbable Marquis," which seemed +to him to mean nothing at all. Moreover, instead of giving the book +a quiet and scholarly exterior, he had bound it in boards of an +injudicious heliotrope, inset with a nasty little coloured picture +of a young woman with a St. Bernard dog. This binding revolted the +author, who objected, with some reason, that in all his book there +was no mention of a dog of that description, or, indeed, of any dog +at all. The book was wrapped in an outer cover that bore a +recommendation of its contents, starting with a hideous split +infinitive and describing it as an exquisite social comedy written +from within. On the whole it seemed to the author that his book was +flying false and undesirable colours, and since art lies outside the +domesticities, he was hardly relieved when his wife told him that +she thought the binding was very pretty. The author had shuddered no +less at the little paragraphs that the publisher had inserted in the +newspapers concerning his birth and education, wherein he was +bracketed with other well-known writers whose careers at the +University had been equally undistinguished. But now that, like +Byron, he found himself famous among the bacon and eggs, he was in +no mood to remember these past vexations. As soon as he had finished +breakfast he withdrew himself to his study and wrote half an essay +on the Republic of Letters. + +In a country wherein fifteen novels--or is it fifty?--are +published every day of the year, the publisher's account of the +goods he sells is bound to have a certain value. Money talks, +as Mr. Arnold Bennett once observed--indeed today it is grown +quite garrulous--and when a publisher spends a lot of money on +advertising a book, the inference is that some one believes the +book to be good. This will not secure a book good notices, but +it will secure it notices of some kind or other, and that, as +every publisher knows, is three-quarters of the battle. The +average critic today is an old young man who has not failed in +literature or art, possibly because he has not tried to +accomplish anything in either. By the time he has acquired some +skill in criticism he has generally ceased to be a critic, +through no fault of his own, but through sheer weariness of +spirit. When a man is very young he can dance upon everyone who +has not written a masterpiece with a light heart, but after +this period of joyous savagery there follows fatigue and a +certain pity. The critic loses sight of his first magnificent +standards, and becomes grateful for even the smallest merit in +the books he is compelled to read. Like a mother giving a +powder to her child, he is at pains to disguise his timid +censure with a teaspoonful of jam. As the years pass by he +becomes afraid of these books that continue to appear in +unreasonable profusion, and that have long ago destroyed his +faith in literature, his love of reading, his sense of humour, +and the colouring matter of his hair. He realises, with a +dreadful sense of the infinite, that when he is dead and buried +this torrent of books will overwhelm the individualities of his +successors, bound like himself to a lifelong examination of the +insignificant. + +Timidity is certainly the note of modern criticism, which is rarely +roused to indignation save when confronted by the infrequent outrage +of some intellectual anarchist. If the critics of the more important +journals were not so enthusiastic as their provincial confreres, +they were at least gentle with "The Improbable Marquis." A critic of +genius would have said that such books were not worth writing, still +less worth reading. An outspoken critic would have said that it was +too dull to be an acceptable presentation of a life that we all find +interesting. As it was, most of the critics praised the style in +which it was written because it was quite impossible to call it an +enthralling or even an entertaining book. Some of the younger +critics, who still retained an interest in their own personalities, +discovered that its vacuity made it a convenient mirror by means of +which they would display the progress of their own genius. In common +gratitude they had to close these manifestations of their merit with +a word or two in praise of the book they were professing to review. +"The Improbable Marquis" was very favourably received by the Press +in general. + +It was, as the publisher made haste to point out in his +advertisements, a book of the year, and, reassured by its flippant +exterior, the libraries and the public bought it with avidity. The +author pasted his swollen collection of newspaper-cuttings into an +album, and carefully revised his novel in case a second edition +should be called for. There was one review which he had read more +often than any of the others, and nevertheless he hesitated to +include it in his collection. "This book," wrote the anonymous +reviewer, "is as nearly faultless a book may be that possesses no +positive merit. It differs only from seven-eighths of the novels +that are produced today in being more carefully written. The author +had nothing to say, and he has said it." That was all, three +malignant lines in a paper of no commercial importance, the sort of +thing that was passed round the publisher's office with an +appreciative chuckle. In the face of the general amiability of the +Press, such a notice in an obscure journal could do the book no +harm. + +Only the author sat hour after hour in his study with that diminutive +scrap of paper before him on the table, and wondered if it was +true. + + IV. Fame + +It was some little time before the public, the mysterious section of +the public that reads works of fiction, discovered that the +publisher, aided by the normal good-humour of the critics, had +persuaded them to sacrifice some of their scant hours of intellectual +recreation on a work of portentous dullness. Therefor the literary +audience has its sense of humour--they amused themselves for a while +by recommending the book to their friends, and the sales crept +steadily up to four thousand, and there stayed with an unmistakable +air of finality. If the book had had any real literary merit its life +would have started at that point, for the weary comments of reviewers +and the strident outcries of publishers tend to obscure rather than +reveal the permanent value of a book. But six months after +publication "The Improbable Marquis" was completely forgotten, save +by the second-hand booksellers, who found themselves embarrassed with +a number of books for which no one seemed anxious to pay six-pence, +in spite of the striking heliotrope binding. The publisher, who was +aware of this circumstance, offered the author five hundred copies at +cost price, and the author bought them, and sent them to public +libraries, without examining the motive for his action too closely. +There were moments when he regarded the success of his book with +suspicion. He would have preferred the praise that had greeted it to +have been less violent and more clearly defined. Of all the +criticisms, the only one that lingered in his mind was the curt +comment, "The author had nothing to say, and he has said it." He +thought it was unfair, but he had remembered it. At the same time, in +examining his own character, he could not find that masterfulness +that seemed to him necessary in a great man. But for the most part he +was content to accept his new honours with a placid satisfaction, and +to smile genially upon a world that was eager to credit him with +qualities that possibly he did not possess. For if his book was no +longer read his fame as an author seemed to be established on a rock. +Society, with a larger S than that which he had hitherto adorned, was +delighted to find after two notable failures that genius could still +be presentable, and the author was rather more than that. He was +rich, he had that air of the distinguished army officer which falls +so easily to those who occupy the pleasant position of sleeping +partner in the City, and he had just the right shade of amused +modesty with which to meet inquiries as to his literary intentions. +In a word, he was an author of whom any country--even France, that +prolific parent of presentable authors--would have been proud. Even +his wife, who had thought it an excellent joke that her husband +should have written a book, had to take him seriously as an author +when she found that their social position was steadily improving. +With feminine tact she gave him a fountain-pen on his birthday, from +which he was meant to conclude that she believed in his mission as an +artist. + +Meanwhile, with the world at his feet, the author spent an +appreciable part of his time in visiting the second-hand bookshops +and buying copies of his book absurdly cheap. He carried these waifs +home and stored them in an attic secretly, for he would have found it +hard to explain his motives to the intellectually childless. In the +first flush of authorship he had sent a number of presentation copies +of his book to writers whom he admired, and he noticed without +bitterness that some of these volumes with their neatly turned +inscriptions were coming back to him through this channel. At all the +second-hand bookshops he saw long-haired young men looking over the +books without buying them, and he thought these must be authors, but +he was too shy to speak to them, though he had a great longing to +know other writers. He wanted to ask them questions concerning their +methods of work, for he was having trouble with his second book. He +had read an article in which the writer said that the great fault of +modern fiction was that authors were more concerned to produce good +chapters than to produce good books. It seemed to him that in his +first book he had only aimed at good sentences, but he knew no one +with whom he could discuss such matters. + +One day he found a copy of "The Improbable Marquis" in the Charing +Cross Road, and was glancing through it with absent-minded interest, +when a voice at his elbow said, "I shouldn't buy that if I were you, +sir. It's no good!" He looked up and saw a wild young man, with +bright eyes and an untidy black beard. "But it's mine; I wrote it," +cried the author. The young man stared at him in dismay. "I'm sorry; +I didn't know," he blurted out, and faded away into the crowd. The +author gazed after him wistfully, regretting that he had not had +presence of mind enough to ask him to lunch. Perhaps the young man +could have told him how he ought to write his second book. + +For somehow or other, at the very moment when his literary position +seemed most secure in the eyes of his wife and his friends, the +author had lost all confidence in his own powers. He shut himself up +in his study every night, and was supposed by an admiring and almost +timorous household to be producing masterpieces, when in reality he +was conducting a series of barren skirmishes between the critical +and the creative elements of his nature. He would write a chapter or +two in a fine fury of composition, and then would read what he had +written with intense disgust. He felt that his second book ought to +be better than his first, and he doubted whether he would even be +able to write anything half so good. In his hour of disillusionment +he recalled the anonymous critic who had treated "The Improbable +Marquis" with such scant respect, and he wrote to him asking him to +expand his judgment. He was prepared to be wounded by the answer, +but the form it took surprised him. In reply to his temperate and +courteous letter the critic sent a postcard bearing only five short +words--"Why did you write it?" + +This was bad manners, but the author was sensible enough to see that +it might be good criticism, especially as he found some difficulty in +answering the question. Why had he written a book? Not for money, or +for fame, or to express a personality of which he saw no reason to be +proud. All his friends had said that he ought to write a novel, and +he had thought that he could write a better one than the average. But +he had to admit that such motives seemed to him insufficient. There +was, perhaps, some mysterious force that drove men to create works of +art, and the critic had seen that his book had lacked this necessary +impulse. In the light of this new theory the author was roused by a +sense of injustice. He felt that it should be possible for anyone to +write a good book if they took sufficient pains, and he set himself +to work again with a savage and unproductive energy. + +It seemed to him that in spite of his effort to bear in mind that the +whole should be greater than any part, his chapters broke up into +sentences and his sentences into forlorn and ungregarious words. When +he looked to his first book for comfort he found the same horrid +phenomenon taking place in its familiar pages. Sometimes when he was +disheartened by his fruitless efforts he slipped out into the +streets, fixing his attention on concrete objects to rest his tired +mind. But he could not help noticing that London had discovered the +secret which made his intellectual life a torment. The streets were +more than a mere assemblage of houses, London herself was more than a +tangled skein of streets, and overhead heaven was more than a +meeting-place of individual stars. What was this secret that made +words into a book, houses into cities, and restless and measurable +stars into an unchanging and immeasurable universe? + + + + +The Bird In The Garden + +The room in which the Burchell family lived in Love Street, S.E., was +underground and depended for light and air on a grating let into the +pavement above. + +Uncle John, who was a queer one, had filled the area with green +plants and creepers in boxes and tins hanging from the grating, so +that the room itself obtained very little light indeed, but there +was always a nice bright green place for the people sitting in it to +look at. Toby, who had peeped into the areas of other little boys, +knew that his was of quite exceptional beauty, and it was with a +certain awe that he helped Uncle John to tend the plants in the +morning, watering them and taking the pieces of paper and straws +that had fallen through the grating from their hair. "It is a great +mistake to have straws in ones hair," Uncle John would say gravely; +and Toby knew that it was true. + +It was in the morning after they had just been watered that the +plants looked and smelt best, and when the sun shone through the +grating and the diamonds were shining and falling through the forest, +Toby would tell the baby about the great bird who would one day come +flying through the trees--a bird of all colours, ugly and beautiful, +with a harsh sweet voice. "And that will be the end of everything," +said Toby, though of course he was only repeating a story his Uncle +John had told him. + +There were other people in the big, dark room besides Toby and Uncle +John and the baby; dark people who flitted to and fro about secret +matters, people called father and mother and Mr. Hearn, who were apt +to kick if they found you in their way, and who never laughed except +at nights, and then they laughed too loudly. + +"They will frighten the bird," thought Toby; but they were kind to +Uncle John because he had a pension. Toby slept in a corner on the +ground beside the baby, and when father and Mr. Hearn fought at +nights he would wake up and watch and shiver; but when this happened +it seemed to him that the baby was laughing at him, and he would +pinch her to make her stop. One night, when the men were fighting +very fiercely and mother had fallen asleep on the table, Uncle John +rose from his bed and began singing in a great voice. It was a song +Toby knew very well about Trafalgar's Bay, but it frightened the two +men a great deal because they thought Uncle John would be too mad to +fetch the pension any more. Next day he was quite well, however, and +he and Toby found a large green caterpillar in the garden among the +plants. + +"This is a fact of great importance," said Uncle John, stroking it +with a little stick. "It is a sign!" + +Toby used to lie awake at nights after that and listen for the bird, +but he only heard the clatter of feet on the pavement and the +screaming of engines far away. + +Later there came a new young woman to live in the cellar--not a dark +person, but a person you could see and speak to. She patted Toby on +the head; but when she saw the baby she caught it to her breast and +cried over it, calling it pretty names. + +At first father and Mr. Hearn were both very kind to her, and mother +used to sit all day in the corner with burning eyes, but after a time +the three used to laugh together at nights as before, and the woman +would sit with her wet face and wait for the coming of the bird, with +Toby and the baby and Uncle John, who was a queer one. + +"All we have to do," Uncle John would say, "is to keep the garden +clean and tidy, and to water the plants every morning so that they +may be very green." And Toby would go and whisper this to the baby, +and she would stare at the ceiling with large, stupid eyes. + +There came a time when Toby was very sick, and he lay all day in his +corner wondering about wonder. Sometimes the room in which he lay +became so small that he was choked for lack of air, sometimes it was +so large that he screamed out because he felt lonely. He could not +see the dark people then at all, but only Uncle John and the woman, +who told him in whispers that her name was "Mummie." She called him +Sonny, which is a very pretty name, and when Toby heard it he felt a +tickling in his sides which he knew to be gladness. Mummie's face was +wet and warm and soft, and she was very fond of kissing. Every +morning Uncle John would lift Toby up and show him the garden, and +Toby would slip out of his arms and walk among the trees and plants. +And the place would grow bigger and bigger until it was all the +world, and Toby would lose himself; amongst the tangle of trees and +flowers and creepers. He would see butterflies there and tame +animals, and the sky was full of birds of all colours, ugly and +beautiful; but he knew that none of these was the bird, because their +voices were only sweet. Sometimes he showed these wonders to a little +boy called Toby, who held his hand and called him Uncle John, +sometimes he showed them to his mummie and he himself was Toby; but +always when he came back he found himself lying in Uncle John's arms, +and, weary from his walk, would fall into a pleasant dreamless sleep. + +It seemed to Toby at this time that a veil hung about him which, dim +and unreal in itself, served to make all things dim and unreal. He +did not know whether he was asleep or awake, so strange was life, so +vivid were his dreams. Mummie, Uncle John, the baby, Toby himself +came with a flicker of the veil and disappeared vaguely without +cause. It would happen that Toby would be speaking to Uncle John, and +suddenly he would find himself looking into the large eyes of the +baby, turned stupidly towards the ceiling, and again the baby would +be Toby himself, a hot, dry little body without legs or arms, that +swayed suspended as if by magic a foot above the bed. + +Then there was the vision of two small feet that moved a long way +off, and Toby would watch them curiously as kittens do their tails, +without knowing the cause of their motion. It was all very wonderful +and very strange, and day by day the veil grew thicker; there was no +need to wake when the sleeptime was so pleasant; there were no dark +people to kick you in that dreamy place. + +And yet Toby woke--woke to a life and in a place which he had never +known before. + +He found himself on a heap of rags in a large cellar which depended +for its light on a grating let into the pavement of the street +above. On the stone floor of the area and swinging from the grating +were a few sickly, grimy plants in pots. There must have been, a +fine sunset up above, for a faint red glow came through the bars and +touched the leaves of the plants. + +There was a lighted candle standing in a bottle on the table, and the +cellar seemed full of people. At the table itself two men and a woman +were drinking, though they were already drunk, and beyond in a corner +Toby could see the head and shoulders of a tall old man. Beside him +there crouched a woman with a faded, pretty face, and between Toby +and the rest of the room there stood a box in which lay a baby with +large, wakeful eyes. + +Toby's body tingled with excitement, for this was a new thing; he had +never seen it before, he had never seen anything before. + +The voice of the woman at the table rose and fell steadily without a +pause; she was abusing the other woman, and the two drunken men were +laughing at her and shouting her on; Toby thought the other woman +lacked spirit because she stayed crouching on the floor and said +nothing. + +At last the woman stopped her abuse, and one of the men turned and +shouted an order to the woman on the floor. She stood up and came +towards him, hesitating; this annoyed the man and he swore at her +brutally; when she came near enough he knocked her down with his +fist, and all the three burst out laughing. + +Toby was so excited that he knelt up in his corner and clapped his +hands, but the others did not notice because the old man was up and +swaying wildly over the woman. He seemed to be threatening the man +who had struck her, and that one was evidently afraid of him, for he +rose unsteadily and lifted the chair on which he had been sitting +above his head to use as a weapon. + +The old man raised his fist and the chair fell heavily on to his +wrinkled forehead and he dropped to the ground. + +The woman at the table cried out, "The pension!" in her shrill voice, +and then they were all quiet, looking. + +Then it seemed to Toby that through the forest there came flying, +with a harsh sweet voice and a tumult of wings, a bird of all +colours, ugly and beautiful, and he knew, though later there might be +people to tell him otherwise, that that was the end of everything. + + + + +Children Of The Moon + +The boy stood at the place where the park trees stopped and the +smooth lawns slid away gently to the great house. He was dressed only +in a pair of ragged knickerbockers and a gaping buttonless shirt, so +that his legs and neck and chest shone silver bare in the moonlight. +By day he had a mass of rough golden hair, but now it seemed to brood +above his head like a black cloud that made his face deathly white by +comparison. On his arms there lay a great heap of gleaming dew-wet +roses and lilies, spoil of the park flower-beds. Their cool petals +touched his cheek, and filled his nostrils with aching scent. He felt +his arms smarting here and there, where the thorns of the roses had +torn them in the dark, but these delicate caresses of pain only +served to deepen to him the wonder of the night that wrapped him +about like a cloak. Behind him there dreamed the black woods, and +over his head multitudinous stars quivered and balanced in space; but +these things were nothing to him, for far across the lawn that was +spread knee-deep, with a web of mist there gleamed for his eager eyes +the splendour of a fairy palace. Red and orange and gold, the lights +of the fairy revels shone from a hundred windows and filled him with +wonder that he should see with wakeful eyes the jewels that he had +desired so long in sleep. He could only gaze and gaze until his +straining eyes filled with tears, and set the enchanted lights +dancing in the dark. On his ears, that heard no more the crying of +the night-birds and the quick stir of the rabbits in the brake, there +fell the strains of far music. The flowers in his arms seemed to sway +to it, and his heart beat to the deep pulse of the night. + +So enraptured were his senses that he did not notice the coming of +the girl, and she was able to examine him closely before she called +to him softly through the moonlight. + +"Boy! Boy!" + +At the sound of her voice he swung round and looked at her with +startled eyes. He saw her excited little face and her white dress. + +"Are you a fairy?" he asked hoarsely, for the night-mist was in his +voice. + +"No," she said, "I'm a little girl. You're a wood-boy, I suppose?" + +He stayed silent, regarding her with a puzzled face. Who was this +little white creature with the tender voice that had slipped so +suddenly out of the night? + +"As a matter of fact," the girl continued, "I've come out to have a +look at the fairies. There's a ring down in the wood. You can come +with me if you like, wood-boy." + +He nodded his head silently, for he was afraid to speak to her, and +set off through the wood by her side, still clasping the flowers to +his breast. + +"What were you looking at when I found you?" she asked. + +"The palace--the fairy palace," the boy muttered. + +"The palace?" the girl repeated. "Why, that's not a palace; that's +where I live." + +The boy looked at her with new awe; if she were a fairy---- But the +girl had noticed that his feet made no sound beside her shoes. + +"Don't the thorns prick your feet, wood-boy?" she asked; but the boy +said nothing, and they were both silent for a while, the girl looking +about her keenly as she walked, and the boy watching her face. +Presently they came to a wide pool where a little tinkling fountain +threw bubbles to the hidden fish. + +"Can you swim?" she said to the boy. + +He shook his head. + +"It's a pity," said the girl; "we might have had a bathe. It would be +rather fun in the dark, but it's pretty deep there. We'd better get +on to the fairy ring." + +The moon had flung queer shadows across the glade in which the ring +lay, and when they stood on the edge listening intently the wood +seemed to speak to them with a hundred voices. + +"You can take hold of my hand, if you like," said the girl, in a +whisper. + +The boy dropped his flowers about his white feet and felt for the +girl's hand in the dark. Soon it lay in his own, a warm live thing, +that stirred a little with excitement. + +"I'm not afraid," the girl said; and so they waited. + + * * * * * + +The man came upon them suddenly from among the silver birches. He had +a knapsack on his back and his hair was as long as a tramp's. At +sight of him the girl almost screamed, and her hand trembled in the +boy's. Some instinct made him hold it tighter. + +"What do you want?" he muttered, in his hoarse voice. + +The man was no less astonished than the children. + +"What on earth are you doing here?" he cried. His voice was mild and +reassuring, and the girl answered him promptly. + +"I came out to look for fairies." + +"Oh, that's right enough," commented the man; "and you," he said, +turning to the boy, "are you after fairies, too? Oh, I see; picking +flowers. Do you mean to sell them?" + +The boy shook his head. + +"For my sister," he said, and stopped abruptly. + +"Is your sister fond of flowers?" + +"Yes; she's dead." + +The man looked at him gravely. + +"That's a phrase," he said, "and phrases are the devil. Who told you +that dead people like flowers?" + +"They always have them," said the boy, blushing for shame of his +pretty thought. + +"And what are _you_ looking for?" the girl interrupted. + +The man made a mocking grimace, and glanced around the glade as if he +were afraid of being overheard. + +"Dreams," he said bluntly. + +The girl pondered this for a moment. + +"And your knapsack?" she began. + +"Yes," said the man, "it's full of them." + +The children looked at the knapsack with interest, the girl's fingers +tingling to undo the straps of it. + +"What are they like?" she asked. + +The man gave a short laugh. + +"Very like yours and his, I expect; when you grow older, young woman, +you'll find there's really only one dream possible for a sensible +person. But you don't want to hear about my troubles. This is more in +your line!" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a flageolet, +which he put to his lips. + +"Listen!" he said. + +To the girl it seemed as though the little tune had leapt from the +pipe, and was dancing round the ring like a real fairy, while echo +came tripping through the trees to join it. The boy gaped and said +nothing. + +At last, when the fairy was beginning to falter and echo was quite +out of breath, the man took the flageolet from his lips. + +"Well," he said, with a smile. + +"Thank you very much," said the girl politely. "I think that was very +nice indeed. Oh, boy!" she broke off, "you're hurting my hand!" + +The boy's eyes were shining strangely, and he was waving his arms in +dismay. + +"All the wasted moonlight!" he cried; "the grass is quite wet with +it." + +The girl turned to him in surprise. + +"Why, boy, you've found your voice." + +"After that," said the man gravely, as he put his flageolet back in +his pocket, "I think I will show you the inside of my knapsack." + +The girl bent down eagerly, while he loosened the straps, but gave a +cry of disappointment when she saw the contents. + +"Pictures!" she said. + +"Pictures," echoed the man drily,--"pictures of dreams. I don't know +how you're going to see them. Perhaps the moon will do her best." + +The girl looked at them nicely, and passed them on one by one to the +boy. Presently she made a discovery. + +"Oh, boy!" she cried, "your tears are spoiling all the pictures." + +"I'm sorry," said the boy huskily; "I can't help it." + +"I know," the man said quickly; "it doesn't matter a bit. I expect +you've seen these pictures before." + +"I know them all," said the boy, "but I have never seen them." + +The man frowned. + +"It's the devil," he said to himself, "when boys speak English." He +turned suddenly to the girl, who was puzzling over the boy's tears. +"It's time you went back to bed," he said; "there won't be any +fairies tonight. It's too cold for them." + +The girl yawned. + +"I shall get into a row when I get back if they've found it out. I +don't care." + +"The moon is fading," said the boy suddenly; "there are no more +shadows." + +"We will see you through the wood," the man continued, "and say +good-night." + +He put his pictures back in his knapsack and then walked silently +through the murmuring wood. At the edge of the wood the girl stopped. + +"You are a wood-boy," she said to the boy, "and you mustn't come any +farther. You can give me a kiss if you like." + +The boy did not move, but stayed regarding her awkwardly. + +"I think you are a very silly boy," said the girl, with a toss of her +head, and she stalked away proudly into the mist. + +"Why didn't you kiss her?" asked the man. + +"Her lips would burn me," said the boy. + +The man and the boy walked slowly across the park. + +"Now, boy," said the man, "since civilisation has gone to bed the +time has come for you to hear your destiny." + +"I am only a poor boy," the boy replied simply. "I don't think I have +any destiny." + +"Paradox," said the man, "is meant to conceal the insincerity of the +aged, not to express the simplicity of youth. But I wander. You have +made phrases tonight." + +"What are phrases?" + +"What are dreams? What are roses? What, in fine, is the moon? Boy, I +take you for a moon-child. You hold her pale flowers in your arms, +her white beams have caressed your limbs, you prefer the kisses of +her cool lips to those of that earth-child; all this is very well. +But, above all, you have the music of her great silence; above all, +you have her tears. When I played to you on my pipe you recognised +the voice of your mother. When I showed you my pictures you recalled +the tales with which she hushed you to sleep. And so I knew that you +were her son and my little brother." + +"The moon has always been my friend," said the boy; "but I did not +know that she was my mother." + +"Perhaps your sister knows it; the happy dead are glad to seek her +for a mother; that is why they are so fond of white flowers." + +"We have a mother at home. She works very hard for us." + +"But it is your mother among the clouds who makes your life +beautiful, and the beauty of your life is the measure of your days." + +While the boy reflected on these things they had reached the gates of +the park, and they stole past the silent lodge on to the high road. A +man was waiting there in the shadows, and when he saw the boy's +companion he rushed out and seized him by the arm. + +"So I've got you," he said; "I don't think I'll let you go again in a +hurry." + +The son of the moon gave a queer little laugh. + +"Why, it's Taylor!" he said pleasantly; "but, Taylor, you know +you're making a great mistake." + +"Very possibly," said the keeper, with a laugh. + +"You see this boy here, Taylor; I assure you he is much madder than I +am." + +Taylor looked at the boy kindly. + +"Time you were in bed, Tommy," he said. + +"Taylor," said the man earnestly, "this boy has made three phrases. +If you don't lock him up he will certainly become a poet. He will +set your precious world of sanity ablaze with the fire of his mother, +the moon. Your palaces will totter, Taylor, and your kingdoms become +as dust. I have warned you." + +"That's right, sir; and now you must come with me." + +"Boy," said the man generously, "keep your liberty. By grace of +Providence, all men in authority are fools. We shall meet again under +the light of the moon." + +With dreamy eyes the boy watched the departure of his companion. He +had become almost invisible along the road when, miraculously as it +seemed, the light of the moon broke through the trees by the wayside +and lit up his figure. For a moment it fell upon his head like a +halo, and touched the knapsack of dreams with glory. Then all was +lost in the blackness of night. + +As he turned homeward the boy felt a cold wind upon his cheek. It was +the first breath of dawn. + + + + +The Coffin Merchant + + I + +London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a +melancholy too insistent to be ignored and too causeless to be +enjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold wind +round every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the +pavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery. +Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of a +half-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of the +world's melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creeping +over his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on the +earth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like a +mask on the faces of disillusioned men? The wind blew down +Southampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed away +in a shudder of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sunday +in London before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in the +nobility of work. + +At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust a +handbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. The +blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone +sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his +pockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed so +lightly. + +"Excuse me, sir," he said, following him, "you have not looked to +see what my bills are." + +"Whatever they are I do not want them." + +"That's where you are wrong, sir," the man said earnestly. "You will +never find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for the +unexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill contains +exactly what you do want." + +Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes were +ragged, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, but +his eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of an +educated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with a +keen expectancy, as though his decision I on the trivial point was of +real importance. + +"I don't know what you are driving at," he said, "but if it will give +you any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you argue +with all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a long +time to get rid of them." + +"I only offer them to suitable persons," the man said, folding up one +of the handbills while he spoke, "and I'm sure you will not regret +taking it," and he slipped the paper into Eustace's hand and walked +rapidly away. + +Eustace looked after him curiously for a moment, and then opened the +paper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, he +gave a low whistle of astonishment. "You will soon be warning a +coffin!" it read. "At 606, Gray's Inn Road, your order will be +attended to with civility and despatch. Call and see us!!" + +Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out of +sight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning to +shine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled the paper into +his overcoat pocket, and turned homewards. + +"How silly!" he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound of +his footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh. + + II + +Eustace was impressionable but not temperamentally morbid, and he was +troubled a little by the fact that the gruesomely bizarre handbill +continued to recur to his mind. The thing was so manifestly absurd, +he told himself with conviction, that it was not worth a second +thought, but this did not prevent him from thinking of it again and +again. What manner of undertaker could hope to obtain business by +giving away foolish handbills in the street? Really, the whole thing +had the air of a brainless practical joke, yet his intellectual +fairness forced him to admit that as far as the man who had given him +the bill was concerned, brainlessness was out of the question, and +joking improbable. There had been depths in those little bright +eyes which his glance had not been able to sound, and the man's +manner in making him accept the handbill had given the whole +transaction a kind of ludicrous significance. + +"You will soon be wanting a coffin----!" + +Eustace found himself turning the words over and over in his mind. +If he had had any near relations he might have construed the thing +as an elaborate threat, but he was practically alone in the world, +and it seemed to him that he was not likely to want a coffin for +anyone but himself. + +"Oh damn the thing!" he said impatiently, as he opened the door of +his flat, "it isn't worth worrying about. I mustn't let the whim of +some mad tradesman get on my nerves. I've got no one to bury, +anyhow." + +Nevertheless the thing lingered with him all the evening, and when +his neighbour the doctor came in for a chat at ten o'clock, Eustace +was glad to show him the strange handbill. The doctor, who had +experienced the queer magics that are practised to this day on the +West Coast of Africa, and who, therefore, had no nerves, was +delighted with so striking an example of British commercial +enterprise. + +"Though, mind you," he added gravely, smoothing the crumpled paper on +his knee, "this sort of thing might do a lot of harm if it fell into +the hands of a nervous subject. I should be inclined to punch the +head of the ass who perpetrated it. Have you turned that address up +in the Post Office Directory?" + +Eustace shook his head, and rose and fetched the fat red book which +makes London an English city. Together they found the Gray's Inn +Road, and ran their eyes down to No. 606. + +"'Harding, G. J., Coffin Merchant and Undertaker.' Not much +information there," muttered the doctor. + +"Coffin merchant's a bit unusual, isn't it?" queried Eustace. + +"I suppose he manufactures coffins wholesale for the trade. Still, I +didn't know they called themselves that. Anyhow, it seems, as though +that handbill is a genuine piece of downright foolishness. The idiot +ought to be stopped advertising in that way." + +"I'll go and see him myself tomorrow," said Eustace bluntly. + +"Well, he's given you an invitation," said the doctor, "so it's only +polite of you to go. I'll drop in here in the evening to hear what +he's like. I expect that you'll find him as mad as a hatter." + +"Something like that," said Eustace, "or he wouldn't give handbills +to people like me. I have no one to bury except myself." + +"No," said the doctor in the hall, "I suppose you haven't. Don't let +him measure you for a coffin, Reynolds!" + +Eustace laughed. + +"We never know," he said sententiously. + + III + +Next day was one of those gorgeous blue days of which November gives +but few, and Eustace was glad to run out to Wimbledon for a game of +golf, or rather for two. It was therefore dusk before he made his way +to the Gray's Inn Road in search of the unexpected. His attitude +towards his errand despite the doctor's laughter and the prosaic +entry in the directory, was a little confused. He could not help +reflecting that after all the doctor had not seen the man with the +little wise eyes, nor could he forget that Mr. G. J. Harding's +description of himself as a coffin merchant, to say the least of it, +approached the unusual. Yet he felt that it would be intolerable to +chop the whole business without finding out what it all meant. On the +whole he would have preferred not to have discovered the riddle at +all; but having found it, he could not rest without an answer. + +No. 606, Gray's Inn Road, was not like an ordinary undertaker's shop. +The window was heavily draped with black cloth, but was otherwise +unadorned. There were no letters from grateful mourners, no little +model coffins, no photographs of marble memorials. Even more +surprising was the absence of any name over the shop-door, so that +the uninformed stranger could not possibly tell what trade was +carried on within, or who was responsible for the management of the +business. This uncommercial modesty did not tend to remove Eustace's +doubts as to the sanity of Mr. G. J. Harding; but he opened the +shop-door which started a large bell swinging noisily, and stepped +over the threshold. The shop was hardly more expressive inside than +out. A broad counter ran across it, cutting it in two, and in the +partial gloom overhead a naked gas-burner whistled a noisy song. +Beyond this the shop contained no furniture whatever, and no +stock-in-trade except a few planks leaning against the wall in one +corner. There was a large ink-stand on the counter. Eustace waited +patiently for a minute or two, and then as no one came he began +stamping on the floor with his foot. This proved efficacious, for +soon he heard the sound of footsteps ascending wooden stairs, the +door behind the counter opened and a man came into the shop. + +He was dressed quite neatly now, and his hands were no longer blue +with cold, but Eustace knew at once that it was the man who had given +him the handbill. Nevertheless he looked at Eustace without a sign of +recognition. + +"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly. + +Eustace laid the handbill down on the counter. + +"I want to know about this," he said. "It strikes me as being in +pretty bad taste, and if a nervous person got hold of it, it might be +dangerous." + +"You think so, sir? Yet our representative," he lingered +affectionately on the words, "our representative told you, I believe, +that the handbill was only distributed to suitable cases." + +"That's where you are wrong," said Eustace sharply, "for I have no +one to bury." + +"Except yourself," said the coffin merchant suavely. + +Eustace looked at him keenly. "I don't see----" he began. But the +coffin merchant interrupted him. + +"You must know, sir," he said, "that this is no ordinary undertaker's +business. We possess information that enables us to defy competition +in our special class of trade." + +"Information!" + +"Well, if you prefer it, you may say intuitions. If our +representative handed you that advertisement, it was because he knew +you would need it." + +"Excuse me," said Eustace, "you appear to be sane, but your words do +not convey to me any reasonable significance. You gave me that +foolish advertisement yourself, and now you say that you did so +because you knew I would need it. I ask you why?" + +The coffin merchant shrugged his shoulders. "Ours is a sentimental +trade," he said, "I do not know why dead men want coffins, but they +do. For my part I would wish to be cremated." + +"Dead men?" + +"Ah, I was coming to that. You see Mr.----?" + +"Reynolds." + +"Thank you, my name is Harding--G. J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds, +our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say that +you will need a coffin, it is probable that you will need one." + +"You mean to say that I----" + +"Precisely. In twenty-four hours or less, Mr. Reynolds, you will need +our services." + +The revelation of the coffin merchant's insanity came to Eustace +with a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had a +sense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over his +head. + +"Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!" he said gaily. + +The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed form +from his pocket. "If you would fill this up," he said. + +Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was an +order for a hundred-guinea funeral. + +"I don't know what your game is," he said, "but this has gone on long +enough." + +"Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, and he +leant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face. + +For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. "I +think it's time I----" he began slowly, and then he was silent, his +whole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. The +song of the gas-jet waned to a point in his ears, and then rose +steadily till it was like the beating of the world's heart. The eyes +of the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended in +one great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counter +and filled in the form. + +"Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, +shaking hands with him politely. "I can promise you every civility +and despatch. Good-day, sir." + +Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recall +exactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand, +and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made them +burn. The lit lamps in the Gray's Inn Road seemed to him a little +unsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition to blunder into +him. + +"Queer business," he said to himself dimly; "I'd better have a cab." + +He reached home in a dream. + +It was nearly ten o'clock before the doctor remembered his promise, +and went upstairs to Eustace's flat. The outer door was half-open so +that he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in the +little hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity of +habit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry of +astonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him with +his face flushed and drooping on his shoulder, and his breath +hissing noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at him +quizzically, "If I did not know you, my young friend," he remarked, +"I should say that you were as drunk as a lord." + +And he went up to Eustace and shook him by the shoulder; but Eustace +did not wake. + +"Queer!" the doctor muttered, sniffing at Eustace's lips; "he hasn't +been drinking." + + + + +The Soul Of A Policeman + + I + +Outside, above the uneasy din of the traffic, the sky was glorious +with the far peace of a fine summer evening. Through the upper pane +of the station window Police-constable Bennett, who felt that his +senses at the moment were abnormally keen, recognised with a sinking +heart such reds and yellows as bedecked the best patchwork quilt at +home. By contrast the lights of the superintendent's office were +subdued, so that within the walls of the police-station sounds seemed +of greater importance. Somewhere a drunkard, deprived of his boots, +was drumming his criticism of authority on the walls of his cell. +From the next room, where the men off duty were amusing themselves, +there came a steady clicking of billiard-balls and dominoes, broken +now and again by gruff bursts of laughter. And at his very elbow the +superintendent was speaking in that suave voice that reminded Bennett +of grey velvet. + +"You see, Bennett, how matters stand. I have nothing at all against +your conduct. You are steady and punctual, and I have no doubt that +you are trying to do your duty. But it's very unfortunate that as far +as results go you have nothing to show for your efforts. During the +last three weeks you have not brought in a charge of any description, +and during the same period I find that your colleagues on the beat +have been exceptionally busy. I repeat that I do not accuse you of +neglecting your duty, but these things tell with the magistrates and +convey a general suggestion of slackness." + +Bennett looked down at his brightly polished boots. His fingers were +sandy and there was soft felt beneath his feet. + +"I have been afraid of this for some time, sir," he said, "very much +afraid." + +The superintendent looked at him questioningly. + +"You have nothing to say?" he said. + +"I have always tried to do my duty, sir." + +"I know, I know. But you must see that a certain number of charges, +if not of convictions, is the mark of a smart officer." + +"Surely you would not have me arrest innocent persons?" + +"That is a most improper observation," said the superintendent +severely. "I will say no more to you now. But I hope you will take +what I have said as a warning. You must bustle along, Bennett, bustle +along." + +Outside in the street, Police-constable Bennett was free to reflect +on his unpleasant interview. The superintendent was ambitious and +therefore pompous; he, himself, was unambitious and therefore modest. +Left to himself he might have been content to triumph in the +reflection that he had failed to say a number of foolish things, but +the welfare of his wife and children bound him, tiresomely enough for +a dreamer, tightly to the practical. It was clear that if he did not +forthwith produce signs of his efficiency as a promoter of the peace +that welfare would be imperilled. Yet he did not condemn the chance +that had made him a policeman or even the mischance that brought no +guilty persons to his hands. Rather he looked with a gentle curiosity +into the faces of the people who passed him, and wondered why he +could not detect traces of the generally assumed wickedness of the +neighbourhood. These unkempt men and women were thieves and even +murderers, it appeared; but to him they shone as happy youths and +maidens, joyous victims of love's tyranny. + +As he drew near the street in which he lived this sense of universal +love quickened in his blood and stirred him strangely. It did not +escape his eyes that to the general his uniform was an unfriendly +thing. Men and women paused in their animated chattering till he had +passed, and even the children faltered in their games to watch him +with doubtful eyes. And yet his heart was warm for them; he knew that +he wished them well. + +Nevertheless, when he saw his house shining in a row of similar +houses, he realised that their attitude was wiser than his. If he was +to be a success as a breadwinner he must wage a sterner war against +these happy, lovable people. It was easy, he had been long enough in +the force to know how easy, to get cases. An intolerant manner, a +little provocative harshness, and the thing was done. Yet with all +his heart he admired the poor for their resentful independence of +spirit. To him this had always been the supreme quality of the +English character; how could he make use of it to fill English gaols? + +He opened the door of his house, with a sigh on his lips. There came +forth the merry shouting of his children. + + II + +Above the telephone wires the stars dipped at anchor in the cloudless +sky. Down below, in one of the dark, empty streets, Police-constable +Bennett turned the handles of doors and tested the fastenings of +windows, with a complete scepticism as to the value of his labours. +Gradually, he was coming to see that he was not one of the few who +are born to rule--to control--their simple neighbours, ambitious only +for breath. Where, if he had possessed this mission, he would have +been eager to punish, he now felt no more than a sympathy that +charged him with some responsibility for the sins of others. He +shared the uneasy conviction of the multitude that human justice, as +interpreted by the inspired minority, is more than a little unjust. +The very unpopularity with which his uniform endowed him seemed to +him to express a severe criticism of the system of which he was an +unwilling supporter. He wished these people to regard him as a kind +of official friend, to advise and settle differences; yet, shrewder +than he, they considered him as an enemy, who lived on their mistakes +and the collapse of their social relationships. + +There remained his duty to his wife and children, and this rendered +the problem infinitely perplexing. + +Why should he punish others because of his love for his children; or, +again, why should his children suffer for his scruples? Yet it was +clear that, unless fortune permitted him to accomplish some notable +yet honourable arrest, he would either have to cheat and tyrannise +with his colleagues or leave the force. And what employment is +available for a discharged policeman? + +As he went systematically from house to house the consideration of +these things marred the normal progress of his dreams. Conscious as +he was of the stars and the great widths of heaven that made the +world so small, he nevertheless felt that his love for his family and +the wider love that determined his honour were somehow intimately +connected with this greatness of the universe rather than with the +world of little streets and little motives, and so were not lightly +to be put aside. Yet, how can one measure one love against another +when all are true? + +When the door of Gurneys', the moneylenders, opened to his touch, +and drew him abruptly from his speculations, his first emotion was a +quick irritation that chance should interfere with his thoughts. But +when his lantern showed him that the lock had been tampered with, +his annoyance changed to a thrill of hopeful excitement. What if +this were the way out? What if fate had granted him compromise, the +opportunity of pitting his official virtue against official crime, +those shadowy forces in the existence of which he did not believe, +but which lay on his life like clouds? + +He was not a physical coward, and it seemed quite simple to him to +creep quietly through the open door into the silent office without +waiting for possible reinforcements. He knew that the safe, which +would be the, natural goal of the presumed burglars, was in Mr. +Gurney's private office beyond, and while he stood listening intently +he seemed to hear dim sounds coming from the direction of that room. +For a moment he paused, frowning slightly as a man does when he is +trying to catalogue an impression. When he achieved perception, it +came oddly mingled with recollections of the little tragedies of his +children at home. For some one was crying like a child in the little +room where Mr. Gurney brow-beat recalcitrant borrowers. Dangerous +burglars do not weep, and Bennett hesitated no longer, but stepped +past the open flaps of the counter, and threw open the door of the +inner office. + +The electric light had been switched on, and at the table there sat a +slight young man with his face buried in his hands, crying bitterly. +Behind him the safe stood open and empty, and the grate was filled +with smouldering embers of burnt paper. Bennett went up to the +young man and placed his hand on his shoulder. But the young man wept +on and did not move. + +Try as he might Bennett could not help relaxing the grip of outraged +law, and patting the young man's shoulder soothingly as it rose and +fell. He had no fit weapons of roughness and oppression with which to +oppose this child-like grief; he could only fight tears with tears. + +"Come," he said gently, "you must pull yourself together." + +At the sound of his voice the young man gave a great sob and then was +silent, shivering a little. + +"That's better," said Bennett encouragingly, "much better." + +"I have burnt everything," the young man said suddenly, "and now the +place is empty. I was nearly sick just now." + +Bennett looked at him sympathetically, as one dreamer may look at +another, who is sad with action dreamed too often for scatheless +accomplishment. "I'm afraid you'll get into serious trouble," he +said. + +"I know," replied the young man, "but that blackguard Gurney--" His +voice rose to a shrill scream and choked him for a moment. Then +he went on quietly "But it's all over now. Finished! Done with!" + +"I suppose you owed him money?" + +The young man nodded. "He lives on fools like me. But he threatened +to tell my father, and now I've just about ruined him. Pah! Swine!" + +"This won't be much better for your father," said Bennett gravely. + +"No, it's worse; but perhaps it will help some of the others. He kept +on threatening and I couldn't wait any longer. Can't you see?" + +Over the young man's shoulder the stars becked and nodded to Bennett +through the blindless window. + +"I see," he said; "I see." + +"So now you can take me." + +Bennett looked doubtfully at the outstretched wrists. "You are only a +fool," he said, "a dreaming fool like me, and they will give you +years for this. I don't see why they should give a man years for +being a fool." + +The young man looked up, taken with a sudden hope. "You will let me +go?" he said, in astonishment. "I know I was an ass just now. I +suppose I was a bit shaken. But you will let me go?" + +"I wish to God I had never seen you!" said Bennett simply. "You have +your father, and I have a wife and three little children. Who shall +judge between us?" + +"My father is an old man." + +"And my children are little. You had better go before I make up my +mind." + +Without another word the young man crept out of the room, and Bennett +followed him slowly into the street. This gallant criminal whose +capture would have been honourable, had dwindled to a hysterical +foolish boy; and aided by his own strange impulse this boy had ruined +him. The burglary had taken place on his beat; there would be an +inquiry; it did not need that to secure his expulsion from the force. +Once in the street he looked up hopefully to the heavens; but now the +stars seemed unspeakably remote, though as he passed along his beat +his wife and his three little children were walking by his side. + + III + +Bennett had developed mentally without realising the logical result +of his development until it smote him with calamity. Of his betrayal +of trust as a guardian of property he thought nothing; of the +possibility of poverty for his family he thought a great deal--all +the more that his dreamer's mind was little accustomed to gripping +the practical. It was strange, he thought, that his final declaration +of war against his position should have been a little lacking in +dignity. He had not taken the decisive step through any deep +compassion of utter poverty bravely borne. His had been no more than +trivial pity of a young man's folly; and this was a frail thing on +which to make so great a sacrifice. Yet he regretted nothing. His +task of moral guardian of men and women had become impossible to him, +and sooner or later he must have given it up. And there was also his +family. "I must come to some decision," he said to himself firmly. + +And then the great scream fell upon his ears and echoed through his +brain for ever and ever. It came from the house before which he was +standing, and he expected the whole street to wake aghast with the +horror of it. But there followed a silence that seemed to emphasise +the ugliness of the sound. Far away an engine screamed as if in +mocking imitation; and that was all. Bennett had counted up to a +hundred and seventy before the door of the house opened, and a man +came out on to the steps. + +"Oh, constable," he said coolly, "come inside, will you? I have +something to show you." + +Bennett mounted the steps doubtfully. + +"There was a scream," he said. + +The man looked at him quickly. "So you heard it," he said. "It was +not pretty." + +"No, it was not," replied Bennett. + +The man led him down the dim passage into the back sitting-room. The +body of a man lay on the sofa; it was curled like a dry leaf. + +"That is my brother," said the man, with a little emphatic nod; "I +have killed him. He was my enemy." + +Bennett stared dully at the body, without believing it to be really +there. + +"Dead!" he said mechanically. + +"And anything I say will be used against me in evidence! As if you +could compress my hatred into one little lying notebook." + +"I don't care a damn about your hatred," said Bennett, with heat. "An +hour ago, perhaps, I might have arrested you; now I only find you +uninteresting." + +The man gave a long, low whistle of surprise. + +"A philosopher in uniform," he said, "God! sir, you have my +sympathy." + +"And you have my pity. You have stolen your ideas from cheap +melodrama, and you make tragedy ridiculous. Were I a policeman, I +would lock you up with pleasure. Were I a man, I should thrash you +joyfully. As it is I can only share your infamy. I too, I suppose, am +a murderer." + +"You are in a low, nervous state," said the man; "and you are doing +me some injustice. It is true that I am a poor murderer; but it +appears to me that you are a worse policeman." + +"I shall wear the uniform no more from tonight." + +"I think you are wise, and I shall mar my philosophy with no more +murders. If, indeed, I have killed him; for I assure you that beyond +administering the poison to his wretched body I have done nothing. +Perhaps he is not dead. Can you hear his heart beating?" + +"I can hear the spoons of my children beating on their empty +platters!" + +"Is it like that with you? Poor devil! Oh, poor, poor devil! +Philosophers should have no wives, no children, no homes, and no +hearts." + +Bennett turned from the man with unspeakable loathing. + +"I hate you and such as you!" he cried weakly. "You justify the +existence of the police. You make me despise myself because I realise +that your crimes are no less mine than yours. I do not ask you to +defend the deadness of that thing lying there. I shall stir no finger +to have you hanged, for the thought of suicide repels me, and I +cannot separate your blood and mine. We are common children of a +noble mother, and for our mother's sake I say farewell." + +And without waiting for the man's answer he passed from the house to +the street. + + IV + +Haggard and with rebellious limbs, Police-constable Bennett staggered +into the superintendent's office in the early morning. + +"I have paid careful attention to your advice," he said to the +superintendent, "and I have passed across the city in search of +crime. In its place I have found but folly--such folly as you have, +such folly as I have myself--the common heritage of our blood. It +seems that in some way I have bound myself to bring criminals to +justice. I have passed across the city, and I have found no man +worse than myself. Do what you will with me." + +The superintendent cleared his throat. + +"There have been too many complaints concerning the conduct of the +police," he said; "it is time that an example was made. You will be +charged with being drunk and disorderly while on duty." + +"I have a wife and three little children," said Bennett softly--"and +three pretty little children." And he covered his tired face with his +hands. + + + + +The Conjurer + +Certainly the audience was restive. In the first place it felt that +it had been defrauded, seeing that Cissie Bradford, whose smiling +face adorned the bills outside, had, failed to appear, and secondly, +it considered that the deputy for that famous lady was more than +inadequate. To the little man who sweated in the glare of the +limelight and juggled desperately with glass balls in a vain effort +to steady his nerve it was apparent that his turn was a failure. And +as he worked he could have cried with disappointment, for his was a +trial performance, and a year's engagement in the Hennings' group of +music-halls would have rewarded success. Yet his tricks, things that +he had done with the utmost ease a thousand times, had been a +succession of blunders, rather mirth-provoking than mystifying to +the audience. Presently one of the glass balls fell crashing on the +stage, and amidst the jeers of the gallery he turned to his wife, +who served as his assistant. + +"I've lost my chance," he said, with a sob; "I can't do it!" + +"Never mind, dear," she whispered. "There's a nice steak and onions +at home for supper." + +"It's no use," he said despairingly. "I'll try the disappearing trick +and then get off. I'm done here." He turned back to the audience. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said to the mockers in a wavering voice, +"I will now present to you the concluding item of my entertainment. I +will cause this lady to disappear under your very eyes, without the +aid of any mechanical contrivance or artificial device." This was the +merest showman's patter, for, as a matter of fact, it was not a very +wonderful illusion. But as he led his wife forward to present her to +the audience the conjurer was wondering whether the mishaps that had +ruined his chance would meet him even here. If something should go +wrong--he felt his wife's hand tremble in his, and he pressed it +tightly to reassure her. He must make an effort, an effort of will, +and then no mistakes would happen. For a second the lights danced +before his eyes, then he pulled himself together. If an earthquake +should disturb the curtains and show Molly creeping ignominiously +away behind he would still meet his fate like a man. He turned round +to conduct his wife to the little alcove from which she should +vanish. She was not on the stage! + +For a minute he did not guess the greatness of the disaster. Then he +realised that the theatre was intensely quiet, and that he would have +to explain that the last item of his programme was even more of a +fiasco than the rest. Owing to a sudden indisposition--his skin +tingled at the thought of the hooting. His tongue rasped upon +cracking lips as he braced himself and bowed to the audience. + +Then came the applause. Again and again it broke out from all over +the house, while the curtain rose and fell, and the conjurer stood on +the stage, mute, uncomprehending. What had happened? At first he had +thought they were mocking him, but it was impossible to misjudge the +nature of the applause. Besides, the stage-manager was allowing him +call after call, as if he were a star. When at length the curtain +remained down, and the orchestra struck up the opening bars of the +next song, he staggered off into the wings as if he were drunk. There +he met Mr. James Hennings himself. + +"You'll do," said the great man; "that last trick was neat. You ought +to polish up the others though. I suppose you don't want to tell me +how you did it? Well, well, come in the morning and we'll fix up a +contract." + +And so, without having said a word, the conjurer found himself +hustled off by the Vaudeville Napoleon. Mr. Hennings had something +more to say to his manager. + +"Bit rum," he said. "Did you see it?" + +"Queerest thing we've struck." + +"How was it done do you think?" + +"Can't imagine. There one minute on his arm, gone the next, no trap, +or curtain, or anything." + +"Money in it, eh?" + +"Biggest hit of the century, I should think." + +"I'll go and fix up a contract and get him to sign it tonight. Get +on with it." And Mr. James Hennings fled to his office. + +Meanwhile the conjurer was wandering in the wings with the drooping +heart of a lost child. What had happened? Why was he a success, and +why did people stare so oddly, and what had become of his wife? When +he asked them the stage hands laughed, and said they had not seen +her. Why should they laugh? He wanted her to explain things, and hear +their good luck. But she was not in her dressing-room, she was not +anywhere. For a moment he felt like crying. + +Then, for the second time that night, he pulled himself together. +After all, there was no reason to be upset. He ought to feel very +pleased about the contract, however it had happened. It seemed that +his wife had left the stage in some queer way without being seen. +Probably to increase the mystery she had gone straight home in her +stage dress, and had succeeded in dodging the stage-door keeper. It +was all very strange; but, of course, there must be some simple +explanation like that. He would take a cab home and find her there +already. There was a steak and onions for supper. + +As he drove along in the cab he became convinced that this theory was +right. Molly had always been clever, and this time she had certainly +succeeded in surprising everybody. At the door of his house he gave +the cabman a shilling for himself with a light heart. He could afford +it now. He ran up the steps cheerfully and opened the door. The +passage was quite dark, and he wondered why his wife hadn't lit the +gas. + +"Molly!" he cried, "Molly!" + +The small, weary-eyed servant came out of the kitchen on a savoury +wind of onions. + +"Hasn't missus come home with you, sir?" she said. + +The conjurer thrust his hand against the wall to steady himself, and +the pattern of the wall-paper seemed to burn his finger-tips. + +"Not here!" he gasped at the frightened girl. "Then where is she? +Where is she?" + +"I don't know, sir," she began stuttering; but the conjurer turned +quickly and ran out of the house. Of course, his wife must be at the +theatre. It was absurd ever to have supposed that she could leave the +theatre in her stage dress unnoticed; and now she was probably +worrying because he had not waited for her. How foolish he had been. + +It was a quarter of an hour before he found a cab, and the theatre +was dark and empty when he got back to it. He knocked at the stage +door, and the night watchman opened it. + +"My wife?" he cried. "There's no one here now, sir," the man answered +respectfully, for he knew that a new star had risen that night. + +The conjurer leant against the doorpost faintly. + +"Take me up to the dressing-rooms," he said. "I want to see whether +she has been, there while I was away." + +The watchman led the way along the dark passages. "I shouldn't worry +if I were you, sir," he said. "She can't have gone far." He did not +know anything about it, but he wanted to be sympathetic. + +"God knows," the conjurer muttered, "I can't understand this at all." + +In the dressing-room Molly's clothes still lay neatly folded as she +had left them when they went on the stage that night, and when he saw +them his last hope left the conjurer, and a strange thought came into +his mind. + +"I should like to go down on the stage," he said, "and see if there +is anything to tell me of her." + +The night watchman looked at the conjurer as if he thought he was +mad, but he followed him down to the stage in silence. When he was +there the conjurer leaned forward suddenly, and his face was filled +with a wistful eagerness. + +"Molly!" he called, "Molly!" + +But the empty theatre gave him nothing but echoes in reply. + + + + +The Poet's Allegory + + I + +The boy came into the town at six o'clock in the morning, but the +baker at the corner of the first street was up, as is the way of +bakers, and when he saw the boy passing, he hailed him with a jolly +shout. + +"Hullo, boy! What are you after?" + +"I'm going about my business," the boy said pertly. + +"And what might that be, young fellow?" + +"I might be a good tinker, and worship god Pan, or I might grind +scissors as sharp as the noses of bakers. But, as a matter of fact, +I'm a piper, not a rat-catcher, you understand, but just a simple +singer of sad songs, and a mad singer of merry ones." + +"Oh," said the baker dully, for he had hoped the boy was in search of +work. "Then I suppose you have a message." + +"I sing songs," the boy said emphatically. "I don't run errands +for anyone save it be for the fairies." + +"Well, then, you have come to tell us that we are bad, that our lives +are corrupt and our homes sordid. Nowadays there's money in that if +you can do it well." + +"Your wit gets up too early in the morning for me, baker," said the +boy. "I tell you I sing songs." + +"Aye, I know, but there's something in them, I hope. Perhaps you +bring news. They're not so popular as the other sort, but still, as +long as it's bad news--" + +"Is it the flour that has changed his brains to dough, or the heat of +the oven that has made them like dead grass?" + +"But you must have some news----?" + +"News! It's a fine morning of summer, and I saw a kingfisher across +the watermeadows coming along. Oh, and there's a cuckoo back in the +fir plantation, singing with a May voice. It must have been asleep +all these months." + +"But, my dear boy, these things happen every day. Are there no +battles or earthquakes or famines in the world? Has no man +murdered his wife or robbed his neighbour? Is no one oppressed by +tyrants or lied to by their officers." + +The boy shrugged his shoulders. + +"I hope not," he said. "But if it were so, and I knew, I should not +tell you. I don't want to make you unhappy." + +"But of what use are you then, if it be not to rouse in us the +discontent that is alone divine? Would you have me go fat and happy, +listening to your babble of kingfishers and cuckoos, while my +brothers and sisters in the world are starving?" + +The boy was silent for a moment. + +"I give my songs to the poor for nothing," he said slowly. "Certainly +they are not much use to empty bellies, but they are all I have to +give. And I take it, since you speak so feelingly, that you, too, do +your best. And these others, these people who must be reminded hourly +to throw their crusts out of window for the poor--would you have me +sing to them? They must be told that life is evil, and I find it +good; that men and women are wretched, and I find them happy; that +food and cleanliness, order and knowledge are the essence of +content while I only ask for love. Would you have me lie to cheat +mean folk out of their scraps?" + +The baker scratched his head in astonishment. + +"Certainly you are very mad," he said. "But you won't get much money +in this town with that sort of talk. You had better come in and have +breakfast with me." + +"But why do you ask me?" said the boy, in surprise. + +"Well, you have a decent, honest sort of face, although your tongue +is disordered." + +"I had rather it had been because you liked my songs," said the boy, +and he went in to breakfast with the baker. + + II + +Over his breakfast the boy talked wisely on art, as is the wont of +young singers, and afterwards he went on his way down the street. + +"It's a great pity," said the baker; "he seems a decent young chap." + +"He has nice eyes," said the baker's wife. + +As the boy passed down the street he frowned a little. + +"What is the matter with them?" he wondered. "They're pleasant people +enough, and yet they did not want to hear my songs." + +Presently he came to the tailor's shop, and as the tailor had sharper +eyes than the baker, he saw the pipe in the boy's pocket. + +"Hullo, piper!" he called. "My legs are stiff. Come and sing us a +song!" + +The boy looked up and saw the tailor sitting cross-legged in the open +window of his shop. + +"What sort of song would you like?" he asked. + +"Oh! the latest," replied the tailor. "We don't want any old songs +here." So the boy sung his new song of the kingfisher in the +water-meadow and the cuckoo who had overslept itself. + +"And what do you call that?" asked the tailor angrily, when the boy +had finished. + +"It's my new song, but I don't think it's one of my best." But in his +heart the boy believed it was, because he had only just made it. + +"I should hope it's your worst," the tailor said rudely. "What sort +of stuff is that to make a man happy?" + +"To make a man happy!" echoed the boy, his heart sinking within him. + +"If you have no news to give me, why should I pay for your songs! I +want to hear about my neighbours, about their lives, and their wives +and their sins. There's the fat baker up the street--they say he +cheats the poor with light bread. Make me a song of that, and I'll +give you some breakfast. Or there's the magistrate at the top of the +hill who made the girl drown herself last week. That's a poetic +subject." + +"What's all this!" said the boy disdainfully. "Can't you make dirt +enough for yourself!" + +"You with your stuff about birds," shouted the tailor; "you're a rank +impostor! That's what you are!" + +"They say that you are the ninth part of a man, but I find that they +have grossly exaggerated," cried the boy, in retort; but he had +a heavy heart as he made off along the street. + +By noon he had interviewed the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman, and +the maker of candlesticks, but they treated him no better than the +tailor had done, and as he was feeling tired he went and sat down +under a tree. + +"I begin to think that the baker is the best of the lot of them," he +said to himself ruefully, as he rolled his empty wallet between his +fingers. + +Then, as the folly of singers provides them in some measure with a +philosophy, he fell asleep. + + III + +When he woke it was late in the afternoon, and the children, fresh +from school, had come out to play in the dusk. Far and near, across +the town-square, the boy could hear their merry voices, but he felt +sad, for his stomach had forgotten the baker's breakfast, and he did +not see where he was likely to get any supper. So he pulled out his +pipe, and made a mournful song to himself of the dancing gnats +and the bitter odour of the bonfires in the townsfolk's gardens. And +the children drew near to hear him sing, for they thought his song +was pretty, until their fathers drove them home, saying, "That stuff +has no educational value." + +"Why haven't you a message?" they asked the boy. + +"I come to tell you that the grass is green beneath your feet and +that the sky is blue over your heads." + +"Oh I but we know all that," they answered. + +"Do you! Do you!" screamed the boy. "Do you think you could stop +over your absurd labours if you knew how blue the sky is? You would +be out singing on the hills with me!" + +"Then who would do our work?" they said, mocking him. + +"Then who would want it done?" he retorted; but it's ill arguing on +an empty stomach. + +But when they had tired of telling him what a fool he was, and gone +away, the tailor's little daughter crept out of the shadows and +patted him on the shoulder. + +"I say, boy!" she whispered. "I've brought you some supper. Father +doesn't know." The boy blessed her and ate his supper while she +watched him like his mother and when he had done she kissed him on +the lips. + +"There, boy!" she said. + +"You have nice golden hair," the boy said. + +"See! it shines in the dusk. It strikes me it's the only gold I shall +get in this town." + +"Still it's nice, don't you think?" the girl whispered in his ear. +She had her arms round his neck. + +"I love it," the boy said joyfully; "and you like my songs, don't +you?" + +"Oh, yes, I like them very much, but I like you better." + +The boy put her off roughly. + +"You're as bad as the rest of them," he said indignantly. "I tell you +my songs are everything, I am nothing." + +"But it was you who ate my supper, boy," said the girl. + +The boy kissed her remorsefully. "But I wish you had liked me for my +songs," he sighed. "You are better than any silly old songs!" + +"As bad as the rest of them," the boy said lazily, "but somehow +pleasant." + +The shadows flocked to their evening meeting in the square, and +overhead the stars shone out in a sky that was certainly exceedingly +blue. + + IV + +Next morning they arrested the boy as a rogue and a vagabond, and in +the afternoon they brought him before the magistrate. + +"And what have you to say for yourself!" said the magistrate to the +boy, after the second policeman, like a faithful echo, had finished +reading his notes. + +"Well," said the boy, "I may be a rogue and a vagabond. Indeed, I +think that I probably am; but I would claim the license that has +always been allowed to singers." + +"Oh!" said the magistrate. "So you are one of those, are you! And +what is your message!" + +"I think if I could sing you a song or two I could explain myself +better," said the boy. + +"Well," replied the magistrate doubtfully, "you can try if you like, +but I warn you that I wrote songs myself when I was a boy, so that I +know something about it." + +"Oh, I'm glad of that," said the boy, and he sang his famous song of +the grass that is so green, and when he had finished the magistrate +frowned. + +"I knew that before," he said. + +So then the boy sang his wonderful song of the sky that is so blue. +And when he had finished the magistrate scowled. "And what are we to +learn from that!" he said. + +So then the boy lost his temper and sang some naughty doggerel he +had made up in his cell that morning. He abused the town and +townsmen, but especially the townsmen. He damned their morals, their +customs, and their institutions. He said that they had ugly faces, +raucous voices, and that their bodies were unclean. He said they +were thieves and liars and murderers, that they had no ear for music +and no sense of humour. Oh, he was bitter! + +"Good God!" said the magistrate, "that's what I call real improving +poetry. Why didn't you sing that first? There might have been a +miscarriage of justice." + +Then the baker, the tailor, the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman, +and the maker of candlesticks rose in court and said-- + +"Ah, but we all knew there was something in him." + +So the magistrate gave the boy a certificate that showed that he was +a real singer, and the tradesmen gave him a purse of gold, but the +tailor's little daughter gave him one of her golden ringlets. "You +won't forget, boy, will you?" she said. + +"Oh, no," said the boy; "but I wish you had liked my songs." + +Presently, when he had come a little way out of the town, he put his +hand in his wallet and drew out the magistrate's certificate and tore +it in two; and then he took out the gold pieces and threw them into +the ditch, and they were not half as bright as the buttercups. But +when he came to the ringlet he smiled at it and put it back. + +"Yet she was as bad as the rest of them," he thought with a sigh. + +And he went across the world with his songs. + + + + +And Who Shall Say----? + +It was a dull November day, and the windows were heavily +curtained, so that the room was very dark. In front of the fire was a +large arm-chair, which shut whatever light there might be from the +two children, a boy of eleven and a girl about two years younger, who +sat on the floor at the back of the room. The boy was the better +looking, but the girl had the better face. They were both gazing at +the arm-chair with the utmost excitement. + +"It's all right. He's asleep," said the boy. + +"Oh, do be careful! you'll wake him," whispered the girl. + +"Are you afraid?" + +"No, why should I be afraid of my father, stupid?" + +"I tell you he's not father any more. He's a murderer," the boy said +hotly. "He told me, I tell you. He said, `I have killed your +mother, Ray,' and I went and looked, and mother was all red. I simply +shouted, and she wouldn't answer. That means she's dead. His hand was +all red, too." + +"Was it paint?" + +"No, of course it wasn't paint. It was blood. And then he came down +here and went to sleep." + +"Poor father, so tired." + +"He's not poor father, he's not father at all; he's a murderer, and +it is very wicked of you to call him father," said the boy. + +"Father," muttered the girl rebelliously. + +"You know the sixth commandment says `Thou shalt do no murder,' and +he has done murder; so he'll go to hell. And you'll go to hell too if +you call him father. It's all in the Bible." + +The boy ended vaguely, but the little girl was quite overcome by the +thought of her badness. + +"Oh, I am wicked!" she cried. "And I do so want to go to heaven." + +She had a stout and materialistic belief in it as a place of sheeted +angels and harps, where it was easy to be good. + +"You must do as I tell you, then," he said. "Because I know. I've +learnt all about it at school." + +"And you never told me," said she reproachfully. + +"Ah, there's lots of things I know," he replied, nodding his head. + +"What must we do?" said the girl meekly. "Shall I go and ask +mother?" + +The boy was sick at her obstinacy. + +"Mother's dead, I tell you; that means she can't hear anything. It's +no use talking to her; but I know. You must stop here, and if father +wakes you run out of the house and call `Police!' and I will go now +and tell a policeman now." + +"And what happens then?" she asked, with round eyes at her brother's +wisdom. + +"Oh, they come and take him away to prison. And then they put a rope +round his neck and hang him like Haman, and he goes to hell." + +"Wha-at! Do they kill him?" + +"Because he's a murderer. They always do." + +"Oh, don't let's tell them! Don't let's tell them!" she +screamed. + +"Shut up!" said the boy, "or he'll wake up. We must tell them, or we +go to hell--both of us." + +But his sister did not collapse at this awful threat, as he expected, +though the tears were rolling down her face. "Don't let's tell them," +she sobbed. + +"You're a horrid girl, and you'll go to hell," said the boy, in +disgust. But the silence was only broken by her sobbing. "I tell you +he killed mother dead. You didn't cry a bit for mother; I did." + +"Oh, let's ask mother! Let's ask mother! I know she won't want father +to go to hell. Let's ask mother!" + +"Mother's dead, and can't hear, you stupid," said the boy. "I keep on +telling you. Come up and look." + +They were both a little awed in mother's room. It was so quiet, and +mother looked so funny. And first the girl shouted, and then the boy, +and then they shouted both together, but nothing happened. The echoes +made them frightened. + +"Perhaps she's asleep," the girl said; so her brother pinched one of +mother's hands--the white one, not the red one--but nothing +happened, so mother was dead. + +"Has she gone to hell?" whispered the girl. + +"No! she's gone to heaven, because she's good. Only wicked people go +to hell. And now I must go and tell the policeman. Don't you tell +father where I've gone if he wakes up, or he'll run away before the +policeman comes." + +"Why?" + +"So as not to go to hell," said the boy, with certainty; and they +went downstairs together, the little mind of the girl being much +perturbed because she was so wicked. What would mother say tomorrow +if she had done wrong? + +The boy put on his sailor hat in the hall. "You must go in there and +watch," he said, nodding in the direction of the sitting-room. "I +shall run all the way." + +The door banged, and she heard his steps down the path, and then +everything was quiet. + +She tiptoed into the room, and sat down on the floor, and looked at +the back of the chair in utter distress. She could see her father's +elbow projecting on one side, but nothing more. For an instant +she hoped that he wasn't there--hoped that he had gone--but then, +terrified, she knew that this was a piece of extreme wickedness. + +So she lay on the rough carpet, sobbing hopelessly, and seeing real +and vicious devils of her brother's imagining in all the corners of +the room. + +Presently, in her misery, she remembered a packet of acid-drops that +lay in her pocket, and drew them forth in a sticky mass, which parted +from its paper with regret. So she choked and sucked her sweets at +the same time, and found them salt and tasteless. + +Ray was gone a long time, and she was a wicked girl who would go to +hell if she didn't do what he told her. Those were her prevailing +ideas. + +And presently there came a third. Ray had said that if her father +woke up he would run away, and not go to hell at all. Now if she woke +him up--. + +She knew this was dreadfully naughty; but her mind clung to the idea +obstinately. You see, father had always been so fond of mother, and +he would not like to be in a different place. Mother wouldn't +like it either. She was always so sorry when father did not come home +or anything. And hell is a dreadful place, full of things. She half +convinced herself, and started up, but then there came an awful +thought. + +If she did this she would go to hell for ever and ever, and all the +others would be in heaven. + +She hung there in suspense, sucking her sweet and puzzling it over +with knit brows. + +How can one be good? + +She swung round and looked in the dark corner by the piano; but the +Devil was not there. + +And then she ran across the room to her father, and shaking his arm, +shouted, tremulously-- + +"Wake up, father! Wake up! The police are coming!" + +And when the police came ten minutes later, accompanied by a very +proud and virtuous little boy, they heard a small shrill voice +crying, despairingly-- + +"The police, father! The police!" + +But father would not wake. + + + + +The Biography Of A Superman + + "O limèd soul that struggling to be free + Art more engaged!" + +Charles Stephen Dale, the subject of my study, was a dramatist +and, indeed, something of a celebrity in the early years of the +twentieth century. That he should be already completely forgotten is +by no means astonishing in an age that elects its great men with a +charming indecision of touch. The general prejudice against the +granting of freeholds has spread to the desired lands of fame; and +where our profligate ancestors were willing to call a man great in +perpetuity, we, with more shrewdness, prefer to name him a genius for +seven years. We know that before that period may have expired fate +will have granted us a sea-serpent with yet more coils, with a +yet more bewildering arrangement of marine and sunset tints, and the +conclusion of previous leases will enable us to grant him undisputed +possession of Parnassus. If our ancestors were more generous they +were certainly less discriminate; and it cannot be doubted that many +of them went to their graves under the impression that it is possible +for there to be more than one great man at a time! We have altered +all that. + +For two years Dale was a great man, or rather the great man, and it +is probable that if he had not died he would have held his position +for a longer period. When his death was announced, although the +notices of his life and work were of a flattering length, the +leaderwriters were not unnaturally aggrieved that he should have +resigned his post before the popular interest in his personality was +exhausted. The Censor might do his best by prohibiting the +performance of all the plays that the dead man had left behind him; +but, as the author neglected to express his views in their columns, +and the common sense of their readers forbade the publication of +interviews with him, the journals could draw but a poor +satisfaction from condemning or upholding the official action. Dale's +regrettable absence reduced what might have been an agreeable clash +of personalities to an arid discussion on art. The consequence was +obvious. The end of the week saw the elevation of James Macintosh, +the great Scotch comedian, to the vacant post, and Dale was +completely forgotten. That this oblivion is merited in terms of his +work I am not prepared to admit; that it is merited in terms of his +personality I indignantly wish to deny. Whatever Dale may have been +as an artist, he was, perhaps in spite of himself, a man, and a man, +moreover, possessed of many striking and unusual traits of character. +It is to the man Dale that I offer this tribute. + +Sprung from an old Yorkshire family, Charles Stephen Dale was yet +sufficient of a Cockney to justify both his friends and his enemies +in crediting him with the Celtic temperament. Nevertheless, he was +essentially a modern, insomuch that his contempt for the writings of +dead men surpassed his dislike of living authors. To these two +central influences we may trace most of the peculiarities that +rendered him notorious and ultimately great. Thus, while his Celtic +æstheticism permitted him to eat nothing but raw meat, because he +mistrusted alike "the reeking products of the manure-heap and the +barbaric fingers of cooks," it was surely his modernity that made him +an agnostic, because bishops sat in the House of Lords. Smaller men +might dislike vegetables and bishops without allowing it to affect +their conduct; but Dale was careful to observe that every slightest +conviction should have its place in the formation of his character. +Conversely, he was nothing without a reason. + +These may seem small things to which to trace the motive forces of a +man's life; but if we add to them a third, found where the truth +about a man not infrequently lies, in the rag-bag of his enemies, our +materials will be nearly complete. "Dale hates his +fellow-human- beings," wrote some anonymous scribbler, and, even +expressed thus baldly, the statement is not wholly false. But he +hated them because of their imperfections, and it would be truer to +say that his love of humanity amounted to a positive hatred of +individuals, and, _pace_ the critics, the love was no less sincere +than the hatred. He had drawn from the mental confusion of the darker +German philosophers an image of the perfect man--an image differing +only in inessentials from the idol worshipped by the Imperialists as +"efficiency." He did not find--it was hardly likely that he would +find--that his contemporaries fulfilled this perfect conception, and +he therefore felt it necessary to condemn them for the possession of +those weaknesses, or as some would prefer to say, qualities, of which +the sum is human nature. + +I now approach a quality, or rather the lack of a quality, that is in +itself of so debatable a character, that were it not of the utmost +importance in considering the life of Charles Stephen Dale I should +prefer not to mention it. I refer to his complete lack of a sense of +humour, the consciousness of which deficiency went so far to detract +from his importance as an artist and a man. The difficulty which I +mentioned above lies in the fact that, while every one has a clear +conception of what they mean by the phrase, no one has yet +succeeded in defining it satisfactorily. Here I would venture to +suggest that it is a kind of magnificent sense of proportion, a +sense that relates the infinite greatness of the universe to the +finite smallness of man, and draws the inevitable conclusion as to +the importance of our joys and sorrows and labours. I am aware that +this definition errs on the side of vagueness; but possibly it may be +found to include the truth. Obviously, the natures of those who +possess this sense will tend to be static rather than dynamic, and it +is therefore against the limits imposed by this sense that +intellectual anarchists, among whom I would number Dale, and poets, +primarily rebel. But--and it is this rather than his undoubted +intellectual gifts or his dogmatic definitions of good and evil that +definitely separated Dale from the normal men--there can be no doubt +that he felt his lack of a sense of humour bitterly. In every word he +ever said, in every line he ever wrote, I detect a painful striving +after this mysterious sense, that enabled his neighbours, fools as he +undoubtedly thought them, to laugh and weep and follow the faith of +their hearts without conscious realisation of their own +existence and the problems it induced. By dint of study and strenuous +observation he achieved, as any man may achieve, a considerable +degree of wit, though to the last his ignorance of the audience whom +he served and despised, prevented him from judging the effect of his +sallies without experiment. But try as he might the finer jewel lay +far beyond his reach. Strong men fight themselves when they can find +no fitter adversary; but in all the history of literature there is no +stranger spectacle than this lifelong contest between Dale, the +intellectual anarch and pioneer of supermen, and Dale, the poor +lonely devil who wondered what made people happy. + +I have said that the struggle was lifelong, but it must be added that +it was always unequal. The knowledge that in his secret heart he +desired this quality, the imperfection of imperfections, only served +to make Dale's attack on the complacency of his contemporaries more +bitter. He ridiculed their achievements, their ambitions, and their +love with a fury that awakened in them a mild curiosity, but by no +means affected their comfort. Moreover, the very vehemence with +which he demanded their contempt deprived him of much of his force as +a critic, for they justly wondered why a man should waste his +lifetime in attacking them if they were indeed so worthless. +Actually, they felt, Dale was a great deal more engaged with his +audience than many of the imaginative writers whom he affected to +despise for their sycophancy. And, especially towards the end of his +life when his powers perhaps were weakening, the devices which he +used to arouse the irritation of his contemporaries became more and +more childishly artificial, less and less effective. He was like one +of those actors who feel that they cannot hold the attention of their +audience unless they are always doing something, though nothing is +more monotonous than mannered vivacity. + +Dale, then, was a man who was very anxious to be modern, but at the +same time had not wholly succeeded in conquering his æesthetic sense. +He had constituted himself high priest of the most puritanical and +remote of all creeds, yet there was that in his blood that rebelled +ceaselessly against the intellectual limits he had voluntarily +accepted. The result in terms of art was chaos. Possessed of an +intellect of great analytic and destructive force, he was almost +entirely lacking in imagination, and he was therefore unable to raise +his work to a plane in which the mutually combative elements of his +nature might have been reconciled. His light moments of envy, anger, +and vanity passed into the crucible to come forth unchanged. He +lacked the magic wand, and his work never took wings above his +conception. It is in vain to seek in any of his plays or novels, +tracts or prefaces, for the product of inspiration, the divine gift +that enables one man to write with the common pen of humanity. He +could only employ his curiously perfect technique in reproducing the +wayward flashes of a mind incapable of consecutive thought. He never +attempted--and this is a hard saying--to produce any work beautiful +in itself; while the confusion of his mind, and the vanity that never +allowed him to ignore the effect his work might produce on his +audience, prevented him from giving clear expression to his creed. +His work will appeal rather to the student of men than to the +student of art, and, wantonly incoherent though it often is, must be +held to constitute a remarkable human document. + +It is strange to reflect that among his contemporary admirers Dale +was credited with an intellect of unusual clarity, for the +examination of any of his plays impresses one with the number and +mutual destructiveness of his motives for artistic expression. A +noted debater, he made frequent use of the device of attacking the +weakness of the other man's speech, rather than the weakness of +the other man's argument. His prose was good, though at its best +so impersonal that it recalled the manner of an exceptionally +well-written leading article. At its worst it was marred by +numerous vulgarities and errors of taste, not always, it is to be +feared, intentional. His attitude on this point was typical of his +strange blindness to the necessity of a pure artistic ideal. He +committed these extravagances, he would say, in order to irritate +his audience into a condition of mental alertness. As a matter of +fact, he generally made his readers more sorry than angry, and he +did not realise that even if he had been successful it was but a +poor reward for the wanton spoiling of much good work. He +proclaimed himself to be above criticism, but he was only too +often beneath it. Revolting against the dignity, not infrequently +pompous, of his fellow-men of letters, he played the part of clown +with more enthusiasm than skill. It is intellectual arrogance in a +clever man to believe that he can play the fool with success +merely because he wishes it. + +There is no need for me to enter into detail with regard to Dale's +personal appearance; the caricaturists did him rather more than +justice, the photographers rather less. In his younger days he +suggested a gingerbread man that had been left too long in the sun; +towards the end he affected a cultured and elaborate ruggedness that +made him look like a duke or a market gardener. Like most clever men, +he had good eyes. + +Nor is it my purpose to add more than a word to the published +accounts of his death. There is something strangely pitiful in that +last desperate effort to achieve humour. We have all read the account +of his own death that he dictated from the sick-bed--cold, +epigrammatic, and, alas! characteristically lacking in taste. And +once more it was his fate to make us rather sorry than angry. + +In the third scene of the second act of "Henry V.," a play written +by an author whom Dale pretended to despise, Dame Quickly describes +the death of Falstaff in words that are too well known to need +quotation. It was thus and no otherwise that Dale died. It is thus +that every man dies. + + + + +Blue Blood + +He sat in the middle of the great café with his head supported +on his hands, miserable even to bitterness. Inwardly he cursed the +ancestors who had left him little but a great name and a small and +ridiculous body. He thought of his father, whose expensive +eccentricities had amused his fellow-countrymen at the cost of his +fortune; his mother, for whom death had been a blessing; his +grandparents and his uncles, in whom no man had found any good. But +most of all he cursed himself, for whose follies even heredity might +not wholly account. He recalled the school where he had made no +friends, the University where he had taken no degree. Since he had +left Oxford, his aimless, hopeless life, profligate, but +dishonourable, perhaps, only by accident, had deprived even his title +of any social value, and one by one his very acquaintances had +left him to the society of broken men and the women who are anything +but light. And these, and here perhaps the root of his bitterness +lay, even these recognised him only as a victim for their mockery, a +thing more poor than themselves, whereon they could satisfy the anger +of their tortured souls. And his last misery lay in this: that he +himself could find no day in his life to admire, no one past dream to +cherish, no inmost corner of his heart to love. The lowest tramp, the +least-heeded waif of the night, might have some ultimate pride, but +he himself had nothing, nothing whatever. He was a dream-pauper, an +emotional bankrupt. + +With a choked sob he drained his brandy and told the waiter to bring +him another. There had been a period in his life when he had been +able to find some measure of sentimental satisfaction in the stupor +of drunkenness. In those days, through the veil of illusion which +alcohol had flung across his brain, he had been able to regard the +contempt of the men as the intimacy of friendship, the scorn of the +women as the laughter of light love. But now drink gave him +nothing but the mordant insight of morbidity, which cut through his +rotten soul like cheese. Yet night after night he came to this place, +to be tortured afresh by the ridicule of the sordid frequenters, and +by the careless music of the orchestra which told him of a flowerless +spring and of a morning which held for him no hope. For his last +emotion rested in this self-inflicted pain; he could only breathe +freely under the lash of his own contempt. + +Idly he let his dull eyes stray about the room, from table to table, +from face to face. Many there he knew by sight, from none could he +hope for sympathy or even companionship. In his bitterness he envied +the courage of the cowards who were brave enough to seek oblivion or +punishment in death. Dropping his eyes to his soft, unlovely hands, +he marvelled that anything so useless should throb with life, and yet +he realised that he was afraid of physical pain, terrified at the +thought of death. There were dim ancestors of his whose valour had +thrilled the songs of minstrels and made his name lovely in the +glowing folly of battles. But now he knew that he was a coward, and +even in the knowledge he could find no comfort. It is not given to +every man to hate himself gladly. + +The music and the laughter beat on his sullen brain with a mocking +insistence, and he trembled with impotent anger at the apparent +happiness of humanity. Why should these people be merry when he was +miserable, what right had the orchestra to play a chorus of triumph +over the stinging emblems of his defeat? He drank brandy after +brandy, vainly seeking to dull the nausea of disgust which had +stricken his worn nerves; but the adulterated spirit merely maddened +his brain with the vision of new depths of horror, while his body +lay below, a mean, detestable thing. Had he known how to pray he +would have begged that something might snap. But no man may win to +faith by means of hatred alone, and his heart was cold as the marble +table against which he leant. There was no more hope in the +world. . . . + +When he came out of the café, the air of the night was so pure +and cool on his face, and the lights of the square were so tender to +his eyes, that for a moment his harsh mood was softened. And in that +moment he seemed to see among the crowd that flocked by a beautiful +face, a face touched with pearls, and the inner leaves of pink +rosebuds. He leant forward eagerly. "Christine!" he cried, +"Christine!" + +Then the illusion passed, and, smitten by the anger of the pitiless +stars, he saw that he was looking upon a mere woman, a woman of the +earth. He fled from her smile with a shudder. + +As he went it seemed to him that the swaying houses buffeted him +about as a child might play with a ball. Sometimes they threw him +against men, who cursed him and bruised his soft body with their +fists. Sometimes they tripped him up and hurled him upon the stones +of the pavement. Still he held on, till the Embankment broke before +him with the sudden peace of space, and he leant against the +parapet, panting and sick with pain, but free from the tyranny of +the houses. + +Beneath him the river rolled towards the sea, reticent but +more alive, it seemed, than the deeply painful thing which fate had +attached to his brain. He pictured himself tangled in the dark +perplexity of its waters, he fancied them falling upon his face like +a girl's hair, till they darkened his eyes and choked the mouth +which, even now, could not breathe fast enough to satisfy him. The +thought displeased him, and he turned away from the place that held +peace for other men but not for him. From the shadow of one of the +seats a woman's voice reached him, begging peevishly for money. + +"I have none," he said automatically. Then he remembered and flung +coins, all the money he had, into her lap. "I give it to you because +I hate you!" he shrieked, and hurried on lest her thanks should spoil +his spite. + +Then the black houses and the warped streets had him in their grip +once more, and sported with him till his consciousness waxed to one +white-hot point of pain. Overhead the stars were laughing quietly in +the fields of space, and sometimes a policeman or a chance passer-by +looked curiously at his lurching figure, but he only knew that +life was hurting him beyond endurance, and that he yet endured. Up +and down the ice-cold corridors of his brain, thought, formless and +timeless, passed like a rodent flame. Now he was the universe, a vast +thing loathsome with agony, now he was a speck of dust, an atom whose +infinite torment was imperceptible even to God. Always there was +something--something conscious of the intolerable evil called life, +something that cried bitterly to be uncreated. Always, while his soul +beat against the bars, his body staggered along the streets, a thing +helpless, unguided. + +There is an hour before dawn when tired men and women die, and with +the coming of this hour his spirit found a strange release from +pain. Once more he realised that he was a man, and, bruised and +weary as he was, he tried to collect the lost threads of reason, +which the night had torn from him. Facing him he saw a vast building +dimly outlined against the darkness, and in some way it served to +touch a faint memory in his dying brain. For a while he wandered +amongst the shadows, and then he knew that it was the keep of +a castle, his castle, and that high up where a window shone upon the +night a girl was waiting for him, a girl with a face of pearls and +roses. Presently she came to the window and looked out, dressed all +in white for her love's sake. He stood up in his armour and flashed +his sword towards the envying stars. + +"It is I, my love!" he cried. "I am here." + +And there, before the dawn had made the shadows of the Law Courts +grey, they found him; bruised and muddy and daubed with blood, +without the sword and spurs of his honour, lacking the scented token +of his love. A thing in no way tragic, for here was no misfortune, +but merely the conclusion of Nature's remorseless logic. For century +after century those of his name had lived, sheltered by the prowess +of their ancestors from the trivial hardships and afflictions that +make us men. And now he lay on the pavement, stiff and cold, a babe +that had cried itself to sleep because it could not understand, +silent until the morning. + + + + +Fate And The Artist + +The workmen's dwellings stood in the northwest of London, in +quaint rivalry with the comfortable ugliness of the Maida Vale blocks +of flats. They were fairly new and very well built, with wide stone +staircases that echoed all day to the impatient footsteps of children, +and with a flat roof that served at once as a playground for them and +a drying-ground for their mothers' washing. In hot weather it was +pleasant enough to play hide-and-seek or follow-my-leader up and down +the long alleys of cool white linen, and if a sudden gust of wind or +some unexpected turn of the game set the wet sheets flapping in the +children's faces, their senses were rather tickled than annoyed. + +To George, mooning in a corner of the railings that seemed to keep all +London in a cage, these games were hardly more important than the +shoutings and whistlings that rose from the street below. It seemed to +him that all his life--he had lived eleven years--he had been standing +in a corner watching other people engaging in meaningless ploys and +antics. The sun was hot, and yet the children ran about and made +themselves hotter, and he wondered, as when he had been in bed with +one of his frequent illnesses he had wondered at the grown-up folk who +came and went, moving their arms and legs and speaking with their +mouths, when it was possible to lie still and quiet and feel the +moments ticking themselves off in one's forehead. As he rested in his +corner, he was conscious of the sharp edge of the narrow stone ledge +on which he was sitting and the thin iron railings that pressed into +his back; he smelt the evil smell of hot London, and the soapy odour +of the washing; he saw the glitter of the dust, and the noises of the +place beat harshly upon his ears, but he could find no meaning in it +all. Life spoke to him with a hundred tongues, and all the while he +was longing for silence. To the older inhabitants of the tenements he +seemed a morbid little boy, unhappily too delicate for sense to +be safely knocked into him; his fellow-children would have ignored him +completely if he had not had strange fancies that made interesting +stories and sometimes inspired games. On the whole, George was lonely +without knowing what loneliness meant. + +All day long the voice of London throbbed up beyond the bars, and +George would regard the chimneys and the housetops and the section of +lively street that fell within his range with his small, keen eyes, +and wonder why the world did not forthwith crumble into silent, +peaceful dust, instead of groaning and quivering in continual unrest. +But when twilight fell and the children were tired of playing, they +would gather round him in his corner by the tank and ask him to tell +them stories. This tank was large and open and held rain water for the +use of the tenants, and originally it had been cut off from the rest +of the roof by some special railings of its own; but two of the +railings had been broken, and now the children could creep through and +sit round the tank at dusk, like Eastern villagers round the village +well. + +And George would tell them stories--queer stories with twisted +faces and broken backs, that danced and capered merrily enough as a +rule, but sometimes stood quite still and made horrible grimaces. The +children liked the cheerful moral stories better, such as Arthur's +Boots. + +"Once upon a time," George would begin, "there was a boy called +Arthur, who lived in a house like this, and always tied his +bootlaces with knots instead of bows. One night he stood on the +roof and wished he had wings like a sparrow, so that he could +fly away over the houses. And a great wind began, so that everybody +said there was a storm, and suddenly Arthur found he had a little +pair of wings, and he flew away with the wind over the houses. And +presently he got beyond the storm to a quiet place in the sky, and +Arthur looked up and saw all the stars tied to heaven with little +bits of string, and all the strings were tied in bows. And this +was done so that God could pull the string quite easily when He +wanted to, and let the stars fall. On fine nights you can see them +dropping. Arthur thought that the angels must have very neat +fingers to tie so many bows, but suddenly, while he was looking, +his feet began to feel heavy, and he stooped down to take off his +boots; but he could not untie the knots quick enough, and soon he +started falling very fast. And while he was falling, he heard the +wind in the telegraph wires, and the shouts of the boys who sell +papers in the street, and then he fell on the top of a house. And +they took him to the hospital, and cut off his legs, and gave him +wooden ones instead. But he could not fly any more because they +were too heavy." + +For days afterwards all the children would tie their bootlaces in +bows. + +Sometimes they would all look into the dark tank, and George would +tell them about the splendid fish that lived in its depths. If the +tank was only half full, he would whisper to the fish, and the +children would hear its indistinct reply. But when the tank was full +to the brim, he said that the fish was too happy to talk, and he would +describe the beauty of its appearance so vividly that all the children +would lean over the tank and strain their eyes in a desperate effort +to see the wonderful fish. But no one ever saw it clearly except +George, though most of the children thought they had seen its tail +disappearing in the shadows at one time or another. + +It was doubtful how far the children believed his stories; probably, +not having acquired the habit of examining evidence, they were +content to accept ideas that threw a pleasant glamour on life. But the +coming of Jimmy Simpson altered this agreeable condition of mind. +Jimmy was one of those masterful stupid boys who excel at games and +physical contests, and triumph over intellectual problems by sheer +braggart ignorance. From the first he regarded George with contempt, +and when he heard him telling his stories he did not conceal his +disbelief. + +"It's a lie," he said; "there ain't no fish in the tank." + +"I have seen it, I tell you," said George. + +Jimmy spat on the asphalt rudely. + +"I bet no one else has," he said. + +George looked round his audience, but their eyes did not meet his. +They felt that they might have been mistaken in believing that +they had seen the tail of the fish. And Jimmy was a very good man with +his fists. "Liar!" said Jimmy at last triumphantly, and walked away. +Being masterful, he led the others with him, and George brooded by the +tank for the rest of the evening in solitude. + +Next day George went up to Jimmy confidently. "I was right about the +fish," he said. "I dreamed about it last night." + +"Rot!" said Jimmy; "dreams are only made-up things; they don't mean +anything." + +George crept away sadly. How could he convince such a man? All day +long he worried over the problem, and he woke up in the middle of the +night with it throbbing in his brain. And suddenly, as he lay in his +bed, doubt came to him. Supposing he had been wrong, supposing he had +never seen the fish at all? This was not to be borne. He crept quietly +out of the flat, and tiptoed upstairs to the roof. The stone was very +cold to his feet. + +There were so many things in the tank that at first, George could not +see the fish, but at last he saw it gleaming below the moon and the +stars, larger and even more beautiful than he had said. "I knew I +was right," he whispered, as he crept back to bed. In the morning he +was very ill. + +Meanwhile blue day succeeded blue day, and while the water grew lower +in the tank, the children, with Jimmy for leader, had almost forgotten +the boy who had told them stories. Now and again one or other of them +would say that George was very, very ill, and then they would go on +with their game. No one looked in the tank now that they knew there +was nothing in it, till it occurred one day to Jimmy that the dry +weather should have brought final confirmation of his scepticism. +Leaving his comrades at the long jump, he went to George's neglected +corner and peeped into the tank. Sure enough it was almost dry, and, +he nearly shouted with surprise, in the shallow pool of sooty water +there lay a large fish, dead, but still gleaming with rainbow colours. + +Jimmy was strong and stupid, but not ill-natured, and, recalling +George's illness, it occurred to him that it would be a decent thing +to go and tell him he was right. He ran downstairs and knocked on the +door of the flat where George lived. George's big sister opened +it, but the boy was too excited to see that her eyes were wet. "Oh, +miss," he said breathlessly, "tell George he was right about the fish. +I've seen it myself!" + +"Georgy's dead," said the girl. + + + + +The Great Man + +To the people who do not write it must seem odd that men and women +should be willing to sacrifice their lives in the endeavour to +find new arrangements and combinations of words with which to +express old thoughts and older emotions, yet that is not an unfair +statement of the task of the literary artist. Words--symbols that +represent the noises that human beings make with their tongues and +lips and teeth--lie within our grasp like the fragments of a +jig-saw puzzle, and we fit them into faulty pictures until our hands +grow weary and our eyes can no longer pretend to see the truth. In +order to illustrate an infinitesimal fraction of our lives by +means of this preposterous game we are willing to sacrifice all +the rest. While ordinary efficient men and women are enjoying the +promise of the morning, the fulfilment of the afternoon, the +tranquillity of evening, we are still trying to discover a fitting +epithet for the dew of dawn. For us Spring paves the woods with +beautiful words rather than flowers, and when we look into the +eyes of our mistress we see nothing but adjectives. Love is an +occasion for songs; Death but the overburdened father of all our +saddest phrases. We are of those who are born crying into the +world because they cannot speak, and we end, like Stevenson, by +looking forward to our death because we have written a good +epitaph. Sometimes in the course of our frequent descents from +heaven to the waste-paper basket we feel that we lose too much to +accomplish so little. Does a handful of love-songs really outweigh +the smile of a pretty girl, or a hardly-written romance compensate +the author for months of lost adventure? We have only one life to +live, and we spend the greater part of it writing the history of +dead hours. Our lives lack balance because we find it hard to +discover a mean between the triolet we wrote last I night and the +big book we are going to start tomorrow, and also because living +only with our heads we tend to become top-heavy. We justify our +present discomfort with the promise of a bright future of flowers +and sunshine and gladdest life, though we know that in the garden +of art there are many chrysalides and few butterflies. Few of us +are fortunate enough to accomplish anything that was in the least +worth doing, so we fall back on the arid philosophy that it is +effort alone that counts. + +Luckily--or suicide would be the rule rather than the exception +for artists--the long process of disillusionment is broken by +hours when even the most self-critical feel nobly and indubitably +great; and this is the only reward that most artists ever have for +their labours, if we set a higher price on art than money. On the +whole, I am inclined to think that the artist is fully rewarded, +for the common man can have no conception of the Joy that is to be +found in belonging, though but momentarily and illusively, to the +aristocracy of genius. To find the just word for all our emotions, +to realise that our most trivial thought is illimitably creative, +to feel that it is our lot to keep life's gladdest promises, to +see the great souls of men and women, steadfast in existence as +stars in a windless pool--these, indeed, are no ordinary +pleasures. Moreover, these hours of our illusory greatness endow +us in their passing with a melancholy that is not tainted with +bitteress. We have nothing to regret; we are in truth the richer +for our rare adventure. We have been permitted to explore the +ultimate possibilities of our nature, and if we might not keep +this newly-discovered territory, at least we did not return from +our travels with empty hands. Something of the glamour lingers, +something perhaps of the wisdom, and it is with a heightened +passion, a fiercer enthusiasm, that we set ourselves once more to +our life-long task of chalking pink salmon and pinker sunsets on +the pavements of the world. + +I once met an Englishman in the forest that starts outside Brussels +and stretches for a long day's journey across the hills. We found a +little café under the trees, and sat in the sun talking about modern +English literature all the afternoon. In this way we discovered that +we had a common standpoint from which we judged works of art, though +our judgments differed pleasantly and provided us with materials +for agreeable discussion. By the time we had divided three bottles of +Gueze Lambic, the noble beer of Belgium, we had already sketched out a +scheme for the ideal literary newspaper. In other words, we had +achieved friendship. + +When the afternoon grew suddenly cold, the Englishman led me off to +tea at his house, which was half-way up the hill out of Woluwe. It +was one of those modern country cottages that Belgian architects +steal openly and without shame from their English confreres. We were +met at the garden gate by his daughter, a dark-haired girl of +fifteen or sixteen, so unreasonably beautiful that she made a +disillusioned scribbler feel like a sad line out of one of the +saddest poems of Francis Thompson. In my mind I christened her +Monica, because I did not like her real name. The house, with its +old furniture, its library, where the choice of books was clearly +dictated by individual prejudices and affections, and its +unambitious parade of domestic happiness, heightened my melancholy. +While tea was being prepared Monica showed me the garden. Only +a few daffodils and crocuses were in bloom, but she led me to the +rose garden, and told me that in the summer she could pick a great +basket of roses every day. I pictured Monica to myself, gathering +her roses on a breathless summer afternoon, and returned to the +house feeling like a battened version of the Reverend Laurence +Sterne. I knew that I had gathered all my roses, and I thought +regretfully of the chill loneliness of the world that lay beyond the +limits of this paradise. + +This mood lingered with me during tea, and it was not till that +meal was over that the miracle happened. I do not know whether it +was the Englishman or his wife that wrought the magic: or perhaps +it was Monica, nibbling "speculations" with her sharp white teeth; +but at all events I was led with delicate diplomacy to talk about +myself, and I presently realised that I was performing the +grateful labour really well. My words were warmed into life by an +eloquence that is not ordinarily mine, my adjectives were neither +commonplace nor far-fetched, my adverbs fell into their sockets +with a sob of joy. I spoke of myself with a noble sympathy, a +compassion so intense that it seemed divinely altruistic. And +gradually, as the spirit of creation woke in my blood, I revealed, +trembling between a natural sensitiveness and a generous +abandonment of restraint, the inner life of a man of genius. + +I passed lightly by his misunderstood childhood to concentrate my +sympathies on the literary struggles of his youth. I spoke of the +ignoble environment, the material hardships, the masterpieces written +at night to be condemned in the morning, the songs of his heart that +were too great for his immature voice to sing; and all the while I +bade them watch the fire of his faith burning with a constant and +quenchless flame. I traced the development of his powers, and +instanced some of his poems, my poems, which I recited so well that +they sounded to me, and I swear to them also, like staves from an +angelic hymn-book. I asked their compassion for the man who, having +such things in his heart, was compelled to waste his hours in sordid +journalistic labours. + +So by degrees I brought them to the present time, when, fatigued by +a world that would not acknowledge the truth of his message, +the man of genius was preparing to retire from life, in order to +devote himself to the composition of five or six masterpieces. I +described these masterpieces to them in outline, with a suggestive +detail dashed in here and there to show how they would be finished. +Nothing is easier than to describe unwritten literary masterpieces +in outline; but by that time I had thoroughly convinced my audience +and myself, and we looked upon these things as completed books. The +atmosphere was charged with the spirit of high endeavour, of +wonderful accomplishment. I heard the Englishman breathing deeply, +and through the dusk I was aware of the eyes of Monica, the wide, +vague eyes of a young girl in which youth can find exactly what it +pleases. + +It is a good thing to be great once or twice in our lives, and that +night I was wise enough to depart before the inevitable anti-climax. +At the gate the Englishman pressed me warmly by the hand and begged +me to honour his house with my presence again. His wife echoed the +wish, and Monica looked at me with those vacant eyes, that but a few +years ago I would have charged with the wine of my song. As I stood +in the tram on my way back to Brussels I felt like a man recovering +from a terrible debauch, and I knew that the brief hour of my pride +was over, to return, perhaps, no more. Work was impossible to a man +who had expressed considerably more than he had to express, so I went +into a café where there was a string band to play sentimental music +over the corpse of my genius. Chance took me to a table presided over +by a waiter I singularly detested, and the last embers of my +greatness enabled me to order my drink in a voice so passionate that +he looked at me aghast and fled. By the time he returned with my hock +the tale was finished, and I tried to buy his toleration with an +enormous _pourboire_. + +No; I will return to that house on the hill above Woluwe no more, not +even to see Monica standing on tiptoe to pick her roses. For I have +left a giant's robe hanging on a peg in the hall, and I would not +have those amiable people see how utterly incapable I am of filling +it under normal conditions. I feel, besides, a kind of sentimental +tenderness for this illusion fated to have so short a life. I am no +Herod to slaughter babies, and it pleases me to think that it lingers +yet in that delightful house with the books and the old furniture and +Monica, even though I myself shall probably never see it again, even +though the Englishman watches the publishers' announcements for the +masterpieces that will never appear. + + + + +A Wet Day + +As we grow older it becomes more and more apparent that our moments +are the ghosts of old moments, our days but pale repetitions of days +that we have known in the past. It might almost be said that after a +certain age we never meet a stranger or win to a new place. The +palace of our soul, grown larger let us hope with the years, is +haunted by little memories that creep out of corners to peep at us +wistfully when we are most sure that we are alone. Sometimes we +cannot hear the voice of the present for the whisperings of the past; +sometimes the room is so full of ghosts that we can hardly breathe. +And yet it is often difficult to find the significance of these dead +days, restored to us to disturb our sense of passing time. Why have +our minds kept secret these trivial records so many years to give +them to us at last when they have no apparent consequence? Perhaps it +is only that we are not clever enough to read the riddle; perhaps +these trifles that we have remembered unconsciously year after year +are in truth the tremendous forces that have made our lives what they +are. + +Standing at the window this morning and watching the rain, I suddenly +became conscious of a wet morning long ago when I stood as I stood +now and saw the drops sliding one after another down the steamy +panes. I was a boy of eight years old, dressed in a sailor suit, and +with my hair clipped quite short like a French boy's, and my right +knee was stiff with a half-healed cut where I had fallen on the +gravel path under the schoolroom window, it was a really wet, grey +day. I could hear the rain dripping from the fir-trees on to the +scullery roof, and every now and then a gust of wind drove the rain +down on the soaked lawn with a noise like breaking surf. I could hear +the water gurgling in the pipe that was hidden by the ivy, and I saw +with interest that one of the paths was flooded, so that a canal ran +between the standard rose bushes and recalled pictures of Venice. I +thought it would be nice if it rained truly hard and flooded the +house, so that we should all have to starve for three weeks, and then +be rescued excitingly in boats; but I had not really any hope. Behind +me in the schoolroom my two brothers were playing chess, but had not +yet started quarrelling, and in a corner my little sister was +patiently beating a doll. There was a fire in the grate, but it was +one of those sombre, smoky fires in which it is impossible to take +any interest. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked very slowly, and I +realised that an eternity of these long seconds separated me from +dinner-time. I thought I would like to go out. + +The enterprise presented certain difficulties and dangers, but none +that could not be surpassed. I would have to steal down to the hall +and get my boots and waterproof on unobserved. I would have to open +the front door without making too much noise, for the other doors +were well guarded by underlings, and I would have to run down the +front drive under the eyes of many windows. Once beyond the gate I +would be safe, for the wetness of the day would secure me from +dangerous encounters. Walking in the rain would be pleasant than +staying in the dull schoolroom, where life remained unchanged for a +quarter of an hour at a time; and I remembered that there was a +little wood near our house in which I had never been when it was +raining hard. Perhaps I would meet the magician for whom I had looked +so often in vain on sunny days, for it was quite likely that he +preferred walking in bad weather when no one else was about. It would +be nice to hear the drops of rain falling on the roof of the trees, +and to be quite warm and dry underneath. Perhaps the magician would +give me a magic wand, and I would do things like the conjurer last +Christmas. + +Certainly I would be punished when I got home, for even if I were not +missed they would see that my boots were muddy and that my waterproof +was wet. I would have no pudding for dinner and be sent to bed in the +afternoon: but these things had happened to me before, and though I +had not liked them at the time, they did not seem very terrible in +retrospect. And life was so dull in the schoolroom that wet morning +when I was eight years old! + +And yet I did not go out, but stood hesitating at the window, while +with every gust earth seemed to fling back its curls of rain from its +shining forehead. To stand on the brink of adventure is interesting +in itself, and now that I could think over the details of my +expedition was no longer bored. So I stayed dreaming till the golden +moment for action was passed, and a violent exclamation from one of +the chess-players called me back to a prosaic world. In a second the +board was overturned and the players were locked in battle. My little +sister, who had already the feminine craving for tidiness, crept out +of her corner and meekly gathered the chessmen from under the feet of +the combatants. I had seen it all before, and while I led my forces +to the aid of the brother with whom at the moment I had some sort of +alliance, I reflected that I would have done better to dare the +adventure and set forth into the rainy world. + +And this morning when I stood at my window, and my memory a little +cruelly restored to this vision of a day long dead, I was still of +the same opinion. Oh! I should have put on my boots and my waterproof +and gone down to the little wood to meet the enchanter! He would have +given me the cap of invisibility, the purse of Fortunatus, and a pair +of seven-league boots. He would have taught me to conquer worlds, and +to leave the easy triumphs of dreamers to madmen, philosophers, and +poets, He would have made me a man of action, a statesman, a soldier, +a founder of cities or a digger of graves. For there are two kinds of +men in the world when we have put aside the minor distinctions of +shape and colour. There are the men who do things and the men who +dream about them. No man can be both a dreamer and a man of action, +and we are called upon to determine what rôle we shall play in life +when we are too young to know what to do. + +I do not believe that it was a mere wantonness of memory that +preserved the image of that hour with such affectionate detail, where +so many brighter and more eventful hours have disappeared for ever. +It seems to me likely enough that that moment of hesitation before +the schoolroom window determined a habit of mind that has kept me +dreaming ever since. For all my life I have preferred thought to +action; I have never run to the little wood; I have never met the +enchanter. And so this morning, when Fate played me this trick and my +dream was chilled for an instant by the icy breath of the past, I did +not rush out into the streets of life and lay about me with a flaming +sword. No; I picked up my pen and wrote some words on a piece of +paper and lulled my shocked senses with the tranquillity of the +idlest dream of all. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ghost Ship, by Richard Middleton + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11045 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1cafd6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #11045 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11045) diff --git a/old/11045-8.txt b/old/11045-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41c114f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11045-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5931 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ghost Ship, by Richard Middleton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Ghost Ship + +Author: Richard Middleton + +Release Date: February 11, 2004 [EBook #11045] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST SHIP *** + + + + +Produced by Tom Harris + + + + +THE GHOST-SHIP + +by Richard Middleton + + + + Thanks are due to the Editors of _The Century_, + _English Review_, _Vanity Fair_, and _The Academy_, for + permission to reproduce most of the stories in this volume. + + + + +Preface + +The other day I said to a friend, "I have just been reading in proof +a volume of short stories by an author named Richard Middleton. He is +dead. It is an extraordinary book, and all the work in it is full of +a quite curious and distinctive quality. In my opinion it is very +fine work indeed." + +It would be so simple if the business of the introducer or +preface-writer were limited to such a straightforward, honest, and +direct expression of opinion; unfortunately that is not so. For most +of us, the happier ones of the world, it is enough to say "I like +it," or "I don't like it," and there is an end: the critic has to +answer the everlasting "Why?" And so, I suppose, it is my office, +in this present instance, to say why I like the collection of tales +that follows. + +I think that I have found a hint as to the right answer in two of +these stories. One is called "The Story of a Book," the other "The +Biography of a Superman." Each is rather an essay than a tale, though +the form of each is narrative. The first relates the sad bewilderment +of a successful novelist who feels that, after all, his great work +was something less than nothing. + + He could not help noticing that London had discovered the + secret which made his intellectual life a torment. The + streets were more than a mere assemblage of houses, + London herself was more than a tangled skein of streets, + and overhead heaven was more than a meeting-place of + individual stars. What was this secret that made words + into a book, houses into cities, and restless and + measurable stars into an unchanging and immeasurable + universe? + +Then from "The Biography of a Superman" I select this very striking +passage:-- + + Possessed of an intellect of great analytic and + destructive force, he was almost entirely lacking + in imagination, and he was therefore unable + to raise his work to a plane in which the mutually + combative elements of his nature might have been + reconciled. His light moments of envy, anger, and + vanity passed into the crucible to come forth + unchanged. He lacked the magic wand, and his work + never took wings above his conception. + +Now compare the two places; "the streets were more than a mere +assemblage of houses;" . . . "his light moments . . . passed into the +crucible to come forth unchanged. He lacked the magic wand." I think +these two passages indicate the answer to the "why" that I am forced +to resolve; show something of the secret of the strange charm which +"The Ghost-Ship" possesses. + +It delights because it is significant, because it is no mere +assemblage of words and facts and observations and incidents, it +delights because its matter has not passed through the crucible +unchanged. On the contrary, the jumble of experiences and impressions +which fell to the lot of the author as to us all had assuredly been +placed in the athanor of art, in that furnace of the sages which is +said to be governed with wisdom. Lead entered the burning of the +fire, gold came forth from it. + +This analogy of the process of alchemy which Richard Middleton has +himself suggested is one of the finest and the fittest for our +purpose; but there are many others. The "magic wand" analogy comes to +much the same thing; there is the like notion of something ugly and +insignificant changed to something beautiful and significant. +Something ugly; shall we not say rather something formless transmuted +into form! After all, the Latin Dictionary declares solemnly that +"beauty" is one of the meanings of "forma" And here we are away from +alchemy and the magic wand ideas, and pass to the thought of the +first place that I have quoted: "the streets were more than a mere +assemblage of houses," The puzzle is solved; the jig-saw--I think +they call it--has been successfully fitted together, There in a box +lay all the jagged, irregular pieces, each in itself crazy and +meaningless and irritating by its very lack of meaning: now we see +each part adapted to the other and the whole is one picture and one +purpose. + +But the first thing necessary to this achievement is the recognition +of the fact that there is a puzzle. There are many people who go +through life persuaded that there isn't a puzzle at all; that it was +only the infancy and rude childhood of the world which dreamed a vain +dream of a picture to be made out of the jagged bits of wood, There +never has been a picture, these persons say, and there never will be +a picture, all we have to do is to take the bits out of the box, look +at them, and put them back again. Or, returning to Richard +Middleton's excellent example: there is no such thing as London, +there are only houses. No man has seen London at any time; the very +word (meaning "the fort on the lake") is nonsensical; no human eye +has ever beheld aught else but a number of houses; it is clear that +this "London" is as mythical and monstrous and irrational a concept +as many others of the same class. Well, people who talk like that are +doubtless sent into the world for some useful but mysterious process; +but they can't write real books. Richard Middleton knew that there +was a puzzle; in other words, that the universe is a great mystery; +and this consciousness of his is the source of the charm of "The +Ghost Ship." + +I have compared this orthodox view of life and the +universe and the fine art that results from this view to the solving +of a puzzle; but the analogy is not an absolutely perfect one. For if +you buy a jig-saw in a box in the Haymarket, you take it home with +you and begin to put the pieces together, and sooner or later the +toil is over and the difficulties are overcome: the picture is clear +before you. Yes, the toil is over, but so is the fun; it is but poor +sport to do the trick all over again. And here is the vast +inferiority of the things they sell in the shops to the universe: our +great puzzle is never perfectly solved. We come across marvellous +hints, we join line to line and our hearts beat with the rapture of a +great surmise; we follow a certain track and know by sure signs and +signals that we are not mistaken, that we are on the right road; we +are furnished with certain charts which tell us "here there be +water-pools," "here is a waste place," "here a high hill riseth," and +we find as we journey that so it is. But, happily, by the very nature +of the case, we can never put the whole of the picture together, we +can never recover the perfect utterance of the Lost Word, we can +never say "here is the end of all the journey." Man is so made that +all his true delight arises from the contemplation of mystery, and +save by his own frantic and invincible folly, mystery is never taken +from him; it rises within his soul, a well of joy unending. + +Hence it is that the consciousness of this mystery, resolved into the +form of art, expresses itself usually (or always) by symbols, by the +part put for the whole. Now and then, as in the case of Dante, as it +was with the great romance-cycle of the Holy Graal, we have a sense +of completeness. With the vision of the Angelic Rose and the sentence +concerning that Love which moves the sun and the other stars there is +the shadow of a catholic survey of all things; and so in a less +degree it is as we read of the translation of Galahad. Still, the +Rose and the Graal are but symbols of the eternal verities, not those +verities themselves in their essences; and in these later days when +we have become clever--with the cleverness of the Performing Pig--it +is a great thing to find the most obscure and broken indications of +the things which really are. There is the true enchantment of true +romance in the Don Quixote--for those who can understand--but it is +delivered in the mode of parody and burlesque; and so it is with the +extraordinary fantasy, "The Ghost-Ship," which gives its name to this +collection of tales. Take this story to bits, as it were; analyse it; +you will be astonished at its frantic absurdity: the ghostly galleon +blown in by a great tempest to a turnip-patch in Fairfield, a little +village lying near the Portsmouth Road about half-way between London +and the sea; the farmer grumbling at the loss of so many turnips; the +captain of the weird vessel acknowledging the justice of the claim +and tossing a great gold brooch to the landlord by way of satisfying +the debt; the deplorable fact that all the decent village ghosts +learned to riot with Captain Bartholomew Roberts; the visit of the +parson and his godly admonitions to the Captain on the evil work he +was doing; mere craziness, you will say? + +Yes; but the strange thing is that as, in spite of all jocose tricks +and low-comedy misadventures, Don Quixote departs from us with a +great light shining upon him; so this ghost-ship of Richard +Middleton's, somehow or other, sails and anchors and re-sails in an +unearthly glow; and Captain Bartholomew's rum that was like hot oil +and honey and fire in the veins of the mortals who drank of it, has +become for me one of the _nobilium poculorum_ of story. And thus did +the ship put forth from the village and sail away in a great tempest +of wind--to what unimaginable seas of the spirit! + + The wind that had been howling outside + like an outrageous dog had all of a sudden + turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a + Christmas Eve. + + We went to the door, and the wind burst it + open so that the handle was driven clean into + the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think + much of that at the time; for over our heads, + sailing very comfortably through the windy + stars, was the ship that had passed the + summer in landlord's field. Her portholes + and her bay-window were blazing with lights, + and there was a noise of singing and fiddling + on her decks. "He's gone," shouted landlord + above the storm, "and he's taken half the + village with him!" I could only nod in + answer, not having lungs like bellows of + leather. + +I declare I would not exchange this short, crazy, enchanting fantasy +for a whole wilderness of seemly novels, proclaiming in decorous +accents the undoubted truth that there are milestones on the +Portsmouth Road. + + Arthur Machen. + + + + +The Ghost-Ship + +Fairfield is a little village lying near the Portsmouth Road about +half-way between London and the sea. Strangers who find it by +accident now and then, call it a pretty, old-fashioned place; we who +live in it and call it home don't find anything very pretty about it, +but we should be sorry to live anywhere else. Our minds have taken +the shape of the inn and the church and the green, I suppose. At all +events we never feel comfortable out of Fairfield. + +Of course the Cockneys, with their vasty houses and noise-ridden +streets, can call us rustics if they choose, but for all that +Fairfield is a better place to live in than London. Doctor says that +when he goes to London his mind is bruised with the weight of the +houses, and he was a Cockney born. He had to live there himself when +he was a little chap, but he knows better now. You gentlemen may +laugh--perhaps some of you come from London way--but it seems to me +that a witness like that is worth a gallon of arguments. + +Dull? Well, you might find it dull, but I assure you that I've +listened to all the London yarns you have spun tonight, and they're +absolutely nothing to the things that happen at Fairfield. It's +because of our way of thinking and minding our own business. If one +of your Londoners were set down on the green of a Saturday night when +the ghosts of the lads who died in the war keep tryst with the lasses +who lie in the church-yard, he couldn't help being curious and +interfering, and then the ghosts would go somewhere where it was +quieter. But we just let them come and go and don't make any fuss, +and in consequence Fairfield is the ghostiest place in all England. +Why, I've seen a headless man sitting on the edge of the well in +broad daylight, and the children playing about his feet as if he were +their father. Take my word for it, spirits know when they are well +off as much as human beings. + +Still, I must admit that the thing I'm going to tell you about was +queer even for our part of the world, where three packs of +ghost-hounds hunt regularly during the season, and blacksmith's +great-grandfather is busy all night shoeing the dead gentlemen's +horses. Now that's a thing that wouldn't happen in London, because of +their interfering ways, but blacksmith he lies up aloft and sleeps as +quiet as a lamb. Once when he had a bad head he shouted down to them +not to make so much noise, and in the morning he found an old guinea +left on the anvil as an apology. He wears it on his watch-chain now. +But I must get on with my story; if I start telling you about the +queer happenings at Fairfield I'll never stop. + +It all came of the great storm in the spring of '97, the year that we +had two great storms. This was the first one, and I remember it very +well, because I found in the morning that it had lifted the thatch of +my pigsty into the widow's garden as clean as a boy's kite. When I +looked over the hedge, widow--Tom Lamport's widow that was--was +prodding for her nasturtiums with a daisy-grubber. After I had +watched her for a little I went down to the "Fox and Grapes" to tell +landlord what she had said to me. Landlord he laughed, being a +married man and at ease with the sex. "Come to that," he said, "the +tempest has blowed something into my field. A kind of a ship I +think it would be." + +I was surprised at that until he explained that it was only a +ghost-ship and would do no hurt to the turnips. We argued that +it had been blown up from the sea at Portsmouth, and then we +talked of something else. There were two slates down at the +parsonage and a big tree in Lumley's meadow. It was a rare +storm. + +I reckon the wind had blown our ghosts all over England. +They were coming back for days afterwards with foundered horses +and as footsore as possible, and they were so glad to get back +to Fairfield that some of them walked up the street crying like +little children. Squire said that his great-grandfather's +great-grandfather hadn't looked so dead-beat since the battle +of Naseby, and he's an educated man. + +What with one thing and another, I should think it was a week before +we got straight again, and then one afternoon I met the landlord on +the green and he had a worried face. "I wish you'd come and have a +look at that ship in my field," he said to me; "it seems to me it's +leaning real hard on the turnips. I can't bear thinking what the +missus will say when she sees it." + +I walked down the lane with him, and sure enough there was a +ship in the middle of his field, but such a ship as no man had +seen on the water for three hundred years, let alone in the +middle of a turnip-field. It was all painted black and covered +with carvings, and there was a great bay window in the stern +for all the world like the Squire's drawing-room. There was a +crowd of little black cannon on deck and looking out of her +port-holes, and she was anchored at each end to the hard +ground. I have seen the wonders of the world on picture-postcards, +but I have never seen anything to equal that. + +"She seems very solid for a ghost-ship," I said, seeing the landlord +was bothered. + +"I should say it's a betwixt and between," he answered, puzzling it +over, "but it's going to spoil a matter of fifty turnips, and missus +she'll want it moved." We went up to her and touched the side, and it +was as hard as a real ship. "Now there's folks in England would call +that very curious," he said. + +Now I don't know much about ships, but I should think that that +ghost-ship weighed a solid two hundred tons, and it seemed to me +that she had come to stay, so that I felt sorry for landlord, who was +a married man. "All the horses in Fairfield won't move her out of my +turnips," he said, frowning at her. + +Just then we heard a noise on her deck, and we looked up and saw that +a man had come out of her front cabin and was looking down at us very +peaceably. He was dressed in a black uniform set out with rusty gold +lace, and he had a great cutlass by his side in a brass sheath. "I'm +Captain Bartholomew Roberts," he said, in a gentleman's voice, "put +in for recruits. I seem to have brought her rather far up the +harbour." + +"Harbour!" cried landlord; "why, you're fifty miles from the sea." + +Captain Roberts didn't turn a hair. "So much as that, is it?" he said +coolly. "Well, it's of no consequence." + +Landlord was a bit upset at this. "I don't want to be unneighbourly," +he said, "but I wish you hadn't brought your ship into my field. You +see, my wife sets great store on these turnips." + +The captain took a pinch of snuff out of a fine gold box that he +pulled out of his pocket, and dusted his fingers with a silk +handkerchief in a very genteel fashion. "I'm only here for a few +months," he said; "but if a testimony of my esteem would pacify your +good lady I should be content," and with the words he loosed a great +gold brooch from the neck of his coat and tossed it down to landlord. + +Landlord blushed as red as a strawberry. "I'm not denying she's fond +of jewellery," he said, "but it's too much for half a sackful of +turnips." And indeed it was a handsome brooch. + +The captain laughed. "Tut, man," he said, "it's a forced sale, and +you deserve a good price. Say no more about it;" and nodding good-day +to us, he turned on his heel and went into the cabin. Landlord walked +back up the lane like a man with a weight off his mind. "That tempest +has blowed me a bit of luck," he said; "the missus will be much +pleased with that brooch. It's better than blacksmith's guinea, any +day." + +Ninety-seven was Jubilee year, the year of the second Jubilee, you +remember, and we had great doings at Fairfield, so that we hadn't +much time to bother about the ghost-ship though anyhow it isn't our +way to meddle in things that don't concern us. Landlord, he saw his +tenant once or twice when he was hoeing his turnips and passed the +time of day, and landlord's wife wore her new brooch to church every +Sunday. But we didn't mix much with the ghosts at any time, all +except an idiot lad there was in the village, and he didn't know the +difference between a man and a ghost, poor innocent! On Jubilee Day, +however, somebody told Captain Roberts why the church bells were +ringing, and he hoisted a flag and fired off his guns like a loyal +Englishman. 'Tis true the guns were shotted, and one of the round +shot knocked a hole in Farmer Johnstone's barn, but nobody thought +much of that in such a season of rejoicing. + +It wasn't till our celebrations were over that we noticed that +anything was wrong in Fairfield. 'Twas shoemaker who told me first +about it one morning at the "Fox and Grapes." "You know my great +great-uncle?" he said to me. + +"You mean Joshua, the quiet lad," I answered, knowing him well. + +"Quiet!" said shoemaker indignantly. "Quiet you call him, coming home +at three o'clock every morning as drunk as a magistrate and waking up +the whole house with his noise." + +"Why, it can't be Joshua!" I said, for I knew him for one of the most +respectable young ghosts in the village. + +"Joshua it is," said shoemaker; "and one of these nights he'll find +himself out in the street if he isn't careful." + +This kind of talk shocked me, I can tell you, for I don't like to +hear a man abusing his own family, and I could hardly believe that a +steady youngster like Joshua had taken to drink. But just then in +came butcher Aylwin in such a temper that he could hardly drink his +beer. "The young puppy! the young puppy!" he kept on saying; and it +was some time before shoemaker and I found out that he was talking +about his ancestor that fell at Senlac. + +"Drink?" said shoemaker hopefully, for we all like company in our +misfortunes, and butcher nodded grimly. + +"The young noodle," he said, emptying his tankard. + +Well, after that I kept my ears open, and it was the same story all +over the village. There was hardly a young man among all the ghosts +of Fairfield who didn't roll home in the small hours of the morning +the worse for liquor. I used to wake up in the night and hear them +stumble past my house, singing outrageous songs. The worst of it was +that we couldn't keep the scandal to ourselves and the folk at +Greenhill began to talk of "sodden Fairfield" and taught their +children to sing a song about us: + + "Sodden Fairfield, sodden Fairfield, has no use for bread-and-butter, + Rum for breakfast, rum for dinner, rum for tea, and rum for supper!" + +We are easy-going in our village, but we didn't like that. + +Of course we soon found out where the young fellows went to get the +drink, and landlord was terribly cut up that his tenant should have +turned out so badly, but his wife wouldn't hear of parting with the +brooch, so that he couldn't give the Captain notice to quit. But as +time went on, things grew from bad to worse, and at all hours of the +day you would see those young reprobates sleeping it off on the +village green. Nearly every afternoon a ghost-wagon used to jolt down +to the ship with a lading of rum, and though the older ghosts seemed +inclined to give the Captain's hospitality the go-by, the youngsters +were neither to hold nor to bind. + +So one afternoon when I was taking my nap I heard a knock at the +door, and there was parson looking very serious, like a man with a +job before him that he didn't altogether relish. "I'm going down to +talk to the Captain about all this drunkenness in the village, and I +want you to come with me," he said straight out. + +I can't say that I fancied the visit much, myself, and I tried to +hint to parson that as, after all, they were only a lot of ghosts it +didn't very much matter. + +"Dead or alive, I'm responsible for the good conduct," he said, "and +I'm going to do my duty and put a stop to this continued disorder. +And you are coming with me John Simmons." So I went, parson being a +persuasive kind of man. + +We went down to the ship, and as we approached her I could see the +Captain tasting the air on deck. When he saw parson he took off his +hat very politely and I can tell you that I was relieved to find that +he had a proper respect for the cloth. Parson acknowledged his salute +and spoke out stoutly enough. "Sir, I should be glad to have a word +with you." + +"Come on board, sir; come on board," said the Captain, and I could +tell by his voice that he knew why we were there. Parson and I +climbed up an uneasy kind of ladder, and the Captain took us into the +great cabin at the back of the ship, where the bay-window was. It was +the most wonderful place you ever saw in your life, all full of gold +and silver plate, swords with jewelled scabbards, carved oak chairs, +and great chests that look as though they were bursting with guineas. +Even parson was surprised, and he did not shake his head very hard +when the Captain took down some silver cups and poured us out a drink +of rum. I tasted mine, and I don't mind saying that it changed my +view of things entirely. There was nothing betwixt and between about +that rum, and I felt that it was ridiculous to blame the lads for +drinking too much of stuff like that. It seemed to fill my veins with +honey and fire. + +Parson put the case squarely to the Captain, but I didn't listen much +to what he said; I was busy sipping my drink and looking through the +window at the fishes swimming to and fro over landlord's turnips. +Just then it seemed the most natural thing in the world that they +should be there, though afterwards, of course, I could see that that +proved it was a ghost-ship. + +But even then I thought it was queer when I saw a drowned sailor +float by in the thin air with his hair and beard all full of bubbles. +It was the first time I had seen anything quite like that at +Fairfield. + +All the time I was regarding the wonders of the deep parson was +telling Captain Roberts how there was no peace or rest in the village +owing to the curse of drunkenness, and what a bad example the +youngsters were setting to the older ghosts. The Captain listened +very attentively, and only put in a word now and then about boys +being boys and young men sowing their wild oats. But when parson had +finished his speech he filled up our silver cups and said to parson, +with a flourish, "I should be sorry to cause trouble anywhere where I +have been made welcome, and you will be glad to hear that I put to +sea tomorrow night. And now you must drink me a prosperous voyage." +So we all stood up and drank the toast with honour, and that noble +rum was like hot oil in my veins. + +After that Captain showed us some of the curiosities he had brought +back from foreign parts, and we were greatly amazed, though +afterwards I couldn't clearly remember what they were. And then I +found myself walking across the turnips with parson, and I was +telling him of the glories of the deep that I had seen through the +window of the ship. He turned on me severely. "If I were you, John +Simmons," he said, "I should go straight home to bed." He has a way +of putting things that wouldn't occur to an ordinary man, has parson, +and I did as he told me. + +Well, next day it came on to blow, and it blew harder and harder, +till about eight o'clock at night I heard a noise and looked out into +the garden. I dare say you won't believe me, it seems a bit tall even +to me, but the wind had lifted the thatch of my pigsty into the +widow's garden a second time. I thought I wouldn't wait to hear what +widow had to say about it, so I went across the green to the "Fox and +Grapes", and the wind was so strong that I danced along on tiptoe +like a girl at the fair. When I got to the inn landlord had to help +me shut the door; it seemed as though a dozen goats were pushing +against it to come in out of the storm. + +"It's a powerful tempest," he said, drawing the beer. "I hear there's +a chimney down at Dickory End." + +"It's a funny thing how these sailors know about the weather," I +answered. "When Captain said he was going tonight, I was thinking it +would take a capful of wind to carry the ship back to sea, but now +here's more than a capful." + +"Ah, yes," said landlord, "it's tonight he goes true enough, and, +mind you, though he treated me handsome over the rent, I'm not sure +it's a loss to the village. I don't hold with gentrice who fetch +their drink from London instead of helping local traders to get their +living." + +"But you haven't got any rum like his," I said, to draw him out. + +His neck grew red above his collar, and I was afraid I'd gone too +far; but after a while he got his breath with a grunt. + +"John Simmons," he said, "if you've come down here this windy night +to talk a lot of fool's talk, you've wasted a journey." + +Well, of course, then I had to smooth him down with praising his rum, +and Heaven forgive me for swearing it was better than Captain's. For +the like of that rum no living lips have tasted save mine and +parson's. But somehow or other I brought landlord round, and +presently we must have a glass of his best to prove its quality. + +"Beat that if you can!" he cried, and we both raised our glasses to +our mouths, only to stop half-way and look at each other in amaze. +For the wind that had been howling outside like an outrageous dog had +all of a sudden turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a Christmas +Eve. + +"Surely that's not my Martha," whispered landlord; Martha being his +great-aunt that lived in the loft overhead. + +We went to the door, and the wind burst it open so that the handle +was driven clean into the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think +about that at the time; for over our heads, sailing very comfortably +through the windy stars, was the ship that had passed the summer in +landlord's field. Her portholes and her bay-window were blazing with +lights, and there was a noise of singing and fiddling on her decks. +"He's gone," shouted landlord above the storm, "and he's taken half +the village with him!" I could only nod in answer, not having lungs +like bellows of leather. + +In the morning we were able to measure the strength of the storm, and +over and above my pigsty there was damage enough wrought in the +village to keep us busy. True it is that the children had to break +down no branches for the firing that autumn, since the wind had +strewn the woods with more than they could carry away. Many of our +ghosts were scattered abroad, but this time very few came back, all +the young men having sailed with Captain; and not only ghosts, for a +poor half-witted lad was missing, and we reckoned that he had stowed +himself away or perhaps shipped as cabin-boy, not knowing any better. + +What with the lamentations of the ghost-girls and the grumbling of +families who had lost an ancestor, the village was upset for a while, +and the funny thing was that it was the folk who had complained most +of the carryings-on of the youngsters, who made most noise now that +they were gone. I hadn't any sympathy with shoemaker or butcher, who +ran about saying how much they missed their lads, but it made me +grieve to hear the poor bereaved girls calling their lovers by name +on the village green at nightfall. It didn't seem fair to me that +they should have lost their men a second time, after giving up life +in order to join them, as like as not. Still, not even a spirit can +be sorry for ever, and after a few months we made up our mind that +the folk who had sailed in the ship were never coming back, and we +didn't talk about it any more. + +And then one day, I dare say it would be a couple of years after, +when the whole business was quite forgotten, who should come +trapesing along the road from Portsmouth but the daft lad who had +gone away with the ship, without waiting till he was dead to become a +ghost. You never saw such a boy as that in all your life. He had a +great rusty cutlass hanging to a string at his waist, and he was +tattooed all over in fine colours, so that even his face looked like +a girl's sampler. He had a handkerchief in his hand full of foreign +shells and old-fashioned pieces of small money, very curious, and he +walked up to the well outside his mother's house and drew himself a +drink as if he had been nowhere in particular. + +The worst of it was that he had come back as soft-headed as he went, +and try as we might we couldn't get anything reasonable out of him. +He talked a lot of gibberish about keel-hauling and walking the +plank and crimson murders--things which a decent sailor should know +nothing about, so that it seemed to me that for all his manners +Captain had been more of a pirate than a gentleman mariner. But to +draw sense out of that boy was as hard as picking cherries off a +crab-tree. One silly tale he had that he kept on drifting back to, +and to hear him you would have thought that it was the only thing +that happened to him in his life. "We was at anchor," he would say, +"off an island called the Basket of Flowers, and the sailors had +caught a lot of parrots and we were teaching them to swear. Up and +down the decks, up and down the decks, and the language they used +was dreadful. Then we looked up and saw the masts of the Spanish +ship outside the harbour. Outside the harbour they were, so we threw +the parrots into the sea and sailed out to fight. And all the +parrots were drownded in the sea and the language they used was +dreadful." That's the sort of boy he was, nothing but silly talk of +parrots when we asked him about the fighting. And we never had a +chance of teaching him better, for two days after he ran away again, +and hasn't been seen since. + +That's my story, and I assure you that things like that are happening +at Fairfield all the time. The ship has never come back, but somehow +as people grow older they seem to think that one of these windy +nights she'll come sailing in over the hedges with all the lost +ghosts on board. Well, when she comes, she'll be welcome. There's one +ghost-lass that has never grown tired of waiting for her lad to +return. Every night you'll see her out on the green, straining her +poor eyes with looking for the mast-lights among the stars. A +faithful lass you'd call her, and I'm thinking you'd be right. + +Landlord's field wasn't a penny the worse for the visit, but they do +say that since then the turnips that have been grown in it have +tasted of rum. + + + + +A Drama Of Youth + + I + +For some days school had seemed to me even more tedious than usual. +The long train journey in the morning, the walk through Farringdon +Meat Market, which æsthetic butchers made hideous with mosaics of the +intestines of animals, as if the horror of suety pavements and bloody +sawdust did not suffice, the weariness of inventing lies that no one +believed to account for my lateness and neglected homework, and the +monotonous lessons that held me from my dreams without ever for a +single instant capturing my interest--all these things made me ill +with repulsion. Worst of all was the society of my cheerful, +contented comrades, to avoid which I was compelled to mope in +deserted corridors, the prey of a sorrow that could not be enjoyed, a +hatred that was in no way stimulating. At the best of times the +atmosphere of the place disgusted me. Desks, windows, and floors, and +even the grass in the quadrangle, were greasy with London soot, and +there was nowhere any clean air to breathe or smell. I hated the +gritty asphalt that gave no peace to my feet and cut my knees when my +clumsiness made me fall. I hated the long stone corridors whose +echoes seemed to me to mock my hesitating footsteps when I passed +from one dull class to another. I hated the stuffy malodorous +classrooms, with their whistling gas-jets and noise of inharmonious +life. I would have hated the yellow fogs had they not sometimes +shortened the hours of my bondage. That five hundred boys shared this +horrible environment with me did not abate my sufferings a jot; for +it was clear that they did not find it distasteful, and they +therefore became as unsympathetic for me as the smell and noise and +rotting stones of the school itself. + +The masters moved as it were in another world, and, as the classes +were large, they understood me as little as I understood them. They +knew that I was idle and untruthful, and they could not know that I +was as full of nerves as a girl, and that the mere task of getting to +school every morning made me physically sick. They punished me +repeatedly and in vain, for I found every hour I passed within the +walls of the school an overwhelming punishment in itself, and nothing +I made any difference to me. I lied to them because they expected it, +and because I had no words in which to express the truth if I knew +it, which is doubtful. For some reason I could not tell them at home +why I got on so badly at school, or no doubt they would have taken me +away and sent me to a country school, as they did afterwards. Nearly +all the real sorrows of childhood are due to this dumbness of the +emotions; we teach children to convey facts by means of words, but we +do not teach them how to make their feelings intelligible. +Unfortunately, perhaps, I was very happy at night with my story-books +and my dreams, so that the real misery of my days escaped the +attention of the grown-up people. Of course I never even thought of +doing my homework, and the labour of inventing new lies every day to +account for my negligence became so wearisome that once or twice I +told the truth and simply said I had not done it; but the masters +held that this frankness aggravated the offence, and I had to take up +anew my tiresome tale of improbable calamities. Sometimes my stories +were so wild that the whole class would laugh, and I would have to +laugh myself; yet on the strength of this elaborate politeness to +authority I came to believe myself that I was untruthful by nature. + +The boys disliked me because I was not sociable, but after a time +they grew tired of bullying me and left me alone. I detested them +because they were all so much alike that their numbers filled me with +horror. I remember that the first day I went to school I walked round +and round the quadrangle in the luncheon-hour, and every boy who +passed stopped me and asked me my name and what my father was. When I +said he was an engineer every one of the boys replied, "Oh! the man +who drives the engine." The reiteration of this childish joke made me +hate them from the first, and afterwards I discovered that they were +equally unimaginative in everything they did. Sometimes I would stand +in the midst of them, and wonder what was the matter with me that I +should be so different from all the rest. When they teased me, +repeating the same questions over and over again, I cried easily, +like a girl, without quite knowing why, for their stupidities could +not hurt my reason; but when they bullied me I did not cry, because +the pain made me forget the sadness of my heart. Perhaps it was +because of this that they thought I was a little mad. + +Grey day followed grey day, and I might in time have abandoned +all efforts to be faithful to my dreams, and achieved a kind of +beast-like submission that was all the authorities expected of +notorious dunces. I might have taught my senses to accept the +evil conditions of life in that unclean place; I might even have +succeeded in making myself one with the army of shadows that +thronged in the quadrangle and filled the air with meaningless +noise. + +But one evening when I reached home I saw by the faces of the +grown-up people that something had upset their elaborate +precautions for an ordered life, and I discovered that my brother, +who had stayed at home with a cold, was ill in bed with the +measles. For a while the significance of the news escaped me; +then, with a sudden movement of my heart, which made me feel ill, +I realised that probably I would have to stay away from school +because of the infection. My feet tapped on the floor with joy, +though I tried to appear unconcerned. Then, as I nursed my sudden +hope of freedom, a little fearfully lest it should prove an +illusion, a new and enchanting idea came to me. I slipped from the +room, ran upstairs to my bedroom and, standing by the side of my +bed, tore open my waistcoat and shirt with clumsy, trembling +fingers. One, two, three, four, five! I counted the spots in a +triumphant voice, and then with a sudden revulsion sat down on the +bed to give the world an opportunity to settle back in its place. +I had the measles, and therefore I should not have to go back to +school! I shut my eyes for a minute and opened them again, but +still I had the measles. The cup of happiness was at my lips, but +I sipped delicately because it was full to the brim, and I would +not spill a drop. + +This mood did not last long. I had to run down the house and tell +the world the good news. The grown-up people rebuked my joyousness, +while admitting that it might be as well that I should have the +measles then as later on. In spite of their air of resignation I +could hardly sit still for excitement. I wanted to go into the +kitchen and show my measles to the servants, but I was told to stay +where I was in front of the fire while my bed was moved into my +brother's room. So I stared at the glowing coals till my eyes +smarted, and dreamed long dreams. I would be in bed for days, all +warm from head to foot, and no one would interrupt my pleasant +excursions in the world I preferred to this. If I had heard of the +beneficent microbe to which lowed my happiness, I would have +mentioned it in my prayers. + +Late that night, I called over to my brother to ask how long measles +lasted. He told me to go to sleep, so that I knew he did not know the +answer to my question. I lay at ease tranquilly turning the problem +over in my mind. Four weeks, six weeks, eight weeks; why, if I was +lucky, it would carry me through to the holidays! At all events, +school was already very far away, like a nightmare remembered at +noon. I said good-night to my brother, and received an irritated +grunt in reply. I did not mind his surliness; tomorrow when I woke +up, I would begin my dreams. + + II + +When I found myself in bed in the morning, already sick at heart +because even while I slept I could not forget the long torment of my +life at school, I would lie still for a minute or two and try to +concentrate my shuddering mind on something pleasant, some little +detail of the moment that seemed to justify hope. Perhaps I had some +money to spend or a holiday to look forward to; though often enough I +would find nothing to save me from realising with childish intensity +the greyness of the world in which it was my fate to move. I did not +want to go out into life; it was dull and gruel and greasy with soot. +I only wanted to stop at home in any little quiet corner out of +everybody's way and think my long, heroic thoughts. But even while I +mumbled my hasty breakfast and ran to the station to catch my train +the atmosphere of the school was all about me, and my dreamer's +courage trembled and vanished. + +When I woke from sleep the morning after my good fortune, I did not +at first realise the extent of my happiness; I only knew that deep in +my heart I was conscious of some great cause for joy. Then my eyes, +still dim with sleep, discovered that I was in my brother's bedroom, +and in a flash the joyful truth was revealed to me. I sat up and +hastily examined my body to make sure that the rash had not +disappeared, and then my spirit sang a song of thanksgiving of which +the refrain was, "I have the measles!" I lay back in bed and enjoyed +the exquisite luxury of thinking of the evils that I had escaped. For +once my morbid sense of atmosphere was a desirable possession and +helpful to my happiness. It was delightful to pull the bedclothes +over my shoulders and conceive the feelings of a small boy who should +ride to town in a jolting train, walk through a hundred kinds of dirt +and a hundred disgusting smells to win to prison at last, where he +should perform meaningless tasks in the distressing society of five +hundred mocking apes. It was pleasant to see the morning sun and feel +no sickness in my stomach, no sense of depression in my tired brain. +Across the room my brother gurgled and choked in his sleep, and in +some subtle way contributed to my ecstasy of tranquillity. I was no +longer concerned for the duration of my happiness. I felt that this +peace that I had desired so long must surely last for ever. + +To the grown-up folk who came to see us during the day--the +doctor, certain germ-proof unmarried aunts, truculently maternal, +and the family itself--my brother's case was far more interesting +than mine because he had caught the measles really badly. I just +had them comfortably; enough to be infectious, but not enough to +feel ill, so I was left in pleasant solitude while the women +competed for the honour of smoothing my brother's pillow and +tiptoeing in a fidgeting manner round his bed. I lay on my back +and looked with placid interest at the cracks in the ceiling. They +were like the main roads in a map, and I amused myself by building +little houses beside them--houses full of books and warm +hearthrugs, and with a nice pond lively with tadpoles in the +garden of each. From the windows of the houses you could watch all +the traffic that went along the road, men and women and horses, +and best of all, the boys going to school in the morning--boys who +had not done their homework and who would be late for prayers. +When I talked about the cracks to my brother he said that perhaps +the ceiling would give way and fall on our heads. I thought about +this too, and found it quite easy to picture myself lying in the +bed with a smashed head, and blood all over the pillow. Then it +occurred to me that the plaster might smash me all over, and my +impressions of Farringdon Meat Market added a gruesome vividness +to my conception of the consequences. I always found it pleasant +to imagine horrible things; it was only the reality that made me +sick. + +Towards nightfall I became a little feverish, and I heard the +grown-ups say that they would give me some medicine later on. +Medicine for me signified the nauseous powders of Dr. Gregory, +so I pretended to be asleep every time anyone came into the +room, in order to escape my destiny, until at last some one +stood by my bedside so long that I became cramped and had to +pretend to wake up. Then I was given the medicine, and found to +my surprise that it was delicious and tasted of oranges. I felt +that there had been a mistake somewhere, but my head sat a +little heavily on my shoulders, and I would not trouble to fix +the responsibility. This time I fell asleep in earnest, and woke +in the middle of the night to find my brother standing by my +bed, making noises with his mouth. I thought that he had gone +mad, and would kill me perhaps, but after a time he went back to +bed saying all the bad words he knew. The excitement had made me +wide awake, and I tossed about thinking of the cracked ceiling +above my head. The room was quite dark, and I could see nothing, +so that it might be bulging over me without my knowing it. I +stood up in bed and stretched up my arm, but I could not reach +the ceiling; yet when I lay down again I felt as though it had +sunk so far, that it was touching my hair, and I found it +difficult to breathe in such a small space. I was afraid to move +for fear of bringing it down upon me, and in a short while the +pressure upon my body became unbearable, and I shrieked out for +help. Some one came in and lit the gas, and found me looking +very foolish and my brother delirious. I fell asleep almost +immediately, but was conscious through my dreams that the gas +was still alight and that they were watching by my brother's +bedside. + +In the morning he was very ill and I was no longer feverish, so it +was decided to move me back into my own bedroom. I was wrapped up in +the bedclothes and told to sit still while the bed was moved. I sat +in an armchair, feeling like a bundle of old clothes, and looking at +the cracks in the ceiling which seemed to me like roads. I knew that +I had already lost all importance as an invalid, but I was very +happy nevertheless. For from the window of one of my little houses I +was watching the boys going to school, and my heart was warm with +the knowledge of my own emancipation. As my legs hung down from the +chair I found it hard to keep my slippers on my stockingless feet. + + III + +There followed for me a period of deep and unbroken +satisfaction. I was soon considered well enough to get up, and I +lived pleasantly between the sofa and the fireside waiting on my +brother's convalescence, for it had been settled that I should +go away with him to the country for a change of air. I read +Dickens and Dumas in English, and made up long stories in which +I myself played important but not always heroic parts. By means +of intellectual exercises of this kind I achieved a tranquillity +like that of an old man, fearing nothing, desiring nothing, +regretting nothing. I no longer reckoned the days or the hours, +I content to enjoy a passionless condition of being that asked +no questions and sought none of me, nor did I trouble to number +my journeys in the world of infinite shadows. But in that long +hour of peace I realised that in some inexplicable way I was +interested in the body of a little boy, whose hands obeyed my +unspoken wishes, whose legs sprawled before me on the sofa. I +knew that before I met him, this boy, whose littleness surprised +me, had suffered ill dreams in a nameless world, and now, worn +out with tears and humiliation and dread of life, he slept, and +while he slept I watched him dispassionately, as I would have +looked at a crippled daddy-long-legs. To have felt compassion +for him would have disturbed the tranquillity that was a +necessary condition of my existence, so I contented myself with +noticing his presence and giving him a small part in the pageant +of my dreams. He was not so beautiful as I wished all my +comrades to be, and he was besides very small; but shadows are +amiable play-friends, and they did not blame him because he +cried when he was teased and did not cry when he was beaten, or +because the wild unreason of his sorrow made him find cause for +tears in the very fullness of his rare enjoyment. For the first +time in my life it seems to me I saw this little boy as he was, +squat-bodied, big-headed, thick-lipped, and with a face swept +clean of all emotions save where his two great eyes glowed with +a sulky fire under exaggerated eyebrows. I noticed his grimy +nails, his soiled collar, his unbrushed clothes, the patent +signs of defeat changing to utter rout, and from the heights of +my great peace I was not sorry for him. He was like that, other +boys were different, that was all. + +And then on a day fear returned to my heart, and my newly discovered +Utopia was no more. I do not know what chance word of the grown-up +people or what random thought of mine did the mischief; but of a +sudden I realised that for all my dreaming I was only separated by a +measurable number of days from the horror of school. Already I was +sick with fear, and in place of my dreams I distressed myself by +visualising the scenes of the life I dreaded--the Meat Market, the +dusty shadows of the gymnasium, the sombre reticence of the great +hall. All that my lost tranquillity had given me was a keener sense +of my own being; my smallness, my ugliness, my helplessness in the +face of the great cruel world. Before I had sometimes been able to +dull my emotions in unpleasant circumstances and thus achieve a +dogged calm; now I was horribly conscious of my physical sensations, +and, above all, of that deadly sinking in my stomach called fear. I +clenched my hands, telling myself that I was happy, and trying to +force my mind to pleasant thoughts; but though my head swam with the +effort, I continued to be conscious that I was afraid. In the midst +of my mental struggles I discovered that even if I succeeded in +thinking happy things I should still have to go back to school after +all, and the knowledge that thought could not avert calamity was +like a bruise on my mind. I pinched my arms and legs, with the idea +that immediate pain would make me forget my fears for the future; +but I was not brave enough to pinch them really hard, and I could +not forget the motive for my action. I lay back on the sofa and +kicked the cushions with my feet in a kind of forlorn anger. Thought +was no use, nothing was any use, and my stomach was sick, sick with +fear. And suddenly I became aware of an immense fatigue that +overwhelmed my mind and my body, and made me feel as helpless as a +little child. The tears that were always near my eyes streamed down +my face, making my cheek sore against the wet cushion, and my breath +came in painful, ridiculous gulps. For a moment I made an effort to +control my grief; and then I gave way utterly, crying with my whole +body like a little child, until, like a little child, I fell asleep. + +When I awoke the room was grey with dusk, and I sat up with a +swaying head, glad to hide the shame of my foolish swollen face +amongst the shadows. My mouth was still salt with tears, and I was +very thirsty, but I was always anxious to hide my weakness from +other people, and I was afraid that if I asked for something to +drink they would see that I had been crying. The fire had gone out +while I slept, and I felt cold and stiff, but my abandonment of +restraint had relieved me, and my fear was now no more than a vague +unrest. My mind thought slowly but very clearly. I saw that it was a +pity that I had not been more ill than I was, for then, like my +brother, I should have gone away for a month instead of a fortnight. +As it was, everybody laughed at me because I looked so well, and +said they did not believe that I had been ill at all. If I had +thought of it earlier I might have been able to make myself worse +somehow or other, but now it was too late. When the maid came in and +lit the gas for tea she blamed me for letting the fire out, and told +me that I had a dirty face. I was glad of the chance to slip away +and wash my burning cheeks in cold water. When I had finished and +dried my face on the rough towel I looked at myself in the glass. I +looked as if I had been to the seaside for a holiday, my cheeks were +so red! + +That night as I lay sleepless in my bed, seeking for a cool place +between the sheets in which to rest my hot feet, the sickness of fear +returned to me, and I knew that I was lost. I shut my eyes tightly, +but I could not shut out the vivid pictures of school life that my +memory had stored up for my torment; I beat my head against the +pillow, but I could not change my thoughts. I recalled all the +possible events that might interfere with my return to school, a new +illness, a railway accident, even suicide, but my reason would not +accept these romantic issues. I was helpless before my destiny, and +my destiny made me I afraid. + +And then, perhaps I was half asleep or fond with fear, I leapt out of +bed and stood in the middle of the room to meet life and fight it. +The hem of my nightshirt tickled my shin and my feet grew cold on the +carpet; but though I stood ready with my fists clenched I could see +no adversary among the friendly shadows, I could hear no sound but +the I drumming of the blood against the walls of my head. I got back +into bed and pulled the bedclothes about my chilled body. It seemed +that life would not fight fair, and being only a little boy and not +wise like the grown-up people, I could find no way in which to outwit +it. + + IV + +My growing panic in the face of my imminent return to school spoilt +my holiday, and I watched my brother's careless delight in the Surrey +pine-woods with keen envy. It seemed to me that it was easy for him +to enjoy himself with his month to squander; and in any case he was a +healthy, cheerful boy who liked school well enough when he was there, +though of course he liked holidays better. He had scant patience with +my moods, and secretly I too thought they were wicked. We had been +taught to believe that we alone were responsible for our sins, and it +did not occur to me that the causes of my wickedness might lie beyond +my control. The beauty of the scented pines and the new green of the +bracken took my breath and filled my heart with a joy that changed +immediately to overwhelming grief; for I could not help contrasting +this glorious kind of life with the squalid existence to which I must +return so soon. I realised so fiercely the force of the contrast that +I was afraid to make friends with the pines and admire the palm-like +beauty of the bracken lest I should increase my subsequent anguish; +and I hid myself in dark corners of the woods to fight the growing +sickness of my body with the feeble weapons of my panic-stricken +mind. There followed moments of bitter sorrow, when I blamed myself +for not taking advantage of my hours of freedom, and I hurried along +the sandy lanes in a desolate effort to enjoy myself before it was +too late. + +In spite of the miserable manner in which I spent my days, the +fortnight seemed to pass with extraordinary rapidity. As the end +approached, the people around me made it difficult for me to conceal +my emotions, the grown-ups deducing from my melancholy that I was +tired of holidays and would be glad to get back to school, and my +brother burdening me with idle messages to the other boys-messages +that shattered my hardly formed hope that school did not really +exist. I stood ever on the verge of tears, and I dreaded meal-times, +when I had to leave my solitude, lest some turn of the conversation +should set me weeping before them all, and I should hear once more +what I knew very well myself, that it was a shameful thing for a boy +of my age to cry like a little girl. Yet the tears were there and the +hard lump in my throat, and I could not master them, though I stood +in the woods while the sun set with a splendour that chilled my +heart, and tried to drain my eyes dry of their rebellious, bitter +waters. I would choke over my tea and be rebuked for bad manners. + +When the last day came that I had feared most of all, I succeeded in +saying goodbye to the people at the house where I had stopped, and in +making the mournful train journey home without disgracing myself. It +seemed as though a merciful stupor had dulled my senses to a mute +acceptance of my purgatory. I slept in the train, and arrived home so +sleepy that I was allowed to go straight to bed without comment. For +once my body dominated my mind, and I slipped between the sheets in +an ecstasy of fatigue and fell asleep immediately. + +Something of this rare mood lingered with me in the morning, and it +was not until I reached the Meat Market that I realised the extent of +my misfortune. I saw the greasy, red-faced men with their hands and +aprons stained with blood. I saw the hideous carcases of animals, the +masses of entrails, the heaps of repulsive hides; but most clearly of +all I saw an ugly sad little boy with a satchel of books on his back +set down in the midst of an enormous and hostile world. The windows; +and stones of the houses were black with soot, and before me there +lay school, the place that had never brought me anything but sorrow +and humiliation. I went on, but as I slid on the cobbles, my mind +caught an echo of peace, the peace of pine-woods and heather, the +peace of the library at home, and, my body trembling with revulsion, +I leant against a lamp-post, deadly sick. Then I turned on my heels +and walked away from the Meat Market and the school for ever. As I +went I cried, sometimes openly before all men, sometimes furtively +before shop-windows, dabbing my eyes with a wet pocket-handkerchief, +and gasping for breath. I did not care where my feet led me, I would +go back to school no more. + +I had played truant for three days before the grown-ups discovered +that I had not returned to school. They treated me with that +extraordinary consideration that they always extended to our great +crimes and never to our little sins of thoughtlessness or high +spirits. The doctor saw me. I was told that I would be sent to a +country school after the next holidays, and meanwhile I was allowed +to return to my sofa and my dreams. I lay there and read Dickens and +was very happy. As a rule the cat kept me company, and I was pleased +with his placid society, though he made my legs cramped. I thought +that I too would like to be a cat. + + + + +The New Boy + + I + +When I left home to go to boarding-school for the first time I did +not cry like the little boys in the story-books, though I had never +been away from home before except to spend holidays with relatives. +This was not due to any extraordinary self-control on my part, for I +was always ready to shed tears on the most trivial occasion. But as a +fact I had other things to think about, and did not in the least +realise the significance of my journey. I had lots of new clothes and +more money in my pocket than I had ever had before, and in the +guard's van at the back of the train there was a large box that I had +packed myself with jam and potted meat and cake. In this, as in other +matters, I had been aided by the expert advice of a brother who was +himself at a school in the North, and it was perhaps natural that in +the comfortable security of the holidays he should have given me an +almost lyrical account of the joys of life at a boarding-school. +Moreover, my existence as a day-boy in London had been so unhappy; +that I was prepared to welcome any change, so at most I felt only a +vague unease as to the future. + +After I had glanced at my papers, I sat back and stared at my eldest +brother, who had been told off to see me safely to school. At that +time I did not like him because he seemed to me unduly insistent on +his rights and I could not help wondering at the tactlessness of the +grown-up people in choosing him as my travelling companion. With any +one else this journey might have been a joyous affair but there were +incidents between us that neither of us would forget, so that I +could find nothing better than an awkward politeness with which to +meet his strained amiability. He feigned an intense interest in his +magazine while I looked out of window, with one finger in my +waistcoat pocket, scratching the comfortable milled edges of my +money. When I saw little farm-houses, forgotten in the green dimples +of the Kentish hills, I thought that it would be nice to live there +with a room full of story-books, away from the discomforts and +difficulties of life. Like a cat, I wanted to dream somewhere where +I would not be trodden on, somewhere where I would be neglected by +friends and foes alike. This was my normal desire, but side by side +with my craving for peace I was aware of a new and interesting +emotion that suggested the possibility of a life even more +agreeable. The excitement of packing my box with provender like a +sailor who was going on a long voyage, the unwonted thrill of having +a large sum of money concealed about my person, and above all the +imaginative yarns of my elder brother, had fired me with the thought +of adventure. His stories had been filled with an utter contempt for +lessons and a superb defiance of the authorities, and had ranged +from desperate rabbit-shooting parties on the Yorkshire Wolds to +illicit feasts of Eccles cakes and tinned lobster in moonlit +dormitories. I thought that it would be pleasant to experience this +romantic kind of life before settling down for good with my dreams. + +The train wandered on and my eldest brother and I looked at each +other constrainedly. He had already asked me twice whether I had my +ticket, and I realised that he could not think of any other neutral +remark that fitted the occasion. It occurred to me to say that the +train was slow, but I remembered with a glow of anger how he had once +rubbed a strawberry in my face because I had taken the liberty of +offering it to one of his friends, and I held my peace. I had prayed +for his death every night for three weeks after that, and though he +was still alive the knowledge of my unconfessed and unrepented +wickedness prevented me from being more than conveniently polite, he +thought I was a cheeky little toad and I thought he was a bully, so +we looked at each other and did not speak. We were both glad, +therefore, when the train pulled up at the station that bore the name +of my new school. + +My first emotion was a keen regret that my parents had not sent me +to a place where the sun shone. As we sat in the little omnibus +that carried us from the station to the town, with my precious +boxes safely stored on the roof, we passed between grey fields +whose featureless expanses melted changelessly into the grey sky +overhead. The prospect alarmed me, for it seemed to me that this +was not a likely world for adventures; nor was I reassured by the +sight of the town, whose one long street of low, old-fashioned +houses struck me as being mean and sordid. I was conscious that +the place had an unpleasant smell, and I was already driven to +thinking of my pocket-money and my play-box--agreeable thoughts +which I had made up my mind in the train to reserve carefully for +possible hours of unhappiness. But the low roof of the omnibus was +like a limit to my imagination, and my body was troubled by the +displeasing contact of the velvet cushions. I was still wondering +why this made my wrists ache, when the omnibus lurched from the +cobbles on to a gravel drive, and I saw the school buildings +towering all about me like the walls of a prison. I jumped out and +stretched my legs while the driver climbed down to collect the +fares. He looked at me without a jot of interest, and I knew that +he must have driven a great many boys from the station to the +school in the course of his life. + +A man appeared in shirt-sleeves of grey flannel and wheeled my boxes +away on a little truck, and after a while a master came down and +showed us, in a perfunctory manner, over the more presentable +quarters of the school. My brother was anxious to get away, because +he had not been emancipated long enough to find the atmosphere of +dormitories and class-rooms agreeable. I was naturally interested, +in my new environment, but the presence of the master constrained +me, and I was afraid to speak in front of this unknown man whom it +was my lot to obey, so we were all relieved when our hurried +inspection was over. He told me that I was at liberty to do what I +pleased till seven o'clock, so I went for a walk through the town +with my brother. + +The day was drawing to a chill grey close, and the town was filled +with a clammy mist tainted with the odour of sewage, due, I +afterwards discovered, to the popular abuse of the little stream +that gave the place its name. Even my brother could not entirely +escape the melancholy influence of the hour and the place, and he +was glad to take me into a baker's shop and have tea. By now the +illusion of adventure that had reconciled me to leaving home was in +a desperate state, and I drank my tea and consumed my cakes without +enjoyment. If life was always going to be the same--if in fleeing +one misfortune I had merely brought on myself the pain of becoming +accustomed to another--I felt sure that my meagre stoicism would not +suffice to carry me through with credit. I had failed once, I would +fail again. I looked forward with a sinking heart to a tearful and +uncomfortable future. + +There was only a very poor train service, so my brother had plenty of +time to walk back to the station, and it was settled that I should go +part of the way with him. As we walked along the white road, that +stretched between uniform hedgerows of a shadowy greyness, I saw that +he had something on his mind. In this hour of my trial I was willing +to forget the past for the sake of talking for a few minutes with +some human being whom I knew, but he returned only vague answers to +my eager questions. At last he stopped in the middle of the road, and +said I had better turn back. I would liked to have walked farther +with him, but I was above all things anxious to keep up appearances, +so I said goodbye in as composed a voice as I could find. My brother +hesitated for a minute; then with a timid glance at heaven he put his +hand in his pocket, pulled out half a crown which he gave me, and +walked rapidly away. I saw in a flash that for him, too, it had been +an important moment; he had tipped his first schoolboy, and +henceforth he was beyond all question grown up. + +I did not like him, but I watched him disappear in the dusk with a +desolate heart. At that moment he stood for a great many things that +seemed valuable to me, and I would have given much to have been +walking by his side with my face towards home and my back turned to +the grey and unsavoury town to which I had to bear my despondent +loneliness. Nevertheless I stepped out staunchly enough, in order +that my mind should take courage from the example of my body. I +thought strenuously of my brother's stories, of my play-box packed +for a voyage, of the money in my pocket increased now by my eldest +brother's unexpected generosity; and by dint of these violent mental +exercises I had reduced my mind to a comfortable stupor by the time I +reached the school gates. There I was overcome by shyness, and +although I saw lights in the form-rooms and heard the voices of boys, +I stood awkwardly in the playground, not knowing where I ought to go. +The mist in the air surrounded the lights with a halo, and my +nostrils were filled with the acrid smell of burning leaves. + +I had stood there a quarter of an hour perhaps, when a boy came up +and spoke to me, and the sound of his voice gave me a shock. I think +it was the first time in my life a boy had spoken kindly to me. He +asked me my name, and told me that it would be supper-time in five +minutes, so that I could go and sit in the dining-hall and wait. +"You'll be all right, you know," he said, as he passed on; "they're +not a bad lot of chaps." The revulsion nearly brought on a +catastrophe, for the tears rose to my eyes and I gazed after him with +a swimming head. I had prepared myself to receive blows and insults +with a calm brow, but I had no armour with which to oppose the noble +weapons of sympathy and good fellowship. They overcame the stubborn +hatred with which I was accustomed to meet life, and left me +defenceless. I felt as if I had been face to face with the hero of a +dream. + +As I sat at supper before a long table decorated with plates of +bread-and-butter and cheese I saw my friend sitting at the other end +of the room, so I asked the boy next to me to tell me his name. "Oh," +he said, looking curiously at my blushes, "you mean old mother F----. +He's pious, you know; reads the Bible and funks at games and all +that." + +There are some things which no self-respecting schoolboy can afford +to forgive. I had made up my mind that it was not pleasant to be an +Ishmael, that as far as possible I would try to be an ordinary boy at +my new school. My experiences in London had taught me caution, and I +was anxious not to compromise my position at the outset by making an +unpopular friend. So I nodded my head sagely in reply, and looked at +my new-discovered hero with an air of profound contempt. + + II + +The days that followed were not so uncomfortable as my first grey +impression of the place had led me to expect. I proved to my own +intense astonishment to be rather good at lessons, so that I got on +well with the masters, and the boys were kind enough in their +careless way. I had plenty of pocket-money, and though I did not +shine at Association football, for in London I had only watched the +big boys playing Rugby, I was not afraid of being knocked about, +which was all that was expected of a new boy. Most of my +embarrassments were due to the sensitiveness that made me dislike +asking questions--a weakness that was always placing me in false +positions. But my efforts to make myself agreeable to the boys were +not unsuccessful, and while I looked in vain for anything like the +romantic adventures of which my brother had spoken, I sometimes found +myself almost enjoying my new life. + +And then, as the children say in the streets of London, I woke +up, and discovered that I was desperately home-sick. Partly no +doubt this was due to a natural reaction, but there were other +more obvious causes. For one thing my lavish hospitality had +exhausted my pocket-money in the first three weeks, and I was +ashamed to write home for more so soon. This speedy end to my +apparent wealth certainly made it easier for the boys to find +out that I was not one of themselves, and they began to look at +me askance and leave me out of their conversations. I was made +to feel once more that I had been born under a malignant star +that did not allow me to speak or act as they did. I had not +their common sense, their blunt cheerfulness, their complete +lack of sensibility, and while they resented my queerness they +could not know how anxious I was to be an ordinary boy. When I +saw that they mistrusted me I was too proud to accept the crumbs +of their society like poor mother F----, and I withdrew myself into +a solitude that gave me far too much time in which to examine my +emotions. I found out all the remote corners of the school in +which it was possible to be alone, and when the other boys went +for walks in the fields, I stayed in the churchyard close to the +school, disturbing the sheep in their meditations among the +tomb-stones, and thinking what a long time it would be before I +was old enough to die. + +Now that the first freshness of my new environment had worn off, I +was able to see my life as a series of grey pictures that repeated +themselves day by day. In my mind these pictures were marked off +from each other by a sound of bells. I woke in the morning in a bed +that was like all the other beds, and lay on my back listening to +the soft noises of sleep that filled the air with rumours of healthy +boys. The bell would ring and the dormitory would break into an +uproar, splashing of water, dropping of hair-brushes and shouts of +laughter, for these super-boys could laugh before breakfast. Then we +all trooped downstairs and I forced myself to drink bad coffee in a +room that smelt of herrings. The next bell called us to chapel, and +at intervals during the morning other bells called us from one class +to another. Dinner was the one square meal we had during the day, +and as it was always very good, and there was nothing morbid about +my appetite, I looked forward to it with interest. After dinner we +played football. I liked the game well enough, but the atmosphere of +mud and forlorn grey fields made me shudder, and as I kept goal I +spent my leisure moments in hardening my æesthetic impressions. I +never see the word football today without recalling the curious +sensation caused by the mud drying on my bare knees. After football +were other classes, classes in which it was sometimes very hard to +keep awake, for the school was old, and the badly ventilated +class-rooms were stuffy after the fresh air. Then the bell summoned +us to evening chapel and tea--a meal which we were allowed to +improve with sardines and eggs and jam, if we had money to buy them +or a hamper from home. After tea we had about two hours to ourselves +and then came preparation, and supper and bed. Everything was +heralded by a bell, and now and again even in the midst of lessons +I would hear the church-bell tolling for a funeral. + +I think my hatred of bells dated back to my early childhood, when the +village church, having only three bells, played the first bar of +"Three Blind Mice" a million times every Sunday evening, till I could +have cried for monotony and the vexation of the thwarted tune. But at +school I had to pay the penalty for my prejudice every hour of the +day. Especially I suffered at night during preparation, when they +rang the curfew on the church bells at intolerable length, for these +were tranquil hours to which I looked forward eagerly. We prepared +our lessons for the morrow in the Great Hall, and I would spread my +books out on the desk and let my legs dangle from the form in a +spirit of contentment for the troubled day happily past. Over my head +the gas stars burned quietly, and all about me I heard the restrained +breathing of comrades, like a noise of fluttering moths. And then, +suddenly, the first stroke of the curfew would snarl through the air, +filling the roof with nasal echoes, and troubling the quietude of my +mind with insistent vibrations. I derived small satisfaction from +cursing William the Conqueror, who, the history book told me, was +responsible for this ingenious tyranny. The long pauses between the +strokes held me in a state of strained expectancy until I wanted to +howl. I would look about me for sympathy and see the boys at their +lessons, and the master on duty reading quietly at his table. The +curfew rang every night, and they did not notice it at all. + +The only bell I liked to hear was the last bell that called us to our +brief supper and to bed, for once the light was out and my body was +between the sheets I was free to do what I would, free to think or to +dream or to cry. There was no real difference between being in bed at +school or anywhere else; and sometimes I would fill the shadows of +the dormitory with the familiar furniture of my little bedroom at +home, and pretend that I was happy. But as a rule I came to bed +brimming over with the day's tears, and I would pull the bedclothes +over my head so that the other boys should not know that I was +homesick, and cry until I was sticky with tears and perspiration. + +The discipline at school did not make us good boys, but it made us +civilised; it taught us to conceal our crimes. And as home-sickness +was justly regarded as a crime of ingratitude to the authorities and +to society in general, I had to restrain my physical weakness during +the day, and the reaction from this restraint made my tears at night +almost a luxury. My longing for home was founded on trifles, but it +was not the less passionate. I hated this life spent in walking on +bare boards, and the blank walls and polished forms of the school +appeared to me to be sordid. When now and again I went into one of +the master's studies and felt a carpet under my feet, and saw a +pleasant litter of pipes and novels lying on the table, it seemed to +me that I was in a holy place, and I looked at the hearthrug, the +wallpaper, and the upholstered chairs with a kind of desolate love +for things that were nice to see and touch. I suppose that if we had +been in a workhouse, a prison, or a lunatic asylum, our æesthetic +environment would have been very much the same as it was at school; +and afterwards when I went with the cricket and football teams to +other grammar schools they all gave me the same impression of clean +ugliness. It is not surprising that few boys emerge from their school +life with that feeling for colour and form which is common to nearly +all children. + +There was something very unpleasant to me in the fact that we all +washed with the same kind of soap, drank out of the same kind of cup, +and in general did the same things at the same time. The school +timetable robbed life of all those accidental variations that make it +interesting. Our meals, our games, even our hours of freedom seemed +only like subtle lessons. We had to eat at a certain hour whether we +were hungry or not, we had to play at a certain hour when perhaps we +wanted to sit still and be quiet. The whole school discipline tended +to the formation of habits at the expense of our reasoning faculties. +Yet the astonishing thing to me was that the boys themselves set up +standards of conduct that still further narrowed the possibilities of +our life. It was bad form to read too much, to write home except on +Sundays, to work outside the appointed hours, to talk to the day-boys, +to cultivate social relationships with the masters, to be Cambridge +in the boat-race, and in fine to hold any opinion or follow any +pursuit that was not approved by the majority. It was only by hiding +myself away in corners that I could enjoy any liberty of spirit, and +though my thoughts were often cheerless when I remembered the +relative freedom of home life, I preferred to linger with them rather +than to weary myself in breaking the little laws of a society for +which I was in no way fitted. + +These were black days, rendered blacker by my morbid fear of the +physical weakness that made me liable to cry at any moment, sometimes +even without in the least knowing why. I was often on the brink of +disaster, but my fear of the boys' ridicule prevented me from +publicly disgracing myself. Once the headmaster called a boy into +his study, and he came out afterwards with red eyelids and a puffed +face. When they heard that his mother had died suddenly in India, all +the boys thought that these manifestations of sorrow were very +creditable, and in the best of taste, especially as he did not let +anybody see him crying. For my part I looked at him with a kind of +envy, this boy who could flaunt his woe where he would. I, too, had +my unassuageable sorrow for the home that was dead to me those +forlorn days; but I could only express it among the tombs in the +churchyard, or at night, muffled between the blankets, when the +silent dormitory seemed to listen with suspicious ears. + + III + +A consoling scrap of wisdom which unfortunately children do not find +written large in their copybooks is that sorrow is as transitory as +happiness. Although my childhood was strewn with the memorial wreaths +of dead miseries, I always had a morbid sense that my present +discomforts were immortal. So I had quite made up my mind that I +would continue to be unhappy at school, when the intervention of two +beings whom I had thought utterly remote from me, gave me a new +philosophy and reconciled me to life. The first was a master, who +found me grieving in one of my oubliettes and took me into his study +and tried to draw me out. Kindness always made me ineloquent, and +as I sat in his big basket chair and sniffed the delightful odour of +his pipe, I expressed myself chiefly in woe-begone monosyllables and +hiccoughs. Nevertheless he seemed to understand me very well, and +though he did not say much, I felt by the way in which he puffed out +great, generous clouds of smoke, that he sympathised with me. He told +me to come and see him twice a week, and that I was at liberty to +read any of his books, and in general gave me a sense that I was +unfortunate rather than criminal. This did me good, because a large +part of my unhappiness was due to the fact that constant suppression +by majorities had robbed me of my self-respect. It is better for a +boy to be conceited than to be ashamed of his own nature, and to +shudder when he sees his face reflected in a glass. + +My second benefactor was nominally a boy, though in reality he was +nearly as old as the master, and was leaving at the end of the term +to go up to Oxford. He took me by the shoulder one evening in the +dusk, and walked me round and round the big clump of rhododendrons +that stood in the drive in front of the school. I did not understand +half he said, but to my great astonishment I heard him confessing +that he had always been unhappy at school, although at the end he +was captain in lessons, in games, in everything. I was, of course, +highly flattered that this giant should speak to me as an equal, and +admit me to his confidences. But I was even more delighted with the +encouraging light he threw on school life. "You're only here for a +little spell, you know; you'll be surprised how short it is. And +don't be miserable just because you're different. I'm different; it's +a jolly good thing to be different." I was not used, to people who +took this wide view of circumstance, and his voice in the shadows +sounded like some one speaking in a story-book. Yet although his +monologue gave me an entirely new conception of life, no more of it +lingers in my mind, save his last reflective criticism. "All the +same, I don't see why you should always have dirty nails." He never +confided in me again, and I would have died rather than have reminded +him of his kindly indiscretion; but when he passed me in the +playground he seemed to look at me with a kind of reticent interest, +and it occurred to me that after all my queerness might not be such a +bad thing, might even be something to be proud of. + +The value of this discovery to me can hardly be exaggerated. Hitherto +in my relationships with the boys I had fought nothing but losing +battles, for I had taken it for granted that they were right and I +was wrong. But now that I had hit on the astonishing theory that the +individual has the right to think for himself, I saw quite clearly +that most of their standards of conduct sprang from their sheep-like +stupidity. They moved in flocks because they had not the courage to +choose a line for themselves. The material result of this new theory +of life was to make me enormously conceited, and I moved among my +comrades with a mysterious confidence, and gave myself the airs of a +Byron in knickerbockers. My unpopularity increased by leaps and +bounds, but so did my moral courage, and I accepted the belated +efforts of my school-fellows to knock the intelligence out of me as +so many tributes to the force of my individuality. I no longer cried +in my bed at night, but lay awake enraptured at the profundity of my +thoughts. After years of unquestioning humility I enjoyed a prolonged +debauch of intellectual pride, and I marvelled at the little boy of +yesterday who had wept because he could not be an imbecile. It was +the apotheosis of the ugly duckling, and I saw my swan's plumage +reflected in the placid faces of the boys around me, as in the vacant +waters of a pool. As yet I did not dream of a moulting season, still +less that a day would come when I should envy the ducks their +domestic ease and the unthinking tranquillity of their lives. A +little boy may be excused for not realising that Hans Andersen's +story is only the prelude to a sadder story that he had not the heart +to write. + +My new freedom of spirit gave me courage to re-examine the emotional +and æesthetic values of my environment. I could not persuade myself +that I liked the sound of bells, and the greyness of the country in +winter-time still revolted me, as though I had not yet forgotten the +cheerful reds and greens and blues of the picture-books that filled +my mind as a child with dreams of a delightful world. But now that I +was wise enough to make the best of my unboyish emotionalism, I began +to take pleasure in certain phases of school-life. Though I was +devoid of any recognisable religious sense I liked the wide words in +the Psalms that we read at night in the school chapel. This was not +due to any precocious recognition of their poetry, but to the fact +that their intense imagery conjured up all sorts of precious visions +in my mind, I could see the hart panting after the water-brooks, in +the valleys of Exmoor, where I had once spent an enchanted holiday. I +could see the men going down to the sea in ships, and the stormy +waves, and the staggering, fearful mariners, for I had witnessed a +great tempest off Flamborough Head. Even such vague phrases as "the +hills" gave me an intense joy. I could see them so clearly, those +hills, chalky hills covered with wild pansies, and with an all-blue +sky overhead, like the lid of a chocolate-box. I liked, too, the +services in the old church on Sunday nights, when the lights were +lowered for the sermon, and I would put my hands over my ears and +hear the voice of the preacher like the drone of a distant bee. After +church the choral society used to practise in the Great Hall, and as +I walked round the school buildings, snatches of their singing would +beat against my face like sudden gusts of wind. When I listened at +the doors of my form-room I heard the boys talking about football +matches, or indulging their tireless passion for unimaginative +personalities; I would stand on the mat outside wondering whether I +would be allowed to read if I went in. + +I looked forward to Tuesday night, which was my bath-night, +almost as much as to Sunday. The school sanitary arrangements +were primitive, and all the water had to be fetched in pails, +and I used to like to see the man tipping the hot water into the +bath and flinging his great body back to avoid the steam that +made his grey flannel shirt-sleeves cling to his hairy arms. +Most of the boys added a lot of cold water, but I liked to boil +myself because the subsequent languor was so pleasant. The +matron would bring our own bath towels warm from the fire, and I +would press mine against my face because it smelt of childhood +and of home. I always thought my body looked pretty after a +really hot bath; its rosiness enabled me to forgive myself for +being fat. + +One very strong impression was connected with the only master in the +school whom I did not like. He was a German, and as is the case with +others of his nationality, a spray of saliva flew from his lips when +he was angry, and seeing this, I would edge away from him in alarm. +Perhaps it was on this account that he treated me with systematic +unfairness and set himself the unnecessary task of making me +ridiculous in the eyes of the other boys. One night I was wandering +in the playground and heard him playing the violin in his study. My +taste in music was barbarian; I liked comic songs, which I used to +sing to myself in a lugubrious voice, and in London the plaintive +clamour of the street-organs had helped to make my sorrows +rhythmical. But now, perhaps for the first time, I became aware of +the illimitable melancholy that lies at the heart of all great +music. It seemed to me that the German master, the man whom I hated, +had shut himself up alone in his study, and was crying aloud. I knew +that if he was unhappy, it must be because he too was an Ishmael, a +personality, one of the different ones. A great sympathy woke within +me, and I peeped through the window and saw him playing with his +face all shiny with perspiration and a silk handkerchief tucked +under his chin. I would have liked to have knocked at his door and +told him that I knew all about these things, but I was afraid that +he would think me cheeky and splutter in my face. + +The next day in his class, I looked at him hopefully, in the light +of my new understanding, but it did not seem to make any difference. +He only told me to get on with my work. + +The term drew to a close, and most of the boys in my form-room +ticked off the days on lists, in which the Sundays were written in +red ink to show that they did not really count. As time went on they +grew more and more boisterous, and wherever I went I heard them +telling one another how they were going to spend their holidays. It +was surprising to me that these boys who were so ordinary during +term-time should lead such adventurous lives in the holidays, and I +felt a little envious of their good fortune. They talked of visiting +the theatre and foreign travel in a matter-of-fact way that made me +think that perhaps after all my home-life was incomplete. I had +never been out of England, and my dramatic knowledge was limited to +pantomimes, for which these enthusiastic students of musical comedy +expressed a large contempt. Some of them were allowed to shoot with +real guns in the holidays, which reminded me of the worst excesses +of my brother in Yorkshire. Examining my own life, I had often come +to the conclusion that adventures did not exist outside books. But +the boys shook this comforting theory with their boastful +prophecies, and I thought once more that perhaps it was my +misfortune that they did not happen to me. I began to fear that I +would find the holidays tame. + +There were other considerations that made me look forward to the end +of the term with misgiving. Since it had been made plain to me that I +was a remarkable boy, I had rather enjoyed my life at school. I had +conceived myself as strutting with a measured dignity before a +background of the other boys--a background that moved and did not +change, like a wind-swept tapestry; but I was quite sure that I would +not be allowed to give myself airs at home. It seemed to me that a +youngest brother's portion of freedom would compare but poorly with +the measure of intellectual liberty that I had secured for myself at +school. My brothers were all very well in their way, but I would be +expected to take my place in the background and do what I was told. I +should miss my sense of being superior to my environment, and my +intensely emotional Sundays would no longer divide time into weeks. +The more I thought of it, the more I realised that I did not want to +go home. + +On the last night of the term, when the dormitory had at length +become quiet, I considered the whole case dispassionately in my bed. +The labour of packing my play-box and writing labels for my luggage +had given me a momentary thrill, but for the rest I had moved among +my insurgent comrades with a chilled heart. I knew now that I was +too greedy of life, that I always thought of the pleasant side of +things when they were no longer within my grasp; but at the I same +time my discontent was not wholly unreasonable. I had learnt more +of myself in three months than I had in all my life before, and from +being a nervous, hysterical boy I had arrived at a complete +understanding of my emotions, which I studied with an almost adult +calmness of mind. I knew that in returning to the society of my +healthy, boyish brothers, I was going back to a kind of life for +which I was no longer fitted. I had changed, but I had the sense to +see that it was a change that would not appeal to them, and that in +consequence I would have another and harder battle to fight before I +was allowed to go my own way. + +I saw further still. I saw that after a month at home I would +not want to come back to school, and that I should have to +endure another period of despondency. I saw that my whole school +life would be punctuated by these violent uprootings, that the +alternation of term-time and holidays would make it impossible +for me to change life into a comfortable habit, and that even to +the end of my school-days it would be necessary for me to +preserve my new-found courage. + +As I lay thinking in the dark I was proud of the clarity of my +mind, and glad that I had at last outwitted the tears that had made +my childhood so unhappy. I heard, the boys breathing softly around +me--those wonderful boys who could sleep even when they were +excited--and I felt that I was getting the better of them in thinking +while they slept. I remembered the prefect who had told me that we +were there only for a spell, but I did not speculate as to what +would follow afterwards. All that I had to do was to watch myself +ceaselessly, and be able to explain to myself everything that I felt +I and did. In that way I should always be strong I enough to guard +my weaknesses from the eyes of the jealous world in which I moved. + +The church bells chimed the hour, and I turned over and went to +sleep. + + + + +On the Brighton Road + +Slowly the sun had climbed up the hard white downs, till it broke +with little of the mysterious ritual of dawn upon a sparkling world +of snow. There had been a hard frost during the night, and the birds, +who hopped about here and there with scant tolerance of life, left no +trace of their passage on the silver pavements. In places the +sheltered caverns of the hedges broke the monotony of the whiteness +that had fallen upon the coloured earth, and overhead the sky melted +from orange to deep blue, from deep blue to a blue so pale that it +suggested a thin paper screen rather than illimitable space. Across +the level fields there came a cold, silent wind which blew a fine +dust of snow from the trees, but hardly stirred the crested hedges. +Once above the skyline, the sun seemed to climb more quickly, and as +it rose higher it began to give out a heat that blended with the +keenness of the wind. + +It may have been this strange alternation of heat and cold that +disturbed the tramp in his dreams, for he struggled tor a moment with +the snow that covered him, like a man who finds himself twisted +uncomfortably in the bed-clothes, and then sat up with staring, +questioning eyes. "Lord! I thought I was in bed," he said to himself +as he took in the vacant landscape, "and all the while I was out +here." He stretched his limbs, and, rising carefully to his feet, +shook the snow off his body. As he did so the wind set him shivering, +and he knew that his bed had been warm. + +"Come, I feel pretty fit," he thought. "I suppose I am lucky to wake +at all in this. Or unlucky--it isn't much of a business to come back +to." He looked up and saw the downs shining against the blue, like +the Alps on a picture-postcard. "That means another forty miles or +so, I suppose," he continued grimly. "Lord knows what I did yesterday. +Walked till I was done, and now I'm only about twelve miles from +Brighton. Damn the snow, damn Brighton, damn everything!" The sun +crept higher and higher, and he started walking patiently along the +road with his back turned to the hills. + +"Am I glad or sorry that it was only sleep that took me, glad or +sorry, glad or sorry?" His thoughts seemed to arrange themselves in a +metrical accompaniment to the steady thud of his footsteps, and he +hardly sought an answer to his question. It was good enough to walk +to. + +Presently, when three milestones had loitered past, he overtook a +boy who was stooping to light a cigarette. He wore no overcoat, and +looked unspeakably fragile against the snow, "Are you on the road, +guv'nor?" asked the boy huskily as he passed. + +"I think I am," the tramp said. + +"Oh! then I'll come a bit of the way with you if you don't walk too +fast. It's bit lonesome walking this time of day." + +The tramp nodded his head, and the boy started limping along by his +side. + +"I'm eighteen," he said casually. "I bet you thought I was younger." + +"Fifteen, I'd have said." + +"You'd have backed a loser. Eighteen last August, and I've been on +the road six years. I ran away from home five times when I was a +little 'un, and the police took me back each time. Very good to me, +the police was. Now I haven't got a home to run away from." + +"Nor have I," the tramp said calmly. + +"Oh, I can see what you are," the boy panted; "you're a gentleman +come down. It's harder for you than for me." The tramp glanced at the +limping, feeble figure and lessened his pace. + +"I haven't been at it as long as you have," he admitted. + +"No, I could tell that by the way you walk. You haven't got tired +yet. Perhaps you expect something at the other end?" + +The tramp reflected for a moment. "I don't know," he said bitterly, +"I'm always expecting things." + +"You'll grow out of that;" the boy commented. "It's warmer in London, +but it's harder to come by grub. There isn't much in it really." + +"Still, there's the chance of meeting somebody there who will +understand--" + +"Country people are better," the boy interrupted. "Last night I took +a lease of a barn for nothing and slept with the cows, and this +morning the farmer routed me out and gave me tea and toke because I +was so little. Of course, I score there; but in London, soup on the +Embankment at night, and all the rest of the time coppers moving you +on." + +"I dropped by the roadside last night and slept where I fell. It's a +wonder I didn't die," the tramp said. The boy looked at him sharply. + +"How did you know you didn't?" he said. + +"I don't see it," the tramp said, after a pause. + +"I tell you," the boy said hoarsely, "people like us can't get away +from this sort of thing if we want to. Always hungry and thirsty and +dog-tired and walking all the while. And yet if anyone offers me a +nice home and work my stomach feels sick. Do I look strong? I know +I'm little for my age, but I've been knocking about like this for six +years, and do you think I'm not dead? I was drowned bathing at +Margate, and I was killed by a gypsy with a spike; he knocked my head +and yet I'm walking along here now, walking to London to walk away +from it again, because I can't help it. Dead! I tell you we can't get +away if we want to." + +The boy broke off in a fit of coughing, and the tramp paused while he +recovered. + +"You'd better borrow my coat for a bit, Tommy," he said, "your +cough's pretty bad." + +"You go to hell!" the boy said fiercely, puffing at his cigarette; +"I'm all right. I was telling you about the road. You haven't got +down to it yet, but you'll find out presently. We're all dead, all of +us who're on it, and we're all tired, yet somehow we can't leave it. +There's nice smells in the summer, dust and hay and the wind smack in +your face on a hot day--and it's nice waking up in the wet grass on a +fine morning. I don't know, I don't know--" he lurched forward +suddenly, and the tramp caught him in his arms. + +"I'm sick," the boy whispered--"sick." + +The tramp looked up and down the road, but he could see no houses or +any sign of help. Yet even as he supported the boy doubtfully in the +middle of the road a motor car suddenly flashed in the middle +distance, and came smoothly through the snow. + +"What's the trouble?" said the driver quietly as he pulled up. "I'm a +doctor." He looked at the boy keenly and listened to his strained +breathing. + +"Pneumonia," he commented. "I'll give him a lift to the infirmary, +and you, too, if you like." + +The tramp thought of the workhouse and shook his head "I'd rather +walk," he said. + +The boy winked faintly as they lifted him into the car. + +"I'll meet you beyond Reigate," he murmured to the tramp. "You'll +see." And the car vanished along the white road. + +All the morning the tramp splashed through the thawing snow, but at +midday he begged some bread at a cottage door and crept into a lonely +barn to eat it. It was warm in there, and after his meal he fell +asleep among the hay. It was dark when he woke, and started trudging +once more through the slushy roads. + +Two miles beyond Reigate a figure, a fragile figure, slipped out of +the darkness to meet him. + +"On the road, guv'nor?" said a husky voice. "Then I'll come a bit of +the way with you if you don't walk too fast. It's a bit lonesome +walking this time of day." + +"But the pneumonia!" cried the tramp, aghast. + +"I died at Crawley this morning," said the boy. + + + + +A Tragedy In Little + + I + +Jack, the postmaster's little son, stood in the bow-window of the +parlour and watched his mother watering the nasturtiums in the front +garden. A certain intensity of purpose was expressed by the manner in +which she handled the water-pot. For though it was a fine afternoon +the carrier's man had called over the hedge to say that there would +be a thunderstorm during the night, and every one knew that he never +made a mistake about the weather. Nevertheless, Jack's mother watered +the plants as if he had not spoken, for it seemed to her that this +meteorological gift smacked a little of sorcery and black magic; but +in spite of herself she felt sure that there would be a thunderstorm +and that her labour was therefore vain, save perhaps as a protest +against idle superstition. It was in the same spirit that she carried +an umbrella on the brightest summer day. + +Jack had been sent indoors because he would get his legs in the way +of the watering-pot in order to cool them, so now he had to be +content to look on, with his nose pressed so tightly against the +pane that from outside it looked like the base of a sea-anemone +growing in a glass tank. He could no longer hear the glad chuckle +of the watering-pot when the water ran out, but, on the other hand, +he could write his name on the window with his tongue, which he +could not have done if he had been in the garden. Also he had some +sweets in his pocket, bought with a halfpenny stolen from his own +money-box, and as the window did not taste very nice he slipped one +into his mouth and sucked it with enjoyment. He did not like being +in the parlour, because he had to sit there with his best clothes on +every Sunday afternoon and read the parish magazine to his sleepy +parents. But the front window was lovely, like a picture, and, +indeed, he thought that his mother, with the flowers all about her +and the red sky overhead, was like a lady on one of the beautiful +calendars that the grocer gave away at Christmas. He finished his +sweet and started another; he always meant to suck them right +through to make them last longer, but when the sweet was half +finished he invariably crunched it up. His father had done the same +thing as a boy. + +The room behind him was getting dark, but outside the sky seemed to +be growing lighter, and mother still stooped from bed to bed, moving +placidly, like a cow. Sometimes she put the watering-pot down on the +gravel path, and bent to uproot a microscopic weed or to pull the +head off a dead flower. Sometimes she went to the well to get some +more water, and then Jack was sorry that he had been shut indoors, +for he liked letting the pail down with a run and hearing it bump +against the brick sides. Once he tapped upon the window for +permission to come out, but mother shook her head vigorously without +turning round; and yet his stockings were hardly wet at all. + +Suddenly mother straightened herself, and Jack looked up and saw his +father leaning over the gate. He seemed to be making grimaces, and +Jack made haste to laugh aloud in the empty room, because he knew +that he was good at seeing his father's jokes. Indeed it was a funny +thing that father should come home early from work and make faces at +mother from the road. Mother, too, was willing to join in the fun, +for she knelt down among the wet flowers, and as her head drooped +lower and lower it looked, for one ecstatic moment, as though she +were going to turn head over heels. But she lay quite still on the +ground, and father came half-way through the gate, and then turned +and ran off down the hill towards the station. Jack stood in the +window, clapping his hands and laughing; it was a strange game, but +not much harder to understand than most of the amusements of the +grown-up people. + +And then as nothing happened, as mother did not move and father did +not come back, Jack grew frightened. The garden was queer and the +room was full of darkness, so he beat on the window to change the +game. Then, since mother did not shake her head, he ran out into the +garden, smiling carefully in case he was being silly. First he went +to the gate, but father was quite small far down the road, so he +turned back and pulled the sleeve of his mother's dress, to wake her. +After a dreadful while mother got up off the ground with her skirt +all covered with wet earth. Jack tried to brush it off with his hands +and made a mess of it, but she did not seem to notice, looking across +the garden with such a desolate face, that when he saw it he burst +into tears. For once mother let him cry himself out without seeking +to comfort him; when he sniffed dolefully, his nostrils were full of +the scent of crushed marigolds. He could not help watching her hands +through his tears; it seemed as though they were playing together at +cat's-cradle; they were not still for a moment. But it was her face +that at once frightened and interested him. One minute it looked +smooth and white as if she was very cross, and the next minute it was +gathered up in little folds as if she was going to sneeze. Deep down +in him something chuckled, and he jumped for fear that the cross part +of her had heard it. At intervals during the evening, while mother +was getting him his supper, this chuckle returned to him, between +unnoticed fits of crying. Once she stood holding a plate in the +middle of the room for quite five minutes, and he found it hard to +control his mirth. If father had been there they would have had good +fun together, teasing mother, but by himself he was not sure of his +ground. And father did not come back, and mother did not seem to hear +his questions. + +He had some tomatoes and rice-pudding for his supper, and as mother +left him to help himself to brown sugar he enjoyed it very much, +carefully leaving the skin of the rice-pudding to the last, because +that was the part he liked best. After supper he sat nodding at the +open window, looking out over the plum-trees to the sky beyond, where +the black clouds were putting out the stars one by one. The garden +smelt stuffy, but it was nice to be allowed to sit up when you felt +really sleepy. On the whole he felt that it had been a pleasant, +exciting sort of day, though once or twice mother had frightened him +by looking so strange. There had been other mysterious days in his +life, however; perhaps he was going to have another little dead +sister. Presently he discovered that it was delightful to shut your +eyes and nod your head and pretend that you were going to sleep; it +was like being in a swing that went up and up and never came down +again. It was like being in a rowing-boat on the river after a +steamer had gone by. It was like lying in a cradle under a lamplit +ceiling, a cradle that rocked gently to and fro while mother sang +far-away songs. + +He was still a baby when he woke up, and he slipped off his chair +and staggered blindly across the room to his mother, with his +knuckles in his eyes like a little, little boy. He climbed into her +lap and settled himself down with a grunt of contentment. There was +a mutter of thunder in his ears, and he felt great warm drops of +rain falling on his face. And into his dreams he carried the dim +consciousness that the thunderstorm had begun. + + II + +The next morning at breakfast-time father had not come back, and +mother said a lot of things that made Jack feel very uncomfortable. +She herself had taught him that any one who said bad things about +his father was wicked, but now it seemed that she was trying to tell +him something about father that was not nice. She spoke so slowly +that he hardly understood a word she said, though he gathered that +father had stolen something, and would be put in prison if he was +caught. With a guilty pang he remembered his own dealings with his +money-box, and he determined to throw away the rest of the sweets +when, nobody was looking. Then mother made the astounding statement +that he was not to go to school that day, but his sudden joy was +checked a little when she said he was not to go out at all, except +into the back garden. It seemed to Jack that he must be ill, but +when he made this suggestion to mother, she gave up her explanations +with a sigh. Afterwards she kept on saying aloud, "I must think, I +must think!" She said it so often that Jack started keeping count on +his fingers. + +The day went slowly enough, for the garden was wet after the +thunderstorm, and mother would not play any games. Just before +tea-time two gentlemen called and talked to mother in the +parlour, and after a while they sent for Jack to answer some +questions about father, though mother was there all the time. +They seemed nice gentlemen, but mother did not ask them to stop +to tea, as Jack expected. He thought that perhaps she was sorry +that she had not done so, for she was very sad all tea-time, and +let him spread his own bread and jam. When tea was over things +were very dull, and at last Jack started crying because there +was nothing else to do. Presently he heard a little noise and +found that mother was crying as well. This seemed to him so +extraordinary that he stopped crying to watch her; the tears ran +down her cheeks very quickly, and she kept on wiping them away +with her handkerchief, but if she held her handkerchief to her +eyes perhaps they would not be able to come out at all. It +occurred to him that possibly she was sorry she had said, wicked +things about father, and to comfort her, for it made him feel +fidgety to see her cry, he whispered to her that he would not +tell. But she stared at him hopelessly through her red eyelids, +and he felt that he had not said the right thing. She called him +her poor boy, and yet it appeared that he was not ill. It was +all very mysterious and uncomfortable, and it would be a good +thing when father came back and everything went on as before, +even though he had to go back to school. + +Later on the woman from the mill came in to sit with mother. She +brought Jack some sweets, but instead of playing with him she burst +into tears. She made more noise when she cried than mother; in fact +he was afraid that in a minute he would have to laugh at her +snortings, so he went into the parlour and sat there in the dark, +eating his sweets, and knitting his brow over the complexities of +life. He could see five stars, and there was a light behind the red +curtain of the front bedroom at Arber's farm. It was about twelve +times as large as a star, and a much prettier colour. By nearly +closing his eyes he could see everything double, so that there were +ten stars and two red lights; he was trying to make everything come +treble when the gate clicked and he saw his father's shadow. He was +delighted with this happy end to a tiresome day, and as he ran +through the passage he called out to mother to say that father was +back. Mother did not answer, but he heard a bit of noise in the +kitchen as he opened the front door. + +He said "Good evening" in the grown-up voice that father encouraged, +but father slipped in and shut the door without saying a word. Every +night when he came back from the post-office he brought Jack the +gummed edgings off the sheets of stamps, and Jack held out his hand +for them as a matter of course. Automatically father felt in his +overcoat pocket and pulled out a great handful. "Take care of them, +they're the last you'll get," he said; but when Jack asked why, his +father looked at him with the same hopeless expression that he had +found in his mother's eyes a short while before. Jack felt a little +cross that every one should be so stupid. + +When they went into the kitchen everybody looked very strange, and +Jack sat down in the corner and listened for an explanation. As a +rule the conversation of the grown-up people did not amuse him, but +tonight he felt that something had happened, and that if he kept +quiet he might find out what it was. He had noticed before that when +the grown-ups talked they always said the same things over and over +again, and now they were worse than usual. Father said, "It's no +good, I've got to go through it;" the mill-woman said, "Whatever made +you do it, George?" And mother said, "Nothing will ever happen to me +again!" They all went on saying these things till Jack grew tired of +listening, and started plaiting his stamp-paper into a mat. If you +did it very neatly it was almost as good as an ordinary sheet of +paper by the time you had finished. By and by, while he was still at +work, the mill-woman brought him his supper on a plate, and raising +his head he saw that father and mother were sitting close together, +looking at each other, and saying nothing at all. He was very +disappointed that although father had come home they had not had any +jokes all the evening, and as they were all so dull he did not very +much mind being sent to bed when he had finished his supper. When he +said good-night to father, he noticed that his boots were very muddy, +as if he had walked a long way like a common postman. He made a joke +about this, but they all looked at him as if he had said something +wrong, so he hurried out of the room, glad to get away from these +people whose looks had no reasonable significance, and whose words +had no discoverable meaning. It had been a bad day, and he hoped +mother would let him go back to school the next morning. + +And yet though he took off his clothes and got into bed, the day was +not quite over. He had only dozed for a few minutes when he was +roused by a noise down below, and slipping out on to the staircase he +heard the mill-woman saying good-night in the passage. When she had +gone and the door had banged behind her, he listened still, and heard +his mother crying and his father talking on and on in a strange, +hoarse voice. Somehow these incomprehensible sounds made him feel +lonely, and he would have liked to have gone downstairs and sat on +his mother's lap and blinked drowsily in his father's face, as he had +done often enough before. But he was always shy in the presence of +strangers, and he felt that he did not know this woman who wept and +this man who did not laugh. His father was his play-friend, the +sharer of all his fun; his mother was a quiet woman who sat and +sewed, and sometimes told them not to be silly, which was the best +joke of all. It was not right for people to alter. But the thought of +his bedroom made him desolate, and at last he plucked up his courage, +and crept downstairs on bare feet. Father and mother had gone back +into the kitchen, and he peeped through the crack of the door to see +what they were doing. Mother was still crying, always crying, but he +had to change his position before he could see father. Then he turned +on his heels and ran upstairs trembling with fear and disgust. For +father, the man of all the jokes, the man of whom burglars were +afraid and compared with whom all other little boys' fathers were as +dirt, was crying like a little girl. + +He jumped into bed and pulled the bedclothes over his face to shut +out the ugliness of the world. + + III + +When Jack woke up the next morning he found that the room was full of +sunshine, and that father was standing at the end of the bed. The +moment Jack opened his eyes, he began telling him something in a +serious voice, which was alone sufficient to prevent Jack from +understanding what he said. Besides, he used a lot of long words, and +Jack thought that it was silly to use long words before breakfast, +when nobody could be expected to remember what they meant. Father's +body neatly fitted the square of the window, and the sunbeams shone +in all round it and made it look splendid; and if Jack had not +already forgotten the unfortunate impression of the night before, +this would have enabled him to overcome it. Every now and then father +stopped to ask him if he understood, and he said he did, hoping to +find out what it was all about later on. It seemed, however, that +father was not going to the post-office any more, and this caused +Jack to picture a series of delightfully amusing days. When father +had finished talking he appeared to expect Jack to say something, but +Jack contented himself with trying to look interested, for he knew +that it was always very stupid of little boys not to understand +things they didn't understand. In reality he felt as if he had been +listening while his father argued aloud with himself, talking up and +down like an earthquake map. + +At breakfast they were still subdued, but afterwards, as the morning +wore on, father became livelier and helped Jack to build a hut in +the back garden. They built it of bean-sticks against the wall at the +end, and father broke up a packing-case to get planks for the roof. +Only mother still had a sad face, and it made Jack angry with her, +that she should be such a spoil-fun. After dinner, while Jack was +playing in the hut, Mr. Simmons, of the police-station, and another +gentleman called to take father for a walk, and Jack went down to the +front to see them off. Jack knew Mr. Simmons very well; he had been +to tea with his little boy, but though he thought him a fine sort of +man he could not help feeling proud of his father when he saw them +side by side. Mr. Simmons looked as if he were ashamed of himself, +while father walked along with square shoulders and a high head as if +he had just done something splendid. The other gentleman looked like +nothing at all beside father. + +When they were out of sight Jack went into the house and found mother +crying in the kitchen. As he felt more tolerant in his after-dinner +mood, he tried to cheer her up by telling her how fine father had +looked beside the other two men. Mother raised her face, all swollen +and spoilt with weeping, and gazed at her son in astonishment. "They +are taking him to prison," she wailed, "and God knows what will +become of us." + +For a moment Jack felt alarmed. Then a thought came to him and he +smiled, like a little boy who has just found a new and delightful +game. "Never mind, mother," he said, "we'll help him to escape." + +But mother would not stop crying. + + + + +Shepherd's Boy + +The path climbed up and up and threatened to carry me over the +highest point of the downs till it faltered before a sudden +outcrop of chalk and swerved round the hill on the level. I was +grateful for the respite, for I had been walking all day and my +knapsack was growing heavy. Above me in the blue pastures of the +skies the cloud-sheep were grazing, with the sun on their snowy +backs, and all about me the grey sheep of earth were cropping +the wild pansies that grew wherever the chalk had won a covering +of soil. + +Presently I came upon the shepherd standing erect by the path, a +tall, spare man with a face that the sun and the wind had robbed of +all expression. The dog at his feet looked more intelligent than he. +"You've come up from the valley," he said as I passed; "perhaps +you'll have seen my boy?" + +"I'm sorry, I haven't," I said, pausing. + +"Sorrow breaks no bones," he muttered, and strode away with his dog +at his heels. It seemed to me that the dog was apologetic for his +master's rudeness. + +I walked on to the little hill-girt village, where I had made up my +mind to pass the night. The man at the village shop said he would put +me up, so I took off my knapsack and sat down on a sackful of cattle +cake while the bacon was cooking. + +"If you came over the hill, you'll have met shepherd," said the man, +"and he'll have asked you for his boy." + +"Yes, but I hadn't seen him." + +The shopman nodded. "There are clever folk who say you can see him, +and clever folk who say you can't. The simple ones like you and me, +we say nothing, but we don't see him. Shepherd hasn't got no boy." + +"What! is it a joke?" + +"Well, of course it may be," said the shop-man guardedly, "though I +can't say I've heard many people laughing at it yet. You see, +shepherd's boy he broke his neck. . . . + +"That was in the days before they built the fence above the big +chalk-pit that you passed on your left coming down. A dangerous +place it used to be for the sheep, so shepherd's boy he used to lie +along there to stop them dropping into it, while shepherd's dog he +stopped them from going too far. And shepherd he used to come down +here and have his glass, for he took it then like you or me. He's +blue ribbon now. + +"It was one night when the mists were out on the hills, and maybe +shepherd had had a glass too much, or maybe he got a bit lost in the +smoke. But when he went up there to bring them home, he starts +driving them into the pit as straight as could be. Shepherd's boy he +hollered out and ran to stop them, but four-and-twenty of them went +over, and the lad he went with them. You mayn't believe me, but five +of them weren't so much as scratched, though it's a sixty feet drop. +Likely they fell soft on top of the others. But shepherd's boy he was +done. + +"Shepherd he's a bit spotty now, and most times he thinks the boy's +still with him. And there are clever folk who'll tell you that +they've seen the boy helping shepherd's dog with the sheep. That +would be a ghost now, I shouldn't wonder. I've never seen it, but +then I'm simple, as you might say. + +"But I've had two boys myself, and it seems to me that a boy like +that, who didn't eat and didn't get into mischief, and did his work, +would be the handiest kind of boy to have about the place." + + + + +The Passing of Edward + +I found Dorothy sitting sedately on the beach, with a mass of black +seaweed twined in her hands and her bare feet sparkling white in the +sun. Even in the first glow of recognition I realised that she was +paler than she had been the summer before, and yet I cannot blame +myself for the tactlessness of my question. + +"Where's Edward?" I said; and I looked about the sands for a sailor +suit and a little pair of prancing legs. + +While I looked Dorothy's eyes watched mine inquiringly, as if she +wondered what I might see. + +"Edward's dead," she said simply. "He died last year, after you +left." + +For a moment I could only gaze at the child in silence, and ask +myself what reason there was in the thing that had hurt her so. Now +that I knew that Edward played with her no more, I could see that +there was a shadow upon her face too dark for her years, and that she +had lost, to some extent, that exquisite carelessness of poise which +makes children so young. Her voice was so calm that I might have +thought her forgetful had I not seen an instant of patent pain in her +wide eyes. + +"I'm sorry," I said at length "very, very, sorry indeed. I had +brought down my car to take you for a drive, as I promised." + +"Oh! Edward _would_ have liked that," she answered thoughtfully; "he +was so fond of motors." She swung round suddenly and looked at the +sands behind her with staring eyes. + +"I thought I heard--" she broke off in confusion. + +I, too, had believed for an instant that I had heard something +that was not the wind or the distant children or the smooth sea +hissing along the beach. During that golden summer which linked +me with the dead, Edward had been wont, in moments of elation, +to puff up and down the sands, in artistic representation of a +nobby, noisy motor-car. But the dead may play no more, and there +was nothing there but the sands and the hot sky and Dorothy. + +"You had better let me take you for a run, Dorothy," I said. "The man +will drive, and we can talk as we go along." + +She nodded gravely, and began pulling on her sandy stockings. + +"It did not hurt him," she said inconsequently. + +The restraint in her voice pained me like a blow. + +"Oh, don't, dear, don't!" I cried, "There is nothing to do but +forget." + +"I have forgotten, quite," she answered, pulling at her shoe-laces +with calm fingers. "It was ten months ago." + +We walked up to the front, where the car was waiting, and Dorothy +settled herself among the cushions with a little sigh of contentment, +the human quality of which brought me a certain relief. If only she +would laugh or cry! I sat down by her side, but the man waited by the +open door. + +"What is it?" I asked. + +"I'm sorry, sir," he answered, looking about him in confusion, "I +thought I saw a young gentleman with you." + +He shut the door with a bang, and in a minute we were running through +the town. I knew that Dorothy was watching my face with her wounded +eyes; but I did not look at her until the green fields leapt up on +either side of the white road. + +"It is only for a little while that we may not see him," I said; "all +this is nothing." + +"I have forgotten," she repeated. "I think this is a very nice +motor." + +I had not previously complained of the motor, but I was wishing then +that it would cease its poignant imitation of a little dead boy, a +boy who would play no more. By the touch of Dorothy's sleeve against +mine I knew that she could hear it too. And the miles flew by, green +and brown and golden, while I wondered what use I might be in the +world, who could not help a child to forget, Possibly there was +another way, I thought. + +"Tell me how it happened," I said. + +Dorothy looked at me with inscrutable eyes, and spoke in a voice +without emotion. + +"He caught a cold, and was very ill in bed. I went in to see him, +and he was all white and faded. I said to him, `How are you Edward?' +and he said, `I shall get up early in the morning to catch beetles.' +I didn't see him any more." + +"Poor little chap!" I murmured. + +"I went to the funeral," she continued monotonously, "It was very +rainy, and I threw a little bunch of flowers down into the hole. +There was a whole lot of flowers there; but I think Edward liked +apples better than flowers." + +"Did you cry?" I said cruelly. + +She paused. "I don't know. I suppose so. It was a long time ago; I +think I have forgotten." + +Even while she spoke I heard Edward puffing along the sands: Edward +who had been so fond of apples. + +"I cannot stand this any longer," I said aloud. "Let's get out and +walk in the woods for a change." + +She agreed, with a depth of comprehension that terrified me; and the +motor pulled up with a jerk at a spot where hardly a post served to +mark where the woods commenced and the wayside grass stopped. We took +one of the dim paths which the rabbits had made and forced our way +through the undergrowth into the peaceful twilight of the trees. + +"You haven't got very sunburnt this year," I said as we walked. + +"I don't know why. I've been out on the beach all the days. +Sometimes I've played, too." + +I did not ask her what games she had played, or who had been her +play-friend. Yet even there in the quiet woods I knew that Edward was +holding her back from me. It is true that, in his boy's way, he had +been fond of me; but I should not have dared to take her out without +him in the days when his live lips had filled the beach with song, +and his small brown body had danced among the surf. Now it seemed +that I had been disloyal to him. + +And presently we came to a clearing where the leaves of forgotten +years lay brown and rotten beneath our feet, and the air was full of +the dryness of death. + +"Let's be going back. What do you think, Dorothy?" I said. + +"I think," she said slowly,--"I think that this would be a very good +place to catch beetles." + +A wood is full of secret noises, and that is why, I suppose, we +heard a pair of small quick feet come with a dance of triumph +through the rustling bracken. For a minute we listened deeply, and +then Dorothy broke from my side with a piercing call on her lips. + +"Oh, Edward, Edward!" she cried; "Edward!" + +But the dead may play no more, and presently she came back to me with +the tears that are the riches of childhood streaming down her face. + +"I can hear him, I can hear him," she sobbed; "but I cannot see him. +Never, never again." + +And so I led her back to the motor. But in her tears I seemed to +find a promise of peace that she had not known before. + +Now Edward was no very wonderful little boy; it may be that he was +jealous and vain and greedy; yet now, it seemed as he lay in his +small grave with the memory of Dorothy's flowers about him, he had +wrought this kindness for his sister. Yes, even though we heard no +more than the birds in the branches and the wind swaying the scented +bracken; even though he had passed with another summer, and the dead +and the love of the dead may rise no more from the grave. + + + + +The Story Of A Book + + I. THE WRITER + +The history of a book must necessarily begin with the history of its +author, for surely in these enlightened days neither the youngest nor +the oldest of critics can believe that works of art are found under +gooseberry-bushes or in the nests of storks. In truth, I am by no +means sure that everybody knew this before the publication of "The +Man Shakespeare," and for the sake of a mystified posterity it may be +well to explain that there was once a school of criticism that +thought it indecent to pry into that treasure-house of individuality +from which, if we reject the nursery hypotheses mentioned above, it +is clearly obvious that authors derive their works. That the drama +must needs be closely related to the dramatist is just one of those +simple discoveries that invariably elude the subtle professional +mind; but in this wiser hour I may be permitted to assume that the +author was the conscious father of his novel, and that he did not +find it surprisingly in his pocket one morning, like a bad shilling +taken in change from the cabman overnight. + +Before he published his novel at the ripe age of thirty-seven the +author had lived an irreproachable and gentlemanly life. Born with at +least a German-silver spoon in his mouth, he passed, after a normally +eventful childhood, through a respectable public school, and spent +several agreeable years at Cambridge without taking a degree. He then +went into his uncle's office in the City, where he idled daily from +ten to four, till in due course he was admitted to a partnership, +which enabled him to reduce his hours of idleness to eleven to three. +These details become important when we reflect that from his +childhood on the author had a great deal of time at his disposal. If +he had been entirely normal, he would have accepted the conventions +of the society to which he belonged, and devoted himself to motoring, +bridge, and the encouragement of the lighter drama. But some +deep-rooted habit of his childhood, or even perhaps some remote +hereditary taint, led him to spend an appreciable fraction of his +leisure time in the reading of works of fiction. Unlike most lovers +of light literature, he read with a certain mental concentration, and +was broad-minded enough to read good novels as well as bad ones. + +It is a pleasant fact that it is impossible to concentrate one's mind +on anything without in time becoming wiser, and in the course of +years the author became quite a skilful critic of novels. From the +first he had allowed his reading to colour his impressions of life, +and had obediently lived in a world of blacks and whites, of heroes +and heroines, of villains and adventuresses, until the grateful +discovery of the realistic school of fiction permitted him to believe +that men and women were for the most part neither good nor bad, but +tabby. Moreover, the leisurely reading of many sentences had given +him some understanding of the elements of style. He perceived that +some combinations of words were illogical, and that others were +unlovely to the ear; and at the same time he acquired a vocabulary +and a knowledge of grammar and punctuation that his earlier education +had failed to give him. He read new novels at his writing-table, and +took pleasure in correcting the mistakes of their authors in ink. +When he had done this, he would hand them to his wife, who always +read the end first, and, indeed, rarely pursued her investigation of +a book beyond the last chapter. + +We buy knowledge with illusions, and pay a high price for it, for the +acquirement of quite a small degree of wisdom will deprive us of a +large number of pleasant fancies. So it was with the author, who +found his joy in novel-reading diminishing rapidly as his critical +knowledge increased. He was no longer able to lose himself between +the covers of a romance, but slid his paper-knife between the pages +of a book with an unwholesome readiness to be irritated by the +ignorance and folly of the novelist. His destructive criticism of +works of fiction became so acute that it was natural that his +unlettered friends should suggest that he himself ought to write a +novel. For a long while he was content to receive the flattering +suggestion with a reticent smile that masked his conviction that +there was a difference between criticism and creation. But as he grew +older the imperfections in the books he read ceased to give him the +thrill of the successful explorer in sight of the expected, and time +began to trickle too slowly through his idle fingers. One day he sat +down and wrote "Chapter I." at the head of a sheet of quarto paper. + +It seemed to him that the difficulty was only one of selection, and +he wrote two-thirds of a novel with a breathless ease of creation +that made him marvel at himself and the pitiful struggles of less +gifted novelists. Then in a moment of insight he picked up his +manuscript and realised that what he had written was childishly +crude. He had felt his story while he wrote it, but somehow or other +he had failed to get his emotions on paper, and he saw quite clearly +that it was worse and not better than the majority of the books which +he had held up to ridicule. + +There was a certain doggedness in his character that might have made +him a useful citizen but for that unfortunate hereditary spoon, and +he wrote "Chapter I." at the head of a new sheet of quarto paper long +before the library fire had reached the heart of his first luckless +manuscript. This time he wrote more slowly, and with a waning +confidence that failed him altogether when he was about half-way +through. Reading the fragment dispassionately he thought there were +good pages in it, but, taken as a whole, it was unequal, and moved +forward only by fits and starts. He began again with his late +manuscript spread about him on the table for reference. At the fifth +attempt he succeeded in writing a whole novel. + +In the course of his struggles he had acquired a philosophy of +composition. Especially he had learned to shun those enchanted hours +when the labour of creation became suspiciously easy, for he had +found by experience that the work he did in these moments of +inspiration was either bad in itself or out of key with the preceding +chapters. He thought that inspiration might be useful to poets or +writers of short stories, but personally as a novelist he found it a +nuisance. By dint of hard work, however, he succeeded in eliminating +its evil influence from his final draft. He told himself that he had +no illusions as to the merits of his book. He knew he was not a man +of genius, but he knew also that the grammar and the punctuation of +his novel were far above the average of such works, and although he +could not read Sir Thomas Browne or Walter Pater with pleasure, he +felt sure that his book was written in a straightforward and +gentlemanly style. He was prepared to be told that his use of the +colon was audacious, and looked forward with pleasure to an agreeable +controversy on the question. + +He read his book to his friends, who made suggestions that would have +involved its rewriting from one end to the other. He read it to his +enemies, who told him that it was nearly good enough to publish; he +read it to his wife, who said that it was very nice, and that it was +time to dress for dinner. No one seemed to realise that it was the +most important thing he had ever done in his life. This quickened his +eagerness to get it published--an eagerness only tempered by a very +real fear of those knowing dogs, the critics. He could not forget +that he had criticised a good many books himself in terms that would +have made the authors abandon their profession if they had but heard +his strictures; and he had read notices in the papers that would have +made him droop with shame if they had referred to any work of his. +When these sombre thoughts came to him he would pick up his book and +read it again, and in common fairness he had to admit to himself that +he found it uncommonly good. + +One day, after a whole batch of ungrammatical novels had reached him +from the library, he posted his manuscript to his favourite +publisher. He had heard stories of masterpieces many times rejected, +so he did not tell his wife what he had done. + + II. The Sleepy Publisher + +The publisher to whom our author had confided his manuscript stood, +like all publishers, at the very head of his profession. His business +was conducted on sound conservative lines, which means that though he +had regretfully abandoned the three-volume novel for the novel +published at six shillings, he was not among the intrepid +revolutionaries who were beginning to produce new fiction at a still +lower price. Besides novels he published solid works of biography at +thirty-one and six, art books at a guinea, travel books at fifteen +shillings, flighty historical works at twelve-and-sixpence, and cheap +editions of Montaigne's Essays and "Robinson Crusoe" at a shilling. +Some idea of his business methods may be derived from the fact that +it pleased him to reflect that all the other publishers were +producing exactly the same books as he was. And though he would admit +that the trade had been ruined by competition and the outrageous +royalties demanded by successful authors, and, further, that he made +a loss on every separate department of his business, in some +mysterious fashion the business as a whole continued to pay him very +well. He left the active part of the management to a confidential +clerk, and contented himself with signing cheques and interviewing +authors. + +With such a publisher the fate of our author's book was never in +doubt. If it was lacking in those qualities that might be expected to +commend it to the reading public, it was conspicuously rich in those +merits that determine the favourable judgment of publishers' readers. +It was above all things a gentlemanly book, without violence and +without eccentricities. It was carefully and grammatically written; +but it had not that exotic literary flavour which is so tiresome on a +long railway journey. It could be put into the hands of any +schoolgirl, and at most would merely send her to sleep. The only +thing that could be said against it was that the author's dread of +inspiration had made it grievously dull, but it was the publisher's +opinion that after a glut of sensational fiction the six-shilling +public had come to regard dullness as the hall-mark of literary +merit. He had no illusions as to its possible success, but, on the +other hand, he knew that he could not lose any money on it, so he +wrote a letter to the author inviting him to an interview. + +As soon as he had read the letter the author told himself that he +had been certain all along that his book would be accepted. +Nevertheless, he went to the interview moved by certain emotional +flutterings against which circumstance had guarded him ever since +his boyhood. He found this mild excitation of the nervous system by +no means unpleasant. It was like digesting a new and subtle liqueur +that made him light-footed and tingled in the tips of his fingers. +He recalled a phrase that had greatly pleased him in the early days +of his novel. "As the sun colours flowers, so Art colours life." It +seemed to him that this was beginning to come true, and that life +was already presenting itself to him in a gayer, brighter dress. He +reached the publisher's office, therefore, in an unwontedly +receptive mood, and was tremendously impressed by the rudeness of +the clerks, who treated authors as mendicants and expressed their +opinion of literature by handling books as if they were bundles of +firewood. + +The publisher looked at him under heavy eyelids, recognised his +position in the social scale, and reflected with satisfaction that +his acquaintances could be relied on to purchase at least a hundred +copies. The interview did not at all take the lines that the author +in his innocence had expected, and in a surprisingly short space of +time he found himself bowed out, with the duplicate of a contract in +the pocket of his overcoat. In the outer office the confidential +clerk took him in hand and led him to the door of an enormous cellar, +lit by electricity and filled from one end to the other with bales +and heaps of books. "Books!" said the confidential clerk, with the +smile of a gamekeeper displaying his hand-reared pheasants. "There +are a great many," the author said timidly. + +"Of course, we do not keep our stock here," the clerk explained. +"These are just samples." It was sometimes necessary to remind +inexperienced writers that the publication of their first book was +only a trivial incident in the history of a great publishing house. +The author had a sad vision of his novel as a little brick in a +monstrous pyramid built of books, and the clerk mentally decided that +he was not the kind of man to turn up every day at the office to ask +them how they were getting on. + +The author was a little dazed when he emerged into the street and the +sunshine. His book, which an hour before had seemed the most +important thing in the world, had, become almost insignificant in the +light of that vast collection of printed matter, and in some subtle +way he felt that he had dwindled with it. The publisher had praised +it without enthusiasm and had not specified any of its merits; he had +not even commented on his fantastic use of the colon. The author had +lived with it now for many months--it had become a part of his +personality, and he felt that he had betrayed himself in delivering +it into the hands of strangers who could not understand it. He had +the reticence of the well-bred Englishman, and though he told himself +reassuringly that his novel in no way reflected his private life, he +could not quite overcome the sentiment that it was a little vulgar to +allow alien eyes to read the product of his most intimate thoughts. +He had really been shocked at the matter-of-fact way in which every +one at the office had spoken of his book, and the sight of all the +other books with which it would soon be inextricably confused had +emphasised the painful impression. This all seemed to rob the +author's calling of its presumed distinction, and he looked at the +men and women who passed him on the pavement, and wondered whether +they too had written books. + +This mood lasted for some weeks, at the end of which time he received +the proofs, which he read and re-read with real pleasure before +setting himself to correcting them with meticulous care. He performed +this task with such conscientiousness, and made so many minor +alterations--he changed most of those flighty colons to more +conventional semicolons--that the confidential clerk swore terribly +when he glanced at the proofs before handing them to a boy, with +instructions to remove three-quarters of the offending emendations. +A week or two later there happened one of those strange little +incidents that make modern literary history. It was a bright, sunny +afternoon; the publisher had been lunching with the star author of +the firm, a novelist whose books were read wherever the British flag +waved and there was a circulating library to distribute them, and +now, in the warm twilight of the lowered blinds he was enjoying +profound thoughts, delicately tinted by burgundy and old port. The +shrewdest men make mistakes, and certainly it was hardly wise of the +confidential clerk to choose this peaceful moment to speak about our +author's book. "I suppose we shall print a thousand?" he said. "Five +thousand!" ejaculated the publisher. What was he thinking about? Was +he filling up an imaginary income-tax statement, or was he trying to +estimate the number of butterflies that seemed to float in the amber +shadows of the room? The clerk did not know. "I suppose you mean one +thousand, sir?" he said gently. The publisher was now wide awake. He +had lost all his butterflies, and he was not the man to allow himself +to be sleepy in the afternoon. "I said five thousand!" The clerk bit +his lip and left the room. + +The author never heard of this brief dialogue; probably if he had +been present he would have missed its significance. He would never +have connected it with the flood of paragraphs that appeared in the +Press announcing that the acumen of the publisher had discovered a +new author of genius--paragraphs wherein he was compared with +Dickens, Thackeray, Flaubert, Richardson, Sir Walter Besant, Thomas +Browne, and the author of "An Englishwoman's Love-letters." As it +was, it did not occur to him to wonder why the publisher should spend +so much money on advertising a book of which he had seemed to have +but a half-hearted appreciation. After all it was his book, and the +author felt that it was only natural that as the hour of publication +drew near the world of letters should show signs of a dignified +excitement. + + III. The Critic Errant + +There are some emotions so intimate that the most intrepid writer +hesitates to chronicle them lest it should be inferred that he +himself is in the confessional. We have endeavoured to show our +author as a level-headed English-man with his nerves well under +control and an honest contempt for emotionalism in the stronger sex; +but his feelings in the face of the first little bundle of reviews +sent him by the press-cutting agency would prove this portrait +incomplete. He noticed with a vague astonishment that the flimsy +scraps of paper were trembling in his fingers like banknotes in the +hands of a gambler, and he laid them down on the breakfast-table in +disgust of the feminine weakness. This unmistakable proof that he had +written a book, a real book, made him at once happy and uneasy. These +fragments of smudged prints were his passport into a new and +delightful world; they were, it might be said, the name of his +destination in the great republic of letters, and yet he hesitated to +look at them. He heard of the curious blindness of authors that made +it impossible for them to detect the most egregious failings in their +own work, and it occurred to him that this might be his malady. Why: +had he published his book? He felt at that moment that he had taken +too great a risk. It would have been so easy to have had it privately +printed and contented himself with distributing it among his friends. +But these people were paid for writing about books, these critics who +had sent Keats to his gallipots and Swinburne to his fig-tree, might +well have failed to have recognised that his book was sacred, because +it was his own. + +When he had at last achieved a fatalistic tranquillity, he once more +picked up the notices, and this time he read them through carefully. +The _Rutlandshire Gazette_ quoted Shakespeare, the _Thrums Times_ +compared him with Christopher North, the _Stamford-bridge Herald_ +thought that his style resembled that of Macaulay, but they were +unanimous in praising his book without reservation. It seemed to the +author that he was listening to the authentic voice of fame. He +rested his chin on his hand and dreamed long dreams. + +He could afford in this hour of his triumph to forget the annoyances +he had undergone since his book was first accepted. The publisher, +with a large first edition to dispose of, had been rather more than +firm with the author. He had changed the title of the book from +"Earth's Returns"--a title that had seemed to the author dignified +and pleasantly literary--to "The Improbable Marquis," which seemed +to him to mean nothing at all. Moreover, instead of giving the book +a quiet and scholarly exterior, he had bound it in boards of an +injudicious heliotrope, inset with a nasty little coloured picture +of a young woman with a St. Bernard dog. This binding revolted the +author, who objected, with some reason, that in all his book there +was no mention of a dog of that description, or, indeed, of any dog +at all. The book was wrapped in an outer cover that bore a +recommendation of its contents, starting with a hideous split +infinitive and describing it as an exquisite social comedy written +from within. On the whole it seemed to the author that his book was +flying false and undesirable colours, and since art lies outside the +domesticities, he was hardly relieved when his wife told him that +she thought the binding was very pretty. The author had shuddered no +less at the little paragraphs that the publisher had inserted in the +newspapers concerning his birth and education, wherein he was +bracketed with other well-known writers whose careers at the +University had been equally undistinguished. But now that, like +Byron, he found himself famous among the bacon and eggs, he was in +no mood to remember these past vexations. As soon as he had finished +breakfast he withdrew himself to his study and wrote half an essay +on the Republic of Letters. + +In a country wherein fifteen novels--or is it fifty?--are +published every day of the year, the publisher's account of the +goods he sells is bound to have a certain value. Money talks, +as Mr. Arnold Bennett once observed--indeed today it is grown +quite garrulous--and when a publisher spends a lot of money on +advertising a book, the inference is that some one believes the +book to be good. This will not secure a book good notices, but +it will secure it notices of some kind or other, and that, as +every publisher knows, is three-quarters of the battle. The +average critic today is an old young man who has not failed in +literature or art, possibly because he has not tried to +accomplish anything in either. By the time he has acquired some +skill in criticism he has generally ceased to be a critic, +through no fault of his own, but through sheer weariness of +spirit. When a man is very young he can dance upon everyone who +has not written a masterpiece with a light heart, but after +this period of joyous savagery there follows fatigue and a +certain pity. The critic loses sight of his first magnificent +standards, and becomes grateful for even the smallest merit in +the books he is compelled to read. Like a mother giving a +powder to her child, he is at pains to disguise his timid +censure with a teaspoonful of jam. As the years pass by he +becomes afraid of these books that continue to appear in +unreasonable profusion, and that have long ago destroyed his +faith in literature, his love of reading, his sense of humour, +and the colouring matter of his hair. He realises, with a +dreadful sense of the infinite, that when he is dead and buried +this torrent of books will overwhelm the individualities of his +successors, bound like himself to a lifelong examination of the +insignificant. + +Timidity is certainly the note of modern criticism, which is rarely +roused to indignation save when confronted by the infrequent outrage +of some intellectual anarchist. If the critics of the more important +journals were not so enthusiastic as their provincial confreres, +they were at least gentle with "The Improbable Marquis." A critic of +genius would have said that such books were not worth writing, still +less worth reading. An outspoken critic would have said that it was +too dull to be an acceptable presentation of a life that we all find +interesting. As it was, most of the critics praised the style in +which it was written because it was quite impossible to call it an +enthralling or even an entertaining book. Some of the younger +critics, who still retained an interest in their own personalities, +discovered that its vacuity made it a convenient mirror by means of +which they would display the progress of their own genius. In common +gratitude they had to close these manifestations of their merit with +a word or two in praise of the book they were professing to review. +"The Improbable Marquis" was very favourably received by the Press +in general. + +It was, as the publisher made haste to point out in his +advertisements, a book of the year, and, reassured by its flippant +exterior, the libraries and the public bought it with avidity. The +author pasted his swollen collection of newspaper-cuttings into an +album, and carefully revised his novel in case a second edition +should be called for. There was one review which he had read more +often than any of the others, and nevertheless he hesitated to +include it in his collection. "This book," wrote the anonymous +reviewer, "is as nearly faultless a book may be that possesses no +positive merit. It differs only from seven-eighths of the novels +that are produced today in being more carefully written. The author +had nothing to say, and he has said it." That was all, three +malignant lines in a paper of no commercial importance, the sort of +thing that was passed round the publisher's office with an +appreciative chuckle. In the face of the general amiability of the +Press, such a notice in an obscure journal could do the book no +harm. + +Only the author sat hour after hour in his study with that diminutive +scrap of paper before him on the table, and wondered if it was +true. + + IV. Fame + +It was some little time before the public, the mysterious section of +the public that reads works of fiction, discovered that the +publisher, aided by the normal good-humour of the critics, had +persuaded them to sacrifice some of their scant hours of intellectual +recreation on a work of portentous dullness. Therefor the literary +audience has its sense of humour--they amused themselves for a while +by recommending the book to their friends, and the sales crept +steadily up to four thousand, and there stayed with an unmistakable +air of finality. If the book had had any real literary merit its life +would have started at that point, for the weary comments of reviewers +and the strident outcries of publishers tend to obscure rather than +reveal the permanent value of a book. But six months after +publication "The Improbable Marquis" was completely forgotten, save +by the second-hand booksellers, who found themselves embarrassed with +a number of books for which no one seemed anxious to pay six-pence, +in spite of the striking heliotrope binding. The publisher, who was +aware of this circumstance, offered the author five hundred copies at +cost price, and the author bought them, and sent them to public +libraries, without examining the motive for his action too closely. +There were moments when he regarded the success of his book with +suspicion. He would have preferred the praise that had greeted it to +have been less violent and more clearly defined. Of all the +criticisms, the only one that lingered in his mind was the curt +comment, "The author had nothing to say, and he has said it." He +thought it was unfair, but he had remembered it. At the same time, in +examining his own character, he could not find that masterfulness +that seemed to him necessary in a great man. But for the most part he +was content to accept his new honours with a placid satisfaction, and +to smile genially upon a world that was eager to credit him with +qualities that possibly he did not possess. For if his book was no +longer read his fame as an author seemed to be established on a rock. +Society, with a larger S than that which he had hitherto adorned, was +delighted to find after two notable failures that genius could still +be presentable, and the author was rather more than that. He was +rich, he had that air of the distinguished army officer which falls +so easily to those who occupy the pleasant position of sleeping +partner in the City, and he had just the right shade of amused +modesty with which to meet inquiries as to his literary intentions. +In a word, he was an author of whom any country--even France, that +prolific parent of presentable authors--would have been proud. Even +his wife, who had thought it an excellent joke that her husband +should have written a book, had to take him seriously as an author +when she found that their social position was steadily improving. +With feminine tact she gave him a fountain-pen on his birthday, from +which he was meant to conclude that she believed in his mission as an +artist. + +Meanwhile, with the world at his feet, the author spent an +appreciable part of his time in visiting the second-hand bookshops +and buying copies of his book absurdly cheap. He carried these waifs +home and stored them in an attic secretly, for he would have found it +hard to explain his motives to the intellectually childless. In the +first flush of authorship he had sent a number of presentation copies +of his book to writers whom he admired, and he noticed without +bitterness that some of these volumes with their neatly turned +inscriptions were coming back to him through this channel. At all the +second-hand bookshops he saw long-haired young men looking over the +books without buying them, and he thought these must be authors, but +he was too shy to speak to them, though he had a great longing to +know other writers. He wanted to ask them questions concerning their +methods of work, for he was having trouble with his second book. He +had read an article in which the writer said that the great fault of +modern fiction was that authors were more concerned to produce good +chapters than to produce good books. It seemed to him that in his +first book he had only aimed at good sentences, but he knew no one +with whom he could discuss such matters. + +One day he found a copy of "The Improbable Marquis" in the Charing +Cross Road, and was glancing through it with absent-minded interest, +when a voice at his elbow said, "I shouldn't buy that if I were you, +sir. It's no good!" He looked up and saw a wild young man, with +bright eyes and an untidy black beard. "But it's mine; I wrote it," +cried the author. The young man stared at him in dismay. "I'm sorry; +I didn't know," he blurted out, and faded away into the crowd. The +author gazed after him wistfully, regretting that he had not had +presence of mind enough to ask him to lunch. Perhaps the young man +could have told him how he ought to write his second book. + +For somehow or other, at the very moment when his literary position +seemed most secure in the eyes of his wife and his friends, the +author had lost all confidence in his own powers. He shut himself up +in his study every night, and was supposed by an admiring and almost +timorous household to be producing masterpieces, when in reality he +was conducting a series of barren skirmishes between the critical +and the creative elements of his nature. He would write a chapter or +two in a fine fury of composition, and then would read what he had +written with intense disgust. He felt that his second book ought to +be better than his first, and he doubted whether he would even be +able to write anything half so good. In his hour of disillusionment +he recalled the anonymous critic who had treated "The Improbable +Marquis" with such scant respect, and he wrote to him asking him to +expand his judgment. He was prepared to be wounded by the answer, +but the form it took surprised him. In reply to his temperate and +courteous letter the critic sent a postcard bearing only five short +words--"Why did you write it?" + +This was bad manners, but the author was sensible enough to see that +it might be good criticism, especially as he found some difficulty in +answering the question. Why had he written a book? Not for money, or +for fame, or to express a personality of which he saw no reason to be +proud. All his friends had said that he ought to write a novel, and +he had thought that he could write a better one than the average. But +he had to admit that such motives seemed to him insufficient. There +was, perhaps, some mysterious force that drove men to create works of +art, and the critic had seen that his book had lacked this necessary +impulse. In the light of this new theory the author was roused by a +sense of injustice. He felt that it should be possible for anyone to +write a good book if they took sufficient pains, and he set himself +to work again with a savage and unproductive energy. + +It seemed to him that in spite of his effort to bear in mind that the +whole should be greater than any part, his chapters broke up into +sentences and his sentences into forlorn and ungregarious words. When +he looked to his first book for comfort he found the same horrid +phenomenon taking place in its familiar pages. Sometimes when he was +disheartened by his fruitless efforts he slipped out into the +streets, fixing his attention on concrete objects to rest his tired +mind. But he could not help noticing that London had discovered the +secret which made his intellectual life a torment. The streets were +more than a mere assemblage of houses, London herself was more than a +tangled skein of streets, and overhead heaven was more than a +meeting-place of individual stars. What was this secret that made +words into a book, houses into cities, and restless and measurable +stars into an unchanging and immeasurable universe? + + + + +The Bird In The Garden + +The room in which the Burchell family lived in Love Street, S.E., was +underground and depended for light and air on a grating let into the +pavement above. + +Uncle John, who was a queer one, had filled the area with green +plants and creepers in boxes and tins hanging from the grating, so +that the room itself obtained very little light indeed, but there +was always a nice bright green place for the people sitting in it to +look at. Toby, who had peeped into the areas of other little boys, +knew that his was of quite exceptional beauty, and it was with a +certain awe that he helped Uncle John to tend the plants in the +morning, watering them and taking the pieces of paper and straws +that had fallen through the grating from their hair. "It is a great +mistake to have straws in ones hair," Uncle John would say gravely; +and Toby knew that it was true. + +It was in the morning after they had just been watered that the +plants looked and smelt best, and when the sun shone through the +grating and the diamonds were shining and falling through the forest, +Toby would tell the baby about the great bird who would one day come +flying through the trees--a bird of all colours, ugly and beautiful, +with a harsh sweet voice. "And that will be the end of everything," +said Toby, though of course he was only repeating a story his Uncle +John had told him. + +There were other people in the big, dark room besides Toby and Uncle +John and the baby; dark people who flitted to and fro about secret +matters, people called father and mother and Mr. Hearn, who were apt +to kick if they found you in their way, and who never laughed except +at nights, and then they laughed too loudly. + +"They will frighten the bird," thought Toby; but they were kind to +Uncle John because he had a pension. Toby slept in a corner on the +ground beside the baby, and when father and Mr. Hearn fought at +nights he would wake up and watch and shiver; but when this happened +it seemed to him that the baby was laughing at him, and he would +pinch her to make her stop. One night, when the men were fighting +very fiercely and mother had fallen asleep on the table, Uncle John +rose from his bed and began singing in a great voice. It was a song +Toby knew very well about Trafalgar's Bay, but it frightened the two +men a great deal because they thought Uncle John would be too mad to +fetch the pension any more. Next day he was quite well, however, and +he and Toby found a large green caterpillar in the garden among the +plants. + +"This is a fact of great importance," said Uncle John, stroking it +with a little stick. "It is a sign!" + +Toby used to lie awake at nights after that and listen for the bird, +but he only heard the clatter of feet on the pavement and the +screaming of engines far away. + +Later there came a new young woman to live in the cellar--not a dark +person, but a person you could see and speak to. She patted Toby on +the head; but when she saw the baby she caught it to her breast and +cried over it, calling it pretty names. + +At first father and Mr. Hearn were both very kind to her, and mother +used to sit all day in the corner with burning eyes, but after a time +the three used to laugh together at nights as before, and the woman +would sit with her wet face and wait for the coming of the bird, with +Toby and the baby and Uncle John, who was a queer one. + +"All we have to do," Uncle John would say, "is to keep the garden +clean and tidy, and to water the plants every morning so that they +may be very green." And Toby would go and whisper this to the baby, +and she would stare at the ceiling with large, stupid eyes. + +There came a time when Toby was very sick, and he lay all day in his +corner wondering about wonder. Sometimes the room in which he lay +became so small that he was choked for lack of air, sometimes it was +so large that he screamed out because he felt lonely. He could not +see the dark people then at all, but only Uncle John and the woman, +who told him in whispers that her name was "Mummie." She called him +Sonny, which is a very pretty name, and when Toby heard it he felt a +tickling in his sides which he knew to be gladness. Mummie's face was +wet and warm and soft, and she was very fond of kissing. Every +morning Uncle John would lift Toby up and show him the garden, and +Toby would slip out of his arms and walk among the trees and plants. +And the place would grow bigger and bigger until it was all the +world, and Toby would lose himself; amongst the tangle of trees and +flowers and creepers. He would see butterflies there and tame +animals, and the sky was full of birds of all colours, ugly and +beautiful; but he knew that none of these was the bird, because their +voices were only sweet. Sometimes he showed these wonders to a little +boy called Toby, who held his hand and called him Uncle John, +sometimes he showed them to his mummie and he himself was Toby; but +always when he came back he found himself lying in Uncle John's arms, +and, weary from his walk, would fall into a pleasant dreamless sleep. + +It seemed to Toby at this time that a veil hung about him which, dim +and unreal in itself, served to make all things dim and unreal. He +did not know whether he was asleep or awake, so strange was life, so +vivid were his dreams. Mummie, Uncle John, the baby, Toby himself +came with a flicker of the veil and disappeared vaguely without +cause. It would happen that Toby would be speaking to Uncle John, and +suddenly he would find himself looking into the large eyes of the +baby, turned stupidly towards the ceiling, and again the baby would +be Toby himself, a hot, dry little body without legs or arms, that +swayed suspended as if by magic a foot above the bed. + +Then there was the vision of two small feet that moved a long way +off, and Toby would watch them curiously as kittens do their tails, +without knowing the cause of their motion. It was all very wonderful +and very strange, and day by day the veil grew thicker; there was no +need to wake when the sleeptime was so pleasant; there were no dark +people to kick you in that dreamy place. + +And yet Toby woke--woke to a life and in a place which he had never +known before. + +He found himself on a heap of rags in a large cellar which depended +for its light on a grating let into the pavement of the street +above. On the stone floor of the area and swinging from the grating +were a few sickly, grimy plants in pots. There must have been, a +fine sunset up above, for a faint red glow came through the bars and +touched the leaves of the plants. + +There was a lighted candle standing in a bottle on the table, and the +cellar seemed full of people. At the table itself two men and a woman +were drinking, though they were already drunk, and beyond in a corner +Toby could see the head and shoulders of a tall old man. Beside him +there crouched a woman with a faded, pretty face, and between Toby +and the rest of the room there stood a box in which lay a baby with +large, wakeful eyes. + +Toby's body tingled with excitement, for this was a new thing; he had +never seen it before, he had never seen anything before. + +The voice of the woman at the table rose and fell steadily without a +pause; she was abusing the other woman, and the two drunken men were +laughing at her and shouting her on; Toby thought the other woman +lacked spirit because she stayed crouching on the floor and said +nothing. + +At last the woman stopped her abuse, and one of the men turned and +shouted an order to the woman on the floor. She stood up and came +towards him, hesitating; this annoyed the man and he swore at her +brutally; when she came near enough he knocked her down with his +fist, and all the three burst out laughing. + +Toby was so excited that he knelt up in his corner and clapped his +hands, but the others did not notice because the old man was up and +swaying wildly over the woman. He seemed to be threatening the man +who had struck her, and that one was evidently afraid of him, for he +rose unsteadily and lifted the chair on which he had been sitting +above his head to use as a weapon. + +The old man raised his fist and the chair fell heavily on to his +wrinkled forehead and he dropped to the ground. + +The woman at the table cried out, "The pension!" in her shrill voice, +and then they were all quiet, looking. + +Then it seemed to Toby that through the forest there came flying, +with a harsh sweet voice and a tumult of wings, a bird of all +colours, ugly and beautiful, and he knew, though later there might be +people to tell him otherwise, that that was the end of everything. + + + + +Children Of The Moon + +The boy stood at the place where the park trees stopped and the +smooth lawns slid away gently to the great house. He was dressed only +in a pair of ragged knickerbockers and a gaping buttonless shirt, so +that his legs and neck and chest shone silver bare in the moonlight. +By day he had a mass of rough golden hair, but now it seemed to brood +above his head like a black cloud that made his face deathly white by +comparison. On his arms there lay a great heap of gleaming dew-wet +roses and lilies, spoil of the park flower-beds. Their cool petals +touched his cheek, and filled his nostrils with aching scent. He felt +his arms smarting here and there, where the thorns of the roses had +torn them in the dark, but these delicate caresses of pain only +served to deepen to him the wonder of the night that wrapped him +about like a cloak. Behind him there dreamed the black woods, and +over his head multitudinous stars quivered and balanced in space; but +these things were nothing to him, for far across the lawn that was +spread knee-deep, with a web of mist there gleamed for his eager eyes +the splendour of a fairy palace. Red and orange and gold, the lights +of the fairy revels shone from a hundred windows and filled him with +wonder that he should see with wakeful eyes the jewels that he had +desired so long in sleep. He could only gaze and gaze until his +straining eyes filled with tears, and set the enchanted lights +dancing in the dark. On his ears, that heard no more the crying of +the night-birds and the quick stir of the rabbits in the brake, there +fell the strains of far music. The flowers in his arms seemed to sway +to it, and his heart beat to the deep pulse of the night. + +So enraptured were his senses that he did not notice the coming of +the girl, and she was able to examine him closely before she called +to him softly through the moonlight. + +"Boy! Boy!" + +At the sound of her voice he swung round and looked at her with +startled eyes. He saw her excited little face and her white dress. + +"Are you a fairy?" he asked hoarsely, for the night-mist was in his +voice. + +"No," she said, "I'm a little girl. You're a wood-boy, I suppose?" + +He stayed silent, regarding her with a puzzled face. Who was this +little white creature with the tender voice that had slipped so +suddenly out of the night? + +"As a matter of fact," the girl continued, "I've come out to have a +look at the fairies. There's a ring down in the wood. You can come +with me if you like, wood-boy." + +He nodded his head silently, for he was afraid to speak to her, and +set off through the wood by her side, still clasping the flowers to +his breast. + +"What were you looking at when I found you?" she asked. + +"The palace--the fairy palace," the boy muttered. + +"The palace?" the girl repeated. "Why, that's not a palace; that's +where I live." + +The boy looked at her with new awe; if she were a fairy---- But the +girl had noticed that his feet made no sound beside her shoes. + +"Don't the thorns prick your feet, wood-boy?" she asked; but the boy +said nothing, and they were both silent for a while, the girl looking +about her keenly as she walked, and the boy watching her face. +Presently they came to a wide pool where a little tinkling fountain +threw bubbles to the hidden fish. + +"Can you swim?" she said to the boy. + +He shook his head. + +"It's a pity," said the girl; "we might have had a bathe. It would be +rather fun in the dark, but it's pretty deep there. We'd better get +on to the fairy ring." + +The moon had flung queer shadows across the glade in which the ring +lay, and when they stood on the edge listening intently the wood +seemed to speak to them with a hundred voices. + +"You can take hold of my hand, if you like," said the girl, in a +whisper. + +The boy dropped his flowers about his white feet and felt for the +girl's hand in the dark. Soon it lay in his own, a warm live thing, +that stirred a little with excitement. + +"I'm not afraid," the girl said; and so they waited. + + * * * * * + +The man came upon them suddenly from among the silver birches. He had +a knapsack on his back and his hair was as long as a tramp's. At +sight of him the girl almost screamed, and her hand trembled in the +boy's. Some instinct made him hold it tighter. + +"What do you want?" he muttered, in his hoarse voice. + +The man was no less astonished than the children. + +"What on earth are you doing here?" he cried. His voice was mild and +reassuring, and the girl answered him promptly. + +"I came out to look for fairies." + +"Oh, that's right enough," commented the man; "and you," he said, +turning to the boy, "are you after fairies, too? Oh, I see; picking +flowers. Do you mean to sell them?" + +The boy shook his head. + +"For my sister," he said, and stopped abruptly. + +"Is your sister fond of flowers?" + +"Yes; she's dead." + +The man looked at him gravely. + +"That's a phrase," he said, "and phrases are the devil. Who told you +that dead people like flowers?" + +"They always have them," said the boy, blushing for shame of his +pretty thought. + +"And what are _you_ looking for?" the girl interrupted. + +The man made a mocking grimace, and glanced around the glade as if he +were afraid of being overheard. + +"Dreams," he said bluntly. + +The girl pondered this for a moment. + +"And your knapsack?" she began. + +"Yes," said the man, "it's full of them." + +The children looked at the knapsack with interest, the girl's fingers +tingling to undo the straps of it. + +"What are they like?" she asked. + +The man gave a short laugh. + +"Very like yours and his, I expect; when you grow older, young woman, +you'll find there's really only one dream possible for a sensible +person. But you don't want to hear about my troubles. This is more in +your line!" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a flageolet, +which he put to his lips. + +"Listen!" he said. + +To the girl it seemed as though the little tune had leapt from the +pipe, and was dancing round the ring like a real fairy, while echo +came tripping through the trees to join it. The boy gaped and said +nothing. + +At last, when the fairy was beginning to falter and echo was quite +out of breath, the man took the flageolet from his lips. + +"Well," he said, with a smile. + +"Thank you very much," said the girl politely. "I think that was very +nice indeed. Oh, boy!" she broke off, "you're hurting my hand!" + +The boy's eyes were shining strangely, and he was waving his arms in +dismay. + +"All the wasted moonlight!" he cried; "the grass is quite wet with +it." + +The girl turned to him in surprise. + +"Why, boy, you've found your voice." + +"After that," said the man gravely, as he put his flageolet back in +his pocket, "I think I will show you the inside of my knapsack." + +The girl bent down eagerly, while he loosened the straps, but gave a +cry of disappointment when she saw the contents. + +"Pictures!" she said. + +"Pictures," echoed the man drily,--"pictures of dreams. I don't know +how you're going to see them. Perhaps the moon will do her best." + +The girl looked at them nicely, and passed them on one by one to the +boy. Presently she made a discovery. + +"Oh, boy!" she cried, "your tears are spoiling all the pictures." + +"I'm sorry," said the boy huskily; "I can't help it." + +"I know," the man said quickly; "it doesn't matter a bit. I expect +you've seen these pictures before." + +"I know them all," said the boy, "but I have never seen them." + +The man frowned. + +"It's the devil," he said to himself, "when boys speak English." He +turned suddenly to the girl, who was puzzling over the boy's tears. +"It's time you went back to bed," he said; "there won't be any +fairies tonight. It's too cold for them." + +The girl yawned. + +"I shall get into a row when I get back if they've found it out. I +don't care." + +"The moon is fading," said the boy suddenly; "there are no more +shadows." + +"We will see you through the wood," the man continued, "and say +good-night." + +He put his pictures back in his knapsack and then walked silently +through the murmuring wood. At the edge of the wood the girl stopped. + +"You are a wood-boy," she said to the boy, "and you mustn't come any +farther. You can give me a kiss if you like." + +The boy did not move, but stayed regarding her awkwardly. + +"I think you are a very silly boy," said the girl, with a toss of her +head, and she stalked away proudly into the mist. + +"Why didn't you kiss her?" asked the man. + +"Her lips would burn me," said the boy. + +The man and the boy walked slowly across the park. + +"Now, boy," said the man, "since civilisation has gone to bed the +time has come for you to hear your destiny." + +"I am only a poor boy," the boy replied simply. "I don't think I have +any destiny." + +"Paradox," said the man, "is meant to conceal the insincerity of the +aged, not to express the simplicity of youth. But I wander. You have +made phrases tonight." + +"What are phrases?" + +"What are dreams? What are roses? What, in fine, is the moon? Boy, I +take you for a moon-child. You hold her pale flowers in your arms, +her white beams have caressed your limbs, you prefer the kisses of +her cool lips to those of that earth-child; all this is very well. +But, above all, you have the music of her great silence; above all, +you have her tears. When I played to you on my pipe you recognised +the voice of your mother. When I showed you my pictures you recalled +the tales with which she hushed you to sleep. And so I knew that you +were her son and my little brother." + +"The moon has always been my friend," said the boy; "but I did not +know that she was my mother." + +"Perhaps your sister knows it; the happy dead are glad to seek her +for a mother; that is why they are so fond of white flowers." + +"We have a mother at home. She works very hard for us." + +"But it is your mother among the clouds who makes your life +beautiful, and the beauty of your life is the measure of your days." + +While the boy reflected on these things they had reached the gates of +the park, and they stole past the silent lodge on to the high road. A +man was waiting there in the shadows, and when he saw the boy's +companion he rushed out and seized him by the arm. + +"So I've got you," he said; "I don't think I'll let you go again in a +hurry." + +The son of the moon gave a queer little laugh. + +"Why, it's Taylor!" he said pleasantly; "but, Taylor, you know +you're making a great mistake." + +"Very possibly," said the keeper, with a laugh. + +"You see this boy here, Taylor; I assure you he is much madder than I +am." + +Taylor looked at the boy kindly. + +"Time you were in bed, Tommy," he said. + +"Taylor," said the man earnestly, "this boy has made three phrases. +If you don't lock him up he will certainly become a poet. He will +set your precious world of sanity ablaze with the fire of his mother, +the moon. Your palaces will totter, Taylor, and your kingdoms become +as dust. I have warned you." + +"That's right, sir; and now you must come with me." + +"Boy," said the man generously, "keep your liberty. By grace of +Providence, all men in authority are fools. We shall meet again under +the light of the moon." + +With dreamy eyes the boy watched the departure of his companion. He +had become almost invisible along the road when, miraculously as it +seemed, the light of the moon broke through the trees by the wayside +and lit up his figure. For a moment it fell upon his head like a +halo, and touched the knapsack of dreams with glory. Then all was +lost in the blackness of night. + +As he turned homeward the boy felt a cold wind upon his cheek. It was +the first breath of dawn. + + + + +The Coffin Merchant + + I + +London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a +melancholy too insistent to be ignored and too causeless to be +enjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold wind +round every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the +pavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery. +Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of a +half-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of the +world's melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creeping +over his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on the +earth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like a +mask on the faces of disillusioned men? The wind blew down +Southampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed away +in a shudder of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sunday +in London before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in the +nobility of work. + +At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust a +handbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. The +blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone +sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his +pockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed so +lightly. + +"Excuse me, sir," he said, following him, "you have not looked to +see what my bills are." + +"Whatever they are I do not want them." + +"That's where you are wrong, sir," the man said earnestly. "You will +never find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for the +unexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill contains +exactly what you do want." + +Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes were +ragged, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, but +his eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of an +educated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with a +keen expectancy, as though his decision I on the trivial point was of +real importance. + +"I don't know what you are driving at," he said, "but if it will give +you any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you argue +with all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a long +time to get rid of them." + +"I only offer them to suitable persons," the man said, folding up one +of the handbills while he spoke, "and I'm sure you will not regret +taking it," and he slipped the paper into Eustace's hand and walked +rapidly away. + +Eustace looked after him curiously for a moment, and then opened the +paper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, he +gave a low whistle of astonishment. "You will soon be warning a +coffin!" it read. "At 606, Gray's Inn Road, your order will be +attended to with civility and despatch. Call and see us!!" + +Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out of +sight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning to +shine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled the paper into +his overcoat pocket, and turned homewards. + +"How silly!" he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound of +his footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh. + + II + +Eustace was impressionable but not temperamentally morbid, and he was +troubled a little by the fact that the gruesomely bizarre handbill +continued to recur to his mind. The thing was so manifestly absurd, +he told himself with conviction, that it was not worth a second +thought, but this did not prevent him from thinking of it again and +again. What manner of undertaker could hope to obtain business by +giving away foolish handbills in the street? Really, the whole thing +had the air of a brainless practical joke, yet his intellectual +fairness forced him to admit that as far as the man who had given him +the bill was concerned, brainlessness was out of the question, and +joking improbable. There had been depths in those little bright +eyes which his glance had not been able to sound, and the man's +manner in making him accept the handbill had given the whole +transaction a kind of ludicrous significance. + +"You will soon be wanting a coffin----!" + +Eustace found himself turning the words over and over in his mind. +If he had had any near relations he might have construed the thing +as an elaborate threat, but he was practically alone in the world, +and it seemed to him that he was not likely to want a coffin for +anyone but himself. + +"Oh damn the thing!" he said impatiently, as he opened the door of +his flat, "it isn't worth worrying about. I mustn't let the whim of +some mad tradesman get on my nerves. I've got no one to bury, +anyhow." + +Nevertheless the thing lingered with him all the evening, and when +his neighbour the doctor came in for a chat at ten o'clock, Eustace +was glad to show him the strange handbill. The doctor, who had +experienced the queer magics that are practised to this day on the +West Coast of Africa, and who, therefore, had no nerves, was +delighted with so striking an example of British commercial +enterprise. + +"Though, mind you," he added gravely, smoothing the crumpled paper on +his knee, "this sort of thing might do a lot of harm if it fell into +the hands of a nervous subject. I should be inclined to punch the +head of the ass who perpetrated it. Have you turned that address up +in the Post Office Directory?" + +Eustace shook his head, and rose and fetched the fat red book which +makes London an English city. Together they found the Gray's Inn +Road, and ran their eyes down to No. 606. + +"'Harding, G. J., Coffin Merchant and Undertaker.' Not much +information there," muttered the doctor. + +"Coffin merchant's a bit unusual, isn't it?" queried Eustace. + +"I suppose he manufactures coffins wholesale for the trade. Still, I +didn't know they called themselves that. Anyhow, it seems, as though +that handbill is a genuine piece of downright foolishness. The idiot +ought to be stopped advertising in that way." + +"I'll go and see him myself tomorrow," said Eustace bluntly. + +"Well, he's given you an invitation," said the doctor, "so it's only +polite of you to go. I'll drop in here in the evening to hear what +he's like. I expect that you'll find him as mad as a hatter." + +"Something like that," said Eustace, "or he wouldn't give handbills +to people like me. I have no one to bury except myself." + +"No," said the doctor in the hall, "I suppose you haven't. Don't let +him measure you for a coffin, Reynolds!" + +Eustace laughed. + +"We never know," he said sententiously. + + III + +Next day was one of those gorgeous blue days of which November gives +but few, and Eustace was glad to run out to Wimbledon for a game of +golf, or rather for two. It was therefore dusk before he made his way +to the Gray's Inn Road in search of the unexpected. His attitude +towards his errand despite the doctor's laughter and the prosaic +entry in the directory, was a little confused. He could not help +reflecting that after all the doctor had not seen the man with the +little wise eyes, nor could he forget that Mr. G. J. Harding's +description of himself as a coffin merchant, to say the least of it, +approached the unusual. Yet he felt that it would be intolerable to +chop the whole business without finding out what it all meant. On the +whole he would have preferred not to have discovered the riddle at +all; but having found it, he could not rest without an answer. + +No. 606, Gray's Inn Road, was not like an ordinary undertaker's shop. +The window was heavily draped with black cloth, but was otherwise +unadorned. There were no letters from grateful mourners, no little +model coffins, no photographs of marble memorials. Even more +surprising was the absence of any name over the shop-door, so that +the uninformed stranger could not possibly tell what trade was +carried on within, or who was responsible for the management of the +business. This uncommercial modesty did not tend to remove Eustace's +doubts as to the sanity of Mr. G. J. Harding; but he opened the +shop-door which started a large bell swinging noisily, and stepped +over the threshold. The shop was hardly more expressive inside than +out. A broad counter ran across it, cutting it in two, and in the +partial gloom overhead a naked gas-burner whistled a noisy song. +Beyond this the shop contained no furniture whatever, and no +stock-in-trade except a few planks leaning against the wall in one +corner. There was a large ink-stand on the counter. Eustace waited +patiently for a minute or two, and then as no one came he began +stamping on the floor with his foot. This proved efficacious, for +soon he heard the sound of footsteps ascending wooden stairs, the +door behind the counter opened and a man came into the shop. + +He was dressed quite neatly now, and his hands were no longer blue +with cold, but Eustace knew at once that it was the man who had given +him the handbill. Nevertheless he looked at Eustace without a sign of +recognition. + +"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly. + +Eustace laid the handbill down on the counter. + +"I want to know about this," he said. "It strikes me as being in +pretty bad taste, and if a nervous person got hold of it, it might be +dangerous." + +"You think so, sir? Yet our representative," he lingered +affectionately on the words, "our representative told you, I believe, +that the handbill was only distributed to suitable cases." + +"That's where you are wrong," said Eustace sharply, "for I have no +one to bury." + +"Except yourself," said the coffin merchant suavely. + +Eustace looked at him keenly. "I don't see----" he began. But the +coffin merchant interrupted him. + +"You must know, sir," he said, "that this is no ordinary undertaker's +business. We possess information that enables us to defy competition +in our special class of trade." + +"Information!" + +"Well, if you prefer it, you may say intuitions. If our +representative handed you that advertisement, it was because he knew +you would need it." + +"Excuse me," said Eustace, "you appear to be sane, but your words do +not convey to me any reasonable significance. You gave me that +foolish advertisement yourself, and now you say that you did so +because you knew I would need it. I ask you why?" + +The coffin merchant shrugged his shoulders. "Ours is a sentimental +trade," he said, "I do not know why dead men want coffins, but they +do. For my part I would wish to be cremated." + +"Dead men?" + +"Ah, I was coming to that. You see Mr.----?" + +"Reynolds." + +"Thank you, my name is Harding--G. J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds, +our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say that +you will need a coffin, it is probable that you will need one." + +"You mean to say that I----" + +"Precisely. In twenty-four hours or less, Mr. Reynolds, you will need +our services." + +The revelation of the coffin merchant's insanity came to Eustace +with a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had a +sense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over his +head. + +"Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!" he said gaily. + +The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed form +from his pocket. "If you would fill this up," he said. + +Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was an +order for a hundred-guinea funeral. + +"I don't know what your game is," he said, "but this has gone on long +enough." + +"Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, and he +leant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face. + +For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. "I +think it's time I----" he began slowly, and then he was silent, his +whole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. The +song of the gas-jet waned to a point in his ears, and then rose +steadily till it was like the beating of the world's heart. The eyes +of the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended in +one great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counter +and filled in the form. + +"Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, +shaking hands with him politely. "I can promise you every civility +and despatch. Good-day, sir." + +Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recall +exactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand, +and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made them +burn. The lit lamps in the Gray's Inn Road seemed to him a little +unsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition to blunder into +him. + +"Queer business," he said to himself dimly; "I'd better have a cab." + +He reached home in a dream. + +It was nearly ten o'clock before the doctor remembered his promise, +and went upstairs to Eustace's flat. The outer door was half-open so +that he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in the +little hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity of +habit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry of +astonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him with +his face flushed and drooping on his shoulder, and his breath +hissing noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at him +quizzically, "If I did not know you, my young friend," he remarked, +"I should say that you were as drunk as a lord." + +And he went up to Eustace and shook him by the shoulder; but Eustace +did not wake. + +"Queer!" the doctor muttered, sniffing at Eustace's lips; "he hasn't +been drinking." + + + + +The Soul Of A Policeman + + I + +Outside, above the uneasy din of the traffic, the sky was glorious +with the far peace of a fine summer evening. Through the upper pane +of the station window Police-constable Bennett, who felt that his +senses at the moment were abnormally keen, recognised with a sinking +heart such reds and yellows as bedecked the best patchwork quilt at +home. By contrast the lights of the superintendent's office were +subdued, so that within the walls of the police-station sounds seemed +of greater importance. Somewhere a drunkard, deprived of his boots, +was drumming his criticism of authority on the walls of his cell. +From the next room, where the men off duty were amusing themselves, +there came a steady clicking of billiard-balls and dominoes, broken +now and again by gruff bursts of laughter. And at his very elbow the +superintendent was speaking in that suave voice that reminded Bennett +of grey velvet. + +"You see, Bennett, how matters stand. I have nothing at all against +your conduct. You are steady and punctual, and I have no doubt that +you are trying to do your duty. But it's very unfortunate that as far +as results go you have nothing to show for your efforts. During the +last three weeks you have not brought in a charge of any description, +and during the same period I find that your colleagues on the beat +have been exceptionally busy. I repeat that I do not accuse you of +neglecting your duty, but these things tell with the magistrates and +convey a general suggestion of slackness." + +Bennett looked down at his brightly polished boots. His fingers were +sandy and there was soft felt beneath his feet. + +"I have been afraid of this for some time, sir," he said, "very much +afraid." + +The superintendent looked at him questioningly. + +"You have nothing to say?" he said. + +"I have always tried to do my duty, sir." + +"I know, I know. But you must see that a certain number of charges, +if not of convictions, is the mark of a smart officer." + +"Surely you would not have me arrest innocent persons?" + +"That is a most improper observation," said the superintendent +severely. "I will say no more to you now. But I hope you will take +what I have said as a warning. You must bustle along, Bennett, bustle +along." + +Outside in the street, Police-constable Bennett was free to reflect +on his unpleasant interview. The superintendent was ambitious and +therefore pompous; he, himself, was unambitious and therefore modest. +Left to himself he might have been content to triumph in the +reflection that he had failed to say a number of foolish things, but +the welfare of his wife and children bound him, tiresomely enough for +a dreamer, tightly to the practical. It was clear that if he did not +forthwith produce signs of his efficiency as a promoter of the peace +that welfare would be imperilled. Yet he did not condemn the chance +that had made him a policeman or even the mischance that brought no +guilty persons to his hands. Rather he looked with a gentle curiosity +into the faces of the people who passed him, and wondered why he +could not detect traces of the generally assumed wickedness of the +neighbourhood. These unkempt men and women were thieves and even +murderers, it appeared; but to him they shone as happy youths and +maidens, joyous victims of love's tyranny. + +As he drew near the street in which he lived this sense of universal +love quickened in his blood and stirred him strangely. It did not +escape his eyes that to the general his uniform was an unfriendly +thing. Men and women paused in their animated chattering till he had +passed, and even the children faltered in their games to watch him +with doubtful eyes. And yet his heart was warm for them; he knew that +he wished them well. + +Nevertheless, when he saw his house shining in a row of similar +houses, he realised that their attitude was wiser than his. If he was +to be a success as a breadwinner he must wage a sterner war against +these happy, lovable people. It was easy, he had been long enough in +the force to know how easy, to get cases. An intolerant manner, a +little provocative harshness, and the thing was done. Yet with all +his heart he admired the poor for their resentful independence of +spirit. To him this had always been the supreme quality of the +English character; how could he make use of it to fill English gaols? + +He opened the door of his house, with a sigh on his lips. There came +forth the merry shouting of his children. + + II + +Above the telephone wires the stars dipped at anchor in the cloudless +sky. Down below, in one of the dark, empty streets, Police-constable +Bennett turned the handles of doors and tested the fastenings of +windows, with a complete scepticism as to the value of his labours. +Gradually, he was coming to see that he was not one of the few who +are born to rule--to control--their simple neighbours, ambitious only +for breath. Where, if he had possessed this mission, he would have +been eager to punish, he now felt no more than a sympathy that +charged him with some responsibility for the sins of others. He +shared the uneasy conviction of the multitude that human justice, as +interpreted by the inspired minority, is more than a little unjust. +The very unpopularity with which his uniform endowed him seemed to +him to express a severe criticism of the system of which he was an +unwilling supporter. He wished these people to regard him as a kind +of official friend, to advise and settle differences; yet, shrewder +than he, they considered him as an enemy, who lived on their mistakes +and the collapse of their social relationships. + +There remained his duty to his wife and children, and this rendered +the problem infinitely perplexing. + +Why should he punish others because of his love for his children; or, +again, why should his children suffer for his scruples? Yet it was +clear that, unless fortune permitted him to accomplish some notable +yet honourable arrest, he would either have to cheat and tyrannise +with his colleagues or leave the force. And what employment is +available for a discharged policeman? + +As he went systematically from house to house the consideration of +these things marred the normal progress of his dreams. Conscious as +he was of the stars and the great widths of heaven that made the +world so small, he nevertheless felt that his love for his family and +the wider love that determined his honour were somehow intimately +connected with this greatness of the universe rather than with the +world of little streets and little motives, and so were not lightly +to be put aside. Yet, how can one measure one love against another +when all are true? + +When the door of Gurneys', the moneylenders, opened to his touch, +and drew him abruptly from his speculations, his first emotion was a +quick irritation that chance should interfere with his thoughts. But +when his lantern showed him that the lock had been tampered with, +his annoyance changed to a thrill of hopeful excitement. What if +this were the way out? What if fate had granted him compromise, the +opportunity of pitting his official virtue against official crime, +those shadowy forces in the existence of which he did not believe, +but which lay on his life like clouds? + +He was not a physical coward, and it seemed quite simple to him to +creep quietly through the open door into the silent office without +waiting for possible reinforcements. He knew that the safe, which +would be the, natural goal of the presumed burglars, was in Mr. +Gurney's private office beyond, and while he stood listening intently +he seemed to hear dim sounds coming from the direction of that room. +For a moment he paused, frowning slightly as a man does when he is +trying to catalogue an impression. When he achieved perception, it +came oddly mingled with recollections of the little tragedies of his +children at home. For some one was crying like a child in the little +room where Mr. Gurney brow-beat recalcitrant borrowers. Dangerous +burglars do not weep, and Bennett hesitated no longer, but stepped +past the open flaps of the counter, and threw open the door of the +inner office. + +The electric light had been switched on, and at the table there sat a +slight young man with his face buried in his hands, crying bitterly. +Behind him the safe stood open and empty, and the grate was filled +with smouldering embers of burnt paper. Bennett went up to the +young man and placed his hand on his shoulder. But the young man wept +on and did not move. + +Try as he might Bennett could not help relaxing the grip of outraged +law, and patting the young man's shoulder soothingly as it rose and +fell. He had no fit weapons of roughness and oppression with which to +oppose this child-like grief; he could only fight tears with tears. + +"Come," he said gently, "you must pull yourself together." + +At the sound of his voice the young man gave a great sob and then was +silent, shivering a little. + +"That's better," said Bennett encouragingly, "much better." + +"I have burnt everything," the young man said suddenly, "and now the +place is empty. I was nearly sick just now." + +Bennett looked at him sympathetically, as one dreamer may look at +another, who is sad with action dreamed too often for scatheless +accomplishment. "I'm afraid you'll get into serious trouble," he +said. + +"I know," replied the young man, "but that blackguard Gurney--" His +voice rose to a shrill scream and choked him for a moment. Then +he went on quietly "But it's all over now. Finished! Done with!" + +"I suppose you owed him money?" + +The young man nodded. "He lives on fools like me. But he threatened +to tell my father, and now I've just about ruined him. Pah! Swine!" + +"This won't be much better for your father," said Bennett gravely. + +"No, it's worse; but perhaps it will help some of the others. He kept +on threatening and I couldn't wait any longer. Can't you see?" + +Over the young man's shoulder the stars becked and nodded to Bennett +through the blindless window. + +"I see," he said; "I see." + +"So now you can take me." + +Bennett looked doubtfully at the outstretched wrists. "You are only a +fool," he said, "a dreaming fool like me, and they will give you +years for this. I don't see why they should give a man years for +being a fool." + +The young man looked up, taken with a sudden hope. "You will let me +go?" he said, in astonishment. "I know I was an ass just now. I +suppose I was a bit shaken. But you will let me go?" + +"I wish to God I had never seen you!" said Bennett simply. "You have +your father, and I have a wife and three little children. Who shall +judge between us?" + +"My father is an old man." + +"And my children are little. You had better go before I make up my +mind." + +Without another word the young man crept out of the room, and Bennett +followed him slowly into the street. This gallant criminal whose +capture would have been honourable, had dwindled to a hysterical +foolish boy; and aided by his own strange impulse this boy had ruined +him. The burglary had taken place on his beat; there would be an +inquiry; it did not need that to secure his expulsion from the force. +Once in the street he looked up hopefully to the heavens; but now the +stars seemed unspeakably remote, though as he passed along his beat +his wife and his three little children were walking by his side. + + III + +Bennett had developed mentally without realising the logical result +of his development until it smote him with calamity. Of his betrayal +of trust as a guardian of property he thought nothing; of the +possibility of poverty for his family he thought a great deal--all +the more that his dreamer's mind was little accustomed to gripping +the practical. It was strange, he thought, that his final declaration +of war against his position should have been a little lacking in +dignity. He had not taken the decisive step through any deep +compassion of utter poverty bravely borne. His had been no more than +trivial pity of a young man's folly; and this was a frail thing on +which to make so great a sacrifice. Yet he regretted nothing. His +task of moral guardian of men and women had become impossible to him, +and sooner or later he must have given it up. And there was also his +family. "I must come to some decision," he said to himself firmly. + +And then the great scream fell upon his ears and echoed through his +brain for ever and ever. It came from the house before which he was +standing, and he expected the whole street to wake aghast with the +horror of it. But there followed a silence that seemed to emphasise +the ugliness of the sound. Far away an engine screamed as if in +mocking imitation; and that was all. Bennett had counted up to a +hundred and seventy before the door of the house opened, and a man +came out on to the steps. + +"Oh, constable," he said coolly, "come inside, will you? I have +something to show you." + +Bennett mounted the steps doubtfully. + +"There was a scream," he said. + +The man looked at him quickly. "So you heard it," he said. "It was +not pretty." + +"No, it was not," replied Bennett. + +The man led him down the dim passage into the back sitting-room. The +body of a man lay on the sofa; it was curled like a dry leaf. + +"That is my brother," said the man, with a little emphatic nod; "I +have killed him. He was my enemy." + +Bennett stared dully at the body, without believing it to be really +there. + +"Dead!" he said mechanically. + +"And anything I say will be used against me in evidence! As if you +could compress my hatred into one little lying notebook." + +"I don't care a damn about your hatred," said Bennett, with heat. "An +hour ago, perhaps, I might have arrested you; now I only find you +uninteresting." + +The man gave a long, low whistle of surprise. + +"A philosopher in uniform," he said, "God! sir, you have my +sympathy." + +"And you have my pity. You have stolen your ideas from cheap +melodrama, and you make tragedy ridiculous. Were I a policeman, I +would lock you up with pleasure. Were I a man, I should thrash you +joyfully. As it is I can only share your infamy. I too, I suppose, am +a murderer." + +"You are in a low, nervous state," said the man; "and you are doing +me some injustice. It is true that I am a poor murderer; but it +appears to me that you are a worse policeman." + +"I shall wear the uniform no more from tonight." + +"I think you are wise, and I shall mar my philosophy with no more +murders. If, indeed, I have killed him; for I assure you that beyond +administering the poison to his wretched body I have done nothing. +Perhaps he is not dead. Can you hear his heart beating?" + +"I can hear the spoons of my children beating on their empty +platters!" + +"Is it like that with you? Poor devil! Oh, poor, poor devil! +Philosophers should have no wives, no children, no homes, and no +hearts." + +Bennett turned from the man with unspeakable loathing. + +"I hate you and such as you!" he cried weakly. "You justify the +existence of the police. You make me despise myself because I realise +that your crimes are no less mine than yours. I do not ask you to +defend the deadness of that thing lying there. I shall stir no finger +to have you hanged, for the thought of suicide repels me, and I +cannot separate your blood and mine. We are common children of a +noble mother, and for our mother's sake I say farewell." + +And without waiting for the man's answer he passed from the house to +the street. + + IV + +Haggard and with rebellious limbs, Police-constable Bennett staggered +into the superintendent's office in the early morning. + +"I have paid careful attention to your advice," he said to the +superintendent, "and I have passed across the city in search of +crime. In its place I have found but folly--such folly as you have, +such folly as I have myself--the common heritage of our blood. It +seems that in some way I have bound myself to bring criminals to +justice. I have passed across the city, and I have found no man +worse than myself. Do what you will with me." + +The superintendent cleared his throat. + +"There have been too many complaints concerning the conduct of the +police," he said; "it is time that an example was made. You will be +charged with being drunk and disorderly while on duty." + +"I have a wife and three little children," said Bennett softly--"and +three pretty little children." And he covered his tired face with his +hands. + + + + +The Conjurer + +Certainly the audience was restive. In the first place it felt that +it had been defrauded, seeing that Cissie Bradford, whose smiling +face adorned the bills outside, had, failed to appear, and secondly, +it considered that the deputy for that famous lady was more than +inadequate. To the little man who sweated in the glare of the +limelight and juggled desperately with glass balls in a vain effort +to steady his nerve it was apparent that his turn was a failure. And +as he worked he could have cried with disappointment, for his was a +trial performance, and a year's engagement in the Hennings' group of +music-halls would have rewarded success. Yet his tricks, things that +he had done with the utmost ease a thousand times, had been a +succession of blunders, rather mirth-provoking than mystifying to +the audience. Presently one of the glass balls fell crashing on the +stage, and amidst the jeers of the gallery he turned to his wife, +who served as his assistant. + +"I've lost my chance," he said, with a sob; "I can't do it!" + +"Never mind, dear," she whispered. "There's a nice steak and onions +at home for supper." + +"It's no use," he said despairingly. "I'll try the disappearing trick +and then get off. I'm done here." He turned back to the audience. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said to the mockers in a wavering voice, +"I will now present to you the concluding item of my entertainment. I +will cause this lady to disappear under your very eyes, without the +aid of any mechanical contrivance or artificial device." This was the +merest showman's patter, for, as a matter of fact, it was not a very +wonderful illusion. But as he led his wife forward to present her to +the audience the conjurer was wondering whether the mishaps that had +ruined his chance would meet him even here. If something should go +wrong--he felt his wife's hand tremble in his, and he pressed it +tightly to reassure her. He must make an effort, an effort of will, +and then no mistakes would happen. For a second the lights danced +before his eyes, then he pulled himself together. If an earthquake +should disturb the curtains and show Molly creeping ignominiously +away behind he would still meet his fate like a man. He turned round +to conduct his wife to the little alcove from which she should +vanish. She was not on the stage! + +For a minute he did not guess the greatness of the disaster. Then he +realised that the theatre was intensely quiet, and that he would have +to explain that the last item of his programme was even more of a +fiasco than the rest. Owing to a sudden indisposition--his skin +tingled at the thought of the hooting. His tongue rasped upon +cracking lips as he braced himself and bowed to the audience. + +Then came the applause. Again and again it broke out from all over +the house, while the curtain rose and fell, and the conjurer stood on +the stage, mute, uncomprehending. What had happened? At first he had +thought they were mocking him, but it was impossible to misjudge the +nature of the applause. Besides, the stage-manager was allowing him +call after call, as if he were a star. When at length the curtain +remained down, and the orchestra struck up the opening bars of the +next song, he staggered off into the wings as if he were drunk. There +he met Mr. James Hennings himself. + +"You'll do," said the great man; "that last trick was neat. You ought +to polish up the others though. I suppose you don't want to tell me +how you did it? Well, well, come in the morning and we'll fix up a +contract." + +And so, without having said a word, the conjurer found himself +hustled off by the Vaudeville Napoleon. Mr. Hennings had something +more to say to his manager. + +"Bit rum," he said. "Did you see it?" + +"Queerest thing we've struck." + +"How was it done do you think?" + +"Can't imagine. There one minute on his arm, gone the next, no trap, +or curtain, or anything." + +"Money in it, eh?" + +"Biggest hit of the century, I should think." + +"I'll go and fix up a contract and get him to sign it tonight. Get +on with it." And Mr. James Hennings fled to his office. + +Meanwhile the conjurer was wandering in the wings with the drooping +heart of a lost child. What had happened? Why was he a success, and +why did people stare so oddly, and what had become of his wife? When +he asked them the stage hands laughed, and said they had not seen +her. Why should they laugh? He wanted her to explain things, and hear +their good luck. But she was not in her dressing-room, she was not +anywhere. For a moment he felt like crying. + +Then, for the second time that night, he pulled himself together. +After all, there was no reason to be upset. He ought to feel very +pleased about the contract, however it had happened. It seemed that +his wife had left the stage in some queer way without being seen. +Probably to increase the mystery she had gone straight home in her +stage dress, and had succeeded in dodging the stage-door keeper. It +was all very strange; but, of course, there must be some simple +explanation like that. He would take a cab home and find her there +already. There was a steak and onions for supper. + +As he drove along in the cab he became convinced that this theory was +right. Molly had always been clever, and this time she had certainly +succeeded in surprising everybody. At the door of his house he gave +the cabman a shilling for himself with a light heart. He could afford +it now. He ran up the steps cheerfully and opened the door. The +passage was quite dark, and he wondered why his wife hadn't lit the +gas. + +"Molly!" he cried, "Molly!" + +The small, weary-eyed servant came out of the kitchen on a savoury +wind of onions. + +"Hasn't missus come home with you, sir?" she said. + +The conjurer thrust his hand against the wall to steady himself, and +the pattern of the wall-paper seemed to burn his finger-tips. + +"Not here!" he gasped at the frightened girl. "Then where is she? +Where is she?" + +"I don't know, sir," she began stuttering; but the conjurer turned +quickly and ran out of the house. Of course, his wife must be at the +theatre. It was absurd ever to have supposed that she could leave the +theatre in her stage dress unnoticed; and now she was probably +worrying because he had not waited for her. How foolish he had been. + +It was a quarter of an hour before he found a cab, and the theatre +was dark and empty when he got back to it. He knocked at the stage +door, and the night watchman opened it. + +"My wife?" he cried. "There's no one here now, sir," the man answered +respectfully, for he knew that a new star had risen that night. + +The conjurer leant against the doorpost faintly. + +"Take me up to the dressing-rooms," he said. "I want to see whether +she has been, there while I was away." + +The watchman led the way along the dark passages. "I shouldn't worry +if I were you, sir," he said. "She can't have gone far." He did not +know anything about it, but he wanted to be sympathetic. + +"God knows," the conjurer muttered, "I can't understand this at all." + +In the dressing-room Molly's clothes still lay neatly folded as she +had left them when they went on the stage that night, and when he saw +them his last hope left the conjurer, and a strange thought came into +his mind. + +"I should like to go down on the stage," he said, "and see if there +is anything to tell me of her." + +The night watchman looked at the conjurer as if he thought he was +mad, but he followed him down to the stage in silence. When he was +there the conjurer leaned forward suddenly, and his face was filled +with a wistful eagerness. + +"Molly!" he called, "Molly!" + +But the empty theatre gave him nothing but echoes in reply. + + + + +The Poet's Allegory + + I + +The boy came into the town at six o'clock in the morning, but the +baker at the corner of the first street was up, as is the way of +bakers, and when he saw the boy passing, he hailed him with a jolly +shout. + +"Hullo, boy! What are you after?" + +"I'm going about my business," the boy said pertly. + +"And what might that be, young fellow?" + +"I might be a good tinker, and worship god Pan, or I might grind +scissors as sharp as the noses of bakers. But, as a matter of fact, +I'm a piper, not a rat-catcher, you understand, but just a simple +singer of sad songs, and a mad singer of merry ones." + +"Oh," said the baker dully, for he had hoped the boy was in search of +work. "Then I suppose you have a message." + +"I sing songs," the boy said emphatically. "I don't run errands +for anyone save it be for the fairies." + +"Well, then, you have come to tell us that we are bad, that our lives +are corrupt and our homes sordid. Nowadays there's money in that if +you can do it well." + +"Your wit gets up too early in the morning for me, baker," said the +boy. "I tell you I sing songs." + +"Aye, I know, but there's something in them, I hope. Perhaps you +bring news. They're not so popular as the other sort, but still, as +long as it's bad news--" + +"Is it the flour that has changed his brains to dough, or the heat of +the oven that has made them like dead grass?" + +"But you must have some news----?" + +"News! It's a fine morning of summer, and I saw a kingfisher across +the watermeadows coming along. Oh, and there's a cuckoo back in the +fir plantation, singing with a May voice. It must have been asleep +all these months." + +"But, my dear boy, these things happen every day. Are there no +battles or earthquakes or famines in the world? Has no man +murdered his wife or robbed his neighbour? Is no one oppressed by +tyrants or lied to by their officers." + +The boy shrugged his shoulders. + +"I hope not," he said. "But if it were so, and I knew, I should not +tell you. I don't want to make you unhappy." + +"But of what use are you then, if it be not to rouse in us the +discontent that is alone divine? Would you have me go fat and happy, +listening to your babble of kingfishers and cuckoos, while my +brothers and sisters in the world are starving?" + +The boy was silent for a moment. + +"I give my songs to the poor for nothing," he said slowly. "Certainly +they are not much use to empty bellies, but they are all I have to +give. And I take it, since you speak so feelingly, that you, too, do +your best. And these others, these people who must be reminded hourly +to throw their crusts out of window for the poor--would you have me +sing to them? They must be told that life is evil, and I find it +good; that men and women are wretched, and I find them happy; that +food and cleanliness, order and knowledge are the essence of +content while I only ask for love. Would you have me lie to cheat +mean folk out of their scraps?" + +The baker scratched his head in astonishment. + +"Certainly you are very mad," he said. "But you won't get much money +in this town with that sort of talk. You had better come in and have +breakfast with me." + +"But why do you ask me?" said the boy, in surprise. + +"Well, you have a decent, honest sort of face, although your tongue +is disordered." + +"I had rather it had been because you liked my songs," said the boy, +and he went in to breakfast with the baker. + + II + +Over his breakfast the boy talked wisely on art, as is the wont of +young singers, and afterwards he went on his way down the street. + +"It's a great pity," said the baker; "he seems a decent young chap." + +"He has nice eyes," said the baker's wife. + +As the boy passed down the street he frowned a little. + +"What is the matter with them?" he wondered. "They're pleasant people +enough, and yet they did not want to hear my songs." + +Presently he came to the tailor's shop, and as the tailor had sharper +eyes than the baker, he saw the pipe in the boy's pocket. + +"Hullo, piper!" he called. "My legs are stiff. Come and sing us a +song!" + +The boy looked up and saw the tailor sitting cross-legged in the open +window of his shop. + +"What sort of song would you like?" he asked. + +"Oh! the latest," replied the tailor. "We don't want any old songs +here." So the boy sung his new song of the kingfisher in the +water-meadow and the cuckoo who had overslept itself. + +"And what do you call that?" asked the tailor angrily, when the boy +had finished. + +"It's my new song, but I don't think it's one of my best." But in his +heart the boy believed it was, because he had only just made it. + +"I should hope it's your worst," the tailor said rudely. "What sort +of stuff is that to make a man happy?" + +"To make a man happy!" echoed the boy, his heart sinking within him. + +"If you have no news to give me, why should I pay for your songs! I +want to hear about my neighbours, about their lives, and their wives +and their sins. There's the fat baker up the street--they say he +cheats the poor with light bread. Make me a song of that, and I'll +give you some breakfast. Or there's the magistrate at the top of the +hill who made the girl drown herself last week. That's a poetic +subject." + +"What's all this!" said the boy disdainfully. "Can't you make dirt +enough for yourself!" + +"You with your stuff about birds," shouted the tailor; "you're a rank +impostor! That's what you are!" + +"They say that you are the ninth part of a man, but I find that they +have grossly exaggerated," cried the boy, in retort; but he had +a heavy heart as he made off along the street. + +By noon he had interviewed the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman, and +the maker of candlesticks, but they treated him no better than the +tailor had done, and as he was feeling tired he went and sat down +under a tree. + +"I begin to think that the baker is the best of the lot of them," he +said to himself ruefully, as he rolled his empty wallet between his +fingers. + +Then, as the folly of singers provides them in some measure with a +philosophy, he fell asleep. + + III + +When he woke it was late in the afternoon, and the children, fresh +from school, had come out to play in the dusk. Far and near, across +the town-square, the boy could hear their merry voices, but he felt +sad, for his stomach had forgotten the baker's breakfast, and he did +not see where he was likely to get any supper. So he pulled out his +pipe, and made a mournful song to himself of the dancing gnats +and the bitter odour of the bonfires in the townsfolk's gardens. And +the children drew near to hear him sing, for they thought his song +was pretty, until their fathers drove them home, saying, "That stuff +has no educational value." + +"Why haven't you a message?" they asked the boy. + +"I come to tell you that the grass is green beneath your feet and +that the sky is blue over your heads." + +"Oh I but we know all that," they answered. + +"Do you! Do you!" screamed the boy. "Do you think you could stop +over your absurd labours if you knew how blue the sky is? You would +be out singing on the hills with me!" + +"Then who would do our work?" they said, mocking him. + +"Then who would want it done?" he retorted; but it's ill arguing on +an empty stomach. + +But when they had tired of telling him what a fool he was, and gone +away, the tailor's little daughter crept out of the shadows and +patted him on the shoulder. + +"I say, boy!" she whispered. "I've brought you some supper. Father +doesn't know." The boy blessed her and ate his supper while she +watched him like his mother and when he had done she kissed him on +the lips. + +"There, boy!" she said. + +"You have nice golden hair," the boy said. + +"See! it shines in the dusk. It strikes me it's the only gold I shall +get in this town." + +"Still it's nice, don't you think?" the girl whispered in his ear. +She had her arms round his neck. + +"I love it," the boy said joyfully; "and you like my songs, don't +you?" + +"Oh, yes, I like them very much, but I like you better." + +The boy put her off roughly. + +"You're as bad as the rest of them," he said indignantly. "I tell you +my songs are everything, I am nothing." + +"But it was you who ate my supper, boy," said the girl. + +The boy kissed her remorsefully. "But I wish you had liked me for my +songs," he sighed. "You are better than any silly old songs!" + +"As bad as the rest of them," the boy said lazily, "but somehow +pleasant." + +The shadows flocked to their evening meeting in the square, and +overhead the stars shone out in a sky that was certainly exceedingly +blue. + + IV + +Next morning they arrested the boy as a rogue and a vagabond, and in +the afternoon they brought him before the magistrate. + +"And what have you to say for yourself!" said the magistrate to the +boy, after the second policeman, like a faithful echo, had finished +reading his notes. + +"Well," said the boy, "I may be a rogue and a vagabond. Indeed, I +think that I probably am; but I would claim the license that has +always been allowed to singers." + +"Oh!" said the magistrate. "So you are one of those, are you! And +what is your message!" + +"I think if I could sing you a song or two I could explain myself +better," said the boy. + +"Well," replied the magistrate doubtfully, "you can try if you like, +but I warn you that I wrote songs myself when I was a boy, so that I +know something about it." + +"Oh, I'm glad of that," said the boy, and he sang his famous song of +the grass that is so green, and when he had finished the magistrate +frowned. + +"I knew that before," he said. + +So then the boy sang his wonderful song of the sky that is so blue. +And when he had finished the magistrate scowled. "And what are we to +learn from that!" he said. + +So then the boy lost his temper and sang some naughty doggerel he +had made up in his cell that morning. He abused the town and +townsmen, but especially the townsmen. He damned their morals, their +customs, and their institutions. He said that they had ugly faces, +raucous voices, and that their bodies were unclean. He said they +were thieves and liars and murderers, that they had no ear for music +and no sense of humour. Oh, he was bitter! + +"Good God!" said the magistrate, "that's what I call real improving +poetry. Why didn't you sing that first? There might have been a +miscarriage of justice." + +Then the baker, the tailor, the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman, +and the maker of candlesticks rose in court and said-- + +"Ah, but we all knew there was something in him." + +So the magistrate gave the boy a certificate that showed that he was +a real singer, and the tradesmen gave him a purse of gold, but the +tailor's little daughter gave him one of her golden ringlets. "You +won't forget, boy, will you?" she said. + +"Oh, no," said the boy; "but I wish you had liked my songs." + +Presently, when he had come a little way out of the town, he put his +hand in his wallet and drew out the magistrate's certificate and tore +it in two; and then he took out the gold pieces and threw them into +the ditch, and they were not half as bright as the buttercups. But +when he came to the ringlet he smiled at it and put it back. + +"Yet she was as bad as the rest of them," he thought with a sigh. + +And he went across the world with his songs. + + + + +And Who Shall Say----? + +It was a dull November day, and the windows were heavily +curtained, so that the room was very dark. In front of the fire was a +large arm-chair, which shut whatever light there might be from the +two children, a boy of eleven and a girl about two years younger, who +sat on the floor at the back of the room. The boy was the better +looking, but the girl had the better face. They were both gazing at +the arm-chair with the utmost excitement. + +"It's all right. He's asleep," said the boy. + +"Oh, do be careful! you'll wake him," whispered the girl. + +"Are you afraid?" + +"No, why should I be afraid of my father, stupid?" + +"I tell you he's not father any more. He's a murderer," the boy said +hotly. "He told me, I tell you. He said, `I have killed your +mother, Ray,' and I went and looked, and mother was all red. I simply +shouted, and she wouldn't answer. That means she's dead. His hand was +all red, too." + +"Was it paint?" + +"No, of course it wasn't paint. It was blood. And then he came down +here and went to sleep." + +"Poor father, so tired." + +"He's not poor father, he's not father at all; he's a murderer, and +it is very wicked of you to call him father," said the boy. + +"Father," muttered the girl rebelliously. + +"You know the sixth commandment says `Thou shalt do no murder,' and +he has done murder; so he'll go to hell. And you'll go to hell too if +you call him father. It's all in the Bible." + +The boy ended vaguely, but the little girl was quite overcome by the +thought of her badness. + +"Oh, I am wicked!" she cried. "And I do so want to go to heaven." + +She had a stout and materialistic belief in it as a place of sheeted +angels and harps, where it was easy to be good. + +"You must do as I tell you, then," he said. "Because I know. I've +learnt all about it at school." + +"And you never told me," said she reproachfully. + +"Ah, there's lots of things I know," he replied, nodding his head. + +"What must we do?" said the girl meekly. "Shall I go and ask +mother?" + +The boy was sick at her obstinacy. + +"Mother's dead, I tell you; that means she can't hear anything. It's +no use talking to her; but I know. You must stop here, and if father +wakes you run out of the house and call `Police!' and I will go now +and tell a policeman now." + +"And what happens then?" she asked, with round eyes at her brother's +wisdom. + +"Oh, they come and take him away to prison. And then they put a rope +round his neck and hang him like Haman, and he goes to hell." + +"Wha-at! Do they kill him?" + +"Because he's a murderer. They always do." + +"Oh, don't let's tell them! Don't let's tell them!" she +screamed. + +"Shut up!" said the boy, "or he'll wake up. We must tell them, or we +go to hell--both of us." + +But his sister did not collapse at this awful threat, as he expected, +though the tears were rolling down her face. "Don't let's tell them," +she sobbed. + +"You're a horrid girl, and you'll go to hell," said the boy, in +disgust. But the silence was only broken by her sobbing. "I tell you +he killed mother dead. You didn't cry a bit for mother; I did." + +"Oh, let's ask mother! Let's ask mother! I know she won't want father +to go to hell. Let's ask mother!" + +"Mother's dead, and can't hear, you stupid," said the boy. "I keep on +telling you. Come up and look." + +They were both a little awed in mother's room. It was so quiet, and +mother looked so funny. And first the girl shouted, and then the boy, +and then they shouted both together, but nothing happened. The echoes +made them frightened. + +"Perhaps she's asleep," the girl said; so her brother pinched one of +mother's hands--the white one, not the red one--but nothing +happened, so mother was dead. + +"Has she gone to hell?" whispered the girl. + +"No! she's gone to heaven, because she's good. Only wicked people go +to hell. And now I must go and tell the policeman. Don't you tell +father where I've gone if he wakes up, or he'll run away before the +policeman comes." + +"Why?" + +"So as not to go to hell," said the boy, with certainty; and they +went downstairs together, the little mind of the girl being much +perturbed because she was so wicked. What would mother say tomorrow +if she had done wrong? + +The boy put on his sailor hat in the hall. "You must go in there and +watch," he said, nodding in the direction of the sitting-room. "I +shall run all the way." + +The door banged, and she heard his steps down the path, and then +everything was quiet. + +She tiptoed into the room, and sat down on the floor, and looked at +the back of the chair in utter distress. She could see her father's +elbow projecting on one side, but nothing more. For an instant +she hoped that he wasn't there--hoped that he had gone--but then, +terrified, she knew that this was a piece of extreme wickedness. + +So she lay on the rough carpet, sobbing hopelessly, and seeing real +and vicious devils of her brother's imagining in all the corners of +the room. + +Presently, in her misery, she remembered a packet of acid-drops that +lay in her pocket, and drew them forth in a sticky mass, which parted +from its paper with regret. So she choked and sucked her sweets at +the same time, and found them salt and tasteless. + +Ray was gone a long time, and she was a wicked girl who would go to +hell if she didn't do what he told her. Those were her prevailing +ideas. + +And presently there came a third. Ray had said that if her father +woke up he would run away, and not go to hell at all. Now if she woke +him up--. + +She knew this was dreadfully naughty; but her mind clung to the idea +obstinately. You see, father had always been so fond of mother, and +he would not like to be in a different place. Mother wouldn't +like it either. She was always so sorry when father did not come home +or anything. And hell is a dreadful place, full of things. She half +convinced herself, and started up, but then there came an awful +thought. + +If she did this she would go to hell for ever and ever, and all the +others would be in heaven. + +She hung there in suspense, sucking her sweet and puzzling it over +with knit brows. + +How can one be good? + +She swung round and looked in the dark corner by the piano; but the +Devil was not there. + +And then she ran across the room to her father, and shaking his arm, +shouted, tremulously-- + +"Wake up, father! Wake up! The police are coming!" + +And when the police came ten minutes later, accompanied by a very +proud and virtuous little boy, they heard a small shrill voice +crying, despairingly-- + +"The police, father! The police!" + +But father would not wake. + + + + +The Biography Of A Superman + + "O limèd soul that struggling to be free + Art more engaged!" + +Charles Stephen Dale, the subject of my study, was a dramatist +and, indeed, something of a celebrity in the early years of the +twentieth century. That he should be already completely forgotten is +by no means astonishing in an age that elects its great men with a +charming indecision of touch. The general prejudice against the +granting of freeholds has spread to the desired lands of fame; and +where our profligate ancestors were willing to call a man great in +perpetuity, we, with more shrewdness, prefer to name him a genius for +seven years. We know that before that period may have expired fate +will have granted us a sea-serpent with yet more coils, with a +yet more bewildering arrangement of marine and sunset tints, and the +conclusion of previous leases will enable us to grant him undisputed +possession of Parnassus. If our ancestors were more generous they +were certainly less discriminate; and it cannot be doubted that many +of them went to their graves under the impression that it is possible +for there to be more than one great man at a time! We have altered +all that. + +For two years Dale was a great man, or rather the great man, and it +is probable that if he had not died he would have held his position +for a longer period. When his death was announced, although the +notices of his life and work were of a flattering length, the +leaderwriters were not unnaturally aggrieved that he should have +resigned his post before the popular interest in his personality was +exhausted. The Censor might do his best by prohibiting the +performance of all the plays that the dead man had left behind him; +but, as the author neglected to express his views in their columns, +and the common sense of their readers forbade the publication of +interviews with him, the journals could draw but a poor +satisfaction from condemning or upholding the official action. Dale's +regrettable absence reduced what might have been an agreeable clash +of personalities to an arid discussion on art. The consequence was +obvious. The end of the week saw the elevation of James Macintosh, +the great Scotch comedian, to the vacant post, and Dale was +completely forgotten. That this oblivion is merited in terms of his +work I am not prepared to admit; that it is merited in terms of his +personality I indignantly wish to deny. Whatever Dale may have been +as an artist, he was, perhaps in spite of himself, a man, and a man, +moreover, possessed of many striking and unusual traits of character. +It is to the man Dale that I offer this tribute. + +Sprung from an old Yorkshire family, Charles Stephen Dale was yet +sufficient of a Cockney to justify both his friends and his enemies +in crediting him with the Celtic temperament. Nevertheless, he was +essentially a modern, insomuch that his contempt for the writings of +dead men surpassed his dislike of living authors. To these two +central influences we may trace most of the peculiarities that +rendered him notorious and ultimately great. Thus, while his Celtic +æstheticism permitted him to eat nothing but raw meat, because he +mistrusted alike "the reeking products of the manure-heap and the +barbaric fingers of cooks," it was surely his modernity that made him +an agnostic, because bishops sat in the House of Lords. Smaller men +might dislike vegetables and bishops without allowing it to affect +their conduct; but Dale was careful to observe that every slightest +conviction should have its place in the formation of his character. +Conversely, he was nothing without a reason. + +These may seem small things to which to trace the motive forces of a +man's life; but if we add to them a third, found where the truth +about a man not infrequently lies, in the rag-bag of his enemies, our +materials will be nearly complete. "Dale hates his +fellow-human- beings," wrote some anonymous scribbler, and, even +expressed thus baldly, the statement is not wholly false. But he +hated them because of their imperfections, and it would be truer to +say that his love of humanity amounted to a positive hatred of +individuals, and, _pace_ the critics, the love was no less sincere +than the hatred. He had drawn from the mental confusion of the darker +German philosophers an image of the perfect man--an image differing +only in inessentials from the idol worshipped by the Imperialists as +"efficiency." He did not find--it was hardly likely that he would +find--that his contemporaries fulfilled this perfect conception, and +he therefore felt it necessary to condemn them for the possession of +those weaknesses, or as some would prefer to say, qualities, of which +the sum is human nature. + +I now approach a quality, or rather the lack of a quality, that is in +itself of so debatable a character, that were it not of the utmost +importance in considering the life of Charles Stephen Dale I should +prefer not to mention it. I refer to his complete lack of a sense of +humour, the consciousness of which deficiency went so far to detract +from his importance as an artist and a man. The difficulty which I +mentioned above lies in the fact that, while every one has a clear +conception of what they mean by the phrase, no one has yet +succeeded in defining it satisfactorily. Here I would venture to +suggest that it is a kind of magnificent sense of proportion, a +sense that relates the infinite greatness of the universe to the +finite smallness of man, and draws the inevitable conclusion as to +the importance of our joys and sorrows and labours. I am aware that +this definition errs on the side of vagueness; but possibly it may be +found to include the truth. Obviously, the natures of those who +possess this sense will tend to be static rather than dynamic, and it +is therefore against the limits imposed by this sense that +intellectual anarchists, among whom I would number Dale, and poets, +primarily rebel. But--and it is this rather than his undoubted +intellectual gifts or his dogmatic definitions of good and evil that +definitely separated Dale from the normal men--there can be no doubt +that he felt his lack of a sense of humour bitterly. In every word he +ever said, in every line he ever wrote, I detect a painful striving +after this mysterious sense, that enabled his neighbours, fools as he +undoubtedly thought them, to laugh and weep and follow the faith of +their hearts without conscious realisation of their own +existence and the problems it induced. By dint of study and strenuous +observation he achieved, as any man may achieve, a considerable +degree of wit, though to the last his ignorance of the audience whom +he served and despised, prevented him from judging the effect of his +sallies without experiment. But try as he might the finer jewel lay +far beyond his reach. Strong men fight themselves when they can find +no fitter adversary; but in all the history of literature there is no +stranger spectacle than this lifelong contest between Dale, the +intellectual anarch and pioneer of supermen, and Dale, the poor +lonely devil who wondered what made people happy. + +I have said that the struggle was lifelong, but it must be added that +it was always unequal. The knowledge that in his secret heart he +desired this quality, the imperfection of imperfections, only served +to make Dale's attack on the complacency of his contemporaries more +bitter. He ridiculed their achievements, their ambitions, and their +love with a fury that awakened in them a mild curiosity, but by no +means affected their comfort. Moreover, the very vehemence with +which he demanded their contempt deprived him of much of his force as +a critic, for they justly wondered why a man should waste his +lifetime in attacking them if they were indeed so worthless. +Actually, they felt, Dale was a great deal more engaged with his +audience than many of the imaginative writers whom he affected to +despise for their sycophancy. And, especially towards the end of his +life when his powers perhaps were weakening, the devices which he +used to arouse the irritation of his contemporaries became more and +more childishly artificial, less and less effective. He was like one +of those actors who feel that they cannot hold the attention of their +audience unless they are always doing something, though nothing is +more monotonous than mannered vivacity. + +Dale, then, was a man who was very anxious to be modern, but at the +same time had not wholly succeeded in conquering his æesthetic sense. +He had constituted himself high priest of the most puritanical and +remote of all creeds, yet there was that in his blood that rebelled +ceaselessly against the intellectual limits he had voluntarily +accepted. The result in terms of art was chaos. Possessed of an +intellect of great analytic and destructive force, he was almost +entirely lacking in imagination, and he was therefore unable to raise +his work to a plane in which the mutually combative elements of his +nature might have been reconciled. His light moments of envy, anger, +and vanity passed into the crucible to come forth unchanged. He +lacked the magic wand, and his work never took wings above his +conception. It is in vain to seek in any of his plays or novels, +tracts or prefaces, for the product of inspiration, the divine gift +that enables one man to write with the common pen of humanity. He +could only employ his curiously perfect technique in reproducing the +wayward flashes of a mind incapable of consecutive thought. He never +attempted--and this is a hard saying--to produce any work beautiful +in itself; while the confusion of his mind, and the vanity that never +allowed him to ignore the effect his work might produce on his +audience, prevented him from giving clear expression to his creed. +His work will appeal rather to the student of men than to the +student of art, and, wantonly incoherent though it often is, must be +held to constitute a remarkable human document. + +It is strange to reflect that among his contemporary admirers Dale +was credited with an intellect of unusual clarity, for the +examination of any of his plays impresses one with the number and +mutual destructiveness of his motives for artistic expression. A +noted debater, he made frequent use of the device of attacking the +weakness of the other man's speech, rather than the weakness of +the other man's argument. His prose was good, though at its best +so impersonal that it recalled the manner of an exceptionally +well-written leading article. At its worst it was marred by +numerous vulgarities and errors of taste, not always, it is to be +feared, intentional. His attitude on this point was typical of his +strange blindness to the necessity of a pure artistic ideal. He +committed these extravagances, he would say, in order to irritate +his audience into a condition of mental alertness. As a matter of +fact, he generally made his readers more sorry than angry, and he +did not realise that even if he had been successful it was but a +poor reward for the wanton spoiling of much good work. He +proclaimed himself to be above criticism, but he was only too +often beneath it. Revolting against the dignity, not infrequently +pompous, of his fellow-men of letters, he played the part of clown +with more enthusiasm than skill. It is intellectual arrogance in a +clever man to believe that he can play the fool with success +merely because he wishes it. + +There is no need for me to enter into detail with regard to Dale's +personal appearance; the caricaturists did him rather more than +justice, the photographers rather less. In his younger days he +suggested a gingerbread man that had been left too long in the sun; +towards the end he affected a cultured and elaborate ruggedness that +made him look like a duke or a market gardener. Like most clever men, +he had good eyes. + +Nor is it my purpose to add more than a word to the published +accounts of his death. There is something strangely pitiful in that +last desperate effort to achieve humour. We have all read the account +of his own death that he dictated from the sick-bed--cold, +epigrammatic, and, alas! characteristically lacking in taste. And +once more it was his fate to make us rather sorry than angry. + +In the third scene of the second act of "Henry V.," a play written +by an author whom Dale pretended to despise, Dame Quickly describes +the death of Falstaff in words that are too well known to need +quotation. It was thus and no otherwise that Dale died. It is thus +that every man dies. + + + + +Blue Blood + +He sat in the middle of the great café with his head supported +on his hands, miserable even to bitterness. Inwardly he cursed the +ancestors who had left him little but a great name and a small and +ridiculous body. He thought of his father, whose expensive +eccentricities had amused his fellow-countrymen at the cost of his +fortune; his mother, for whom death had been a blessing; his +grandparents and his uncles, in whom no man had found any good. But +most of all he cursed himself, for whose follies even heredity might +not wholly account. He recalled the school where he had made no +friends, the University where he had taken no degree. Since he had +left Oxford, his aimless, hopeless life, profligate, but +dishonourable, perhaps, only by accident, had deprived even his title +of any social value, and one by one his very acquaintances had +left him to the society of broken men and the women who are anything +but light. And these, and here perhaps the root of his bitterness +lay, even these recognised him only as a victim for their mockery, a +thing more poor than themselves, whereon they could satisfy the anger +of their tortured souls. And his last misery lay in this: that he +himself could find no day in his life to admire, no one past dream to +cherish, no inmost corner of his heart to love. The lowest tramp, the +least-heeded waif of the night, might have some ultimate pride, but +he himself had nothing, nothing whatever. He was a dream-pauper, an +emotional bankrupt. + +With a choked sob he drained his brandy and told the waiter to bring +him another. There had been a period in his life when he had been +able to find some measure of sentimental satisfaction in the stupor +of drunkenness. In those days, through the veil of illusion which +alcohol had flung across his brain, he had been able to regard the +contempt of the men as the intimacy of friendship, the scorn of the +women as the laughter of light love. But now drink gave him +nothing but the mordant insight of morbidity, which cut through his +rotten soul like cheese. Yet night after night he came to this place, +to be tortured afresh by the ridicule of the sordid frequenters, and +by the careless music of the orchestra which told him of a flowerless +spring and of a morning which held for him no hope. For his last +emotion rested in this self-inflicted pain; he could only breathe +freely under the lash of his own contempt. + +Idly he let his dull eyes stray about the room, from table to table, +from face to face. Many there he knew by sight, from none could he +hope for sympathy or even companionship. In his bitterness he envied +the courage of the cowards who were brave enough to seek oblivion or +punishment in death. Dropping his eyes to his soft, unlovely hands, +he marvelled that anything so useless should throb with life, and yet +he realised that he was afraid of physical pain, terrified at the +thought of death. There were dim ancestors of his whose valour had +thrilled the songs of minstrels and made his name lovely in the +glowing folly of battles. But now he knew that he was a coward, and +even in the knowledge he could find no comfort. It is not given to +every man to hate himself gladly. + +The music and the laughter beat on his sullen brain with a mocking +insistence, and he trembled with impotent anger at the apparent +happiness of humanity. Why should these people be merry when he was +miserable, what right had the orchestra to play a chorus of triumph +over the stinging emblems of his defeat? He drank brandy after +brandy, vainly seeking to dull the nausea of disgust which had +stricken his worn nerves; but the adulterated spirit merely maddened +his brain with the vision of new depths of horror, while his body +lay below, a mean, detestable thing. Had he known how to pray he +would have begged that something might snap. But no man may win to +faith by means of hatred alone, and his heart was cold as the marble +table against which he leant. There was no more hope in the +world. . . . + +When he came out of the café, the air of the night was so pure +and cool on his face, and the lights of the square were so tender to +his eyes, that for a moment his harsh mood was softened. And in that +moment he seemed to see among the crowd that flocked by a beautiful +face, a face touched with pearls, and the inner leaves of pink +rosebuds. He leant forward eagerly. "Christine!" he cried, +"Christine!" + +Then the illusion passed, and, smitten by the anger of the pitiless +stars, he saw that he was looking upon a mere woman, a woman of the +earth. He fled from her smile with a shudder. + +As he went it seemed to him that the swaying houses buffeted him +about as a child might play with a ball. Sometimes they threw him +against men, who cursed him and bruised his soft body with their +fists. Sometimes they tripped him up and hurled him upon the stones +of the pavement. Still he held on, till the Embankment broke before +him with the sudden peace of space, and he leant against the +parapet, panting and sick with pain, but free from the tyranny of +the houses. + +Beneath him the river rolled towards the sea, reticent but +more alive, it seemed, than the deeply painful thing which fate had +attached to his brain. He pictured himself tangled in the dark +perplexity of its waters, he fancied them falling upon his face like +a girl's hair, till they darkened his eyes and choked the mouth +which, even now, could not breathe fast enough to satisfy him. The +thought displeased him, and he turned away from the place that held +peace for other men but not for him. From the shadow of one of the +seats a woman's voice reached him, begging peevishly for money. + +"I have none," he said automatically. Then he remembered and flung +coins, all the money he had, into her lap. "I give it to you because +I hate you!" he shrieked, and hurried on lest her thanks should spoil +his spite. + +Then the black houses and the warped streets had him in their grip +once more, and sported with him till his consciousness waxed to one +white-hot point of pain. Overhead the stars were laughing quietly in +the fields of space, and sometimes a policeman or a chance passer-by +looked curiously at his lurching figure, but he only knew that +life was hurting him beyond endurance, and that he yet endured. Up +and down the ice-cold corridors of his brain, thought, formless and +timeless, passed like a rodent flame. Now he was the universe, a vast +thing loathsome with agony, now he was a speck of dust, an atom whose +infinite torment was imperceptible even to God. Always there was +something--something conscious of the intolerable evil called life, +something that cried bitterly to be uncreated. Always, while his soul +beat against the bars, his body staggered along the streets, a thing +helpless, unguided. + +There is an hour before dawn when tired men and women die, and with +the coming of this hour his spirit found a strange release from +pain. Once more he realised that he was a man, and, bruised and +weary as he was, he tried to collect the lost threads of reason, +which the night had torn from him. Facing him he saw a vast building +dimly outlined against the darkness, and in some way it served to +touch a faint memory in his dying brain. For a while he wandered +amongst the shadows, and then he knew that it was the keep of +a castle, his castle, and that high up where a window shone upon the +night a girl was waiting for him, a girl with a face of pearls and +roses. Presently she came to the window and looked out, dressed all +in white for her love's sake. He stood up in his armour and flashed +his sword towards the envying stars. + +"It is I, my love!" he cried. "I am here." + +And there, before the dawn had made the shadows of the Law Courts +grey, they found him; bruised and muddy and daubed with blood, +without the sword and spurs of his honour, lacking the scented token +of his love. A thing in no way tragic, for here was no misfortune, +but merely the conclusion of Nature's remorseless logic. For century +after century those of his name had lived, sheltered by the prowess +of their ancestors from the trivial hardships and afflictions that +make us men. And now he lay on the pavement, stiff and cold, a babe +that had cried itself to sleep because it could not understand, +silent until the morning. + + + + +Fate And The Artist + +The workmen's dwellings stood in the northwest of London, in +quaint rivalry with the comfortable ugliness of the Maida Vale blocks +of flats. They were fairly new and very well built, with wide stone +staircases that echoed all day to the impatient footsteps of children, +and with a flat roof that served at once as a playground for them and +a drying-ground for their mothers' washing. In hot weather it was +pleasant enough to play hide-and-seek or follow-my-leader up and down +the long alleys of cool white linen, and if a sudden gust of wind or +some unexpected turn of the game set the wet sheets flapping in the +children's faces, their senses were rather tickled than annoyed. + +To George, mooning in a corner of the railings that seemed to keep all +London in a cage, these games were hardly more important than the +shoutings and whistlings that rose from the street below. It seemed to +him that all his life--he had lived eleven years--he had been standing +in a corner watching other people engaging in meaningless ploys and +antics. The sun was hot, and yet the children ran about and made +themselves hotter, and he wondered, as when he had been in bed with +one of his frequent illnesses he had wondered at the grown-up folk who +came and went, moving their arms and legs and speaking with their +mouths, when it was possible to lie still and quiet and feel the +moments ticking themselves off in one's forehead. As he rested in his +corner, he was conscious of the sharp edge of the narrow stone ledge +on which he was sitting and the thin iron railings that pressed into +his back; he smelt the evil smell of hot London, and the soapy odour +of the washing; he saw the glitter of the dust, and the noises of the +place beat harshly upon his ears, but he could find no meaning in it +all. Life spoke to him with a hundred tongues, and all the while he +was longing for silence. To the older inhabitants of the tenements he +seemed a morbid little boy, unhappily too delicate for sense to +be safely knocked into him; his fellow-children would have ignored him +completely if he had not had strange fancies that made interesting +stories and sometimes inspired games. On the whole, George was lonely +without knowing what loneliness meant. + +All day long the voice of London throbbed up beyond the bars, and +George would regard the chimneys and the housetops and the section of +lively street that fell within his range with his small, keen eyes, +and wonder why the world did not forthwith crumble into silent, +peaceful dust, instead of groaning and quivering in continual unrest. +But when twilight fell and the children were tired of playing, they +would gather round him in his corner by the tank and ask him to tell +them stories. This tank was large and open and held rain water for the +use of the tenants, and originally it had been cut off from the rest +of the roof by some special railings of its own; but two of the +railings had been broken, and now the children could creep through and +sit round the tank at dusk, like Eastern villagers round the village +well. + +And George would tell them stories--queer stories with twisted +faces and broken backs, that danced and capered merrily enough as a +rule, but sometimes stood quite still and made horrible grimaces. The +children liked the cheerful moral stories better, such as Arthur's +Boots. + +"Once upon a time," George would begin, "there was a boy called +Arthur, who lived in a house like this, and always tied his +bootlaces with knots instead of bows. One night he stood on the +roof and wished he had wings like a sparrow, so that he could +fly away over the houses. And a great wind began, so that everybody +said there was a storm, and suddenly Arthur found he had a little +pair of wings, and he flew away with the wind over the houses. And +presently he got beyond the storm to a quiet place in the sky, and +Arthur looked up and saw all the stars tied to heaven with little +bits of string, and all the strings were tied in bows. And this +was done so that God could pull the string quite easily when He +wanted to, and let the stars fall. On fine nights you can see them +dropping. Arthur thought that the angels must have very neat +fingers to tie so many bows, but suddenly, while he was looking, +his feet began to feel heavy, and he stooped down to take off his +boots; but he could not untie the knots quick enough, and soon he +started falling very fast. And while he was falling, he heard the +wind in the telegraph wires, and the shouts of the boys who sell +papers in the street, and then he fell on the top of a house. And +they took him to the hospital, and cut off his legs, and gave him +wooden ones instead. But he could not fly any more because they +were too heavy." + +For days afterwards all the children would tie their bootlaces in +bows. + +Sometimes they would all look into the dark tank, and George would +tell them about the splendid fish that lived in its depths. If the +tank was only half full, he would whisper to the fish, and the +children would hear its indistinct reply. But when the tank was full +to the brim, he said that the fish was too happy to talk, and he would +describe the beauty of its appearance so vividly that all the children +would lean over the tank and strain their eyes in a desperate effort +to see the wonderful fish. But no one ever saw it clearly except +George, though most of the children thought they had seen its tail +disappearing in the shadows at one time or another. + +It was doubtful how far the children believed his stories; probably, +not having acquired the habit of examining evidence, they were +content to accept ideas that threw a pleasant glamour on life. But the +coming of Jimmy Simpson altered this agreeable condition of mind. +Jimmy was one of those masterful stupid boys who excel at games and +physical contests, and triumph over intellectual problems by sheer +braggart ignorance. From the first he regarded George with contempt, +and when he heard him telling his stories he did not conceal his +disbelief. + +"It's a lie," he said; "there ain't no fish in the tank." + +"I have seen it, I tell you," said George. + +Jimmy spat on the asphalt rudely. + +"I bet no one else has," he said. + +George looked round his audience, but their eyes did not meet his. +They felt that they might have been mistaken in believing that +they had seen the tail of the fish. And Jimmy was a very good man with +his fists. "Liar!" said Jimmy at last triumphantly, and walked away. +Being masterful, he led the others with him, and George brooded by the +tank for the rest of the evening in solitude. + +Next day George went up to Jimmy confidently. "I was right about the +fish," he said. "I dreamed about it last night." + +"Rot!" said Jimmy; "dreams are only made-up things; they don't mean +anything." + +George crept away sadly. How could he convince such a man? All day +long he worried over the problem, and he woke up in the middle of the +night with it throbbing in his brain. And suddenly, as he lay in his +bed, doubt came to him. Supposing he had been wrong, supposing he had +never seen the fish at all? This was not to be borne. He crept quietly +out of the flat, and tiptoed upstairs to the roof. The stone was very +cold to his feet. + +There were so many things in the tank that at first, George could not +see the fish, but at last he saw it gleaming below the moon and the +stars, larger and even more beautiful than he had said. "I knew I +was right," he whispered, as he crept back to bed. In the morning he +was very ill. + +Meanwhile blue day succeeded blue day, and while the water grew lower +in the tank, the children, with Jimmy for leader, had almost forgotten +the boy who had told them stories. Now and again one or other of them +would say that George was very, very ill, and then they would go on +with their game. No one looked in the tank now that they knew there +was nothing in it, till it occurred one day to Jimmy that the dry +weather should have brought final confirmation of his scepticism. +Leaving his comrades at the long jump, he went to George's neglected +corner and peeped into the tank. Sure enough it was almost dry, and, +he nearly shouted with surprise, in the shallow pool of sooty water +there lay a large fish, dead, but still gleaming with rainbow colours. + +Jimmy was strong and stupid, but not ill-natured, and, recalling +George's illness, it occurred to him that it would be a decent thing +to go and tell him he was right. He ran downstairs and knocked on the +door of the flat where George lived. George's big sister opened +it, but the boy was too excited to see that her eyes were wet. "Oh, +miss," he said breathlessly, "tell George he was right about the fish. +I've seen it myself!" + +"Georgy's dead," said the girl. + + + + +The Great Man + +To the people who do not write it must seem odd that men and women +should be willing to sacrifice their lives in the endeavour to +find new arrangements and combinations of words with which to +express old thoughts and older emotions, yet that is not an unfair +statement of the task of the literary artist. Words--symbols that +represent the noises that human beings make with their tongues and +lips and teeth--lie within our grasp like the fragments of a +jig-saw puzzle, and we fit them into faulty pictures until our hands +grow weary and our eyes can no longer pretend to see the truth. In +order to illustrate an infinitesimal fraction of our lives by +means of this preposterous game we are willing to sacrifice all +the rest. While ordinary efficient men and women are enjoying the +promise of the morning, the fulfilment of the afternoon, the +tranquillity of evening, we are still trying to discover a fitting +epithet for the dew of dawn. For us Spring paves the woods with +beautiful words rather than flowers, and when we look into the +eyes of our mistress we see nothing but adjectives. Love is an +occasion for songs; Death but the overburdened father of all our +saddest phrases. We are of those who are born crying into the +world because they cannot speak, and we end, like Stevenson, by +looking forward to our death because we have written a good +epitaph. Sometimes in the course of our frequent descents from +heaven to the waste-paper basket we feel that we lose too much to +accomplish so little. Does a handful of love-songs really outweigh +the smile of a pretty girl, or a hardly-written romance compensate +the author for months of lost adventure? We have only one life to +live, and we spend the greater part of it writing the history of +dead hours. Our lives lack balance because we find it hard to +discover a mean between the triolet we wrote last I night and the +big book we are going to start tomorrow, and also because living +only with our heads we tend to become top-heavy. We justify our +present discomfort with the promise of a bright future of flowers +and sunshine and gladdest life, though we know that in the garden +of art there are many chrysalides and few butterflies. Few of us +are fortunate enough to accomplish anything that was in the least +worth doing, so we fall back on the arid philosophy that it is +effort alone that counts. + +Luckily--or suicide would be the rule rather than the exception +for artists--the long process of disillusionment is broken by +hours when even the most self-critical feel nobly and indubitably +great; and this is the only reward that most artists ever have for +their labours, if we set a higher price on art than money. On the +whole, I am inclined to think that the artist is fully rewarded, +for the common man can have no conception of the Joy that is to be +found in belonging, though but momentarily and illusively, to the +aristocracy of genius. To find the just word for all our emotions, +to realise that our most trivial thought is illimitably creative, +to feel that it is our lot to keep life's gladdest promises, to +see the great souls of men and women, steadfast in existence as +stars in a windless pool--these, indeed, are no ordinary +pleasures. Moreover, these hours of our illusory greatness endow +us in their passing with a melancholy that is not tainted with +bitteress. We have nothing to regret; we are in truth the richer +for our rare adventure. We have been permitted to explore the +ultimate possibilities of our nature, and if we might not keep +this newly-discovered territory, at least we did not return from +our travels with empty hands. Something of the glamour lingers, +something perhaps of the wisdom, and it is with a heightened +passion, a fiercer enthusiasm, that we set ourselves once more to +our life-long task of chalking pink salmon and pinker sunsets on +the pavements of the world. + +I once met an Englishman in the forest that starts outside Brussels +and stretches for a long day's journey across the hills. We found a +little café under the trees, and sat in the sun talking about modern +English literature all the afternoon. In this way we discovered that +we had a common standpoint from which we judged works of art, though +our judgments differed pleasantly and provided us with materials +for agreeable discussion. By the time we had divided three bottles of +Gueze Lambic, the noble beer of Belgium, we had already sketched out a +scheme for the ideal literary newspaper. In other words, we had +achieved friendship. + +When the afternoon grew suddenly cold, the Englishman led me off to +tea at his house, which was half-way up the hill out of Woluwe. It +was one of those modern country cottages that Belgian architects +steal openly and without shame from their English confreres. We were +met at the garden gate by his daughter, a dark-haired girl of +fifteen or sixteen, so unreasonably beautiful that she made a +disillusioned scribbler feel like a sad line out of one of the +saddest poems of Francis Thompson. In my mind I christened her +Monica, because I did not like her real name. The house, with its +old furniture, its library, where the choice of books was clearly +dictated by individual prejudices and affections, and its +unambitious parade of domestic happiness, heightened my melancholy. +While tea was being prepared Monica showed me the garden. Only +a few daffodils and crocuses were in bloom, but she led me to the +rose garden, and told me that in the summer she could pick a great +basket of roses every day. I pictured Monica to myself, gathering +her roses on a breathless summer afternoon, and returned to the +house feeling like a battened version of the Reverend Laurence +Sterne. I knew that I had gathered all my roses, and I thought +regretfully of the chill loneliness of the world that lay beyond the +limits of this paradise. + +This mood lingered with me during tea, and it was not till that +meal was over that the miracle happened. I do not know whether it +was the Englishman or his wife that wrought the magic: or perhaps +it was Monica, nibbling "speculations" with her sharp white teeth; +but at all events I was led with delicate diplomacy to talk about +myself, and I presently realised that I was performing the +grateful labour really well. My words were warmed into life by an +eloquence that is not ordinarily mine, my adjectives were neither +commonplace nor far-fetched, my adverbs fell into their sockets +with a sob of joy. I spoke of myself with a noble sympathy, a +compassion so intense that it seemed divinely altruistic. And +gradually, as the spirit of creation woke in my blood, I revealed, +trembling between a natural sensitiveness and a generous +abandonment of restraint, the inner life of a man of genius. + +I passed lightly by his misunderstood childhood to concentrate my +sympathies on the literary struggles of his youth. I spoke of the +ignoble environment, the material hardships, the masterpieces written +at night to be condemned in the morning, the songs of his heart that +were too great for his immature voice to sing; and all the while I +bade them watch the fire of his faith burning with a constant and +quenchless flame. I traced the development of his powers, and +instanced some of his poems, my poems, which I recited so well that +they sounded to me, and I swear to them also, like staves from an +angelic hymn-book. I asked their compassion for the man who, having +such things in his heart, was compelled to waste his hours in sordid +journalistic labours. + +So by degrees I brought them to the present time, when, fatigued by +a world that would not acknowledge the truth of his message, +the man of genius was preparing to retire from life, in order to +devote himself to the composition of five or six masterpieces. I +described these masterpieces to them in outline, with a suggestive +detail dashed in here and there to show how they would be finished. +Nothing is easier than to describe unwritten literary masterpieces +in outline; but by that time I had thoroughly convinced my audience +and myself, and we looked upon these things as completed books. The +atmosphere was charged with the spirit of high endeavour, of +wonderful accomplishment. I heard the Englishman breathing deeply, +and through the dusk I was aware of the eyes of Monica, the wide, +vague eyes of a young girl in which youth can find exactly what it +pleases. + +It is a good thing to be great once or twice in our lives, and that +night I was wise enough to depart before the inevitable anti-climax. +At the gate the Englishman pressed me warmly by the hand and begged +me to honour his house with my presence again. His wife echoed the +wish, and Monica looked at me with those vacant eyes, that but a few +years ago I would have charged with the wine of my song. As I stood +in the tram on my way back to Brussels I felt like a man recovering +from a terrible debauch, and I knew that the brief hour of my pride +was over, to return, perhaps, no more. Work was impossible to a man +who had expressed considerably more than he had to express, so I went +into a café where there was a string band to play sentimental music +over the corpse of my genius. Chance took me to a table presided over +by a waiter I singularly detested, and the last embers of my +greatness enabled me to order my drink in a voice so passionate that +he looked at me aghast and fled. By the time he returned with my hock +the tale was finished, and I tried to buy his toleration with an +enormous _pourboire_. + +No; I will return to that house on the hill above Woluwe no more, not +even to see Monica standing on tiptoe to pick her roses. For I have +left a giant's robe hanging on a peg in the hall, and I would not +have those amiable people see how utterly incapable I am of filling +it under normal conditions. I feel, besides, a kind of sentimental +tenderness for this illusion fated to have so short a life. I am no +Herod to slaughter babies, and it pleases me to think that it lingers +yet in that delightful house with the books and the old furniture and +Monica, even though I myself shall probably never see it again, even +though the Englishman watches the publishers' announcements for the +masterpieces that will never appear. + + + + +A Wet Day + +As we grow older it becomes more and more apparent that our moments +are the ghosts of old moments, our days but pale repetitions of days +that we have known in the past. It might almost be said that after a +certain age we never meet a stranger or win to a new place. The +palace of our soul, grown larger let us hope with the years, is +haunted by little memories that creep out of corners to peep at us +wistfully when we are most sure that we are alone. Sometimes we +cannot hear the voice of the present for the whisperings of the past; +sometimes the room is so full of ghosts that we can hardly breathe. +And yet it is often difficult to find the significance of these dead +days, restored to us to disturb our sense of passing time. Why have +our minds kept secret these trivial records so many years to give +them to us at last when they have no apparent consequence? Perhaps it +is only that we are not clever enough to read the riddle; perhaps +these trifles that we have remembered unconsciously year after year +are in truth the tremendous forces that have made our lives what they +are. + +Standing at the window this morning and watching the rain, I suddenly +became conscious of a wet morning long ago when I stood as I stood +now and saw the drops sliding one after another down the steamy +panes. I was a boy of eight years old, dressed in a sailor suit, and +with my hair clipped quite short like a French boy's, and my right +knee was stiff with a half-healed cut where I had fallen on the +gravel path under the schoolroom window, it was a really wet, grey +day. I could hear the rain dripping from the fir-trees on to the +scullery roof, and every now and then a gust of wind drove the rain +down on the soaked lawn with a noise like breaking surf. I could hear +the water gurgling in the pipe that was hidden by the ivy, and I saw +with interest that one of the paths was flooded, so that a canal ran +between the standard rose bushes and recalled pictures of Venice. I +thought it would be nice if it rained truly hard and flooded the +house, so that we should all have to starve for three weeks, and then +be rescued excitingly in boats; but I had not really any hope. Behind +me in the schoolroom my two brothers were playing chess, but had not +yet started quarrelling, and in a corner my little sister was +patiently beating a doll. There was a fire in the grate, but it was +one of those sombre, smoky fires in which it is impossible to take +any interest. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked very slowly, and I +realised that an eternity of these long seconds separated me from +dinner-time. I thought I would like to go out. + +The enterprise presented certain difficulties and dangers, but none +that could not be surpassed. I would have to steal down to the hall +and get my boots and waterproof on unobserved. I would have to open +the front door without making too much noise, for the other doors +were well guarded by underlings, and I would have to run down the +front drive under the eyes of many windows. Once beyond the gate I +would be safe, for the wetness of the day would secure me from +dangerous encounters. Walking in the rain would be pleasant than +staying in the dull schoolroom, where life remained unchanged for a +quarter of an hour at a time; and I remembered that there was a +little wood near our house in which I had never been when it was +raining hard. Perhaps I would meet the magician for whom I had looked +so often in vain on sunny days, for it was quite likely that he +preferred walking in bad weather when no one else was about. It would +be nice to hear the drops of rain falling on the roof of the trees, +and to be quite warm and dry underneath. Perhaps the magician would +give me a magic wand, and I would do things like the conjurer last +Christmas. + +Certainly I would be punished when I got home, for even if I were not +missed they would see that my boots were muddy and that my waterproof +was wet. I would have no pudding for dinner and be sent to bed in the +afternoon: but these things had happened to me before, and though I +had not liked them at the time, they did not seem very terrible in +retrospect. And life was so dull in the schoolroom that wet morning +when I was eight years old! + +And yet I did not go out, but stood hesitating at the window, while +with every gust earth seemed to fling back its curls of rain from its +shining forehead. To stand on the brink of adventure is interesting +in itself, and now that I could think over the details of my +expedition was no longer bored. So I stayed dreaming till the golden +moment for action was passed, and a violent exclamation from one of +the chess-players called me back to a prosaic world. In a second the +board was overturned and the players were locked in battle. My little +sister, who had already the feminine craving for tidiness, crept out +of her corner and meekly gathered the chessmen from under the feet of +the combatants. I had seen it all before, and while I led my forces +to the aid of the brother with whom at the moment I had some sort of +alliance, I reflected that I would have done better to dare the +adventure and set forth into the rainy world. + +And this morning when I stood at my window, and my memory a little +cruelly restored to this vision of a day long dead, I was still of +the same opinion. Oh! I should have put on my boots and my waterproof +and gone down to the little wood to meet the enchanter! He would have +given me the cap of invisibility, the purse of Fortunatus, and a pair +of seven-league boots. He would have taught me to conquer worlds, and +to leave the easy triumphs of dreamers to madmen, philosophers, and +poets, He would have made me a man of action, a statesman, a soldier, +a founder of cities or a digger of graves. For there are two kinds of +men in the world when we have put aside the minor distinctions of +shape and colour. There are the men who do things and the men who +dream about them. No man can be both a dreamer and a man of action, +and we are called upon to determine what rôle we shall play in life +when we are too young to know what to do. + +I do not believe that it was a mere wantonness of memory that +preserved the image of that hour with such affectionate detail, where +so many brighter and more eventful hours have disappeared for ever. +It seems to me likely enough that that moment of hesitation before +the schoolroom window determined a habit of mind that has kept me +dreaming ever since. For all my life I have preferred thought to +action; I have never run to the little wood; I have never met the +enchanter. And so this morning, when Fate played me this trick and my +dream was chilled for an instant by the icy breath of the past, I did +not rush out into the streets of life and lay about me with a flaming +sword. No; I picked up my pen and wrote some words on a piece of +paper and lulled my shocked senses with the tranquillity of the +idlest dream of all. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ghost Ship, by Richard Middleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST SHIP *** + +***** This file should be named 11045-8.txt or 11045-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/0/4/11045/ + +Produced by Tom Harris + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/11045-8.zip b/old/11045-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a080326 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11045-8.zip diff --git a/old/11045.txt b/old/11045.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b43e75 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11045.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5931 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ghost Ship, by Richard Middleton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Ghost Ship + +Author: Richard Middleton + +Release Date: February 11, 2004 [EBook #11045] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST SHIP *** + + + + +Produced by Tom Harris + + + + +THE GHOST-SHIP + +by Richard Middleton + + + + Thanks are due to the Editors of _The Century_, + _English Review_, _Vanity Fair_, and _The Academy_, for + permission to reproduce most of the stories in this volume. + + + + +Preface + +The other day I said to a friend, "I have just been reading in proof +a volume of short stories by an author named Richard Middleton. He is +dead. It is an extraordinary book, and all the work in it is full of +a quite curious and distinctive quality. In my opinion it is very +fine work indeed." + +It would be so simple if the business of the introducer or +preface-writer were limited to such a straightforward, honest, and +direct expression of opinion; unfortunately that is not so. For most +of us, the happier ones of the world, it is enough to say "I like +it," or "I don't like it," and there is an end: the critic has to +answer the everlasting "Why?" And so, I suppose, it is my office, +in this present instance, to say why I like the collection of tales +that follows. + +I think that I have found a hint as to the right answer in two of +these stories. One is called "The Story of a Book," the other "The +Biography of a Superman." Each is rather an essay than a tale, though +the form of each is narrative. The first relates the sad bewilderment +of a successful novelist who feels that, after all, his great work +was something less than nothing. + + He could not help noticing that London had discovered the + secret which made his intellectual life a torment. The + streets were more than a mere assemblage of houses, + London herself was more than a tangled skein of streets, + and overhead heaven was more than a meeting-place of + individual stars. What was this secret that made words + into a book, houses into cities, and restless and + measurable stars into an unchanging and immeasurable + universe? + +Then from "The Biography of a Superman" I select this very striking +passage:-- + + Possessed of an intellect of great analytic and + destructive force, he was almost entirely lacking + in imagination, and he was therefore unable + to raise his work to a plane in which the mutually + combative elements of his nature might have been + reconciled. His light moments of envy, anger, and + vanity passed into the crucible to come forth + unchanged. He lacked the magic wand, and his work + never took wings above his conception. + +Now compare the two places; "the streets were more than a mere +assemblage of houses;" . . . "his light moments . . . passed into the +crucible to come forth unchanged. He lacked the magic wand." I think +these two passages indicate the answer to the "why" that I am forced +to resolve; show something of the secret of the strange charm which +"The Ghost-Ship" possesses. + +It delights because it is significant, because it is no mere +assemblage of words and facts and observations and incidents, it +delights because its matter has not passed through the crucible +unchanged. On the contrary, the jumble of experiences and impressions +which fell to the lot of the author as to us all had assuredly been +placed in the athanor of art, in that furnace of the sages which is +said to be governed with wisdom. Lead entered the burning of the +fire, gold came forth from it. + +This analogy of the process of alchemy which Richard Middleton has +himself suggested is one of the finest and the fittest for our +purpose; but there are many others. The "magic wand" analogy comes to +much the same thing; there is the like notion of something ugly and +insignificant changed to something beautiful and significant. +Something ugly; shall we not say rather something formless transmuted +into form! After all, the Latin Dictionary declares solemnly that +"beauty" is one of the meanings of "forma" And here we are away from +alchemy and the magic wand ideas, and pass to the thought of the +first place that I have quoted: "the streets were more than a mere +assemblage of houses," The puzzle is solved; the jig-saw--I think +they call it--has been successfully fitted together, There in a box +lay all the jagged, irregular pieces, each in itself crazy and +meaningless and irritating by its very lack of meaning: now we see +each part adapted to the other and the whole is one picture and one +purpose. + +But the first thing necessary to this achievement is the recognition +of the fact that there is a puzzle. There are many people who go +through life persuaded that there isn't a puzzle at all; that it was +only the infancy and rude childhood of the world which dreamed a vain +dream of a picture to be made out of the jagged bits of wood, There +never has been a picture, these persons say, and there never will be +a picture, all we have to do is to take the bits out of the box, look +at them, and put them back again. Or, returning to Richard +Middleton's excellent example: there is no such thing as London, +there are only houses. No man has seen London at any time; the very +word (meaning "the fort on the lake") is nonsensical; no human eye +has ever beheld aught else but a number of houses; it is clear that +this "London" is as mythical and monstrous and irrational a concept +as many others of the same class. Well, people who talk like that are +doubtless sent into the world for some useful but mysterious process; +but they can't write real books. Richard Middleton knew that there +was a puzzle; in other words, that the universe is a great mystery; +and this consciousness of his is the source of the charm of "The +Ghost Ship." + +I have compared this orthodox view of life and the +universe and the fine art that results from this view to the solving +of a puzzle; but the analogy is not an absolutely perfect one. For if +you buy a jig-saw in a box in the Haymarket, you take it home with +you and begin to put the pieces together, and sooner or later the +toil is over and the difficulties are overcome: the picture is clear +before you. Yes, the toil is over, but so is the fun; it is but poor +sport to do the trick all over again. And here is the vast +inferiority of the things they sell in the shops to the universe: our +great puzzle is never perfectly solved. We come across marvellous +hints, we join line to line and our hearts beat with the rapture of a +great surmise; we follow a certain track and know by sure signs and +signals that we are not mistaken, that we are on the right road; we +are furnished with certain charts which tell us "here there be +water-pools," "here is a waste place," "here a high hill riseth," and +we find as we journey that so it is. But, happily, by the very nature +of the case, we can never put the whole of the picture together, we +can never recover the perfect utterance of the Lost Word, we can +never say "here is the end of all the journey." Man is so made that +all his true delight arises from the contemplation of mystery, and +save by his own frantic and invincible folly, mystery is never taken +from him; it rises within his soul, a well of joy unending. + +Hence it is that the consciousness of this mystery, resolved into the +form of art, expresses itself usually (or always) by symbols, by the +part put for the whole. Now and then, as in the case of Dante, as it +was with the great romance-cycle of the Holy Graal, we have a sense +of completeness. With the vision of the Angelic Rose and the sentence +concerning that Love which moves the sun and the other stars there is +the shadow of a catholic survey of all things; and so in a less +degree it is as we read of the translation of Galahad. Still, the +Rose and the Graal are but symbols of the eternal verities, not those +verities themselves in their essences; and in these later days when +we have become clever--with the cleverness of the Performing Pig--it +is a great thing to find the most obscure and broken indications of +the things which really are. There is the true enchantment of true +romance in the Don Quixote--for those who can understand--but it is +delivered in the mode of parody and burlesque; and so it is with the +extraordinary fantasy, "The Ghost-Ship," which gives its name to this +collection of tales. Take this story to bits, as it were; analyse it; +you will be astonished at its frantic absurdity: the ghostly galleon +blown in by a great tempest to a turnip-patch in Fairfield, a little +village lying near the Portsmouth Road about half-way between London +and the sea; the farmer grumbling at the loss of so many turnips; the +captain of the weird vessel acknowledging the justice of the claim +and tossing a great gold brooch to the landlord by way of satisfying +the debt; the deplorable fact that all the decent village ghosts +learned to riot with Captain Bartholomew Roberts; the visit of the +parson and his godly admonitions to the Captain on the evil work he +was doing; mere craziness, you will say? + +Yes; but the strange thing is that as, in spite of all jocose tricks +and low-comedy misadventures, Don Quixote departs from us with a +great light shining upon him; so this ghost-ship of Richard +Middleton's, somehow or other, sails and anchors and re-sails in an +unearthly glow; and Captain Bartholomew's rum that was like hot oil +and honey and fire in the veins of the mortals who drank of it, has +become for me one of the _nobilium poculorum_ of story. And thus did +the ship put forth from the village and sail away in a great tempest +of wind--to what unimaginable seas of the spirit! + + The wind that had been howling outside + like an outrageous dog had all of a sudden + turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a + Christmas Eve. + + We went to the door, and the wind burst it + open so that the handle was driven clean into + the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think + much of that at the time; for over our heads, + sailing very comfortably through the windy + stars, was the ship that had passed the + summer in landlord's field. Her portholes + and her bay-window were blazing with lights, + and there was a noise of singing and fiddling + on her decks. "He's gone," shouted landlord + above the storm, "and he's taken half the + village with him!" I could only nod in + answer, not having lungs like bellows of + leather. + +I declare I would not exchange this short, crazy, enchanting fantasy +for a whole wilderness of seemly novels, proclaiming in decorous +accents the undoubted truth that there are milestones on the +Portsmouth Road. + + Arthur Machen. + + + + +The Ghost-Ship + +Fairfield is a little village lying near the Portsmouth Road about +half-way between London and the sea. Strangers who find it by +accident now and then, call it a pretty, old-fashioned place; we who +live in it and call it home don't find anything very pretty about it, +but we should be sorry to live anywhere else. Our minds have taken +the shape of the inn and the church and the green, I suppose. At all +events we never feel comfortable out of Fairfield. + +Of course the Cockneys, with their vasty houses and noise-ridden +streets, can call us rustics if they choose, but for all that +Fairfield is a better place to live in than London. Doctor says that +when he goes to London his mind is bruised with the weight of the +houses, and he was a Cockney born. He had to live there himself when +he was a little chap, but he knows better now. You gentlemen may +laugh--perhaps some of you come from London way--but it seems to me +that a witness like that is worth a gallon of arguments. + +Dull? Well, you might find it dull, but I assure you that I've +listened to all the London yarns you have spun tonight, and they're +absolutely nothing to the things that happen at Fairfield. It's +because of our way of thinking and minding our own business. If one +of your Londoners were set down on the green of a Saturday night when +the ghosts of the lads who died in the war keep tryst with the lasses +who lie in the church-yard, he couldn't help being curious and +interfering, and then the ghosts would go somewhere where it was +quieter. But we just let them come and go and don't make any fuss, +and in consequence Fairfield is the ghostiest place in all England. +Why, I've seen a headless man sitting on the edge of the well in +broad daylight, and the children playing about his feet as if he were +their father. Take my word for it, spirits know when they are well +off as much as human beings. + +Still, I must admit that the thing I'm going to tell you about was +queer even for our part of the world, where three packs of +ghost-hounds hunt regularly during the season, and blacksmith's +great-grandfather is busy all night shoeing the dead gentlemen's +horses. Now that's a thing that wouldn't happen in London, because of +their interfering ways, but blacksmith he lies up aloft and sleeps as +quiet as a lamb. Once when he had a bad head he shouted down to them +not to make so much noise, and in the morning he found an old guinea +left on the anvil as an apology. He wears it on his watch-chain now. +But I must get on with my story; if I start telling you about the +queer happenings at Fairfield I'll never stop. + +It all came of the great storm in the spring of '97, the year that we +had two great storms. This was the first one, and I remember it very +well, because I found in the morning that it had lifted the thatch of +my pigsty into the widow's garden as clean as a boy's kite. When I +looked over the hedge, widow--Tom Lamport's widow that was--was +prodding for her nasturtiums with a daisy-grubber. After I had +watched her for a little I went down to the "Fox and Grapes" to tell +landlord what she had said to me. Landlord he laughed, being a +married man and at ease with the sex. "Come to that," he said, "the +tempest has blowed something into my field. A kind of a ship I +think it would be." + +I was surprised at that until he explained that it was only a +ghost-ship and would do no hurt to the turnips. We argued that +it had been blown up from the sea at Portsmouth, and then we +talked of something else. There were two slates down at the +parsonage and a big tree in Lumley's meadow. It was a rare +storm. + +I reckon the wind had blown our ghosts all over England. +They were coming back for days afterwards with foundered horses +and as footsore as possible, and they were so glad to get back +to Fairfield that some of them walked up the street crying like +little children. Squire said that his great-grandfather's +great-grandfather hadn't looked so dead-beat since the battle +of Naseby, and he's an educated man. + +What with one thing and another, I should think it was a week before +we got straight again, and then one afternoon I met the landlord on +the green and he had a worried face. "I wish you'd come and have a +look at that ship in my field," he said to me; "it seems to me it's +leaning real hard on the turnips. I can't bear thinking what the +missus will say when she sees it." + +I walked down the lane with him, and sure enough there was a +ship in the middle of his field, but such a ship as no man had +seen on the water for three hundred years, let alone in the +middle of a turnip-field. It was all painted black and covered +with carvings, and there was a great bay window in the stern +for all the world like the Squire's drawing-room. There was a +crowd of little black cannon on deck and looking out of her +port-holes, and she was anchored at each end to the hard +ground. I have seen the wonders of the world on picture-postcards, +but I have never seen anything to equal that. + +"She seems very solid for a ghost-ship," I said, seeing the landlord +was bothered. + +"I should say it's a betwixt and between," he answered, puzzling it +over, "but it's going to spoil a matter of fifty turnips, and missus +she'll want it moved." We went up to her and touched the side, and it +was as hard as a real ship. "Now there's folks in England would call +that very curious," he said. + +Now I don't know much about ships, but I should think that that +ghost-ship weighed a solid two hundred tons, and it seemed to me +that she had come to stay, so that I felt sorry for landlord, who was +a married man. "All the horses in Fairfield won't move her out of my +turnips," he said, frowning at her. + +Just then we heard a noise on her deck, and we looked up and saw that +a man had come out of her front cabin and was looking down at us very +peaceably. He was dressed in a black uniform set out with rusty gold +lace, and he had a great cutlass by his side in a brass sheath. "I'm +Captain Bartholomew Roberts," he said, in a gentleman's voice, "put +in for recruits. I seem to have brought her rather far up the +harbour." + +"Harbour!" cried landlord; "why, you're fifty miles from the sea." + +Captain Roberts didn't turn a hair. "So much as that, is it?" he said +coolly. "Well, it's of no consequence." + +Landlord was a bit upset at this. "I don't want to be unneighbourly," +he said, "but I wish you hadn't brought your ship into my field. You +see, my wife sets great store on these turnips." + +The captain took a pinch of snuff out of a fine gold box that he +pulled out of his pocket, and dusted his fingers with a silk +handkerchief in a very genteel fashion. "I'm only here for a few +months," he said; "but if a testimony of my esteem would pacify your +good lady I should be content," and with the words he loosed a great +gold brooch from the neck of his coat and tossed it down to landlord. + +Landlord blushed as red as a strawberry. "I'm not denying she's fond +of jewellery," he said, "but it's too much for half a sackful of +turnips." And indeed it was a handsome brooch. + +The captain laughed. "Tut, man," he said, "it's a forced sale, and +you deserve a good price. Say no more about it;" and nodding good-day +to us, he turned on his heel and went into the cabin. Landlord walked +back up the lane like a man with a weight off his mind. "That tempest +has blowed me a bit of luck," he said; "the missus will be much +pleased with that brooch. It's better than blacksmith's guinea, any +day." + +Ninety-seven was Jubilee year, the year of the second Jubilee, you +remember, and we had great doings at Fairfield, so that we hadn't +much time to bother about the ghost-ship though anyhow it isn't our +way to meddle in things that don't concern us. Landlord, he saw his +tenant once or twice when he was hoeing his turnips and passed the +time of day, and landlord's wife wore her new brooch to church every +Sunday. But we didn't mix much with the ghosts at any time, all +except an idiot lad there was in the village, and he didn't know the +difference between a man and a ghost, poor innocent! On Jubilee Day, +however, somebody told Captain Roberts why the church bells were +ringing, and he hoisted a flag and fired off his guns like a loyal +Englishman. 'Tis true the guns were shotted, and one of the round +shot knocked a hole in Farmer Johnstone's barn, but nobody thought +much of that in such a season of rejoicing. + +It wasn't till our celebrations were over that we noticed that +anything was wrong in Fairfield. 'Twas shoemaker who told me first +about it one morning at the "Fox and Grapes." "You know my great +great-uncle?" he said to me. + +"You mean Joshua, the quiet lad," I answered, knowing him well. + +"Quiet!" said shoemaker indignantly. "Quiet you call him, coming home +at three o'clock every morning as drunk as a magistrate and waking up +the whole house with his noise." + +"Why, it can't be Joshua!" I said, for I knew him for one of the most +respectable young ghosts in the village. + +"Joshua it is," said shoemaker; "and one of these nights he'll find +himself out in the street if he isn't careful." + +This kind of talk shocked me, I can tell you, for I don't like to +hear a man abusing his own family, and I could hardly believe that a +steady youngster like Joshua had taken to drink. But just then in +came butcher Aylwin in such a temper that he could hardly drink his +beer. "The young puppy! the young puppy!" he kept on saying; and it +was some time before shoemaker and I found out that he was talking +about his ancestor that fell at Senlac. + +"Drink?" said shoemaker hopefully, for we all like company in our +misfortunes, and butcher nodded grimly. + +"The young noodle," he said, emptying his tankard. + +Well, after that I kept my ears open, and it was the same story all +over the village. There was hardly a young man among all the ghosts +of Fairfield who didn't roll home in the small hours of the morning +the worse for liquor. I used to wake up in the night and hear them +stumble past my house, singing outrageous songs. The worst of it was +that we couldn't keep the scandal to ourselves and the folk at +Greenhill began to talk of "sodden Fairfield" and taught their +children to sing a song about us: + + "Sodden Fairfield, sodden Fairfield, has no use for bread-and-butter, + Rum for breakfast, rum for dinner, rum for tea, and rum for supper!" + +We are easy-going in our village, but we didn't like that. + +Of course we soon found out where the young fellows went to get the +drink, and landlord was terribly cut up that his tenant should have +turned out so badly, but his wife wouldn't hear of parting with the +brooch, so that he couldn't give the Captain notice to quit. But as +time went on, things grew from bad to worse, and at all hours of the +day you would see those young reprobates sleeping it off on the +village green. Nearly every afternoon a ghost-wagon used to jolt down +to the ship with a lading of rum, and though the older ghosts seemed +inclined to give the Captain's hospitality the go-by, the youngsters +were neither to hold nor to bind. + +So one afternoon when I was taking my nap I heard a knock at the +door, and there was parson looking very serious, like a man with a +job before him that he didn't altogether relish. "I'm going down to +talk to the Captain about all this drunkenness in the village, and I +want you to come with me," he said straight out. + +I can't say that I fancied the visit much, myself, and I tried to +hint to parson that as, after all, they were only a lot of ghosts it +didn't very much matter. + +"Dead or alive, I'm responsible for the good conduct," he said, "and +I'm going to do my duty and put a stop to this continued disorder. +And you are coming with me John Simmons." So I went, parson being a +persuasive kind of man. + +We went down to the ship, and as we approached her I could see the +Captain tasting the air on deck. When he saw parson he took off his +hat very politely and I can tell you that I was relieved to find that +he had a proper respect for the cloth. Parson acknowledged his salute +and spoke out stoutly enough. "Sir, I should be glad to have a word +with you." + +"Come on board, sir; come on board," said the Captain, and I could +tell by his voice that he knew why we were there. Parson and I +climbed up an uneasy kind of ladder, and the Captain took us into the +great cabin at the back of the ship, where the bay-window was. It was +the most wonderful place you ever saw in your life, all full of gold +and silver plate, swords with jewelled scabbards, carved oak chairs, +and great chests that look as though they were bursting with guineas. +Even parson was surprised, and he did not shake his head very hard +when the Captain took down some silver cups and poured us out a drink +of rum. I tasted mine, and I don't mind saying that it changed my +view of things entirely. There was nothing betwixt and between about +that rum, and I felt that it was ridiculous to blame the lads for +drinking too much of stuff like that. It seemed to fill my veins with +honey and fire. + +Parson put the case squarely to the Captain, but I didn't listen much +to what he said; I was busy sipping my drink and looking through the +window at the fishes swimming to and fro over landlord's turnips. +Just then it seemed the most natural thing in the world that they +should be there, though afterwards, of course, I could see that that +proved it was a ghost-ship. + +But even then I thought it was queer when I saw a drowned sailor +float by in the thin air with his hair and beard all full of bubbles. +It was the first time I had seen anything quite like that at +Fairfield. + +All the time I was regarding the wonders of the deep parson was +telling Captain Roberts how there was no peace or rest in the village +owing to the curse of drunkenness, and what a bad example the +youngsters were setting to the older ghosts. The Captain listened +very attentively, and only put in a word now and then about boys +being boys and young men sowing their wild oats. But when parson had +finished his speech he filled up our silver cups and said to parson, +with a flourish, "I should be sorry to cause trouble anywhere where I +have been made welcome, and you will be glad to hear that I put to +sea tomorrow night. And now you must drink me a prosperous voyage." +So we all stood up and drank the toast with honour, and that noble +rum was like hot oil in my veins. + +After that Captain showed us some of the curiosities he had brought +back from foreign parts, and we were greatly amazed, though +afterwards I couldn't clearly remember what they were. And then I +found myself walking across the turnips with parson, and I was +telling him of the glories of the deep that I had seen through the +window of the ship. He turned on me severely. "If I were you, John +Simmons," he said, "I should go straight home to bed." He has a way +of putting things that wouldn't occur to an ordinary man, has parson, +and I did as he told me. + +Well, next day it came on to blow, and it blew harder and harder, +till about eight o'clock at night I heard a noise and looked out into +the garden. I dare say you won't believe me, it seems a bit tall even +to me, but the wind had lifted the thatch of my pigsty into the +widow's garden a second time. I thought I wouldn't wait to hear what +widow had to say about it, so I went across the green to the "Fox and +Grapes", and the wind was so strong that I danced along on tiptoe +like a girl at the fair. When I got to the inn landlord had to help +me shut the door; it seemed as though a dozen goats were pushing +against it to come in out of the storm. + +"It's a powerful tempest," he said, drawing the beer. "I hear there's +a chimney down at Dickory End." + +"It's a funny thing how these sailors know about the weather," I +answered. "When Captain said he was going tonight, I was thinking it +would take a capful of wind to carry the ship back to sea, but now +here's more than a capful." + +"Ah, yes," said landlord, "it's tonight he goes true enough, and, +mind you, though he treated me handsome over the rent, I'm not sure +it's a loss to the village. I don't hold with gentrice who fetch +their drink from London instead of helping local traders to get their +living." + +"But you haven't got any rum like his," I said, to draw him out. + +His neck grew red above his collar, and I was afraid I'd gone too +far; but after a while he got his breath with a grunt. + +"John Simmons," he said, "if you've come down here this windy night +to talk a lot of fool's talk, you've wasted a journey." + +Well, of course, then I had to smooth him down with praising his rum, +and Heaven forgive me for swearing it was better than Captain's. For +the like of that rum no living lips have tasted save mine and +parson's. But somehow or other I brought landlord round, and +presently we must have a glass of his best to prove its quality. + +"Beat that if you can!" he cried, and we both raised our glasses to +our mouths, only to stop half-way and look at each other in amaze. +For the wind that had been howling outside like an outrageous dog had +all of a sudden turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a Christmas +Eve. + +"Surely that's not my Martha," whispered landlord; Martha being his +great-aunt that lived in the loft overhead. + +We went to the door, and the wind burst it open so that the handle +was driven clean into the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think +about that at the time; for over our heads, sailing very comfortably +through the windy stars, was the ship that had passed the summer in +landlord's field. Her portholes and her bay-window were blazing with +lights, and there was a noise of singing and fiddling on her decks. +"He's gone," shouted landlord above the storm, "and he's taken half +the village with him!" I could only nod in answer, not having lungs +like bellows of leather. + +In the morning we were able to measure the strength of the storm, and +over and above my pigsty there was damage enough wrought in the +village to keep us busy. True it is that the children had to break +down no branches for the firing that autumn, since the wind had +strewn the woods with more than they could carry away. Many of our +ghosts were scattered abroad, but this time very few came back, all +the young men having sailed with Captain; and not only ghosts, for a +poor half-witted lad was missing, and we reckoned that he had stowed +himself away or perhaps shipped as cabin-boy, not knowing any better. + +What with the lamentations of the ghost-girls and the grumbling of +families who had lost an ancestor, the village was upset for a while, +and the funny thing was that it was the folk who had complained most +of the carryings-on of the youngsters, who made most noise now that +they were gone. I hadn't any sympathy with shoemaker or butcher, who +ran about saying how much they missed their lads, but it made me +grieve to hear the poor bereaved girls calling their lovers by name +on the village green at nightfall. It didn't seem fair to me that +they should have lost their men a second time, after giving up life +in order to join them, as like as not. Still, not even a spirit can +be sorry for ever, and after a few months we made up our mind that +the folk who had sailed in the ship were never coming back, and we +didn't talk about it any more. + +And then one day, I dare say it would be a couple of years after, +when the whole business was quite forgotten, who should come +trapesing along the road from Portsmouth but the daft lad who had +gone away with the ship, without waiting till he was dead to become a +ghost. You never saw such a boy as that in all your life. He had a +great rusty cutlass hanging to a string at his waist, and he was +tattooed all over in fine colours, so that even his face looked like +a girl's sampler. He had a handkerchief in his hand full of foreign +shells and old-fashioned pieces of small money, very curious, and he +walked up to the well outside his mother's house and drew himself a +drink as if he had been nowhere in particular. + +The worst of it was that he had come back as soft-headed as he went, +and try as we might we couldn't get anything reasonable out of him. +He talked a lot of gibberish about keel-hauling and walking the +plank and crimson murders--things which a decent sailor should know +nothing about, so that it seemed to me that for all his manners +Captain had been more of a pirate than a gentleman mariner. But to +draw sense out of that boy was as hard as picking cherries off a +crab-tree. One silly tale he had that he kept on drifting back to, +and to hear him you would have thought that it was the only thing +that happened to him in his life. "We was at anchor," he would say, +"off an island called the Basket of Flowers, and the sailors had +caught a lot of parrots and we were teaching them to swear. Up and +down the decks, up and down the decks, and the language they used +was dreadful. Then we looked up and saw the masts of the Spanish +ship outside the harbour. Outside the harbour they were, so we threw +the parrots into the sea and sailed out to fight. And all the +parrots were drownded in the sea and the language they used was +dreadful." That's the sort of boy he was, nothing but silly talk of +parrots when we asked him about the fighting. And we never had a +chance of teaching him better, for two days after he ran away again, +and hasn't been seen since. + +That's my story, and I assure you that things like that are happening +at Fairfield all the time. The ship has never come back, but somehow +as people grow older they seem to think that one of these windy +nights she'll come sailing in over the hedges with all the lost +ghosts on board. Well, when she comes, she'll be welcome. There's one +ghost-lass that has never grown tired of waiting for her lad to +return. Every night you'll see her out on the green, straining her +poor eyes with looking for the mast-lights among the stars. A +faithful lass you'd call her, and I'm thinking you'd be right. + +Landlord's field wasn't a penny the worse for the visit, but they do +say that since then the turnips that have been grown in it have +tasted of rum. + + + + +A Drama Of Youth + + I + +For some days school had seemed to me even more tedious than usual. +The long train journey in the morning, the walk through Farringdon +Meat Market, which aesthetic butchers made hideous with mosaics of the +intestines of animals, as if the horror of suety pavements and bloody +sawdust did not suffice, the weariness of inventing lies that no one +believed to account for my lateness and neglected homework, and the +monotonous lessons that held me from my dreams without ever for a +single instant capturing my interest--all these things made me ill +with repulsion. Worst of all was the society of my cheerful, +contented comrades, to avoid which I was compelled to mope in +deserted corridors, the prey of a sorrow that could not be enjoyed, a +hatred that was in no way stimulating. At the best of times the +atmosphere of the place disgusted me. Desks, windows, and floors, and +even the grass in the quadrangle, were greasy with London soot, and +there was nowhere any clean air to breathe or smell. I hated the +gritty asphalt that gave no peace to my feet and cut my knees when my +clumsiness made me fall. I hated the long stone corridors whose +echoes seemed to me to mock my hesitating footsteps when I passed +from one dull class to another. I hated the stuffy malodorous +classrooms, with their whistling gas-jets and noise of inharmonious +life. I would have hated the yellow fogs had they not sometimes +shortened the hours of my bondage. That five hundred boys shared this +horrible environment with me did not abate my sufferings a jot; for +it was clear that they did not find it distasteful, and they +therefore became as unsympathetic for me as the smell and noise and +rotting stones of the school itself. + +The masters moved as it were in another world, and, as the classes +were large, they understood me as little as I understood them. They +knew that I was idle and untruthful, and they could not know that I +was as full of nerves as a girl, and that the mere task of getting to +school every morning made me physically sick. They punished me +repeatedly and in vain, for I found every hour I passed within the +walls of the school an overwhelming punishment in itself, and nothing +I made any difference to me. I lied to them because they expected it, +and because I had no words in which to express the truth if I knew +it, which is doubtful. For some reason I could not tell them at home +why I got on so badly at school, or no doubt they would have taken me +away and sent me to a country school, as they did afterwards. Nearly +all the real sorrows of childhood are due to this dumbness of the +emotions; we teach children to convey facts by means of words, but we +do not teach them how to make their feelings intelligible. +Unfortunately, perhaps, I was very happy at night with my story-books +and my dreams, so that the real misery of my days escaped the +attention of the grown-up people. Of course I never even thought of +doing my homework, and the labour of inventing new lies every day to +account for my negligence became so wearisome that once or twice I +told the truth and simply said I had not done it; but the masters +held that this frankness aggravated the offence, and I had to take up +anew my tiresome tale of improbable calamities. Sometimes my stories +were so wild that the whole class would laugh, and I would have to +laugh myself; yet on the strength of this elaborate politeness to +authority I came to believe myself that I was untruthful by nature. + +The boys disliked me because I was not sociable, but after a time +they grew tired of bullying me and left me alone. I detested them +because they were all so much alike that their numbers filled me with +horror. I remember that the first day I went to school I walked round +and round the quadrangle in the luncheon-hour, and every boy who +passed stopped me and asked me my name and what my father was. When I +said he was an engineer every one of the boys replied, "Oh! the man +who drives the engine." The reiteration of this childish joke made me +hate them from the first, and afterwards I discovered that they were +equally unimaginative in everything they did. Sometimes I would stand +in the midst of them, and wonder what was the matter with me that I +should be so different from all the rest. When they teased me, +repeating the same questions over and over again, I cried easily, +like a girl, without quite knowing why, for their stupidities could +not hurt my reason; but when they bullied me I did not cry, because +the pain made me forget the sadness of my heart. Perhaps it was +because of this that they thought I was a little mad. + +Grey day followed grey day, and I might in time have abandoned +all efforts to be faithful to my dreams, and achieved a kind of +beast-like submission that was all the authorities expected of +notorious dunces. I might have taught my senses to accept the +evil conditions of life in that unclean place; I might even have +succeeded in making myself one with the army of shadows that +thronged in the quadrangle and filled the air with meaningless +noise. + +But one evening when I reached home I saw by the faces of the +grown-up people that something had upset their elaborate +precautions for an ordered life, and I discovered that my brother, +who had stayed at home with a cold, was ill in bed with the +measles. For a while the significance of the news escaped me; +then, with a sudden movement of my heart, which made me feel ill, +I realised that probably I would have to stay away from school +because of the infection. My feet tapped on the floor with joy, +though I tried to appear unconcerned. Then, as I nursed my sudden +hope of freedom, a little fearfully lest it should prove an +illusion, a new and enchanting idea came to me. I slipped from the +room, ran upstairs to my bedroom and, standing by the side of my +bed, tore open my waistcoat and shirt with clumsy, trembling +fingers. One, two, three, four, five! I counted the spots in a +triumphant voice, and then with a sudden revulsion sat down on the +bed to give the world an opportunity to settle back in its place. +I had the measles, and therefore I should not have to go back to +school! I shut my eyes for a minute and opened them again, but +still I had the measles. The cup of happiness was at my lips, but +I sipped delicately because it was full to the brim, and I would +not spill a drop. + +This mood did not last long. I had to run down the house and tell +the world the good news. The grown-up people rebuked my joyousness, +while admitting that it might be as well that I should have the +measles then as later on. In spite of their air of resignation I +could hardly sit still for excitement. I wanted to go into the +kitchen and show my measles to the servants, but I was told to stay +where I was in front of the fire while my bed was moved into my +brother's room. So I stared at the glowing coals till my eyes +smarted, and dreamed long dreams. I would be in bed for days, all +warm from head to foot, and no one would interrupt my pleasant +excursions in the world I preferred to this. If I had heard of the +beneficent microbe to which lowed my happiness, I would have +mentioned it in my prayers. + +Late that night, I called over to my brother to ask how long measles +lasted. He told me to go to sleep, so that I knew he did not know the +answer to my question. I lay at ease tranquilly turning the problem +over in my mind. Four weeks, six weeks, eight weeks; why, if I was +lucky, it would carry me through to the holidays! At all events, +school was already very far away, like a nightmare remembered at +noon. I said good-night to my brother, and received an irritated +grunt in reply. I did not mind his surliness; tomorrow when I woke +up, I would begin my dreams. + + II + +When I found myself in bed in the morning, already sick at heart +because even while I slept I could not forget the long torment of my +life at school, I would lie still for a minute or two and try to +concentrate my shuddering mind on something pleasant, some little +detail of the moment that seemed to justify hope. Perhaps I had some +money to spend or a holiday to look forward to; though often enough I +would find nothing to save me from realising with childish intensity +the greyness of the world in which it was my fate to move. I did not +want to go out into life; it was dull and gruel and greasy with soot. +I only wanted to stop at home in any little quiet corner out of +everybody's way and think my long, heroic thoughts. But even while I +mumbled my hasty breakfast and ran to the station to catch my train +the atmosphere of the school was all about me, and my dreamer's +courage trembled and vanished. + +When I woke from sleep the morning after my good fortune, I did not +at first realise the extent of my happiness; I only knew that deep in +my heart I was conscious of some great cause for joy. Then my eyes, +still dim with sleep, discovered that I was in my brother's bedroom, +and in a flash the joyful truth was revealed to me. I sat up and +hastily examined my body to make sure that the rash had not +disappeared, and then my spirit sang a song of thanksgiving of which +the refrain was, "I have the measles!" I lay back in bed and enjoyed +the exquisite luxury of thinking of the evils that I had escaped. For +once my morbid sense of atmosphere was a desirable possession and +helpful to my happiness. It was delightful to pull the bedclothes +over my shoulders and conceive the feelings of a small boy who should +ride to town in a jolting train, walk through a hundred kinds of dirt +and a hundred disgusting smells to win to prison at last, where he +should perform meaningless tasks in the distressing society of five +hundred mocking apes. It was pleasant to see the morning sun and feel +no sickness in my stomach, no sense of depression in my tired brain. +Across the room my brother gurgled and choked in his sleep, and in +some subtle way contributed to my ecstasy of tranquillity. I was no +longer concerned for the duration of my happiness. I felt that this +peace that I had desired so long must surely last for ever. + +To the grown-up folk who came to see us during the day--the +doctor, certain germ-proof unmarried aunts, truculently maternal, +and the family itself--my brother's case was far more interesting +than mine because he had caught the measles really badly. I just +had them comfortably; enough to be infectious, but not enough to +feel ill, so I was left in pleasant solitude while the women +competed for the honour of smoothing my brother's pillow and +tiptoeing in a fidgeting manner round his bed. I lay on my back +and looked with placid interest at the cracks in the ceiling. They +were like the main roads in a map, and I amused myself by building +little houses beside them--houses full of books and warm +hearthrugs, and with a nice pond lively with tadpoles in the +garden of each. From the windows of the houses you could watch all +the traffic that went along the road, men and women and horses, +and best of all, the boys going to school in the morning--boys who +had not done their homework and who would be late for prayers. +When I talked about the cracks to my brother he said that perhaps +the ceiling would give way and fall on our heads. I thought about +this too, and found it quite easy to picture myself lying in the +bed with a smashed head, and blood all over the pillow. Then it +occurred to me that the plaster might smash me all over, and my +impressions of Farringdon Meat Market added a gruesome vividness +to my conception of the consequences. I always found it pleasant +to imagine horrible things; it was only the reality that made me +sick. + +Towards nightfall I became a little feverish, and I heard the +grown-ups say that they would give me some medicine later on. +Medicine for me signified the nauseous powders of Dr. Gregory, +so I pretended to be asleep every time anyone came into the +room, in order to escape my destiny, until at last some one +stood by my bedside so long that I became cramped and had to +pretend to wake up. Then I was given the medicine, and found to +my surprise that it was delicious and tasted of oranges. I felt +that there had been a mistake somewhere, but my head sat a +little heavily on my shoulders, and I would not trouble to fix +the responsibility. This time I fell asleep in earnest, and woke +in the middle of the night to find my brother standing by my +bed, making noises with his mouth. I thought that he had gone +mad, and would kill me perhaps, but after a time he went back to +bed saying all the bad words he knew. The excitement had made me +wide awake, and I tossed about thinking of the cracked ceiling +above my head. The room was quite dark, and I could see nothing, +so that it might be bulging over me without my knowing it. I +stood up in bed and stretched up my arm, but I could not reach +the ceiling; yet when I lay down again I felt as though it had +sunk so far, that it was touching my hair, and I found it +difficult to breathe in such a small space. I was afraid to move +for fear of bringing it down upon me, and in a short while the +pressure upon my body became unbearable, and I shrieked out for +help. Some one came in and lit the gas, and found me looking +very foolish and my brother delirious. I fell asleep almost +immediately, but was conscious through my dreams that the gas +was still alight and that they were watching by my brother's +bedside. + +In the morning he was very ill and I was no longer feverish, so it +was decided to move me back into my own bedroom. I was wrapped up in +the bedclothes and told to sit still while the bed was moved. I sat +in an armchair, feeling like a bundle of old clothes, and looking at +the cracks in the ceiling which seemed to me like roads. I knew that +I had already lost all importance as an invalid, but I was very +happy nevertheless. For from the window of one of my little houses I +was watching the boys going to school, and my heart was warm with +the knowledge of my own emancipation. As my legs hung down from the +chair I found it hard to keep my slippers on my stockingless feet. + + III + +There followed for me a period of deep and unbroken +satisfaction. I was soon considered well enough to get up, and I +lived pleasantly between the sofa and the fireside waiting on my +brother's convalescence, for it had been settled that I should +go away with him to the country for a change of air. I read +Dickens and Dumas in English, and made up long stories in which +I myself played important but not always heroic parts. By means +of intellectual exercises of this kind I achieved a tranquillity +like that of an old man, fearing nothing, desiring nothing, +regretting nothing. I no longer reckoned the days or the hours, +I content to enjoy a passionless condition of being that asked +no questions and sought none of me, nor did I trouble to number +my journeys in the world of infinite shadows. But in that long +hour of peace I realised that in some inexplicable way I was +interested in the body of a little boy, whose hands obeyed my +unspoken wishes, whose legs sprawled before me on the sofa. I +knew that before I met him, this boy, whose littleness surprised +me, had suffered ill dreams in a nameless world, and now, worn +out with tears and humiliation and dread of life, he slept, and +while he slept I watched him dispassionately, as I would have +looked at a crippled daddy-long-legs. To have felt compassion +for him would have disturbed the tranquillity that was a +necessary condition of my existence, so I contented myself with +noticing his presence and giving him a small part in the pageant +of my dreams. He was not so beautiful as I wished all my +comrades to be, and he was besides very small; but shadows are +amiable play-friends, and they did not blame him because he +cried when he was teased and did not cry when he was beaten, or +because the wild unreason of his sorrow made him find cause for +tears in the very fullness of his rare enjoyment. For the first +time in my life it seems to me I saw this little boy as he was, +squat-bodied, big-headed, thick-lipped, and with a face swept +clean of all emotions save where his two great eyes glowed with +a sulky fire under exaggerated eyebrows. I noticed his grimy +nails, his soiled collar, his unbrushed clothes, the patent +signs of defeat changing to utter rout, and from the heights of +my great peace I was not sorry for him. He was like that, other +boys were different, that was all. + +And then on a day fear returned to my heart, and my newly discovered +Utopia was no more. I do not know what chance word of the grown-up +people or what random thought of mine did the mischief; but of a +sudden I realised that for all my dreaming I was only separated by a +measurable number of days from the horror of school. Already I was +sick with fear, and in place of my dreams I distressed myself by +visualising the scenes of the life I dreaded--the Meat Market, the +dusty shadows of the gymnasium, the sombre reticence of the great +hall. All that my lost tranquillity had given me was a keener sense +of my own being; my smallness, my ugliness, my helplessness in the +face of the great cruel world. Before I had sometimes been able to +dull my emotions in unpleasant circumstances and thus achieve a +dogged calm; now I was horribly conscious of my physical sensations, +and, above all, of that deadly sinking in my stomach called fear. I +clenched my hands, telling myself that I was happy, and trying to +force my mind to pleasant thoughts; but though my head swam with the +effort, I continued to be conscious that I was afraid. In the midst +of my mental struggles I discovered that even if I succeeded in +thinking happy things I should still have to go back to school after +all, and the knowledge that thought could not avert calamity was +like a bruise on my mind. I pinched my arms and legs, with the idea +that immediate pain would make me forget my fears for the future; +but I was not brave enough to pinch them really hard, and I could +not forget the motive for my action. I lay back on the sofa and +kicked the cushions with my feet in a kind of forlorn anger. Thought +was no use, nothing was any use, and my stomach was sick, sick with +fear. And suddenly I became aware of an immense fatigue that +overwhelmed my mind and my body, and made me feel as helpless as a +little child. The tears that were always near my eyes streamed down +my face, making my cheek sore against the wet cushion, and my breath +came in painful, ridiculous gulps. For a moment I made an effort to +control my grief; and then I gave way utterly, crying with my whole +body like a little child, until, like a little child, I fell asleep. + +When I awoke the room was grey with dusk, and I sat up with a +swaying head, glad to hide the shame of my foolish swollen face +amongst the shadows. My mouth was still salt with tears, and I was +very thirsty, but I was always anxious to hide my weakness from +other people, and I was afraid that if I asked for something to +drink they would see that I had been crying. The fire had gone out +while I slept, and I felt cold and stiff, but my abandonment of +restraint had relieved me, and my fear was now no more than a vague +unrest. My mind thought slowly but very clearly. I saw that it was a +pity that I had not been more ill than I was, for then, like my +brother, I should have gone away for a month instead of a fortnight. +As it was, everybody laughed at me because I looked so well, and +said they did not believe that I had been ill at all. If I had +thought of it earlier I might have been able to make myself worse +somehow or other, but now it was too late. When the maid came in and +lit the gas for tea she blamed me for letting the fire out, and told +me that I had a dirty face. I was glad of the chance to slip away +and wash my burning cheeks in cold water. When I had finished and +dried my face on the rough towel I looked at myself in the glass. I +looked as if I had been to the seaside for a holiday, my cheeks were +so red! + +That night as I lay sleepless in my bed, seeking for a cool place +between the sheets in which to rest my hot feet, the sickness of fear +returned to me, and I knew that I was lost. I shut my eyes tightly, +but I could not shut out the vivid pictures of school life that my +memory had stored up for my torment; I beat my head against the +pillow, but I could not change my thoughts. I recalled all the +possible events that might interfere with my return to school, a new +illness, a railway accident, even suicide, but my reason would not +accept these romantic issues. I was helpless before my destiny, and +my destiny made me I afraid. + +And then, perhaps I was half asleep or fond with fear, I leapt out of +bed and stood in the middle of the room to meet life and fight it. +The hem of my nightshirt tickled my shin and my feet grew cold on the +carpet; but though I stood ready with my fists clenched I could see +no adversary among the friendly shadows, I could hear no sound but +the I drumming of the blood against the walls of my head. I got back +into bed and pulled the bedclothes about my chilled body. It seemed +that life would not fight fair, and being only a little boy and not +wise like the grown-up people, I could find no way in which to outwit +it. + + IV + +My growing panic in the face of my imminent return to school spoilt +my holiday, and I watched my brother's careless delight in the Surrey +pine-woods with keen envy. It seemed to me that it was easy for him +to enjoy himself with his month to squander; and in any case he was a +healthy, cheerful boy who liked school well enough when he was there, +though of course he liked holidays better. He had scant patience with +my moods, and secretly I too thought they were wicked. We had been +taught to believe that we alone were responsible for our sins, and it +did not occur to me that the causes of my wickedness might lie beyond +my control. The beauty of the scented pines and the new green of the +bracken took my breath and filled my heart with a joy that changed +immediately to overwhelming grief; for I could not help contrasting +this glorious kind of life with the squalid existence to which I must +return so soon. I realised so fiercely the force of the contrast that +I was afraid to make friends with the pines and admire the palm-like +beauty of the bracken lest I should increase my subsequent anguish; +and I hid myself in dark corners of the woods to fight the growing +sickness of my body with the feeble weapons of my panic-stricken +mind. There followed moments of bitter sorrow, when I blamed myself +for not taking advantage of my hours of freedom, and I hurried along +the sandy lanes in a desolate effort to enjoy myself before it was +too late. + +In spite of the miserable manner in which I spent my days, the +fortnight seemed to pass with extraordinary rapidity. As the end +approached, the people around me made it difficult for me to conceal +my emotions, the grown-ups deducing from my melancholy that I was +tired of holidays and would be glad to get back to school, and my +brother burdening me with idle messages to the other boys-messages +that shattered my hardly formed hope that school did not really +exist. I stood ever on the verge of tears, and I dreaded meal-times, +when I had to leave my solitude, lest some turn of the conversation +should set me weeping before them all, and I should hear once more +what I knew very well myself, that it was a shameful thing for a boy +of my age to cry like a little girl. Yet the tears were there and the +hard lump in my throat, and I could not master them, though I stood +in the woods while the sun set with a splendour that chilled my +heart, and tried to drain my eyes dry of their rebellious, bitter +waters. I would choke over my tea and be rebuked for bad manners. + +When the last day came that I had feared most of all, I succeeded in +saying goodbye to the people at the house where I had stopped, and in +making the mournful train journey home without disgracing myself. It +seemed as though a merciful stupor had dulled my senses to a mute +acceptance of my purgatory. I slept in the train, and arrived home so +sleepy that I was allowed to go straight to bed without comment. For +once my body dominated my mind, and I slipped between the sheets in +an ecstasy of fatigue and fell asleep immediately. + +Something of this rare mood lingered with me in the morning, and it +was not until I reached the Meat Market that I realised the extent of +my misfortune. I saw the greasy, red-faced men with their hands and +aprons stained with blood. I saw the hideous carcases of animals, the +masses of entrails, the heaps of repulsive hides; but most clearly of +all I saw an ugly sad little boy with a satchel of books on his back +set down in the midst of an enormous and hostile world. The windows; +and stones of the houses were black with soot, and before me there +lay school, the place that had never brought me anything but sorrow +and humiliation. I went on, but as I slid on the cobbles, my mind +caught an echo of peace, the peace of pine-woods and heather, the +peace of the library at home, and, my body trembling with revulsion, +I leant against a lamp-post, deadly sick. Then I turned on my heels +and walked away from the Meat Market and the school for ever. As I +went I cried, sometimes openly before all men, sometimes furtively +before shop-windows, dabbing my eyes with a wet pocket-handkerchief, +and gasping for breath. I did not care where my feet led me, I would +go back to school no more. + +I had played truant for three days before the grown-ups discovered +that I had not returned to school. They treated me with that +extraordinary consideration that they always extended to our great +crimes and never to our little sins of thoughtlessness or high +spirits. The doctor saw me. I was told that I would be sent to a +country school after the next holidays, and meanwhile I was allowed +to return to my sofa and my dreams. I lay there and read Dickens and +was very happy. As a rule the cat kept me company, and I was pleased +with his placid society, though he made my legs cramped. I thought +that I too would like to be a cat. + + + + +The New Boy + + I + +When I left home to go to boarding-school for the first time I did +not cry like the little boys in the story-books, though I had never +been away from home before except to spend holidays with relatives. +This was not due to any extraordinary self-control on my part, for I +was always ready to shed tears on the most trivial occasion. But as a +fact I had other things to think about, and did not in the least +realise the significance of my journey. I had lots of new clothes and +more money in my pocket than I had ever had before, and in the +guard's van at the back of the train there was a large box that I had +packed myself with jam and potted meat and cake. In this, as in other +matters, I had been aided by the expert advice of a brother who was +himself at a school in the North, and it was perhaps natural that in +the comfortable security of the holidays he should have given me an +almost lyrical account of the joys of life at a boarding-school. +Moreover, my existence as a day-boy in London had been so unhappy; +that I was prepared to welcome any change, so at most I felt only a +vague unease as to the future. + +After I had glanced at my papers, I sat back and stared at my eldest +brother, who had been told off to see me safely to school. At that +time I did not like him because he seemed to me unduly insistent on +his rights and I could not help wondering at the tactlessness of the +grown-up people in choosing him as my travelling companion. With any +one else this journey might have been a joyous affair but there were +incidents between us that neither of us would forget, so that I +could find nothing better than an awkward politeness with which to +meet his strained amiability. He feigned an intense interest in his +magazine while I looked out of window, with one finger in my +waistcoat pocket, scratching the comfortable milled edges of my +money. When I saw little farm-houses, forgotten in the green dimples +of the Kentish hills, I thought that it would be nice to live there +with a room full of story-books, away from the discomforts and +difficulties of life. Like a cat, I wanted to dream somewhere where +I would not be trodden on, somewhere where I would be neglected by +friends and foes alike. This was my normal desire, but side by side +with my craving for peace I was aware of a new and interesting +emotion that suggested the possibility of a life even more +agreeable. The excitement of packing my box with provender like a +sailor who was going on a long voyage, the unwonted thrill of having +a large sum of money concealed about my person, and above all the +imaginative yarns of my elder brother, had fired me with the thought +of adventure. His stories had been filled with an utter contempt for +lessons and a superb defiance of the authorities, and had ranged +from desperate rabbit-shooting parties on the Yorkshire Wolds to +illicit feasts of Eccles cakes and tinned lobster in moonlit +dormitories. I thought that it would be pleasant to experience this +romantic kind of life before settling down for good with my dreams. + +The train wandered on and my eldest brother and I looked at each +other constrainedly. He had already asked me twice whether I had my +ticket, and I realised that he could not think of any other neutral +remark that fitted the occasion. It occurred to me to say that the +train was slow, but I remembered with a glow of anger how he had once +rubbed a strawberry in my face because I had taken the liberty of +offering it to one of his friends, and I held my peace. I had prayed +for his death every night for three weeks after that, and though he +was still alive the knowledge of my unconfessed and unrepented +wickedness prevented me from being more than conveniently polite, he +thought I was a cheeky little toad and I thought he was a bully, so +we looked at each other and did not speak. We were both glad, +therefore, when the train pulled up at the station that bore the name +of my new school. + +My first emotion was a keen regret that my parents had not sent me +to a place where the sun shone. As we sat in the little omnibus +that carried us from the station to the town, with my precious +boxes safely stored on the roof, we passed between grey fields +whose featureless expanses melted changelessly into the grey sky +overhead. The prospect alarmed me, for it seemed to me that this +was not a likely world for adventures; nor was I reassured by the +sight of the town, whose one long street of low, old-fashioned +houses struck me as being mean and sordid. I was conscious that +the place had an unpleasant smell, and I was already driven to +thinking of my pocket-money and my play-box--agreeable thoughts +which I had made up my mind in the train to reserve carefully for +possible hours of unhappiness. But the low roof of the omnibus was +like a limit to my imagination, and my body was troubled by the +displeasing contact of the velvet cushions. I was still wondering +why this made my wrists ache, when the omnibus lurched from the +cobbles on to a gravel drive, and I saw the school buildings +towering all about me like the walls of a prison. I jumped out and +stretched my legs while the driver climbed down to collect the +fares. He looked at me without a jot of interest, and I knew that +he must have driven a great many boys from the station to the +school in the course of his life. + +A man appeared in shirt-sleeves of grey flannel and wheeled my boxes +away on a little truck, and after a while a master came down and +showed us, in a perfunctory manner, over the more presentable +quarters of the school. My brother was anxious to get away, because +he had not been emancipated long enough to find the atmosphere of +dormitories and class-rooms agreeable. I was naturally interested, +in my new environment, but the presence of the master constrained +me, and I was afraid to speak in front of this unknown man whom it +was my lot to obey, so we were all relieved when our hurried +inspection was over. He told me that I was at liberty to do what I +pleased till seven o'clock, so I went for a walk through the town +with my brother. + +The day was drawing to a chill grey close, and the town was filled +with a clammy mist tainted with the odour of sewage, due, I +afterwards discovered, to the popular abuse of the little stream +that gave the place its name. Even my brother could not entirely +escape the melancholy influence of the hour and the place, and he +was glad to take me into a baker's shop and have tea. By now the +illusion of adventure that had reconciled me to leaving home was in +a desperate state, and I drank my tea and consumed my cakes without +enjoyment. If life was always going to be the same--if in fleeing +one misfortune I had merely brought on myself the pain of becoming +accustomed to another--I felt sure that my meagre stoicism would not +suffice to carry me through with credit. I had failed once, I would +fail again. I looked forward with a sinking heart to a tearful and +uncomfortable future. + +There was only a very poor train service, so my brother had plenty of +time to walk back to the station, and it was settled that I should go +part of the way with him. As we walked along the white road, that +stretched between uniform hedgerows of a shadowy greyness, I saw that +he had something on his mind. In this hour of my trial I was willing +to forget the past for the sake of talking for a few minutes with +some human being whom I knew, but he returned only vague answers to +my eager questions. At last he stopped in the middle of the road, and +said I had better turn back. I would liked to have walked farther +with him, but I was above all things anxious to keep up appearances, +so I said goodbye in as composed a voice as I could find. My brother +hesitated for a minute; then with a timid glance at heaven he put his +hand in his pocket, pulled out half a crown which he gave me, and +walked rapidly away. I saw in a flash that for him, too, it had been +an important moment; he had tipped his first schoolboy, and +henceforth he was beyond all question grown up. + +I did not like him, but I watched him disappear in the dusk with a +desolate heart. At that moment he stood for a great many things that +seemed valuable to me, and I would have given much to have been +walking by his side with my face towards home and my back turned to +the grey and unsavoury town to which I had to bear my despondent +loneliness. Nevertheless I stepped out staunchly enough, in order +that my mind should take courage from the example of my body. I +thought strenuously of my brother's stories, of my play-box packed +for a voyage, of the money in my pocket increased now by my eldest +brother's unexpected generosity; and by dint of these violent mental +exercises I had reduced my mind to a comfortable stupor by the time I +reached the school gates. There I was overcome by shyness, and +although I saw lights in the form-rooms and heard the voices of boys, +I stood awkwardly in the playground, not knowing where I ought to go. +The mist in the air surrounded the lights with a halo, and my +nostrils were filled with the acrid smell of burning leaves. + +I had stood there a quarter of an hour perhaps, when a boy came up +and spoke to me, and the sound of his voice gave me a shock. I think +it was the first time in my life a boy had spoken kindly to me. He +asked me my name, and told me that it would be supper-time in five +minutes, so that I could go and sit in the dining-hall and wait. +"You'll be all right, you know," he said, as he passed on; "they're +not a bad lot of chaps." The revulsion nearly brought on a +catastrophe, for the tears rose to my eyes and I gazed after him with +a swimming head. I had prepared myself to receive blows and insults +with a calm brow, but I had no armour with which to oppose the noble +weapons of sympathy and good fellowship. They overcame the stubborn +hatred with which I was accustomed to meet life, and left me +defenceless. I felt as if I had been face to face with the hero of a +dream. + +As I sat at supper before a long table decorated with plates of +bread-and-butter and cheese I saw my friend sitting at the other end +of the room, so I asked the boy next to me to tell me his name. "Oh," +he said, looking curiously at my blushes, "you mean old mother F----. +He's pious, you know; reads the Bible and funks at games and all +that." + +There are some things which no self-respecting schoolboy can afford +to forgive. I had made up my mind that it was not pleasant to be an +Ishmael, that as far as possible I would try to be an ordinary boy at +my new school. My experiences in London had taught me caution, and I +was anxious not to compromise my position at the outset by making an +unpopular friend. So I nodded my head sagely in reply, and looked at +my new-discovered hero with an air of profound contempt. + + II + +The days that followed were not so uncomfortable as my first grey +impression of the place had led me to expect. I proved to my own +intense astonishment to be rather good at lessons, so that I got on +well with the masters, and the boys were kind enough in their +careless way. I had plenty of pocket-money, and though I did not +shine at Association football, for in London I had only watched the +big boys playing Rugby, I was not afraid of being knocked about, +which was all that was expected of a new boy. Most of my +embarrassments were due to the sensitiveness that made me dislike +asking questions--a weakness that was always placing me in false +positions. But my efforts to make myself agreeable to the boys were +not unsuccessful, and while I looked in vain for anything like the +romantic adventures of which my brother had spoken, I sometimes found +myself almost enjoying my new life. + +And then, as the children say in the streets of London, I woke +up, and discovered that I was desperately home-sick. Partly no +doubt this was due to a natural reaction, but there were other +more obvious causes. For one thing my lavish hospitality had +exhausted my pocket-money in the first three weeks, and I was +ashamed to write home for more so soon. This speedy end to my +apparent wealth certainly made it easier for the boys to find +out that I was not one of themselves, and they began to look at +me askance and leave me out of their conversations. I was made +to feel once more that I had been born under a malignant star +that did not allow me to speak or act as they did. I had not +their common sense, their blunt cheerfulness, their complete +lack of sensibility, and while they resented my queerness they +could not know how anxious I was to be an ordinary boy. When I +saw that they mistrusted me I was too proud to accept the crumbs +of their society like poor mother F----, and I withdrew myself into +a solitude that gave me far too much time in which to examine my +emotions. I found out all the remote corners of the school in +which it was possible to be alone, and when the other boys went +for walks in the fields, I stayed in the churchyard close to the +school, disturbing the sheep in their meditations among the +tomb-stones, and thinking what a long time it would be before I +was old enough to die. + +Now that the first freshness of my new environment had worn off, I +was able to see my life as a series of grey pictures that repeated +themselves day by day. In my mind these pictures were marked off +from each other by a sound of bells. I woke in the morning in a bed +that was like all the other beds, and lay on my back listening to +the soft noises of sleep that filled the air with rumours of healthy +boys. The bell would ring and the dormitory would break into an +uproar, splashing of water, dropping of hair-brushes and shouts of +laughter, for these super-boys could laugh before breakfast. Then we +all trooped downstairs and I forced myself to drink bad coffee in a +room that smelt of herrings. The next bell called us to chapel, and +at intervals during the morning other bells called us from one class +to another. Dinner was the one square meal we had during the day, +and as it was always very good, and there was nothing morbid about +my appetite, I looked forward to it with interest. After dinner we +played football. I liked the game well enough, but the atmosphere of +mud and forlorn grey fields made me shudder, and as I kept goal I +spent my leisure moments in hardening my aeesthetic impressions. I +never see the word football today without recalling the curious +sensation caused by the mud drying on my bare knees. After football +were other classes, classes in which it was sometimes very hard to +keep awake, for the school was old, and the badly ventilated +class-rooms were stuffy after the fresh air. Then the bell summoned +us to evening chapel and tea--a meal which we were allowed to +improve with sardines and eggs and jam, if we had money to buy them +or a hamper from home. After tea we had about two hours to ourselves +and then came preparation, and supper and bed. Everything was +heralded by a bell, and now and again even in the midst of lessons +I would hear the church-bell tolling for a funeral. + +I think my hatred of bells dated back to my early childhood, when the +village church, having only three bells, played the first bar of +"Three Blind Mice" a million times every Sunday evening, till I could +have cried for monotony and the vexation of the thwarted tune. But at +school I had to pay the penalty for my prejudice every hour of the +day. Especially I suffered at night during preparation, when they +rang the curfew on the church bells at intolerable length, for these +were tranquil hours to which I looked forward eagerly. We prepared +our lessons for the morrow in the Great Hall, and I would spread my +books out on the desk and let my legs dangle from the form in a +spirit of contentment for the troubled day happily past. Over my head +the gas stars burned quietly, and all about me I heard the restrained +breathing of comrades, like a noise of fluttering moths. And then, +suddenly, the first stroke of the curfew would snarl through the air, +filling the roof with nasal echoes, and troubling the quietude of my +mind with insistent vibrations. I derived small satisfaction from +cursing William the Conqueror, who, the history book told me, was +responsible for this ingenious tyranny. The long pauses between the +strokes held me in a state of strained expectancy until I wanted to +howl. I would look about me for sympathy and see the boys at their +lessons, and the master on duty reading quietly at his table. The +curfew rang every night, and they did not notice it at all. + +The only bell I liked to hear was the last bell that called us to our +brief supper and to bed, for once the light was out and my body was +between the sheets I was free to do what I would, free to think or to +dream or to cry. There was no real difference between being in bed at +school or anywhere else; and sometimes I would fill the shadows of +the dormitory with the familiar furniture of my little bedroom at +home, and pretend that I was happy. But as a rule I came to bed +brimming over with the day's tears, and I would pull the bedclothes +over my head so that the other boys should not know that I was +homesick, and cry until I was sticky with tears and perspiration. + +The discipline at school did not make us good boys, but it made us +civilised; it taught us to conceal our crimes. And as home-sickness +was justly regarded as a crime of ingratitude to the authorities and +to society in general, I had to restrain my physical weakness during +the day, and the reaction from this restraint made my tears at night +almost a luxury. My longing for home was founded on trifles, but it +was not the less passionate. I hated this life spent in walking on +bare boards, and the blank walls and polished forms of the school +appeared to me to be sordid. When now and again I went into one of +the master's studies and felt a carpet under my feet, and saw a +pleasant litter of pipes and novels lying on the table, it seemed to +me that I was in a holy place, and I looked at the hearthrug, the +wallpaper, and the upholstered chairs with a kind of desolate love +for things that were nice to see and touch. I suppose that if we had +been in a workhouse, a prison, or a lunatic asylum, our aeesthetic +environment would have been very much the same as it was at school; +and afterwards when I went with the cricket and football teams to +other grammar schools they all gave me the same impression of clean +ugliness. It is not surprising that few boys emerge from their school +life with that feeling for colour and form which is common to nearly +all children. + +There was something very unpleasant to me in the fact that we all +washed with the same kind of soap, drank out of the same kind of cup, +and in general did the same things at the same time. The school +timetable robbed life of all those accidental variations that make it +interesting. Our meals, our games, even our hours of freedom seemed +only like subtle lessons. We had to eat at a certain hour whether we +were hungry or not, we had to play at a certain hour when perhaps we +wanted to sit still and be quiet. The whole school discipline tended +to the formation of habits at the expense of our reasoning faculties. +Yet the astonishing thing to me was that the boys themselves set up +standards of conduct that still further narrowed the possibilities of +our life. It was bad form to read too much, to write home except on +Sundays, to work outside the appointed hours, to talk to the day-boys, +to cultivate social relationships with the masters, to be Cambridge +in the boat-race, and in fine to hold any opinion or follow any +pursuit that was not approved by the majority. It was only by hiding +myself away in corners that I could enjoy any liberty of spirit, and +though my thoughts were often cheerless when I remembered the +relative freedom of home life, I preferred to linger with them rather +than to weary myself in breaking the little laws of a society for +which I was in no way fitted. + +These were black days, rendered blacker by my morbid fear of the +physical weakness that made me liable to cry at any moment, sometimes +even without in the least knowing why. I was often on the brink of +disaster, but my fear of the boys' ridicule prevented me from +publicly disgracing myself. Once the headmaster called a boy into +his study, and he came out afterwards with red eyelids and a puffed +face. When they heard that his mother had died suddenly in India, all +the boys thought that these manifestations of sorrow were very +creditable, and in the best of taste, especially as he did not let +anybody see him crying. For my part I looked at him with a kind of +envy, this boy who could flaunt his woe where he would. I, too, had +my unassuageable sorrow for the home that was dead to me those +forlorn days; but I could only express it among the tombs in the +churchyard, or at night, muffled between the blankets, when the +silent dormitory seemed to listen with suspicious ears. + + III + +A consoling scrap of wisdom which unfortunately children do not find +written large in their copybooks is that sorrow is as transitory as +happiness. Although my childhood was strewn with the memorial wreaths +of dead miseries, I always had a morbid sense that my present +discomforts were immortal. So I had quite made up my mind that I +would continue to be unhappy at school, when the intervention of two +beings whom I had thought utterly remote from me, gave me a new +philosophy and reconciled me to life. The first was a master, who +found me grieving in one of my oubliettes and took me into his study +and tried to draw me out. Kindness always made me ineloquent, and +as I sat in his big basket chair and sniffed the delightful odour of +his pipe, I expressed myself chiefly in woe-begone monosyllables and +hiccoughs. Nevertheless he seemed to understand me very well, and +though he did not say much, I felt by the way in which he puffed out +great, generous clouds of smoke, that he sympathised with me. He told +me to come and see him twice a week, and that I was at liberty to +read any of his books, and in general gave me a sense that I was +unfortunate rather than criminal. This did me good, because a large +part of my unhappiness was due to the fact that constant suppression +by majorities had robbed me of my self-respect. It is better for a +boy to be conceited than to be ashamed of his own nature, and to +shudder when he sees his face reflected in a glass. + +My second benefactor was nominally a boy, though in reality he was +nearly as old as the master, and was leaving at the end of the term +to go up to Oxford. He took me by the shoulder one evening in the +dusk, and walked me round and round the big clump of rhododendrons +that stood in the drive in front of the school. I did not understand +half he said, but to my great astonishment I heard him confessing +that he had always been unhappy at school, although at the end he +was captain in lessons, in games, in everything. I was, of course, +highly flattered that this giant should speak to me as an equal, and +admit me to his confidences. But I was even more delighted with the +encouraging light he threw on school life. "You're only here for a +little spell, you know; you'll be surprised how short it is. And +don't be miserable just because you're different. I'm different; it's +a jolly good thing to be different." I was not used, to people who +took this wide view of circumstance, and his voice in the shadows +sounded like some one speaking in a story-book. Yet although his +monologue gave me an entirely new conception of life, no more of it +lingers in my mind, save his last reflective criticism. "All the +same, I don't see why you should always have dirty nails." He never +confided in me again, and I would have died rather than have reminded +him of his kindly indiscretion; but when he passed me in the +playground he seemed to look at me with a kind of reticent interest, +and it occurred to me that after all my queerness might not be such a +bad thing, might even be something to be proud of. + +The value of this discovery to me can hardly be exaggerated. Hitherto +in my relationships with the boys I had fought nothing but losing +battles, for I had taken it for granted that they were right and I +was wrong. But now that I had hit on the astonishing theory that the +individual has the right to think for himself, I saw quite clearly +that most of their standards of conduct sprang from their sheep-like +stupidity. They moved in flocks because they had not the courage to +choose a line for themselves. The material result of this new theory +of life was to make me enormously conceited, and I moved among my +comrades with a mysterious confidence, and gave myself the airs of a +Byron in knickerbockers. My unpopularity increased by leaps and +bounds, but so did my moral courage, and I accepted the belated +efforts of my school-fellows to knock the intelligence out of me as +so many tributes to the force of my individuality. I no longer cried +in my bed at night, but lay awake enraptured at the profundity of my +thoughts. After years of unquestioning humility I enjoyed a prolonged +debauch of intellectual pride, and I marvelled at the little boy of +yesterday who had wept because he could not be an imbecile. It was +the apotheosis of the ugly duckling, and I saw my swan's plumage +reflected in the placid faces of the boys around me, as in the vacant +waters of a pool. As yet I did not dream of a moulting season, still +less that a day would come when I should envy the ducks their +domestic ease and the unthinking tranquillity of their lives. A +little boy may be excused for not realising that Hans Andersen's +story is only the prelude to a sadder story that he had not the heart +to write. + +My new freedom of spirit gave me courage to re-examine the emotional +and aeesthetic values of my environment. I could not persuade myself +that I liked the sound of bells, and the greyness of the country in +winter-time still revolted me, as though I had not yet forgotten the +cheerful reds and greens and blues of the picture-books that filled +my mind as a child with dreams of a delightful world. But now that I +was wise enough to make the best of my unboyish emotionalism, I began +to take pleasure in certain phases of school-life. Though I was +devoid of any recognisable religious sense I liked the wide words in +the Psalms that we read at night in the school chapel. This was not +due to any precocious recognition of their poetry, but to the fact +that their intense imagery conjured up all sorts of precious visions +in my mind, I could see the hart panting after the water-brooks, in +the valleys of Exmoor, where I had once spent an enchanted holiday. I +could see the men going down to the sea in ships, and the stormy +waves, and the staggering, fearful mariners, for I had witnessed a +great tempest off Flamborough Head. Even such vague phrases as "the +hills" gave me an intense joy. I could see them so clearly, those +hills, chalky hills covered with wild pansies, and with an all-blue +sky overhead, like the lid of a chocolate-box. I liked, too, the +services in the old church on Sunday nights, when the lights were +lowered for the sermon, and I would put my hands over my ears and +hear the voice of the preacher like the drone of a distant bee. After +church the choral society used to practise in the Great Hall, and as +I walked round the school buildings, snatches of their singing would +beat against my face like sudden gusts of wind. When I listened at +the doors of my form-room I heard the boys talking about football +matches, or indulging their tireless passion for unimaginative +personalities; I would stand on the mat outside wondering whether I +would be allowed to read if I went in. + +I looked forward to Tuesday night, which was my bath-night, +almost as much as to Sunday. The school sanitary arrangements +were primitive, and all the water had to be fetched in pails, +and I used to like to see the man tipping the hot water into the +bath and flinging his great body back to avoid the steam that +made his grey flannel shirt-sleeves cling to his hairy arms. +Most of the boys added a lot of cold water, but I liked to boil +myself because the subsequent languor was so pleasant. The +matron would bring our own bath towels warm from the fire, and I +would press mine against my face because it smelt of childhood +and of home. I always thought my body looked pretty after a +really hot bath; its rosiness enabled me to forgive myself for +being fat. + +One very strong impression was connected with the only master in the +school whom I did not like. He was a German, and as is the case with +others of his nationality, a spray of saliva flew from his lips when +he was angry, and seeing this, I would edge away from him in alarm. +Perhaps it was on this account that he treated me with systematic +unfairness and set himself the unnecessary task of making me +ridiculous in the eyes of the other boys. One night I was wandering +in the playground and heard him playing the violin in his study. My +taste in music was barbarian; I liked comic songs, which I used to +sing to myself in a lugubrious voice, and in London the plaintive +clamour of the street-organs had helped to make my sorrows +rhythmical. But now, perhaps for the first time, I became aware of +the illimitable melancholy that lies at the heart of all great +music. It seemed to me that the German master, the man whom I hated, +had shut himself up alone in his study, and was crying aloud. I knew +that if he was unhappy, it must be because he too was an Ishmael, a +personality, one of the different ones. A great sympathy woke within +me, and I peeped through the window and saw him playing with his +face all shiny with perspiration and a silk handkerchief tucked +under his chin. I would have liked to have knocked at his door and +told him that I knew all about these things, but I was afraid that +he would think me cheeky and splutter in my face. + +The next day in his class, I looked at him hopefully, in the light +of my new understanding, but it did not seem to make any difference. +He only told me to get on with my work. + +The term drew to a close, and most of the boys in my form-room +ticked off the days on lists, in which the Sundays were written in +red ink to show that they did not really count. As time went on they +grew more and more boisterous, and wherever I went I heard them +telling one another how they were going to spend their holidays. It +was surprising to me that these boys who were so ordinary during +term-time should lead such adventurous lives in the holidays, and I +felt a little envious of their good fortune. They talked of visiting +the theatre and foreign travel in a matter-of-fact way that made me +think that perhaps after all my home-life was incomplete. I had +never been out of England, and my dramatic knowledge was limited to +pantomimes, for which these enthusiastic students of musical comedy +expressed a large contempt. Some of them were allowed to shoot with +real guns in the holidays, which reminded me of the worst excesses +of my brother in Yorkshire. Examining my own life, I had often come +to the conclusion that adventures did not exist outside books. But +the boys shook this comforting theory with their boastful +prophecies, and I thought once more that perhaps it was my +misfortune that they did not happen to me. I began to fear that I +would find the holidays tame. + +There were other considerations that made me look forward to the end +of the term with misgiving. Since it had been made plain to me that I +was a remarkable boy, I had rather enjoyed my life at school. I had +conceived myself as strutting with a measured dignity before a +background of the other boys--a background that moved and did not +change, like a wind-swept tapestry; but I was quite sure that I would +not be allowed to give myself airs at home. It seemed to me that a +youngest brother's portion of freedom would compare but poorly with +the measure of intellectual liberty that I had secured for myself at +school. My brothers were all very well in their way, but I would be +expected to take my place in the background and do what I was told. I +should miss my sense of being superior to my environment, and my +intensely emotional Sundays would no longer divide time into weeks. +The more I thought of it, the more I realised that I did not want to +go home. + +On the last night of the term, when the dormitory had at length +become quiet, I considered the whole case dispassionately in my bed. +The labour of packing my play-box and writing labels for my luggage +had given me a momentary thrill, but for the rest I had moved among +my insurgent comrades with a chilled heart. I knew now that I was +too greedy of life, that I always thought of the pleasant side of +things when they were no longer within my grasp; but at the I same +time my discontent was not wholly unreasonable. I had learnt more +of myself in three months than I had in all my life before, and from +being a nervous, hysterical boy I had arrived at a complete +understanding of my emotions, which I studied with an almost adult +calmness of mind. I knew that in returning to the society of my +healthy, boyish brothers, I was going back to a kind of life for +which I was no longer fitted. I had changed, but I had the sense to +see that it was a change that would not appeal to them, and that in +consequence I would have another and harder battle to fight before I +was allowed to go my own way. + +I saw further still. I saw that after a month at home I would +not want to come back to school, and that I should have to +endure another period of despondency. I saw that my whole school +life would be punctuated by these violent uprootings, that the +alternation of term-time and holidays would make it impossible +for me to change life into a comfortable habit, and that even to +the end of my school-days it would be necessary for me to +preserve my new-found courage. + +As I lay thinking in the dark I was proud of the clarity of my +mind, and glad that I had at last outwitted the tears that had made +my childhood so unhappy. I heard, the boys breathing softly around +me--those wonderful boys who could sleep even when they were +excited--and I felt that I was getting the better of them in thinking +while they slept. I remembered the prefect who had told me that we +were there only for a spell, but I did not speculate as to what +would follow afterwards. All that I had to do was to watch myself +ceaselessly, and be able to explain to myself everything that I felt +I and did. In that way I should always be strong I enough to guard +my weaknesses from the eyes of the jealous world in which I moved. + +The church bells chimed the hour, and I turned over and went to +sleep. + + + + +On the Brighton Road + +Slowly the sun had climbed up the hard white downs, till it broke +with little of the mysterious ritual of dawn upon a sparkling world +of snow. There had been a hard frost during the night, and the birds, +who hopped about here and there with scant tolerance of life, left no +trace of their passage on the silver pavements. In places the +sheltered caverns of the hedges broke the monotony of the whiteness +that had fallen upon the coloured earth, and overhead the sky melted +from orange to deep blue, from deep blue to a blue so pale that it +suggested a thin paper screen rather than illimitable space. Across +the level fields there came a cold, silent wind which blew a fine +dust of snow from the trees, but hardly stirred the crested hedges. +Once above the skyline, the sun seemed to climb more quickly, and as +it rose higher it began to give out a heat that blended with the +keenness of the wind. + +It may have been this strange alternation of heat and cold that +disturbed the tramp in his dreams, for he struggled tor a moment with +the snow that covered him, like a man who finds himself twisted +uncomfortably in the bed-clothes, and then sat up with staring, +questioning eyes. "Lord! I thought I was in bed," he said to himself +as he took in the vacant landscape, "and all the while I was out +here." He stretched his limbs, and, rising carefully to his feet, +shook the snow off his body. As he did so the wind set him shivering, +and he knew that his bed had been warm. + +"Come, I feel pretty fit," he thought. "I suppose I am lucky to wake +at all in this. Or unlucky--it isn't much of a business to come back +to." He looked up and saw the downs shining against the blue, like +the Alps on a picture-postcard. "That means another forty miles or +so, I suppose," he continued grimly. "Lord knows what I did yesterday. +Walked till I was done, and now I'm only about twelve miles from +Brighton. Damn the snow, damn Brighton, damn everything!" The sun +crept higher and higher, and he started walking patiently along the +road with his back turned to the hills. + +"Am I glad or sorry that it was only sleep that took me, glad or +sorry, glad or sorry?" His thoughts seemed to arrange themselves in a +metrical accompaniment to the steady thud of his footsteps, and he +hardly sought an answer to his question. It was good enough to walk +to. + +Presently, when three milestones had loitered past, he overtook a +boy who was stooping to light a cigarette. He wore no overcoat, and +looked unspeakably fragile against the snow, "Are you on the road, +guv'nor?" asked the boy huskily as he passed. + +"I think I am," the tramp said. + +"Oh! then I'll come a bit of the way with you if you don't walk too +fast. It's bit lonesome walking this time of day." + +The tramp nodded his head, and the boy started limping along by his +side. + +"I'm eighteen," he said casually. "I bet you thought I was younger." + +"Fifteen, I'd have said." + +"You'd have backed a loser. Eighteen last August, and I've been on +the road six years. I ran away from home five times when I was a +little 'un, and the police took me back each time. Very good to me, +the police was. Now I haven't got a home to run away from." + +"Nor have I," the tramp said calmly. + +"Oh, I can see what you are," the boy panted; "you're a gentleman +come down. It's harder for you than for me." The tramp glanced at the +limping, feeble figure and lessened his pace. + +"I haven't been at it as long as you have," he admitted. + +"No, I could tell that by the way you walk. You haven't got tired +yet. Perhaps you expect something at the other end?" + +The tramp reflected for a moment. "I don't know," he said bitterly, +"I'm always expecting things." + +"You'll grow out of that;" the boy commented. "It's warmer in London, +but it's harder to come by grub. There isn't much in it really." + +"Still, there's the chance of meeting somebody there who will +understand--" + +"Country people are better," the boy interrupted. "Last night I took +a lease of a barn for nothing and slept with the cows, and this +morning the farmer routed me out and gave me tea and toke because I +was so little. Of course, I score there; but in London, soup on the +Embankment at night, and all the rest of the time coppers moving you +on." + +"I dropped by the roadside last night and slept where I fell. It's a +wonder I didn't die," the tramp said. The boy looked at him sharply. + +"How did you know you didn't?" he said. + +"I don't see it," the tramp said, after a pause. + +"I tell you," the boy said hoarsely, "people like us can't get away +from this sort of thing if we want to. Always hungry and thirsty and +dog-tired and walking all the while. And yet if anyone offers me a +nice home and work my stomach feels sick. Do I look strong? I know +I'm little for my age, but I've been knocking about like this for six +years, and do you think I'm not dead? I was drowned bathing at +Margate, and I was killed by a gypsy with a spike; he knocked my head +and yet I'm walking along here now, walking to London to walk away +from it again, because I can't help it. Dead! I tell you we can't get +away if we want to." + +The boy broke off in a fit of coughing, and the tramp paused while he +recovered. + +"You'd better borrow my coat for a bit, Tommy," he said, "your +cough's pretty bad." + +"You go to hell!" the boy said fiercely, puffing at his cigarette; +"I'm all right. I was telling you about the road. You haven't got +down to it yet, but you'll find out presently. We're all dead, all of +us who're on it, and we're all tired, yet somehow we can't leave it. +There's nice smells in the summer, dust and hay and the wind smack in +your face on a hot day--and it's nice waking up in the wet grass on a +fine morning. I don't know, I don't know--" he lurched forward +suddenly, and the tramp caught him in his arms. + +"I'm sick," the boy whispered--"sick." + +The tramp looked up and down the road, but he could see no houses or +any sign of help. Yet even as he supported the boy doubtfully in the +middle of the road a motor car suddenly flashed in the middle +distance, and came smoothly through the snow. + +"What's the trouble?" said the driver quietly as he pulled up. "I'm a +doctor." He looked at the boy keenly and listened to his strained +breathing. + +"Pneumonia," he commented. "I'll give him a lift to the infirmary, +and you, too, if you like." + +The tramp thought of the workhouse and shook his head "I'd rather +walk," he said. + +The boy winked faintly as they lifted him into the car. + +"I'll meet you beyond Reigate," he murmured to the tramp. "You'll +see." And the car vanished along the white road. + +All the morning the tramp splashed through the thawing snow, but at +midday he begged some bread at a cottage door and crept into a lonely +barn to eat it. It was warm in there, and after his meal he fell +asleep among the hay. It was dark when he woke, and started trudging +once more through the slushy roads. + +Two miles beyond Reigate a figure, a fragile figure, slipped out of +the darkness to meet him. + +"On the road, guv'nor?" said a husky voice. "Then I'll come a bit of +the way with you if you don't walk too fast. It's a bit lonesome +walking this time of day." + +"But the pneumonia!" cried the tramp, aghast. + +"I died at Crawley this morning," said the boy. + + + + +A Tragedy In Little + + I + +Jack, the postmaster's little son, stood in the bow-window of the +parlour and watched his mother watering the nasturtiums in the front +garden. A certain intensity of purpose was expressed by the manner in +which she handled the water-pot. For though it was a fine afternoon +the carrier's man had called over the hedge to say that there would +be a thunderstorm during the night, and every one knew that he never +made a mistake about the weather. Nevertheless, Jack's mother watered +the plants as if he had not spoken, for it seemed to her that this +meteorological gift smacked a little of sorcery and black magic; but +in spite of herself she felt sure that there would be a thunderstorm +and that her labour was therefore vain, save perhaps as a protest +against idle superstition. It was in the same spirit that she carried +an umbrella on the brightest summer day. + +Jack had been sent indoors because he would get his legs in the way +of the watering-pot in order to cool them, so now he had to be +content to look on, with his nose pressed so tightly against the +pane that from outside it looked like the base of a sea-anemone +growing in a glass tank. He could no longer hear the glad chuckle +of the watering-pot when the water ran out, but, on the other hand, +he could write his name on the window with his tongue, which he +could not have done if he had been in the garden. Also he had some +sweets in his pocket, bought with a halfpenny stolen from his own +money-box, and as the window did not taste very nice he slipped one +into his mouth and sucked it with enjoyment. He did not like being +in the parlour, because he had to sit there with his best clothes on +every Sunday afternoon and read the parish magazine to his sleepy +parents. But the front window was lovely, like a picture, and, +indeed, he thought that his mother, with the flowers all about her +and the red sky overhead, was like a lady on one of the beautiful +calendars that the grocer gave away at Christmas. He finished his +sweet and started another; he always meant to suck them right +through to make them last longer, but when the sweet was half +finished he invariably crunched it up. His father had done the same +thing as a boy. + +The room behind him was getting dark, but outside the sky seemed to +be growing lighter, and mother still stooped from bed to bed, moving +placidly, like a cow. Sometimes she put the watering-pot down on the +gravel path, and bent to uproot a microscopic weed or to pull the +head off a dead flower. Sometimes she went to the well to get some +more water, and then Jack was sorry that he had been shut indoors, +for he liked letting the pail down with a run and hearing it bump +against the brick sides. Once he tapped upon the window for +permission to come out, but mother shook her head vigorously without +turning round; and yet his stockings were hardly wet at all. + +Suddenly mother straightened herself, and Jack looked up and saw his +father leaning over the gate. He seemed to be making grimaces, and +Jack made haste to laugh aloud in the empty room, because he knew +that he was good at seeing his father's jokes. Indeed it was a funny +thing that father should come home early from work and make faces at +mother from the road. Mother, too, was willing to join in the fun, +for she knelt down among the wet flowers, and as her head drooped +lower and lower it looked, for one ecstatic moment, as though she +were going to turn head over heels. But she lay quite still on the +ground, and father came half-way through the gate, and then turned +and ran off down the hill towards the station. Jack stood in the +window, clapping his hands and laughing; it was a strange game, but +not much harder to understand than most of the amusements of the +grown-up people. + +And then as nothing happened, as mother did not move and father did +not come back, Jack grew frightened. The garden was queer and the +room was full of darkness, so he beat on the window to change the +game. Then, since mother did not shake her head, he ran out into the +garden, smiling carefully in case he was being silly. First he went +to the gate, but father was quite small far down the road, so he +turned back and pulled the sleeve of his mother's dress, to wake her. +After a dreadful while mother got up off the ground with her skirt +all covered with wet earth. Jack tried to brush it off with his hands +and made a mess of it, but she did not seem to notice, looking across +the garden with such a desolate face, that when he saw it he burst +into tears. For once mother let him cry himself out without seeking +to comfort him; when he sniffed dolefully, his nostrils were full of +the scent of crushed marigolds. He could not help watching her hands +through his tears; it seemed as though they were playing together at +cat's-cradle; they were not still for a moment. But it was her face +that at once frightened and interested him. One minute it looked +smooth and white as if she was very cross, and the next minute it was +gathered up in little folds as if she was going to sneeze. Deep down +in him something chuckled, and he jumped for fear that the cross part +of her had heard it. At intervals during the evening, while mother +was getting him his supper, this chuckle returned to him, between +unnoticed fits of crying. Once she stood holding a plate in the +middle of the room for quite five minutes, and he found it hard to +control his mirth. If father had been there they would have had good +fun together, teasing mother, but by himself he was not sure of his +ground. And father did not come back, and mother did not seem to hear +his questions. + +He had some tomatoes and rice-pudding for his supper, and as mother +left him to help himself to brown sugar he enjoyed it very much, +carefully leaving the skin of the rice-pudding to the last, because +that was the part he liked best. After supper he sat nodding at the +open window, looking out over the plum-trees to the sky beyond, where +the black clouds were putting out the stars one by one. The garden +smelt stuffy, but it was nice to be allowed to sit up when you felt +really sleepy. On the whole he felt that it had been a pleasant, +exciting sort of day, though once or twice mother had frightened him +by looking so strange. There had been other mysterious days in his +life, however; perhaps he was going to have another little dead +sister. Presently he discovered that it was delightful to shut your +eyes and nod your head and pretend that you were going to sleep; it +was like being in a swing that went up and up and never came down +again. It was like being in a rowing-boat on the river after a +steamer had gone by. It was like lying in a cradle under a lamplit +ceiling, a cradle that rocked gently to and fro while mother sang +far-away songs. + +He was still a baby when he woke up, and he slipped off his chair +and staggered blindly across the room to his mother, with his +knuckles in his eyes like a little, little boy. He climbed into her +lap and settled himself down with a grunt of contentment. There was +a mutter of thunder in his ears, and he felt great warm drops of +rain falling on his face. And into his dreams he carried the dim +consciousness that the thunderstorm had begun. + + II + +The next morning at breakfast-time father had not come back, and +mother said a lot of things that made Jack feel very uncomfortable. +She herself had taught him that any one who said bad things about +his father was wicked, but now it seemed that she was trying to tell +him something about father that was not nice. She spoke so slowly +that he hardly understood a word she said, though he gathered that +father had stolen something, and would be put in prison if he was +caught. With a guilty pang he remembered his own dealings with his +money-box, and he determined to throw away the rest of the sweets +when, nobody was looking. Then mother made the astounding statement +that he was not to go to school that day, but his sudden joy was +checked a little when she said he was not to go out at all, except +into the back garden. It seemed to Jack that he must be ill, but +when he made this suggestion to mother, she gave up her explanations +with a sigh. Afterwards she kept on saying aloud, "I must think, I +must think!" She said it so often that Jack started keeping count on +his fingers. + +The day went slowly enough, for the garden was wet after the +thunderstorm, and mother would not play any games. Just before +tea-time two gentlemen called and talked to mother in the +parlour, and after a while they sent for Jack to answer some +questions about father, though mother was there all the time. +They seemed nice gentlemen, but mother did not ask them to stop +to tea, as Jack expected. He thought that perhaps she was sorry +that she had not done so, for she was very sad all tea-time, and +let him spread his own bread and jam. When tea was over things +were very dull, and at last Jack started crying because there +was nothing else to do. Presently he heard a little noise and +found that mother was crying as well. This seemed to him so +extraordinary that he stopped crying to watch her; the tears ran +down her cheeks very quickly, and she kept on wiping them away +with her handkerchief, but if she held her handkerchief to her +eyes perhaps they would not be able to come out at all. It +occurred to him that possibly she was sorry she had said, wicked +things about father, and to comfort her, for it made him feel +fidgety to see her cry, he whispered to her that he would not +tell. But she stared at him hopelessly through her red eyelids, +and he felt that he had not said the right thing. She called him +her poor boy, and yet it appeared that he was not ill. It was +all very mysterious and uncomfortable, and it would be a good +thing when father came back and everything went on as before, +even though he had to go back to school. + +Later on the woman from the mill came in to sit with mother. She +brought Jack some sweets, but instead of playing with him she burst +into tears. She made more noise when she cried than mother; in fact +he was afraid that in a minute he would have to laugh at her +snortings, so he went into the parlour and sat there in the dark, +eating his sweets, and knitting his brow over the complexities of +life. He could see five stars, and there was a light behind the red +curtain of the front bedroom at Arber's farm. It was about twelve +times as large as a star, and a much prettier colour. By nearly +closing his eyes he could see everything double, so that there were +ten stars and two red lights; he was trying to make everything come +treble when the gate clicked and he saw his father's shadow. He was +delighted with this happy end to a tiresome day, and as he ran +through the passage he called out to mother to say that father was +back. Mother did not answer, but he heard a bit of noise in the +kitchen as he opened the front door. + +He said "Good evening" in the grown-up voice that father encouraged, +but father slipped in and shut the door without saying a word. Every +night when he came back from the post-office he brought Jack the +gummed edgings off the sheets of stamps, and Jack held out his hand +for them as a matter of course. Automatically father felt in his +overcoat pocket and pulled out a great handful. "Take care of them, +they're the last you'll get," he said; but when Jack asked why, his +father looked at him with the same hopeless expression that he had +found in his mother's eyes a short while before. Jack felt a little +cross that every one should be so stupid. + +When they went into the kitchen everybody looked very strange, and +Jack sat down in the corner and listened for an explanation. As a +rule the conversation of the grown-up people did not amuse him, but +tonight he felt that something had happened, and that if he kept +quiet he might find out what it was. He had noticed before that when +the grown-ups talked they always said the same things over and over +again, and now they were worse than usual. Father said, "It's no +good, I've got to go through it;" the mill-woman said, "Whatever made +you do it, George?" And mother said, "Nothing will ever happen to me +again!" They all went on saying these things till Jack grew tired of +listening, and started plaiting his stamp-paper into a mat. If you +did it very neatly it was almost as good as an ordinary sheet of +paper by the time you had finished. By and by, while he was still at +work, the mill-woman brought him his supper on a plate, and raising +his head he saw that father and mother were sitting close together, +looking at each other, and saying nothing at all. He was very +disappointed that although father had come home they had not had any +jokes all the evening, and as they were all so dull he did not very +much mind being sent to bed when he had finished his supper. When he +said good-night to father, he noticed that his boots were very muddy, +as if he had walked a long way like a common postman. He made a joke +about this, but they all looked at him as if he had said something +wrong, so he hurried out of the room, glad to get away from these +people whose looks had no reasonable significance, and whose words +had no discoverable meaning. It had been a bad day, and he hoped +mother would let him go back to school the next morning. + +And yet though he took off his clothes and got into bed, the day was +not quite over. He had only dozed for a few minutes when he was +roused by a noise down below, and slipping out on to the staircase he +heard the mill-woman saying good-night in the passage. When she had +gone and the door had banged behind her, he listened still, and heard +his mother crying and his father talking on and on in a strange, +hoarse voice. Somehow these incomprehensible sounds made him feel +lonely, and he would have liked to have gone downstairs and sat on +his mother's lap and blinked drowsily in his father's face, as he had +done often enough before. But he was always shy in the presence of +strangers, and he felt that he did not know this woman who wept and +this man who did not laugh. His father was his play-friend, the +sharer of all his fun; his mother was a quiet woman who sat and +sewed, and sometimes told them not to be silly, which was the best +joke of all. It was not right for people to alter. But the thought of +his bedroom made him desolate, and at last he plucked up his courage, +and crept downstairs on bare feet. Father and mother had gone back +into the kitchen, and he peeped through the crack of the door to see +what they were doing. Mother was still crying, always crying, but he +had to change his position before he could see father. Then he turned +on his heels and ran upstairs trembling with fear and disgust. For +father, the man of all the jokes, the man of whom burglars were +afraid and compared with whom all other little boys' fathers were as +dirt, was crying like a little girl. + +He jumped into bed and pulled the bedclothes over his face to shut +out the ugliness of the world. + + III + +When Jack woke up the next morning he found that the room was full of +sunshine, and that father was standing at the end of the bed. The +moment Jack opened his eyes, he began telling him something in a +serious voice, which was alone sufficient to prevent Jack from +understanding what he said. Besides, he used a lot of long words, and +Jack thought that it was silly to use long words before breakfast, +when nobody could be expected to remember what they meant. Father's +body neatly fitted the square of the window, and the sunbeams shone +in all round it and made it look splendid; and if Jack had not +already forgotten the unfortunate impression of the night before, +this would have enabled him to overcome it. Every now and then father +stopped to ask him if he understood, and he said he did, hoping to +find out what it was all about later on. It seemed, however, that +father was not going to the post-office any more, and this caused +Jack to picture a series of delightfully amusing days. When father +had finished talking he appeared to expect Jack to say something, but +Jack contented himself with trying to look interested, for he knew +that it was always very stupid of little boys not to understand +things they didn't understand. In reality he felt as if he had been +listening while his father argued aloud with himself, talking up and +down like an earthquake map. + +At breakfast they were still subdued, but afterwards, as the morning +wore on, father became livelier and helped Jack to build a hut in +the back garden. They built it of bean-sticks against the wall at the +end, and father broke up a packing-case to get planks for the roof. +Only mother still had a sad face, and it made Jack angry with her, +that she should be such a spoil-fun. After dinner, while Jack was +playing in the hut, Mr. Simmons, of the police-station, and another +gentleman called to take father for a walk, and Jack went down to the +front to see them off. Jack knew Mr. Simmons very well; he had been +to tea with his little boy, but though he thought him a fine sort of +man he could not help feeling proud of his father when he saw them +side by side. Mr. Simmons looked as if he were ashamed of himself, +while father walked along with square shoulders and a high head as if +he had just done something splendid. The other gentleman looked like +nothing at all beside father. + +When they were out of sight Jack went into the house and found mother +crying in the kitchen. As he felt more tolerant in his after-dinner +mood, he tried to cheer her up by telling her how fine father had +looked beside the other two men. Mother raised her face, all swollen +and spoilt with weeping, and gazed at her son in astonishment. "They +are taking him to prison," she wailed, "and God knows what will +become of us." + +For a moment Jack felt alarmed. Then a thought came to him and he +smiled, like a little boy who has just found a new and delightful +game. "Never mind, mother," he said, "we'll help him to escape." + +But mother would not stop crying. + + + + +Shepherd's Boy + +The path climbed up and up and threatened to carry me over the +highest point of the downs till it faltered before a sudden +outcrop of chalk and swerved round the hill on the level. I was +grateful for the respite, for I had been walking all day and my +knapsack was growing heavy. Above me in the blue pastures of the +skies the cloud-sheep were grazing, with the sun on their snowy +backs, and all about me the grey sheep of earth were cropping +the wild pansies that grew wherever the chalk had won a covering +of soil. + +Presently I came upon the shepherd standing erect by the path, a +tall, spare man with a face that the sun and the wind had robbed of +all expression. The dog at his feet looked more intelligent than he. +"You've come up from the valley," he said as I passed; "perhaps +you'll have seen my boy?" + +"I'm sorry, I haven't," I said, pausing. + +"Sorrow breaks no bones," he muttered, and strode away with his dog +at his heels. It seemed to me that the dog was apologetic for his +master's rudeness. + +I walked on to the little hill-girt village, where I had made up my +mind to pass the night. The man at the village shop said he would put +me up, so I took off my knapsack and sat down on a sackful of cattle +cake while the bacon was cooking. + +"If you came over the hill, you'll have met shepherd," said the man, +"and he'll have asked you for his boy." + +"Yes, but I hadn't seen him." + +The shopman nodded. "There are clever folk who say you can see him, +and clever folk who say you can't. The simple ones like you and me, +we say nothing, but we don't see him. Shepherd hasn't got no boy." + +"What! is it a joke?" + +"Well, of course it may be," said the shop-man guardedly, "though I +can't say I've heard many people laughing at it yet. You see, +shepherd's boy he broke his neck. . . . + +"That was in the days before they built the fence above the big +chalk-pit that you passed on your left coming down. A dangerous +place it used to be for the sheep, so shepherd's boy he used to lie +along there to stop them dropping into it, while shepherd's dog he +stopped them from going too far. And shepherd he used to come down +here and have his glass, for he took it then like you or me. He's +blue ribbon now. + +"It was one night when the mists were out on the hills, and maybe +shepherd had had a glass too much, or maybe he got a bit lost in the +smoke. But when he went up there to bring them home, he starts +driving them into the pit as straight as could be. Shepherd's boy he +hollered out and ran to stop them, but four-and-twenty of them went +over, and the lad he went with them. You mayn't believe me, but five +of them weren't so much as scratched, though it's a sixty feet drop. +Likely they fell soft on top of the others. But shepherd's boy he was +done. + +"Shepherd he's a bit spotty now, and most times he thinks the boy's +still with him. And there are clever folk who'll tell you that +they've seen the boy helping shepherd's dog with the sheep. That +would be a ghost now, I shouldn't wonder. I've never seen it, but +then I'm simple, as you might say. + +"But I've had two boys myself, and it seems to me that a boy like +that, who didn't eat and didn't get into mischief, and did his work, +would be the handiest kind of boy to have about the place." + + + + +The Passing of Edward + +I found Dorothy sitting sedately on the beach, with a mass of black +seaweed twined in her hands and her bare feet sparkling white in the +sun. Even in the first glow of recognition I realised that she was +paler than she had been the summer before, and yet I cannot blame +myself for the tactlessness of my question. + +"Where's Edward?" I said; and I looked about the sands for a sailor +suit and a little pair of prancing legs. + +While I looked Dorothy's eyes watched mine inquiringly, as if she +wondered what I might see. + +"Edward's dead," she said simply. "He died last year, after you +left." + +For a moment I could only gaze at the child in silence, and ask +myself what reason there was in the thing that had hurt her so. Now +that I knew that Edward played with her no more, I could see that +there was a shadow upon her face too dark for her years, and that she +had lost, to some extent, that exquisite carelessness of poise which +makes children so young. Her voice was so calm that I might have +thought her forgetful had I not seen an instant of patent pain in her +wide eyes. + +"I'm sorry," I said at length "very, very, sorry indeed. I had +brought down my car to take you for a drive, as I promised." + +"Oh! Edward _would_ have liked that," she answered thoughtfully; "he +was so fond of motors." She swung round suddenly and looked at the +sands behind her with staring eyes. + +"I thought I heard--" she broke off in confusion. + +I, too, had believed for an instant that I had heard something +that was not the wind or the distant children or the smooth sea +hissing along the beach. During that golden summer which linked +me with the dead, Edward had been wont, in moments of elation, +to puff up and down the sands, in artistic representation of a +nobby, noisy motor-car. But the dead may play no more, and there +was nothing there but the sands and the hot sky and Dorothy. + +"You had better let me take you for a run, Dorothy," I said. "The man +will drive, and we can talk as we go along." + +She nodded gravely, and began pulling on her sandy stockings. + +"It did not hurt him," she said inconsequently. + +The restraint in her voice pained me like a blow. + +"Oh, don't, dear, don't!" I cried, "There is nothing to do but +forget." + +"I have forgotten, quite," she answered, pulling at her shoe-laces +with calm fingers. "It was ten months ago." + +We walked up to the front, where the car was waiting, and Dorothy +settled herself among the cushions with a little sigh of contentment, +the human quality of which brought me a certain relief. If only she +would laugh or cry! I sat down by her side, but the man waited by the +open door. + +"What is it?" I asked. + +"I'm sorry, sir," he answered, looking about him in confusion, "I +thought I saw a young gentleman with you." + +He shut the door with a bang, and in a minute we were running through +the town. I knew that Dorothy was watching my face with her wounded +eyes; but I did not look at her until the green fields leapt up on +either side of the white road. + +"It is only for a little while that we may not see him," I said; "all +this is nothing." + +"I have forgotten," she repeated. "I think this is a very nice +motor." + +I had not previously complained of the motor, but I was wishing then +that it would cease its poignant imitation of a little dead boy, a +boy who would play no more. By the touch of Dorothy's sleeve against +mine I knew that she could hear it too. And the miles flew by, green +and brown and golden, while I wondered what use I might be in the +world, who could not help a child to forget, Possibly there was +another way, I thought. + +"Tell me how it happened," I said. + +Dorothy looked at me with inscrutable eyes, and spoke in a voice +without emotion. + +"He caught a cold, and was very ill in bed. I went in to see him, +and he was all white and faded. I said to him, `How are you Edward?' +and he said, `I shall get up early in the morning to catch beetles.' +I didn't see him any more." + +"Poor little chap!" I murmured. + +"I went to the funeral," she continued monotonously, "It was very +rainy, and I threw a little bunch of flowers down into the hole. +There was a whole lot of flowers there; but I think Edward liked +apples better than flowers." + +"Did you cry?" I said cruelly. + +She paused. "I don't know. I suppose so. It was a long time ago; I +think I have forgotten." + +Even while she spoke I heard Edward puffing along the sands: Edward +who had been so fond of apples. + +"I cannot stand this any longer," I said aloud. "Let's get out and +walk in the woods for a change." + +She agreed, with a depth of comprehension that terrified me; and the +motor pulled up with a jerk at a spot where hardly a post served to +mark where the woods commenced and the wayside grass stopped. We took +one of the dim paths which the rabbits had made and forced our way +through the undergrowth into the peaceful twilight of the trees. + +"You haven't got very sunburnt this year," I said as we walked. + +"I don't know why. I've been out on the beach all the days. +Sometimes I've played, too." + +I did not ask her what games she had played, or who had been her +play-friend. Yet even there in the quiet woods I knew that Edward was +holding her back from me. It is true that, in his boy's way, he had +been fond of me; but I should not have dared to take her out without +him in the days when his live lips had filled the beach with song, +and his small brown body had danced among the surf. Now it seemed +that I had been disloyal to him. + +And presently we came to a clearing where the leaves of forgotten +years lay brown and rotten beneath our feet, and the air was full of +the dryness of death. + +"Let's be going back. What do you think, Dorothy?" I said. + +"I think," she said slowly,--"I think that this would be a very good +place to catch beetles." + +A wood is full of secret noises, and that is why, I suppose, we +heard a pair of small quick feet come with a dance of triumph +through the rustling bracken. For a minute we listened deeply, and +then Dorothy broke from my side with a piercing call on her lips. + +"Oh, Edward, Edward!" she cried; "Edward!" + +But the dead may play no more, and presently she came back to me with +the tears that are the riches of childhood streaming down her face. + +"I can hear him, I can hear him," she sobbed; "but I cannot see him. +Never, never again." + +And so I led her back to the motor. But in her tears I seemed to +find a promise of peace that she had not known before. + +Now Edward was no very wonderful little boy; it may be that he was +jealous and vain and greedy; yet now, it seemed as he lay in his +small grave with the memory of Dorothy's flowers about him, he had +wrought this kindness for his sister. Yes, even though we heard no +more than the birds in the branches and the wind swaying the scented +bracken; even though he had passed with another summer, and the dead +and the love of the dead may rise no more from the grave. + + + + +The Story Of A Book + + I. THE WRITER + +The history of a book must necessarily begin with the history of its +author, for surely in these enlightened days neither the youngest nor +the oldest of critics can believe that works of art are found under +gooseberry-bushes or in the nests of storks. In truth, I am by no +means sure that everybody knew this before the publication of "The +Man Shakespeare," and for the sake of a mystified posterity it may be +well to explain that there was once a school of criticism that +thought it indecent to pry into that treasure-house of individuality +from which, if we reject the nursery hypotheses mentioned above, it +is clearly obvious that authors derive their works. That the drama +must needs be closely related to the dramatist is just one of those +simple discoveries that invariably elude the subtle professional +mind; but in this wiser hour I may be permitted to assume that the +author was the conscious father of his novel, and that he did not +find it surprisingly in his pocket one morning, like a bad shilling +taken in change from the cabman overnight. + +Before he published his novel at the ripe age of thirty-seven the +author had lived an irreproachable and gentlemanly life. Born with at +least a German-silver spoon in his mouth, he passed, after a normally +eventful childhood, through a respectable public school, and spent +several agreeable years at Cambridge without taking a degree. He then +went into his uncle's office in the City, where he idled daily from +ten to four, till in due course he was admitted to a partnership, +which enabled him to reduce his hours of idleness to eleven to three. +These details become important when we reflect that from his +childhood on the author had a great deal of time at his disposal. If +he had been entirely normal, he would have accepted the conventions +of the society to which he belonged, and devoted himself to motoring, +bridge, and the encouragement of the lighter drama. But some +deep-rooted habit of his childhood, or even perhaps some remote +hereditary taint, led him to spend an appreciable fraction of his +leisure time in the reading of works of fiction. Unlike most lovers +of light literature, he read with a certain mental concentration, and +was broad-minded enough to read good novels as well as bad ones. + +It is a pleasant fact that it is impossible to concentrate one's mind +on anything without in time becoming wiser, and in the course of +years the author became quite a skilful critic of novels. From the +first he had allowed his reading to colour his impressions of life, +and had obediently lived in a world of blacks and whites, of heroes +and heroines, of villains and adventuresses, until the grateful +discovery of the realistic school of fiction permitted him to believe +that men and women were for the most part neither good nor bad, but +tabby. Moreover, the leisurely reading of many sentences had given +him some understanding of the elements of style. He perceived that +some combinations of words were illogical, and that others were +unlovely to the ear; and at the same time he acquired a vocabulary +and a knowledge of grammar and punctuation that his earlier education +had failed to give him. He read new novels at his writing-table, and +took pleasure in correcting the mistakes of their authors in ink. +When he had done this, he would hand them to his wife, who always +read the end first, and, indeed, rarely pursued her investigation of +a book beyond the last chapter. + +We buy knowledge with illusions, and pay a high price for it, for the +acquirement of quite a small degree of wisdom will deprive us of a +large number of pleasant fancies. So it was with the author, who +found his joy in novel-reading diminishing rapidly as his critical +knowledge increased. He was no longer able to lose himself between +the covers of a romance, but slid his paper-knife between the pages +of a book with an unwholesome readiness to be irritated by the +ignorance and folly of the novelist. His destructive criticism of +works of fiction became so acute that it was natural that his +unlettered friends should suggest that he himself ought to write a +novel. For a long while he was content to receive the flattering +suggestion with a reticent smile that masked his conviction that +there was a difference between criticism and creation. But as he grew +older the imperfections in the books he read ceased to give him the +thrill of the successful explorer in sight of the expected, and time +began to trickle too slowly through his idle fingers. One day he sat +down and wrote "Chapter I." at the head of a sheet of quarto paper. + +It seemed to him that the difficulty was only one of selection, and +he wrote two-thirds of a novel with a breathless ease of creation +that made him marvel at himself and the pitiful struggles of less +gifted novelists. Then in a moment of insight he picked up his +manuscript and realised that what he had written was childishly +crude. He had felt his story while he wrote it, but somehow or other +he had failed to get his emotions on paper, and he saw quite clearly +that it was worse and not better than the majority of the books which +he had held up to ridicule. + +There was a certain doggedness in his character that might have made +him a useful citizen but for that unfortunate hereditary spoon, and +he wrote "Chapter I." at the head of a new sheet of quarto paper long +before the library fire had reached the heart of his first luckless +manuscript. This time he wrote more slowly, and with a waning +confidence that failed him altogether when he was about half-way +through. Reading the fragment dispassionately he thought there were +good pages in it, but, taken as a whole, it was unequal, and moved +forward only by fits and starts. He began again with his late +manuscript spread about him on the table for reference. At the fifth +attempt he succeeded in writing a whole novel. + +In the course of his struggles he had acquired a philosophy of +composition. Especially he had learned to shun those enchanted hours +when the labour of creation became suspiciously easy, for he had +found by experience that the work he did in these moments of +inspiration was either bad in itself or out of key with the preceding +chapters. He thought that inspiration might be useful to poets or +writers of short stories, but personally as a novelist he found it a +nuisance. By dint of hard work, however, he succeeded in eliminating +its evil influence from his final draft. He told himself that he had +no illusions as to the merits of his book. He knew he was not a man +of genius, but he knew also that the grammar and the punctuation of +his novel were far above the average of such works, and although he +could not read Sir Thomas Browne or Walter Pater with pleasure, he +felt sure that his book was written in a straightforward and +gentlemanly style. He was prepared to be told that his use of the +colon was audacious, and looked forward with pleasure to an agreeable +controversy on the question. + +He read his book to his friends, who made suggestions that would have +involved its rewriting from one end to the other. He read it to his +enemies, who told him that it was nearly good enough to publish; he +read it to his wife, who said that it was very nice, and that it was +time to dress for dinner. No one seemed to realise that it was the +most important thing he had ever done in his life. This quickened his +eagerness to get it published--an eagerness only tempered by a very +real fear of those knowing dogs, the critics. He could not forget +that he had criticised a good many books himself in terms that would +have made the authors abandon their profession if they had but heard +his strictures; and he had read notices in the papers that would have +made him droop with shame if they had referred to any work of his. +When these sombre thoughts came to him he would pick up his book and +read it again, and in common fairness he had to admit to himself that +he found it uncommonly good. + +One day, after a whole batch of ungrammatical novels had reached him +from the library, he posted his manuscript to his favourite +publisher. He had heard stories of masterpieces many times rejected, +so he did not tell his wife what he had done. + + II. The Sleepy Publisher + +The publisher to whom our author had confided his manuscript stood, +like all publishers, at the very head of his profession. His business +was conducted on sound conservative lines, which means that though he +had regretfully abandoned the three-volume novel for the novel +published at six shillings, he was not among the intrepid +revolutionaries who were beginning to produce new fiction at a still +lower price. Besides novels he published solid works of biography at +thirty-one and six, art books at a guinea, travel books at fifteen +shillings, flighty historical works at twelve-and-sixpence, and cheap +editions of Montaigne's Essays and "Robinson Crusoe" at a shilling. +Some idea of his business methods may be derived from the fact that +it pleased him to reflect that all the other publishers were +producing exactly the same books as he was. And though he would admit +that the trade had been ruined by competition and the outrageous +royalties demanded by successful authors, and, further, that he made +a loss on every separate department of his business, in some +mysterious fashion the business as a whole continued to pay him very +well. He left the active part of the management to a confidential +clerk, and contented himself with signing cheques and interviewing +authors. + +With such a publisher the fate of our author's book was never in +doubt. If it was lacking in those qualities that might be expected to +commend it to the reading public, it was conspicuously rich in those +merits that determine the favourable judgment of publishers' readers. +It was above all things a gentlemanly book, without violence and +without eccentricities. It was carefully and grammatically written; +but it had not that exotic literary flavour which is so tiresome on a +long railway journey. It could be put into the hands of any +schoolgirl, and at most would merely send her to sleep. The only +thing that could be said against it was that the author's dread of +inspiration had made it grievously dull, but it was the publisher's +opinion that after a glut of sensational fiction the six-shilling +public had come to regard dullness as the hall-mark of literary +merit. He had no illusions as to its possible success, but, on the +other hand, he knew that he could not lose any money on it, so he +wrote a letter to the author inviting him to an interview. + +As soon as he had read the letter the author told himself that he +had been certain all along that his book would be accepted. +Nevertheless, he went to the interview moved by certain emotional +flutterings against which circumstance had guarded him ever since +his boyhood. He found this mild excitation of the nervous system by +no means unpleasant. It was like digesting a new and subtle liqueur +that made him light-footed and tingled in the tips of his fingers. +He recalled a phrase that had greatly pleased him in the early days +of his novel. "As the sun colours flowers, so Art colours life." It +seemed to him that this was beginning to come true, and that life +was already presenting itself to him in a gayer, brighter dress. He +reached the publisher's office, therefore, in an unwontedly +receptive mood, and was tremendously impressed by the rudeness of +the clerks, who treated authors as mendicants and expressed their +opinion of literature by handling books as if they were bundles of +firewood. + +The publisher looked at him under heavy eyelids, recognised his +position in the social scale, and reflected with satisfaction that +his acquaintances could be relied on to purchase at least a hundred +copies. The interview did not at all take the lines that the author +in his innocence had expected, and in a surprisingly short space of +time he found himself bowed out, with the duplicate of a contract in +the pocket of his overcoat. In the outer office the confidential +clerk took him in hand and led him to the door of an enormous cellar, +lit by electricity and filled from one end to the other with bales +and heaps of books. "Books!" said the confidential clerk, with the +smile of a gamekeeper displaying his hand-reared pheasants. "There +are a great many," the author said timidly. + +"Of course, we do not keep our stock here," the clerk explained. +"These are just samples." It was sometimes necessary to remind +inexperienced writers that the publication of their first book was +only a trivial incident in the history of a great publishing house. +The author had a sad vision of his novel as a little brick in a +monstrous pyramid built of books, and the clerk mentally decided that +he was not the kind of man to turn up every day at the office to ask +them how they were getting on. + +The author was a little dazed when he emerged into the street and the +sunshine. His book, which an hour before had seemed the most +important thing in the world, had, become almost insignificant in the +light of that vast collection of printed matter, and in some subtle +way he felt that he had dwindled with it. The publisher had praised +it without enthusiasm and had not specified any of its merits; he had +not even commented on his fantastic use of the colon. The author had +lived with it now for many months--it had become a part of his +personality, and he felt that he had betrayed himself in delivering +it into the hands of strangers who could not understand it. He had +the reticence of the well-bred Englishman, and though he told himself +reassuringly that his novel in no way reflected his private life, he +could not quite overcome the sentiment that it was a little vulgar to +allow alien eyes to read the product of his most intimate thoughts. +He had really been shocked at the matter-of-fact way in which every +one at the office had spoken of his book, and the sight of all the +other books with which it would soon be inextricably confused had +emphasised the painful impression. This all seemed to rob the +author's calling of its presumed distinction, and he looked at the +men and women who passed him on the pavement, and wondered whether +they too had written books. + +This mood lasted for some weeks, at the end of which time he received +the proofs, which he read and re-read with real pleasure before +setting himself to correcting them with meticulous care. He performed +this task with such conscientiousness, and made so many minor +alterations--he changed most of those flighty colons to more +conventional semicolons--that the confidential clerk swore terribly +when he glanced at the proofs before handing them to a boy, with +instructions to remove three-quarters of the offending emendations. +A week or two later there happened one of those strange little +incidents that make modern literary history. It was a bright, sunny +afternoon; the publisher had been lunching with the star author of +the firm, a novelist whose books were read wherever the British flag +waved and there was a circulating library to distribute them, and +now, in the warm twilight of the lowered blinds he was enjoying +profound thoughts, delicately tinted by burgundy and old port. The +shrewdest men make mistakes, and certainly it was hardly wise of the +confidential clerk to choose this peaceful moment to speak about our +author's book. "I suppose we shall print a thousand?" he said. "Five +thousand!" ejaculated the publisher. What was he thinking about? Was +he filling up an imaginary income-tax statement, or was he trying to +estimate the number of butterflies that seemed to float in the amber +shadows of the room? The clerk did not know. "I suppose you mean one +thousand, sir?" he said gently. The publisher was now wide awake. He +had lost all his butterflies, and he was not the man to allow himself +to be sleepy in the afternoon. "I said five thousand!" The clerk bit +his lip and left the room. + +The author never heard of this brief dialogue; probably if he had +been present he would have missed its significance. He would never +have connected it with the flood of paragraphs that appeared in the +Press announcing that the acumen of the publisher had discovered a +new author of genius--paragraphs wherein he was compared with +Dickens, Thackeray, Flaubert, Richardson, Sir Walter Besant, Thomas +Browne, and the author of "An Englishwoman's Love-letters." As it +was, it did not occur to him to wonder why the publisher should spend +so much money on advertising a book of which he had seemed to have +but a half-hearted appreciation. After all it was his book, and the +author felt that it was only natural that as the hour of publication +drew near the world of letters should show signs of a dignified +excitement. + + III. The Critic Errant + +There are some emotions so intimate that the most intrepid writer +hesitates to chronicle them lest it should be inferred that he +himself is in the confessional. We have endeavoured to show our +author as a level-headed English-man with his nerves well under +control and an honest contempt for emotionalism in the stronger sex; +but his feelings in the face of the first little bundle of reviews +sent him by the press-cutting agency would prove this portrait +incomplete. He noticed with a vague astonishment that the flimsy +scraps of paper were trembling in his fingers like banknotes in the +hands of a gambler, and he laid them down on the breakfast-table in +disgust of the feminine weakness. This unmistakable proof that he had +written a book, a real book, made him at once happy and uneasy. These +fragments of smudged prints were his passport into a new and +delightful world; they were, it might be said, the name of his +destination in the great republic of letters, and yet he hesitated to +look at them. He heard of the curious blindness of authors that made +it impossible for them to detect the most egregious failings in their +own work, and it occurred to him that this might be his malady. Why: +had he published his book? He felt at that moment that he had taken +too great a risk. It would have been so easy to have had it privately +printed and contented himself with distributing it among his friends. +But these people were paid for writing about books, these critics who +had sent Keats to his gallipots and Swinburne to his fig-tree, might +well have failed to have recognised that his book was sacred, because +it was his own. + +When he had at last achieved a fatalistic tranquillity, he once more +picked up the notices, and this time he read them through carefully. +The _Rutlandshire Gazette_ quoted Shakespeare, the _Thrums Times_ +compared him with Christopher North, the _Stamford-bridge Herald_ +thought that his style resembled that of Macaulay, but they were +unanimous in praising his book without reservation. It seemed to the +author that he was listening to the authentic voice of fame. He +rested his chin on his hand and dreamed long dreams. + +He could afford in this hour of his triumph to forget the annoyances +he had undergone since his book was first accepted. The publisher, +with a large first edition to dispose of, had been rather more than +firm with the author. He had changed the title of the book from +"Earth's Returns"--a title that had seemed to the author dignified +and pleasantly literary--to "The Improbable Marquis," which seemed +to him to mean nothing at all. Moreover, instead of giving the book +a quiet and scholarly exterior, he had bound it in boards of an +injudicious heliotrope, inset with a nasty little coloured picture +of a young woman with a St. Bernard dog. This binding revolted the +author, who objected, with some reason, that in all his book there +was no mention of a dog of that description, or, indeed, of any dog +at all. The book was wrapped in an outer cover that bore a +recommendation of its contents, starting with a hideous split +infinitive and describing it as an exquisite social comedy written +from within. On the whole it seemed to the author that his book was +flying false and undesirable colours, and since art lies outside the +domesticities, he was hardly relieved when his wife told him that +she thought the binding was very pretty. The author had shuddered no +less at the little paragraphs that the publisher had inserted in the +newspapers concerning his birth and education, wherein he was +bracketed with other well-known writers whose careers at the +University had been equally undistinguished. But now that, like +Byron, he found himself famous among the bacon and eggs, he was in +no mood to remember these past vexations. As soon as he had finished +breakfast he withdrew himself to his study and wrote half an essay +on the Republic of Letters. + +In a country wherein fifteen novels--or is it fifty?--are +published every day of the year, the publisher's account of the +goods he sells is bound to have a certain value. Money talks, +as Mr. Arnold Bennett once observed--indeed today it is grown +quite garrulous--and when a publisher spends a lot of money on +advertising a book, the inference is that some one believes the +book to be good. This will not secure a book good notices, but +it will secure it notices of some kind or other, and that, as +every publisher knows, is three-quarters of the battle. The +average critic today is an old young man who has not failed in +literature or art, possibly because he has not tried to +accomplish anything in either. By the time he has acquired some +skill in criticism he has generally ceased to be a critic, +through no fault of his own, but through sheer weariness of +spirit. When a man is very young he can dance upon everyone who +has not written a masterpiece with a light heart, but after +this period of joyous savagery there follows fatigue and a +certain pity. The critic loses sight of his first magnificent +standards, and becomes grateful for even the smallest merit in +the books he is compelled to read. Like a mother giving a +powder to her child, he is at pains to disguise his timid +censure with a teaspoonful of jam. As the years pass by he +becomes afraid of these books that continue to appear in +unreasonable profusion, and that have long ago destroyed his +faith in literature, his love of reading, his sense of humour, +and the colouring matter of his hair. He realises, with a +dreadful sense of the infinite, that when he is dead and buried +this torrent of books will overwhelm the individualities of his +successors, bound like himself to a lifelong examination of the +insignificant. + +Timidity is certainly the note of modern criticism, which is rarely +roused to indignation save when confronted by the infrequent outrage +of some intellectual anarchist. If the critics of the more important +journals were not so enthusiastic as their provincial confreres, +they were at least gentle with "The Improbable Marquis." A critic of +genius would have said that such books were not worth writing, still +less worth reading. An outspoken critic would have said that it was +too dull to be an acceptable presentation of a life that we all find +interesting. As it was, most of the critics praised the style in +which it was written because it was quite impossible to call it an +enthralling or even an entertaining book. Some of the younger +critics, who still retained an interest in their own personalities, +discovered that its vacuity made it a convenient mirror by means of +which they would display the progress of their own genius. In common +gratitude they had to close these manifestations of their merit with +a word or two in praise of the book they were professing to review. +"The Improbable Marquis" was very favourably received by the Press +in general. + +It was, as the publisher made haste to point out in his +advertisements, a book of the year, and, reassured by its flippant +exterior, the libraries and the public bought it with avidity. The +author pasted his swollen collection of newspaper-cuttings into an +album, and carefully revised his novel in case a second edition +should be called for. There was one review which he had read more +often than any of the others, and nevertheless he hesitated to +include it in his collection. "This book," wrote the anonymous +reviewer, "is as nearly faultless a book may be that possesses no +positive merit. It differs only from seven-eighths of the novels +that are produced today in being more carefully written. The author +had nothing to say, and he has said it." That was all, three +malignant lines in a paper of no commercial importance, the sort of +thing that was passed round the publisher's office with an +appreciative chuckle. In the face of the general amiability of the +Press, such a notice in an obscure journal could do the book no +harm. + +Only the author sat hour after hour in his study with that diminutive +scrap of paper before him on the table, and wondered if it was +true. + + IV. Fame + +It was some little time before the public, the mysterious section of +the public that reads works of fiction, discovered that the +publisher, aided by the normal good-humour of the critics, had +persuaded them to sacrifice some of their scant hours of intellectual +recreation on a work of portentous dullness. Therefor the literary +audience has its sense of humour--they amused themselves for a while +by recommending the book to their friends, and the sales crept +steadily up to four thousand, and there stayed with an unmistakable +air of finality. If the book had had any real literary merit its life +would have started at that point, for the weary comments of reviewers +and the strident outcries of publishers tend to obscure rather than +reveal the permanent value of a book. But six months after +publication "The Improbable Marquis" was completely forgotten, save +by the second-hand booksellers, who found themselves embarrassed with +a number of books for which no one seemed anxious to pay six-pence, +in spite of the striking heliotrope binding. The publisher, who was +aware of this circumstance, offered the author five hundred copies at +cost price, and the author bought them, and sent them to public +libraries, without examining the motive for his action too closely. +There were moments when he regarded the success of his book with +suspicion. He would have preferred the praise that had greeted it to +have been less violent and more clearly defined. Of all the +criticisms, the only one that lingered in his mind was the curt +comment, "The author had nothing to say, and he has said it." He +thought it was unfair, but he had remembered it. At the same time, in +examining his own character, he could not find that masterfulness +that seemed to him necessary in a great man. But for the most part he +was content to accept his new honours with a placid satisfaction, and +to smile genially upon a world that was eager to credit him with +qualities that possibly he did not possess. For if his book was no +longer read his fame as an author seemed to be established on a rock. +Society, with a larger S than that which he had hitherto adorned, was +delighted to find after two notable failures that genius could still +be presentable, and the author was rather more than that. He was +rich, he had that air of the distinguished army officer which falls +so easily to those who occupy the pleasant position of sleeping +partner in the City, and he had just the right shade of amused +modesty with which to meet inquiries as to his literary intentions. +In a word, he was an author of whom any country--even France, that +prolific parent of presentable authors--would have been proud. Even +his wife, who had thought it an excellent joke that her husband +should have written a book, had to take him seriously as an author +when she found that their social position was steadily improving. +With feminine tact she gave him a fountain-pen on his birthday, from +which he was meant to conclude that she believed in his mission as an +artist. + +Meanwhile, with the world at his feet, the author spent an +appreciable part of his time in visiting the second-hand bookshops +and buying copies of his book absurdly cheap. He carried these waifs +home and stored them in an attic secretly, for he would have found it +hard to explain his motives to the intellectually childless. In the +first flush of authorship he had sent a number of presentation copies +of his book to writers whom he admired, and he noticed without +bitterness that some of these volumes with their neatly turned +inscriptions were coming back to him through this channel. At all the +second-hand bookshops he saw long-haired young men looking over the +books without buying them, and he thought these must be authors, but +he was too shy to speak to them, though he had a great longing to +know other writers. He wanted to ask them questions concerning their +methods of work, for he was having trouble with his second book. He +had read an article in which the writer said that the great fault of +modern fiction was that authors were more concerned to produce good +chapters than to produce good books. It seemed to him that in his +first book he had only aimed at good sentences, but he knew no one +with whom he could discuss such matters. + +One day he found a copy of "The Improbable Marquis" in the Charing +Cross Road, and was glancing through it with absent-minded interest, +when a voice at his elbow said, "I shouldn't buy that if I were you, +sir. It's no good!" He looked up and saw a wild young man, with +bright eyes and an untidy black beard. "But it's mine; I wrote it," +cried the author. The young man stared at him in dismay. "I'm sorry; +I didn't know," he blurted out, and faded away into the crowd. The +author gazed after him wistfully, regretting that he had not had +presence of mind enough to ask him to lunch. Perhaps the young man +could have told him how he ought to write his second book. + +For somehow or other, at the very moment when his literary position +seemed most secure in the eyes of his wife and his friends, the +author had lost all confidence in his own powers. He shut himself up +in his study every night, and was supposed by an admiring and almost +timorous household to be producing masterpieces, when in reality he +was conducting a series of barren skirmishes between the critical +and the creative elements of his nature. He would write a chapter or +two in a fine fury of composition, and then would read what he had +written with intense disgust. He felt that his second book ought to +be better than his first, and he doubted whether he would even be +able to write anything half so good. In his hour of disillusionment +he recalled the anonymous critic who had treated "The Improbable +Marquis" with such scant respect, and he wrote to him asking him to +expand his judgment. He was prepared to be wounded by the answer, +but the form it took surprised him. In reply to his temperate and +courteous letter the critic sent a postcard bearing only five short +words--"Why did you write it?" + +This was bad manners, but the author was sensible enough to see that +it might be good criticism, especially as he found some difficulty in +answering the question. Why had he written a book? Not for money, or +for fame, or to express a personality of which he saw no reason to be +proud. All his friends had said that he ought to write a novel, and +he had thought that he could write a better one than the average. But +he had to admit that such motives seemed to him insufficient. There +was, perhaps, some mysterious force that drove men to create works of +art, and the critic had seen that his book had lacked this necessary +impulse. In the light of this new theory the author was roused by a +sense of injustice. He felt that it should be possible for anyone to +write a good book if they took sufficient pains, and he set himself +to work again with a savage and unproductive energy. + +It seemed to him that in spite of his effort to bear in mind that the +whole should be greater than any part, his chapters broke up into +sentences and his sentences into forlorn and ungregarious words. When +he looked to his first book for comfort he found the same horrid +phenomenon taking place in its familiar pages. Sometimes when he was +disheartened by his fruitless efforts he slipped out into the +streets, fixing his attention on concrete objects to rest his tired +mind. But he could not help noticing that London had discovered the +secret which made his intellectual life a torment. The streets were +more than a mere assemblage of houses, London herself was more than a +tangled skein of streets, and overhead heaven was more than a +meeting-place of individual stars. What was this secret that made +words into a book, houses into cities, and restless and measurable +stars into an unchanging and immeasurable universe? + + + + +The Bird In The Garden + +The room in which the Burchell family lived in Love Street, S.E., was +underground and depended for light and air on a grating let into the +pavement above. + +Uncle John, who was a queer one, had filled the area with green +plants and creepers in boxes and tins hanging from the grating, so +that the room itself obtained very little light indeed, but there +was always a nice bright green place for the people sitting in it to +look at. Toby, who had peeped into the areas of other little boys, +knew that his was of quite exceptional beauty, and it was with a +certain awe that he helped Uncle John to tend the plants in the +morning, watering them and taking the pieces of paper and straws +that had fallen through the grating from their hair. "It is a great +mistake to have straws in ones hair," Uncle John would say gravely; +and Toby knew that it was true. + +It was in the morning after they had just been watered that the +plants looked and smelt best, and when the sun shone through the +grating and the diamonds were shining and falling through the forest, +Toby would tell the baby about the great bird who would one day come +flying through the trees--a bird of all colours, ugly and beautiful, +with a harsh sweet voice. "And that will be the end of everything," +said Toby, though of course he was only repeating a story his Uncle +John had told him. + +There were other people in the big, dark room besides Toby and Uncle +John and the baby; dark people who flitted to and fro about secret +matters, people called father and mother and Mr. Hearn, who were apt +to kick if they found you in their way, and who never laughed except +at nights, and then they laughed too loudly. + +"They will frighten the bird," thought Toby; but they were kind to +Uncle John because he had a pension. Toby slept in a corner on the +ground beside the baby, and when father and Mr. Hearn fought at +nights he would wake up and watch and shiver; but when this happened +it seemed to him that the baby was laughing at him, and he would +pinch her to make her stop. One night, when the men were fighting +very fiercely and mother had fallen asleep on the table, Uncle John +rose from his bed and began singing in a great voice. It was a song +Toby knew very well about Trafalgar's Bay, but it frightened the two +men a great deal because they thought Uncle John would be too mad to +fetch the pension any more. Next day he was quite well, however, and +he and Toby found a large green caterpillar in the garden among the +plants. + +"This is a fact of great importance," said Uncle John, stroking it +with a little stick. "It is a sign!" + +Toby used to lie awake at nights after that and listen for the bird, +but he only heard the clatter of feet on the pavement and the +screaming of engines far away. + +Later there came a new young woman to live in the cellar--not a dark +person, but a person you could see and speak to. She patted Toby on +the head; but when she saw the baby she caught it to her breast and +cried over it, calling it pretty names. + +At first father and Mr. Hearn were both very kind to her, and mother +used to sit all day in the corner with burning eyes, but after a time +the three used to laugh together at nights as before, and the woman +would sit with her wet face and wait for the coming of the bird, with +Toby and the baby and Uncle John, who was a queer one. + +"All we have to do," Uncle John would say, "is to keep the garden +clean and tidy, and to water the plants every morning so that they +may be very green." And Toby would go and whisper this to the baby, +and she would stare at the ceiling with large, stupid eyes. + +There came a time when Toby was very sick, and he lay all day in his +corner wondering about wonder. Sometimes the room in which he lay +became so small that he was choked for lack of air, sometimes it was +so large that he screamed out because he felt lonely. He could not +see the dark people then at all, but only Uncle John and the woman, +who told him in whispers that her name was "Mummie." She called him +Sonny, which is a very pretty name, and when Toby heard it he felt a +tickling in his sides which he knew to be gladness. Mummie's face was +wet and warm and soft, and she was very fond of kissing. Every +morning Uncle John would lift Toby up and show him the garden, and +Toby would slip out of his arms and walk among the trees and plants. +And the place would grow bigger and bigger until it was all the +world, and Toby would lose himself; amongst the tangle of trees and +flowers and creepers. He would see butterflies there and tame +animals, and the sky was full of birds of all colours, ugly and +beautiful; but he knew that none of these was the bird, because their +voices were only sweet. Sometimes he showed these wonders to a little +boy called Toby, who held his hand and called him Uncle John, +sometimes he showed them to his mummie and he himself was Toby; but +always when he came back he found himself lying in Uncle John's arms, +and, weary from his walk, would fall into a pleasant dreamless sleep. + +It seemed to Toby at this time that a veil hung about him which, dim +and unreal in itself, served to make all things dim and unreal. He +did not know whether he was asleep or awake, so strange was life, so +vivid were his dreams. Mummie, Uncle John, the baby, Toby himself +came with a flicker of the veil and disappeared vaguely without +cause. It would happen that Toby would be speaking to Uncle John, and +suddenly he would find himself looking into the large eyes of the +baby, turned stupidly towards the ceiling, and again the baby would +be Toby himself, a hot, dry little body without legs or arms, that +swayed suspended as if by magic a foot above the bed. + +Then there was the vision of two small feet that moved a long way +off, and Toby would watch them curiously as kittens do their tails, +without knowing the cause of their motion. It was all very wonderful +and very strange, and day by day the veil grew thicker; there was no +need to wake when the sleeptime was so pleasant; there were no dark +people to kick you in that dreamy place. + +And yet Toby woke--woke to a life and in a place which he had never +known before. + +He found himself on a heap of rags in a large cellar which depended +for its light on a grating let into the pavement of the street +above. On the stone floor of the area and swinging from the grating +were a few sickly, grimy plants in pots. There must have been, a +fine sunset up above, for a faint red glow came through the bars and +touched the leaves of the plants. + +There was a lighted candle standing in a bottle on the table, and the +cellar seemed full of people. At the table itself two men and a woman +were drinking, though they were already drunk, and beyond in a corner +Toby could see the head and shoulders of a tall old man. Beside him +there crouched a woman with a faded, pretty face, and between Toby +and the rest of the room there stood a box in which lay a baby with +large, wakeful eyes. + +Toby's body tingled with excitement, for this was a new thing; he had +never seen it before, he had never seen anything before. + +The voice of the woman at the table rose and fell steadily without a +pause; she was abusing the other woman, and the two drunken men were +laughing at her and shouting her on; Toby thought the other woman +lacked spirit because she stayed crouching on the floor and said +nothing. + +At last the woman stopped her abuse, and one of the men turned and +shouted an order to the woman on the floor. She stood up and came +towards him, hesitating; this annoyed the man and he swore at her +brutally; when she came near enough he knocked her down with his +fist, and all the three burst out laughing. + +Toby was so excited that he knelt up in his corner and clapped his +hands, but the others did not notice because the old man was up and +swaying wildly over the woman. He seemed to be threatening the man +who had struck her, and that one was evidently afraid of him, for he +rose unsteadily and lifted the chair on which he had been sitting +above his head to use as a weapon. + +The old man raised his fist and the chair fell heavily on to his +wrinkled forehead and he dropped to the ground. + +The woman at the table cried out, "The pension!" in her shrill voice, +and then they were all quiet, looking. + +Then it seemed to Toby that through the forest there came flying, +with a harsh sweet voice and a tumult of wings, a bird of all +colours, ugly and beautiful, and he knew, though later there might be +people to tell him otherwise, that that was the end of everything. + + + + +Children Of The Moon + +The boy stood at the place where the park trees stopped and the +smooth lawns slid away gently to the great house. He was dressed only +in a pair of ragged knickerbockers and a gaping buttonless shirt, so +that his legs and neck and chest shone silver bare in the moonlight. +By day he had a mass of rough golden hair, but now it seemed to brood +above his head like a black cloud that made his face deathly white by +comparison. On his arms there lay a great heap of gleaming dew-wet +roses and lilies, spoil of the park flower-beds. Their cool petals +touched his cheek, and filled his nostrils with aching scent. He felt +his arms smarting here and there, where the thorns of the roses had +torn them in the dark, but these delicate caresses of pain only +served to deepen to him the wonder of the night that wrapped him +about like a cloak. Behind him there dreamed the black woods, and +over his head multitudinous stars quivered and balanced in space; but +these things were nothing to him, for far across the lawn that was +spread knee-deep, with a web of mist there gleamed for his eager eyes +the splendour of a fairy palace. Red and orange and gold, the lights +of the fairy revels shone from a hundred windows and filled him with +wonder that he should see with wakeful eyes the jewels that he had +desired so long in sleep. He could only gaze and gaze until his +straining eyes filled with tears, and set the enchanted lights +dancing in the dark. On his ears, that heard no more the crying of +the night-birds and the quick stir of the rabbits in the brake, there +fell the strains of far music. The flowers in his arms seemed to sway +to it, and his heart beat to the deep pulse of the night. + +So enraptured were his senses that he did not notice the coming of +the girl, and she was able to examine him closely before she called +to him softly through the moonlight. + +"Boy! Boy!" + +At the sound of her voice he swung round and looked at her with +startled eyes. He saw her excited little face and her white dress. + +"Are you a fairy?" he asked hoarsely, for the night-mist was in his +voice. + +"No," she said, "I'm a little girl. You're a wood-boy, I suppose?" + +He stayed silent, regarding her with a puzzled face. Who was this +little white creature with the tender voice that had slipped so +suddenly out of the night? + +"As a matter of fact," the girl continued, "I've come out to have a +look at the fairies. There's a ring down in the wood. You can come +with me if you like, wood-boy." + +He nodded his head silently, for he was afraid to speak to her, and +set off through the wood by her side, still clasping the flowers to +his breast. + +"What were you looking at when I found you?" she asked. + +"The palace--the fairy palace," the boy muttered. + +"The palace?" the girl repeated. "Why, that's not a palace; that's +where I live." + +The boy looked at her with new awe; if she were a fairy---- But the +girl had noticed that his feet made no sound beside her shoes. + +"Don't the thorns prick your feet, wood-boy?" she asked; but the boy +said nothing, and they were both silent for a while, the girl looking +about her keenly as she walked, and the boy watching her face. +Presently they came to a wide pool where a little tinkling fountain +threw bubbles to the hidden fish. + +"Can you swim?" she said to the boy. + +He shook his head. + +"It's a pity," said the girl; "we might have had a bathe. It would be +rather fun in the dark, but it's pretty deep there. We'd better get +on to the fairy ring." + +The moon had flung queer shadows across the glade in which the ring +lay, and when they stood on the edge listening intently the wood +seemed to speak to them with a hundred voices. + +"You can take hold of my hand, if you like," said the girl, in a +whisper. + +The boy dropped his flowers about his white feet and felt for the +girl's hand in the dark. Soon it lay in his own, a warm live thing, +that stirred a little with excitement. + +"I'm not afraid," the girl said; and so they waited. + + * * * * * + +The man came upon them suddenly from among the silver birches. He had +a knapsack on his back and his hair was as long as a tramp's. At +sight of him the girl almost screamed, and her hand trembled in the +boy's. Some instinct made him hold it tighter. + +"What do you want?" he muttered, in his hoarse voice. + +The man was no less astonished than the children. + +"What on earth are you doing here?" he cried. His voice was mild and +reassuring, and the girl answered him promptly. + +"I came out to look for fairies." + +"Oh, that's right enough," commented the man; "and you," he said, +turning to the boy, "are you after fairies, too? Oh, I see; picking +flowers. Do you mean to sell them?" + +The boy shook his head. + +"For my sister," he said, and stopped abruptly. + +"Is your sister fond of flowers?" + +"Yes; she's dead." + +The man looked at him gravely. + +"That's a phrase," he said, "and phrases are the devil. Who told you +that dead people like flowers?" + +"They always have them," said the boy, blushing for shame of his +pretty thought. + +"And what are _you_ looking for?" the girl interrupted. + +The man made a mocking grimace, and glanced around the glade as if he +were afraid of being overheard. + +"Dreams," he said bluntly. + +The girl pondered this for a moment. + +"And your knapsack?" she began. + +"Yes," said the man, "it's full of them." + +The children looked at the knapsack with interest, the girl's fingers +tingling to undo the straps of it. + +"What are they like?" she asked. + +The man gave a short laugh. + +"Very like yours and his, I expect; when you grow older, young woman, +you'll find there's really only one dream possible for a sensible +person. But you don't want to hear about my troubles. This is more in +your line!" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a flageolet, +which he put to his lips. + +"Listen!" he said. + +To the girl it seemed as though the little tune had leapt from the +pipe, and was dancing round the ring like a real fairy, while echo +came tripping through the trees to join it. The boy gaped and said +nothing. + +At last, when the fairy was beginning to falter and echo was quite +out of breath, the man took the flageolet from his lips. + +"Well," he said, with a smile. + +"Thank you very much," said the girl politely. "I think that was very +nice indeed. Oh, boy!" she broke off, "you're hurting my hand!" + +The boy's eyes were shining strangely, and he was waving his arms in +dismay. + +"All the wasted moonlight!" he cried; "the grass is quite wet with +it." + +The girl turned to him in surprise. + +"Why, boy, you've found your voice." + +"After that," said the man gravely, as he put his flageolet back in +his pocket, "I think I will show you the inside of my knapsack." + +The girl bent down eagerly, while he loosened the straps, but gave a +cry of disappointment when she saw the contents. + +"Pictures!" she said. + +"Pictures," echoed the man drily,--"pictures of dreams. I don't know +how you're going to see them. Perhaps the moon will do her best." + +The girl looked at them nicely, and passed them on one by one to the +boy. Presently she made a discovery. + +"Oh, boy!" she cried, "your tears are spoiling all the pictures." + +"I'm sorry," said the boy huskily; "I can't help it." + +"I know," the man said quickly; "it doesn't matter a bit. I expect +you've seen these pictures before." + +"I know them all," said the boy, "but I have never seen them." + +The man frowned. + +"It's the devil," he said to himself, "when boys speak English." He +turned suddenly to the girl, who was puzzling over the boy's tears. +"It's time you went back to bed," he said; "there won't be any +fairies tonight. It's too cold for them." + +The girl yawned. + +"I shall get into a row when I get back if they've found it out. I +don't care." + +"The moon is fading," said the boy suddenly; "there are no more +shadows." + +"We will see you through the wood," the man continued, "and say +good-night." + +He put his pictures back in his knapsack and then walked silently +through the murmuring wood. At the edge of the wood the girl stopped. + +"You are a wood-boy," she said to the boy, "and you mustn't come any +farther. You can give me a kiss if you like." + +The boy did not move, but stayed regarding her awkwardly. + +"I think you are a very silly boy," said the girl, with a toss of her +head, and she stalked away proudly into the mist. + +"Why didn't you kiss her?" asked the man. + +"Her lips would burn me," said the boy. + +The man and the boy walked slowly across the park. + +"Now, boy," said the man, "since civilisation has gone to bed the +time has come for you to hear your destiny." + +"I am only a poor boy," the boy replied simply. "I don't think I have +any destiny." + +"Paradox," said the man, "is meant to conceal the insincerity of the +aged, not to express the simplicity of youth. But I wander. You have +made phrases tonight." + +"What are phrases?" + +"What are dreams? What are roses? What, in fine, is the moon? Boy, I +take you for a moon-child. You hold her pale flowers in your arms, +her white beams have caressed your limbs, you prefer the kisses of +her cool lips to those of that earth-child; all this is very well. +But, above all, you have the music of her great silence; above all, +you have her tears. When I played to you on my pipe you recognised +the voice of your mother. When I showed you my pictures you recalled +the tales with which she hushed you to sleep. And so I knew that you +were her son and my little brother." + +"The moon has always been my friend," said the boy; "but I did not +know that she was my mother." + +"Perhaps your sister knows it; the happy dead are glad to seek her +for a mother; that is why they are so fond of white flowers." + +"We have a mother at home. She works very hard for us." + +"But it is your mother among the clouds who makes your life +beautiful, and the beauty of your life is the measure of your days." + +While the boy reflected on these things they had reached the gates of +the park, and they stole past the silent lodge on to the high road. A +man was waiting there in the shadows, and when he saw the boy's +companion he rushed out and seized him by the arm. + +"So I've got you," he said; "I don't think I'll let you go again in a +hurry." + +The son of the moon gave a queer little laugh. + +"Why, it's Taylor!" he said pleasantly; "but, Taylor, you know +you're making a great mistake." + +"Very possibly," said the keeper, with a laugh. + +"You see this boy here, Taylor; I assure you he is much madder than I +am." + +Taylor looked at the boy kindly. + +"Time you were in bed, Tommy," he said. + +"Taylor," said the man earnestly, "this boy has made three phrases. +If you don't lock him up he will certainly become a poet. He will +set your precious world of sanity ablaze with the fire of his mother, +the moon. Your palaces will totter, Taylor, and your kingdoms become +as dust. I have warned you." + +"That's right, sir; and now you must come with me." + +"Boy," said the man generously, "keep your liberty. By grace of +Providence, all men in authority are fools. We shall meet again under +the light of the moon." + +With dreamy eyes the boy watched the departure of his companion. He +had become almost invisible along the road when, miraculously as it +seemed, the light of the moon broke through the trees by the wayside +and lit up his figure. For a moment it fell upon his head like a +halo, and touched the knapsack of dreams with glory. Then all was +lost in the blackness of night. + +As he turned homeward the boy felt a cold wind upon his cheek. It was +the first breath of dawn. + + + + +The Coffin Merchant + + I + +London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a +melancholy too insistent to be ignored and too causeless to be +enjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold wind +round every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the +pavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery. +Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of a +half-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of the +world's melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creeping +over his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on the +earth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like a +mask on the faces of disillusioned men? The wind blew down +Southampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed away +in a shudder of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sunday +in London before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in the +nobility of work. + +At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust a +handbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. The +blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone +sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his +pockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed so +lightly. + +"Excuse me, sir," he said, following him, "you have not looked to +see what my bills are." + +"Whatever they are I do not want them." + +"That's where you are wrong, sir," the man said earnestly. "You will +never find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for the +unexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill contains +exactly what you do want." + +Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes were +ragged, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, but +his eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of an +educated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with a +keen expectancy, as though his decision I on the trivial point was of +real importance. + +"I don't know what you are driving at," he said, "but if it will give +you any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you argue +with all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a long +time to get rid of them." + +"I only offer them to suitable persons," the man said, folding up one +of the handbills while he spoke, "and I'm sure you will not regret +taking it," and he slipped the paper into Eustace's hand and walked +rapidly away. + +Eustace looked after him curiously for a moment, and then opened the +paper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, he +gave a low whistle of astonishment. "You will soon be warning a +coffin!" it read. "At 606, Gray's Inn Road, your order will be +attended to with civility and despatch. Call and see us!!" + +Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out of +sight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning to +shine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled the paper into +his overcoat pocket, and turned homewards. + +"How silly!" he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound of +his footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh. + + II + +Eustace was impressionable but not temperamentally morbid, and he was +troubled a little by the fact that the gruesomely bizarre handbill +continued to recur to his mind. The thing was so manifestly absurd, +he told himself with conviction, that it was not worth a second +thought, but this did not prevent him from thinking of it again and +again. What manner of undertaker could hope to obtain business by +giving away foolish handbills in the street? Really, the whole thing +had the air of a brainless practical joke, yet his intellectual +fairness forced him to admit that as far as the man who had given him +the bill was concerned, brainlessness was out of the question, and +joking improbable. There had been depths in those little bright +eyes which his glance had not been able to sound, and the man's +manner in making him accept the handbill had given the whole +transaction a kind of ludicrous significance. + +"You will soon be wanting a coffin----!" + +Eustace found himself turning the words over and over in his mind. +If he had had any near relations he might have construed the thing +as an elaborate threat, but he was practically alone in the world, +and it seemed to him that he was not likely to want a coffin for +anyone but himself. + +"Oh damn the thing!" he said impatiently, as he opened the door of +his flat, "it isn't worth worrying about. I mustn't let the whim of +some mad tradesman get on my nerves. I've got no one to bury, +anyhow." + +Nevertheless the thing lingered with him all the evening, and when +his neighbour the doctor came in for a chat at ten o'clock, Eustace +was glad to show him the strange handbill. The doctor, who had +experienced the queer magics that are practised to this day on the +West Coast of Africa, and who, therefore, had no nerves, was +delighted with so striking an example of British commercial +enterprise. + +"Though, mind you," he added gravely, smoothing the crumpled paper on +his knee, "this sort of thing might do a lot of harm if it fell into +the hands of a nervous subject. I should be inclined to punch the +head of the ass who perpetrated it. Have you turned that address up +in the Post Office Directory?" + +Eustace shook his head, and rose and fetched the fat red book which +makes London an English city. Together they found the Gray's Inn +Road, and ran their eyes down to No. 606. + +"'Harding, G. J., Coffin Merchant and Undertaker.' Not much +information there," muttered the doctor. + +"Coffin merchant's a bit unusual, isn't it?" queried Eustace. + +"I suppose he manufactures coffins wholesale for the trade. Still, I +didn't know they called themselves that. Anyhow, it seems, as though +that handbill is a genuine piece of downright foolishness. The idiot +ought to be stopped advertising in that way." + +"I'll go and see him myself tomorrow," said Eustace bluntly. + +"Well, he's given you an invitation," said the doctor, "so it's only +polite of you to go. I'll drop in here in the evening to hear what +he's like. I expect that you'll find him as mad as a hatter." + +"Something like that," said Eustace, "or he wouldn't give handbills +to people like me. I have no one to bury except myself." + +"No," said the doctor in the hall, "I suppose you haven't. Don't let +him measure you for a coffin, Reynolds!" + +Eustace laughed. + +"We never know," he said sententiously. + + III + +Next day was one of those gorgeous blue days of which November gives +but few, and Eustace was glad to run out to Wimbledon for a game of +golf, or rather for two. It was therefore dusk before he made his way +to the Gray's Inn Road in search of the unexpected. His attitude +towards his errand despite the doctor's laughter and the prosaic +entry in the directory, was a little confused. He could not help +reflecting that after all the doctor had not seen the man with the +little wise eyes, nor could he forget that Mr. G. J. Harding's +description of himself as a coffin merchant, to say the least of it, +approached the unusual. Yet he felt that it would be intolerable to +chop the whole business without finding out what it all meant. On the +whole he would have preferred not to have discovered the riddle at +all; but having found it, he could not rest without an answer. + +No. 606, Gray's Inn Road, was not like an ordinary undertaker's shop. +The window was heavily draped with black cloth, but was otherwise +unadorned. There were no letters from grateful mourners, no little +model coffins, no photographs of marble memorials. Even more +surprising was the absence of any name over the shop-door, so that +the uninformed stranger could not possibly tell what trade was +carried on within, or who was responsible for the management of the +business. This uncommercial modesty did not tend to remove Eustace's +doubts as to the sanity of Mr. G. J. Harding; but he opened the +shop-door which started a large bell swinging noisily, and stepped +over the threshold. The shop was hardly more expressive inside than +out. A broad counter ran across it, cutting it in two, and in the +partial gloom overhead a naked gas-burner whistled a noisy song. +Beyond this the shop contained no furniture whatever, and no +stock-in-trade except a few planks leaning against the wall in one +corner. There was a large ink-stand on the counter. Eustace waited +patiently for a minute or two, and then as no one came he began +stamping on the floor with his foot. This proved efficacious, for +soon he heard the sound of footsteps ascending wooden stairs, the +door behind the counter opened and a man came into the shop. + +He was dressed quite neatly now, and his hands were no longer blue +with cold, but Eustace knew at once that it was the man who had given +him the handbill. Nevertheless he looked at Eustace without a sign of +recognition. + +"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly. + +Eustace laid the handbill down on the counter. + +"I want to know about this," he said. "It strikes me as being in +pretty bad taste, and if a nervous person got hold of it, it might be +dangerous." + +"You think so, sir? Yet our representative," he lingered +affectionately on the words, "our representative told you, I believe, +that the handbill was only distributed to suitable cases." + +"That's where you are wrong," said Eustace sharply, "for I have no +one to bury." + +"Except yourself," said the coffin merchant suavely. + +Eustace looked at him keenly. "I don't see----" he began. But the +coffin merchant interrupted him. + +"You must know, sir," he said, "that this is no ordinary undertaker's +business. We possess information that enables us to defy competition +in our special class of trade." + +"Information!" + +"Well, if you prefer it, you may say intuitions. If our +representative handed you that advertisement, it was because he knew +you would need it." + +"Excuse me," said Eustace, "you appear to be sane, but your words do +not convey to me any reasonable significance. You gave me that +foolish advertisement yourself, and now you say that you did so +because you knew I would need it. I ask you why?" + +The coffin merchant shrugged his shoulders. "Ours is a sentimental +trade," he said, "I do not know why dead men want coffins, but they +do. For my part I would wish to be cremated." + +"Dead men?" + +"Ah, I was coming to that. You see Mr.----?" + +"Reynolds." + +"Thank you, my name is Harding--G. J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds, +our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say that +you will need a coffin, it is probable that you will need one." + +"You mean to say that I----" + +"Precisely. In twenty-four hours or less, Mr. Reynolds, you will need +our services." + +The revelation of the coffin merchant's insanity came to Eustace +with a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had a +sense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over his +head. + +"Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!" he said gaily. + +The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed form +from his pocket. "If you would fill this up," he said. + +Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was an +order for a hundred-guinea funeral. + +"I don't know what your game is," he said, "but this has gone on long +enough." + +"Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, and he +leant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face. + +For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. "I +think it's time I----" he began slowly, and then he was silent, his +whole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. The +song of the gas-jet waned to a point in his ears, and then rose +steadily till it was like the beating of the world's heart. The eyes +of the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended in +one great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counter +and filled in the form. + +"Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, +shaking hands with him politely. "I can promise you every civility +and despatch. Good-day, sir." + +Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recall +exactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand, +and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made them +burn. The lit lamps in the Gray's Inn Road seemed to him a little +unsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition to blunder into +him. + +"Queer business," he said to himself dimly; "I'd better have a cab." + +He reached home in a dream. + +It was nearly ten o'clock before the doctor remembered his promise, +and went upstairs to Eustace's flat. The outer door was half-open so +that he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in the +little hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity of +habit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry of +astonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him with +his face flushed and drooping on his shoulder, and his breath +hissing noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at him +quizzically, "If I did not know you, my young friend," he remarked, +"I should say that you were as drunk as a lord." + +And he went up to Eustace and shook him by the shoulder; but Eustace +did not wake. + +"Queer!" the doctor muttered, sniffing at Eustace's lips; "he hasn't +been drinking." + + + + +The Soul Of A Policeman + + I + +Outside, above the uneasy din of the traffic, the sky was glorious +with the far peace of a fine summer evening. Through the upper pane +of the station window Police-constable Bennett, who felt that his +senses at the moment were abnormally keen, recognised with a sinking +heart such reds and yellows as bedecked the best patchwork quilt at +home. By contrast the lights of the superintendent's office were +subdued, so that within the walls of the police-station sounds seemed +of greater importance. Somewhere a drunkard, deprived of his boots, +was drumming his criticism of authority on the walls of his cell. +From the next room, where the men off duty were amusing themselves, +there came a steady clicking of billiard-balls and dominoes, broken +now and again by gruff bursts of laughter. And at his very elbow the +superintendent was speaking in that suave voice that reminded Bennett +of grey velvet. + +"You see, Bennett, how matters stand. I have nothing at all against +your conduct. You are steady and punctual, and I have no doubt that +you are trying to do your duty. But it's very unfortunate that as far +as results go you have nothing to show for your efforts. During the +last three weeks you have not brought in a charge of any description, +and during the same period I find that your colleagues on the beat +have been exceptionally busy. I repeat that I do not accuse you of +neglecting your duty, but these things tell with the magistrates and +convey a general suggestion of slackness." + +Bennett looked down at his brightly polished boots. His fingers were +sandy and there was soft felt beneath his feet. + +"I have been afraid of this for some time, sir," he said, "very much +afraid." + +The superintendent looked at him questioningly. + +"You have nothing to say?" he said. + +"I have always tried to do my duty, sir." + +"I know, I know. But you must see that a certain number of charges, +if not of convictions, is the mark of a smart officer." + +"Surely you would not have me arrest innocent persons?" + +"That is a most improper observation," said the superintendent +severely. "I will say no more to you now. But I hope you will take +what I have said as a warning. You must bustle along, Bennett, bustle +along." + +Outside in the street, Police-constable Bennett was free to reflect +on his unpleasant interview. The superintendent was ambitious and +therefore pompous; he, himself, was unambitious and therefore modest. +Left to himself he might have been content to triumph in the +reflection that he had failed to say a number of foolish things, but +the welfare of his wife and children bound him, tiresomely enough for +a dreamer, tightly to the practical. It was clear that if he did not +forthwith produce signs of his efficiency as a promoter of the peace +that welfare would be imperilled. Yet he did not condemn the chance +that had made him a policeman or even the mischance that brought no +guilty persons to his hands. Rather he looked with a gentle curiosity +into the faces of the people who passed him, and wondered why he +could not detect traces of the generally assumed wickedness of the +neighbourhood. These unkempt men and women were thieves and even +murderers, it appeared; but to him they shone as happy youths and +maidens, joyous victims of love's tyranny. + +As he drew near the street in which he lived this sense of universal +love quickened in his blood and stirred him strangely. It did not +escape his eyes that to the general his uniform was an unfriendly +thing. Men and women paused in their animated chattering till he had +passed, and even the children faltered in their games to watch him +with doubtful eyes. And yet his heart was warm for them; he knew that +he wished them well. + +Nevertheless, when he saw his house shining in a row of similar +houses, he realised that their attitude was wiser than his. If he was +to be a success as a breadwinner he must wage a sterner war against +these happy, lovable people. It was easy, he had been long enough in +the force to know how easy, to get cases. An intolerant manner, a +little provocative harshness, and the thing was done. Yet with all +his heart he admired the poor for their resentful independence of +spirit. To him this had always been the supreme quality of the +English character; how could he make use of it to fill English gaols? + +He opened the door of his house, with a sigh on his lips. There came +forth the merry shouting of his children. + + II + +Above the telephone wires the stars dipped at anchor in the cloudless +sky. Down below, in one of the dark, empty streets, Police-constable +Bennett turned the handles of doors and tested the fastenings of +windows, with a complete scepticism as to the value of his labours. +Gradually, he was coming to see that he was not one of the few who +are born to rule--to control--their simple neighbours, ambitious only +for breath. Where, if he had possessed this mission, he would have +been eager to punish, he now felt no more than a sympathy that +charged him with some responsibility for the sins of others. He +shared the uneasy conviction of the multitude that human justice, as +interpreted by the inspired minority, is more than a little unjust. +The very unpopularity with which his uniform endowed him seemed to +him to express a severe criticism of the system of which he was an +unwilling supporter. He wished these people to regard him as a kind +of official friend, to advise and settle differences; yet, shrewder +than he, they considered him as an enemy, who lived on their mistakes +and the collapse of their social relationships. + +There remained his duty to his wife and children, and this rendered +the problem infinitely perplexing. + +Why should he punish others because of his love for his children; or, +again, why should his children suffer for his scruples? Yet it was +clear that, unless fortune permitted him to accomplish some notable +yet honourable arrest, he would either have to cheat and tyrannise +with his colleagues or leave the force. And what employment is +available for a discharged policeman? + +As he went systematically from house to house the consideration of +these things marred the normal progress of his dreams. Conscious as +he was of the stars and the great widths of heaven that made the +world so small, he nevertheless felt that his love for his family and +the wider love that determined his honour were somehow intimately +connected with this greatness of the universe rather than with the +world of little streets and little motives, and so were not lightly +to be put aside. Yet, how can one measure one love against another +when all are true? + +When the door of Gurneys', the moneylenders, opened to his touch, +and drew him abruptly from his speculations, his first emotion was a +quick irritation that chance should interfere with his thoughts. But +when his lantern showed him that the lock had been tampered with, +his annoyance changed to a thrill of hopeful excitement. What if +this were the way out? What if fate had granted him compromise, the +opportunity of pitting his official virtue against official crime, +those shadowy forces in the existence of which he did not believe, +but which lay on his life like clouds? + +He was not a physical coward, and it seemed quite simple to him to +creep quietly through the open door into the silent office without +waiting for possible reinforcements. He knew that the safe, which +would be the, natural goal of the presumed burglars, was in Mr. +Gurney's private office beyond, and while he stood listening intently +he seemed to hear dim sounds coming from the direction of that room. +For a moment he paused, frowning slightly as a man does when he is +trying to catalogue an impression. When he achieved perception, it +came oddly mingled with recollections of the little tragedies of his +children at home. For some one was crying like a child in the little +room where Mr. Gurney brow-beat recalcitrant borrowers. Dangerous +burglars do not weep, and Bennett hesitated no longer, but stepped +past the open flaps of the counter, and threw open the door of the +inner office. + +The electric light had been switched on, and at the table there sat a +slight young man with his face buried in his hands, crying bitterly. +Behind him the safe stood open and empty, and the grate was filled +with smouldering embers of burnt paper. Bennett went up to the +young man and placed his hand on his shoulder. But the young man wept +on and did not move. + +Try as he might Bennett could not help relaxing the grip of outraged +law, and patting the young man's shoulder soothingly as it rose and +fell. He had no fit weapons of roughness and oppression with which to +oppose this child-like grief; he could only fight tears with tears. + +"Come," he said gently, "you must pull yourself together." + +At the sound of his voice the young man gave a great sob and then was +silent, shivering a little. + +"That's better," said Bennett encouragingly, "much better." + +"I have burnt everything," the young man said suddenly, "and now the +place is empty. I was nearly sick just now." + +Bennett looked at him sympathetically, as one dreamer may look at +another, who is sad with action dreamed too often for scatheless +accomplishment. "I'm afraid you'll get into serious trouble," he +said. + +"I know," replied the young man, "but that blackguard Gurney--" His +voice rose to a shrill scream and choked him for a moment. Then +he went on quietly "But it's all over now. Finished! Done with!" + +"I suppose you owed him money?" + +The young man nodded. "He lives on fools like me. But he threatened +to tell my father, and now I've just about ruined him. Pah! Swine!" + +"This won't be much better for your father," said Bennett gravely. + +"No, it's worse; but perhaps it will help some of the others. He kept +on threatening and I couldn't wait any longer. Can't you see?" + +Over the young man's shoulder the stars becked and nodded to Bennett +through the blindless window. + +"I see," he said; "I see." + +"So now you can take me." + +Bennett looked doubtfully at the outstretched wrists. "You are only a +fool," he said, "a dreaming fool like me, and they will give you +years for this. I don't see why they should give a man years for +being a fool." + +The young man looked up, taken with a sudden hope. "You will let me +go?" he said, in astonishment. "I know I was an ass just now. I +suppose I was a bit shaken. But you will let me go?" + +"I wish to God I had never seen you!" said Bennett simply. "You have +your father, and I have a wife and three little children. Who shall +judge between us?" + +"My father is an old man." + +"And my children are little. You had better go before I make up my +mind." + +Without another word the young man crept out of the room, and Bennett +followed him slowly into the street. This gallant criminal whose +capture would have been honourable, had dwindled to a hysterical +foolish boy; and aided by his own strange impulse this boy had ruined +him. The burglary had taken place on his beat; there would be an +inquiry; it did not need that to secure his expulsion from the force. +Once in the street he looked up hopefully to the heavens; but now the +stars seemed unspeakably remote, though as he passed along his beat +his wife and his three little children were walking by his side. + + III + +Bennett had developed mentally without realising the logical result +of his development until it smote him with calamity. Of his betrayal +of trust as a guardian of property he thought nothing; of the +possibility of poverty for his family he thought a great deal--all +the more that his dreamer's mind was little accustomed to gripping +the practical. It was strange, he thought, that his final declaration +of war against his position should have been a little lacking in +dignity. He had not taken the decisive step through any deep +compassion of utter poverty bravely borne. His had been no more than +trivial pity of a young man's folly; and this was a frail thing on +which to make so great a sacrifice. Yet he regretted nothing. His +task of moral guardian of men and women had become impossible to him, +and sooner or later he must have given it up. And there was also his +family. "I must come to some decision," he said to himself firmly. + +And then the great scream fell upon his ears and echoed through his +brain for ever and ever. It came from the house before which he was +standing, and he expected the whole street to wake aghast with the +horror of it. But there followed a silence that seemed to emphasise +the ugliness of the sound. Far away an engine screamed as if in +mocking imitation; and that was all. Bennett had counted up to a +hundred and seventy before the door of the house opened, and a man +came out on to the steps. + +"Oh, constable," he said coolly, "come inside, will you? I have +something to show you." + +Bennett mounted the steps doubtfully. + +"There was a scream," he said. + +The man looked at him quickly. "So you heard it," he said. "It was +not pretty." + +"No, it was not," replied Bennett. + +The man led him down the dim passage into the back sitting-room. The +body of a man lay on the sofa; it was curled like a dry leaf. + +"That is my brother," said the man, with a little emphatic nod; "I +have killed him. He was my enemy." + +Bennett stared dully at the body, without believing it to be really +there. + +"Dead!" he said mechanically. + +"And anything I say will be used against me in evidence! As if you +could compress my hatred into one little lying notebook." + +"I don't care a damn about your hatred," said Bennett, with heat. "An +hour ago, perhaps, I might have arrested you; now I only find you +uninteresting." + +The man gave a long, low whistle of surprise. + +"A philosopher in uniform," he said, "God! sir, you have my +sympathy." + +"And you have my pity. You have stolen your ideas from cheap +melodrama, and you make tragedy ridiculous. Were I a policeman, I +would lock you up with pleasure. Were I a man, I should thrash you +joyfully. As it is I can only share your infamy. I too, I suppose, am +a murderer." + +"You are in a low, nervous state," said the man; "and you are doing +me some injustice. It is true that I am a poor murderer; but it +appears to me that you are a worse policeman." + +"I shall wear the uniform no more from tonight." + +"I think you are wise, and I shall mar my philosophy with no more +murders. If, indeed, I have killed him; for I assure you that beyond +administering the poison to his wretched body I have done nothing. +Perhaps he is not dead. Can you hear his heart beating?" + +"I can hear the spoons of my children beating on their empty +platters!" + +"Is it like that with you? Poor devil! Oh, poor, poor devil! +Philosophers should have no wives, no children, no homes, and no +hearts." + +Bennett turned from the man with unspeakable loathing. + +"I hate you and such as you!" he cried weakly. "You justify the +existence of the police. You make me despise myself because I realise +that your crimes are no less mine than yours. I do not ask you to +defend the deadness of that thing lying there. I shall stir no finger +to have you hanged, for the thought of suicide repels me, and I +cannot separate your blood and mine. We are common children of a +noble mother, and for our mother's sake I say farewell." + +And without waiting for the man's answer he passed from the house to +the street. + + IV + +Haggard and with rebellious limbs, Police-constable Bennett staggered +into the superintendent's office in the early morning. + +"I have paid careful attention to your advice," he said to the +superintendent, "and I have passed across the city in search of +crime. In its place I have found but folly--such folly as you have, +such folly as I have myself--the common heritage of our blood. It +seems that in some way I have bound myself to bring criminals to +justice. I have passed across the city, and I have found no man +worse than myself. Do what you will with me." + +The superintendent cleared his throat. + +"There have been too many complaints concerning the conduct of the +police," he said; "it is time that an example was made. You will be +charged with being drunk and disorderly while on duty." + +"I have a wife and three little children," said Bennett softly--"and +three pretty little children." And he covered his tired face with his +hands. + + + + +The Conjurer + +Certainly the audience was restive. In the first place it felt that +it had been defrauded, seeing that Cissie Bradford, whose smiling +face adorned the bills outside, had, failed to appear, and secondly, +it considered that the deputy for that famous lady was more than +inadequate. To the little man who sweated in the glare of the +limelight and juggled desperately with glass balls in a vain effort +to steady his nerve it was apparent that his turn was a failure. And +as he worked he could have cried with disappointment, for his was a +trial performance, and a year's engagement in the Hennings' group of +music-halls would have rewarded success. Yet his tricks, things that +he had done with the utmost ease a thousand times, had been a +succession of blunders, rather mirth-provoking than mystifying to +the audience. Presently one of the glass balls fell crashing on the +stage, and amidst the jeers of the gallery he turned to his wife, +who served as his assistant. + +"I've lost my chance," he said, with a sob; "I can't do it!" + +"Never mind, dear," she whispered. "There's a nice steak and onions +at home for supper." + +"It's no use," he said despairingly. "I'll try the disappearing trick +and then get off. I'm done here." He turned back to the audience. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said to the mockers in a wavering voice, +"I will now present to you the concluding item of my entertainment. I +will cause this lady to disappear under your very eyes, without the +aid of any mechanical contrivance or artificial device." This was the +merest showman's patter, for, as a matter of fact, it was not a very +wonderful illusion. But as he led his wife forward to present her to +the audience the conjurer was wondering whether the mishaps that had +ruined his chance would meet him even here. If something should go +wrong--he felt his wife's hand tremble in his, and he pressed it +tightly to reassure her. He must make an effort, an effort of will, +and then no mistakes would happen. For a second the lights danced +before his eyes, then he pulled himself together. If an earthquake +should disturb the curtains and show Molly creeping ignominiously +away behind he would still meet his fate like a man. He turned round +to conduct his wife to the little alcove from which she should +vanish. She was not on the stage! + +For a minute he did not guess the greatness of the disaster. Then he +realised that the theatre was intensely quiet, and that he would have +to explain that the last item of his programme was even more of a +fiasco than the rest. Owing to a sudden indisposition--his skin +tingled at the thought of the hooting. His tongue rasped upon +cracking lips as he braced himself and bowed to the audience. + +Then came the applause. Again and again it broke out from all over +the house, while the curtain rose and fell, and the conjurer stood on +the stage, mute, uncomprehending. What had happened? At first he had +thought they were mocking him, but it was impossible to misjudge the +nature of the applause. Besides, the stage-manager was allowing him +call after call, as if he were a star. When at length the curtain +remained down, and the orchestra struck up the opening bars of the +next song, he staggered off into the wings as if he were drunk. There +he met Mr. James Hennings himself. + +"You'll do," said the great man; "that last trick was neat. You ought +to polish up the others though. I suppose you don't want to tell me +how you did it? Well, well, come in the morning and we'll fix up a +contract." + +And so, without having said a word, the conjurer found himself +hustled off by the Vaudeville Napoleon. Mr. Hennings had something +more to say to his manager. + +"Bit rum," he said. "Did you see it?" + +"Queerest thing we've struck." + +"How was it done do you think?" + +"Can't imagine. There one minute on his arm, gone the next, no trap, +or curtain, or anything." + +"Money in it, eh?" + +"Biggest hit of the century, I should think." + +"I'll go and fix up a contract and get him to sign it tonight. Get +on with it." And Mr. James Hennings fled to his office. + +Meanwhile the conjurer was wandering in the wings with the drooping +heart of a lost child. What had happened? Why was he a success, and +why did people stare so oddly, and what had become of his wife? When +he asked them the stage hands laughed, and said they had not seen +her. Why should they laugh? He wanted her to explain things, and hear +their good luck. But she was not in her dressing-room, she was not +anywhere. For a moment he felt like crying. + +Then, for the second time that night, he pulled himself together. +After all, there was no reason to be upset. He ought to feel very +pleased about the contract, however it had happened. It seemed that +his wife had left the stage in some queer way without being seen. +Probably to increase the mystery she had gone straight home in her +stage dress, and had succeeded in dodging the stage-door keeper. It +was all very strange; but, of course, there must be some simple +explanation like that. He would take a cab home and find her there +already. There was a steak and onions for supper. + +As he drove along in the cab he became convinced that this theory was +right. Molly had always been clever, and this time she had certainly +succeeded in surprising everybody. At the door of his house he gave +the cabman a shilling for himself with a light heart. He could afford +it now. He ran up the steps cheerfully and opened the door. The +passage was quite dark, and he wondered why his wife hadn't lit the +gas. + +"Molly!" he cried, "Molly!" + +The small, weary-eyed servant came out of the kitchen on a savoury +wind of onions. + +"Hasn't missus come home with you, sir?" she said. + +The conjurer thrust his hand against the wall to steady himself, and +the pattern of the wall-paper seemed to burn his finger-tips. + +"Not here!" he gasped at the frightened girl. "Then where is she? +Where is she?" + +"I don't know, sir," she began stuttering; but the conjurer turned +quickly and ran out of the house. Of course, his wife must be at the +theatre. It was absurd ever to have supposed that she could leave the +theatre in her stage dress unnoticed; and now she was probably +worrying because he had not waited for her. How foolish he had been. + +It was a quarter of an hour before he found a cab, and the theatre +was dark and empty when he got back to it. He knocked at the stage +door, and the night watchman opened it. + +"My wife?" he cried. "There's no one here now, sir," the man answered +respectfully, for he knew that a new star had risen that night. + +The conjurer leant against the doorpost faintly. + +"Take me up to the dressing-rooms," he said. "I want to see whether +she has been, there while I was away." + +The watchman led the way along the dark passages. "I shouldn't worry +if I were you, sir," he said. "She can't have gone far." He did not +know anything about it, but he wanted to be sympathetic. + +"God knows," the conjurer muttered, "I can't understand this at all." + +In the dressing-room Molly's clothes still lay neatly folded as she +had left them when they went on the stage that night, and when he saw +them his last hope left the conjurer, and a strange thought came into +his mind. + +"I should like to go down on the stage," he said, "and see if there +is anything to tell me of her." + +The night watchman looked at the conjurer as if he thought he was +mad, but he followed him down to the stage in silence. When he was +there the conjurer leaned forward suddenly, and his face was filled +with a wistful eagerness. + +"Molly!" he called, "Molly!" + +But the empty theatre gave him nothing but echoes in reply. + + + + +The Poet's Allegory + + I + +The boy came into the town at six o'clock in the morning, but the +baker at the corner of the first street was up, as is the way of +bakers, and when he saw the boy passing, he hailed him with a jolly +shout. + +"Hullo, boy! What are you after?" + +"I'm going about my business," the boy said pertly. + +"And what might that be, young fellow?" + +"I might be a good tinker, and worship god Pan, or I might grind +scissors as sharp as the noses of bakers. But, as a matter of fact, +I'm a piper, not a rat-catcher, you understand, but just a simple +singer of sad songs, and a mad singer of merry ones." + +"Oh," said the baker dully, for he had hoped the boy was in search of +work. "Then I suppose you have a message." + +"I sing songs," the boy said emphatically. "I don't run errands +for anyone save it be for the fairies." + +"Well, then, you have come to tell us that we are bad, that our lives +are corrupt and our homes sordid. Nowadays there's money in that if +you can do it well." + +"Your wit gets up too early in the morning for me, baker," said the +boy. "I tell you I sing songs." + +"Aye, I know, but there's something in them, I hope. Perhaps you +bring news. They're not so popular as the other sort, but still, as +long as it's bad news--" + +"Is it the flour that has changed his brains to dough, or the heat of +the oven that has made them like dead grass?" + +"But you must have some news----?" + +"News! It's a fine morning of summer, and I saw a kingfisher across +the watermeadows coming along. Oh, and there's a cuckoo back in the +fir plantation, singing with a May voice. It must have been asleep +all these months." + +"But, my dear boy, these things happen every day. Are there no +battles or earthquakes or famines in the world? Has no man +murdered his wife or robbed his neighbour? Is no one oppressed by +tyrants or lied to by their officers." + +The boy shrugged his shoulders. + +"I hope not," he said. "But if it were so, and I knew, I should not +tell you. I don't want to make you unhappy." + +"But of what use are you then, if it be not to rouse in us the +discontent that is alone divine? Would you have me go fat and happy, +listening to your babble of kingfishers and cuckoos, while my +brothers and sisters in the world are starving?" + +The boy was silent for a moment. + +"I give my songs to the poor for nothing," he said slowly. "Certainly +they are not much use to empty bellies, but they are all I have to +give. And I take it, since you speak so feelingly, that you, too, do +your best. And these others, these people who must be reminded hourly +to throw their crusts out of window for the poor--would you have me +sing to them? They must be told that life is evil, and I find it +good; that men and women are wretched, and I find them happy; that +food and cleanliness, order and knowledge are the essence of +content while I only ask for love. Would you have me lie to cheat +mean folk out of their scraps?" + +The baker scratched his head in astonishment. + +"Certainly you are very mad," he said. "But you won't get much money +in this town with that sort of talk. You had better come in and have +breakfast with me." + +"But why do you ask me?" said the boy, in surprise. + +"Well, you have a decent, honest sort of face, although your tongue +is disordered." + +"I had rather it had been because you liked my songs," said the boy, +and he went in to breakfast with the baker. + + II + +Over his breakfast the boy talked wisely on art, as is the wont of +young singers, and afterwards he went on his way down the street. + +"It's a great pity," said the baker; "he seems a decent young chap." + +"He has nice eyes," said the baker's wife. + +As the boy passed down the street he frowned a little. + +"What is the matter with them?" he wondered. "They're pleasant people +enough, and yet they did not want to hear my songs." + +Presently he came to the tailor's shop, and as the tailor had sharper +eyes than the baker, he saw the pipe in the boy's pocket. + +"Hullo, piper!" he called. "My legs are stiff. Come and sing us a +song!" + +The boy looked up and saw the tailor sitting cross-legged in the open +window of his shop. + +"What sort of song would you like?" he asked. + +"Oh! the latest," replied the tailor. "We don't want any old songs +here." So the boy sung his new song of the kingfisher in the +water-meadow and the cuckoo who had overslept itself. + +"And what do you call that?" asked the tailor angrily, when the boy +had finished. + +"It's my new song, but I don't think it's one of my best." But in his +heart the boy believed it was, because he had only just made it. + +"I should hope it's your worst," the tailor said rudely. "What sort +of stuff is that to make a man happy?" + +"To make a man happy!" echoed the boy, his heart sinking within him. + +"If you have no news to give me, why should I pay for your songs! I +want to hear about my neighbours, about their lives, and their wives +and their sins. There's the fat baker up the street--they say he +cheats the poor with light bread. Make me a song of that, and I'll +give you some breakfast. Or there's the magistrate at the top of the +hill who made the girl drown herself last week. That's a poetic +subject." + +"What's all this!" said the boy disdainfully. "Can't you make dirt +enough for yourself!" + +"You with your stuff about birds," shouted the tailor; "you're a rank +impostor! That's what you are!" + +"They say that you are the ninth part of a man, but I find that they +have grossly exaggerated," cried the boy, in retort; but he had +a heavy heart as he made off along the street. + +By noon he had interviewed the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman, and +the maker of candlesticks, but they treated him no better than the +tailor had done, and as he was feeling tired he went and sat down +under a tree. + +"I begin to think that the baker is the best of the lot of them," he +said to himself ruefully, as he rolled his empty wallet between his +fingers. + +Then, as the folly of singers provides them in some measure with a +philosophy, he fell asleep. + + III + +When he woke it was late in the afternoon, and the children, fresh +from school, had come out to play in the dusk. Far and near, across +the town-square, the boy could hear their merry voices, but he felt +sad, for his stomach had forgotten the baker's breakfast, and he did +not see where he was likely to get any supper. So he pulled out his +pipe, and made a mournful song to himself of the dancing gnats +and the bitter odour of the bonfires in the townsfolk's gardens. And +the children drew near to hear him sing, for they thought his song +was pretty, until their fathers drove them home, saying, "That stuff +has no educational value." + +"Why haven't you a message?" they asked the boy. + +"I come to tell you that the grass is green beneath your feet and +that the sky is blue over your heads." + +"Oh I but we know all that," they answered. + +"Do you! Do you!" screamed the boy. "Do you think you could stop +over your absurd labours if you knew how blue the sky is? You would +be out singing on the hills with me!" + +"Then who would do our work?" they said, mocking him. + +"Then who would want it done?" he retorted; but it's ill arguing on +an empty stomach. + +But when they had tired of telling him what a fool he was, and gone +away, the tailor's little daughter crept out of the shadows and +patted him on the shoulder. + +"I say, boy!" she whispered. "I've brought you some supper. Father +doesn't know." The boy blessed her and ate his supper while she +watched him like his mother and when he had done she kissed him on +the lips. + +"There, boy!" she said. + +"You have nice golden hair," the boy said. + +"See! it shines in the dusk. It strikes me it's the only gold I shall +get in this town." + +"Still it's nice, don't you think?" the girl whispered in his ear. +She had her arms round his neck. + +"I love it," the boy said joyfully; "and you like my songs, don't +you?" + +"Oh, yes, I like them very much, but I like you better." + +The boy put her off roughly. + +"You're as bad as the rest of them," he said indignantly. "I tell you +my songs are everything, I am nothing." + +"But it was you who ate my supper, boy," said the girl. + +The boy kissed her remorsefully. "But I wish you had liked me for my +songs," he sighed. "You are better than any silly old songs!" + +"As bad as the rest of them," the boy said lazily, "but somehow +pleasant." + +The shadows flocked to their evening meeting in the square, and +overhead the stars shone out in a sky that was certainly exceedingly +blue. + + IV + +Next morning they arrested the boy as a rogue and a vagabond, and in +the afternoon they brought him before the magistrate. + +"And what have you to say for yourself!" said the magistrate to the +boy, after the second policeman, like a faithful echo, had finished +reading his notes. + +"Well," said the boy, "I may be a rogue and a vagabond. Indeed, I +think that I probably am; but I would claim the license that has +always been allowed to singers." + +"Oh!" said the magistrate. "So you are one of those, are you! And +what is your message!" + +"I think if I could sing you a song or two I could explain myself +better," said the boy. + +"Well," replied the magistrate doubtfully, "you can try if you like, +but I warn you that I wrote songs myself when I was a boy, so that I +know something about it." + +"Oh, I'm glad of that," said the boy, and he sang his famous song of +the grass that is so green, and when he had finished the magistrate +frowned. + +"I knew that before," he said. + +So then the boy sang his wonderful song of the sky that is so blue. +And when he had finished the magistrate scowled. "And what are we to +learn from that!" he said. + +So then the boy lost his temper and sang some naughty doggerel he +had made up in his cell that morning. He abused the town and +townsmen, but especially the townsmen. He damned their morals, their +customs, and their institutions. He said that they had ugly faces, +raucous voices, and that their bodies were unclean. He said they +were thieves and liars and murderers, that they had no ear for music +and no sense of humour. Oh, he was bitter! + +"Good God!" said the magistrate, "that's what I call real improving +poetry. Why didn't you sing that first? There might have been a +miscarriage of justice." + +Then the baker, the tailor, the butcher, the cobbler, the milkman, +and the maker of candlesticks rose in court and said-- + +"Ah, but we all knew there was something in him." + +So the magistrate gave the boy a certificate that showed that he was +a real singer, and the tradesmen gave him a purse of gold, but the +tailor's little daughter gave him one of her golden ringlets. "You +won't forget, boy, will you?" she said. + +"Oh, no," said the boy; "but I wish you had liked my songs." + +Presently, when he had come a little way out of the town, he put his +hand in his wallet and drew out the magistrate's certificate and tore +it in two; and then he took out the gold pieces and threw them into +the ditch, and they were not half as bright as the buttercups. But +when he came to the ringlet he smiled at it and put it back. + +"Yet she was as bad as the rest of them," he thought with a sigh. + +And he went across the world with his songs. + + + + +And Who Shall Say----? + +It was a dull November day, and the windows were heavily +curtained, so that the room was very dark. In front of the fire was a +large arm-chair, which shut whatever light there might be from the +two children, a boy of eleven and a girl about two years younger, who +sat on the floor at the back of the room. The boy was the better +looking, but the girl had the better face. They were both gazing at +the arm-chair with the utmost excitement. + +"It's all right. He's asleep," said the boy. + +"Oh, do be careful! you'll wake him," whispered the girl. + +"Are you afraid?" + +"No, why should I be afraid of my father, stupid?" + +"I tell you he's not father any more. He's a murderer," the boy said +hotly. "He told me, I tell you. He said, `I have killed your +mother, Ray,' and I went and looked, and mother was all red. I simply +shouted, and she wouldn't answer. That means she's dead. His hand was +all red, too." + +"Was it paint?" + +"No, of course it wasn't paint. It was blood. And then he came down +here and went to sleep." + +"Poor father, so tired." + +"He's not poor father, he's not father at all; he's a murderer, and +it is very wicked of you to call him father," said the boy. + +"Father," muttered the girl rebelliously. + +"You know the sixth commandment says `Thou shalt do no murder,' and +he has done murder; so he'll go to hell. And you'll go to hell too if +you call him father. It's all in the Bible." + +The boy ended vaguely, but the little girl was quite overcome by the +thought of her badness. + +"Oh, I am wicked!" she cried. "And I do so want to go to heaven." + +She had a stout and materialistic belief in it as a place of sheeted +angels and harps, where it was easy to be good. + +"You must do as I tell you, then," he said. "Because I know. I've +learnt all about it at school." + +"And you never told me," said she reproachfully. + +"Ah, there's lots of things I know," he replied, nodding his head. + +"What must we do?" said the girl meekly. "Shall I go and ask +mother?" + +The boy was sick at her obstinacy. + +"Mother's dead, I tell you; that means she can't hear anything. It's +no use talking to her; but I know. You must stop here, and if father +wakes you run out of the house and call `Police!' and I will go now +and tell a policeman now." + +"And what happens then?" she asked, with round eyes at her brother's +wisdom. + +"Oh, they come and take him away to prison. And then they put a rope +round his neck and hang him like Haman, and he goes to hell." + +"Wha-at! Do they kill him?" + +"Because he's a murderer. They always do." + +"Oh, don't let's tell them! Don't let's tell them!" she +screamed. + +"Shut up!" said the boy, "or he'll wake up. We must tell them, or we +go to hell--both of us." + +But his sister did not collapse at this awful threat, as he expected, +though the tears were rolling down her face. "Don't let's tell them," +she sobbed. + +"You're a horrid girl, and you'll go to hell," said the boy, in +disgust. But the silence was only broken by her sobbing. "I tell you +he killed mother dead. You didn't cry a bit for mother; I did." + +"Oh, let's ask mother! Let's ask mother! I know she won't want father +to go to hell. Let's ask mother!" + +"Mother's dead, and can't hear, you stupid," said the boy. "I keep on +telling you. Come up and look." + +They were both a little awed in mother's room. It was so quiet, and +mother looked so funny. And first the girl shouted, and then the boy, +and then they shouted both together, but nothing happened. The echoes +made them frightened. + +"Perhaps she's asleep," the girl said; so her brother pinched one of +mother's hands--the white one, not the red one--but nothing +happened, so mother was dead. + +"Has she gone to hell?" whispered the girl. + +"No! she's gone to heaven, because she's good. Only wicked people go +to hell. And now I must go and tell the policeman. Don't you tell +father where I've gone if he wakes up, or he'll run away before the +policeman comes." + +"Why?" + +"So as not to go to hell," said the boy, with certainty; and they +went downstairs together, the little mind of the girl being much +perturbed because she was so wicked. What would mother say tomorrow +if she had done wrong? + +The boy put on his sailor hat in the hall. "You must go in there and +watch," he said, nodding in the direction of the sitting-room. "I +shall run all the way." + +The door banged, and she heard his steps down the path, and then +everything was quiet. + +She tiptoed into the room, and sat down on the floor, and looked at +the back of the chair in utter distress. She could see her father's +elbow projecting on one side, but nothing more. For an instant +she hoped that he wasn't there--hoped that he had gone--but then, +terrified, she knew that this was a piece of extreme wickedness. + +So she lay on the rough carpet, sobbing hopelessly, and seeing real +and vicious devils of her brother's imagining in all the corners of +the room. + +Presently, in her misery, she remembered a packet of acid-drops that +lay in her pocket, and drew them forth in a sticky mass, which parted +from its paper with regret. So she choked and sucked her sweets at +the same time, and found them salt and tasteless. + +Ray was gone a long time, and she was a wicked girl who would go to +hell if she didn't do what he told her. Those were her prevailing +ideas. + +And presently there came a third. Ray had said that if her father +woke up he would run away, and not go to hell at all. Now if she woke +him up--. + +She knew this was dreadfully naughty; but her mind clung to the idea +obstinately. You see, father had always been so fond of mother, and +he would not like to be in a different place. Mother wouldn't +like it either. She was always so sorry when father did not come home +or anything. And hell is a dreadful place, full of things. She half +convinced herself, and started up, but then there came an awful +thought. + +If she did this she would go to hell for ever and ever, and all the +others would be in heaven. + +She hung there in suspense, sucking her sweet and puzzling it over +with knit brows. + +How can one be good? + +She swung round and looked in the dark corner by the piano; but the +Devil was not there. + +And then she ran across the room to her father, and shaking his arm, +shouted, tremulously-- + +"Wake up, father! Wake up! The police are coming!" + +And when the police came ten minutes later, accompanied by a very +proud and virtuous little boy, they heard a small shrill voice +crying, despairingly-- + +"The police, father! The police!" + +But father would not wake. + + + + +The Biography Of A Superman + + "O limed soul that struggling to be free + Art more engaged!" + +Charles Stephen Dale, the subject of my study, was a dramatist +and, indeed, something of a celebrity in the early years of the +twentieth century. That he should be already completely forgotten is +by no means astonishing in an age that elects its great men with a +charming indecision of touch. The general prejudice against the +granting of freeholds has spread to the desired lands of fame; and +where our profligate ancestors were willing to call a man great in +perpetuity, we, with more shrewdness, prefer to name him a genius for +seven years. We know that before that period may have expired fate +will have granted us a sea-serpent with yet more coils, with a +yet more bewildering arrangement of marine and sunset tints, and the +conclusion of previous leases will enable us to grant him undisputed +possession of Parnassus. If our ancestors were more generous they +were certainly less discriminate; and it cannot be doubted that many +of them went to their graves under the impression that it is possible +for there to be more than one great man at a time! We have altered +all that. + +For two years Dale was a great man, or rather the great man, and it +is probable that if he had not died he would have held his position +for a longer period. When his death was announced, although the +notices of his life and work were of a flattering length, the +leaderwriters were not unnaturally aggrieved that he should have +resigned his post before the popular interest in his personality was +exhausted. The Censor might do his best by prohibiting the +performance of all the plays that the dead man had left behind him; +but, as the author neglected to express his views in their columns, +and the common sense of their readers forbade the publication of +interviews with him, the journals could draw but a poor +satisfaction from condemning or upholding the official action. Dale's +regrettable absence reduced what might have been an agreeable clash +of personalities to an arid discussion on art. The consequence was +obvious. The end of the week saw the elevation of James Macintosh, +the great Scotch comedian, to the vacant post, and Dale was +completely forgotten. That this oblivion is merited in terms of his +work I am not prepared to admit; that it is merited in terms of his +personality I indignantly wish to deny. Whatever Dale may have been +as an artist, he was, perhaps in spite of himself, a man, and a man, +moreover, possessed of many striking and unusual traits of character. +It is to the man Dale that I offer this tribute. + +Sprung from an old Yorkshire family, Charles Stephen Dale was yet +sufficient of a Cockney to justify both his friends and his enemies +in crediting him with the Celtic temperament. Nevertheless, he was +essentially a modern, insomuch that his contempt for the writings of +dead men surpassed his dislike of living authors. To these two +central influences we may trace most of the peculiarities that +rendered him notorious and ultimately great. Thus, while his Celtic +aestheticism permitted him to eat nothing but raw meat, because he +mistrusted alike "the reeking products of the manure-heap and the +barbaric fingers of cooks," it was surely his modernity that made him +an agnostic, because bishops sat in the House of Lords. Smaller men +might dislike vegetables and bishops without allowing it to affect +their conduct; but Dale was careful to observe that every slightest +conviction should have its place in the formation of his character. +Conversely, he was nothing without a reason. + +These may seem small things to which to trace the motive forces of a +man's life; but if we add to them a third, found where the truth +about a man not infrequently lies, in the rag-bag of his enemies, our +materials will be nearly complete. "Dale hates his +fellow-human- beings," wrote some anonymous scribbler, and, even +expressed thus baldly, the statement is not wholly false. But he +hated them because of their imperfections, and it would be truer to +say that his love of humanity amounted to a positive hatred of +individuals, and, _pace_ the critics, the love was no less sincere +than the hatred. He had drawn from the mental confusion of the darker +German philosophers an image of the perfect man--an image differing +only in inessentials from the idol worshipped by the Imperialists as +"efficiency." He did not find--it was hardly likely that he would +find--that his contemporaries fulfilled this perfect conception, and +he therefore felt it necessary to condemn them for the possession of +those weaknesses, or as some would prefer to say, qualities, of which +the sum is human nature. + +I now approach a quality, or rather the lack of a quality, that is in +itself of so debatable a character, that were it not of the utmost +importance in considering the life of Charles Stephen Dale I should +prefer not to mention it. I refer to his complete lack of a sense of +humour, the consciousness of which deficiency went so far to detract +from his importance as an artist and a man. The difficulty which I +mentioned above lies in the fact that, while every one has a clear +conception of what they mean by the phrase, no one has yet +succeeded in defining it satisfactorily. Here I would venture to +suggest that it is a kind of magnificent sense of proportion, a +sense that relates the infinite greatness of the universe to the +finite smallness of man, and draws the inevitable conclusion as to +the importance of our joys and sorrows and labours. I am aware that +this definition errs on the side of vagueness; but possibly it may be +found to include the truth. Obviously, the natures of those who +possess this sense will tend to be static rather than dynamic, and it +is therefore against the limits imposed by this sense that +intellectual anarchists, among whom I would number Dale, and poets, +primarily rebel. But--and it is this rather than his undoubted +intellectual gifts or his dogmatic definitions of good and evil that +definitely separated Dale from the normal men--there can be no doubt +that he felt his lack of a sense of humour bitterly. In every word he +ever said, in every line he ever wrote, I detect a painful striving +after this mysterious sense, that enabled his neighbours, fools as he +undoubtedly thought them, to laugh and weep and follow the faith of +their hearts without conscious realisation of their own +existence and the problems it induced. By dint of study and strenuous +observation he achieved, as any man may achieve, a considerable +degree of wit, though to the last his ignorance of the audience whom +he served and despised, prevented him from judging the effect of his +sallies without experiment. But try as he might the finer jewel lay +far beyond his reach. Strong men fight themselves when they can find +no fitter adversary; but in all the history of literature there is no +stranger spectacle than this lifelong contest between Dale, the +intellectual anarch and pioneer of supermen, and Dale, the poor +lonely devil who wondered what made people happy. + +I have said that the struggle was lifelong, but it must be added that +it was always unequal. The knowledge that in his secret heart he +desired this quality, the imperfection of imperfections, only served +to make Dale's attack on the complacency of his contemporaries more +bitter. He ridiculed their achievements, their ambitions, and their +love with a fury that awakened in them a mild curiosity, but by no +means affected their comfort. Moreover, the very vehemence with +which he demanded their contempt deprived him of much of his force as +a critic, for they justly wondered why a man should waste his +lifetime in attacking them if they were indeed so worthless. +Actually, they felt, Dale was a great deal more engaged with his +audience than many of the imaginative writers whom he affected to +despise for their sycophancy. And, especially towards the end of his +life when his powers perhaps were weakening, the devices which he +used to arouse the irritation of his contemporaries became more and +more childishly artificial, less and less effective. He was like one +of those actors who feel that they cannot hold the attention of their +audience unless they are always doing something, though nothing is +more monotonous than mannered vivacity. + +Dale, then, was a man who was very anxious to be modern, but at the +same time had not wholly succeeded in conquering his aeesthetic sense. +He had constituted himself high priest of the most puritanical and +remote of all creeds, yet there was that in his blood that rebelled +ceaselessly against the intellectual limits he had voluntarily +accepted. The result in terms of art was chaos. Possessed of an +intellect of great analytic and destructive force, he was almost +entirely lacking in imagination, and he was therefore unable to raise +his work to a plane in which the mutually combative elements of his +nature might have been reconciled. His light moments of envy, anger, +and vanity passed into the crucible to come forth unchanged. He +lacked the magic wand, and his work never took wings above his +conception. It is in vain to seek in any of his plays or novels, +tracts or prefaces, for the product of inspiration, the divine gift +that enables one man to write with the common pen of humanity. He +could only employ his curiously perfect technique in reproducing the +wayward flashes of a mind incapable of consecutive thought. He never +attempted--and this is a hard saying--to produce any work beautiful +in itself; while the confusion of his mind, and the vanity that never +allowed him to ignore the effect his work might produce on his +audience, prevented him from giving clear expression to his creed. +His work will appeal rather to the student of men than to the +student of art, and, wantonly incoherent though it often is, must be +held to constitute a remarkable human document. + +It is strange to reflect that among his contemporary admirers Dale +was credited with an intellect of unusual clarity, for the +examination of any of his plays impresses one with the number and +mutual destructiveness of his motives for artistic expression. A +noted debater, he made frequent use of the device of attacking the +weakness of the other man's speech, rather than the weakness of +the other man's argument. His prose was good, though at its best +so impersonal that it recalled the manner of an exceptionally +well-written leading article. At its worst it was marred by +numerous vulgarities and errors of taste, not always, it is to be +feared, intentional. His attitude on this point was typical of his +strange blindness to the necessity of a pure artistic ideal. He +committed these extravagances, he would say, in order to irritate +his audience into a condition of mental alertness. As a matter of +fact, he generally made his readers more sorry than angry, and he +did not realise that even if he had been successful it was but a +poor reward for the wanton spoiling of much good work. He +proclaimed himself to be above criticism, but he was only too +often beneath it. Revolting against the dignity, not infrequently +pompous, of his fellow-men of letters, he played the part of clown +with more enthusiasm than skill. It is intellectual arrogance in a +clever man to believe that he can play the fool with success +merely because he wishes it. + +There is no need for me to enter into detail with regard to Dale's +personal appearance; the caricaturists did him rather more than +justice, the photographers rather less. In his younger days he +suggested a gingerbread man that had been left too long in the sun; +towards the end he affected a cultured and elaborate ruggedness that +made him look like a duke or a market gardener. Like most clever men, +he had good eyes. + +Nor is it my purpose to add more than a word to the published +accounts of his death. There is something strangely pitiful in that +last desperate effort to achieve humour. We have all read the account +of his own death that he dictated from the sick-bed--cold, +epigrammatic, and, alas! characteristically lacking in taste. And +once more it was his fate to make us rather sorry than angry. + +In the third scene of the second act of "Henry V.," a play written +by an author whom Dale pretended to despise, Dame Quickly describes +the death of Falstaff in words that are too well known to need +quotation. It was thus and no otherwise that Dale died. It is thus +that every man dies. + + + + +Blue Blood + +He sat in the middle of the great cafe with his head supported +on his hands, miserable even to bitterness. Inwardly he cursed the +ancestors who had left him little but a great name and a small and +ridiculous body. He thought of his father, whose expensive +eccentricities had amused his fellow-countrymen at the cost of his +fortune; his mother, for whom death had been a blessing; his +grandparents and his uncles, in whom no man had found any good. But +most of all he cursed himself, for whose follies even heredity might +not wholly account. He recalled the school where he had made no +friends, the University where he had taken no degree. Since he had +left Oxford, his aimless, hopeless life, profligate, but +dishonourable, perhaps, only by accident, had deprived even his title +of any social value, and one by one his very acquaintances had +left him to the society of broken men and the women who are anything +but light. And these, and here perhaps the root of his bitterness +lay, even these recognised him only as a victim for their mockery, a +thing more poor than themselves, whereon they could satisfy the anger +of their tortured souls. And his last misery lay in this: that he +himself could find no day in his life to admire, no one past dream to +cherish, no inmost corner of his heart to love. The lowest tramp, the +least-heeded waif of the night, might have some ultimate pride, but +he himself had nothing, nothing whatever. He was a dream-pauper, an +emotional bankrupt. + +With a choked sob he drained his brandy and told the waiter to bring +him another. There had been a period in his life when he had been +able to find some measure of sentimental satisfaction in the stupor +of drunkenness. In those days, through the veil of illusion which +alcohol had flung across his brain, he had been able to regard the +contempt of the men as the intimacy of friendship, the scorn of the +women as the laughter of light love. But now drink gave him +nothing but the mordant insight of morbidity, which cut through his +rotten soul like cheese. Yet night after night he came to this place, +to be tortured afresh by the ridicule of the sordid frequenters, and +by the careless music of the orchestra which told him of a flowerless +spring and of a morning which held for him no hope. For his last +emotion rested in this self-inflicted pain; he could only breathe +freely under the lash of his own contempt. + +Idly he let his dull eyes stray about the room, from table to table, +from face to face. Many there he knew by sight, from none could he +hope for sympathy or even companionship. In his bitterness he envied +the courage of the cowards who were brave enough to seek oblivion or +punishment in death. Dropping his eyes to his soft, unlovely hands, +he marvelled that anything so useless should throb with life, and yet +he realised that he was afraid of physical pain, terrified at the +thought of death. There were dim ancestors of his whose valour had +thrilled the songs of minstrels and made his name lovely in the +glowing folly of battles. But now he knew that he was a coward, and +even in the knowledge he could find no comfort. It is not given to +every man to hate himself gladly. + +The music and the laughter beat on his sullen brain with a mocking +insistence, and he trembled with impotent anger at the apparent +happiness of humanity. Why should these people be merry when he was +miserable, what right had the orchestra to play a chorus of triumph +over the stinging emblems of his defeat? He drank brandy after +brandy, vainly seeking to dull the nausea of disgust which had +stricken his worn nerves; but the adulterated spirit merely maddened +his brain with the vision of new depths of horror, while his body +lay below, a mean, detestable thing. Had he known how to pray he +would have begged that something might snap. But no man may win to +faith by means of hatred alone, and his heart was cold as the marble +table against which he leant. There was no more hope in the +world. . . . + +When he came out of the cafe, the air of the night was so pure +and cool on his face, and the lights of the square were so tender to +his eyes, that for a moment his harsh mood was softened. And in that +moment he seemed to see among the crowd that flocked by a beautiful +face, a face touched with pearls, and the inner leaves of pink +rosebuds. He leant forward eagerly. "Christine!" he cried, +"Christine!" + +Then the illusion passed, and, smitten by the anger of the pitiless +stars, he saw that he was looking upon a mere woman, a woman of the +earth. He fled from her smile with a shudder. + +As he went it seemed to him that the swaying houses buffeted him +about as a child might play with a ball. Sometimes they threw him +against men, who cursed him and bruised his soft body with their +fists. Sometimes they tripped him up and hurled him upon the stones +of the pavement. Still he held on, till the Embankment broke before +him with the sudden peace of space, and he leant against the +parapet, panting and sick with pain, but free from the tyranny of +the houses. + +Beneath him the river rolled towards the sea, reticent but +more alive, it seemed, than the deeply painful thing which fate had +attached to his brain. He pictured himself tangled in the dark +perplexity of its waters, he fancied them falling upon his face like +a girl's hair, till they darkened his eyes and choked the mouth +which, even now, could not breathe fast enough to satisfy him. The +thought displeased him, and he turned away from the place that held +peace for other men but not for him. From the shadow of one of the +seats a woman's voice reached him, begging peevishly for money. + +"I have none," he said automatically. Then he remembered and flung +coins, all the money he had, into her lap. "I give it to you because +I hate you!" he shrieked, and hurried on lest her thanks should spoil +his spite. + +Then the black houses and the warped streets had him in their grip +once more, and sported with him till his consciousness waxed to one +white-hot point of pain. Overhead the stars were laughing quietly in +the fields of space, and sometimes a policeman or a chance passer-by +looked curiously at his lurching figure, but he only knew that +life was hurting him beyond endurance, and that he yet endured. Up +and down the ice-cold corridors of his brain, thought, formless and +timeless, passed like a rodent flame. Now he was the universe, a vast +thing loathsome with agony, now he was a speck of dust, an atom whose +infinite torment was imperceptible even to God. Always there was +something--something conscious of the intolerable evil called life, +something that cried bitterly to be uncreated. Always, while his soul +beat against the bars, his body staggered along the streets, a thing +helpless, unguided. + +There is an hour before dawn when tired men and women die, and with +the coming of this hour his spirit found a strange release from +pain. Once more he realised that he was a man, and, bruised and +weary as he was, he tried to collect the lost threads of reason, +which the night had torn from him. Facing him he saw a vast building +dimly outlined against the darkness, and in some way it served to +touch a faint memory in his dying brain. For a while he wandered +amongst the shadows, and then he knew that it was the keep of +a castle, his castle, and that high up where a window shone upon the +night a girl was waiting for him, a girl with a face of pearls and +roses. Presently she came to the window and looked out, dressed all +in white for her love's sake. He stood up in his armour and flashed +his sword towards the envying stars. + +"It is I, my love!" he cried. "I am here." + +And there, before the dawn had made the shadows of the Law Courts +grey, they found him; bruised and muddy and daubed with blood, +without the sword and spurs of his honour, lacking the scented token +of his love. A thing in no way tragic, for here was no misfortune, +but merely the conclusion of Nature's remorseless logic. For century +after century those of his name had lived, sheltered by the prowess +of their ancestors from the trivial hardships and afflictions that +make us men. And now he lay on the pavement, stiff and cold, a babe +that had cried itself to sleep because it could not understand, +silent until the morning. + + + + +Fate And The Artist + +The workmen's dwellings stood in the northwest of London, in +quaint rivalry with the comfortable ugliness of the Maida Vale blocks +of flats. They were fairly new and very well built, with wide stone +staircases that echoed all day to the impatient footsteps of children, +and with a flat roof that served at once as a playground for them and +a drying-ground for their mothers' washing. In hot weather it was +pleasant enough to play hide-and-seek or follow-my-leader up and down +the long alleys of cool white linen, and if a sudden gust of wind or +some unexpected turn of the game set the wet sheets flapping in the +children's faces, their senses were rather tickled than annoyed. + +To George, mooning in a corner of the railings that seemed to keep all +London in a cage, these games were hardly more important than the +shoutings and whistlings that rose from the street below. It seemed to +him that all his life--he had lived eleven years--he had been standing +in a corner watching other people engaging in meaningless ploys and +antics. The sun was hot, and yet the children ran about and made +themselves hotter, and he wondered, as when he had been in bed with +one of his frequent illnesses he had wondered at the grown-up folk who +came and went, moving their arms and legs and speaking with their +mouths, when it was possible to lie still and quiet and feel the +moments ticking themselves off in one's forehead. As he rested in his +corner, he was conscious of the sharp edge of the narrow stone ledge +on which he was sitting and the thin iron railings that pressed into +his back; he smelt the evil smell of hot London, and the soapy odour +of the washing; he saw the glitter of the dust, and the noises of the +place beat harshly upon his ears, but he could find no meaning in it +all. Life spoke to him with a hundred tongues, and all the while he +was longing for silence. To the older inhabitants of the tenements he +seemed a morbid little boy, unhappily too delicate for sense to +be safely knocked into him; his fellow-children would have ignored him +completely if he had not had strange fancies that made interesting +stories and sometimes inspired games. On the whole, George was lonely +without knowing what loneliness meant. + +All day long the voice of London throbbed up beyond the bars, and +George would regard the chimneys and the housetops and the section of +lively street that fell within his range with his small, keen eyes, +and wonder why the world did not forthwith crumble into silent, +peaceful dust, instead of groaning and quivering in continual unrest. +But when twilight fell and the children were tired of playing, they +would gather round him in his corner by the tank and ask him to tell +them stories. This tank was large and open and held rain water for the +use of the tenants, and originally it had been cut off from the rest +of the roof by some special railings of its own; but two of the +railings had been broken, and now the children could creep through and +sit round the tank at dusk, like Eastern villagers round the village +well. + +And George would tell them stories--queer stories with twisted +faces and broken backs, that danced and capered merrily enough as a +rule, but sometimes stood quite still and made horrible grimaces. The +children liked the cheerful moral stories better, such as Arthur's +Boots. + +"Once upon a time," George would begin, "there was a boy called +Arthur, who lived in a house like this, and always tied his +bootlaces with knots instead of bows. One night he stood on the +roof and wished he had wings like a sparrow, so that he could +fly away over the houses. And a great wind began, so that everybody +said there was a storm, and suddenly Arthur found he had a little +pair of wings, and he flew away with the wind over the houses. And +presently he got beyond the storm to a quiet place in the sky, and +Arthur looked up and saw all the stars tied to heaven with little +bits of string, and all the strings were tied in bows. And this +was done so that God could pull the string quite easily when He +wanted to, and let the stars fall. On fine nights you can see them +dropping. Arthur thought that the angels must have very neat +fingers to tie so many bows, but suddenly, while he was looking, +his feet began to feel heavy, and he stooped down to take off his +boots; but he could not untie the knots quick enough, and soon he +started falling very fast. And while he was falling, he heard the +wind in the telegraph wires, and the shouts of the boys who sell +papers in the street, and then he fell on the top of a house. And +they took him to the hospital, and cut off his legs, and gave him +wooden ones instead. But he could not fly any more because they +were too heavy." + +For days afterwards all the children would tie their bootlaces in +bows. + +Sometimes they would all look into the dark tank, and George would +tell them about the splendid fish that lived in its depths. If the +tank was only half full, he would whisper to the fish, and the +children would hear its indistinct reply. But when the tank was full +to the brim, he said that the fish was too happy to talk, and he would +describe the beauty of its appearance so vividly that all the children +would lean over the tank and strain their eyes in a desperate effort +to see the wonderful fish. But no one ever saw it clearly except +George, though most of the children thought they had seen its tail +disappearing in the shadows at one time or another. + +It was doubtful how far the children believed his stories; probably, +not having acquired the habit of examining evidence, they were +content to accept ideas that threw a pleasant glamour on life. But the +coming of Jimmy Simpson altered this agreeable condition of mind. +Jimmy was one of those masterful stupid boys who excel at games and +physical contests, and triumph over intellectual problems by sheer +braggart ignorance. From the first he regarded George with contempt, +and when he heard him telling his stories he did not conceal his +disbelief. + +"It's a lie," he said; "there ain't no fish in the tank." + +"I have seen it, I tell you," said George. + +Jimmy spat on the asphalt rudely. + +"I bet no one else has," he said. + +George looked round his audience, but their eyes did not meet his. +They felt that they might have been mistaken in believing that +they had seen the tail of the fish. And Jimmy was a very good man with +his fists. "Liar!" said Jimmy at last triumphantly, and walked away. +Being masterful, he led the others with him, and George brooded by the +tank for the rest of the evening in solitude. + +Next day George went up to Jimmy confidently. "I was right about the +fish," he said. "I dreamed about it last night." + +"Rot!" said Jimmy; "dreams are only made-up things; they don't mean +anything." + +George crept away sadly. How could he convince such a man? All day +long he worried over the problem, and he woke up in the middle of the +night with it throbbing in his brain. And suddenly, as he lay in his +bed, doubt came to him. Supposing he had been wrong, supposing he had +never seen the fish at all? This was not to be borne. He crept quietly +out of the flat, and tiptoed upstairs to the roof. The stone was very +cold to his feet. + +There were so many things in the tank that at first, George could not +see the fish, but at last he saw it gleaming below the moon and the +stars, larger and even more beautiful than he had said. "I knew I +was right," he whispered, as he crept back to bed. In the morning he +was very ill. + +Meanwhile blue day succeeded blue day, and while the water grew lower +in the tank, the children, with Jimmy for leader, had almost forgotten +the boy who had told them stories. Now and again one or other of them +would say that George was very, very ill, and then they would go on +with their game. No one looked in the tank now that they knew there +was nothing in it, till it occurred one day to Jimmy that the dry +weather should have brought final confirmation of his scepticism. +Leaving his comrades at the long jump, he went to George's neglected +corner and peeped into the tank. Sure enough it was almost dry, and, +he nearly shouted with surprise, in the shallow pool of sooty water +there lay a large fish, dead, but still gleaming with rainbow colours. + +Jimmy was strong and stupid, but not ill-natured, and, recalling +George's illness, it occurred to him that it would be a decent thing +to go and tell him he was right. He ran downstairs and knocked on the +door of the flat where George lived. George's big sister opened +it, but the boy was too excited to see that her eyes were wet. "Oh, +miss," he said breathlessly, "tell George he was right about the fish. +I've seen it myself!" + +"Georgy's dead," said the girl. + + + + +The Great Man + +To the people who do not write it must seem odd that men and women +should be willing to sacrifice their lives in the endeavour to +find new arrangements and combinations of words with which to +express old thoughts and older emotions, yet that is not an unfair +statement of the task of the literary artist. Words--symbols that +represent the noises that human beings make with their tongues and +lips and teeth--lie within our grasp like the fragments of a +jig-saw puzzle, and we fit them into faulty pictures until our hands +grow weary and our eyes can no longer pretend to see the truth. In +order to illustrate an infinitesimal fraction of our lives by +means of this preposterous game we are willing to sacrifice all +the rest. While ordinary efficient men and women are enjoying the +promise of the morning, the fulfilment of the afternoon, the +tranquillity of evening, we are still trying to discover a fitting +epithet for the dew of dawn. For us Spring paves the woods with +beautiful words rather than flowers, and when we look into the +eyes of our mistress we see nothing but adjectives. Love is an +occasion for songs; Death but the overburdened father of all our +saddest phrases. We are of those who are born crying into the +world because they cannot speak, and we end, like Stevenson, by +looking forward to our death because we have written a good +epitaph. Sometimes in the course of our frequent descents from +heaven to the waste-paper basket we feel that we lose too much to +accomplish so little. Does a handful of love-songs really outweigh +the smile of a pretty girl, or a hardly-written romance compensate +the author for months of lost adventure? We have only one life to +live, and we spend the greater part of it writing the history of +dead hours. Our lives lack balance because we find it hard to +discover a mean between the triolet we wrote last I night and the +big book we are going to start tomorrow, and also because living +only with our heads we tend to become top-heavy. We justify our +present discomfort with the promise of a bright future of flowers +and sunshine and gladdest life, though we know that in the garden +of art there are many chrysalides and few butterflies. Few of us +are fortunate enough to accomplish anything that was in the least +worth doing, so we fall back on the arid philosophy that it is +effort alone that counts. + +Luckily--or suicide would be the rule rather than the exception +for artists--the long process of disillusionment is broken by +hours when even the most self-critical feel nobly and indubitably +great; and this is the only reward that most artists ever have for +their labours, if we set a higher price on art than money. On the +whole, I am inclined to think that the artist is fully rewarded, +for the common man can have no conception of the Joy that is to be +found in belonging, though but momentarily and illusively, to the +aristocracy of genius. To find the just word for all our emotions, +to realise that our most trivial thought is illimitably creative, +to feel that it is our lot to keep life's gladdest promises, to +see the great souls of men and women, steadfast in existence as +stars in a windless pool--these, indeed, are no ordinary +pleasures. Moreover, these hours of our illusory greatness endow +us in their passing with a melancholy that is not tainted with +bitteress. We have nothing to regret; we are in truth the richer +for our rare adventure. We have been permitted to explore the +ultimate possibilities of our nature, and if we might not keep +this newly-discovered territory, at least we did not return from +our travels with empty hands. Something of the glamour lingers, +something perhaps of the wisdom, and it is with a heightened +passion, a fiercer enthusiasm, that we set ourselves once more to +our life-long task of chalking pink salmon and pinker sunsets on +the pavements of the world. + +I once met an Englishman in the forest that starts outside Brussels +and stretches for a long day's journey across the hills. We found a +little cafe under the trees, and sat in the sun talking about modern +English literature all the afternoon. In this way we discovered that +we had a common standpoint from which we judged works of art, though +our judgments differed pleasantly and provided us with materials +for agreeable discussion. By the time we had divided three bottles of +Gueze Lambic, the noble beer of Belgium, we had already sketched out a +scheme for the ideal literary newspaper. In other words, we had +achieved friendship. + +When the afternoon grew suddenly cold, the Englishman led me off to +tea at his house, which was half-way up the hill out of Woluwe. It +was one of those modern country cottages that Belgian architects +steal openly and without shame from their English confreres. We were +met at the garden gate by his daughter, a dark-haired girl of +fifteen or sixteen, so unreasonably beautiful that she made a +disillusioned scribbler feel like a sad line out of one of the +saddest poems of Francis Thompson. In my mind I christened her +Monica, because I did not like her real name. The house, with its +old furniture, its library, where the choice of books was clearly +dictated by individual prejudices and affections, and its +unambitious parade of domestic happiness, heightened my melancholy. +While tea was being prepared Monica showed me the garden. Only +a few daffodils and crocuses were in bloom, but she led me to the +rose garden, and told me that in the summer she could pick a great +basket of roses every day. I pictured Monica to myself, gathering +her roses on a breathless summer afternoon, and returned to the +house feeling like a battened version of the Reverend Laurence +Sterne. I knew that I had gathered all my roses, and I thought +regretfully of the chill loneliness of the world that lay beyond the +limits of this paradise. + +This mood lingered with me during tea, and it was not till that +meal was over that the miracle happened. I do not know whether it +was the Englishman or his wife that wrought the magic: or perhaps +it was Monica, nibbling "speculations" with her sharp white teeth; +but at all events I was led with delicate diplomacy to talk about +myself, and I presently realised that I was performing the +grateful labour really well. My words were warmed into life by an +eloquence that is not ordinarily mine, my adjectives were neither +commonplace nor far-fetched, my adverbs fell into their sockets +with a sob of joy. I spoke of myself with a noble sympathy, a +compassion so intense that it seemed divinely altruistic. And +gradually, as the spirit of creation woke in my blood, I revealed, +trembling between a natural sensitiveness and a generous +abandonment of restraint, the inner life of a man of genius. + +I passed lightly by his misunderstood childhood to concentrate my +sympathies on the literary struggles of his youth. I spoke of the +ignoble environment, the material hardships, the masterpieces written +at night to be condemned in the morning, the songs of his heart that +were too great for his immature voice to sing; and all the while I +bade them watch the fire of his faith burning with a constant and +quenchless flame. I traced the development of his powers, and +instanced some of his poems, my poems, which I recited so well that +they sounded to me, and I swear to them also, like staves from an +angelic hymn-book. I asked their compassion for the man who, having +such things in his heart, was compelled to waste his hours in sordid +journalistic labours. + +So by degrees I brought them to the present time, when, fatigued by +a world that would not acknowledge the truth of his message, +the man of genius was preparing to retire from life, in order to +devote himself to the composition of five or six masterpieces. I +described these masterpieces to them in outline, with a suggestive +detail dashed in here and there to show how they would be finished. +Nothing is easier than to describe unwritten literary masterpieces +in outline; but by that time I had thoroughly convinced my audience +and myself, and we looked upon these things as completed books. The +atmosphere was charged with the spirit of high endeavour, of +wonderful accomplishment. I heard the Englishman breathing deeply, +and through the dusk I was aware of the eyes of Monica, the wide, +vague eyes of a young girl in which youth can find exactly what it +pleases. + +It is a good thing to be great once or twice in our lives, and that +night I was wise enough to depart before the inevitable anti-climax. +At the gate the Englishman pressed me warmly by the hand and begged +me to honour his house with my presence again. His wife echoed the +wish, and Monica looked at me with those vacant eyes, that but a few +years ago I would have charged with the wine of my song. As I stood +in the tram on my way back to Brussels I felt like a man recovering +from a terrible debauch, and I knew that the brief hour of my pride +was over, to return, perhaps, no more. Work was impossible to a man +who had expressed considerably more than he had to express, so I went +into a cafe where there was a string band to play sentimental music +over the corpse of my genius. Chance took me to a table presided over +by a waiter I singularly detested, and the last embers of my +greatness enabled me to order my drink in a voice so passionate that +he looked at me aghast and fled. By the time he returned with my hock +the tale was finished, and I tried to buy his toleration with an +enormous _pourboire_. + +No; I will return to that house on the hill above Woluwe no more, not +even to see Monica standing on tiptoe to pick her roses. For I have +left a giant's robe hanging on a peg in the hall, and I would not +have those amiable people see how utterly incapable I am of filling +it under normal conditions. I feel, besides, a kind of sentimental +tenderness for this illusion fated to have so short a life. I am no +Herod to slaughter babies, and it pleases me to think that it lingers +yet in that delightful house with the books and the old furniture and +Monica, even though I myself shall probably never see it again, even +though the Englishman watches the publishers' announcements for the +masterpieces that will never appear. + + + + +A Wet Day + +As we grow older it becomes more and more apparent that our moments +are the ghosts of old moments, our days but pale repetitions of days +that we have known in the past. It might almost be said that after a +certain age we never meet a stranger or win to a new place. The +palace of our soul, grown larger let us hope with the years, is +haunted by little memories that creep out of corners to peep at us +wistfully when we are most sure that we are alone. Sometimes we +cannot hear the voice of the present for the whisperings of the past; +sometimes the room is so full of ghosts that we can hardly breathe. +And yet it is often difficult to find the significance of these dead +days, restored to us to disturb our sense of passing time. Why have +our minds kept secret these trivial records so many years to give +them to us at last when they have no apparent consequence? Perhaps it +is only that we are not clever enough to read the riddle; perhaps +these trifles that we have remembered unconsciously year after year +are in truth the tremendous forces that have made our lives what they +are. + +Standing at the window this morning and watching the rain, I suddenly +became conscious of a wet morning long ago when I stood as I stood +now and saw the drops sliding one after another down the steamy +panes. I was a boy of eight years old, dressed in a sailor suit, and +with my hair clipped quite short like a French boy's, and my right +knee was stiff with a half-healed cut where I had fallen on the +gravel path under the schoolroom window, it was a really wet, grey +day. I could hear the rain dripping from the fir-trees on to the +scullery roof, and every now and then a gust of wind drove the rain +down on the soaked lawn with a noise like breaking surf. I could hear +the water gurgling in the pipe that was hidden by the ivy, and I saw +with interest that one of the paths was flooded, so that a canal ran +between the standard rose bushes and recalled pictures of Venice. I +thought it would be nice if it rained truly hard and flooded the +house, so that we should all have to starve for three weeks, and then +be rescued excitingly in boats; but I had not really any hope. Behind +me in the schoolroom my two brothers were playing chess, but had not +yet started quarrelling, and in a corner my little sister was +patiently beating a doll. There was a fire in the grate, but it was +one of those sombre, smoky fires in which it is impossible to take +any interest. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked very slowly, and I +realised that an eternity of these long seconds separated me from +dinner-time. I thought I would like to go out. + +The enterprise presented certain difficulties and dangers, but none +that could not be surpassed. I would have to steal down to the hall +and get my boots and waterproof on unobserved. I would have to open +the front door without making too much noise, for the other doors +were well guarded by underlings, and I would have to run down the +front drive under the eyes of many windows. Once beyond the gate I +would be safe, for the wetness of the day would secure me from +dangerous encounters. Walking in the rain would be pleasant than +staying in the dull schoolroom, where life remained unchanged for a +quarter of an hour at a time; and I remembered that there was a +little wood near our house in which I had never been when it was +raining hard. Perhaps I would meet the magician for whom I had looked +so often in vain on sunny days, for it was quite likely that he +preferred walking in bad weather when no one else was about. It would +be nice to hear the drops of rain falling on the roof of the trees, +and to be quite warm and dry underneath. Perhaps the magician would +give me a magic wand, and I would do things like the conjurer last +Christmas. + +Certainly I would be punished when I got home, for even if I were not +missed they would see that my boots were muddy and that my waterproof +was wet. I would have no pudding for dinner and be sent to bed in the +afternoon: but these things had happened to me before, and though I +had not liked them at the time, they did not seem very terrible in +retrospect. And life was so dull in the schoolroom that wet morning +when I was eight years old! + +And yet I did not go out, but stood hesitating at the window, while +with every gust earth seemed to fling back its curls of rain from its +shining forehead. To stand on the brink of adventure is interesting +in itself, and now that I could think over the details of my +expedition was no longer bored. So I stayed dreaming till the golden +moment for action was passed, and a violent exclamation from one of +the chess-players called me back to a prosaic world. In a second the +board was overturned and the players were locked in battle. My little +sister, who had already the feminine craving for tidiness, crept out +of her corner and meekly gathered the chessmen from under the feet of +the combatants. I had seen it all before, and while I led my forces +to the aid of the brother with whom at the moment I had some sort of +alliance, I reflected that I would have done better to dare the +adventure and set forth into the rainy world. + +And this morning when I stood at my window, and my memory a little +cruelly restored to this vision of a day long dead, I was still of +the same opinion. Oh! I should have put on my boots and my waterproof +and gone down to the little wood to meet the enchanter! He would have +given me the cap of invisibility, the purse of Fortunatus, and a pair +of seven-league boots. He would have taught me to conquer worlds, and +to leave the easy triumphs of dreamers to madmen, philosophers, and +poets, He would have made me a man of action, a statesman, a soldier, +a founder of cities or a digger of graves. For there are two kinds of +men in the world when we have put aside the minor distinctions of +shape and colour. There are the men who do things and the men who +dream about them. No man can be both a dreamer and a man of action, +and we are called upon to determine what role we shall play in life +when we are too young to know what to do. + +I do not believe that it was a mere wantonness of memory that +preserved the image of that hour with such affectionate detail, where +so many brighter and more eventful hours have disappeared for ever. +It seems to me likely enough that that moment of hesitation before +the schoolroom window determined a habit of mind that has kept me +dreaming ever since. For all my life I have preferred thought to +action; I have never run to the little wood; I have never met the +enchanter. And so this morning, when Fate played me this trick and my +dream was chilled for an instant by the icy breath of the past, I did +not rush out into the streets of life and lay about me with a flaming +sword. No; I picked up my pen and wrote some words on a piece of +paper and lulled my shocked senses with the tranquillity of the +idlest dream of all. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ghost Ship, by Richard Middleton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GHOST SHIP *** + +***** This file should be named 11045.txt or 11045.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/0/4/11045/ + +Produced by Tom Harris + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/11045.zip b/old/11045.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..db09164 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11045.zip |