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diff --git a/1334-h/1334-h.htm b/1334-h/1334-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9a200e --- /dev/null +++ b/1334-h/1334-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18323 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Paul Kelver, by Jerome K. Jerome + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + .ml {margin-left: 2em;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1334 ***</div> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + PAUL KELVER + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Jerome K. Jerome + </h2> + <h4> + (Jerome Klapka), 1859-1927 + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="mynote"> + <p> + Transcriber's Note: Items in [brackets] are editorial comments added in + proofing. The pound (currency) symbol has been replaced by the word + “pound”. + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>PAUL KELVER</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL"> PROLOGUE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>BOOK 1.</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>BOOK 2</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PAUL KELVER + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL" id="link2H_PROL"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE. + </h2> + <p> + IN WHICH THE AUTHOR SEEKS TO CAST THE RESPONSIBILITY OF THIS STORY UPON + ANOTHER. + </p> + <p> + At the corner of a long, straight, brick-built street in the far East End + of London—one of those lifeless streets, made of two drab walls upon + which the level lines, formed by the precisely even window-sills and + doorsteps, stretch in weary perspective from end to end, suggesting + petrified diagrams proving dead problems—stands a house that ever + draws me to it; so that often, when least conscious of my footsteps, I + awake to find myself hurrying through noisy, crowded thoroughfares, where + flaring naphtha lamps illumine fierce, patient, leaden-coloured faces; + through dim-lit, empty streets, where monstrous shadows come and go upon + the close-drawn blinds; through narrow, noisome streets, where the gutters + swarm with children, and each ever-open doorway vomits riot; past reeking + corners, and across waste places, till at last I reach the dreary goal of + my memory-driven desire, and, coming to a halt beside the broken railings, + find rest. + </p> + <p> + The house, larger than its fellows, built when the street was still a + country lane, edging the marshes, strikes a strange note of individuality + amid the surrounding harmony of hideousness. It is encompassed on two + sides by what was once a garden, though now but a barren patch of stones + and dust where clothes—it is odd any one should have thought of + washing—hang in perpetuity; while about the door continue the + remnants of a porch, which the stucco falling has left exposed in all its + naked insincerity. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally I drift hitherward in the day time, when slatternly women + gossip round the area gates, and the silence is broken by the hoarse, + wailing cry of “Coals—any coals—three and sixpence a sack—co-o-o-als!” + chanted in a tone that absence of response has stamped with chronic + melancholy; but then the street knows me not, and my old friend of the + corner, ashamed of its shabbiness in the unpitying sunlight, turns its + face away, and will not see me as I pass. + </p> + <p> + Not until the Night, merciful alone of all things to the ugly, draws her + veil across its sordid features will it, as some fond old nurse, sought + out in after years, open wide its arms to welcome me. Then the teeming + life it now shelters, hushed for a time within its walls, the flickering + flare from the “King of Prussia” opposite extinguished, will it talk with + me of the past, asking me many questions, reminding me of many things I + had forgotten. Then into the silent street come the well-remembered + footsteps; in and out the creaking gate pass, not seeing me, the + well-remembered faces; and we talk concerning them; as two cronies, + turning the torn leaves of some old album where the faded portraits in + forgotten fashions, speak together in low tones of those now dead or + scattered, with now a smile and now a sigh, and many an “Ah me!” or “Dear, + dear!” + </p> + <p> + This bent, worn man, coming towards us with quick impatient steps, which + yet cease every fifty yards or so, while he pauses, leaning heavily upon + his high Malacca cane: “It is a handsome face, is it not?” I ask, as I + gaze upon it, shadow framed. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, handsome enough,” answers the old House; “and handsomer still it + must have been before you and I knew it, before mean care had furrowed it + with fretful lines.” + </p> + <p> + “I never could make out,” continues the old House, musingly, “whom you + took after; for they were a handsome pair, your father and your mother, + though Lord! what a couple of children!” + </p> + <p> + “Children!” I say in surprise, for my father must have been past five and + thirty before the House could have known him, and my mother's face is very + close to mine, in the darkness, so that I see the many grey hairs mingling + with the bonny brown. + </p> + <p> + “Children,” repeats the old House, irritably, so it seems to me, not + liking, perhaps, its opinions questioned, a failing common to old folk; + “the most helpless pair of children I ever set eyes upon. Who but a child, + I should like to know, would have conceived the notion of repairing his + fortune by becoming a solicitor at thirty-eight, or, having conceived such + a notion, would have selected the outskirts of Poplar as a likely centre + in which to put up his door-plate?” + </p> + <p> + “It was considered to be a rising neighbourhood,” I reply, a little + resentful. No son cares to hear the family wisdom criticised, even though + at the bottom of his heart he may be in agreement with the critic. “All + sorts and conditions of men, whose affairs were in connection with the sea + would, it was thought, come to reside hereabout, so as to be near to the + new docks; and had they, it is not unreasonable to suppose they would have + quarrelled and disputed with one another, much to the advantage of a cute + solicitor, convenient to their hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff and nonsense,” retorts the old House, shortly; “why, the mere smell + of the place would have been sufficient to keep a sensible man away. And”—the + grim brick face before me twists itself into a goblin smile—“he, of + all men in the world, as 'the cute solicitor,' giving advice to shady + clients, eager to get out of trouble by the shortest way, can you fancy + it! he who for two years starved himself, living on five shillings a week—that + was before you came to London, when he was here alone. Even your mother + knew nothing of it till years afterwards—so that no man should be a + penny the poorer for having trusted his good name. Do you think the crew + of chandlers and brokers, dock hustlers and freight wreckers would have + found him a useful man of business, even had they come to settle here?” + </p> + <p> + I have no answer; nor does the old House wait for any, but talks on. + </p> + <p> + “And your mother! would any but a child have taken that soft-tongued + wanton to her bosom, and not have seen through acting so transparent? + Would any but the veriest child that never ought to have been let out into + the world by itself have thought to dree her weird in such folly? + Children! poor babies they were, both of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” I say—for at such times all my stock of common sense is + not sufficient to convince me that the old House is but clay. From its + walls so full of voices, from its floors so thick with footsteps, surely + it has learned to live; as a violin, long played on, comes to learn at + last a music of its own. “Tell me, I was but a child to whom life speaks + in a strange tongue, was there any truth in the story?” + </p> + <p> + “Truth!” snaps out the old House; “just truth enough to plant a lie upon; + and Lord knows not much ground is needed for that weed. I saw what I saw, + and I know what I know. Your mother had a good man, and your father a true + wife, but it was the old story: a man's way is not a woman's way, and a + woman's way is not a man's way, so there lives ever doubt between them.” + </p> + <p> + “But they came together in the end,” I say, remembering. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, in the end,” answers the House. “That is when you begin to + understand, you men and women, when you come to the end.” + </p> + <p> + The grave face of a not too recently washed angel peeps shyly at me + through the railings, then, as I turn my head, darts back and disappears. + </p> + <p> + “What has become of her?” I ask. + </p> + <p> + “She? Oh, she is well enough,” replies the House. “She lives close here. + You must have passed the shop. You might have seen her had you looked in. + She weighs fourteen stone, about; and has nine children living. She would + be pleased to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” I say, with a laugh that is not wholly a laugh; “I do not + think I will call.” But I still hear the pit-pat of her tiny feet, dying + down the long street. + </p> + <p> + The faces thicken round me. A large looming, rubicund visage smiles kindly + on me, bringing back into my heart the old, odd mingling of instinctive + liking held in check by conscientious disapproval. I turn from it, and see + a massive, clean-shaven face, with the ugliest mouth and the loveliest + eyes I ever have known in a man. + </p> + <p> + “Was he as bad, do you think, as they said?” I ask of my ancient friend. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't wonder,” the old House answers. “I never knew a worse—nor + a better.” + </p> + <p> + The wind whisks it aside, leaving to view a little old woman, hobbling + nimbly by aid of a stick. Three corkscrew curls each side of her head bob + with each step she takes, and as she draws near to me, making the most + alarming grimaces, I hear her whisper, as though confiding to herself some + fascinating secret, “I'd like to skin 'em. I'd like to skin 'em all. I'd + like to skin 'em all alive!” + </p> + <p> + It sounds a fiendish sentiment, yet I only laugh, and the little old lady, + with a final facial contortion surpassing all dreams, limps beyond my ken. + </p> + <p> + Then, as though choosing contrasts, follows a fair, laughing face. I saw + it in the life only a few hours ago—at least, not it, but the poor + daub that Evil has painted over it, hating the sweetness underlying. And + as I stand gazing at it, wishing it were of the dead who change not, there + drifts back from the shadows that other face, the one of the wicked mouth + and the tender eyes, so that I stand again helpless between the two I + loved so well, he from whom I learned my first steps in manhood, she from + whom I caught my first glimpse of the beauty and the mystery of woman. And + again the cry rises from my heart, “Whose fault was it—yours or + hers?” And again I hear his mocking laugh as he answers, “Whose fault? God + made us.” And thinking of her and of the love I bore her, which was as the + love of a young pilgrim to a saint, it comes into my blood to hate him. + But when I look into his eyes and see the pain that lives there, my pity + grows stronger than my misery, and I can only echo his words, “God made + us.” + </p> + <p> + Merry faces and sad, fair faces and foul, they ride upon the wind; but the + centre round which they circle remains always the one: a little lad with + golden curls more suitable to a girl than to a boy, with shy, awkward ways + and a silent tongue, and a grave, old-fashioned face. + </p> + <p> + And, turning from him to my old brick friend, I ask: “Would he know me, + could he see me, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “How should he,” answers the old House, “you are so different to what he + would expect. Would you recognise your own ghost, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “It is sad to think he would not recognise me,” I say. + </p> + <p> + “It might be sadder if he did,” grumbles the old House. + </p> + <p> + We both remained silent for awhile; but I know of what the old House is + thinking. Soon it speaks as I expected. + </p> + <p> + “You—writer of stories, why don't you write a book about him? There + is something that you know.” + </p> + <p> + It is the favourite theme of the old House. I never visit it but it + suggests to me this idea. + </p> + <p> + “But he has done nothing?” I say. + </p> + <p> + “He has lived,” answers the old House. “Is not that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, but only in London in these prosaic modern times,” I persist. “How + of such can one make a story that shall interest the people?” + </p> + <p> + The old House waxes impatient of me. + </p> + <p> + “'The people!'” it retorts, “what are you all but children in a dim-lit + room, waiting until one by one you are called out to sleep. And one mounts + upon a stool and tells a tale to the others who have gathered round. Who + shall say what will please them, what will not.” + </p> + <p> + Returning home with musing footsteps through the softly breathing streets, + I ponder the words of the old House. Is it but as some foolish mother + thinking all the world interested in her child, or may there lie wisdom in + its counsel? Then to my guidance or misguidance comes the thought of a + certain small section of the Public who often of an evening commands of me + a story; and who, when I have told her of the dreadful giants and of the + gallant youths who slay them, of the wood-cutter's sons who rescue maidens + from Ogre-guarded castles; of the Princesses the most beautiful in all the + world, of the Princes with magic swords, still unsatisfied, creeps closer + yet, saying: “Now tell me a real story,” adding for my comprehending: “You + know: about a little girl who lived in a big house with her father and + mother, and who was sometimes naughty, you know.” + </p> + <p> + So perhaps among the many there may be some who for a moment will turn + aside from tales of haughty Heroes, ruffling it in Court and Camp, to + listen to the story of a very ordinary lad who lived with very ordinary + folk in a modern London street, and who grew up to be a very ordinary sort + of man, loving a little and grieving a little, helping a few and harming a + few, struggling and failing and hoping; and if any such there be, let them + come round me. + </p> + <p> + But let not those who come to me grow indignant as they listen, saying: + “This rascal tells us but a humdrum story, where nothing is as it should + be;” for I warn all beforehand that I tell but of things that I have seen. + My villains, I fear, are but poor sinners, not altogether bad; and my good + men but sorry saints. My princes do not always slay their dragons; alas, + sometimes, the dragon eats the prince. The wicked fairies often prove more + powerful than the good. The magic thread leads sometimes wrong, and even + the hero is not always brave and true. + </p> + <p> + So let those come round me only who will be content to hear but their own + story, told by another, saying as they listen, “So dreamt I. Ah, yes, that + is true, I remember.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + PAUL, ARRIVED IN A STRANGE LAND, LEARNS MANY THINGS, AND GOES TO MEET THE + MAN IN GREY. + </p> + <p> + Fate intended me for a singularly fortunate man. Properly, I ought to have + been born in June, which being, as is well known, the luckiest month in + all the year for such events, should, by thoughtful parents, be more + generally selected. How it was I came to be born in May, which is, on the + other hand, of all the twelve the most unlucky, as I have proved, I leave + to those more conversant with the subject to explain. An early nurse, the + first human being of whom I have any distinct recollection, unhesitatingly + attributed the unfortunate fact to my natural impatience; which quality + she at the same time predicted would lead me into even greater trouble, a + prophecy impressed by future events with the stamp of prescience. It was + from this same bony lady that I likewise learned the manner of my coming. + It seems that I arrived, quite unexpectedly, two hours after news had + reached the house of the ruin of my father's mines through inundation; + misfortunes, as it was expounded to me, never coming singly in this world + to any one. That all things might be of a piece, my poor mother, + attempting to reach the bell, fell against and broke the cheval-glass, + thus further saddening herself with the conviction—for no amount of + reasoning ever succeeded in purging her Welsh blood of its natural + superstition—that whatever might be the result of future battles + with my evil star, the first seven years of tiny existence had been, by + her act, doomed to disaster. + </p> + <p> + “And I must confess,” added the knobbly Mrs. Fursey, with a sigh, “it does + look as though there must be some truth in the saying, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then ain't I a lucky little boy?” I asked. For hitherto it had been Mrs. + Fursey's method to impress upon me my exceptional good fortune. That I + could and did, involuntarily, retire to bed at six, while less happily + placed children were deprived of their natural rest until eight or nine + o'clock, had always been held up to me as an astounding piece of luck. + Some little boys had not a bed at all; for the which, in my more riotous + moments, I envied them. Again, that at the first sign of a cold it became + my unavoidable privilege to lunch off linseed gruel and sup off brimstone + and treacle—a compound named with deliberate intent to deceive the + innocent, the treacle, so far as taste is concerned, being wickedly + subordinated to the brimstone—was another example of Fortune's + favouritism: other little boys were so astoundingly unlucky as to be left + alone when they felt ill. If further proof were needed to convince that I + had been signalled out by Providence as its especial protege, there + remained always the circumstance that I possessed Mrs. Fursey for my + nurse. The suggestion that I was not altogether the luckiest of children + was a new departure. + </p> + <p> + The good dame evidently perceived her error, and made haste to correct it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you! You are lucky enough,” she replied; “I was thinking of your poor + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't mamma lucky?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she hasn't been too lucky since you came.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it lucky, her having me?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say it was, at that particular time.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't she want me?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fursey was one of those well-meaning persons who are of opinion that + the only reasonable attitude of childhood should be that of perpetual + apology for its existence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I daresay she could have done without you,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + I can see the picture plainly still. I am sitting on a low chair before + the nursery fire, one knee supported in my locked hands, meanwhile Mrs. + Fursey's needle grated with monotonous regularity against her thimble. At + that moment knocked at my small soul for the first time the problem of + life. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, without moving, I said: + </p> + <p> + “Then why did she take me in?” + </p> + <p> + The rasping click of the needle on the thimble ceased abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Took you in! What's the child talking about? Who's took you in?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, mamma. If she didn't want me, why did she take me in?” + </p> + <p> + But even while, with heart full of dignified resentment, I propounded + this, as I proudly felt, logically unanswerable question, I was glad that + she had. The vision of my being refused at the bedroom window presented + itself to my imagination. I saw the stork, perplexed and annoyed, looking + as I had sometimes seen Tom Pinfold look when the fish he had been holding + out by the tail had been sniffed at by Anna, and the kitchen door shut in + his face. Would the stork also have gone away thoughtfully scratching his + head with one of those long, compass-like legs of his, and muttering to + himself. And here, incidentally, I fell a-wondering how the stork had + carried me. In the garden I had often watched a blackbird carrying a worm, + and the worm, though no doubt really safe enough, had always appeared to + me nervous and uncomfortable. Had I wriggled and squirmed in like fashion? + And where would the stork have taken me to then? Possibly to Mrs. + Fursey's: their cottage was the nearest. But I felt sure Mrs. Fursey would + not have taken me in; and next to them, at the first house in the village, + lived Mr. Chumdley, the cobbler, who was lame, and who sat all day + hammering boots with very dirty hands, in a little cave half under the + ground, his whole appearance suggesting a poor-spirited ogre. I should + have hated being his little boy. Possibly nobody would have taken me in. I + grew pensive, thinking of myself as the rejected of all the village. What + would the stork have done with me, left on his hands, so to speak. The + reflection prompted a fresh question. + </p> + <p> + “Nurse, where did I come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I've told you often. The stork brought you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. But where did the stork get me from?” Mrs. Fursey paused for + quite a long while before replying. Possibly she was reflecting whether + such answer might not make me unduly conceited. Eventually she must have + decided to run that risk; other opportunities could be relied upon for + neutralising the effect. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, from Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought Heaven was a place where you went to,” I answered; “not + where you comed from.” I know I said “comed,” for I remember that at this + period my irregular verbs were a bewildering anxiety to my poor mother. + “Comed” and “goned,” which I had worked out for myself, were particular + favourites of mine. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fursey passed over my grammar in dignified silence. She had been + pointedly requested not to trouble herself with that part of my education, + my mother holding that diverging opinions upon the same subject only + confused a child. + </p> + <p> + “You came from Heaven,” repeated Mrs. Fursey, “and you'll go to Heaven—if + you're good.” + </p> + <p> + “Do all little boys and girls come from Heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “So they say.” Mrs. Fursey's tone implied that she was stating what might + possibly be but a popular fallacy, for which she individually took no + responsibility. + </p> + <p> + “And did you come from Heaven, Mrs. Fursey?” Mrs. Fursey's reply to this + was decidedly more emphatic. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did. Where do you think I came from?” + </p> + <p> + At once, I am ashamed to say, Heaven lost its exalted position in my eyes. + Even before this, it had puzzled me that everybody I knew should be going + there—for so I was always assured; now, connected as it appeared to + be with the origin of Mrs. Fursey, much of its charm disappeared. + </p> + <p> + But this was not all. Mrs. Fursey's information had suggested to me a + fresh grief. I stopped not to console myself with the reflection that my + fate had been but the fate of all little boys and girls. With a child's + egoism I seized only upon my own particular case. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't they want me in Heaven then, either?” I asked. “Weren't they fond + of me up there?” + </p> + <p> + The misery in my voice must have penetrated even Mrs. Fursey's bosom, for + she answered more sympathetically than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they liked you well enough, I daresay. I like you, but I like to get + rid of you sometimes.” There could be no doubt as to this last. Even at + the time, I often doubted whether that six o'clock bedtime was not + occasionally half-past five. + </p> + <p> + The answer comforted me not. It remained clear that I was not wanted + either in Heaven nor upon the earth. God did not want me. He was glad to + get rid of me. My mother did not want me. She could have done without me. + Nobody wanted me. Why was I here? + </p> + <p> + And then, as the sudden opening and shutting of the door of a dark room, + came into my childish brain the feeling that Something, somewhere, must + have need of me, or I could not be, Something I felt I belonged to and + that belonged to me, Something that was as much a part of me as I of It. + The feeling came back to me more than once during my childhood, though I + could never put it into words. Years later the son of the Portuguese Jew + explained to me my thought. But all that I myself could have told was that + in that moment I knew for the first time that I lived, that I was I. + </p> + <p> + The next instant all was dark again, and I once more a puzzled little boy, + sitting by a nursery fire, asking of a village dame questions concerning + life. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a new thought came to me, or rather the recollection of an old. + </p> + <p> + “Nurse, why haven't we got a husband?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fursey left off her sewing, and stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “What maggot has the child got into its head now?” was her observation; + “who hasn't got a husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk nonsense, Master Paul; you know your mamma has got a husband.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she ain't.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't contradict. Your mamma's husband is your papa, who lives in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of <i>him</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fursey's reply appeared to me to be unnecessarily vehement. + </p> + <p> + “You wicked child, you; where's your commandments? Your father is in + London working hard to earn money to keep you in idleness, and you sit + there and say 'What's the good of him!' I'd be ashamed to be such an + ungrateful little brat.” + </p> + <p> + I had not meant to be ungrateful. My words were but the repetition of a + conversation I had overheard the day before between my mother and my aunt. + </p> + <p> + Had said my aunt: “There she goes, moping again. Drat me if ever I saw + such a thing to mope as a woman.” + </p> + <p> + My aunt was entitled to preach on the subject. She herself grumbled all + day about all things, but she did it cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + My mother was standing with her hands clasped behind her—a favourite + attitude of hers—gazing through the high French window into the + garden beyond. It must have been spring time, for I remember the white and + yellow crocuses decking the grass. + </p> + <p> + “I want a husband,” had answered my mother, in a tone so ludicrously + childish that at sound of it I had looked up from the fairy story I was + reading, half expectant to find her changed into a little girl; “I hate + not having a husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Help us and save us,” my aunt had retorted; “how many more does a girl + want? She's got one.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of him all that way off,” had pouted my mother; “I want + him here where I can get at him.” + </p> + <p> + I had often heard of this father of mine, who lived far away in London, + and to whom we owed all the blessings of life; but my childish endeavours + to square information with reflection had resulted in my assigning to him + an entirely spiritual existence. I agreed with my mother that such an one, + however to be revered, was no substitute for the flesh and blood father + possessed by luckier folk—the big, strong, masculine thing that + would carry a fellow pig-a-back round the garden, or take a chap to sail + in boats. + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand me, nurse,” I explained; “what I mean is a husband + you can get at.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and you'll 'get at him,' poor gentleman, one of these days,” + answered Mrs. Fursey. “When he's ready for you he'll send for you, and + then you'll go to him in London.” + </p> + <p> + I felt that still Mrs. Fursey didn't understand. But I foresaw that + further explanation would only shock her, so contented myself with a + simple, matter-of-fact question. + </p> + <p> + “How do you get to London; do you have to die first?” + </p> + <p> + “I do think,” said Mrs. Fursey, in the voice of resigned despair rather + than of surprise, “that, without exception, you are the silliest little + boy I ever came across. I've no patience with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry, nurse,” I answered; “I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” interrupted Mrs. Fursey, in the voice of many generations, “you + shouldn't think. London,” continued the good dame, her experience no doubt + suggesting that the shortest road to peace would be through my + understanding of this matter, “is a big town, and you go there in a train. + Some time—soon now—your father will write to your mother that + everything is ready. Then you and your mother and your aunt will leave + this place and go to London, and I shall be rid of you.” + </p> + <p> + “And shan't we come back here ever any more?” + </p> + <p> + “Never again.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll never play in the garden again, never go down to the + pebble-ridge to tea, or to Jacob's tower?” + </p> + <p> + “Never again.” I think Mrs. Fursey took a pleasure in the phrase. It + sounded, as she said it, like something out of the prayer-book. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll never see Anna, or Tom Pinfold, or old Yeo, or Pincher, or you, + ever any more?” In this moment of the crumbling from under me of all my + footholds I would have clung even to that dry tuft, Mrs. Fursey herself. + </p> + <p> + “Never any more. You'll go away and begin an entirely new life. And I do + hope, Master Paul,” added Mrs. Fursey, piously, “it may be a better one. + That you will make up your mind to—” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Fursey's well-meant exhortations, whatever they may have been, + fell upon deaf ears. Here was I face to face with yet another problem. + This life into which I had fallen: it was understandable! One went away, + leaving the pleasant places that one knew, never to return to them. One + left one's labour and one's play to enter upon a new existence in a + strange land. One parted from the friends one had always known, one saw + them never again. Life was indeed a strange thing; and, would a body + comprehend it, then must a body sit staring into the fire, thinking very + hard, unheedful of all idle chatter. + </p> + <p> + That night, when my mother came to kiss me good-night, I turned my face to + the wall and pretended to be asleep, for children as well as grown-ups + have their foolish moods; but when I felt the soft curls brush my cheek, + my pride gave way, and clasping my arms about her neck, and drawing her + face still closer down to mine; I voiced the question that all the evening + had been knocking at my heart: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you couldn't send me back now, could you? You see, you've had + me so long.” + </p> + <p> + “Send you back?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I'd be too big for the stork to carry now, wouldn't I?” + </p> + <p> + My mother knelt down beside the bed so that her face and mine were on a + level, and looking into her eyes, the fear that had been haunting me fell + from me. + </p> + <p> + “Who has been talking foolishly to a foolish little boy?” asked my mother, + keeping my arms still clasped about her neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nurse and I were discussing things, you know,” I answered, “and she + said you could have done without me.” Somehow, I did not mind repeating + the words now; clearly it could have been but Mrs. Fursey's fun. + </p> + <p> + My mother drew me closer to her. + </p> + <p> + “And what made her think that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” I replied, “I came at a very awkward time, didn't I; when + you had a lot of other troubles.” + </p> + <p> + My mother laughed, but the next moment looked grave again. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you thought about such things,” she said; “we must be more + together, you and I, Paul, and you shall tell me all you think, because + nurse does not quite understand you. It is true what she said about the + trouble; it came just at that time. But I could not have done without you. + I was very unhappy, and you were sent to comfort me and help me to bear + it.” I liked this explanation better. + </p> + <p> + “Then it was lucky, your having me?” I said. Again my mother laughed, and + again there followed that graver look upon her childish face. + </p> + <p> + “Will you remember what I am going to say?” She spoke so earnestly that I, + wriggling into a sitting posture, became earnest also. + </p> + <p> + “I'll try,” I answered; “but I ain't got a very good memory, have I?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very,” smiled my mother; “but if you think about it a good deal it + will not leave you. When you are a good boy, and later on, when you are a + good man, then I am the luckiest little mother in all the world. And every + time you fail, that means bad luck for me. You will remember that after + I'm gone, when you are a big man, won't you, Paul?” + </p> + <p> + So, both of us quite serious, I promised; and though I smile now when I + remember, seeing before me those two earnest, childish faces, yet I think, + however little success it may be I have to boast of, it would perhaps have + been still less had I entirely forgotten. + </p> + <p> + From that day my mother waxes in my memory; Mrs. Fursey, of the many + promontories, waning. There were sunny mornings in the neglected garden, + where the leaves played round us while we worked and read; twilight + evenings in the window seat where, half hidden by the dark red curtains, + we would talk in whispers, why I know not, of good men and noble women, + ogres, fairies, saints and demons; they were pleasant days. + </p> + <p> + Possibly our curriculum lacked method; maybe it was too varied and + extensive for my age, in consequence of which chronology became confused + within my brain, and fact and fiction more confounded than has usually + been considered permissible, even in history. I saw Aphrodite, ready armed + and risen from the sea, move with stately grace to meet King Canute, who, + throned upon the sand, bade her come no further lest she should wet his + feet. In forest glade I saw King Rufus fall from a poisoned arrow shot by + Robin Hood; but thanks to sweet Queen Eleanor, who sucked the poison from + his wound, I knew he lived. Oliver Cromwell, having killed King Charles, + married his widow, and was in turn stabbed by Hamlet. Ulysses, in the + Argo, it was fixed upon my mind, had discovered America. Romulus and Remus + had slain the wolf and rescued Little Red Riding Hood. Good King Arthur, + for letting the cakes burn, had been murdered by his uncle in the Tower of + London. Prometheus, bound to the Rock, had been saved by good St. George. + Paris had given the apple to William Tell. What matter! the information + was there. It needed rearranging, that was all. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, of an afternoon, we would climb the steep winding pathway + through the woods, past awful precipices, spirit-haunted, by grassy swards + where fairies danced o' nights, by briar and bracken sheltered Caves where + fearsome creatures lurked, till high above the creeping sea we would reach + the open plateau where rose old Jacob's ruined tower. “Jacob's Folly” it + was more often called about the country side, and by some “The Devil's + Tower;” for legend had it that there old Jacob and his master, the Devil, + had often met in windy weather to wave false wrecking lights to troubled + ships. Who “old Jacob” was, I never, that I can remember, learned, nor how + nor why he built the Tower. Certain only it is his memory was unpopular, + and the fisher folk would swear that still on stormy nights strange lights + would gleam and flash from the ivy-curtained windows of his Folly. + </p> + <p> + But in day time no spot was more inviting, the short moss-grass before its + shattered door, the lichen on its crumbling stones. From its topmost + platform one saw the distant mountains, faint like spectres, and the + silent ships that came and vanished; and about one's feet the pleasant + farm lands and the grave, sweet river. + </p> + <p> + Smaller and poorer the world has grown since then. Now, behind those hills + lie naught but smoky towns and dingy villages; but then they screened a + land of wonder where princesses dwelt in castles, where the cities were of + gold. Now the ocean is but six days' journey wide, ending at the New York + Custom House. Then, had one set one's sail upon it, one would have + travelled far and far, beyond the golden moonlight, beyond the gate of + clouds; to the magic land of the blood red shore, t'other side o' the sun. + I never dreamt in those days a world could be so small. + </p> + <p> + Upon the topmost platform a wooden seat ran round within the parapet, and + sitting there hand in hand, sheltered from the wind which ever blew about + the tower, my mother would people for me all the earth and air with the + forms of myth and legend—perhaps unwisely, yet I do not know. I took + no harm from it, good rather, I think. They were beautiful fancies, most + of them; or so my mother turned them, making for love and pity, as do all + the tales that live, whether poems or old wives fables. But at that time + of course they had no meaning for me other than the literal; so that my + mother, looking into my eyes, would often hasten to add: “But that, you + know, is only an old superstition, and of course there are no such things + nowadays.” Yet, forgetful sometimes of the time, and overtaken homeward by + the shadows, we would hasten swiftly through the darkening path, holding + each other tightly by the hand. + </p> + <p> + Spring had waxed to summer, summer waned to autumn. Then my aunt and I one + morning, waiting at the breakfast table, saw through the open window my + mother skipping, dancing, pirouetting up the garden path. She held a + letter open in her hand, which as she drew near she waved about her head, + singing: + </p> + <p> + “Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, then comes Wednesday morning.” + </p> + <p> + She caught me to her and began dancing with me round the room. + </p> + <p> + Observed my aunt, who continued steadily to eat bread and butter: + </p> + <p> + “Just like 'em all. Goes mad with joy. What for? Because she's going to + leave a decent house, to live in a poky hole in the East End of London, + and keep one servant.” + </p> + <p> + To my aunt the second person ever remained a grammatical superfluity. + Invariably she spoke not to but of a person, throwing out her conversation + in the form of commentary. This had the advantage of permitting the party + intended to ignore it as mere impersonal philosophy. Seeing it was + generally uncomplimentary, most people preferred so to regard it; but my + mother had never succeeded in schooling herself to indifference. + </p> + <p> + “It's not a poky hole,” she replied; “it's an old-fashioned house, near + the river.” + </p> + <p> + “Plaistow marshes!” ejaculated my aunt, “calls it the river!” + </p> + <p> + “So it is the river,” returned my mother; “the river is the other side of + the marshes.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's hope it will always stop there,” said my aunt. + </p> + <p> + “And it's got a garden,” continued my mother, ignoring my aunt's last + remark; “which is quite an unusual feature in a London house. And it isn't + the East End of London; it is a rising suburb. And you won't make me + miserable because I am too happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Drat the woman!” said my aunt, “why can't she sit down and give us our + tea before it's all cold?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a disagreeable thing!” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Not half milk,” said my aunt. My aunt was never in the least disturbed by + other people's opinion of her, which was perhaps well for her. + </p> + <p> + For three days my mother packed and sang; and a dozen times a day unpacked + and laughed, looking for things wanted that were always found at the very + bottom of the very last box looked into, so that Anna, waiting for a + certain undergarment of my aunt's which shall be nameless, suggested a + saving of time: + </p> + <p> + “If I were you, ma'am,” said Anna, “I'd look into the last box you're + going to look into first.” + </p> + <p> + But it was found eventually in the first box-the box, that is, my mother + had intended to search first, but which, acting on Anna's suggestion, she + had reserved till the last. This caused my mother to be quite short with + Anna, who she said had wasted her time. But by Tuesday afternoon all stood + ready: we were to start early Wednesday morning. + </p> + <p> + That evening, missing my mother in the house, I sought her in the garden + and found her, as I had expected, on her favourite seat under the great + lime tree; but to my surprise there were tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you were glad we were going,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “So I am,” answered my mother, drying her eyes only to make room for fresh + tears. + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you crying?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm sorry to leave here.” + </p> + <p> + Grown-up folks with their contradictory ways were a continual puzzle to me + in those days; I am not sure I quite understand them even now, myself + included. + </p> + <p> + We were up and off next day before the dawn. The sun rose as the wagon + reached the top of the hill; and there we paused and took our farewell + look at Old Jacob's Tower. My mother cried a little behind her veil; but + my aunt only said, “I never did care for earwigs in my tea;” and as for + myself I was too excited and expectant to feel much sentiment about + anything. + </p> + <p> + On the journey I sat next to an exceptionally large and heavy man, who in + his sleep—and he slept often—imagined me to be a piece of + stuffing out of place. Then, grunting and wriggling, he would endeavour to + rub me out, until the continued irritation of my head between the window + and his back would cause him to awake, when he would look down upon me + reprovingly but not unkindly, observing to the carriage generally: “It's a + funny thing, ain't it, nobody's ever made a boy yet that could keep still + for ten seconds.” After which he would pat me heartily on the head, to + show he was not vexed with me, and fall to sleep again upon me. He was a + good-tempered man. + </p> + <p> + My mother sat occupied chiefly with her own thoughts, and my aunt had + found a congenial companion in a lady who had had her cap basket sat upon; + so I was left mainly to my own resources. When I could get my head free of + the big man's back, I gazed out of the window, and watched the flying + fragments as we shed the world. Now a village would fall from us, now the + yellow corn-land would cling to us for awhile, or a wood catch at our + rushing feet, and sometimes a strong town would stop us, and hold us, + panting for a space. Or, my eyes weary, I would sit and listen to the + hoarse singing of the wheels beneath my feet. It was a monotonous chaunt, + ever the same two lines: + </p> +<p class="ml"> + “Here we suffer grief and pain,<br /> + Here we meet to part again,” + </p> + <p> + followed by a low, rumbling laugh. Sometimes fortissimo, sometimes + pianissimo; now vivace, now largo; but ever those same two lines, and ever + followed by the same low, rumbling laugh; still to this day the iron + wheels sing to me that same song. + </p> + <p> + Later on I also must have slept, for I dreamt that as the result of my + having engaged in single combat with a dragon, the dragon, ignoring all + the rules of Fairyland, had swallowed me. It was hot and stuffy in the + dragon's stomach. He had, so it appeared to me, disgracefully overeaten + himself; there were hundreds of us there, entirely undigested, including + Mother Hubbard and a gentleman named Johnson, against whom, at that + period, I entertained a strong prejudice by reason of our divergent views + upon the subject of spelling. Even in this hour of our mutual discomfort + Johnson would not leave me alone, but persisted in asking me how I spelt + Jonah. Nobody was looking, so I kicked him. He sprang up and came after + me. I tried to run away, but became wedged between Hop-o'-my-Thumb and + Julius Caesar. I suppose our tearing about must have hurt the dragon, for + at that moment he gave vent to a most fearful scream, and I awoke to find + the fat man rubbing his left shin, while we struggled slowly, with steps + growing ever feebler, against a sea of brick that every moment closed in + closer round us. + </p> + <p> + We scrambled out of the carriage into a great echoing cave that might have + been the dragon's home, where, to my alarm, my mother was immediately + swooped down upon by a strange man in grey. + </p> + <p> + “Why's he do that?” I asked of my aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Because he's a fool,” answered my aunt; “they all are.” + </p> + <p> + He put my mother down and came towards us. He was a tall, thin man, with + eyes one felt one would never be afraid of; and instinctively even then I + associated him in my mind with windmills and a lank white horse. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how he's grown,” said the grey man, raising me in his arms until my + mother beside me appeared to me in a new light as quite a little person; + “and solid too.” + </p> + <p> + My mother whispered something. I think from her face, for I knew the + signs, it was praise of me. + </p> + <p> + “And he's going to be our new fortune,” she added aloud, as the grey man + lowered me. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said my aunt, who had this while been sitting rigid upon a flat + black box, “don't drop him down a coal-mine. That's all I say.” + </p> + <p> + I wondered at the time why the grey man's pale face should flush so + crimson, and why my mother should whisper angrily: + </p> + <p> + “How can you be so wicked, Fanny? How dare you say such a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “I only said 'don't drop him down a coal-mine,'” returned my aunt, + apparently much surprised; “you don't want to drop him down a coal-mine, + do you?” + </p> + <p> + We passed through glittering, joyous streets, piled high each side with + all the good things of the earth; toys and baubles, jewels and gold, + things good to eat and good to drink, things good to wear and good to see; + through pleasant ways where fountains splashed and flowers bloomed. The + people wore bright clothes, had happy faces. They rode in beautiful + carriages, they strolled about, greeting one another with smiles. The + children ran and laughed. London, thought I to myself, is the city of the + fairies. + </p> + <p> + It passed, and we sank into a grim city of hoarse, roaring streets, + wherein the endless throngs swirled and surged as I had seen the yellow + waters curve and fret, contending, where the river pauses, rock-bound. + Here were no bright costumes, no bright faces, none stayed to greet + another; all was stern, and swift, and voiceless. London, then, said I to + myself, is the city of the giants. They must live in these towering + castles side by side, and these hurrying thousands are their driven + slaves. + </p> + <p> + But this passed also, and we sank lower yet until we reached a third city, + where a pale mist filled each sombre street. None of the beautiful things + of the world were to be seen here, but only the things coarse and ugly. + And wearily to and fro its sunless passages trudged with heavy steps a + weary people, coarse-clad, and with dull, listless faces. And London, I + knew, was the city of the gnomes who labour sadly all their lives, + imprisoned underground; and a terror seized me lest I, too, should remain + chained here, deep down below the fairy city that was already but a dream. + </p> + <p> + We stopped at last in a long, unfinished street. I remember our pushing + our way through a group of dirty urchins, all of whom, my aunt remarked in + passing, ought to be skinned. It was my aunt's one prescription for all to + whom she took objection; but really in the present instance I think it + would have been of service; nothing else whatever could have restored them + to cleanliness. Then the door closed behind us with an echoing clang, and + the small, cold rooms came forward stiffly to greet us. + </p> + <p> + The man in grey went to the one window and drew back the curtain; it was + growing dusk now. My aunt sat on a straight, hard chair and stared fixedly + at the three-armed gaselier. My mother stood in the centre of the room + with one small ungloved hand upon the table, and I noticed—for I was + very near—that the poor little one-legged thing was trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's not what you've been accustomed to, Maggie,” said the man + in grey; “but it's only for a little while.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in a new, angry voice; but I could not see his face, his back + being to the light. + </p> + <p> + My mother drew his arms around us both. + </p> + <p> + “It is the best home in all the world,” she said; and thus we stayed for + awhile. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said my aunt, suddenly; and this aroused us; “it's a poky + hole, as I told her it would be. Let her thank the Lord she's got a man + clever enough to get her out of it. I know him; he never could rest where + he was put. Now he's at the bottom; he'll go up.” + </p> + <p> + It sounded to me a very disagreeable speech; but the grey man laughed—I + had not heard him laugh till then—and my mother ran to my aunt and + kissed her; and somehow the room seemed to become lighter. + </p> + <p> + For some reason I slept downstairs that night, on the floor, behind a + screen improvised out of a clothes horse and a blanket; and later in the + evening the clatter of knives and forks and the sound of subdued voices + awoke me. My aunt had apparently gone to bed; my mother and the man in + grey were talking together over their supper. + </p> + <p> + “We must buy land,” said the voice of the grey man; “London is coming this + way. The Somebodies” (I forget the name my father mentioned) “made all + their money by buying up land round New York for a mere song. Then, as the + city spread, they became worth millions.” + </p> + <p> + “But where will you get the money from, Luke?” asked the voice of my + mother. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the grey man answered airily: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's merely a matter of business. You grant a mortgage. The + property goes up in value. You borrow more. Then you buy more—and so + on.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Being on the spot gives one such an advantage,” said the grey man. “I + shall know just when to buy. It's a great thing, being on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, it must be,” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + I suppose I must have dozed, for the next words I heard the grey man say + were: + </p> + <p> + “Of course you have the park opposite, but then the house is small.” + </p> + <p> + “But shall we need a very large one?” asked my mother. + </p> + <p> + “One never knows,” said the grey man. “If I should go into Parliament—” + </p> + <p> + At this point a hissing sound arose from the neighbourhood of the fire. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>looks</i>,” said my mother, “as if it were done.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will hold the dish,” said the grey man, “I think I can pour it in + without spilling.” + </p> + <p> + Again I must have dozed. + </p> + <p> + “It depends,” said the grey man, “upon what he is going to be. For the + classics, of course, Oxford.” + </p> + <p> + “He's going to be very clever,” said my mother. She spoke as one who + knows. + </p> + <p> + “We'll hope so,” said the grey man. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't be surprised,” said my mother, “if he turned out a poet.” + </p> + <p> + The grey man said something in a low tone that I did not hear. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure,” answered my mother, “it's in the blood. I've often + thought that you, Luke, ought to have been a poet.” + </p> + <p> + “I never had the time,” said the grey man. “There were one or two little + things—” + </p> + <p> + “They were very beautiful,” interrupted my mother. The clatter of the + knives and forks continued undisturbed for a few moments. Then continued + the grey man: + </p> + <p> + “There would be no harm, provided I made enough. It's the law of nature. + One generation earns, the next spends. We must see. In any case, I think I + should prefer Oxford for him.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be so hard parting from him,” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “There will be the vacations,” said the grey man, “when we shall travel.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH PAUL MAKES ACQUAINTANCE OF THE MAN WITH THE UGLY MOUTH. + </h3> + <p> + The case of my father and mother was not normal. You understand they had + been separated for some years, and though they were not young in age—indeed, + before my childish eyes they loomed quite ancient folk, and in fact my + father must have been nearly forty and my mother quit of thirty—yet, + as you will come to think yourself, no doubt, during the course of my + story, they were in all the essentials of life little more than boy and + girl. This I came to see later on, but at that time, had I been consulted + by enquiring maid or bachelor, I might unwittingly have given wrong + impressions concerning marriage in the general. I should have described a + husband as a man who could never rest quite content unless his wife were + by his side; who twenty times a day would call from his office door: + “Maggie, are you doing anything important? I want to talk to you about a + matter of business.” ... “Maggie, are you alone? Oh, all right, I'll come + down.” Of a wife I should have said she was a woman whose eyes were ever + love-lit when resting on her man; who was glad where he was and troubled + where he was not. But in every case this might not have been correct. + </p> + <p> + Also, I should have had something to say concerning the alarms and + excursions attending residence with any married couple. I should have + recommended the holding up of feet under the table lest, mistaken for + other feet, they should be trodden on and pressed. Also, I should have + advised against entry into any room unpreceded by what in Stageland is + termed “noise without.” It is somewhat disconcerting to the nervous + incomer to be met, the door still in his hand, by a sound as of people + springing suddenly into the air, followed by a weird scuttling of feet, + and then to discover the occupants sitting stiffly in opposite corners, + deeply engaged in book or needlework. But, as I have said, with regard to + some households, such precautions might be needless. + </p> + <p> + Personally, I fear, I exercised little or no controlling influence upon my + parents in this respect, my intrusions coming soon to be greeted with: + “Oh, it's only Spud,” in a tone of relief, accompanied generally by the + sofa cushion; but of my aunt they stood more in awe. Not that she ever + said anything, and, indeed, to do her justice, in her efforts to spare + their feelings she erred, if at all, on the side of excess. Never did she + move a footstep about the house except to the music of a sustained and + penetrating cough. As my father once remarked, ungratefully, I must + confess, the volume of bark produced by my aunt in a single day would have + done credit to the dying efforts of a hospital load of consumptives; to a + robust and perfectly healthy lady the cost in nervous force must have been + prodigious. Also, that no fear should live with them that her eyes had + seen aught not intended for them, she would invariably enter backwards any + room in which they might be, closing the door loudly and with difficulty + before turning round: and through dark passages she would walk singing. No + woman alive could have done more; yet—such is human nature!—neither + my father nor my mother was grateful to her, so far as I could judge. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, strange as it may appear, the more sympathetic towards them she + showed herself, the more irritated against her did they become. + </p> + <p> + “I believe, Fanny, you hate seeing Luke and me happy together,” said my + mother one day, coming up from the kitchen to find my aunt preparing for + entry into the drawing-room by dropping teaspoons at five-second intervals + outside the door: “Don't make yourself so ridiculous.” My mother spoke + really quite unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “Hate it!” replied my aunt. “Why should I? Why shouldn't a pair of turtle + doves bill and coo, when their united age is only a little over seventy, + the pretty dears?” The mildness of my aunt's answers often surprised me. + </p> + <p> + As for my father, he grew positively vindictive. I remember the occasion + well. It was the first, though not the last time I knew him lose his + temper. What brought up the subject I forget, but my father stopped + suddenly; we were walking by the canal bank. + </p> + <p> + “Your aunt”—my father may not have intended it, but his tone and + manner when speaking of my aunt always conveyed to me the impression that + he regarded me as personally responsible for her existence. This used to + weigh upon me. “Your aunt is the most cantankerous, the most—” he + broke off, and shook his fist towards the setting sun. “I wish to God,” + said my father, “your aunt had a comfortable little income of her own, + with a freehold cottage in the country, by God I do!” But the next moment, + ashamed, I suppose, of his brutality: “Not but what sometimes, of course, + she can be very nice, you know,” he added; “don't tell your mother what I + said just now.” + </p> + <p> + Another who followed with sympathetic interest the domestic comedy was + Susan, our maid-of-all-work, the first of a long and varied series, + extending unto the advent of Amy, to whom the blessing of Heaven. Susan + was a stout and elderly female, liable to sudden fits of sleepiness, the + result, we were given to understand, of trouble; but her heart, it was her + own proud boast, was always in the right place. She could never look at my + father and mother sitting anywhere near each other but she must flop down + and weep awhile; the sight of connubial bliss always reminding her, so she + would explain, of the past glories of her own married state. + </p> + <p> + Though an earnest enquirer, I was never able myself to grasp the ins and + outs of this past married life of Susan's. Whether her answers were + purposely framed to elude curiosity, or whether they were the result of a + naturally incoherent mind, I cannot say. Their tendency was to convey + confusion. + </p> + <p> + On Monday I have seen Susan shed tears of regret into the Brussels + sprouts, that she had been debarred by the pressure of other duties from + lately watering “his” grave, which, I gathered, was at Manor Park. While + on Tuesday I have listened, blood chilled, to the recital of her + intentions should she ever again enjoy the luxury of getting her fingers + near the scruff of his neck. + </p> + <p> + “But, I thought, Susan, he was dead,” was my very natural comment upon + this outbreak. + </p> + <p> + “So did I, Master Paul,” was Susan's rejoinder; “that was his artfulness.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he isn't buried in Manor Park Cemetery?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet; but he'll wish he was, the half-baked monkey, when I get hold of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he wasn't a good man?” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says he ain't a good man?” It was Susan's flying leaps from tense to + tense that most bewildered me. “If anybody says he ain't I'll gouge their + eye out!” + </p> + <p> + I hastened to assure Susan that my observation had been intended in the + nature of enquiry, not of assertion. + </p> + <p> + “Brings me a bottle of gin—for my headaches—every time he + comes home,” continued Susan, showing cause for opinion, “every blessed + time.” + </p> + <p> + And at some such point as this I would retire to the clearer atmosphere of + German grammar or mixed fractions. + </p> + <p> + We suffered a good deal from Susan one way and another; for having regard + to the admirable position of her heart, we all felt it our duty to + overlook mere failings of the flesh—all but my aunt, that is, who + never made any pretence of being a sentimentalist. + </p> + <p> + “She's a lazy hussy,” was the opinion expressed of her one morning by my + aunt, who was rinsing; “a gulping, snorting, lazy hussy, that's what she + is.” There was some excuse for my aunt's indignation. It was then eleven + o'clock and Susan was still sleeping off an attack of what she called + “new-ralgy.” + </p> + <p> + “She has seen a good deal of trouble,” said my mother, who was wiping. + </p> + <p> + “And if she was my cook and housemaid,” replied my aunt, “she would see + more, the slut!” + </p> + <p> + “She's not a good servant in many respects,” admitted my mother, “but I + think she's good-hearted.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, drat her heart,” was my aunt's retort. “The right place for that + heart of hers is on the doorstep. And that's where I'd put it, and her and + her box alongside it, if I had my way.” + </p> + <p> + The departure of Susan did take place not long afterwards. It occurred one + Saturday night. My mother came upstairs looking pale. + </p> + <p> + “Luke,” she said, “do please run for the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” asked my father. + </p> + <p> + “Susan,” gasped my mother, “she's lying on the kitchen floor breathing in + the strangest fashion and quite unable to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go for Washburn,” said my father; “if I am quick I shall catch him + at the dispensary.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later my father came back panting, followed by the doctor. + This was a big, black-bearded man; added to which he had the knack of + looking bigger than even he really was. He came down the kitchen stairs + two at a time, shaking the whole house. He brushed my mother aside, and + bent over the unconscious Susan, who was on her back with her mouth wide + open. Then he rose and looked at my father and mother, who were watching + him with troubled faces; and then he opened his mouth, and there came from + it a roar of laughter, the like of which sound I had never heard. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he had seized a pail half full of water and had flung it + over the woman. She opened her eyes and sat up. + </p> + <p> + “Feeling better?” said the doctor, with the pail still in his hand; “have + another dose?” + </p> + <p> + Susan began to gather herself together with the evident intention of + expressing her feelings; but before she could find the first word, he had + pushed the three of us outside and slammed the door behind us. + </p> + <p> + From the top of the stairs we could hear Susan's thick, rancorous voice + raging fiercer and fiercer, drowned every now and then by the man's savage + roar of laughter. And, when for want of breath she would flag for a + moment, he would yell out encouragement to her, shouting: “Bravo! Go it, + my beauty, give it tongue! Bark, bark! I love to hear you,” applauding + her, clapping his hands and stamping his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What a beast of a man,” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “He is really a most interesting man when you come to know him,” explained + my father. + </p> + <p> + Replied my mother, stiffly: “I don't ever mean to know him.” But it is + only concerning the past that we possess knowledge. + </p> + <p> + The riot from below ceased at length, and was followed by a new voice, + speaking quietly and emphatically, and then we heard the doctor's step + again upon the stairs. + </p> + <p> + My mother held her purse open in her hand, and as the man entered the room + she went forward to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “How much do we owe you, Doctor?” said my mother. She spoke in a voice + trembling with severity. + </p> + <p> + He closed the purse and gently pushed it back towards her. + </p> + <p> + “A glass of beer and a chop, Mrs. Kelver,” he answered, “which I am coming + back in an hour to cook for myself. And as you will be without any + servant,” he continued, while my mother stood staring at him incapable of + utterance, “you had better let me cook some for you at the same time. I am + an expert at grilling chops.” + </p> + <p> + “But, really, Doctor—” my mother began. He laid his huge hand upon + her shoulder, and my mother sat down upon the nearest chair. + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” he said, “she's a person you never ought to have had + inside your house. She's promised me to be gone in half an hour, and I'm + coming back to see she keeps her word. Give her a month's wages, and have + a clear fire ready for me.” And before my mother could reply, he had + slammed the front door. + </p> + <p> + “What a very odd sort of a man,” said my mother, recovering herself. + </p> + <p> + “He's a character,” said my father; “you might not think it, but he's + worshipped about here.” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know what to make of him,” said my mother; “I suppose I had + better go out and get some chops;” which she did. + </p> + <p> + Susan went, as sober as a judge on Friday, as the saying is, her great + anxiety being to get out of the house before the doctor returned. The + doctor himself arrived true to his time, and I lay awake—for no + human being ever slept or felt he wanted to sleep while Dr. Washburn was + anywhere near—and listened to the gusts of laughter that swept + continually through the house. Even my aunt laughed that supper time, and + when the doctor himself laughed it seemed to me that the bed shook under + me. Not liking to be out of it, I did what spoilt little boys and even + spoilt little girls sometimes will do under similar stress of feeling, + wrapped the blanket round my legs and pattered down, with my face set to + express the sudden desire of a sensitive and possibly short-lived child + for parents' love. My mother pretended to be angry, but that I knew was + only her company manners. Besides, I really had, if not exactly a pain, an + extremely uncomfortable sensation (one common to me about that period) as + of having swallowed the dome of St. Paul's. The doctor said it was a + frequent complaint with children, the result of too early hours and too + much study; and, taking me on his knee, wrote then and there a diet chart + for me, which included one tablespoonful of golden syrup four times a day, + and one ounce of sherbet to be placed upon the tongue and taken neat ten + minutes before each meal. + </p> + <p> + That evening will always live in my remembrance. My mother was brighter + than I had ever seen her. A flush was on her cheek and a sparkle in her + eye, and looking across at her as she sat holding a small painted screen + to shield her face from the fire, the sense of beauty became suddenly born + within me, and answering an impulse I could not have explained, I slipped + down, still with my blanket around me, from the doctor's knee, and + squatted on the edge of the fender, from where, when I thought no one was + noticing me, I could steal furtive glances up into her face. + </p> + <p> + So also my father seemed to me to have become all at once bigger and more + dignified, talking with a vigour and an enjoyment that sat newly on him. + Aunt Fan was quite witty and agreeable—for her; and even I asked one + or two questions, at which, for some reason or another, everybody laughed; + which determined me to remember and ask those same questions again on some + future occasion. + </p> + <p> + That was the great charm of the man, that by the magnetic spell of his + magnificent vitality he drew from everyone their best. In his company + clever people waxed intellectual giants, while the dull sat amazed at + their own originality. Conversing with him, Podsnap might have been + piquant, Dogberry incisive. But better than all else, I found it listening + to his own talk. Of what he spoke I could tell you no more than could the + children of Hamelin have told the tune the Pied Piper played. I only know + that at the tangled music of his strong voice the walls of the mean room + faded away, and that beyond I saw a brave, laughing world that called to + me; a world full of joyous fight, where some won and some lost. But that + mattered not a jot, because whatever else came of it there was a right + royal game for all; a world where merry gentlemen feared neither life nor + death, and Fate was but the Master of the Revels. + </p> + <p> + Such was my first introduction to Dr. Washburn, or to give him the name by + which he was known in every slum and alley of that quarter, Dr. Fighting + Hal; and in a minor key that evening was an index to the whole man. Often + he would wrinkle his nose as a dog before it bites, and then he was more + brute than man—brutish in his instincts, in his appetites, brutish + in his pleasure, brutish in his fun. Or his deep blue eyes would grow soft + as a mother's, and then you might have thought him an angel in a soft felt + hat and a coat so loose-fitting as to suggest the possibility of his wings + being folded away underneath. Often have I tried to make up my mind + whether it has been better for me or worse that I ever came to know him; + but as easy would it be for the tree to say whether the rushing winds and + the wild rains have shaped it or mis-shaped. + </p> + <p> + Susan's place remained vacant for some time. My mother would explain to + the few friends who occasionally came from afar to see us, that her + “housemaid” she had been compelled to suddenly discharge, and that we were + waiting for the arrival of a new and better specimen. But the months + passed and we still waited, and my father on the rare days when a client + would ring the office bell, would, after pausing a decent interval, open + the front door himself, and then call downstairs indignantly and loudly, + to know why “Jane” or “Mary” could not attend to their work. And my + mother, that the bread-boy or the milkman might not put it about the + neighbourhood that the Kelvers in the big corner house kept no servant, + would hide herself behind a thick veil and fetch all things herself from + streets a long way off. + </p> + <p> + For this family of whom I am writing were, I confess, weak and human. + Their poverty they were ashamed of as though it were a crime, and in + consequence their life was more full of paltry and useless subterfuge than + should be perhaps the life of brave men and women. The larder, I fancy, + was very often bare, but the port and sherry with the sweet biscuits stood + always on the sideboard; and the fire had often to be low in the grate + that my father's tall hat might shine resplendent and my mother's black + silk rustle on Sundays. + </p> + <p> + But I would not have you sneer at them, thinking all pretence must spring + from snobbishness and never from mistaken self-respect. Some fine + gentleman writers there be—men whose world is bounded on the east by + Bond Street—who see in the struggles of poverty to hide its darns + only matter for jest. But myself, I cannot laugh at them. I know the long + hopes and fears that centre round the hired waiter; the long cost of the + cream and the ice jelly ordered the week before from the confectioner's. + But to me it is pathetic, not ridiculous. Heroism is not all of one + pattern. Dr. Washburn, had the Prince of Wales come to see him, would have + put his bread and cheese and jug of beer upon the table, and helped His + Royal Highness to half. But my father and mother's tea was very weak that + Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith might have a glass of wine should they come to + dinner. I remember the one egg for breakfast, my mother arguing that my + father should have it because he had his business to attend to; my father + insisting that my mother should eat it, she having to go out shopping, a + compromise being effected by their dividing it between them, each + clamouring for the white as the most nourishing. And I know however little + the meal looked upon the table when we started I always rose well + satisfied. These are small things to speak of, but then you must bear in + mind this is a story moving in narrow ways. + </p> + <p> + To me this life came as a good time. That I was encouraged to eat treacle + in preference to butter seemed to me admirable. Personally, I preferred + sausages for dinner; and a supper of fried fish and potatoes, brought in + stealthily in a carpet bag, was infinitely more enjoyable than the set + meal where nothing was of interest till one came to the dessert. What fun + there was about it all! The cleaning of the doorstep by night, when from + the ill-lit street a gentleman with a piece of sacking round his legs + might very well pass for a somewhat tall charwoman. I would keep watch at + the gate to give warning should any one looking like a possible late + caller turn the corner of the street, coming back now and then in answer + to a low whistle to help my father grope about in the dark for the + hearthstone; he was always mislaying the hearthstone. How much better, + helping to clean the knives or running errands than wasting all one's + morning dwelling upon the shocking irregularity of certain classes of + French verbs; or making useless calculations as to how long X, walking + four and a quarter miles an hour, would be overtaking Y, whose powers were + limited to three and a half, but who had started two and three quarter + hours sooner; the whole argument being reduced to sheer pedantry by reason + of no information being afforded to the student concerning the respective + thirstiness of X and Y. + </p> + <p> + Even my father and mother were able to take it lightly with plenty of + laughter and no groaning that I ever heard. For over all lay the morning + light of hope, and what prisoner, escaping from his dungeon, ever stayed + to think of his torn hands and knees when beyond the distant opening he + could see the sunlight glinting through the brambles? + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea,” said my mother, “there was so much to do in a house. In + future I shall arrange for the servants to have regular hours, and a + little time to themselves, for rest. Don't you think it right, Luke?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” replied my father; “and I'll tell you another thing we'll + do. I shall insist on the landlord's putting a marble doorstep to the next + house we take; you pass a sponge over marble and it is always clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Or tesselated,” suggested my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Or tesselated,” agreed my father; “but marble is more uncommon.” + </p> + <p> + Only once, can I recall a cloud. That was one Sunday when my mother, + speaking across the table in the middle of dinner, said to my father, “We + might save the rest of that stew, Luke; there's an omelette coming.” + </p> + <p> + My father laid down the spoon. “An omelette!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said my mother. “I thought I would like to try again.” + </p> + <p> + My father stepped into the back kitchen—we dined in the kitchen, as + a rule, it saved much carriage—returning with the wood chopper. + </p> + <p> + “What ever are you going to do, Luke, with the chopper?” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Divide the omelette,” replied my father. + </p> + <p> + My mother began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Maggie—!” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “I know the other one was leathery,” said my mother, “but it was the fault + of the oven, you know it was, Luke.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said my father, “I only meant it as a joke.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like that sort of joke,” said my mother; “it isn't nice of you, + Luke.” + </p> + <p> + I don't think, to be candid, my mother liked much any joke that was + against herself. Indeed, when I come to think of it, I have never met a + woman who did, nor man, either. + </p> + <p> + There had soon grown up a comradeship between my father and myself for he + was the youngest thing I had met with as yet. Sometimes my mother seemed + very young, and later I met boys and girls nearer to my own age in years; + but they grew, while my father remained always the same. The hair about + his temples was turning grey, and when you looked close you saw many + crow's feet and lines, especially about the mouth. But his eyes were the + eyes of a boy, his laugh the laugh of a boy, and his heart the heart of a + boy. So we were very close to each other. + </p> + <p> + In a narrow strip of ground we called our garden we would play a cricket + of our own, encompassed about by many novel rules, rendered necessary by + the locality. For instance, all hitting to leg was forbidden, as tending + to endanger neighbouring windows, while hitting to off was likewise not to + be encouraged, as causing a temporary adjournment of the game, while + batter and bowler went through the house and out into the street to + recover the ball from some predatory crowd of urchins to whom it had + evidently appeared as a gift direct from Heaven. Sometimes rising very + early we would walk across the marshes to bathe in a small creek that led + down to the river, but this was muddy work, necessitating much washing of + legs on the return home. And on rare days we would, taking the train to + Hackney and walking to the bridge, row up the river Lea, perhaps as far as + Ponder's End. + </p> + <p> + But these sports being hedged around with difficulties, more commonly for + recreation we would take long walks. There were pleasant nooks even in the + neighbourhood of Plaistow marshes in those days. Here and there a graceful + elm still clung to the troubled soil. Surrounded on all sides by + hideousness, picturesque inns still remained hidden within green walls + where, if you were careful not to pry too curiously, you might sit and sip + your glass of beer beneath the oak and dream yourself where reeking + chimneys and mean streets were not. During such walks my father would talk + to me as he would talk to my mother, telling me all his wild, hopeful + plans, discussing with me how I was to lodge at Oxford, to what particular + branches of study and of sport I was to give my preference, speaking + always with such catching confidence that I came to regard my sojourn in + this brick and mortar prison as only a question of months. + </p> + <p> + One day, talking of this future, and laughing as we walked briskly, + through the shrill streets, I told him the words my mother had said—long + ago, as it seemed to me, for life is as a stone rolling down-hill, and + moves but slowly at first; she and I sitting on the moss at the foot of + old “Jacob's Folly”—that he was our Prince fighting to deliver us + from the grim castle called “Hard Times,” guarded by the dragon Poverty. + </p> + <p> + My father laughed and his boyish face flushed with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “And she was right, Paul,” he whispered, pressing my small hand in his—it + was necessary to whisper, for the street where we were was very crowded, + but I knew that he wanted to shout. “I will fight him and I will slay + him.” My father made passes in the air with his walking-stick, and it was + evident from the way they drew aside that the people round about fancied + he was mad. “I will batter down the iron gates and she shall be free. I + will, God help me, I will.” + </p> + <p> + The gallant gentleman! How long and how bravely he fought! But in the end + it was the Dragon triumphed, the Knight that lay upon the ground, his + great heart still. I have read how, with the sword of Honest Industry, one + may always conquer this grim Dragon. But such was in foolish books. In + truth, only with the sword of Chicanery and the stout buckler of + Unscrupulousness shall you be certain of victory over him. If you care not + to use these, pray to your Gods, and take what comes with a stout heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW GOOD LUCK KNOCKED AT THE DOOR OF THE MAN IN GREY. + </h3> + <p> + “Louisa!” roared my father down the kitchen stairs, “are you all asleep? + Here have I had to answer the front door myself.” Then my father strode + into his office, and the door slammed. My father could be very angry when + nobody was by. + </p> + <p> + Quarter of an hour later his bell rang with a quick, authoritative jangle. + My mother, who was peeling potatoes with difficulty in wash-leather + gloves, looked at my aunt who was shelling peas. The bell rang again + louder still this time. + </p> + <p> + “Once for Louisa, twice for James, isn't it?” enquired my aunt. + </p> + <p> + “You go, Paul,” said my mother; “say that Louisa—” but with the + words a sudden flush overspread my mother's face, and before I could lay + down my slate she had drawn off her gloves and had passed me. “No, don't + stop your lessons, I'll go myself,” she said, and ran out. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later the kitchen door opened softly, and my mother's hand, + appearing through the jar, beckoned to me mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “Walk on your toes,” whispered my mother, setting the example as she led + the way up the stairs; which after the manner of stairs showed their + disapproval of deception by creaking louder and more often than under any + other circumstances; and in this manner we reached my parents' bedroom, + where, in the old-fashioned wardrobe, relic of better days, reposed my + best suit of clothes, or, to be strictly grammatical, my better. + </p> + <p> + Never before had I worn these on a week-day morning, but all conversation + not germane to the question of getting into them quickly my mother swept + aside; and when I was complete, down even to the new shoes—Bluchers, + we called them in those days—took me by the hand, and together we + crept down as we had crept up, silent, stealthy and alert. My mother led + me to the street door and opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Shan't I want my cap?” I whispered. But my mother only shook her head and + closed the door with a bang; and then the explanation of the pantomime + came to me, for with such “business”—comic, shall I call it, or + tragic?—I was becoming familiar; and, my mother's hand upon my + shoulder, we entered my father's office. + </p> + <p> + Whether from the fact that so often of an evening—our drawing-room + being reserved always as a show-room in case of chance visitors; Cowper's + poems, open face-downwards on the wobbly loo table; the half-finished + crochet work, suggestive of elegant leisure, thrown carelessly over the + arm of the smaller easy-chair—this office would become our + sitting-room, its books and papers, as things of no account, being huddled + out of sight; or whether from the readiness with which my father would + come out of it at all times to play at something else—at cricket in + the back garden on dry days or ninepins in the passage on wet, charging + back into it again whenever a knock sounded at the front door, I cannot + say. But I know that as a child it never occurred to me to regard my + father's profession as a serious affair. To me he was merely playing + there, surrounded by big books and bundles of documents, labelled + profusely but consisting only of blank papers; by japanned tin boxes, + lettered imposingly, but for the most part empty. “Sutton Hampden, Esq.,” + I remember was practically my mother's work-box. The “Drayton Estates” + yielded apparently nothing but apples, a fruit of which my father was + fond; while “Mortgages” it was not until later in life I discovered had no + connection with poems in manuscript, some in course of correction, others + completed. + </p> + <p> + Now, as the door opened, he rose and came towards us. His hair stood up + from his head, for it was a habit of his to rumple it as he talked; and + this added to his evident efforts to compose his face into an expression + of businesslike gravity, added emphasis, if such were needed, to the + suggestion of the over long schoolboy making believe. + </p> + <p> + “This is the youngster,” said my father, taking me from my mother, and + passing me on. “Tall for his age, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + With a twist of his thick lips, he rolled the evil-smelling cigar he was + smoking from the left corner of his mouth to the right; and held out a fat + and not too clean hand, which, as it closed round mine, brought to my mind + the picture of the walrus in my natural history book; with the other he + flapped me kindly on the head. + </p> + <p> + “Like 'is mother, wonderfully like 'is mother, ain't 'e?” he observed, + still holding my hand. “And that,” he added with a wink of one of his + small eyes towards my father, “is about the 'ighest compliment I can pay + 'im, eh?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were remarkably small, but marvellously bright and piercing; so + much so that when he turned them again upon me I tried to think quickly of + something nice about him, feeling sure that he could see right into me. + </p> + <p> + “And where are you thinkin' of sendin' 'im?” he continued; “Eton or + 'Arrow?” + </p> + <p> + “We haven't quite made up our minds as yet,” replied my father; “at + present we are educating him at home.” + </p> + <p> + “You take my tip,” said the fat man, “and learn all you can. Look at me! + If I'd 'ad the opportunity of being a schollard I wouldn't be here + offering your father an extravagant price for doin' my work; I'd be able + to do it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have got on very well without it,” laughed my father; and in + truth his air of prosperity might have justified greater self-complacency. + Rings sparkled on his blunt fingers, and upon the swelling billows of his + waistcoat rose and sank a massive gold cable. + </p> + <p> + “I'd 'ave done better with it,” he grunted. + </p> + <p> + “But you look very clever,” I said; and though divining with a child's + cuteness that it was desired I should make a favourable impression upon + him, I hoped this would please him, the words were yet spontaneous. + </p> + <p> + He laughed heartily, his whole body shaking like some huge jelly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, old Noel Hasluck's not exactly a fool,” he assented, “but I'd like + myself better if I could talk about something else than business, and + didn't drop my aitches. And so would my little gell.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a daughter?” asked my mother, with whom a child, as a bond of + sympathy with the stranger took the place assigned by most women to + disrespectful cooks and incompetent housemaids. + </p> + <p> + “I won't tell you about 'er. But I'll just bring 'er to see you now and + then, ma'am, if you don't mind,” answered Mr. Hasluck. “She don't often + meet gentle-folks, an' it'll do 'er good.” + </p> + <p> + My mother glanced across at my father, but the man, intercepting her + question, replied to it himself. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid, ma'am, that she's anything like me,” he assured + her quite good-temperedly; “nobody ever believes she's my daughter, except + me and the old woman. She's a little lady, she is. Freak o' nature, I call + it.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be delighted,” explained my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you will when you see 'er,” replied Mr. Hasluck, quite contentedly. + </p> + <p> + He pushed half-a-crown into my hand, overriding my parents' + susceptibilities with the easy good-temper of a man accustomed to have his + way in all things. + </p> + <p> + “No squanderin' it on the 'eathen,” was his parting injunction as I left + the room; “you spend that on a Christian tradesman.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first money I ever remember having to spend, that half-crown of + old Hasluck's; suggestions of the delights to be derived from a new pair + of gloves for Sunday, from a Latin grammar, which would then be all my + own, and so on, having hitherto displaced all less exalted visions + concerning the disposal of chance coins coming into my small hands. But on + this occasion I was left free to decide for myself. + </p> + <p> + The anxiety it gave me! the long tossing hours in bed! the tramping of the + bewildering streets! Even advice when asked for was denied me. + </p> + <p> + “You must learn to think for yourself,” said my father, who spoke + eloquently on the necessity of early acquiring sound judgment and what he + called “commercial aptitude.” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear,” said my mother, “Mr. Hasluck wanted you to spend it as you + like. If I told you, that would be spending it as I liked. Your father and + I want to see what you will do with it.” + </p> + <p> + The good little boys in the books bought presents or gave away to people + in distress. For this I hated them with the malignity the lower nature + ever feels towards the higher. I consulted my aunt Fan. + </p> + <p> + “If somebody gave you half-a-crown,” I put it to her, “what would you buy + with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Side-combs,” said my aunt; she was always losing or breaking her + side-combs. + </p> + <p> + “But I mean if you were me,” I explained. + </p> + <p> + “Drat the child!” said my aunt; “how do I know what he wants if he don't + know himself? Idiot!” + </p> + <p> + The shop windows into which I stared, my nose glued to the pane! The + things I asked the price of! The things I made up my mind to buy and then + decided that I wouldn't buy! Even my patient mother began to show signs of + irritation. It was rapidly assuming the dimensions of a family curse, was + old Hasluck's half-crown. + </p> + <p> + Then one day I made up my mind, and so ended the trouble. In the window of + a small plumber's shop in a back street near, stood on view among brass + taps, rolls of lead piping and cistern requisites, various squares of + coloured glass, the sort of thing chiefly used, I believe, for lavatory + doors and staircase windows. Some had stars in the centre, and others, + more elaborate, were enriched with designs, severe but inoffensive. I + purchased a dozen of these, the plumber, an affable man who appeared glad + to see me, throwing in two extra out of sheer generosity. + </p> + <p> + Why I bought them I did not know at the time, and I do not know now. My + mother cried when she saw them. My father could get no further than: “But + what are you going to do with them?” to which I was unable to reply. My + aunt, alone, attempted comfort. + </p> + <p> + “If a person fancies coloured glass,” said my aunt, “then he's a fool not + to buy coloured glass when he gets the chance. We haven't all the same + tastes.” + </p> + <p> + In the end, I cut myself badly with them and consented to their being + thrown into the dust-bin. But looking back, I have come to regard myself + rather as the victim of Fate than of Folly. Many folks have I met since, + recipients of Hasluck's half-crowns—many a man who has slapped his + pocket and blessed the day he first met that “Napoleon of Finance,” as + later he came to be known among his friends—but it ever ended so; + coloured glass and cut fingers. Is it fairy gold that he and his kind + fling round? It would seem to be. + </p> + <p> + Next time old Hasluck knocked at our front door a maid in cap and apron + opened it to him, and this was but the beginning of change. New oilcloth + glistened in the passage. Lace curtains, such as in that neighbourhood + were the hall-mark of the plutocrat, advertised our rising fortunes to the + street, and greatest marvel of all, at least to my awed eyes, my father's + Sunday clothes came into weekday wear, new ones taking their place in the + great wardrobe that hitherto had been the stronghold of our gentility; to + which we had ever turned for comfort when rendered despondent by + contemplation of the weakness of our outer walls. “Seeing that everything + was all right” is how my mother would explain it. She would lay the lilac + silk upon the bed, fondly soothing down its rustling undulations, + lingering lovingly over its deep frosted flounces of rich Honiton. Maybe + she had entered the room weary looking and depressed, but soon there would + proceed from her a gentle humming as from some small winged thing when the + sun first touches it and warms it, and sometimes by the time the Indian + shawl, which could go through a wedding ring, but never would when it was + wanted to, had been refolded and fastened again with the great cameo + brooch, and the poke bonnet, like some fractious child, shaken and petted + into good condition, she would be singing softly to herself, nodding her + head to the words: which were generally to the effect that somebody was + too old and somebody else too bold and another too cold, “so he wouldn't + do for me;” and stepping lightly as though the burden of the years had + fallen from her. + </p> + <p> + One evening—it was before the advent of this Hasluck—I + remember climbing out of bed, for trouble was within me. Creatures, + indescribable but heavy, had sat upon my chest, after which I had fallen + downstairs, slowly and reasonably for the first few hundred flights, then + with haste for the next million miles or so, until I found myself in the + street with nothing on but my nightshirt. Personally, I was shocked, but + nobody else seemed to mind, and I hailed a two-penny 'bus and climbed in. + But when I tried to pay I found I hadn't any pockets, so I jumped out and + ran away and the conductor came after me. My feet were like lead, and with + every step he gained on me, till with a scream I made one mighty effort + and awoke. + </p> + <p> + Feeling the need of comfort after these unpleasant but by no means + unfamiliar experiences, I wrapped some clothes round me and crept + downstairs. The “office” was dark, but to my surprise a light shone from + under the drawing-room door, and I opened it. + </p> + <p> + The candles in the silver candlesticks were lighted, and in state, one in + each easy-chair, sat my father and mother, both in their best clothes; my + father in the buckled shoes and the frilled shirt that I had never seen + him wear before, my mother with the Indian shawl about her shoulders, and + upon her head the cap of ceremony that reposed three hundred and sixty + days out of the year in its round wicker-work nest lined with silk. They + started guiltily as I pushed open the door, but I congratulate myself that + I had sense enough—or was it instinct—to ask no questions. + </p> + <p> + The last time I had seen them, three hours ago, they had been engaged, the + lights carefully extinguished, cleaning the ground floor windows, my + father the outside, my mother within, and it astonished me the change not + only in their appearance, but in their manner and bearing, and even in + their very voices. My father brought over from the sideboard the sherry + and sweet biscuits and poured out and handed a glass to my mother, and he + and my mother drank to each other, while I between them ate the biscuits, + and the conversation was of Byron's poems and the great glass palace in + Hyde Park. + </p> + <p> + I wonder am I disloyal setting this down? Maybe to others it shows but a + foolish man and woman, and that is far from my intention. I dwell upon + such trifles because to me the memory of them is very tender. The virtues + of our loved ones we admire, yet after all 'tis but what we expected of + them: how could they do otherwise? Their failings we would forget; no one + of us is perfect. But over their follies we love to linger, smiling. + </p> + <p> + To me personally, old Hasluck's coming and all that followed thereupon + made perhaps more difference than to any one else. My father now was busy + all the day; if not in his office, then away in the grim city of the + giants, as I still thought of it; while to my mother came every day more + social and domestic duties; so that for a time I was left much to my own + resources. + </p> + <p> + Rambling—“bummelling,” as the Germans term it—was my bent. + This my mother would have checked, but my father said: + </p> + <p> + “Don't molly-coddle him. Let him learn to be smart.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think the smart people are always the nicest,” demurred my + mother. “I don't call you at all 'smart,' Luke.” + </p> + <p> + My father appeared surprised, but reflected. + </p> + <p> + “I should call myself smart—in a sense,” he explained, after + consideration. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right, dear,” replied my mother; “and of course boys are + different from girls.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes I would wander Victoria Park way, which was then surrounded by + many small cottages in leafy gardens; or even reach as far as Clapton, + where old red brick Georgian houses still stood behind high palings, and + tall elms gave to the wide road on sunny afternoons an old-world air of + peace. But such excursions were the exception, for strange though it may + read, the narrow, squalid streets had greater hold on me. Not the few main + thoroughfares, filled ever with a dull, deep throbbing as of some tireless + iron machine; where the endless human files, streaming ever up and down, + crossing and recrossing, seemed mere rushing chains of flesh and blood, + working upon unseen wheels; but the dim, weary, lifeless streets—the + dark, tortuous roots, as I fancied them, of that grim forest of entangled + brick. Mystery lurked in their gloom. Fear whispered from behind their + silence. Dumb figures flitted swiftly to and fro, never pausing, never + glancing right nor left. Far-off footsteps, rising swiftly into sound, as + swiftly fading, echoed round their lonely comers. Dreading, yet drawn on, + I would creep along their pavements as through some city of the dead, + thinking of the eyes I saw not watching from the thousand windows; + starting at each muffled sound penetrating the long, dreary walls, behind + which that close-packed, writhing life lay hid. + </p> + <p> + One day there came a cry from behind a curtained window. I stood still for + a moment and then ran; but before I could get far enough away I heard it + again, a long, piercing cry, growing fiercer before it ceased; so that I + ran faster still, not heeding where I went, till I found myself in a raw, + unfinished street, ending in black waste land, bordering the river. I + stopped, panting, wondering how I should find my way again. To recover + myself and think I sat upon the doorstep of an empty house, and there came + dancing down the road with a curious, half-running, half-hopping step—something + like a water wagtail's—a child, a boy about my own age, who, after + eyeing me strangely sat down beside me. + </p> + <p> + We watched each other for a few minutes; and I noticed that his mouth kept + opening and shutting, though he said nothing. Suddenly, edging closer to + me, he spoke in a thick whisper. It sounded as though his mouth were full + of wool. + </p> + <p> + “Wot 'appens to yer when yer dead?” + </p> + <p> + “If you're good you go to Heaven. If you're bad you go to Hell.” + </p> + <p> + “Long way off, both of 'em, ain't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Millions of miles.” + </p> + <p> + “They can't come after yer? Can't fetch yer back again?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + The doorstep that we occupied was the last. A yard beyond began the black + waste of mud. From the other end of the street, now growing dark, he never + took his staring eyes for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Ever seen a stiff 'un—a dead 'un?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I 'ave—stuck a pin into 'im. 'E never felt it. Don't feel anything + when yer dead, do yer?” + </p> + <p> + All the while he kept swaying his body to and fro, twisting his arms and + legs, and making faces. Comical figures made of ginger-bread, with + quaintly curved limbs and grinning features, were to be bought then in + bakers' shops: he made me hungry, reminding me of such. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. When you are dead you're not there, you know. Our bodies + are but senseless clay.” I was glad I remembered that line. I tried to + think of the next one, which was about food for worms; but it evaded me. + </p> + <p> + “I like you,” he said; and making a fist, he gave me a punch in the chest. + It was the token of palship among the youth of that neighbourhood, and + gravely I returned it, meaning it, for friendship with children is an + affair of the instant, or not at all, and I knew him for my first chum. + </p> + <p> + He wormed himself up. + </p> + <p> + “Yer won't tell?” he said. + </p> + <p> + I had no notion what I was not to tell, but our compact demanded that I + should agree. + </p> + <p> + “Say 'I swear.'” + </p> + <p> + “I swear.” + </p> + <p> + The heroes of my favourite fiction bound themselves by such like secret + oaths. Here evidently was a comrade after my own heart. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, cockey.” + </p> + <p> + But he turned again, and taking from his pocket an old knife, thrust it + into my hand. Then with that extraordinary hopping movement of his ran off + across the mud. + </p> + <p> + I stood watching him, wondering where he could be going. He stumbled a + little further, where the mud began to get softer and deeper, but + struggling up again, went hopping on towards the river. + </p> + <p> + I shouted to him, but he never looked back. At every few yards he would + sink down almost to his knees in the black mud, but wrenching himself free + would flounder forward. Then, still some distance from the river, he fell + upon his face, and did not rise again. I saw his arms beating feebler and + feebler as he sank till at last the oily slime closed over him, and I + could detect nothing but a faint heaving underneath the mud. And after a + time even that ceased. + </p> + <p> + It was late before I reached home, and fortunately my father and mother + were still out. I did not tell any one what I had seen, having sworn not + to; and as time went on the incident haunted me less and less until it + became subservient to my will. But of my fancy for those silent, lifeless + streets it cured me for the time. From behind their still walls I would + hear that long cry; down their narrow vistas see that writhing figure, + like some animated ginger-bread, hopping, springing, falling. + </p> + <p> + Yet in the more crowded streets another trouble awaited me, one more + tangible. + </p> + <p> + Have you ever noticed a pack of sparrows round some crumbs perchance that + you have thrown out from your window? Suddenly the rest of the flock will + set upon one. There is a tremendous Lilliputian hubbub, a tossing of tiny + wings and heads, a babel of shrill chirps. It is comical. + </p> + <p> + “Spiteful little imps they are,” you say to yourself, much amused. + </p> + <p> + So I have heard good-tempered men and women calling out to one another + with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “There go those young devils chivvying that poor little beggar again; + ought to be ashamed of theirselves.” + </p> + <p> + But, oh! the anguish of the poor little beggar! Can any one who has not + been through it imagine it! Reduced to its actualities, what was it? Gibes + and jeers that, after all, break no bones. A few pinches, kicks and slaps; + at worst a few hard knocks. But the dreading of it beforehand! Terror + lived in every street, hid, waiting for me, round each corner. The + half-dozen wrangling over their marbles—had they seen me? The boy + whistling as he stood staring into the print shop, would I get past him + without his noticing me; or would he, swinging round upon his heel, raise + the shrill whoop that brought them from every doorway to hunt me? + </p> + <p> + The shame, when caught at last and cornered: the grinning face that would + stop to watch; the careless jokes of passers-by, regarding the whole thing + but as a sparrows' squabble: worst of all, perhaps, the rare pity! The + after humiliation when, finally released, I would dart away, followed by + shouted taunts and laughter; every eye turned to watch me, shrinking by; + my whole small carcass shaking with dry sobs of bitterness and rage! + </p> + <p> + If only I could have turned and faced them! So far as the mere bearing of + pain was concerned, I knew myself brave. The physical suffering resulting + from any number of stand-up fights would have been trivial compared with + the mental agony I endured. That I, the comrade of a hundred heroes—I, + who nightly rode with Richard Coeur de Lion, who against Sir Lancelot + himself had couched a lance, and that not altogether unsuccessful, I to + whom all damsels in distress were wont to look for succour—that I + should run from varlets such as these! + </p> + <p> + My friend, my bosom friend, good Robin Hood! how would he have behaved + under similar circumstances? how Ivanhoe, my chosen companion in all + quests of knightly enterprise? how—to come to modern times—Jack + Harkaway, mere schoolboy though he might be? Would not one and all have + welcomed such incident with a joyous shout, and in a trice have scattered + to the winds the worthless herd? + </p> + <p> + But, alas! upon my pale lips the joyous shout sank into an unheard + whisper, and the thing that became scattered to the wind was myself, the + first opening that occurred. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, the blood boiling in my veins, I would turn, thinking to go + back and at all risk defying my tormentors, prove to myself I was no + coward. But before I had retraced my steps a dozen paces, I would see in + imagination the whole scene again before me: the laughing crowd, the + halting passers-by, the spiteful, mocking little faces every way I turned; + and so instead would creep on home, and climbing stealthily up into my own + room, cry my heart out in the dark upon my bed. + </p> + <p> + Until one blessed day, when a blessed Fairy, in the form of a small + kitten, lifted the spell that bound me, and set free my limbs. + </p> + <p> + I have always had a passionate affection for the dumb world, if it be + dumb. My first playmate, I remember, was a water rat. A stream ran at the + bottom of our garden; and sometimes, escaping the vigilant eye of Mrs. + Fursey, I would steal out with my supper and join him on the banks. There, + hidden behind the osiers, we would play at banquets, he, it is true, doing + most of the banqueting, and I the make-believe. But it was a good game; + added to which it was the only game I could ever get him to play, though I + tried. He was a one-ideaed rat. + </p> + <p> + Later I came into the possession of a white specimen all my own. He lived + chiefly in the outside breast pocket of my jacket, in company with my + handkerchief, so that glancing down I could generally see his little pink + eyes gleaming up at me, except on very cold days, when it would be only + his tail that I could see; and when I felt miserable, somehow he would + know it, and, swarming up, push his little cold snout against my ear. He + died just so, clinging round my neck; and from many of my fellow-men and + women have I parted with less pain. It sounds callous to say so; but, + after all, our feelings are not under our own control; and I have never + been able to understand the use of pretending to emotions one has not. All + this, however, comes later. Let me return now to my fairy kitten. + </p> + <p> + I heard its cry of pain from afar, and instinctively hastened my steps. + Three or four times I heard it again, and at each call I ran faster, till, + breathless, I arrived upon the scene, the opening of a narrow court, + leading out of a by-street. At first I saw nothing but the backs of a + small mob of urchins. Then from the centre of them came another wailing + appeal for help, and without waiting for any invitation, I pushed my way + into the group. + </p> + <p> + What I saw was Hecuba to me—gave me the motive and the cue for + passion, transformed me from the dull and muddy-mettled little + John-a-dreams I had been into a small, blind Fury. Pale Thought, that + mental emetic, banished from my system, I became the healthy, unreasoning + animal, and acted as such. + </p> + <p> + From my methods, I frankly admit, science was absent. In simple, primitive + fashion that would have charmed a Darwinian disciple to observe, I “went + for” the whole crowd. To employ the expressive idiom of the neighbourhood, + I was “all over it and inside.” Something clung about my feet. By kicking + myself free and then standing on it I gained the advantage of quite an + extra foot in height; I don't know what it was and didn't care. I fought + with my arms and I fought with my legs; where I could get in with my head + I did. I fought whatever came to hand in a spirit of simple thankfulness, + grateful for what I could reach and indifferent to what was beyond me. + </p> + <p> + That the “show”—if again I may be permitted the local idiom—was + not entirely mine I was well aware. That not alone my person but my + property also was being damaged in the rear became dimly conveyed to me + through the sensation of draught. Already the world to the left of me was + mere picturesque perspective, while the growing importance of my nose was + threatening the absorption of all my other features. These things did not + trouble me. I merely noted them as phenomena and continued to punch + steadily. + </p> + <p> + Until I found that I was punching something soft and yet unyielding. I + looked up to see what this foreign matter that thus mysteriously had + entered into the mixture might be, and discovered it to be a policeman. + Still I did not care. The felon's dock! the prison cell! a fig for such + mere bogies. An impudent word, an insulting look, and I would have gone + for the Law itself. Pale Thought—it must have been a livid green by + this time—still trembled at respectful distance from me. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for all of us, he was not impertinent, and though he spoke the + language of his order, his tone disarmed offence. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then. Now, then. What is all this about?” + </p> + <p> + There was no need for me to answer. A dozen voluble tongues were ready to + explain to him; and to explain wholly in my favour. This time the crowd + was with me. Let a man school himself to bear dispraise, for thereby alone + shall he call his soul his own. But let no man lie, saying he is + indifferent to popular opinion. That was my first taste of public + applause. The public was not select, and the applause might, by the + sticklers for English pure and undefiled, have been deemed ill-worded, but + to me it was the sweetest music I had ever heard, or have heard since. I + was called a “plucky little devil,” a “fair 'ot 'un,” not only a “good + 'un,” but a “good 'un” preceded by the adjective that in the East bestows + upon its principal every admirable quality that can possibly apply. Under + the circumstances it likewise fitted me literally; but I knew it was + intended rather in its complimentary sense. + </p> + <p> + Kind, if dirty, hands wiped my face. A neighbouring butcher presented me + with a choice morsel of steak, not to eat but to wear; and I found it, if + I may so express myself without infringing copyright, “grateful and + comforting.” My enemies had long since scooted, some of them, I had + rejoiced to notice, with lame and halting steps. The mutilated kitten had + been restored to its owner, a lady of ample bosom, who, carried beyond + judgment by emotion, publicly offered to adopt me on the spot. The Law + suggested, not for the first time, that everybody should now move on; and + slowly, followed by feminine commendation mingled with masculine advice as + to improved methods for the future, I was allowed to drift away. + </p> + <p> + My bones ached, my flesh stung me, yet I walked as upon air. Gradually I + became conscious that I was not alone. A light, pattering step was trying + to keep pace with me. Graciously I slacked my speed, and the pattering + step settled down beside me. Every now and again she would run ahead and + then turn round to look up into my face, much as your small dog does when + he happens not to be misbehaving himself and desires you to note the fact. + Evidently she approved of me. I was not at my best, as far as appearance + was concerned, but women are kittle cattle, and I think she preferred me + so. Thus we walked for quite a long distance without speaking, I drinking + in the tribute of her worship and enjoying it. Then gaining confidence, + she shyly put her hand into mine, and finding I did not repel her, + promptly assumed possession of me, according to woman's way. + </p> + <p> + For her age and station she must have been a person of means, for having + tried in vain various methods to make me more acceptable to followers and + such as having passed would turn their heads, she said: + </p> + <p> + “I know, gelatines;” and disappearing into a sweetstuff shop, returned + with quite a quantity. With these, first sucked till glutinous, we joined + my many tatters. I still attracted attention, but felt warmer. + </p> + <p> + She informed me that her name was Cissy, and that her father's shop was in + Three Colt Street. I informed her that my name was Paul, and that my + father was a lawyer. I also pointed out to her that a lawyer is much + superior in social position to a shopkeeper, which she acknowledged + cheerfully. We parted at the corner of the Stainsby Road, and I let her + kiss me once. It was understood that in the Stainsby Road we might meet + again. + </p> + <p> + I left Eliza gaping after me, the front door in her hand, and ran straight + up into my own room. Robinson Crusoe, King Arthur, The Last of the Barons, + Rob Roy! I looked them all in the face and was not ashamed. I also was a + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + My mother was much troubled when she saw me, but my father, hearing the + story, approved. + </p> + <p> + “But he looks so awful,” said my mother. “In this world,” said my father, + “one must occasionally be aggressive—if necessary, brutal.” + </p> + <p> + My father would at times be quite savage in his sentiments. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + PAUL, FALLING IN WITH A GOODLY COMPANY OF PILGRIMS, LEARNS OF THEM THE + ROAD THAT HE MUST TRAVEL. AND MEETS THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS. + </p> + <p> + The East India Dock Road is nowadays a busy, crowded thoroughfare. The + jingle of the tram-bell and the rattle of the omnibus and cart mingle + continuously with the rain of many feet, beating ceaselessly upon its + pavements. But at the time of which I write it was an empty, voiceless + way, bounded on the one side by the long, echoing wall of the docks and on + the other by occasional small houses isolated amid market gardens, drying + grounds and rubbish heaps. Only one thing remains—or did remain last + time I passed along it, connecting it with its former self—and that + is the one-storeyed brick cottage at the commencement of the bridge, and + which was formerly the toll-house. I remember this toll-house so well + because it was there that my childhood fell from me, and sad and + frightened I saw the world beyond. + </p> + <p> + I cannot explain it better. I had been that afternoon to Plaistow on a + visit to the family dentist. It was an out-of-the-way place in which to + keep him, but there existed advantages of a counterbalancing nature. + </p> + <p> + “Have the half-crown in your hand,” my mother would direct me, while + making herself sure that the purse containing it was safe at the bottom of + my knickerbocker pocket; “but of course if he won't take it, why, you must + bring it home again.” + </p> + <p> + I am not sure, but I think he was some distant connection of ours; at all + events, I know he was a kind friend. I, seated in the velvet chair of + state, he would unroll his case of instruments before me, and ask me to + choose, recommending with affectionate eulogisms the most murderous + looking. + </p> + <p> + But on my opening my mouth to discuss the fearful topic, lo! a pair would + shoot from under his coat-sleeve, and almost before I knew what had + happened, the trouble would be over. After that we would have tea + together. He was an old bachelor, and his house stood in a great garden—for + Plaistow in those days was a picturesque village—and out of the + plentiful fruit thereof his housekeeper made the most wonderful of jams + and jellies. Oh, they were good, those teas! Generally our conversation + was of my mother who, it appeared, was once a little girl: not at all the + sort of little girl I should have imagined her; on the contrary, a + prankish, wilful little girl, though good company, I should say, if all + the tales he told of her were true. And I am inclined to think they were, + in spite of the fact that my mother, when I repeated them to her, would + laugh, saying she was sure she had no recollection of anything of the + kind, adding severely that it was a pity he and I could not find something + better to gossip about. Yet her next question would be: + </p> + <p> + “And what else did he say, if you please?” explaining impatiently when my + answer was not of the kind expected: “No, no, I mean about me.” + </p> + <p> + The tea things cleared away, he would bring out his great microscope. To + me it was a peep-hole into a fairy world where dwelt strange dragons, + mighty monsters, so that I came to regard him as a sort of harmless + magician. It was his pet study, and looking back, I cannot help + associating his enthusiasm for all things microscopical with the fact that + he was an exceptionally little man himself, but one of the biggest hearted + that ever breathed. + </p> + <p> + On leaving I would formally hand him my half-crown, “with mamma's + compliments,” and he would formally accept it. But on putting my hand into + my jacket pocket when outside the gate I would invariably find it there. + The first time I took it back to him, but unblushingly he repudiated all + knowledge. + </p> + <p> + “Must be another half-crown,” he suggested; “such things do happen. One + puts change into a pocket and overlooks it. Slippery things, half-crowns.” + </p> + <p> + Returning home on this particular day of days, I paused upon the bridge, + and watched for awhile the lazy barges manoeuvring their way between the + piers. It was one of those hushed summer evenings when the air even of + grim cities is full of whispering voices; and as, turning away from the + river, I passed through the white toll-gate, I had a sense of leaving + myself behind me on the bridge. So vivid was the impression, that I looked + back, half expecting to see myself still leaning over the iron parapet, + looking down into the sunlit water. + </p> + <p> + It sounds foolish, but I leave it standing, wondering if to others a like + experience has ever come. The little chap never came back to me. He passed + away from me as a man's body may possibly pass away from him, leaving him + only remembrance and regret. For a time I tried to play his games, to + dream his dreams, but the substance was wanting. I was only a thin ghost, + making believe. + </p> + <p> + It troubled me for quite a spell of time, even to the point of tears, this + feeling that my childhood lay behind me, this sudden realisation that I + was travelling swiftly the strange road called growing up. I did not want + to grow up; could nothing be done to stop it? Rather would I be always as + I had been, playing, dreaming. The dark way frightened me. Must I go + forward? + </p> + <p> + Then gradually, but very slowly, with the long months and years, came to + me the consciousness of a new being, new pulsations, sensories, + throbbings, rooted in but differing widely from the old; and little Paul, + the Paul of whom I have hitherto spoken, faded from my life. + </p> + <p> + So likewise must I let him fade with sorrow from this book. But before I + part with him entirely, let me recall what else I can remember of him. + Thus we shall be quit of him, and he will interfere with us no more. + </p> + <p> + Chief among the pictures that I see is that of my aunt Fan, crouching over + the kitchen fire; her skirt and crinoline rolled up round her waist, + leaving as sacrifice to custom only her petticoat. Up and down her body + sways in rhythmic motion, her hands stroking affectionately her own knees; + the while I, with paper knife for sword, or horse of broomstick, stand + opposite her, flourishing and declaiming. Sometimes I am a knight and she + a wicked ogre. She is slain, growling and swearing, and at once becomes + the beautiful princess that I secure and bear away with me upon the + prancing broomstick. So long as the princess is merely holding sweet + converse with me from her high-barred window, the scene is realistic, at + least, to sufficiency; but the bearing away has to be make-believe; for my + aunt cannot be persuaded to leave her chair before the fire, and the + everlasting rubbing of her knees. + </p> + <p> + At other times, with the assistance of the meat chopper, I am an Indian + brave, and then she is Laughing Water or Singing Sunshine, and we go out + scalping together; or in less bloodthirsty moods I am the Fairy Prince and + she the Sleeping Beauty. But in such parts she is not at her best. Better, + when seated in the centre of the up-turned table, I am Captain Cook, and + she the Cannibal Chief. + </p> + <p> + “I shall skin him and hang him in the larder till Sunday week,” says my + aunt, smacking her lips, “then he'll be just in right condition; not too + tough and not too high.” She was always strong in detail, was my aunt Fan. + </p> + <p> + I do not wish to deprive my aunt of any credit due to her, but the more I + exercise my memory for evidence, the more I am convinced that her + compliance on these occasions was not conceived entirely in the spirit of + self-sacrifice. Often would she suggest the game and even the theme; in + such case, casting herself invariably for what, in old theatrical + parlance, would have been termed the heavy lead, the dragons and the + wicked uncles, the fussy necromancers and the uninvited fairies. As + authoress of a new cookery book for use in giant-land, my aunt, I am sure, + would have been successful. Most recipes that one reads are so + monotonously meagre: “Boil him,” “Put her on the spit and roast her for + supper,” “Cook 'em in a pie—with plenty of gravy;” but my aunt into + the domestic economy of Ogredom introduced variety and daintiness. + </p> + <p> + “I think, my dear,” my aunt would direct, “we'll have him stuffed with + chestnuts and served on toast. And don't forget the giblets. They make + such excellent sauce.” + </p> + <p> + With regard to the diet of imprisoned maidens she would advise: + </p> + <p> + “Not too much fish—it spoils the flesh for roasting.” + </p> + <p> + The things that she would turn people into—king's sons, rightful + princesses, such sort of people—people who after a time, one would + think, must have quite forgotten what they started as. To let her have her + way was a lesson to me in natural history both present and pre-historic. + The most beautiful damsel that ever lived she would without a moment's + hesitation turn into a Glyptodon or a Hippocrepian. Afterwards, when I + could guess at the spelling, I would look these creatures up in the + illustrated dictionary, and feel that under no circumstances could I have + loved the lady ever again. Warriors and kings she would delight in + transforming into plaice or prawns, and haughty queens into Brussels + sprouts. + </p> + <p> + With gusto would she plan a complicated slaughter, paying heed to every + detail: the sharpening of the knives, the having ready of mops and pails + of water for purposes of after cleaning up. As a writer she would have + followed the realistic school. + </p> + <p> + Her death, with which we invariably wound up the afternoon, was another + conscientious effort. Indeed, her groans and writhings would sometimes + frighten me. I always welcomed the last gurgle. That finished, but not a + moment before, my aunt would let down her skirt—in this way + suggesting the fall of the curtain upon our play—and set to work to + get the tea. + </p> + <p> + Another frequently recurring picture that I see is of myself in + glazed-peaked cap explaining many things the while we walk through dingy + streets to yet a smaller figure curly haired and open eyed. Still every + now and then she runs ahead to turn and look admiringly into my face as on + the day she first became captive to the praise and fame of me. + </p> + <p> + I was glad of her company for more reasons than she knew of. For one, she + protected me against my baser self. With her beside me I should not have + dared to flee from sudden foes. Indeed, together we courted adventure; for + once you get used to it this standing hazard of attack adds a charm to + outdoor exercise that older folk in districts better policed enjoy not. So + possibly my dog feels when together we take the air. To me it is a simple + walk, maybe a little tiresome, suggested rather by contemplation of my + waistband than by desire for walking for mere walking's sake; to him an + expedition full of danger and surprises: “The gentleman asleep with one + eye open on The Chequer's doorstep! will he greet me with a friendly sniff + or try to bite my head off? This cross-eyed, lop-eared loafer, lurching + against the lamp-post! shall we pass with a careless wag and a 'how-do,' + or become locked in a life and death struggle? Impossible to say. This + coming corner, now, 'Ware! Is anybody waiting round there to kill me, or + not?” + </p> + <p> + But the trusting face beside me nerved me. As reward in lonely places I + would let her hold my hand. + </p> + <p> + A second advantage I derived from her company was that of being less + trampled on, less walked over, less swept aside into doorway or gutter + than when alone. A pretty, winsome face had this little maid, if Memory + plays me not kindly false; but also she had a vocabulary; and when the + blind idiot, male or female, instead of passing us by walking round us, + would, after the custom of the blind idiot, seek to gain the other side of + us by walking through us, she would use it. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, where yer coming to, old glass-eye? We ain't sperrits. Can't + yer see us?” + </p> + <p> + And if they attempted reply, her child's treble, so strangely at variance + with her dainty appearance, would only rise more shrill. + </p> + <p> + “Garn! They'd run out of 'eads when they was making you. That's only a + turnip wot you've got stuck on top of yer!” I offer but specimens. + </p> + <p> + Nor was it of the slightest use attempting personal chastisement, as + sometimes an irate lady or gentleman would be foolish enough to do. As + well might an hippopotamus attempt to reprove a terrier. The only result + was to provide comedy for the entire street. + </p> + <p> + On these occasions our positions were reversed, I being the admiring + spectator of her prowess. Yet to me she was ever meek, almost irritatingly + submissive. She found out where I lived and would often come and wait for + me for hours, her little face pressed tight against the iron railings, + until either I came out or shook my head at her from my bedroom window, + when she would run off, the dying away into silence of her pattering feet + leaving me a little sad. + </p> + <p> + I think I cared for her in a way, yet she never entered into my + day-dreams, which means that she existed for me only in the outer world of + shadows that lay round about me and was not of my real life. + </p> + <p> + Also, I think she was unwise, introducing me to the shop, for children and + dogs—one seems unconsciously to bracket them in one's thoughts—are + snobbish little wretches. If only her father had been a dealer in firewood + I could have soothed myself by imagining mistakes. It was a common + occurrence, as I well knew, for children of quite the best families to be + brought up by wood choppers. Fairies, the best intentioned in the world, + but born muddlers, were generally responsible for these mishaps, which, + however, always became righted in time for the wedding. Or even had he + been a pork butcher, and there were many in the neighbourhood, I could + have thought of him as a swineherd, and so found precedent for hope. + </p> + <p> + But a fishmonger—from six in the evening a fried fishmonger! I + searched history in vain. Fried fishmongers were without the pale. + </p> + <p> + So gradually our meetings became less frequent, though I knew that every + afternoon she waited in the quiet Stainsby Road, where dwelt in + semi-detached, six-roomed villas the aristocracy of Poplar, and that after + awhile, for arriving late at times I have been witness to the sad fact, + tears would trace pathetic patterns upon her dust-besprinkled cheeks; and + with the advent of the world-illuminating Barbara, to which event I am + drawing near, they ceased altogether. + </p> + <p> + So began and ended my first romance. One of these days—some quiet + summer's afternoon, when even the air of Pigott Street vibrates with + tenderness beneath the whispered sighs of Memory, I shall walk into the + little grocer's shop and boldly ask to see her. So far have I already gone + as to trace her, and often have I tried to catch sight of her through the + glass door, but hitherto in vain. I know she is the more or less troubled + mother of a numerous progeny. I am told she has grown stout, and probable + enough it is that her tongue has gained rather than lost in sharpness. Yet + under all the unrealities the clumsy-handed world has built about her, I + shall see, I know, the lithesome little maid with fond, admiring eyes. + What help they were to me I never knew till I had lost them. How hard to + gain such eyes I have learned since. Were we to write the truth in our + confession books, should we not admit the quality we most admire in others + is admiration of ourselves? And is it not a wise selection? If you would + have me admirable, my friend, admire me, and speak your commendation + without stint that in the sunshine of your praises I may wax. For + indifference maketh an indifferent man, and contempt a contemptible man. + Come, is it not true? Does not all that is worthy in us grow best by + honour? + </p> + <p> + Chief among the remaining figures on my childhood's stage were the many + servants of our house, the “generals,” as they were termed. So rapid, as a + rule, was their transit through our kitchen that only one or two, + conspicuous by reason of their lingering, remain upon my view. It was a + neighbourhood in which domestic servants were not much required. Those + intending to take up the calling seriously went westward. The local ranks + were recruited mainly from the discontented or the disappointed, from + those who, unappreciated at home, hoped from the stranger more + discernment; or from the love-lorn, the jilted and the jealous, who took + the cap and apron as in an earlier age their like would have taken the + veil. Maybe, to the comparative seclusion of our basement, as contrasted + with the alternative frivolity of shop or factory, they felt in such mood + more attuned. With the advent of the new or the recovery of the old young + man they would plunge again into the vain world, leaving my poor mother to + search afresh amid the legions of the cursed. + </p> + <p> + With these I made such comradeship as I could, for I had no child friends. + Kind creatures were most of them, at least so I found them. They were poor + at “making believe,” but would always squeeze ten minutes from their work + to romp with me, and that, perhaps, was healthier for me. What, perhaps, + was not so good for me was that, staggered at the amount of + “book-learning” implied by my conversation (for the journalistic instinct, + I am inclined to think, was early displayed in me), they would listen + open-mouthed to all my information, regarding me as a precocious oracle. + Sometimes they would obtain permission to take me home with them to tea, + generously eager that their friends should also profit by me. Then, + encouraged by admiring, grinning faces, I would “hold forth,” keenly + enjoying the sound of my own proud piping. + </p> + <p> + “As good as a book, ain't he?” was the tribute most often paid to me. + </p> + <p> + “As good as a play,” one enthusiastic listener, an old greengrocer, went + so far as to say. + </p> + <p> + Already I regarded myself as among the Immortals. + </p> + <p> + One girl, a dear, wholesome creature named Janet, stayed with us for + months and might have stayed years, but for her addiction to strong + language. The only and well-beloved child of the captain of the barge + “Nancy Jane,” trading between Purfleet and Ponder's End, her conversation + was at once my terror and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Janet,” my mother would exclaim in agony, her hands going up + instinctively to guard her ears, “how can you use such words?” + </p> + <p> + “What words, mum?” + </p> + <p> + “The things you have just called the gas man.” + </p> + <p> + “Him! Well, did you see what he did, mum? Walked straight into my clean + kitchen, without even wiping his boots, the—” And before my mother + could stop her, Janet had relieved her feelings by calling him it—or + rather them—again, without any idea that she had done aught else + than express in fitting phraseology a natural human emotion. + </p> + <p> + We were good friends, Janet and I, and therefore it was that I personally + undertook her reformation. It was not an occasion for mincing one's words. + The stake at issue was, I felt, too important. I told her bluntly that if + she persisted in using such language she would inevitably go to hell. + </p> + <p> + “Then where's my father going?” demanded Janet. + </p> + <p> + “Does he use language?” + </p> + <p> + I gathered from Janet that no one who had enjoyed the privilege of hearing + her father could ever again take interest in the feeble efforts of + herself. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, Janet,” I explained, “that if he doesn't give it up—” + </p> + <p> + “But it's the only way he can talk,” interrupted Janet. “He don't mean + anything by it.” + </p> + <p> + I sighed, yet set my face against weakness. “You see, Janet, people who + swear do go there.” + </p> + <p> + But Janet would not believe. + </p> + <p> + “God send my dear, kind father to hell just because he can't talk like the + gentlefolks! Don't you believe it of Him, Master Paul. He's got more + sense.” + </p> + <p> + I hope I pain no one by quoting Janet's common sense. For that I should be + sorry. I remember her words because so often, when sinking in sloughs of + childish despond, they afforded me firm foothold. More often than I can + tell, when compelled to listen to the sententious voice of immeasurable + Folly glibly explaining the eternal mysteries, has it comforted me to + whisper to myself: “I don't believe it of Him. He's got more sense.” + </p> + <p> + And about that period I had need of all the comfort I could get. As we + descend the road of life, the journey, demanding so much of our attention, + becomes of more importance than the journey's end; but to the child, + standing at the valley's gate, the terminating hills are clearly visible. + What lies beyond them is his constant wonder. I never questioned my + parents directly on the subject, shrinking as so strangely we all do, both + young and old, from discussion of the very matters of most moment to us; + and they, on their part, not guessing my need, contented themselves with + the vague generalities with which we seek to hide even from ourselves the + poverty of our beliefs. But there were foolish voices about me less + reticent; while the literature, illustrated and otherwise, provided in + those days for serious-minded youth, answered all questionings with blunt + brutality. If you did wrong you burnt in a fiery furnace for ever and + ever. Were your imagination weak you could turn to the accompanying + illustration, and see at a glance how you yourself would writhe and shrink + and scream, while cheerful devils, well organised, were busy stoking. I + had been burnt once, rather badly, in consequence of live coals, in course + of transit on a shovel, being let fall upon me. I imagined these burning + coals, not confined to a mere part of my body, but pressing upon me + everywhere, not snatched swiftly off by loving hands, the pain assuaged by + applications of soft soap and the blue bag, but left there, eating into my + flesh and veins. And this continued for eternity. You suffered for an + hour, a day, a thousand years, and were no nearer to the end; ten + thousand, a million years, and yet, as at the very first, it was for ever, + and for ever still it would always be for ever! I suffered also from + insomnia about this period. + </p> + <p> + “Then be good,” replied the foolish voices round me; “never do wrong, and + so avoid this endless agony.” + </p> + <p> + But it was so easy to do wrong. There were so many wrong things to do, and + the doing of them was so natural. + </p> + <p> + “Then repent,” said the voices, always ready. + </p> + <p> + But how did one repent? What was repentance? Did I “hate my sin,” as I was + instructed I must, or merely hate the idea of going to hell for it? + Because the latter, even my child's sense told me, was no true repentance. + Yet how could one know the difference? + </p> + <p> + Above all else there haunted me the fear of the “Unforgivable Sin.” What + this was I was never able to discover. I dreaded to enquire too closely, + lest I should find I had committed it. Day and night the terror of it + clung to me. + </p> + <p> + “Believe,” said the voices; “so only shall you be saved.” How believe? How + know you did believe? Hours would I kneel in the dark, repeating in a + whispered scream: + </p> + <p> + “I believe, I believe. Oh, I do believe!” and then rise with white + knuckles, wondering if I really did believe. + </p> + <p> + Another question rose to trouble me. In the course of my meanderings I had + made the acquaintance of an old sailor, one of the most disreputable + specimens possible to find; and had learned to love him. Our first meeting + had been outside a confectioner's window, in the Commercial Road, where he + had discovered me standing, my nose against the glass, a mere palpitating + Appetite on legs. He had seized me by the collar, and hauled me into the + shop. There, dropping me upon a stool, he bade me eat. Pride of race + prompted me politely to decline, but his language became so awful that in + fear and trembling I obeyed. So soon as I was finished—it cost him + two and fourpence, I remember—we walked down to the docks together, + and he told me stories of the sea and land that made my blood run cold. + Altogether, in the course of three weeks or a month, we met about half a + dozen times, when much the same programme was gone through. I think I was + a fairly frank child, but I said nothing about him at home, feeling + instinctively that if I did there would be an end of our comradeship, + which was dear to me: not merely by reason of the pastry, though I admit + that was a consideration, but also for his wondrous tales. I believed them + all implicitly, and so came to regard him as one of the most interesting + criminals as yet unhanged: and what was sad about the case, as I felt + myself, was that his recital of his many iniquities, instead of repelling, + attracted me to him. If ever there existed a sinner, here was one. He + chewed tobacco—one of the hundred or so deadly sins, according to my + theological library—and was generally more or less drunk. Not that a + stranger would have noticed this; the only difference being that when + sober he appeared constrained—was less his natural, genial self. In + a burst of confidence he once admitted to me that he was the biggest + blackguard in the merchant service. Unacquainted with the merchant + service, as at the time I was, I saw no reason to doubt him. + </p> + <p> + One night in a state of intoxication he walked over a gangway and was + drowned. Our mutual friend, the confectioner, seeing me pass the window, + came out to tell me so; and having heard, I walked on, heavy of heart, and + pondering. + </p> + <p> + About his eternal destination there could be no question. The known facts + precluded the least ray of hope. How could I be happy in heaven, supposing + I eventually did succeed in slipping in, knowing that he, the lovable old + scamp, was burning for ever in hell? + </p> + <p> + How could Janet, taking it that she reformed and thus escaped damnation, + be contented, knowing the father she loved doomed to torment? The heavenly + hosts, so I argued, could be composed only of the callous and indifferent. + </p> + <p> + I wondered how people could go about their business, eat, drink and be + merry, with tremendous fate hanging thus ever suspended over their heads. + When for a little space I myself forgot it, always it fell back upon me + with increased weight. + </p> + <p> + Nor was the contemplation of heaven itself particularly attractive to me, + for it was a foolish paradise these foolish voices had fashioned out of + their folly. You stood about and sang hymns—for ever! I was assured + that my fear of finding the programme monotonous was due only to my state + of original sin, that when I got there I should discover I liked it. But I + would have given much for the hope of avoiding both their heaven and their + hell. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for my sanity I was not left long to brood unoccupied upon + such themes. Our worldly affairs, under the sunshine of old Hasluck's + round red face, prospered—for awhile; and one afternoon my father, + who had been away from home since breakfast time, calling me into his + office where also sat my mother, informed me that the long-talked-of + school was become at last a concrete thing. + </p> + <p> + “The term commences next week,” explained my father. “It is not exactly + what I had intended, but it will do—for the present. Later, of + course, you will go to one of the big public schools; your mother and I + have not yet quite decided which.” + </p> + <p> + “You will meet other boys there, good and bad,” said my mother, who sat + clasping and unclasping her hands. “Be very careful, dear, how you choose + your companions.” + </p> + <p> + “You will learn to take your own part,” said my father. “School is an + epitome of the world. One must assert oneself, or one is sat upon.” + </p> + <p> + I knew not what to reply, the vista thus opened out to me was so + unexpected. My blood rejoiced, but my heart sank. + </p> + <p> + “Take one of your long walks,” said my father, smiling, “and think it + over.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you are in any doubt, you know where to go for guidance, don't + you?” whispered my mother, who was very grave. + </p> + <p> + Yet I went to bed, dreaming of quite other things that night: of Queens of + Beauty bending down to crown my brows with laurel: of wronged Princesses + for whose cause I rode to death or victory. For on my return home, being + called into the drawing-room by my father, I stood transfixed, my cap in + hand, staring with all my eyes at the vision that I saw. + </p> + <p> + No such wonder had I ever seen before, at all events, not to my + remembrance. The maidens that one meets in Poplar streets may be fair + enough in their way, but their millinery displays them not to advantage; + and the few lady visitors that came to us were of a staid and matronly + appearance. Only out of pictures hitherto had such witchery looked upon + me; and from these the spell faded as one gazed. + </p> + <p> + I heard old Hasluck's smoky voice saying, “My little gell, Barbara,” and I + went nearer to her, moving unconsciously. + </p> + <p> + “You can kiss 'er,” said the smoky voice again; “she won't bite.” But I + did not kiss her. Nor ever felt I wanted to, upon the mouth. + </p> + <p> + I suppose she must have been about fourteen, and I a little over ten, + though tall for my age. Later I came to know she had that rare gold hair + that holds the light, so that upon her face, which seemed of dainty + porcelain, there ever fell a softened radiance as from some shining + aureole; those blue eyes where dwell mysteries, shadow veiled. At the time + I knew nothing, but that it seemed to me as though the fairy-tales had all + come true. + </p> + <p> + She smiled, understanding and well pleased with my confusion. Child though + I was—little more than child though she was, it flattered her + vanity. + </p> + <p> + Fair and sweet, you had but that one fault. Would it had been another, + less cruel to you yourself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH THERE COMES BY ONE BENT UPON PURSUING HIS OWN WAY. + </h3> + <p> + “Correct” is, I think, the adjective by which I can best describe Doctor + Florret and all his attributes. He was a large man, but not too large—just + the size one would select for the head-master of an important middle-class + school; stout, not fat, suggesting comfort, not grossness. His hands were + white and well shaped. On the left he wore a fine diamond ring, but it + shone rather than sparkled. He spoke of commonplace things in a voice that + lent dignity even to the weather. His face, which was clean-shaven, + radiated benignity tempered by discretion. + </p> + <p> + So likewise all about him: his wife, the feminine counterpart of himself. + Seeing them side by side one felt tempted to believe that for his special + benefit original methods had been reverted to, and she fashioned, as his + particular helpmeet, out of one of his own ribs. His furniture was solid, + meant for use, not decoration. His pictures, following the rule laid down + for dress, graced without drawing attention to his walls. He ever said the + correct thing at the correct time in the correct manner. Doubtful of the + correct thing to do, one could always learn it by waiting till he did it; + when one at once felt that nothing else could possibly have been correct. + He held on all matters the correct views. To differ from him was to + discover oneself a revolutionary. + </p> + <p> + In practice, as I learned at the cost of four more or less wasted years, + he of course followed the methods considered correct by English schoolmen + from the days of Edward VI. onwards. + </p> + <p> + Heaven knows I worked hard. I wanted to learn. Ambition—the all + containing ambition of a boy that “has its centre everywhere nor cares to + fix itself to form” stirred within me. Did I pass a speaker at some + corner, hatless, perspiring, pointing Utopias in the air to restless + hungry eyes, at once I saw myself, a Demosthenes swaying multitudes, a + statesman holding the House of Commons spellbound, the Prime Minister of + England, worshipped by the entire country. Even the Opposition papers, had + I known of them, I should have imagined forced to reluctant admiration. + Did the echo of a distant drum fall upon my ear, then before me rose + picturesque fields of carnage, one figure ever conspicuous: Myself, well + to the front, isolated. Promotion in the British army of my dream being a + matter purely of merit, I returned Commander-in-Chief. Vast crowds + thronged every flag-decked street. I saw white waving hands from every + roof and window. I heard the dull, deep roar of welcome, as with superb + seat upon my snow-white charger—or should it be coal-black? The + point cost me much consideration, so anxious was I that the day should be + without a flaw—I slowly paced at the head of my victorious troops, + between wild waves of upturned faces: walked into a lamp-post or on to the + toes of some irascible old gentleman, and awoke. A drunken sailor stormed + from between swing doors and tacked tumultuously down the street: the + factory chimney belching smoke became a swaying mast. The costers round + about me shouted “Ay, ay, sir. 'Ready, ay, ready.” I was Christopher + Columbus, Drake, Nelson, rolled into one. Spurning the presumption of + modern geographers, I discovered new continents. I defeated the French—those + useful French! I died in the moment of victory. A nation mourned me and I + was buried in Westminster Abbey. Also I lived and was created a Duke. + Either alternative had its charm: personally I was indifferent. Boys who + on November the ninth, as explained by letters from their mothers, read by + Doctor Florret with a snort, were suffering from a severe toothache, told + me on November the tenth of the glories of Lord Mayor's Shows. I heard + their chatter fainter and fainter as from an ever-increasing distance. The + bells of Bow were ringing in my ears. I saw myself a merchant prince, + though still young. Nobles crowded my counting house. I lent them millions + and married their daughters. I listened, unobserved in a corner, to + discussion on some new book. Immediately I was a famous author. All men + praised me: for of reviewers and their density I, in those days, knew + nothing. Poetry, fiction, history, I wrote them all; and all men read, and + wondered. Only here was a crumpled rose leaf in the pillow on which I laid + my swelling head: penmanship was vexation to me, and spelling puzzled me, + so that I wrote with sorrow and many blots and scratchings out. Almost I + put aside the idea of becoming an author. + </p> + <p> + But along whichever road I might fight my way to the Elysian Fields of + fame, education, I dimly but most certainly comprehended, was a necessary + weapon to my hand. And so, with aching heart and aching head, I pored over + my many books. I see myself now in my small bedroom, my elbows planted on + the shaky, one-legged table, startled every now and again by the frizzling + of my hair coming in contact with the solitary candle. On cold nights I + wear my overcoat, turned up about the neck, a blanket round my legs, and + often I must sit with my fingers in my ears, the better to shut out the + sounds of life, rising importunately from below. “A song, Of a song, To a + song, A song, O! song!” “I love, Thou lovest, He she or it loves. I should + or would love” over and over again, till my own voice seems some strange + buzzing thing about me, while my head grows smaller and smaller till I put + my hands up frightened, wondering if it still be entire upon my shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Was I more stupid than the average, or is a boy's brain physically + incapable of the work our educational system demands of it? + </p> + <p> + “Latin and Greek” I hear repeating the suave tones of Doctor Florret, + echoing as ever the solemn croak of Correctness, “are useful as mental + gymnastics.” My dear Doctor Florret and Co., cannot you, out of the vast + storehouse of really necessary knowledge, select apparatus better fitted + to strengthen and not overstrain the mental muscles of ten-to-fourteen? + You, gentle reader, with brain fully grown, trained by years of practice + to its subtlest uses, take me from your bookshelf, say, your Browning or + even your Shakespeare. Come, you know this language well. You have not + merely learned: it is your mother tongue. Construe for me this short + passage, these few verses: parse, analyse, resolve into component parts! + And now, will you maintain that it is good for Tommy, tear-stained, + ink-bespattered little brat, to be given AEsop's Fables, Ovid's + Metamorphoses to treat in like manner? Would it not be just as sensible to + insist upon his practising his skinny little arms with hundred pounds + dumb-bells? + </p> + <p> + We were the sons of City men, of not well-to-do professional men, of minor + officials, clerks, shopkeepers, our roads leading through the workaday + world. Yet quite half our time was taken up in studies utterly useless to + us. How I hated them, these youth-tormenting Shades. Homer! how I wished + the fishermen had asked him that absurd riddle earlier. Horace! why could + not that shipwreck have succeeded: it would have in the case of any one + but a classic. + </p> + <p> + Until one blessed day there fell into my hands a wondrous talisman. + </p> + <p> + Hearken unto me, ye heavy burdened little brethren of mine. Waste not your + substance upon tops and marbles, nor yet upon tuck (Do ye still call it + “tuck”?), but scrape and save. For in the neighbourhood of Paternoster Row + there dwells a good magician who for silver will provide you with a “Key” + that shall open wide for you the gates of Hades. + </p> + <p> + By its aid, the Frogs of Aristophanes became my merry friends. With + Ulysses I wandered eagerly through Wonderland. Doctor Florret was charmed + with my progress, which was real, for now, at last, I was studying + according to the laws of common sense, understanding first, explaining + afterwards. Let Youth, that the folly of Age would imprison in ignorance, + provide itself with “Keys.” + </p> + <p> + But let me not seem to claim credit due to another. Dan it was—Dan + of the strong arm and the soft smile, Dan the wise hater of all useless + labour, sharp-witted, easy-going Dan, who made this grand discovery. + </p> + <p> + Dan followed me a term later into the Lower Fourth, but before he had been + there a week was handling Latin verse with an ease and dexterity + suggestive of unholy dealings with the Devil. In a lonely corner of + Regent's Park, first making sure no one was within earshot, he revealed to + me his magic. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell the others,” he commanded; “or it will get out, and then + nobody will be any the better.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it right?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, young 'un,” said Dan; “what are you here for—what's your + father paying school fees for (it was the appeal to our conscientiousness + most often employed by Dr. Florret himself), for you to play a silly game, + or to learn something? + </p> + <p> + “Because if it's only a game—we boys against the masters,” continued + Dan, “then let's play according to rule. If we're here to learn—well, + you've been in the class four months and I've just come, and I bet I know + more Ovid than you do already.” Which was true. + </p> + <p> + So I thanked Dan and shared with him his key; and all the Latin I + remember, for whatever good it may be to me, I take it I owe to him. + </p> + <p> + And knowledge of yet greater value do I owe to the good fortune that his + sound mother wit was ever at my disposal to correct my dreamy + unfeasibility; for from first to last he was my friend; and to have been + the chosen friend of Dan, shrewd judge of man and boy, I deem no + unimportant feather in my cap. He “took to” me, he said, because I was so + “jolly green”—“such a rummy little mug.” No other reason would he + ever give me, save only a sweet smile and a tumbling of my hair with his + great hand; but I think I understood. And I loved him because he was big + and strong and handsome and kind; no one but a little boy knows how brutal + or how kind a big boy can be. I was still somewhat of an effeminate little + chap, nervous and shy, with a pink and white face, and hair that no amount + of wetting would make straight. I was growing too fast, which took what + strength I had, and my journey every day, added to school work and home + work, maybe was too much for my years. Every morning I had to be up at + six, leaving the house before seven to catch the seven fifteen from Poplar + station; and from Chalk Farm I had to walk yet another couple of miles. + But that I did not mind, for at Chalk Farm station Dan was always waiting + for me. In the afternoon we walked back together also; and when I was + tired and my back ached—just as if some one had cut a piece out of + it, I felt—he would put his arm round me, for he always knew, and + oh, how strong and restful it was to lean against, so that one walked as + in an easy-chair. + </p> + <p> + It seems to me, remembering how I would walk thus by his side, looking up + shyly into his face, thinking how strong and good he was, feeling so glad + he liked me, I can understand a little how a woman loves. He was so solid. + With his arm round me, it was good to feel weak. + </p> + <p> + At first we were in the same class, the Lower Third. He had no business + there. He was head and shoulders taller than any of us and years older. It + was a disgrace to him that he was not in the Upper Fourth. The Doctor + would tell him so before us all twenty times a week. Old Waterhouse (I + call him “Old Waterhouse” because “Mister Waterhouse, M.A.,” would convey + no meaning to me, and I should not know about whom I was speaking) who + cordially liked him, was honestly grieved. We, his friends, though it was + pleasant to have him among us, suffered in our pride of him. The only + person quite contented was Dan himself. It was his way in all things. + Others had their opinion of what was good for him. He had his own, and his + own was the only opinion that ever influenced him. The Lower Third suited + him. For him personally the Upper Fourth had no attraction. + </p> + <p> + And even in the Lower Third he was always at the bottom. He preferred it. + He selected the seat and kept it, in spite of all allurements, in spite of + all reproaches. It was nearest to the door. It enabled him to be first out + and last in. Also it afforded a certain sense of retirement. Its occupant, + to an extent screened from observation, became in the course of time + almost forgotten. To Dan's philosophical temperament its practical + advantages outweighed all sentimental objection. + </p> + <p> + Only on one occasion do I remember his losing it. As a rule, tiresome + questions, concerning past participles, square roots, or meridians never + reached him, being snapped up in transit by arm-waving lovers of such + trifles. The few that by chance trickled so far he took no notice of. They + possessed no interest for him, and he never pretended that they did. But + one day, taken off his guard, he gave voice quite unconsciously to a + correct reply, with the immediate result of finding himself in an exposed + position on the front bench. I had never seen Dan out of temper before, + but that moment had any of us ventured upon a whispered congratulation we + would have had our head punched, I feel confident. + </p> + <p> + Old Waterhouse thought that here at last was reformation. “Come, Brian,” + he cried, rubbing his long thin hands together with delight, “after all, + you're not such a fool as you pretend.” + </p> + <p> + “Never said I was,” muttered Dan to himself, with a backward glance of + regret towards his lost seclusion; and before the day was out he had + worked his way back to it again. + </p> + <p> + As we were going out together, old Waterhouse passed us on the stairs: + “Haven't you any sense of shame, my boy?” he asked sorrowfully, laying his + hand kindly on Dan's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Dan, with his frank smile; “plenty. It isn't yours, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + He was an excellent fighter. In the whole school of over two hundred boys, + not half a dozen, and those only Upper Sixth boys—fellows who came + in top hats with umbrellas, and who wouldn't out of regard to their own + dignity—could have challenged him with any chance of success. Yet he + fought very seldom, and then always in a bored, lazy fashion, as though he + were doing it purely to oblige the other fellow. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, just as we were about to enter Regent's Park by the wicket + opposite Hanover Gate, a biggish boy, an errand boy carrying an empty + basket, and supported by two smaller boys, barred our way. + </p> + <p> + “Can't come in here,” said the boy with the basket. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” inquired Dan. + </p> + <p> + “'Cos if you do I shall kick you,” was the simple explanation. + </p> + <p> + Without a word Dan turned away, prepared to walk on to the next opening. + The boy with the basket, evidently encouraged, followed us: “Now, I'm + going to give you your coward's blow,” he said, stepping in front of us; + “will you take it quietly?” It is a lonely way, the Outer Circle, on a + winter's afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you afterwards,” said Dan, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + The boy gave him a slight slap on the cheek. It could not have hurt, but + the indignity, of course, was great. No boy of honour, according to our + code, could have accepted it without retaliating. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “That's all—for the present,” replied the boy with the basket. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Dan, and walked on. + </p> + <p> + “Glad he didn't insist on fighting,” remarked Dan, cheerfully, as we + proceeded; “I'm going to a party tonight.” + </p> + <p> + Yet on another occasion, in a street off Lisson Grove, he insisted on + fighting a young rough half again his own weight, who, brushing up against + him, had knocked his hat off into the mud. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't have said anything about his knocking it off,” explained Dan + afterwards, tenderly brushing the poor bruised thing with his coat sleeve, + “if he hadn't kicked it.” + </p> + <p> + On another occasion I remember, three or four of us, Dan among the number, + were on our way one broiling summer's afternoon to Hadley Woods. As we + turned off from the highroad just beyond Barnet and struck into the + fields, Dan drew from his pocket an enormous juicy-looking pear. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get that from?” inquired one, Dudley. + </p> + <p> + “From that big greengrocer's opposite Barnet Church,” answered Dan. “Have + a bit?” + </p> + <p> + “You told me you hadn't any more money,” retorted Dudley, in reproachful + tones. + </p> + <p> + “No more I had,” replied Dan, holding out a tempting slice at the end of + his pocket-knife. + </p> + <p> + “You must have had some, or you couldn't have bought that pear,” argued + Dudley, accepting. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't buy it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you stole it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a thief,” denounced Dudley, wiping his mouth and throwing away a + pip. + </p> + <p> + “I know it. So are you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of talking nonsense. You robbed an orchard only last + Wednesday at Mill Hill, and gave yourself the stomach-ache.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't stealing.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the difference?” + </p> + <p> + And nothing could make Dan comprehend the difference. “Stealing is + stealing,” he would have it, “whether you take it off a tree or out of a + basket. You're a thief, Dudley; so am I. Anybody else say a piece?” + </p> + <p> + The thermometer was at that point where morals become slack. We all had a + piece; but we were all of us shocked at Dan, and told him so. It did not + agitate him in the least. + </p> + <p> + To Dan I could speak my inmost thoughts, knowing he would understand me, + and sometimes from him I received assistance and sometimes confusion. The + yearly examination was approaching. My father and mother said nothing, but + I knew how anxiously each of them awaited the result; my father, to see + how much I had accomplished; my mother, how much I had endeavoured. I had + worked hard, but was doubtful, knowing that prizes depend less upon what + you know than upon what you can make others believe you know; which + applies to prizes beyond those of school. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going in for anything, Dan?” I asked him. We were discussing the + subject, crossing Primrose Hill, one bright June morning. + </p> + <p> + I knew the question absurd. I asked it of him because I wanted him to ask + it of me. + </p> + <p> + “They're not giving away anything I particularly want,” murmured Dan, in + his lazy drawl: looked at from that point of view, school prizes are, it + must be confessed, not worth their cost. + </p> + <p> + “You're sweating yourself, young 'un, of course?” he asked next, as I + expected. + </p> + <p> + “I mean to have a shot at the History,” I admitted. “Wish I was better at + dates.” + </p> + <p> + “It's always two-thirds dates,” Dan assured me, to my discouragement. “Old + Florret thinks you can't eat a potato until you know the date that chap + Raleigh was born.” + </p> + <p> + “I've prayed so hard that I may win the History prize,” I explained to + him. I never felt shy with Dan. He never laughed at me. + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn't to have done that,” he said. I stared. “It isn't fair to the + other fellows. That won't be your winning the prize; that will be your + getting it through favouritism.” + </p> + <p> + “But they can pray, too,” I reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “If you all pray for it,” answered Dan, “then it will go, not to the + fellow that knows most history, but to the fellow that's prayed the + hardest. That isn't old Florret's idea, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are told to pray for things we want,” I insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Beastly mean way of getting 'em,” retorted Dan. And no argument that came + to me, neither then nor at any future time, brought him to right thinking + on this point. + </p> + <p> + He would judge all matters for himself. In his opinion Achilles was a + coward, not a hero. + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have told the Trojans that they couldn't hurt any part of him + except his heel, and let them have a shot at that,” he argued; “King + Arthur and all the rest of them with their magic swords, it wasn't playing + the game. There's no pluck in fighting if you know you're bound to win. + Beastly cads, I call them all.” + </p> + <p> + I won no prize that year. Oddly enough, Dan did, for arithmetic; the only + subject studied in the Lower Fourth that interested him. He liked to see + things coming right, he explained. + </p> + <p> + My father shut himself up with me for half an hour and examined me + himself. + </p> + <p> + “It's very curious, Paul,” he said, “you seem to know a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “They asked me all the things I didn't know. They seemed to do it on + purpose,” I blurted out, and laid my head upon my arm. My father crossed + the room and sat down beside me. + </p> + <p> + “Spud!” he said—it was a long time since he had called me by that + childish nickname—“perhaps you are going to be with me, one of the + unlucky ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you unlucky?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Invariably,” answered my father, rumpling his hair. “I don't know why. I + try hard—I do the right thing, but it turns out wrong. It always + does.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought Mr. Hasluck was bringing us such good fortune,” I said, + looking up in surprise. “We're getting on, aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought so before, so often,” said my father, “and it has always + ended in a—in a collapse.” + </p> + <p> + I put my arms round his neck, for I always felt to my father as to another + boy; bigger than myself and older, but not so very much. + </p> + <p> + “You see, when I married your mother,” he went on, “I was a rich man. She + had everything she wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will get it all back,” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “I try to think so,” he answered. “I do think so—generally speaking. + But there are times—you would not understand—they come to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is happy,” I persisted; “we are all happy.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I watch her,” he said. “Women suffer more than we do. They live more in + the present. I see my hopes, but she—she sees only me, and I have + always been a failure. She has lost faith in me.” + </p> + <p> + I could say nothing. I understood but dimly. + </p> + <p> + “That is why I want you to be an educated man, Paul,” he continued after a + silence. “You can't think what a help education is to a man. I don't mean + it helps you to get on in the world; I think for that it rather hampers + you. But it helps you to bear adversity. To a man with a well-stored mind, + life is interesting on a piece of bread and a cup of tea. I know. If it + were not for you and your mother I should not trouble.” + </p> + <p> + And yet at that time our fortunes were at their brightest, so far as I + remember them; and when they were dark again he was full of fresh hope, + planning, scheming, dreaming again. It was never acting. A worse actor + never trod this stage on which we fret. His occasional attempts at a + cheerfulness he did not feel inevitably resulted in our all three crying + in one another's arms. No; it was only when things were going well that + experience came to his injury. Child of misfortune, he ever rose, + Antaeus-like, renewed in strength from contact with his mother. + </p> + <p> + Nor must it be understood that his despondent moods, even in time of + prosperity, were oft recurring. Generally speaking, as he himself said, he + was full of confidence. Already had he fixed upon our new house in + Guilford Street, then still a good residential quarter; while at the same + time, as he would explain to my mother, sufficiently central for office + purposes, close as it was to Lincoln and Grey's Inn and Bedford Row, + pavements long worn with the weary footsteps of the Law's sad courtiers. + </p> + <p> + “Poplar,” said my father, “has disappointed me. It seemed a good idea—a + rapidly rising district, singularly destitute of solicitors. It ought to + have turned out well, and yet somehow it hasn't.” + </p> + <p> + “There have been a few come,” my mother reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “Of a sort,” admitted my father; “a criminal lawyer might gather something + of a practice here, I have no doubt. But for general work, of course, you + must be in a central position. Now, in Guilford Street people will come to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “It should certainly be a pleasanter neighbourhood to live in,” agreed my + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Later on,” said my father, “in case I want the whole house for offices, + we could live ourselves in Regent's Park. It is quite near to the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you have consulted Mr. Hasluck?” asked my mother, who of the + two was by far the more practical. + </p> + <p> + “For Hasluck,” replied my father, “it will be much more convenient. He + grumbles every time at the distance.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been quite able to understand,” said my mother, “why Mr. + Hasluck should have come so far out of his way. There must surely be + plenty of solicitors in the City.” + </p> + <p> + “He had heard of me,” explained my father. “A curious old fellow—likes + his own way of doing things. It's not everyone who would care for him as a + client. But I seem able to manage him.” + </p> + <p> + Often we would go together, my father and I, to Guilford Street. It was a + large corner house that had taken his fancy, half creeper covered, with a + balcony, and pleasantly situated, overlooking the gardens of the Foundling + Hospital. The wizened old caretaker knew us well, and having opened the + door, would leave us to wander through the empty, echoing rooms at our own + will. We furnished them handsomely in later Queen Anne style, of which my + father was a connoisseur, sparing no necessary expense; for, as my father + observed, good furniture is always worth its price, while to buy cheap is + pure waste of money. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said my father, on the second floor, stepping from the bedroom + into the smaller room adjoining, “I shall make your mother's boudoir. We + will have the walls in lavender and maple green—she is fond of soft + tones—and the window looks out upon the gardens. There we will put + her writing-table.” + </p> + <p> + My own bedroom was on the third floor, a sunny little room. + </p> + <p> + “You will be quiet here,” said my father, “and we can shut out the bed and + the washstand with a screen.” + </p> + <p> + Later, I came to occupy it; though its rent—eight and sixpence a + week, including attendance—was somewhat more than at the time I + ought to have afforded. Nevertheless, I adventured it, taking the + opportunity of being an inmate of the house to refurnish it, unknown to my + stout landlady, in later Queen Anne style, putting a neat brass plate with + my father's name upon the door. “Luke Kelver, Solicitor. Office hours, 10 + till 4.” A medical student thought he occupied my mother's boudoir. He was + a dull dog, full of tiresome talk. But I made acquaintanceship with him; + and often of an evening would smoke my pipe there in silence while + pretending to be listening to his monotonous brag. + </p> + <p> + The poor thing! he had no idea that he was only a foolish ghost; that his + walls, seemingly covered with coarse-coloured prints of wooden-looking + horses, simpering ballet girls and petrified prize-fighters, were in + reality a delicate tone of lavender and maple green; that at her + writing-table in the sunlit window sat my mother, her soft curls + curtaining her quiet face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE + LOVE-LIT EYES. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing missing,” said my mother, “so far as I can find out. + Depend upon it, that's the explanation: she has got frightened and has run + away. + </p> + <p> + “But what was there to frighten her?” said my father, pausing with a + decanter in one hand and the bottle in the other. + </p> + <p> + “It was the idea of the thing,” replied my mother. “She has never been + used to waiting at table. She was actually crying about it only last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “But what's to be done?” said my father. “They will be here in less than + an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “There will be no dinner for them,” said my mother, “unless I put on an + apron and bring it up myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does she live?” asked my father. + </p> + <p> + “At Ilford,” answered my mother. + </p> + <p> + “We must make a joke of it,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + My mother, sitting down, began to cry. It had been a trying week for my + mother. A party to dinner—to a real dinner, beginning with anchovies + and ending with ices from the confectioner's; if only they would remain + ices and not, giving way to unaccustomed influences, present themselves as + cold custard—was an extraordinary departure from the even tenor of + our narrow domestic way; indeed, I recollect none previous. First there + had been the house to clean and rearrange almost from top to bottom; + endless small purchases to be made of articles that Need never misses, but + which Ostentation, if ever you let her sneering nose inside the door, at + once demands. Then the kitchen range—it goes without saying: one + might imagine them all members of a stove union, controlled by some + agitating old boiler out of work—had taken the opportunity to + strike, refusing to bake another dish except under permanently improved + conditions, necessitating weary days with plumbers. Fat cookery books, + long neglected on their shelf, had been consulted, argued with and abused; + experiments made, failures sighed over, successes noted; cost calculated + anxiously; means and ways adjusted, hope finally achieved, shadowed by + fear. + </p> + <p> + And now with victory practically won, to have the reward thus dashed from + her hand at the last moment! Downstairs in the kitchen would be the + dinner, waiting for the guests; upstairs round the glittering table would + be the assembled guests, waiting for their dinner. But between the two + yawned an impassable gulf. The bridge, without a word of warning, had + bolted—was probably by this time well on its way to Ilford. There + was excuse for my mother's tears. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it possible to get somebody else?” asked my father. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, in the time,” said my mother. “I had been training her for + the whole week. We had rehearsed it perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Have it in the kitchen,” suggested my aunt, who was folding napkins to + look like ships, which they didn't in the least, “and call it a picnic.” + Really it seemed the only practical solution. + </p> + <p> + There came a light knock at the front door. + </p> + <p> + “It can't be anybody yet, surely,” exclaimed my father in alarm, making + for his coat. + </p> + <p> + “It's Barbara, I expect,” explained my mother. “She promised to come round + and help me dress. But now, of course, I shan't want her.” My mother's + nature was pessimistic. + </p> + <p> + But with the words Barbara ran into the room, for I had taken it upon + myself to admit her, knowing that shadows slipped out through the window + when Barbara came in at the door—in those days, I mean. + </p> + <p> + She kissed them all three, though it seemed but one movement, she was so + quick. And at once they saw the humour of the thing. + </p> + <p> + “There's going to be no dinner,” laughed my father. “We are going to look + surprised and pretend that it was yesterday. It will be fun to see their + faces.” + </p> + <p> + “There will be a very nice dinner,” smiled my mother, “but it will be in + the kitchen, and there's no way of getting it upstairs.” And they + explained to her the situation. + </p> + <p> + She stood for an instant, her sweet face the gravest in the group. Then a + light broke upon it. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get you someone,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you don't even know the neighbourhood,” began my mother. But + Barbara had snatched the latchkey from its nail and was gone. + </p> + <p> + With her disappearance, shadow fell again upon us. “If there were only an + hotel in this beastly neighbourhood,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “You must entertain them by yourself, Luke,” said my mother; “and I must + wait—that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be absurd, Maggie,” cried my father, getting angry. “Can't cook + bring it in?” + </p> + <p> + “No one can cook a dinner and serve it, too,” answered my mother, + impatiently. “Besides, she's not presentable.” + </p> + <p> + “What about Fan?” whispered my father. + </p> + <p> + My mother merely looked. It was sufficient. + </p> + <p> + “Paul?” suggested my father. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” retorted my mother. “I don't choose to have my son turned + into a footman, if you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hadn't you better go and dress?” was my father's next remark. + </p> + <p> + “It won't take me long to put on an apron,” was my mother's reply. + </p> + <p> + “I was looking forward to seeing you in that new frock,” said my father. + In the case of another, one might have attributed such a speech to tact; + in the case of my father, one felt it was a happy accident. + </p> + <p> + My mother confessed—speaking with a certain indulgence, as one does + of one's own follies when past—that she herself also had looked + forward to seeing herself therein. Threatening discord melted into mutual + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “I so wanted everything to be all right, for your sake, Luke,” said my + mother; “I know you were hoping it would help on the business.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only thinking of you, Maggie, dear,” answered my father. “You are + my business.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, dear,” said my mother. “It is hard.” + </p> + <p> + The key turned in the lock, and we all stood quiet to listen. + </p> + <p> + “She's come back alone,” said my mother. “I knew it was hopeless.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened. + </p> + <p> + “Please, ma'am,” said the new parlour-maid, “will I do?” + </p> + <p> + She stood there, framed by the lintel, in the daintiest of aprons, the + daintiest of caps upon her golden hair; and every objection she swept + aside with the wind of her merry wilfulness. No one ever had their way + with her, nor wanted it. + </p> + <p> + “You shall be footman,” she ordered, turning to me—but this time my + mother only laughed. “Wait here till I come down again.” Then to my + mother: “Now, ma'am, are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time I had seen my mother, or, indeed, any other flesh + and blood woman, in evening dress, and to tell the truth I was a little + shocked. Nay, more than a little, and showed it, I suppose; for my mother + flushed and drew her shawl over the gleaming whiteness of her shoulders, + pleading coldness. But Barbara cried out against this, saying it was a sin + such beauty should be hid; and my father, filching a shawl with a quick + hand, so dextrously indeed as to suggest some previous practice in the + feat, dropped on one knee—as though the world were some sweet + picture book—and raised my mother's hand with grave reverence to his + lips; and Barbara, standing behind my mother's chair, insisted on my + following suit, saying the Queen was receiving. So I knelt also, glancing + up shyly as towards the gracious face of some fair lady hitherto unknown, + thus Catching my first glimpse of the philosophy of clothes. + </p> + <p> + My memory lingers upon this scene by contrast with the sad, changed days + that swiftly followed, when my mother's eyes would flash towards my father + angry gleams, and her voice ring cruel and hard; though the moment he was + gone her lips would tremble and her eyes grow soft again and fill with + tears; when my father would sit with averted face and sullen lips tight + pressed, or worse, would open them only to pour forth a rapid flood of + savage speech; and fling out of the room, slamming the door behind him, + and I would find him hours afterwards, sitting alone in the dark, with + bowed head between his hands. + </p> + <p> + Wretched, I would lie awake, hearing through the flimsy walls their + passionate tones, now rising high, now fiercely forced into cold whispers; + and then their words to each other sounded even crueller. + </p> + <p> + In their estrangement from each other, so new to them, both clung closer + to me, though they would tell me nothing, nor should I have understood if + they had. When my mother was sobbing softly, her arms clasping me tighter + and tighter with each quivering throb, then I hated my father, who I felt + had inflicted this sorrow upon her. Yet when my father drew me down upon + his knee, and I looked into his kind eyes so full of pain, then I felt + angry with my mother, remembering her bitter tongue. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me as though some cruel, unseen thing had crept into the + house to stand ever between them, so that they might never look into each + other's loving eyes but only into the eyes of this evil shadow. The idea + grew upon me until at times I could almost detect its outline in the air, + feel a chillness as it passed me. It trod silently through the pokey + rooms, always alert to thrust its grinning face before them. Now beside my + mother it would whisper in her ear; and the next moment, stealing across + to my father, answer for him with his voice, but strangely different. I + used to think I could hear it laughing to itself as it stepped back into + enfolding space. + </p> + <p> + To this day I seem to see it, ever following with noiseless footsteps man + and woman, waiting patiently its opportunity to thrust its face between + them. So that I can read no love tale, but, glancing round, I see its + mocking eyes behind my shoulder, reading also, with a silent laugh. So + that never can I meet with boy and girl, whispering in the twilight, but I + see it lurking amid the half lights, just behind them, creeping after them + with stealthy tread, as hand in hand they pass me in quiet ways. + </p> + <p> + Shall any of us escape, or lies the road of all through this dark valley + of the shadow of dead love? Is it Love's ordeal? testing the + feeble-hearted from the strong in faith, who shall find each other yet + again, the darkness passed? + </p> + <p> + Of the dinner itself, until time of dessert, I can give no consecutive + account, for as footman, under the orders of this enthusiastic + parlour-maid, my place was no sinecure, and but few opportunities of + observation through the crack of the door were afforded me. All that was + clear to me was that the chief guest was a Mr. Teidelmann—or + Tiedelmann, I cannot now remember which—a snuffy, mumbling old + frump, with whose name then, however, I was familiar by reason of seeing + it so often in huge letters, though with a Co. added, on dreary long blank + walls, bordering the Limehouse reach. He sat at my mother's right hand; + and I wondered, noticing him so ugly and so foolish seeming, how she could + be so interested in him, shouting much and often to him; for added to his + other disattractions he was very deaf, which necessitated his putting his + hand up to his ear at every other observation made to him, crying + querulously: “Eh, what? What are you talking about? Say it again,”—smiling + upon him and paying close attention to his every want. Even old Hasluck, + opposite to him, and who, though pleasant enough in his careless way, was + far from being a slave to politeness, roared himself purple, praising some + new disinfectant of which this same Teidelmann appeared to be the + proprietor. + </p> + <p> + “My wife swears by it,” bellowed Hasluck, leaning across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Our drains!” chimed in Mrs. Hasluck, who was a homely soul; “well, you'd + hardly know there was any in the house since I've took to using it.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they talking about?” asked Teidelmann, appealing to my mother. + “What's he say his wife does?” + </p> + <p> + “Your disinfectant,” explained my mother; “Mrs. Hasluck swears by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hasluck.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she? Delighted to hear it,” grunted the old gentleman, evidently + bored. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing like it for a sick-room,” persisted Hasluck; “might almost call + it a scent.” + </p> + <p> + “Makes one quite anxious to be ill,” remarked my aunt, addressing no one + in particular. + </p> + <p> + “Reminds me of cocoanuts,” continued Hasluck. + </p> + <p> + Its proprietor appeared not to hear, but Hasluck was determined his + flattery should not be lost. + </p> + <p> + “I say it reminds me of cocoanuts.” He screamed it this time. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, does it?” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't it you?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't say it does,” answered Teidelmann. “As a matter of fact, don't know + much about it myself. Never use it.” + </p> + <p> + Old Teidelmann went on with his dinner, but Hasluck was still full of the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Take my advice,” he shouted, “and buy a bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Buy a what?” + </p> + <p> + “A bottle,” roared the other, with an effort palpably beyond his strength. + </p> + <p> + “What's he say? What's he talking about now?” asked Teidelmann, again + appealing to my mother. + </p> + <p> + “He says you ought to buy a bottle,” again explained my mother. + </p> + <p> + “What of?” + </p> + <p> + “Of your own disinfectant.” + </p> + <p> + “Silly fool!” + </p> + <p> + Whether he intended the remark to be heard and thus to close the topic + (which it did), or whether, as deaf people are apt to, merely misjudged + the audibility of an intended sotto vocalism, I cannot say. I only know + that outside in the passage I heard the words distinctly, and therefore + assume they reached round the table also. + </p> + <p> + A lull in the conversation followed, but Hasluck was not thin-skinned, and + the next thing I distinguished was his cheery laugh. + </p> + <p> + “He's quite right,” was Hasluck's comment; “that's what I am undoubtedly. + Because I can't talk about anything but shop myself, I think everybody + else is the same sort of fool.” + </p> + <p> + But he was doing himself an injustice, for on my next arrival in the + passage he was again shouting across the table, and this time Teidelmann + was evidently interested. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you could spare the time, I'd be more obliged than I can tell + you,” Hasluck was saying. “I know absolutely nothing about pictures + myself, and Pearsall says you are one of the best judges in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to know,” chuckled old Teidelmann. “He's tried often enough to + palm off rubbish onto me.” + </p> + <p> + “That last purchase of yours must have been a good thing for young—” + Hasluck mentioned the name of a painter since world famous; “been the + making of him, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + “I gave him two thousand for the six,” replied Teidelmann, “and they'll + sell for twenty thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll never sell them?” exclaimed my father. + </p> + <p> + “No,” grunted old Teidelmann, “but my widow will.” There came a soft, low + laugh from a corner of the table I could not see. + </p> + <p> + “It's Anderson's great disappointment,” followed a languid, caressing + voice (the musical laugh translated into prose, it seemed), “that he has + never been able to educate me to a proper appreciation of art. He'll pay + thousands of pounds for a child in rags or a badly dressed Madonna. Such a + waste of money, it appears to me.” + </p> + <p> + “But you would pay thousands for a diamond to hang upon your neck,” argued + my father's voice. + </p> + <p> + “It would enhance the beauty of my neck,” replied the musical voice. + </p> + <p> + “An even more absolute waste of money,” was my father's answer, spoken + low. And I heard again the musical, soft laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” I asked Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “The second Mrs. Teidelmann,” whispered Barbara. “She is quite a swell. + Married him for his money—I don't like her myself, but she's very + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “As beautiful as you?” I asked incredulously. We were sitting on the + stairs, sharing a jelly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, me!” answered Barbara. “I'm only a child. Nobody takes any notice of + me—except other kids, like you.” For some reason she appeared out of + conceit with herself, which was not her usual state of mind. + </p> + <p> + “But everybody thinks you beautiful,” I maintained. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” she asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Hal,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + We were with our backs to the light, so that I could not see her face. + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” she asked, and her voice had more of contentment in it. + </p> + <p> + I could not remember his exact words, but about the sense of them I was + positive. + </p> + <p> + “Ask him what he thinks of me, as if you wanted to know yourself,” Barbara + instructed me, “and don't forget what he says this time. I'm curious.” And + though it seemed to me a foolish command—for what could he say of + her more than I myself could tell her—I never questioned Barbara's + wishes. + </p> + <p> + Yet if I am right in thinking that jealousy of Mrs. Teidelmann may have + clouded for a moment Barbara's sunny nature, surely there was no reason + for this, seeing that no one attracted greater attention throughout the + dinner than the parlour-maid. + </p> + <p> + “Where ever did you get her from?” asked Mrs. Florret, Barbara having just + descended the kitchen stairs. + </p> + <p> + “A neat-handed Phillis,” commented Dr. Florret with approval. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take good care she never waits at my table,” laughed the wife of our + minister, the Rev. Cottle, a broad-built, breezy-voiced woman, mother of + eleven, eight of them boys. + </p> + <p> + “To tell the truth,” said my mother, “she's only here temporarily.” + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact,” said my father, “we have to thank Mrs. Hasluck for + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't leave me out of it,” laughed Hasluck; “can't let the old girl take + all the credit.” + </p> + <p> + Later my father absent-mindedly addressed her as “My dear,” at which Mrs. + Cottle shot a swift glance towards my mother; and before that incident + could have been forgotten, Hasluck, when no one was looking, pinched her + elbow, which would not have mattered had not the unexpectedness of it + drawn from her an involuntary “augh,” upon which, for the reputation of + the house, and the dinner being then towards its end; my mother deemed it + better to take the whole company into her confidence. Naturally the story + gained for Barbara still greater admiration, so that when with the + dessert, discarding the apron but still wearing the dainty cap, which + showed wisdom, she and the footman took their places among the guests, she + was even more than before the centre of attention and remark. + </p> + <p> + “It was very nice of you,” said Mrs. Cottle, thus completing the circle of + compliments, “and, as I always tell my girls, that is better than being + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Kind hearts,” added Dr. Florret, summing up the case, “are more than + coronets.” Dr. Florret had ever ready for the occasion the correct + quotation, but from him, somehow, it never irritated; rather it fell upon + the ear as a necessary rounding and completing of the theme; like the Amen + in church. + </p> + <p> + Only to my aunt would further observations have occurred. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a girl,” said my aunt, breaking suddenly upon the passing + silence, “I used to look into the glass and say to myself: 'Fanny, you've + got to be amiable,' and I was amiable,” added my aunt, challenging + contradiction with a look; “nobody can say that I wasn't, for years.” + </p> + <p> + “It didn't pay?” suggested Hasluck. + </p> + <p> + “It attracted,” replied my aunt, “no attention whatever.” + </p> + <p> + Hasluck had changed places with my mother, and having after many + experiments learned the correct pitch for conversation with old + Teidelmann, talked with him as much aside as the circumstances of the case + would permit. Hasluck never wasted time on anything else than business. It + was in his opera box on the first night of Verdi's Aida (I am speaking of + course of days then to come) that he arranged the details of his + celebrated deal in guano; and even his very religion, so I have been told + and can believe, he varied to suit the enterprise of the moment, once + during the protracted preliminaries of a cocoa scheme becoming converted + to Quakerism. + </p> + <p> + But for the most of us interest lay in a discussion between Washburn and + Florret concerning the superior advantages attaching to residence in the + East End. + </p> + <p> + As a rule, incorrect opinion found itself unable to exist in Dr. Florret's + presence. As no bird, it is said, can continue its song once looked at by + an owl, so all originality grew silent under the cold stare of his + disapproving eye. But Dr. “Fighting Hal” was no gentle warbler of thought. + Vehement, direct, indifferent, he swept through all polite argument as a + strong wind through a murmuring wood, carrying his partisans with him + further than they meant to go, and quite unable to turn back; leaving his + opponents clinging desperately—upside down, anyhow—to their + perches, angry, their feathers much ruffled. + </p> + <p> + “Life!” flung out Washburn—Dr. Florret had just laid down + unimpeachable rules for the conduct of all mankind on all occasions—“what + do you respectable folk know of life? You are not men and women, you are + marionettes. You don't move to your natural emotions implanted by God; you + dance according to the latest book of etiquette. You live and love, laugh + and weep and sin by rule. Only one moment do you come face to face with + life; that is in the moment when you die, leaving the other puppets to be + dressed in black and make believe to cry.” + </p> + <p> + It was a favourite subject of denunciation with him, the artificiality of + us all. + </p> + <p> + “Little doll,” he had once called me, and I had resented the term. + </p> + <p> + “That's all you are, little Paul,” he had persisted, “a good little + hard-working doll, that does what it's made to do, and thinks what it's + made to think. We are all dolls. Your father is a gallant-hearted, + soft-headed little doll; your mother the sweetest and primmest of dolls. + And I'm a silly, dissatisfied doll that longs to be a man, but hasn't the + pluck. We are only dolls, little Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a trifle—a trifle whimsical on some subjects,” explained my + father, on my repeating this conversation. + </p> + <p> + “There are a certain class of men,” explained my mother—“you will + meet with them more as you grow up—who talk for talking's sake. They + don't know what they mean. And nobody else does either.” + </p> + <p> + “But what would you have?” argued Dr. Florret, “that every man should do + that which is right in his own eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “Far better than, like the old man in the fable, he should do what every + other fool thinks right,” retorted Washburn. “The other day I called to + see whether a patient of mine was still alive or not. His wife was washing + clothes in the front room. 'How's your husband?' I asked. 'I think he's + dead,' replied the woman. Then, without leaving off her work, 'Jim,' she + shouted, 'are you there?' No answer came from the inner room. 'He's a + goner,' she said, wringing out a stocking.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” said Dr. Florret, “you don't admire a woman for being + indifferent to the death of her husband?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't admire her for that,” replied Washburn, “and I don't blame her. I + didn't make the world and I'm not responsible for it. What I do admire her + for is not pretending a grief she didn't feel. In Berkeley Square she'd + have met me at the door with an agonised face and a handkerchief to her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Assume a virtue, if you have it not,” murmured Dr. Florret. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Washburn. “How does it run? 'That monster, custom, who all + sense doth eat, of devil's habit, is angel yet in this, that to the use of + actions fair and good he gives a frock that aptly is put on.' So was the + lion's skin by the ass, but it showed him only the more an ass. Here asses + go about as asses, but there are lions also. I had a woman under my hands + only a little while ago. I could have cured her easily. Why she got worse + every day instead of better I could not understand. Then by accident + learned the truth: instead of helping me she was doing all she could to + kill herself. 'I must, Doctor,' she cried. 'I must. I have promised. If I + get well he will only leave me, and if I die now he has sworn to be good + to the children.' Here, I tell you, they live—think their thoughts, + work their will, kill those they hate, die for those they love; savages if + you like, but savage men and women, not bloodless dolls.” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer the dolls,” concluded Dr. Florret. + </p> + <p> + “I admit they are pretty,” answered Washburn. + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” said my father, “the first masked ball I ever went to when I + was a student in Paris. It struck me just as you say, Hal; everybody was + so exactly alike. I was glad to get out into the street and see faces.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought they always unmasked at midnight,” said the second Mrs. + Teidelmann in her soft, languid tones. + </p> + <p> + “I did not wait,” explained my father. + </p> + <p> + “That was a pity,” she replied. “I should have been interested to see what + they were like, underneath.” + </p> + <p> + “I might have been disappointed,” answered my father. “I agree with Dr. + Florret that sometimes the mask is an improvement.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara was right. She was a beautiful woman, with a face that would have + been singularly winning if one could have avoided the hard cold eyes ever + restless behind the half-closed lids. + </p> + <p> + Always she was very kind to me. Moreover, since the disappearance of Cissy + she was the first to bestow again upon me a good opinion of my small self. + My mother praised me when I was good, which to her was the one thing + needful; but few of us, I fear, child or grown-up, take much pride in our + solid virtues, finding them generally hindrances to our desires: like the + oyster's pearl, of more comfort to the world than to ourselves. If others + there were who admired me, very guardedly must they have kept the secret I + would so gladly have shared with them. But this new friend of ours—or + had I not better at once say enemy—made me feel when in her presence + a person of importance. How it was accomplished I cannot explain. No word + of flattery nor even of mere approval ever passed her lips. Her charm to + me was not that she admired me, but that she led me by some mysterious + process to admire myself. + </p> + <p> + And yet in spite of this and many lesser kindnesses she showed to me, I + never really liked her; but rather feared her, dreading always the sudden + raising of those ever half-closed eyelids. + </p> + <p> + She sat next to my father at the corner of the table, her chin resting on + her long white hands, her sweet lips parted, and as often as his eyes were + turned away from her, her soft low voice would draw them back again. Once + she laid her hand on his, laughing the while at some light jest of his, + and I saw that he flushed; and following his quick glance, saw that my + mother's eyes were watching also. + </p> + <p> + I have spoken of my father only as he then appeared to me, a child—an + older chum with many lines about his mobile mouth, the tumbled hair edged + round with grey; but looking back with older eyes, I see him a slightly + stooping, yet still tall and graceful man, with the face of a poet—the + face I mean a poet ought to possess but rarely does, nature apparently + abhorring the obvious—with the shy eyes of a boy, and a voice tender + as a woman's. Never the dingiest little drab that entered the kitchen but + adored him, speaking always of “the master” in tones of fond + proprietorship, for to the most slatternly his “orders” had ever the air + of requests for favours. Women, I so often read, can care for only + masterful men. But may there not be variety in women as in other species? + Or perhaps—if the suggestion be not over-daring—the many + writers, deeming themselves authorities upon this subject of woman, may in + this one particular have erred? I only know my father spoke to few women + whose eyes did not brighten. Yet hardly should I call him a masterful man. + </p> + <p> + “I think it's all right,” whispered Hasluck to my father in the passage—they + were the last to go. “What does she think of it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she'll be with us,” answered my father. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing like food for bringing people together,” said Hasluck. + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + The door closed, but Something had crept into the house. It stood between + my father and mother. It followed them silently up the narrow creaking + stairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <h3> + OF THE PASSING OF THE SHADOW. + </h3> + <p> + Better is little, than treasure and trouble therewith. Better a dinner of + herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith. None but a + great man would have dared to utter such a glaring commonplace as that. + Not only on Sundays now, but all the week, came the hot joint to table, + and on every day there was pudding, till a body grew indifferent to + pudding; thus a joy-giving luxury of life being lost and but another item + added to the long list of uninteresting needs. Now we could eat and drink + without stint. No need now to organise for the morrow's hash. No need now + to cut one's bread instead of breaking it, thinking of Saturday's bread + pudding. But there the saying fails, for never now were we merry. A silent + unseen guest sat with us at the board, so that no longer we laughed and + teased as over the half pound of sausages or the two sweet-scented + herrings; but talked constrainedly of empty things that lay outside us. + </p> + <p> + Easy enough would it have been for us to move to Guilford Street. + Occasionally in the spiritless tones in which they now spoke on all + subjects save the one, my mother and father would discuss the project; but + always into the conversation would fall, sooner or later, some loosened + thought to stir it to anger, and so the aching months went by, and the + cloud grew. + </p> + <p> + Then one day the news came that old Teidelmann had died suddenly in his + counting house. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to her?” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “I have been sent for,” said my father; “I must—it may mean + business.” + </p> + <p> + My mother laughed bitterly; why, at the time, I could not understand; and + my father flung out of the house. During the many hours that he was away + my mother remained locked in her room, and, stealing sometimes to the + door, I was sure I heard her crying; and that she should grieve so at old + Teidelmann's death puzzled me. + </p> + <p> + She came oftener to our house after that. Her mourning added, I think, to + her beauty, softening—or seeming to soften—the hardness of her + eyes. Always she was very sweet to my mother, who by contrast beside her + appeared witless and ungracious; and to me, whatever her motive, she was + kindness itself; hardly ever arriving without some trifling gift or plan + for affording me some childish treat. By instinct she understood exactly + what I desired and liked, the books that would appeal to me as those my + mother gave me never did, the pleasures that did please me as opposed to + the pleasures that should have pleased me. Often my mother, talking to me, + would chill me with the vista of the life that lay before me: a narrow, + viewless way between twin endless walls of “Must” and “Must not.” This + soft-voiced lady set me dreaming of life as of sunny fields through which + one wandered laughing, along the winding path of Will; so that, although + as I have said, there lurked at the bottom of my thoughts a fear of her; + yet something within me I seemed unable to control went out to her, drawn + by her subtle sympathy and understanding of it. + </p> + <p> + “Has he ever seen a pantomime?” she asked of my father one morning, + looking at me the while with a whimsical screwing of her mouth. + </p> + <p> + My heart leaped within me. My father raised his eyebrows: “What would your + mother say, do you think?” he asked. My heart sank. + </p> + <p> + “She thinks,” I replied, “that theatres are very wicked places.” It was + the first time that any doubt as to the correctness of my mother's + judgments had ever crossed my mind. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Teidelmann's smile strengthened my doubt. “Dear me,” she said, “I am + afraid I must be very wicked. I have always regarded a pantomime as quite + a moral entertainment. All the bad people go down so very straight to—well, + to the fit and proper place for them. And we could promise to leave before + the Clown stole the sausages, couldn't we, Paul?” + </p> + <p> + My mother was called and came; and I could not help thinking how + insignificant she looked with her pale face and plain dark frock, standing + stiffly beside this shining lady in her rustling clothes. + </p> + <p> + “You will let him come, Mrs. Kelver,” she pleaded in her soft caressing + tones; “it's Dick Whittington, you know—such an excellent moral.” + </p> + <p> + My mother had stood silent, clasping and unclasping her hands, a childish + trick she had when troubled; and her lips were trembling. Important as the + matter loomed before my own eyes, I wondered at her agitation. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” said my mother, “it is very kind of you. But I would + rather he did not go.” + </p> + <p> + “Just this once,” persisted Mrs. Teidelmann. “It is holiday time.” + </p> + <p> + A ray of sunlight fell into the room, lighting upon her coaxing face, + making where my mother stood seem shadow. + </p> + <p> + “I would rather he did not go,” repeated my mother, and her voice sounded + harsh and grating. “When he is older others must judge for him, but for + the present he must be guided by me—alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I really don't think there could be any harm, Maggie,” urged my father. + “Things have changed since we were young.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be,” answered my mother, still in the same harsh voice; “it is + long ago since then.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't intend it that way,” said my father with a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I merely meant that I may be wrong,” answered my mother. “I seem so old + among you all—so out of place. I have tried to change, but I + cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “We will say no more about it,” said Mrs. Teidelmann, sweetly. “I merely + thought it would give him pleasure; and he has worked so hard this last + term, his father tells me.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand caressingly on my shoulder, drawing me a little closer + to her; and it remained there. + </p> + <p> + “It was very kind of you,” said my mother, “I would do anything to give + him pleasure, anything—I could. He knows that. He understands.” + </p> + <p> + My mother's hand, I knew, was seeking mine, but I was angry and would not + see; and without another word she left the room. + </p> + <p> + My mother did not allude again to the subject; but the very next afternoon + she took me herself to a hall in the neighbourhood, where we saw a + magic-lantern, followed by a conjurer. She had dressed herself in a + prettier frock than she had worn for many a long day, and was brighter and + gayer in herself than had lately been her wont, laughing and talking + merrily. But I, nursing my wrongs, remained moody and sulky. At any other + time such rare amusement would have overjoyed me; but the wonders of the + great theatre that from other boys I had heard so much of, that from + gaudy-coloured posters I had built up for myself, were floating vague and + undefined before me in the air; and neither the open-mouthed sleeper, + swallowing his endless chain of rats; nor even the live rabbit found in + the stout old gentleman's hat—the last sort of person in whose hat + one would have expected to find such a thing—could draw away my mind + from the joy I had caught a glimpse of only to lose. + </p> + <p> + So we walked home through the muddy, darkening streets, speaking but + little; and that night, waking—or rather half waking, as children do—I + thought I saw a figure in white crouching at the foot of my bed. I must + have gone to sleep again; and later, though I cannot say whether the + intervening time was short or long, I opened my eyes to see it still + there; and frightened, I cried out; and my mother rose from her knees. + </p> + <p> + She laughed, a curious broken laugh, in answer to my questions. “It was a + silly dream I had,” she explained “I must have been thinking of the + conjurer we saw. I dreamt that a wicked Magician had spirited you away + from me. I could not find you and was all alone in the world.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms around me, so tight as almost to hurt me. And thus we + remained until again I must have fallen asleep. + </p> + <p> + It was towards the close of these same holidays that my mother and I + called upon Mrs. Teidelmann in her great stone-built house at Clapton. She + had sent a note round that morning, saying she was suffering from terrible + headaches that quite took her senses away, so that she was unable to come + out. She would be leaving England in a few days to travel. Would my mother + come and see her, she would like to say good-bye to her before she went. + My mother handed the letter across the table to my father. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will go,” said my father. “Poor girl, I wonder what the + cause can be. She used to be so free from everything of the kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it well for me to go?” said my mother. “What can she have to + say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just to say good-bye,” answered my father. “It would look so pointed + not to go.” + </p> + <p> + It was a dull, sombre house without, but one entered through its + commonplace door as through the weed-grown rock into Aladdin's cave. Old + Teidelmann had been a great collector all his life, and his treasures, now + scattered through a dozen galleries, were then heaped there in curious + confusion. Pictures filled every inch of wall, stood propped against the + wonderful old furniture, were even stretched unframed across the ceilings. + Statues gleamed from every corner (a few of the statues were, I remember, + the only things out of the entire collection that Mrs. Teidelmann kept for + herself), carvings, embroideries, priceless china, miniatures framed in + gems, illuminated missals and gorgeously bound books crowded the room. The + ugly little thick-lipped man had surrounded himself with the beauty of + every age, brought from every land. He himself must have been the only + thing cheap and uninteresting to be found within his own walls; and now he + lay shrivelled up in his coffin, under a monument by means of which an + unknown cemetery became quite famous. + </p> + <p> + Instructions had been given that my mother was to be shown up into Mrs. + Teidelmann's boudoir. She was lying on a sofa near the fire when we + entered, asleep, dressed in a loose lace robe that fell away, showing her + thin but snow-white arms, her rich dark hair falling loose about her. In + sleep she looked less beautiful: harder and with a suggestion of + coarseness about the face, of which at other times it showed no trace. My + mother said she would wait, perhaps Mrs. Teidelmann would awake; and the + servant, closing the door softly, left us alone with her. + </p> + <p> + An old French clock standing on the mantelpiece, a heart supported by + Cupids, ticked with a muffled, soothing sound. My mother, choosing a chair + by the window, sat with her eyes fixed on the sleeping woman's face, and + it seemed to me—though this may have been but my fancy born of + after-thought—that a faint smile relaxed for a moment the sleeping + woman's pained, pressed lips. Neither I nor my mother spoke, the only + sound in the room being the hushed ticking of the great gilt clock. Until + the other woman after a few slight movements of unrest began to talk in + her sleep. + </p> + <p> + Only confused murmurs escaped her at first, and then I heard her whisper + my father's name. Very low—hardly more than breathed—were the + words, but upon the silence each syllable struck clear and distinct: “Ah + no, we must not. Luke, my darling.” + </p> + <p> + My mother rose swiftly from her chair, but she spoke in quite + matter-of-fact tones. + </p> + <p> + “Go, Paul,” she said, “wait for me downstairs;” and noiselessly opening + the door, she pushed me gently out, and closed it again behind me. + </p> + <p> + It was half an hour or more before she came down, and at once we left the + house, letting ourselves out. All the way home my mother never once spoke, + but walked as one in a dream with eyes that saw not. With her hand upon + the lock of our gate she came back to life. + </p> + <p> + “You must say nothing, Paul, do you understand?” she said. “When people + are delirious they use strange words that have no meaning. Do you + understand, Paul; you must never breathe a word—never.” + </p> + <p> + I promised, and we entered the house; and from that day my mother's whole + manner changed. Not another angry word ever again escaped her lips, never + an angry flash lighted up again her eyes. Mrs. Teidelmann remained away + three months. My father, of course, wrote to her often, for he was + managing all her affairs. But my mother wrote to her also—though + this my father, I do not think, knew—long letters that she would go + away by herself to pen, writing them always in the twilight, close to the + window. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you choose this time, just when it's getting dark, to write your + letters,” my father would expostulate, when by chance he happened to look + into the room. “Let me ring for the lamp, you will strain your eyes.” But + my mother would always excuse herself, saying she had only a few lines to + finish. + </p> + <p> + “I can think better in this light,” she would explain. + </p> + <p> + And when Mrs. Teidelmann returned, it was my mother who was the first to + call upon her; before even my father knew that she was back. And from + thence onward one might have thought them the closest of friends, my + mother visiting her often, speaking of her to all in terms of praise and + liking. + </p> + <p> + In this way peace returned unto the house, and my father was tender again + in all his words and actions towards my mother, and my mother thoughtful + as before of all his wants and whims, her voice soft and low, the sweet + smile ever lurking around her lips as in the old days before this evil + thing had come to dwell among us; and I might have forgotten it had ever + cast its blight upon our life but that every day my mother grew feebler, + the little ways that had seemed a part of her gone from her. + </p> + <p> + The summer came and went—that time in towns of panting days and + stifling nights, when through the open window crawls to one's face the hot + foul air, heavy with reeking odours drawn from a thousand streets; when + lying awake one seems to hear the fitful breathing of the myriad mass + around, as of some over-laboured beast too tired to even rest; and my + mother moved about the house ever more listlessly. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing really the matter with her,” said Dr. Hal, “only + weakness. It is the place. Cannot you get her away from it?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot leave myself,” said my father, “just yet; but there is no reason + why you and the boy should not take a holiday. This year I can afford it, + and later I might possibly join you.” + </p> + <p> + My mother consented, as she did to all things now, and so it came about + that again of afternoons we climbed—though more slowly and with many + pauses—the steep path to the ruined tower old Jacob in his happy + foolishness had built upon the headland, rested once again upon its + topmost platform, sheltered from the wind that ever blew about its + crumbling walls, saw once more the distant mountains, faint like spectres, + and the silent ships that came and vanished, and about our feet the + pleasant farm lands, and the grave, sweet river. + </p> + <p> + We had taken lodgings in the village: smaller now it seemed than + previously; but wonderful its sunny calm, after the turmoil of the fierce + dark streets. Mrs. Fursey was there still, but quite another than the Mrs. + Fursey of my remembrance, a still angular but cheery dame, bent no longer + on suppressing me, but rather on drawing me out before admiring + neighbours, as one saying: “The material was unpromising, as you know. + There were times when I almost despaired. But with patience, and—may + I say, a natural gift that way—you see what can be accomplished!” + And Anna, now a buxom wife and mother, with an uncontrollable desire to + fall upon and kiss me at most unexpected moments, necessitating a never + sleeping watchfulness on my part, and a choosing of positions affording + means of ready retreat. And old Chumbley, still cobbling shoes in his tiny + cave. On the bench before him in a row they sat and watched him while he + tapped and tapped and hammered: pert little shoes piping “Be quick, be + quick, we want to be toddling. You seem to have no idea, my good man, how + much toddling there is to be done.” Dapper boots, sighing: “Oh, please + make haste, we are waiting to dance and to strut. Jack walks in the lane, + Jill waits by the gate. Oh, deary, how slowly he taps.” Stout sober boots, + saying: “As soon as you can, old friend. Remember we've work to do.” + Flat-footed old boots, rusty and limp, mumbling: “We haven't much time, + Mr. Chumbley. Just a patch, that is all, we haven't much further to go.” + And old Joe, still peddling his pack, with the help of the same old jokes. + And Tom Pinfold, still puzzled and scratching his head, the rejected fish + still hanging by its tail from his expostulating hand; one might almost + have imagined it the same fish. Grown-up folks had changed but little. + Only the foolish children had been playing tricks; parties I had left mere + sucking babes now swaggering in pinafore or knickerbocker; children I had + known now mincing it as men and women; such affectation annoyed me. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon—it was towards the close of the last week of our stay—my + mother and I had climbed, as was so often our wont, to the upper platform + of old Jacob's tower. My mother leant upon the parapet, her eyes fixed + dreamingly upon the distant mountains, and a smile crept to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking of?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, only of things that happened over there”—she nodded her head + towards the distant hills as to some old crony with whom she shares + secrets—“when I was a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You lived there, long ago, didn't you, when you were young?” I asked. + Boys do not always stop to consider whether their questions might or might + not be better expressed. + </p> + <p> + “You're very rude,” said my mother—it was long since a tone of her + old self had rung from her in answer to any touch; “it was a very little + while ago.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she raised her head and listened. Perhaps some twenty seconds she + remained so with her lips parted, and then from the woods came a faint, + long-drawn “Coo-ee.” We ran to the side of the tower commanding the + pathway from the village, and waited until from among the dark pines my + father emerged into the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + Seeing us, he shouted again and waved his stick, and from the light of his + eyes and his gallant bearing, and the spring of his step across the + heathery turf, we knew instinctively that trouble had come upon him. He + always rose to meet it with that look and air. It was the old Norse blood + in his veins, I suppose. So, one imagines, must those godless old Pirates + have sprung to their feet when the North wind, loosed as a hawk from the + leash, struck at the beaked prow. + </p> + <p> + We heard his quick step on the rickety stair, and the next moment he was + between us, breathing a little hard, but laughing. + </p> + <p> + He stood for awhile beside my mother without speaking, both of them gazing + at the distant hills among which, as my mother had explained, things had + happened long ago. And maybe, “over there,” their memories met and looked + upon each other with kind eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” said my father, “we climbed up here—it was the + first walk we took together after coming here. We discussed our plans for + the future, how we would retrieve our fortunes.” + </p> + <p> + “And the future,” answered my mother, “has a way of making plans for us + instead.” + </p> + <p> + “It would seem so,” replied my father, with a laugh. “I am an unlucky + beggar, Maggie. I dropped all your money as well as my own down that + wretched mine.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the will—it was Fate, or whatever you call it,” said my + mother. “You could not help that, Luke.” + </p> + <p> + “If only that damned pump hadn't jambed,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that Mrs. Tharand?” asked my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, what of her?” + </p> + <p> + “A worldly woman, I always thought her. She called on me the morning we + were leaving; I don't think you saw her. 'I've been through more worries + than you would think, to look at me,' she said to me, laughing. I've + always remembered her words: 'and of all the troubles that come to us in + this world, believe me, Mrs. Kelver, money troubles are the easiest to + bear.'” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could think so,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “She rather irritated me at the time,” continued my mother. “I thought it + one of those commonplaces with which we console ourselves for other + people's misfortunes. But now I know she spoke the truth.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence between them for awhile. Then said my father in a cheery + tone: + </p> + <p> + “I've broken with old Hasluck.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would be compelled to sooner or later,” answered my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Hasluck,” exclaimed my father, with sudden vehemence, “is little better + than a thief; I told him so.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” asked my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Laughed, and said that was better than some people.” + </p> + <p> + My father laughed himself. + </p> + <p> + I wish to do the memory of Noel Hasluck no injustice. Ever was he a kind + friend to me; not only then, but in later years, when, having come to + learn that kindness is rarer in the world than I had dreamt, I was glad of + it. Added to which, if only for Barbara's sake, I would prefer to write of + him throughout in terms of praise. Yet even were his good-tempered, + thick-skinned ghost (and unless it were good-tempered and thick-skinned it + would be no true ghost of old Noel Hasluck) to be reading over my shoulder + the words as I write them down, I think it would agree with me—I do + not think it would be offended with me (for ever in his life he was an + admirer and a lover of the Truth, being one of those good fighters capable + of respecting even his foe, his enemy, against whom from ten to four, + occasionally a little later, he fought right valiantly) for saying that of + all the men who go down into the City each day in a cab or 'bus or train, + he was perhaps one of the most unprincipled: and whether that be saying + much or little I leave to those with more knowledge to decide. + </p> + <p> + To do others, as it was his conviction, right or wrong, that they would do + him if ever he gave them half a chance, was his notion of “business;” and + in most of his transactions he was successful. “I play a game,” he would + argue, “where cheating is the rule. Nine out of every ten men round the + table are sharpers like myself, and the tenth man is a fool who has no + business to be there. We prey upon each other, and the cutest of us is the + winner.” + </p> + <p> + “But the innocent people, lured by your fine promises,” I ventured once to + suggest to him, “the widows and the orphans?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lad,” he said, with a laugh, laying his fat hand upon my + shoulder, “I remember one of your widows writing me a pathetic letter + about some shares she had taken in a Silver Company of mine. Lord knows + where the mine is now—somewhere in Spain, I think. It looked as + though all her savings were gone. She had an only son, and it was nearly + all they possessed in the world, etc., etc.—you know the sort of + thing. Well, I did what I've often been numskull enough to do in similar + cases, wrote and offered to buy her out at par. A week later she answered, + thanking me, but saying it did not matter. There had occurred a momentary + rise, and she had sold out at a profit—to her own brother-in-law, as + I discovered, happening to come across the transfers. You can find widows + and orphans round the Monte Carlo card tables, if you like to look for + them; they are no more deserving of consideration than the rest of the + crowd. Besides, if it comes to that, I'm an orphan myself;” and he laughed + again, one of his deep, hearty, honest laughs. No one ever possessed a + laugh more suggestive in its every cadence of simple, transparent honesty. + He used to say himself it was worth thousands to him. + </p> + <p> + Better from the Moralists' point of view had such a man been an + out-and-out rogue. Then might one have pointed, crying: “Behold: + Dishonesty, as you will observe in the person of our awful example, to be + hated, needs but to be seen.” But the duty of the Chronicler is to bear + witness to what he knows, leaving Truth with the whole case before her to + sum up and direct the verdict. In the City, old Hasluck had a bad + reputation and deserved it; in Stoke-Newington—then a green suburb, + containing many fine old houses, standing in great wooded gardens—he + was loved and respected. In his business, he was a man void of all moral + sense, without bowels of compassion for any living thing; in retirement, a + man with a strong sense of duty and a fine regard for the rights and + feelings of others, never happier than when planning to help or give + pleasure. In his office, he would have robbed his own mother. At home, he + would have spent his last penny to add to her happiness or comfort. I make + no attempt to explain. I only know that such men do exist, and that + Hasluck was one of them. One avoids difficulties by dismissing them as a + product of our curiously complex civilisation—a convenient phrase; + let us hope the recording angel may be equally impressed by it. + </p> + <p> + Casting about for some reason of excuse to myself for my liking of him, I + hit upon the expedient of regarding him as a modern Robin Hood, whom we + are taught to admire without shame, a Robin Hood up to date, adapted to + the changed conditions of modern environment; making his living relieving + the rich; taking pleasure relieving the poor. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do?” asked my mother. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to give up the office,” answered my father. “Without him + there's not enough to keep it going. He was quite good-tempered about the + matter—offered to divide the work, letting me retain the + straightforward portion for whatever that might be worth. But I declined. + Now I know, I feel I would rather have nothing more to do with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you were quite right,” agreed my mother. + </p> + <p> + “What I blame myself for,” said my father, “is that I didn't see through + him before. Of course he has been making a mere tool of me from the + beginning. I ought to have seen through him. Why didn't I?” + </p> + <p> + They discussed the future, or, rather, my father discussed, my mother + listening in silence, stealing a puzzled look at him from time to time, as + though there were something she could not understand. + </p> + <p> + He would take a situation in the City. One had been offered him. It might + sound poor, but it would be a steady income on which we must contrive to + live. The little money he had saved must be kept for investments—nothing + speculative—judicious “dealings,” by means of which a cool, + clear-headed man could soon accumulate capital. Here the training acquired + by working for old Hasluck would serve him well. One man my father knew—quite + a dull, commonplace man—starting a few years ago with only a few + hundreds, was now worth tens of thousands. Foresight was the necessary + qualification. You watched the “tendency” of things. So often had my + father said to himself: “This is going to be a big thing. That other, it + is no good,” and in every instance his prognostications had been verified. + He had “felt it;” some men had that gift. Now was the time to use it for + practical purposes. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said my father, breaking off, and casting an approving eye upon + the surrounding scenery, “would be a pleasant place to end one's days. The + house you had was very pretty and you liked it. We might enlarge it, the + drawing-room might be thrown out—perhaps another wing.” I felt that + our good fortune as from this day was at last established. + </p> + <p> + But my mother had been listening with growing impatience, her puzzled + glances giving place gradually to flashes of anger; and now she turned her + face full upon him, her question written plainly thereon, demanding + answer. + </p> + <p> + Some idea of it I had even then, watching her; and since I have come to + read it word for word: “But that woman—that woman that loves you, + that you love. Ah, I know—why do you play with me? She is rich. With + her your life will be smooth. And the boy—it will be better far for + him. Cannot you three wait a little longer? What more can I do? Cannot you + see that I am surely dying—dying as quickly as I can—dying as + that poor creature your friend once told us of; knowing it was the only + thing she could do for those she loved. Be honest with me: I am no longer + jealous. All that is past: a man is ever younger than a woman, and a man + changes. I do not blame you. It is for the best. She and I have talked; it + is far better so. Only be honest with me, or at least silent. Will you not + honour me enough for even that?” + </p> + <p> + My father did not answer, having that to speak of that put my mother's + question out of her mind for all time; so that until the end no word + concerning that other woman passed again between them. Twenty years later, + nearly, I myself happened to meet her, and then long physical suffering + had chased the wantonness away for ever from the pain-worn mouth; but in + that hour of waning voices, as some trouble of the fretful day when + evening falls, so she faded from their life; and if even the remembrance + of her returned at times to either of them, I think it must have been in + those moments when, for no seeming reason, shyly their hands sought one + another. + </p> + <p> + So the truth of the sad ado—how far my mother's suspicions wronged + my father; for the eye of jealousy (and what loving woman ever lived that + was not jealous?) has its optic nerve terminating not in the brain but in + the heart, which was not constructed for the reception of true vision—I + never knew. Later, long after the curtain of green earth had been rolled + down upon the players, I spoke once on the matter with Doctor Hal, who + must have seen something of the play and with more understanding eyes than + mine, and who thereupon delivered to me a short lecture on life in + general, a performance at which he excelled. + </p> + <p> + “Flee from temptation and pray that you may be delivered from evil,” + shouted the Doctor—(his was not the Socratic method)—“but + remember this: that as sure as the sparks fly upward there will come a + time when, however fast you run, you will be overtaken—cornered—no + one to deliver you but yourself—the gods sitting round interested. + It is a grim fight, for the Thing, you may be sure, has chosen its right + moment. And every woman in the world will sympathise with you and be just + to you, not even despising you should you be overcome; for however they + may talk, every woman in the world knows that male and female cannot be + judged by the same standard. To woman, Nature and the Law speak with one + voice: 'Sin not, lest you be cursed of your sex!' It is no law of man: it + is the law of creation. When the woman sins, she sins not only against her + conscience, but against her every instinct. But to the man Nature + whispers: 'Yield.' It is the Law alone that holds him back. Therefore + every woman in the world, knowing this, will be just to you—every + woman in the world but one—the woman that loves you. From her, hope + for no sympathy, hope for no justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the Doctor, “that your father loved your mother devotedly; + but he was one of those fighters that for the first half-dozen rounds or + so cause their backers much anxiety. It is a dangerous method.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think my mother—” + </p> + <p> + “I think your mother was a good woman, Paul; and the good woman will never + be satisfied with man till the Lord lets her take him to pieces and put + him together herself.” + </p> + <p> + My father had been pacing to and fro the tiny platform. Now he came to a + halt opposite my mother, placing his hands upon her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to help me, Maggie—help me to be brave. I have only a + year or two longer to live, and there's a lot to be done in that time.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly the anger died out of my mother's face. + </p> + <p> + “You remember that fall I had when the cage broke,” my father went on. + “Andrews, as you know, feared from the first it might lead to that. But I + always laughed at him.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have you known?” my mother asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, about six months. I felt it at the beginning of the year, but I + didn't say anything to Washburn till a month later. I thought it might be + only fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is sure?” + </p> + <p> + My father nodded. + </p> + <p> + “But why have you never told me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” replied my father, with a laugh, “I didn't want you to know. If + I could have done without you, I should not have told you now.” + </p> + <p> + And at this there came a light into my mother's face that never altogether + left it until the end. + </p> + <p> + She drew him down beside her on the seat. I had come nearer; and my + father, stretching out his hand, would have had me with them. But my + mother, putting her arms about him, held him close to her, as though in + that moment she would have had him to herself alone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE MAN IN GREY MADE READY FOR HIS GOING. + </h3> + <p> + The eighteen months that followed—for the end came sooner than we + had expected—were, I think, the happiest days my father and mother + had ever known; or if happy be not altogether the right word, let me say + the most beautiful, and most nearly perfect. To them it was as though God + in His sweet thoughtfulness had sent death to knock lightly at the door, + saying: “Not yet. You have still a little longer to be together. In a + little while.” In those last days all things false and meaningless they + laid aside. Nothing was of real importance to them but that they should + love each other, comforting each other, learning to understand each other. + Again we lived poorly; but there was now no pitiful straining to keep up + appearances, no haunting terror of what the neighbours might think. The + petty cares and worries concerning matters not worth a moment's thought, + the mean desires and fears with which we disfigure ourselves, fell from + them. There came to them broader thought, a wider charity, a deeper pity. + Their love grew greater even than their needs, overflowing towards all + things. Sometimes, recalling these months, it has seemed to me that we + make a mistake seeking to keep Death, God's go-between, ever from our + thoughts. Is it not closing the door to a friend who would help us would + we let him (for who knows life so well), whispering to us: “In a little + while. Only a little longer that you have to be together. Is it worth + taking so much thought for self? Is it worth while being unkind?” + </p> + <p> + From them a graciousness emanated pervading all around. Even my aunt Fan + decided for the second time in her career to give amiability a trial. This + intention she announced publicly to my mother and myself one afternoon + soon after our return from Devonshire. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a beast of an old woman,” said my aunt, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that, Fan,” urged my mother. + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of saying 'Don't say it' when I've just said it,” snapped + back my aunt. + </p> + <p> + “It's your manner,” explained my mother; “people sometimes think you + disagreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “They'd be daft if they didn't,” interrupted my aunt. “Of course you don't + really mean it,” continued my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Stuff and nonsense,” snorted my aunt; “does she think I'm a fool? I like + being disagreeable. I like to see 'em squirming.” + </p> + <p> + My mother laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I can be agreeable,” continued my aunt, “if I choose. Nobody more so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not choose?” suggested my mother. “I tried it once,” said my + aunt, “and it fell flat. Nothing could have fallen flatter.” + </p> + <p> + “It may not have attracted much attention,” replied my mother, with a + smile, “but one should not be agreeable merely to attract attention.” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't only that,” returned my aunt, “it was that it gave no + satisfaction to anybody. It didn't suit me. A disagreeable person is at + their best when they are disagreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly agree with you there,” answered my mother. + </p> + <p> + “I could do it again,” communed my aunt to herself. There was a suggestion + of vindictiveness in her tones. “It's easy enough. Look at the sort of + fools that are agreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you could be if you tried,” urged my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Let 'em have it,” continued my aunt, still to herself; “that's the way to + teach 'em sense. Let 'em have it.” + </p> + <p> + And strange though it may seem, my aunt was right and my mother altogether + wrong. My father was the first to notice the change. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing the matter with poor old Fan, is there?” he asked. It was one + evening a day or two after my aunt had carried her threat into effect. + “Nothing happened, has there?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered my mother, “nothing that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “Her manner is so strange,” explained my father, “so—so weird.” + </p> + <p> + My mother smiled. “Don't say anything to her. She's trying to be + agreeable.” + </p> + <p> + My father laughed and then looked wistful. “I almost wish she wouldn't,” + he remarked; “we were used to it, and she was rather amusing.” + </p> + <p> + But my aunt, being a woman of will, kept her way; and about the same time + that occurred tending to confirm her in her new departure. This was the + introduction into our small circle of James Wellington Gadley. Properly + speaking, it should have been Wellington James, that being the order in + which he had been christened in the year 1815. But in course of time, and + particularly during his school career, it had been borne in upon him that + Wellington is a burdensome name for a commonplace mortal to bear, and very + wisely he had reversed the arrangement. He was a slightly pompous but + simpleminded little old gentleman, very proud of his position as head + clerk to Mr. Stillwood, the solicitor to whom my father was now assistant. + Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal dated back to the Georges, and was a firm + bound up with the history—occasionally shady—of aristocratic + England. True, in these later years its glory was dwindling. Old Mr. + Stillwood, its sole surviving representative, declined to be troubled with + new partners, explaining frankly, in answer to all applications, that the + business was a dying one, and that attempting to work it up again would be + but putting new wine into worn-out skins. But though its clientele was a + yearly diminishing quantity, much business yet remained to it, and that of + a good class, its name being still a synonym for solid respectability; and + my father had deemed himself fortunate indeed in securing such an + appointment. James Gadley had entered the firm as office boy in the days + of its pride, and had never awakened to the fact that it was not still the + most important legal firm within the half mile radius from Lombard Street. + Nothing delighted him more than to discuss over and over again the many + strange affairs in which Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal had been + concerned, all of which he had at his tongue's tip. Could he find a + hearer, these he would reargue interminably, but with professional + reticence, personages becoming Mr. Y. and Lady X.; and places, “the + capital of, let us say, a foreign country,” or “a certain town not a + thousand miles from where we are now sitting.” The majority of his + friends, his methods being somewhat forensic, would seek to discourage + him, but my aunt was a never wearied listener, especially if the case were + one involving suspicion of mystery and crime. When, during their very + first conversation, he exclaimed: “Now why—why, after keeping away + from his wife for nearly eighteen years, never even letting her know + whether he was alive or dead, why this sudden resolve to return to her? + That is what I want explained to me!” he paused, as was his wont, for + sympathetic comment, my aunt, instead of answering as others, with a yawn: + “Oh, I'm sure I don't know. Felt he wanted to see her, I suppose,” replied + with prompt intelligence: + </p> + <p> + “To murder her—by slow poison.” + </p> + <p> + “To murder her! But why?” + </p> + <p> + “In order to marry the other woman.” + </p> + <p> + “What other woman?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman he had just met and fallen in love with. Before that it was + immaterial to him what had become of his wife. This woman had said to him: + 'Come back to me a free man or never see my face again.'” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! Now that's very curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort. Plain common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, it's curious because, as a matter of fact, his wife did die a + little later, and he did marry again.” + </p> + <p> + “Told you so,” remarked my aunt. + </p> + <p> + In this way every case in the Stillwood annals was reviewed, and light + thrown upon it by my aunt's insight into the hidden springs of human + action. Fortunate that the actors remained mere Mr. X. and Lady Y., for + into the most innocent seeming behaviour my aunt read ever dark criminal + intent. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are a little too severe,” Mr. Gadley would now and then + plead. + </p> + <p> + “We're all of us miserable sinners,” my aunt would cheerfully affirm; + “only we don't all get the same chances.” + </p> + <p> + An elderly maiden lady, a Miss Z., residing in “a western town once famous + as the resort of fashion, but which we will not name,” my aunt was + convinced had burnt down a house containing a will, and forged another + under which her children—should she ever marry and be blessed with + such—would inherit among them on coming of age a fortune of seven + hundred pounds. + </p> + <p> + The freshness of her views on this, his favourite topic, always fascinated + Mr. Gadley. + </p> + <p> + “I have to thank you, ma'am,” he would remark on rising, “for a most + delightful conversation. I may not be able to agree with your conclusions, + but they afford food for reflection.” + </p> + <p> + To which my aunt would reply, “I hate talking to any one who agrees with + me. It's like taking a walk to see one's own looking-glass. I'd rather + talk to somebody who didn't, even if he were a fool,” which for her was + gracious. + </p> + <p> + He was a stout little gentleman with a stomach that protruded about a foot + in front of him, and of this he appeared to be quite unaware. Nor would it + have mattered had it not been for his desire when talking to approach as + close to his listener as possible. Gradually in the course of + conversation, his stomach acting as a gentle battering ram, he would in + this way drive you backwards round the room, sometimes, unless you were + artful, pinning you hopelessly into a corner, when it would surprise him + that in spite of all his efforts he never succeeded in getting any nearer + to you. His first evening at our house he was talking to my aunt from the + corner of his chair. As he grew more interested so he drew his chair + nearer and nearer, till at length, having withdrawn inch by inch to avoid + his encroachments, my aunt was sitting on the extreme edge of her own. His + next move sent her on to the floor. She said nothing, which surprised me; + but on the occasion of his next visit she was busy darning stockings, an + unusual occupation for her. He approached nearer and nearer as before; but + this time she sat her ground, and it was he who in course of time sprang + back with an exclamation foreign to the subject under discussion. + </p> + <p> + Ever afterwards my aunt met him with stockings in her hand, and they + talked with a space between their chairs. + </p> + <p> + Nothing further came of it, though his being a widower added to their + intercourse that spice of possibility no woman is ever too old to relish; + but that he admired her intellectually was evident. Once he even went so + far as to exclaim: “Miss Davies, you should have been a solicitor's wife!” + to his thinking the crown of feminine ambition. To which my aunt had + replied: “Chances are I should have been if one had ever asked me.” And + warmed by appreciation, my aunt's amiability took root and flourished, + though assuming, as all growth developed late is apt to, fantastic shape. + </p> + <p> + There came to her the idea, by no means ill-founded, that by flattery one + can most readily render oneself agreeable; so conscientiously she set to + work to flatter in season and out. I am sure she meant to give pleasure, + but the effect produced was that of thinly veiled sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + My father would relate to us some trifling story, some incident noticed + during the day that had seemed to him amusing. At once she would break out + into enthusiasm, holding up her hands in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “What a funny man he is! And to think that it comes to him naturally + without an effort. What a gift it is!” + </p> + <p> + On my mother appearing in a new bonnet, or an old one retrimmed, an event + not unfrequent; for in these days my mother took more thought than ever + formerly for her appearance (you will understand, you women who have + loved), she would step back in simulated amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me it's a married woman with a boy getting on for fourteen. + It's a girl. A saucy, tripping girl. That's what it is.” + </p> + <p> + Persons have been known, I believe, whose vanity, not checked in time, has + grown into a hopeless disease. But I am inclined to think that a dose of + my aunt, about this period, would have cured the most obstinate case. + </p> + <p> + So also, and solely for our benefit, she assumed a vivacity and + spriteliness that ill suited her, that having regard to her age and + tendency towards rheumatism must have cost her no small effort. From these + experiences there remains to me the perhaps immoral opinion that Virtue, + in common with all other things, is at her best when unassuming. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally the old Adam—or should one say Eve—would assert + itself in my aunt, and then, still thoughtful for others, she would + descend into the kitchen and be disagreeable to Amy, our new servitor, who + never minded it. Amy was a philosopher who reconciled herself to all + things by the reflection that there were only twenty-four hours in a day. + It sounds a dismal theory, but from it Amy succeeded in extracting + perpetual cheerfulness. My mother would apologise to her for my aunt's + interference. + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless you, mum, it don't matter. If I wasn't listening to her + something else worse might be happening. Everything's all the same when + it's over.” + </p> + <p> + Amy had come to us merely as a stop gap, explaining to my mother that she + was about to be married and desired only a temporary engagement to bridge + over the few weeks between then and the ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “It's rather unsatisfactory,” had said my mother. “I dislike changes.” + </p> + <p> + “I can quite understand it, mum,” had replied Amy; “I dislike 'em myself. + Only I heard you were in a hurry, and I thought maybe that while you were + on the lookout for somebody permanent—” + </p> + <p> + So on that understanding she came. A month later my mother asked her when + she thought the marriage would actually take place. + </p> + <p> + “Don't think I'm wishing you to go,” explained my mother, “indeed I'd like + you to stop. I only want to know in time to make my arrangements.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, some time in the spring, I expect,” was Amy's answer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said my mother, “I understood it was coming off almost immediately.” + </p> + <p> + Amy appeared shocked. + </p> + <p> + “I must know a little bit more about him before I go as far as that,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't understand,” said my mother; “you told me when you came to me + that you were going to be married in a few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that one!” Her tone suggested that an unfair strain was being put + upon her memory. “I didn't feel I wanted him as much as I thought I did + when it came to the point.” + </p> + <p> + “You had meantime met the other one?” suggested my mother, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can't help our feelings, can we, mum?” admitted Amy, frankly, + “and what I always say is”—she spoke as one with experience even + then—“better change your mind before it's too late afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + Amiable, sweet-faced, broad-hearted Amy! most faithful of friends, but oh! + most faithless of lovers. Age has not withered nor custom staled her + liking for infinite variety. Butchers, bakers, soldiers, sailors, Jacks of + all trades! Does the sighing procession never pass before you, Amy, + pointing ghostly fingers of reproach! Still Amy is engaged. To whom at the + particular moment I cannot say, but I fancy to an early one who has lately + become a widower. After more exact knowledge I do not care to enquire; for + to confess ignorance on the subject, implying that one has treated as a + triviality and has forgotten the most important detail of a matter that to + her is of vital importance, is to hurt her feelings; while to angle for + information is but to entangle oneself. To speak of Him as “Tom,” when Tom + has belonged for weeks to the dead and buried past, to hastily correct + oneself to “Dick” when there hasn't been a Dick for years, clearly not to + know that he is now Harry, annoys her even more. In my mother's time we + always referred to him as “Dearest.” It was the title with which she + herself distinguished them all, and it avoided confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and how's Dearest?” my mother would enquire, opening the door to + Amy on the Sunday evening. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well indeed, mum, thank you, and he sends you his respects,” or, + “Well, not so nicely as I could wish. I'm a little anxious about him, poor + dear!” + </p> + <p> + “When you are married you will be able to take good care of him.” + </p> + <p> + “That's really what he wants—some one to take care of him. It's what + they all want, the poor dears.” + </p> + <p> + “And when is it coming off?” + </p> + <p> + “In the spring, mum.” She always chose the spring when possible. + </p> + <p> + Amy was nice to all men, and to Amy all men were nice. Could she have + married a dozen, she might have settled down, with only occasional regrets + concerning those left without in the cold. But to ask her to select only + one out of so many “poor dears” was to suggest shameful waste of + affection. + </p> + <p> + We had meant to keep our grim secret to ourselves; but to hide one's + troubles long from Amy was like keeping cold hands from the fire. Very + soon she knew everything that was to be known, drawing it all from my + mother as from some overburdened child. Then she put my mother down into a + chair and stood over her. + </p> + <p> + “Now you leave the house and everything connected with it to me, mum,” + commanded Amy; “you've got something else to do.” + </p> + <p> + And from that day we were in the hands of Amy, and had nothing else to do + but praise the Lord for His goodness. + </p> + <p> + Barbara also found out (from Washburn, I expect), though she said nothing, + but came often. Old Hasluck would have come himself, I am sure, had he + thought he would be welcome. As it was, he always sent kind messages and + presents of fruit and flowers by Barbara, and always welcomed me most + heartily whenever she allowed me to see her home. + </p> + <p> + She brought, as ever, sunshine with her, making all trouble seem far off + and shadowy. My mother tended to the fire of love, but Barbara lit the + cheerful lamp of laughter. + </p> + <p> + And with the lessening days my father seemed to grow younger, life lying + lighter on him. + </p> + <p> + One summer's night he and I were walking with Barbara to Poplar station, + for sometimes, when he was not looking tired, she would order him to fetch + his hat and stick, explaining to him with a caress, “I like them tall and + slight and full grown. The young ones, they don't know how to flirt! We + will take the boy with us as gooseberry;” and he, pretending to be anxious + that my mother did not see, would kiss her hand, and slip out quietly with + her arm linked under his. It was admirable the way he would enter into the + spirit of the thing. + </p> + <p> + The last cloud faded from before the moon as we turned the corner, and + even the East India Dock Road lay restful in front of us. + </p> + <p> + “I have always regarded myself,” said my father, “as a failure in life, + and it has troubled me.” I felt him pulled the slightest little bit away + from me, as though Barbara, who held his other arm, had drawn him towards + her with a swift pressure. “But do you know the idea that has come to me + within the last few months? That on the whole I have been successful. I am + like a man,” continued my father, “who in some deep wood has been + frightened, thinking he has lost his way, and suddenly coming to the end + of it, finds that by some lucky chance he has been guided to the right + point after all. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to me. + </p> + <p> + “What is the right point?” asked Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that I cannot tell you,” answered my father, with a laugh. “I only + know that for me it is here where I am. All the time I thought I was + wandering away from it I was drawing nearer to it. It is very wonderful. I + am just where I ought to be. If I had only known I never need have + worried.” + </p> + <p> + Whether it would have troubled either him or my mother very much even had + it been otherwise I cannot say, for Life, so small a thing when looked at + beside Death, seemed to have lost all terror for them; but be that as it + may, I like to remember that Fortune at the last was kind to my father, + prospering his adventures, not to the extent his sanguine nature had + dreamt, but sufficiently: so that no fear for our future marred the + peaceful passing of his tender spirit. + </p> + <p> + Or should I award thanks not to Fate, but rather to sweet Barbara, and + behind her do I not detect shameless old Hasluck, grinning good-naturedly + in the background? + </p> + <p> + “Now, Uncle Luke, I want your advice. Dad's given me this cheque as a + birthday present. I don't want to spend it. How shall I invest it?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, why not consult your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Uncle Luke, dad's a dear, especially after dinner, but you and I + know him. Giving me a present is one thing, doing business for me is + another. He'd unload on me. He'd never be able to resist the temptation.” + </p> + <p> + My father would suggest, and Barbara would thank him. But a minute later + would murmur: “You don't know anything about Argentinos.” + </p> + <p> + My father did not, but Barbara did; to quite a remarkable extent for a + young girl. + </p> + <p> + “That child has insisted on leaving this cheque with me and I have advised + her to buy Argentinos,” my father would observe after she was gone. “I am + going to put a few hundreds into them myself. I hope they will turn out + all right, if only for her sake. I have a presentiment somehow that they + will.” + </p> + <p> + A month later Barbara would greet him with: “Isn't it lucky we bought + Argentinos!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they haven't turned out badly, have they? I had a feeling, you know, + for Argentinos.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a genius, Uncle Luke. And now we will sell out and buy Calcuttas, + won't we?” + </p> + <p> + “Sell out? But why?” + </p> + <p> + “You said so. You said, 'We will sell out in about a month and be quite + safe.'” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I've no recollection of it.” + </p> + <p> + But Barbara had, and before she had done with him, so had he. And the next + day Argentinos would be sold—not any too soon—and Calcuttas + bought. + </p> + <p> + Could money so gained bring a blessing with it? The question would plague + my father. + </p> + <p> + “It's very much like gambling,” he would mutter uneasily to himself at + each success, “uncommonly like gambling.” + </p> + <p> + “It is for your mother,” he would impress upon me. “When she is gone, + Paul, put it aside, Keep it for doing good; that may make it clean. Start + your own life without any help from it.” + </p> + <p> + He need not have troubled. It went the road that all luck derived however + indirectly from old Hasluck ever went. Yet it served good purpose on its + way. + </p> + <p> + But the most marvellous feat, to my thinking, ever accomplished by Barbara + was the bearing off of my father and mother to witness “A Voice from the + Grave, or the Power of Love, New and Original Drama in five acts and + thirteen tableaux.” + </p> + <p> + They had been bred in a narrow creed, both my father and my mother. That + Puritan blood flowed in their veins that throughout our land has drowned + much harmless joyousness; yet those who know of it only from hearsay do + foolishly to speak but ill of it. If ever earnest times should come again, + not how to enjoy but how to live being the question, Fate demanding of us + to show not what we have but what we are, we may regret that they are + fewer among us than formerly, those who trained themselves to despise all + pleasure, because in pleasure they saw the subtlest foe to principle and + duty. No graceful growth, this Puritanism, for its roots are in the hard, + stern facts of life; but it is strong, and from it has sprung all that is + worth preserving in the Anglo-Saxon character. Its men feared and its + women loved God, and if their words were harsh their hearts were tender. + If they shut out the sunshine from their lives it was that their eyes + might see better the glory lying beyond; and if their view be correct, + that earth's threescore years and ten are but as preparation for eternity, + then who shall call them even foolish for turning away their thoughts from + its allurements. + </p> + <p> + “Still, I think I should like to have a look at one, just to see what it + is like,” argued my father; “one cannot judge of a thing that one knows + nothing about.” + </p> + <p> + I imagine it was his first argument rather than his second that convinced + my mother. + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” she answered. “I remember how shocked my poor father was + when he found me one night at the bedroom window reading Sir Walter Scott + by the light of the moon.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the boy?” said my father, for I had been included in the + invitation. + </p> + <p> + “We will all be wicked together,” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + So an evening or two later the four of us stood at the corner of Pigott + Street waiting for the 'bus. + </p> + <p> + “It is a close evening,” said my father; “let's go the whole hog and ride + outside.” + </p> + <p> + In those days for a lady to ride outside a 'bus was as in these days for a + lady to smoke in public. Surely my mother's guardian angel must have + betaken himself off in a huff. + </p> + <p> + “Will you keep close behind and see to my skirt?” answered my mother, + commencing preparations. If you will remember that these were the days of + crinolines, that the “knife-boards” of omnibuses were then approached by a + perpendicular ladder, the rungs two feet apart, you will understand the + necessity for such precaution. + </p> + <p> + Which of us was the most excited throughout that long ride it would be + difficult to say. Barbara, feeling keenly her responsibility as prompter + and leader of the dread enterprise, sat anxious, as she explained to us + afterwards, hoping there would be nothing shocking in the play, nothing to + belie its innocent title; pleased with her success so far, yet still + fearful of failure, doubtful till the last moment lest we should suddenly + repent, and stopping the 'bus, flee from the wrath to come. My father was + the youngest of us all. Compared with him I was sober and contained. He + fidgeted: people remarked upon it. He hummed. But for the stern eye of a + thin young man sitting next to him trying to read a paper, I believe he + would have broken out into song. Every minute he would lean across to + enquire of my mother: “How are you feeling—all right?” To which my + mother would reply with a nod and a smile, She sat very silent herself, + clasping and unclasping her hands. As for myself, I remember feeling so + sorry for the crowds that passed us on their way home. It was sad to think + of the long dull evening that lay before them. I wondered how they could + face it. + </p> + <p> + Our seats were in the front row of the upper circle. The lights were low + and the house only half full when we reached them. + </p> + <p> + “It seems very orderly and—and respectable,” whispered my mother. + There seemed a touch of disappointment in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “We are rather early,” replied Barbara; “it will be livelier when the band + comes in and they turn up the gas.” + </p> + <p> + But even when this happened my mother was not content. “There is so little + room for the actors,” she complained. + </p> + <p> + It was explained to her that the green curtain would go up, that the stage + lay behind. + </p> + <p> + So we waited, my mother sitting stiffly on the extreme edge of her seat, + holding me tightly by the hand; I believe with some vague idea of flight, + should out of that vault-scented gloom the devil suddenly appear to claim + us for his own. But before the curtain was quite up she had forgotten him. + </p> + <p> + You poor folk that go to the theatre a dozen times a year, perhaps + oftener, what do you know of plays? You see no drama, you see but + middle-aged Mr. Brown, churchwarden, payer of taxes, foolishly pretending + to be a brigand; Miss Jones, daughter of old Jones the Chemist, making + believe to be a haughty Princess. How can you, a grown man, waste money on + a seat to witness such tomfoolery! What we saw was something very + different. A young and beautiful girl—true, not a lady by birth, + being merely the daughter of an honest yeoman, but one equal in all the + essentials of womanhood to the noblest in the land—suffered before + our very eyes an amount of misfortune that, had one not seen it for + oneself, one would never have believed Fate could have accumulated upon + the head of any single individual. Beside her woes our own poor troubles + sank into insignificance. We had used to grieve, as my mother in a whisper + reminded my father, if now and again we had not been able to afford meat + for dinner. This poor creature, driven even from her wretched attic, + compelled to wander through the snow without so much as an umbrella to + protect her, had not even a crust to eat; and yet never lost her faith in + Providence. It was a lesson, as my mother remarked afterwards, that she + should never forget. And virtue had been triumphant, let shallow cynics + say what they will. Had we not proved it with our own senses? The villain—I + think his Christian name, if one can apply the word “Christian” in + connection with such a fiend, was Jasper—had never really loved the + heroine. He was incapable of love. My mother had felt this before he had + been on the stage five minutes, and my father—in spite of protests + from callous people behind who appeared to be utterly indifferent to what + was going on under their very noses—had agreed with her. What he was + in love with was her fortune—the fortune that had been left to her + by her uncle in Australia, but about which nobody but the villain knew + anything. Had she swerved a hair's breadth from the course of almost + supernatural rectitude, had her love for the hero ever weakened, her + belief in him—in spite of damning evidence to the contrary—for + a moment wavered, then wickedness might have triumphed. How at times, + knowing all the facts but helpless to interfere, we trembled, lest + deceived by the cruel lies the villain told her; she should yield to + importunity. How we thrilled when, in language eloquent though rude, she + flung his false love back into his teeth. Yet still we feared. We knew + well that it was not the hero who had done the murder. “Poor dear,” as Amy + would have called him, he was quite incapable of doing anything requiring + one-half as much smartness. We knew that it was not he, poor innocent + lamb! who had betrayed the lady with the French accent; we had heard her + on the subject and had formed a very shrewd conjecture. But appearances, + we could not help admitting, were terribly to his disfavour. The + circumstantial evidence against him would have hanged an Archbishop. Could + she in face of it still retain her faith? There were moments when my + mother restrained with difficulty her desire to rise and explain. + </p> + <p> + Between the acts Barbara would whisper to her that she was not to mind, + because it was only a play, and that everything would be sure to come + right in the end. + </p> + <p> + “I know, my dear,” my mother would answer, laughing, “it is very foolish + of me; I forget. Paul, when you see me getting excited, you must remind + me.” + </p> + <p> + But of what use was I in such case! I, who only by holding on to the arms + of my seat could keep myself from swarming down on to the stage to fling + myself between this noble damsel and her persecutor—this + fair-haired, creamy angel in whose presence for the time being I had + forgotten even Barbara. + </p> + <p> + The end came at last. The uncle from Australia was not dead. The villain—bungler + as well as knave—had killed the wrong man, somebody of no importance + whatever. As a matter of fact, the comic man himself was the uncle from + Australia—had been so all along. My mother had had a suspicion of + this from the very first. She told us so three times, to make up, I + suppose, for not having mentioned it before. How we cheered and laughed, + in spite of the tears in our eyes. + </p> + <p> + By pure accident it happened to be the first night of the piece, and the + author, in response to much shouting and whistling, came before the + curtain. He was fat and looked commonplace; but I deemed him a genius, and + my mother said he had a good face, and waved her handkerchief wildly; + while my father shouted “Bravo!” long after everybody else had finished; + and people round about muttered “packed house,” which I didn't understand + at the time, but came to later. + </p> + <p> + And stranger still, it happened to be before that very same curtain that + many years later I myself stepped forth to make my first bow as a + playwright. I saw the house but dimly, for on such occasion one's vision + is apt to be clouded. All that I saw clearly was in the front row of the + second circle—a sweet face laughing though the tears were in her + eyes; and she waved to me a handkerchief. And on one side of her stood a + gallant gentleman with merry eyes who shouted “Bravo!” and on the other a + dreamy-looking lad; but he appeared disappointed, having expected better + work from me. And the fourth face I could not see, for it was turned away + from me. + </p> + <p> + Barbara, determined on completeness, insisted upon supper. In those days + respectability fed at home; but one resort possible there was, an + eating-house with some pretence to gaiety behind St. Clement Danes, and to + that she led us. It was a long, narrow room, divided into wooden + compartments, after the old coffee-house plan, a gangway down the centre. + Now we should call it a dismal hole, and closing the door hasten away. But + to Adam, Eve in her Sunday fig-leaves was a stylishly dressed woman; and + to my eyes, with its gilded mirrors and its flaring gas, the place seemed + a palace. + </p> + <p> + Barbara ordered oysters, a fish that familiarity with its empty shell had + made me curious concerning. Truly no spot on the globe is so rich in + oyster shells as the East End of London. A stranger might be led to the + impression (erroneous) that the customary lunch of the East End labourer + consists of oysters. How they collect there in such quantities is a + mystery, though Washburn, to whom I once presented the problem, found no + difficulty in solving it to his own satisfaction: “To the rich man the + oyster; to the poor man the shell; thus are the Creator's gifts divided + among all His creatures; none being sent empty away.” For drink the others + had stout and I had ginger beer. The waiter, who called me “Sir,” advised + against this mixture; but among us all the dominating sentiment by this + time was that nothing really mattered very much. Afterwards my father + called for a cigar and boldly lighted it, though my mother looked anxious; + and fortunately perhaps it would not draw. And then it came out that he + himself had once written a play. + </p> + <p> + “You never told me of that,” complained my mother. + </p> + <p> + “It was a long while ago,” replied my father; “nothing came of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It might have been a success,” said my mother; “you always had a gift for + writing.” + </p> + <p> + “I must look it over again,” said my father; “I had quite forgotten it. I + have an impression it wasn't at all bad.” + </p> + <p> + “It can be of much help,” said my mother, “a good play. It makes one + think.” + </p> + <p> + We put Barbara into a cab and rode home ourselves inside a 'bus. My mother + was tired, so my father slipped his arm round her, telling her to lean + against him, and soon she fell asleep with her head upon his shoulder. A + coarse-looking wench sat opposite, her man's arm round her likewise, and + she also fell asleep, her powdered face against his coat. + </p> + <p> + “They can do with a bit of nursing, can't they?” said the man with a grin + to the conductor. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, they're just kids,” agreed the conductor, sympathetically, “that's + what they are, all of 'em, just kids.” + </p> + <p> + So the day ended. But oh, the emptiness of the morrow! Life without a + crime, without a single noble sentiment to brighten it!—no comic + uncles, no creamy angels! Oh, the barrenness and dreariness of life! Even + my mother at moments was quite irritable. + </p> + <p> + We were much together again, my father and I, about this time. Often, + making my way from school into the City, I would walk home with him, he + leaning on each occasion a little heavier upon my arm. To this day I can + always meet and walk with him down the Commercial Road. And on Saturday + afternoons, crossing the river to Greenwich, we would climb the hill and + sit there talking, or sometimes merely thinking together, watching the dim + vast city so strangely still and silent at our feet. + </p> + <p> + At first I did not grasp the fact that he was dying. The “year to two” of + life that Washburn had allowed to him had somehow become converted in my + mind to vague years, a fate with no immediate meaning; the meanwhile he + himself appeared to grow from day to day in buoyancy. How could I know it + was his great heart rising to his need. + </p> + <p> + The comprehension came to me suddenly. It was one afternoon in early + spring. I was on my way to the City to meet him. The Holborn Viaduct was + then in building, and the traffic round about was in consequence always + much disorganised. The 'bus on which I was riding became entangled in a + block at the corner of Snow Hill, and for ten minutes we had been merely + crawling, one joint of a long, sinuous serpent moving by short, painful + jerks. It came to me while I was sitting there with a sharp spasm of + physical pain. I jumped from the 'bus and began to run, and the terror and + the hurt of it grew with every step. I ran as if I feared he might be dead + before I could reach the office. He was waiting for me with a smile as + usual, and I flung myself sobbing into his arms. + </p> + <p> + I think he understood, though I could explain nothing, but that I had had + a fear something had happened to him, for from that time forward he + dropped all reserve with me, and talked openly of our approaching parting. + </p> + <p> + “It might have come to us earlier, my dear boy,” he would say with his arm + round me, “or it might have been a little later. A year or so one way or + the other, what does it matter? And it is only for a little while, Paul. + We shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + But I could not answer him, for clutch them to me as I would, all my + beliefs—the beliefs in which I had been bred, the beliefs that until + then I had never doubted, in that hour of their first trial, were falling + from me. I could not even pray. If I could have prayed for anything, it + would have been for my father's life. But if prayer were all powerful, as + they said, would our loved ones ever die? Man has not faith enough, they + would explain; if he had there would be no parting. So the Lord jests with + His creatures, offering with the one hand to snatch back with the other. I + flung the mockery from me. There was no firm foothold anywhere. What were + all the religions of the word but narcotics with which Humanity seeks to + dull its pain, drugs in which it drowns its terrors, faith but a bubble + that death pricks. + </p> + <p> + I do not mean my thoughts took this form. I was little more than a lad, + and to the young all thought is dumb, speaking only with a cry. But they + were there, vague, inarticulate. Thoughts do not come to us as we grow + older. They are with us all our lives. We learn their language, that is + all. + </p> + <p> + One fair still evening it burst from me. We had lingered in the Park + longer than usual, slowly pacing the broad avenue leading from the + Observatory to the Heath. I poured forth all my doubts and fears—that + he was leaving me for ever, that I should never see him again, I could not + believe. What could I do to believe? + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you have spoken, Paul,” he said, “it would have been sad had we + parted not understanding each other. It has been my fault. I did not know + you had these doubts. They come to all of us sooner or later. But we hide + them from one another. It is foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me,” I cried, “what can I do? How can I make myself believe?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lad,” answered my father, “how can it matter what we believe or + disbelieve? It will not alter God's facts. Would you liken Him to some + irritable schoolmaster, angry because you cannot understand him?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you believe,” I asked, “father, really I mean.” + </p> + <p> + The night had fallen. My father put his arm round me and drew me to him. + </p> + <p> + “That we are God's children, little brother,” he answered, “that what He + wills for us is best. It may be life, it may be sleep; it will be best. I + cannot think that He will let us die: that were to think of Him as without + purpose. But His uses may not be our desires. We must trust Him. 'Though + He slay me yet will I trust in Him.'” + </p> + <p> + We walked awhile in silence before my father spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “'Now abideth these three, Faith, Hope and Charity'—you remember the + verse—Faith in God's goodness to us, Hope that our dreams may be + fulfiled. But these concern but ourselves—the greatest of all is + Charity.” + </p> + <p> + Out of the night-shrouded human hive beneath our feet shone here and there + a point of light. + </p> + <p> + “Be kind, that is all it means,” continued my father. “Often we do what we + think right, and evil comes of it, and out of evil comes good. We cannot + understand—maybe the old laws we have misread. But the new Law, that + we love one another—all creatures He has made; that is so clear. And + if it be that we are here together only for a little while, Paul, the + future dark, how much the greater need have we of one another.” + </p> + <p> + I looked up into my father's face, and the peace that shone from it slid + into my soul and gave me strength. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + OF THE FASHIONING OF PAUL. + </h3> + <p> + Loves of my youth, whither are ye vanished? Tubby of the golden locks; + Langley of the dented nose; Shamus stout of heart but faint of limb, easy + enough to “down,” but utterly impossible to make to cry: “I give you + best;” Neal the thin; and Dicky, “dicky Dick” the fat; Ballett of the + weeping eye; Beau Bunnie lord of many ties, who always fought in black kid + gloves; all ye others, ye whose names I cannot recollect, though I well + remember ye were very dear to me, whither are ye vanished, where haunt + your creeping ghosts? Had one told me then there would come a day I should + never see again your merry faces, never hear your wild, shrill whoop of + greeting, never feel again the warm clasp of your inky fingers, never + fight again nor quarrel with you, never hate you, never love you, could I + then have borne the thought, I wonder? + </p> + <p> + Once, methinks, not long ago, I saw you, Tubby, you with whom so often I + discovered the North Pole, probed the problem of the sources of the Nile, + (Have you forgotten, Tubby, our secret camping ground beside the lonely + waters of the Regent's Park canal, where discussing our frugal meal of + toasted elephant's tongue—by the uninitiated mistakable for jumbles—there + would break upon our trained hunters' ear the hungry lion or tiger's + distant roar, mingled with the melancholy, long-drawn growling of the + Polar Bear, growing ever in volume and impatience until half-past four + precisely; and we would snatch our rifles, and with stealthy tread and + every sense alert make our way through the jungle—until stopped by + the spiked fencing round the Zoological Gardens?) I feel sure it was you, + in spite of your side whiskers and the greyness and the thinness of your + once clustering golden locks. You were hurrying down Throgmorton Street + chained to a small black bag. I should have stopped you, but that I had no + time to spare, having to catch a train at Liverpool Street and to get + shaved on the way. I wonder if you recognised me: you looked at me a + little hard, I thought. Gallant, kindly hearted Shamus, you who fought + once for half an hour to save a frog from being skinned; they tell me you + are now an Income Tax assessor; a man, it is reported, with power of + disbelief unusual among even Inland Revenue circles; of little faith, + lacking in the charity that thinketh no evil. May Providence direct you to + other districts than to mine. + </p> + <p> + So Time, Nature's handy-man, bustles to and fro about the many rooms, + making all things tidy, covers with sweet earth the burnt volcanoes, turns + to use the debris of the ages, smoothes again the ground above the dead, + heals again the beech bark marred by lovers. + </p> + <p> + In the beginning I was far from being a favourite with my schoolmates, and + this was the first time trouble came to dwell with me. Later, we men and + women generally succeed in convincing ourselves that whatever else we may + have missed in life, popularity in a greater or less degree we have at all + events secured, for without it altogether few of us, I think, would care + to face existence. But where the child suffers keener than the man is in + finding himself exposed to the cold truth without the protecting clothes + of self-deception. My ostracism was painfully plain to me, and, as was my + nature, I brooded upon it in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Can you run?” asked of me one day a most important personage whose name I + have forgotten. He was head of the Lower Fourth, a tall youth with a nose + like a beak, and the manner of one born to authority. He was the son of a + draper in the Edgware Road, and his father failing, he had to be content + for a niche in life with a lower clerkship in the Civil Service. But to us + youngsters he always appeared a Duke of Wellington in embryo, and under + other circumstances might, perhaps, have become one. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. As a matter of fact it was my one accomplishment, and + rumour of it maybe had reached him. + </p> + <p> + “Run round the playground twice at your fastest,” he commanded; “let me + see you.” + </p> + <p> + I clinched my fists and charged off. How grateful I was to him for having + spoken to me, the outcast of the class, thus publicly, I could only show + by my exertions to please him. When I drew up before him I was panting + hard, but I could see that he was satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't the fellows like you?” he asked bluntly. + </p> + <p> + If only I could have stepped out of my shyness, spoken my real thoughts! + “O Lord of the Lower Fourth! You upon whom success—the only success + in life worth having—has fallen as from the laps of the gods! You to + whom all Lower Fourth hearts turn! tell me the secret of this popularity. + How may I acquire it? No price can be too great for me to pay for it. Vain + little egoist that I am, it is the sum of my desires, and will be till the + long years have taught me wisdom. The want of it embitters all my days. + Why does silence fall upon their chattering groups when I draw near? Why + do they drive me from their games? What is it shuts me out from them, + repels them from me? I creep into the corners and shed scalding tears of + shame. I watch with envious eyes and ears all you to whom the wondrous + gift is given. What is your secret? Is it Tommy's swagger? Then I will + swagger, too, with anxious heart, with mingled fear and hope. But why—why, + seeing that in Tommy they admire it, do they wait for me with imitations + of cock-a-doodle-do, strut beside me mimicking a pouter pigeon? Is it + Dicky's playfulness?—Dicky, who runs away with their balls, snatches + their caps from off their heads, springs upon their backs when they are + least expecting it? + </p> + <p> + “Why should Dicky's reward be laughter, and mine a bloody nose and a + widened, deepened circle of dislike? I am no heavier than Dicky; if + anything a pound or two lighter. Is it Billy's friendliness? I too would + fling my arms about their necks; but from me they angrily wrench + themselves free. Is indifference the best plan? I walk apart with step I + try so hard to render careless; but none follows, no little friendly arm + is slipped through mine. Should one seek to win one's way by kind offices? + Ah, if one could! How I would fag for them. I could do their sums for them—I + am good at sums—write their impositions for them, gladly take upon + myself their punishments, would they but return my service with a little + love and—more important still—a little admiration.” + </p> + <p> + But all I could find to say was, sulkily: “They do like me, some of them.” + I dared not, aloud, acknowledge the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell lies,” he answered; “you know they don't—none of them.” + And I hung my head. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I'll do,” he continued in his lordly way; “I'll give + you a chance. We're starting hare and hounds next Saturday; you can be a + hare. You needn't tell anybody. Just turn up on Saturday and I'll see to + it. Mind, you'll have to run like the devil.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away without waiting for my answer, leaving me to meet Joy + running towards me with outstretched hands. The great moment comes to all + of us; to the politician, when the Party whip slips from confabulation + with the Front Bench to congratulate him, smiling, on his really admirable + little speech; to the youthful dramatist, reading in his bed-sitting-room + the managerial note asking him to call that morning at eleven; to the + subaltern, beckoned to the stirrup of his chief—the moment when the + sun breaks through the morning mists, and the world lies stretched before + us, our way clear. + </p> + <p> + Obeying orders, I gave no hint in school of the great fortune that had + come to me; but hurrying home, I exploded in the passage before the front + door could be closed behind me. + </p> + <p> + “I am to be a hare because I run so fast. Anybody can be a hound, but + there's only two hares, and they all want me. And can I have a jersey? We + begin next Saturday. He saw me run. I ran twice round the playground. He + said I was splendid! Of course, it's a great honour to be a hare. We start + from Hampstead Heath. And may I have a pair of shoes?” + </p> + <p> + The jersey and the shoes my mother and I purchased that very day, for the + fear was upon me that unless we hastened, the last blue and white striped + jersey in London might be sold, and the market be empty of running shoes. + That evening, before getting into bed, I dressed myself in full costume to + admire myself before the glass; and from then till the end of the week, to + the terror of my mother, I practised leaping over chairs, and my method of + descending stairs was perilous and roundabout. But, as I explained to + them, the credit of the Lower Fourth was at stake, and banisters and legs + equally of small account as compared with fame and honour; and my father, + nodding his head, supported me with manly argument; but my mother added to + her prayers another line. + </p> + <p> + Saturday came. The members of the hunt were mostly boys who lived in the + neighbourhood; so the arrangement was that at half-past two we should meet + at the turnpike gate outside the Spaniards. I brought my lunch with me and + ate it in Regent's Park, and then took the 'bus to the Heath. One by one + the others came up. Beyond mere glances, none of them took any notice of + me. I was wearing my ordinary clothes over my jersey. I knew they thought + I had come merely to see them start, and I hugged to myself the dream of + the surprise that was in store for them, and of which I should be the + hero. He came, one of the last, our leader and chief, and I sidled up + behind him and waited, while he busied himself organising and + constructing. + </p> + <p> + “But we've only got one hare,” cried one of them. “We ought to have two, + you know, in case one gets blown.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got two,” answered the Duke. “Think I don't know what I'm about? + Young Kelver's going to be the other one.” + </p> + <p> + Silence fell upon the meet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, we don't want him,” at last broke in a voice. “He's a muff.” + </p> + <p> + “He can run,” explained the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Let him run home,” came another voice, which was greeted with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “You'll run home in a minute yourself,” threatened the Duke, “if I have + any of your cheek. Who's captain here—you or me? Now, young 'un, are + you ready?” + </p> + <p> + I had commenced unbuttoning my jacket, but my hands fell to my side. “I + don't want to come,” I answered, “if they don't want me.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll get his feet wet,” suggested the boy who had spoken first. “Don't + spoil him, he's his mother's pet.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming or are you not?” shouted the Duke, seeing me still + motionless. But the tears were coming into my eyes and would not go back. + I turned my face away without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “All right, stop then,” cried the Duke, who, like all authoritative + people, was impatient above all things of hesitation. “Here, Keefe, you + take the bag and be off. It'll be dark before we start.” + </p> + <p> + My substitute snatched eagerly at the chance, and away went the hares, + while I, still keeping my face hid, moved slowly off. + </p> + <p> + “Cry-baby!” shouted a sharp-eyed youngster. + </p> + <p> + “Let him alone,” growled the Duke; and I went on to where the cedars grew. + </p> + <p> + I heard them start off a few minutes later with a whoop. How could I go + home, confess my disappointment, my shame? My father would be expecting me + with many questions, my mother waiting for me with hot water and blankets. + What explanation could I give that would not betray my miserable secret? + </p> + <p> + It was a chill, dismal afternoon, the Heath deserted, a thin rain + commencing. I slipped off my shirt and jacket, and rolling them under my + arm, trotted off alone, hare and hounds combined in one small carcass, to + chase myself sadly by myself. + </p> + <p> + I see it still, that pathetically ridiculous little figure, jogging + doggedly over the dank fields. Mile after mile it runs, the little idiot; + jumping—sometimes falling into the muddy ditches: it seems anxious + rather than otherwise to get itself into a mess; scrambling through the + dripping hedges; swarming over tarry fence and slimy paling. On, on it + pants—through Bishop's Wood, by tangled Churchyard Bottom, where now + the railway shrieks; down sloppy lanes, bordering Muswell Hill, where now + stand rows of jerry-built, prim villas. At intervals it stops an instant + to dab its eyes with its dingy little rag of a handkerchief, to rearrange + the bundle under its arm, its chief anxiety to keep well out of sight of + chance wanderers, to dodge farmhouses, to dart across highroads when + nobody is looking. And so tear-smeared and mud-bespattered up the long + rise of darkening Crouch End Lane, where to-night the electric light + blazes from a hundred shops, and dead beat into the Seven Sisters Road + station, there to tear off its soaked jersey; and then home to Poplar, + with shameless account of the jolly afternoon that it has spent, of the + admiration and the praise that it has won. + </p> + <p> + You poor, pitiful little brat! Popularity? it is a shadow. Turn your eyes + towards it, and it shall ever run before you, escaping you. Turn your back + upon it, walk joyously towards the living sun, and it shall follow you. Am + I not right? Why, then, do you look at me, your little face twisted into + that quizzical grin? + </p> + <p> + When one takes service with Deceit, one signs a contract that one may not + break but under penalty. Maybe it was good for my health, those lonely + runs; but oh, they were dreary! By a process of argument not uncommon I + persuaded myself that truth was a matter of mere words, that so long as I + had actually gone over the ground I described I was not lying. To further + satisfy my conscience, I bought a big satchel and scattered from it + torn-up paper as I ran. + </p> + <p> + “And they never catch you?” asked my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, never; they never even get within sight of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful, dear,” would advise my mother; “don't overstrain yourself.” + But I could see that she was proud of me. + </p> + <p> + And after awhile imagination came to my help, so that often I could hear + behind me the sound of pursuing feet, catch through gaps in the trees a + sight of a merry, host upon my trail, and would redouble my speed. + </p> + <p> + Thus, but for Dan, my loneliness would have been unbearable. His + friendship was always there for me to creep to, the shadow of a great rock + in a weary land. To this day one may always know Dan's politics: they are + those of the Party out of power. Always without question one may know the + cause that he will champion, the unpopular cause; the man he will defend, + the man who is down. + </p> + <p> + “You are such an un-understandable chap,” complained a fellow Clubman to + him once in my hearing. “I sometimes ask myself if you have any opinions + at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate a crowd,” was Dan's only confession of faith. + </p> + <p> + He never claimed anything from me in return for his affection; he was + there for me to hold to when I wanted him. When, baffled in all my + attempts to win the affections of others, I returned to him for comfort, + he gave it me, without even relieving himself of friendly advice. When at + length childish success came to me and I needed him less, he was neither + hurt nor surprised. Other people—their thoughts, their actions, even + when these concerned himself—never troubled him. He loved to bestow, + but as to response was strangely indifferent; indeed, if anything, it + bored him. His nature appeared to be that of the fountain, which fulfils + itself by giving, but is unable to receive. + </p> + <p> + My popularity came to me unexpectedly after I had given up hoping for it; + surprising me, annoying me. Gradually it dawned upon me that my company + was being sought. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Kelver,” would say the spokesman of one group; “we're going + part of your way home. You can walk with us.” + </p> + <p> + Maybe I would go with them, but more often, before we reached the gate, + the delight of my society would be claimed by a rival troop. + </p> + <p> + “He's coming with us this afternoon. He promised.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he ain't, anyhow. See?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, isn't he? Who says he isn't?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Punch his head, Dick!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do, Jimmy Blake, and I'll punch yours. Come, Kelver.” + </p> + <p> + I might have been some Queen of Beauty offered as prize for knightly + contest. Indeed, more than once the argument concluded thus primitively, I + being carried off in triumph by the victorious party. + </p> + <p> + For a period it remained a mystery to me, until I asked explanation of + Norval—we called him “Norval,” he being one George Grampian: it was + our wit. From taking joy in teasing me, Norval had suddenly become one of + my greatest admirers. This by itself was difficult enough to understand. + He was in the second eleven, and after Dan the best fighter in the lower + school. If I could understand Norval's change of attitude all would be + plain to me; so when next time, bounding upon me in the cloakroom and + slipping his arm into mine, he clamoured for my company to Camden Town, I + put the question to him bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I walk home with you? Why do you want me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we like you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you like me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why! Why, because you're such a funny chap. You say such funny things.” + </p> + <p> + It struck me like a slap in the face. I had thought to reach popularity + upon the ladder of heroic qualities. In all the school books I had read, + Leonard or Marmaduke (we had a Marmaduke in the Lower Fifth—they + called him Marmalade: in the school books these disasters are not + contemplated), won love and admiration by reason of integrity of + character, nobility of sentiment, goodness of heart, brilliance of + intellect; combined maybe with a certain amount of agility, instinct in + the direction of bowling, or aptitude for jumping; but such only by the + way. Not one of them had ever said a funny thing, either consciously or + unconsciously. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be disagreeable, Kelver. Come with us and we will let you into the + team as an extra. I'll teach you batting.” + </p> + <p> + So I was to be their Fool—I, dreamer of knightly dreams, aspirant to + hero's fame! I craved their wonder; I had won their laughter. I had prayed + for popularity; it had been granted to me—in this guise. Were the + gods still the heartless practical jokers poor Midas had found them? + </p> + <p> + Had my vanity been less I should have flung their gift back in their + faces. But my thirst for approbation was too intense. I had to choose: Cut + capers and be followed, or walk in dignity, ignored. I chose to cut the + capers. As time wore on I found myself striving to cut them quicker, + quainter, thinking out funny stories, preparing ingenuous impromptus, + twisting all ideas into odd expression. + </p> + <p> + I had my reward. Before long my company was desired by all the school. But + I was never content. I would rather have been the Captain of their + football club, even his deputy Vice; would have given all my meed of + laughter for stuttering Jerry's one round of applause when in our match + against Highbury he knocked up his century, and so won the victory for us + by just three. + </p> + <p> + Till the end I never quite abandoned hope of exchanging my vine leaves for + the laurels. I would rise an hour earlier in the morning to practise + throwing at broomsticks set up in waste places. At another time, the sport + coming into temporary fashion, I wearied body and mind for weeks in vain + attempts to acquire skill on stilts. That even fat Tubby could + out-distance me upon them saddened my life for months. + </p> + <p> + A lad there was, a Sixth Form boy, one Wakeham by name, if I remember + rightly, who greatly envied me my gift of being able to amuse. He was of + the age when the other sex begins to be of importance to a fellow, and the + desire had come to him to be regarded as a star of wit among the social + circles of Gospel Oak. Need I say that by nature he was a ponderously dull + boy. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon I happened to be the centre of a small group in the + playground. I had been holding forth and they had been laughing. Whether I + had delivered myself of anything really entertaining or not I cannot say. + It made no difference; they had got into the habit of laughing when I + talked. Sometimes I would say quite serious things on purpose; they would + laugh just the same. Wakeham was among them, his eyes fixed on me, + watching me as boys watch a conjurer in the hope of finding out “how he + does it.” Later in the afternoon he slipped his arm through mine, and drew + me away into an empty corner of the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Kelver,” he broke out, the moment we were beyond hearing, “you + really are funny!” + </p> + <p> + It gave me no pleasure. If he had told me that he admired my bowling I + might not have believed him, but should have loved him for it. + </p> + <p> + “So are you,” I answered savagely, “only you don't know it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not,” he replied. “Wish I was. I say, Kelver”—he glanced + round to see that no one was within earshot—“do you think you could + teach me to be funny?” + </p> + <p> + I was about to reply with conviction in the negative when an idea occurred + to me. Wakeham was famous among us for one thing; he could, inserting two + fingers in his mouth, produce a whistle capable of confusing dogs a + quarter of a mile off, and of causing people near at hand to jump from six + to eighteen inches into the air. + </p> + <p> + This accomplishment of his I envied him as keenly as he envied me mine. I + did not admire it; I could not see the use of it. Generally speaking, it + called forth irritation rather than affection. A purple-faced old + gentleman, close to whose ear he once performed, promptly cuffed his head + for it; and for so doing was commended by the whole street as a public + benefactor. Drivers of vehicles would respond by flicking at him, + occasionally with success. Even youth, from whom sympathy might have been + expected, appeared impelled, if anything happened to be at all handy, to + take it up and throw it at him. My own social circle would, I knew, regard + it as a vulgar accomplishment, and even Wakeham himself dared not perform + it in the hearing of his own classmates. That any human being should have + desired to acquire it seems incomprehensible. Yet for weeks in secret I + had wrestled to produce the hideous sound. Why? For three reasons, so far + as I can analyse this youngster of whom I am writing: + </p> + <p> + Firstly, here was a means of attracting attention; secondly, it was + something that somebody else could do and that he couldn't; thirdly, it + was a thing for which he evidently had no natural aptitude whatever, and + therefore a thing to acquire which his soul yearned the more. Had a boy + come across his path, clever at walking on his hands with his heels in the + air, Master Paul Kelver would in all probability have broken his neck in + attempts to copy and excel. I make no apologies for the brat: I merely + present him as a study for the amusement of a world of wiser boys—and + men. + </p> + <p> + I struck a bargain with young Wakeham; I undertook to teach him to be + funny in return for his teaching me this costermonger's whistle. + </p> + <p> + Each of us strove conscientiously to impart knowledge. Neither of us + succeeded. Wakeham tried hard to be funny; I tried hard to whistle. He did + all I told him; I followed his instructions implicitly. The result was the + feeblest of wit and the feeblest of whistles. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think anybody would laugh at that?” Wakeham would pathetically + enquire at the termination of his supremest effort. And honestly I would + have to confess I did not think any living being would. + </p> + <p> + “How far off do you think any one could hear that?” I would demand + anxiously, on recovering sufficient breath to speak at all. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it would depend upon whether you knew it was coming,” Wakeham would + reply kindly, not wishing to discourage me. + </p> + <p> + We abandoned the scheme by mutual consent at about the end of a fortnight. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it's something that you've got to have inside you,” I suggested + to Wakeham in consolation. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think the roof of your mouth can be quite the right shape for + it,” concluded Wakeham. + </p> + <p> + My success as story-teller, commentator, critic, jester, revived my + childish ambition towards authorship. My first stirrings in this direction + I cannot rightly place. I remember when very small falling into a sunk + dust-bin—a deep hole, rather, into which the gardener shot his + rubbish. The fall twisted my ankle so that I could not move; and the time + being evening and my prison some distance from the house, my predicament + loomed large before me. Yet one consolation remained with me: the incident + would be of value to me in the autobiography upon which I was then + engaged. I can distinctly recollect lying on my back among decaying leaves + and broken glass, framing my account. “On this day a strange adventure + befell me. Walking in the garden, all unheeding, I suddenly”—I did + not want to add the truth—“tumbled into a dust-hole, six feet + square, that any one but a moon calf might have seen.” I puzzled to evolve + a more dignified situation. The dust-bin became a cavern, the entrance to + which had been artfully concealed; the six or seven feet I had really + fallen, “an endless descent, terminating in a vast and gloomy chamber.” I + was divided between opposing desires: One, for rescue followed by sympathy + and supper; the other, for the alarming experience of a night of terror + where I lay. Nature conquering Art, I yelled; and the episode terminated + prosaically with a warm bath and arnica. But from it I judge that desire + for the woes and perils of authorship was with me somewhat early. + </p> + <p> + Of my many other dreams I would speak freely, discussing them at length + with sympathetic souls, but concerning this one ambition I was curiously + reticent. Only to two—my mother and a grey-bearded Stranger—did + I ever breathe a word of it. Even from my father I kept it a secret, close + comrades in all else though we were. He would have talked of it much and + freely, dragged it into the light of day; and from this I shrank. + </p> + <p> + My talk with the Stranger came about in this wise. One evening I had taken + a walk to Victoria Park—a favourite haunt of mine at summer time. It + was a fair and peaceful evening, and I fell a-wandering there in pleasant + reverie, until the waning light hinted to me the question of time. I + looked about me. Only one human being was in sight, a man with his back + towards me, seated upon a bench overlooking the ornamental water. + </p> + <p> + I drew nearer. He took no notice of me, and interested—though why, I + could not say—I seated myself beside him at the other end of the + bench. He was a handsome, distinguished-looking man, with wonderfully + bright, clear eyes and iron-grey hair and beard. I might have thought him + a sea captain, of whom many were always to be met with in that + neighbourhood, but for his hands, which were crossed upon his stick, and + which were white and delicate as a woman's. He turned his face and glanced + at me. I fancied that his lips beneath the grey moustache smiled; and + instinctively I edged a little nearer to him. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir,” I said, after awhile, “could you tell me the right time?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty minutes to eight,” he answered, looking at his watch. And his + voice drew me towards him even more than had his beautiful strong face. I + thanked him, and we fell back into silence. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live?” he turned and suddenly asked me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, only over there,” I answered, with a wave of my arm towards the + chimney-fringed horizon behind us. “I needn't be in till half-past eight. + I like this Park so much,” I added, “I often come and sit here of an + evening.' + </p> + <p> + “Why do you like to come and sit here?” he asked. “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” I answered. “I think.” + </p> + <p> + I marvelled at myself. With strangers generally I was shy and silent; but + the magic of his bright eyes seemed to have loosened my tongue. + </p> + <p> + I told him my name; that we lived in a street always full of ugly sounds, + so that a gentleman could not think, not even in the evening time, when + Thought goes a-visiting. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma does not like the twilight time,” I confided to him. “It always + makes her cry. But then mamma is—not very young, you know, and has + had a deal of trouble; and that makes a difference, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand upon mine. We were sitting nearer to each other now. “God + made women weak to teach us men to be tender,” he said. “But you, Paul, + like this 'twilight time'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “very much. Don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “And why do you like it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I answered, “things come to you.” + </p> + <p> + “What things?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fancies,” I explained to him. “I am going to be an author when I grow + up, and write books.” + </p> + <p> + He took my hand in his and shook it gravely, and then returned it to me. + “I, too, am a writer of books,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And then I knew what had drawn me to him. + </p> + <p> + So for the first time I understood the joy of talking “shop” with a fellow + craftsman. I told him my favourite authors—Scott, and Dumas, and + Victor Hugo; and to my delight found they were his also; he agreeing with + me that real stories were the best, stories in which people did things. + </p> + <p> + “I used to read silly stuff once,” I confessed, “Indian tales and that + sort of thing, you know. But mamma said I'd never be able to write if I + read that rubbish.” + </p> + <p> + “You will find it so all through life, Paul,” he replied. “The things that + are nice are rarely good for us. And what do you read now?” + </p> + <p> + “I am reading Marlowe's Plays and De Quincey's Confessions just now,” I + confided to him. + </p> + <p> + “And do you understand them?” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly well,” I answered. “Mamma says I'll like them better as I go on. I + want to learn to write very, very well indeed,” I admitted to him; “then + I'll be able to earn heaps of money.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. “So you don't believe in Art for Art's sake, Paul?” + </p> + <p> + I was puzzled. “What does that mean?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It means in our case, Paul,” he answered, “writing books for the pleasure + of writing books, without thinking of any reward, without desiring either + money or fame.” + </p> + <p> + It was a new idea to me. “Do many authors do that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He laughed outright this time. It was a delightful laugh. It rang through + the quiet Park, awaking echoes; and caught by it, I laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” he said; and he glanced round with a whimsical expression of fear, + lest we might have been overheard. “Between ourselves, Paul,” he + continued, drawing me more closely towards him and whispering, “I don't + think any of us do. We talk about it. But I'll tell you this, Paul; it is + a trade secret and you must remember it: No man ever made money or fame + but by writing his very best. It may not be as good as somebody else's + best, but it is his best. Remember that, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + I promised I would. + </p> + <p> + “And you must not think merely of the money and the fame, Paul,” he added + the next moment, speaking more seriously. “Money and fame are very good + things, and only hypocrites pretend to despise them. But if you write + books thinking only of money, you will be disappointed. It is earned + easier in other ways. Tell me, that is not your only idea?” + </p> + <p> + I pondered. “Mamma says it is a very noble calling, authorship,” I + remembered, “and that any one ought to be very proud and glad to be able + to write books, because they give people happiness and make them forget + things; and that one ought to be very good if one is going to be an + author, so as to be worthy to help and teach others.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you try to be good, Paul?” he enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered; “but it's very hard to be quite good—until of + course you're grown up.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, but more to himself than to me. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose it + is difficult to be good until you are grown up. Perhaps we shall all of us + be good when we're quite grown up.” Which, from a gentleman with a grey + beard, appeared to me a puzzling observation. + </p> + <p> + “And what else does mamma say about literature?” he asked. “Can you + remember?” + </p> + <p> + Again I pondered, and her words came back to me. “That he who can write a + great book is greater than a king; that the gift of being able to write is + given to anybody in trust; that an author should never forget he is God's + servant.” + </p> + <p> + He sat for awhile without speaking, his chin resting on his folded hands + supported by his gold-topped cane. Then he turned and laid a hand upon my + shoulder, and his clear, bright eyes were close to mine. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother is a wise lady, Paul,” he said. “Remember her words always. + In later life let them come back to you; they will guide you better than + the chatter of the Clubs.” + </p> + <p> + “And what modern authors do you read?” he asked after a silence: “any of + them—Thackeray, Bulwer Lytton, Dickens?” + </p> + <p> + “I have read 'The Last of the Barons,'” I told him; “I like that. And I've + been to Barnet and seen the church. And some of Mr. Dickens'.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think of Mr. Dickens?” he asked. But he did not seem very + interested in the subject. He had picked up a few small stones, and was + throwing them carefully into the water. + </p> + <p> + “I like him very much,” I answered; “he makes you laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always?” he asked. He stopped his stone-throwing, and turned sharply + towards me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not always,” I admitted; “but I like the funny bits best. I like + so much where Mr. Pickwick—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, damn Mr. Pickwick!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like him?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I like him well enough, or used to,” he replied; “I'm a bit + tired of him, that's all. Does your mamma like Mr.—Mr. Dickens?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the funny parts,” I explained to him. “She thinks he is occasionally—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he interrupted, rather irritably, I thought; “a trifle vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + It surprised me that he should have guessed her exact words. “I don't + think mamma has much sense of humour,” I explained to him. “Sometimes she + doesn't even see papa's jokes.” + </p> + <p> + At that he laughed again. “But she likes the other parts?” he enquired, + “the parts where Mr. Dickens isn't—vulgar?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” I answered. “She says he can be so beautiful and tender, when + he likes.” + </p> + <p> + Twilight was deepening. It occurred to me to enquire of him again the + time. + </p> + <p> + “Just over the quarter,” he answered, looking at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry,” I said. “I must go now.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I sorry, Paul,” he answered. “Perhaps we shall meet again. + Good-bye.” Then as our hands touched: “You have never asked me my name, + Paul,” he reminded me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, haven't I?” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “No, Paul,” he replied, “and that makes me think of your future with hope. + You are an egotist, Paul; and that is the beginning of all art.” + </p> + <p> + And after that he would not tell me his name. “Perhaps next time we meet,” + he said. “Good-bye, Paul. Good luck to you!” + </p> + <p> + So I went my way. Where the path winds out of sight I turned. He was still + seated upon the bench, but his face was towards me, and he waved his hand + to me. I answered with a wave of mine. And then the intervening boughs and + bushes gradually closed in around me. And across the rising mist there + rose the hoarse, harsh cry: + </p> + <p> + “All out! All out!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH PAUL IS SHIPWRECKED, AND CAST INTO DEEP WATERS. + </h3> + <p> + My father died, curiously enough, on the morning of his birthday. We had + not expected the end to arrive for some time, and at first did not know + that it had come. + </p> + <p> + “I have left him sleeping,” said my mother, who had slipped out very + quietly in her dressing-gown. “Washburn gave him a draught last night. We + won't disturb him.” + </p> + <p> + So we sat round the breakfast table, speaking in low tones, for the house + was small and flimsy, all sound easily heard through its thin partitions. + Afterwards my mother crept upstairs, I following, and cautiously opened + the door a little way. + </p> + <p> + The blinds were still down, and the room dark. It seemed a long time that + my mother stood there listening, her ear against the jar. The first + costermonger—a girl's voice, it sounded—passed, crying + shrilly: “Watercreases, fine fresh watercreases with your + breakfast-a'penny a bundle watercreases;” and further off a hoarse youth + was wailing: “Mee-ilk-mee-ilk-oi.” + </p> + <p> + Inch by inch my mother opened the door wider and we stole in. He was lying + with his eyes still closed, the lips just slightly parted. I had never + seen death before, and could not realise it. All that I could see was that + he looked even younger than I had ever seen him look before. By slow + degrees only, it came home to me, the knowledge that he was gone away from + us. For days—for weeks, I would hear his step behind me in the + street, his voice calling to me, see his face among the crowds, and + hastening to meet him, stand bewildered because it had mysteriously + disappeared. But at first I felt no pain whatever. + </p> + <p> + To my mother it was but a short parting. Into her placid faith had never + fallen fear nor doubt. He was waiting for her. In God's good time they + would meet again. What need of sorrow! Without him the days passed slowly: + the house must ever be a little dull when the good man's away. But that + was all. So my mother would speak of him always—of his dear, kind + ways, of his oddities and follies we loved so to recall, not through + tears, but smiles, thinking of him not as of one belonging to the past, + but as of one beckoning to her from the future. + </p> + <p> + We lived on still in the old house though ever planning to move, for the + great brick monster had crept closer round about us year by year, + devouring in his progress all things fair. Field and garden, tree and + cottage, time-mellowed house suggesting story, kind hedgerow hiding + hideousness beyond—the few spots yet in that doomed land lingering + to remind one of the sunshine, one by one had he scrunched them between + his ugly teeth. A world apart, this east end of London, this ghetto of the + poor for ever growing, dreariness added year by year to dreariness, + hopelessness stretching ever farther its long, shrivelled arms, these + endless rows of reeking cells where London herds her slaves. Often of a + misty afternoon when we knew that without this city of the dead life was + stirring in the sunshine, we would fare forth to house-hunt in pleasant + suburbs, now themselves added to the weary catacomb of narrow streets—to + Highgate, then a tiny town connected by a coach with leafy Holloway; to + Hampstead with its rows of ancient red-brick houses, from whose wind-blown + heath one saw beyond the woods and farms, far London's domes and spires, + to Wood Green among the pastures, where smock-coated labourers discussed + their politics and ale beneath wide-spreading elms; to Hornsey, then a + village consisting of an ivy-covered church and one grass-bordered way. + But though we often saw “the very thing for us” and would discuss its + possibilities from every point of view and find them good, we yet delayed. + </p> + <p> + “We must think it over,” would say my mother; “there is no hurry; for some + reasons I shall be sorry to leave Poplar.” + </p> + <p> + “For what reasons, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, no particular reason, Paul. Only we have lived there so long, + you know. It will be a wrench leaving the old house.” + </p> + <p> + To the making of man go all things, even to the instincts of the clinging + vine. We fling our tendrils round what is the nearest castle-keep or + pig-stye wall, rain and sunshine fastening them but firmer. Dying Sir + Walter Scott—do you remember?—hastening home from Italy, + fearful lest he might not be in time to breathe again the damp mists of + the barren hills. An ancient dame I knew, they had carried her from her + attic in slumland that she might be fanned by the sea breezes, and the + poor old soul lay pining for what she called her “home.” Wife, mother, + widow, she had lived there till the alley's reek smelt good to her + nostrils, till its riot was the voices of her people. Who shall understand + us save He who fashioned us? + </p> + <p> + So the old house held us to its dismal bosom; and not until within its + homely but unlovely arms, first my aunt, and later on my mother had died, + and I had said good-bye to Amy, crying in the midst of littered emptiness, + did I leave it. + </p> + <p> + My aunt died as she had lived, grumbling. + </p> + <p> + “You will be glad to get rid of me, all of you!” she said, dropping for + the first and last time I can recollect into the retort direct; “and I + can't say I shall be very sorry to go myself. It hasn't been my idea of + life.” + </p> + <p> + Poor old lady! That was only a couple of weeks before the end. I do not + suppose she guessed it was so certain or perhaps she might have been more + sentimental. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be foolish,” said my mother, “you're not going to die!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of talking like an idiot,” retorted my aunt, “I've got to + do it some time. Why not now, when everything's all ready for it. It isn't + as if I was enjoying myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure we do all we can for you,” said my mother. “I know you do,” + replied my aunt. “I'm a burden to you. I always have been.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a burden,” corrected my mother. + </p> + <p> + “What does the woman call it then,” snapped back my aunt. “Does she reckon + I've been a sunbeam in the house? I've been a trial to everybody. That's + what I was born for; it's my metier.” + </p> + <p> + My mother put her arms about the poor old soul and kissed her. “We should + miss you very much,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I hope they all will!” answered my aunt. “It's the only thing + I've got to leave 'em, worth having.” + </p> + <p> + My mother laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it's been a good thing for you, Maggie,” grumbled my aunt; “if it + wasn't for cantankerous, disagreeable people like me, gentle, patient + people like you wouldn't get any practice. Perhaps, after all, I've been a + blessing to you in disguise.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot honestly say we ever wished her back; though we certainly did + miss her—missed many a joke at her oddities, many a laugh at her + cornery ways. It takes all sorts, as the saying goes, to make a world. + Possibly enough if only we perfect folk were left in it we would find it + uncomfortably monotonous. + </p> + <p> + As for Amy, I believe she really regretted her. + </p> + <p> + “One never knows what's good for one till one's lost it,” sighed Amy. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to think you liked her,” said my mother. + </p> + <p> + “You see, mum,” explained Amy, “I was one of a large family; and a bit of + a row now and again cheers one up, I always think. I'll be losing the + power of my tongue if something doesn't come along soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are going to be married in a few weeks now,” my mother reminded + her. + </p> + <p> + But Amy remained despondent. “They're poor things, the men, at a few + words, the best of them,” she replied. “As likely as not just when you're + getting interested you turn round to find that they've put on their hat + and gone out.” + </p> + <p> + My mother and I were very much alone after my aunt's death. Barbara had + gone abroad to put the finishing touches to her education—to learn + the tricks of the Nobs' trade, as old Hasluck phrased it; and I had left + school and taken employment with Mr. Stillwood, without salary, the idea + being that I should study for the law. + </p> + <p> + “You are in luck's way, my boy, in luck's way,” old Mr. Gadley had assured + me. “To have commenced your career in the office of Stillwood, Waterhead + and Royal will be a passport for you anywhere. It will stamp you, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stillwood himself was an extremely old and feeble gentleman—so + old and feeble it seemed strange that he, a wealthy man, had not long ago + retired. + </p> + <p> + “I am always meaning to,” he explained to me one day soon after my advent + in his office. “When your poor father came to me he told me very frankly + the sad fact—that he had only a few more years to live. 'Mr. + Kelver,' I answered him, 'do not let that trouble you, so far as I am + concerned. There are one or two matters in the office I should like to see + cleared up, and in these you can help me. When they are completed I shall + retire! Yet, you see, I linger on. I am like the old hackney coach horse, + Mr. Weller—or is it Mr. Jingle—tells us of; if the shafts were + drawn away I should probably collapse. So I jog on, I jog on.'” + </p> + <p> + He had married late in life a common woman much younger than himself, who + had brought to him a horde of needy and greedy relatives, and no doubt, as + a refuge from her noisy neighbourhood, the daily peace of Lombard Street + was welcome to him. We saw her occasionally. She was one of those + blustering, “managing” women who go through life under the impression that + making a disturbance is somehow “putting things to rights.” Ridiculously + ashamed of her origin, she sought to hide it under what her friends + assured her was the air of a duchess, but which, as a matter of fact, + resembled rather the Sunday manners of an elderly barmaid. Mr. Gadley + alone was not afraid of her; but, on the contrary, kept her always very + much in fear of him, often speaking to her with refreshing candour. He had + known her in the days it was her desire should be buried in oblivion, and + had always resented as a personal insult her entry into the old + established aristocratic firm of Stillwood & Co. + </p> + <p> + Her history was peculiar. Mr. Stillwood, when a blase man about town, + verging on forty, had first seen her, then a fair-haired, ethereal-looking + child, in spite of her dirt, playing in the gutter. To his lasting + self-reproach it was young Gadley himself, accompanying his employer home + from Westminster, who had drawn Mr. Stillwood's attention to the girl by + boxing her ears for having, as he passed, slapped his face with a + convenient sprat. Stillwood, acting on the impulse of the moment, had + taken the child by the hand and dragged her, unwilling, to her father's + place of business—a small coal shed in the Horseferry Road. The + arrangement he there made amounted practically to the purchase of the + child. She was sent abroad to school and the coal shed closed. On her + return, ten years later, a big, handsome young woman, he married her, and + learned at leisure the truth of the old saying, “what's bred in the bone + will come out in the flesh,” scrub it and paint it and hide it away under + fine clothes as you will. + </p> + <p> + Her constant complaint against her husband was that he was only a + solicitor, a profession she considered vulgar; and nothing “riled” old + Gadley more than hearing her views upon this point. + </p> + <p> + “It's not fair to the gals,” I once heard her say to him. I was working in + the next room, with the door not quite closed, added to which she talked + at the top of her voice on all subjects. “What real gentleman, I should + like to know, is going to marry the daughter of a City attorney? As I told + him years ago, he ought to have retired and gone into the House.” + </p> + <p> + “The very thing your poor father used to talk of doing whenever things + were going a bit queer in the retail coal and potato business,” grunted + old Gadley. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stillwood called him a “low beast” in her most aristocratic tones, + and swept out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Not that old Stillwood himself ever expressed fondness for the law. + </p> + <p> + “I am not at all sure, Kelver,” I remember his saying to me on one + occasion, “that you have done wisely in choosing the law. It makes one + regard humanity morally as the medical profession regards it physically:—as + universally unsound. You suspect everybody of being a rogue. When people + are behaving themselves, we lawyers hear nothing of them. All we hear of + is roguery, trickery and hypocrisy. It deteriorates the character, Kelver. + We live in a perpetual atmosphere of transgression. I sometimes fancy it + may be infectious.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not seem to have infected you, sir,” I replied; for, as I think I + have already mentioned, the firm of Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal was + held in legal circles as the synonym for rectitude of dealing quite + old-fashioned. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, Kelver, I hope not,” the old gentleman replied; “and yet, do + you know, I sometimes suspect myself—wonder if I may not perhaps be + a scamp without realising it. A rogue, you know, Kelver, can always + explain himself into an honest man to his own satisfaction. A scamp is + never a scamp to himself.” + </p> + <p> + His words for the moment alarmed me, for, acting on old Gadley's advice, I + had persuaded my mother to put all her small capital into Mr. Stillwood's + hands for re-investment, a transaction that had resulted in substantial + increase of our small income. But, looking into his smiling eyes, my + momentary fear vanished. + </p> + <p> + Laughing, he laid his hand upon my shoulder. “One person always be + suspicious of, Kelver—yourself. Nobody can do you so much harm as + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Of Washburn we saw more and more. “Hal” we both called him now, for + removing with his gentle, masterful hands my mother's shyness from about + her, he had established himself almost as one of the family, my mother + regarding him as she might some absurdly bearded boy entrusted to her care + without his knowing it, I looking up to him as to some wonderful elder + brother. + </p> + <p> + “You rest me, Mrs. Kelver,” he would say, lighting his pipe and sinking + down into the deep leathern chair that always waited for him in our + parlour. “Your even voice, your soft eyes, your quiet hands, they soothe + me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is good for a man,” he would say, looking from one to the other of us + through the hanging smoke, “to test his wisdom by two things: the face of + a good woman, and the ear of a child—I beg your pardon, Paul—of + a young man. A good woman's face is the white sunlight. Under the + gas-lamps who shall tell diamond from paste? Bring it into the sunlight: + does it stand that test? Then it is good. And the children! they are the + waiting earth on which we fling our store. Is it chaff and dust or living + seed? Wait and watch. I shower my thoughts over our Paul, Mrs. Kelver. + They seem to me brilliant, deep, original. The young beggar swallows them, + forgets them. They were rubbish. Then I say something that dwells with + him, that grows. Ah, that was alive, that was a seed. The waiting earth, + it can make use only of what is true.” + </p> + <p> + “You should marry, Hal,” my mother would say. It was her panacea for all + mankind. + </p> + <p> + “I would, Mrs. Kelver,” he answered her on one occasion, “I would + to-morrow if I could marry half a dozen women. I should make an ideal + husband for half a dozen wives. One I should neglect for five days, and be + a burden to upon the sixth.” + </p> + <p> + From any other than Hal my mother would have taken such a remark, made + even in jest, as an insult to her sex. But Hal's smile was a coating that + could sugar any pill. + </p> + <p> + “I am not one man, Mrs. Kelver, I am half a dozen. If I were to marry one + wife she would be married to six husbands. It is too many for any woman to + manage.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never fallen in love?” asked my mother. + </p> + <p> + “Three of me have, but on each occasion the other five of me out-voted + him.” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure six would be sufficient?” queried my mother, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Just the right number, Mrs. Kelver. There is one of me must worship, + adore a woman madly, abjectly; grovel before her like the Troubadour + before his Queen of Song, eat her slipper, drink the water she has washed + in, scourge himself before her window, die for a kiss of her glove flung + down with a laugh. She must be scornful, contemptuous, cruel. There is + another I would cherish, a tender, yielding creature, one whose face would + light at my coming, cloud at my going; one to whom I should be a god. + There is a third I, a child of Pan—an ugly little beast, Mrs. + Kelver; horns on head and hoofs on feet, leering through the wood, seeking + its fit mate. And a fourth would wed a wholesome, homely wench, deep of + bosom, broad of hip; fit mother of a sturdy brood. A fifth could only be + content with a true friend, a comrade wise and witty, a sharer and + understander of all joys and thoughts and feelings. And a last, Mrs. + Kelver, yearns for a woman pure and sweet, clothed in love and crowned + with holiness. Shouldn't we be a handful, Mrs. Kelver, for any one woman + in an eight-roomed house?” + </p> + <p> + But my mother was not to be discouraged. “You will find the woman one day, + Hal, who will be all of them to you—all of them that are worth + having, that is. And your eight-roomed house will be a kingdom!” + </p> + <p> + “A man is many, and a woman but one,” answered Hal. + </p> + <p> + “That is what men say who are too blind to see more than one side of a + woman,” retorted my mother, a little sharply; for the honour and credit of + her own sex in all things was very dear to my mother. And indeed this I + have learned, that the flag of Womanhood you shall ever find upheld by all + true women, flouted only by the false. For a judge in petticoats is ever + but a witness in a wig. + </p> + <p> + Hal laid aside his pipe and leant forward in his chair. “Now tell us, Mrs. + Kelver, for our guidance, we two young bachelors, what must the lover of a + young girl be?” + </p> + <p> + Always very serious on this subject of love, my mother answered gravely: + “She asks for the whole of a man, Hal, not merely for a sixth, nor any + other part of him. She is a child asking for a lover to whom she can look + up, who will teach her, guide her, protect her. She is a queen demanding + homage, and yet he is her king whom it is her joy to serve. She asks to be + his partner, his fellow-worker, his playmate, and at the same time she + loves to think of him as her child, her big baby she must take care of. + Whatever he has to give she has also to respond with. You need not marry + six wives, Hal; you will find your six in one. + </p> + <p> + “'As the water to the vessel, woman shapes herself to man;' an old heathen + said that three thousand years ago, and others have repeated him; that is + what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like that way of putting it,” answered my mother. “I mean that as + you say of man, so in every true woman is contained all women. But to know + her completely you must love her with all love.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the talk would be of religion, for my mother's faith was no dead + thing that must be kept ever sheltered from the air, lest it crumble. + </p> + <p> + One evening “Who are we that we should live?” cried Hal. “The spider is + less cruel; the very pig less greedy, gluttonous and foul; the tiger less + tigerish; our cousin ape less monkeyish. What are we but savages, clothed + and ashamed, nine-tenths of us?” + </p> + <p> + “But Sodom and Gomorrah,” reminded him my mother, “would have been spared + for the sake of ten just men.” + </p> + <p> + “Much more sensible to have hurried the ten men out, leaving the remainder + to be buried with all their abominations under their own ashes,” growled + Hal. + </p> + <p> + “And we shall be purified,” continued my mother, “the evil in us washed + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Why have made us ill merely to mend us? If the Almighty were so anxious + for our company, why not have made us decent in the beginning?” He had + just come away from a meeting of Poor Law Guardians, and was in a state of + dissatisfaction with human nature generally. + </p> + <p> + “It is His way,” answered my mother. “The precious stone lies hid in clay. + He has His purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the stone so very precious?” + </p> + <p> + “Would He have taken so much pains to fashion it if it were not? You see + it all around you, Hal, in your daily practice—heroism, + self-sacrifice, love stronger than death. Can you think He will waste it, + He who uses again even the dead leaf?” + </p> + <p> + “Shall the new leaf remember the new flower?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if it ever knew it. Shall memory be the only thing to die?” + </p> + <p> + Often of an evening I would accompany Hal upon his rounds. By the savage + tribe he both served and ruled he had come to be regarded as medicine man + and priest combined. He was both their tyrant and their slave, working for + them early and late, yet bullying them unmercifully, enforcing his + commands sometimes with vehement tongue, and where that would not suffice + with quick fists; the counsellor, helper, ruler, literally of thousands. + Of income he could have made barely enough to live upon; but few men could + have enjoyed more sense of power; and that I think it was that held him to + the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + “Nature laid me by and forgot me for a couple of thousand years,” was his + own explanation of himself. “Born in my proper period, I should have + climbed to chieftainship upon uplifted shields. I might have been an + Attila, an Alaric. Among the civilised one can only climb by crawling, and + I am too impatient to crawl. Here I am king at once by force of brain and + muscle.” So in Poplar he remained, poor in fees but rich in honour. + </p> + <p> + The love of justice was a passion with him. The oppressors of the poor + knew and feared him well. Injustice once proved before him, vengeance + followed sure. If the law would not help, he never hesitated to employ + lawlessness, of which he could always command a satisfactory supply. + Bumble might have the Board of Guardians at his back, Shylock legal + support for his pound of flesh; but sooner or later the dark night brought + punishment, a ducking in dock basin or canal, “Brutal Assault Upon a + Respected Resident” (according to the local papers), the “miscreants” + always making and keeping good their escape, for he was an admirable + organiser. + </p> + <p> + One night it seemed to him necessary that a child should go at once into + the Infirmary. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't no use my taking her now,” explained the mother, “I'll only get + bullyragged for disturbing 'em. My old man was carried there three months + ago when he broke his leg, but they wouldn't take him in till the + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! oho! oho!” sang Hal, taking the child up in his arms and putting on + his hat. “You follow me; we'll have some sport. Tally ho! tally ho!” And + away we went, Hal heading our procession through the streets, shouting a + rollicking song, the baby staring at him openmouthed. + </p> + <p> + “Now ring,” cried Hal to the mother on our reaching the Workhouse gate. + “Ring modestly, as becomes the poor ringing at the gate of Charity.” And + the bell tinkled faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Ring again!” cried Hal, drawing back into the shadow; and at last the + wicket opened. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you please, sir, my baby—” + </p> + <p> + “Blast your baby!” answered a husky voice, “what d'ye mean by coming here + this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I'm afraid it's dying, and the Doctor—” + </p> + <p> + The man was no sentimentalist, and to do him justice made no hypocritical + pretence of being one. He consigned the baby and its mother and the doctor + to Hell, and the wicket would have closed but for the point of Hal's + stick. + </p> + <p> + “Open the gate!” roared Hal. It was idle pretending not to hear Hal + anywhere within half a mile of him when he filled his lungs for a cry. + “Open it quick, you blackguard! You gross vat-load of potato spirit, you—” + </p> + <p> + That the Governor should speak a language familiar to the governed was + held by the Romans, born rulers of men, essential to authority. This + theory Hal also maintained. His command of idiom understanded by his + people was one of his rods of power. In less time than it took the + trembling porter to loosen the bolts, Hal had presented him with a word + picture of himself, as seen by others, that must have lessened his + self-esteem. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know as it was you, Doctor,” explained the man. + </p> + <p> + “No, you thought you had only to deal with some helpless creature you + could bully. Stir your fat carcass, you ugly cur! I'm in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + The House Surgeon was away, but an attendant or two were lounging about, + unfortunately for themselves, for Hal, being there, took it upon himself + to go round the ward setting crooked things straight; and a busy and + alarming time they had of it. Not till a couple of hours later did he + fling himself forth again, having enjoyed himself greatly. + </p> + <p> + A gentleman came to reside in the district, a firm believer in the wisdom + of the couplet: “A woman, a spaniel and a walnut tree, The more you beat + them the better they be.” The spaniel and the walnut tree he did not + possess, so his wife had the benefit of his undivided energies. Whether + his treatment had improved her morally, one cannot say; her evident desire + to do her best may have been natural or may have been assisted; but + physically it was injuring her. He used to beat her about the head with + his strap, his argument being that she always seemed half asleep, and that + this, for the time being, woke her up. Sympathisers brought complaint to + Hal, for the police in that neighbourhood are to keep the streets + respectable. With the life in the little cells that line them they are no + more concerned than are the scavengers of the sewers with the domestic + arrangements of the rats. + </p> + <p> + “What's he like?” asked Hal. + </p> + <p> + “He's a big 'un,” answered the woman who had come with the tale, “and he's + good with his fists—I've seen him. But there's no getting at him. + He's the sort to have the law on you if you interfere with him, and she's + the sort to help him.” + </p> + <p> + “Any likely time to catch him at it?” asked Hal. + </p> + <p> + “Saturdays it's as regular as early closing,” answered the woman, “but you + might have to wait a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait in your room, granny, next Saturday,” suggested Hal. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” agreed the woman, “I'll risk it, even if I do get a bloody + head for it.” + </p> + <p> + So that week end we sat very still on two rickety chairs listening to a + long succession of sharp, cracking sounds that, had one not known, one + might have imagined produced by some child monotonously exploding + percussion caps, each one followed by an answering groan. Hal never moved, + but sat smoking his pipe, an ugly smile about his mouth. Only once he + opened his lips, and then it was to murmur to himself: “And God blessed + them and said unto them, Be fruitful and multiply.” + </p> + <p> + The horror ceased at last, and later we heard the door unlock and a man's + foot upon the landing above. Hal beckoned to me, and swiftly we slipped + out and down the creaking stairs. He opened the front door, and we waited + in the evil-smelling little passage. The man came towards us whistling. He + was a powerfully built fellow, rather good-looking, I remember. He stopped + abruptly upon catching sight of Hal, who stood crouching in the shadow of + the door. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Waiting to pull your nose!” answered Hal, suiting the action to the word. + And then laughing he ran down the street, I following. + </p> + <p> + The man gave chase, calling to us with a string of imprecations to stop. + But Hal only ran the faster, though after a street or two he slackened, + and the man gained on us a little. + </p> + <p> + So we continued, the distance between us and our pursuer now a little + more, now a little less. People turned and stared at us. A few boys, + scenting grim fun, followed shouting for awhile; but these we soon + out-paced, till at last in deserted streets, winding among warehouses + bordering the river, we three ran alone, between long, lifeless walls. I + looked into Hal's face from time to time, and he was laughing; but every + now and then he would look over his shoulder at the man behind him still + following doggedly, and then his face would be twisted into a comically + terrified grimace. Turning into a narrow cul-de-sac, Hal suddenly ducked + behind a wide brick buttress, and the man, still running, passed us. And + then Hal stood up and called to him, and the man turned, looked into Hal's + eyes, and understood. + </p> + <p> + He was not a coward. Besides, even a rat when cornered will fight for its + life. He made a rush at Hal, and Hal made no attempt to defend himself. He + stood there laughing, and the man struck him full in the face, and the + blood spurted out and flowed down into his mouth. The man came on again, + though terror was in every line of his face, all his desire being to + escape. But this time Hal drove him back again. They fought for awhile, if + one can call it fighting, till the man, mad for air, reeled against the + wall, stood there quivering convulsively, his mouth wide open, resembling + more than anything else some huge dying fish. And Hal drew away and + waited. + </p> + <p> + I have no desire to see again the sight I saw that quiet, still evening, + framed by those high, windowless walls, from behind which sounded with + ceaseless regularity the gentle swish of the incoming tide. All sense of + retribution was drowned in the sight of Hal's evident enjoyment of his + sport. The judge had disappeared, leaving the work to be accomplished by a + savage animal loosened for the purpose. + </p> + <p> + The wretched creature flung itself again towards its only door of escape, + fought with the vehemence of despair, to be flung back again, a hideous, + bleeding mass of broken flesh. I tried to cling to Hal's arm, but one jerk + of his steel muscles flung me ten feet away. + </p> + <p> + “Keep off, you fool!” he cried. “I won't kill him. I'm keeping my head. I + shall know when to stop.” And I crept away and waited. + </p> + <p> + Hal joined me a little later, wiping the blood from his face. We made our + way to a small public-house near the river, and from there Hal sent a + couple of men on whom he could rely with instructions how to act. I never + heard any more of the matter. It was a subject on which I did not care to + speak to Hal. I can only hope that good came of it. + </p> + <p> + There was a spot—it has been cleared away since to make room for the + approach to Greenwich Tunnel—it was then the entrance to a grain + depot in connection with the Milwall Docks. A curious brick well it + resembled, in the centre of which a roadway wound downward, corkscrew + fashion, disappearing at the bottom into darkness under a yawning arch. + The place possessed the curious property of being ever filled with a + ceaseless murmur, as though it were some aerial maelstrom, drawing into + its silent vacuum all wandering waves of sound from the restless human + ocean flowing round it. No single tone could one ever distinguish: it was + a mingling of all voices, heard there like the murmur of a sea-soaked + shell. + </p> + <p> + We passed through it on our return. Its work for the day was finished, its + strange, weary song uninterrupted by the mighty waggons thundering up and + down its spiral way. Hal paused, leaning against the railings that + encircled its centre, and listened. + </p> + <p> + “Hark, do you not hear it, Paul?” he asked. “It is the music of Humanity. + All human notes are needful to its making: the faint wail of the new-born, + the cry of the dying thief; the beating of the hammers, the merry trip of + dancers; the clatter of the teacups, the roaring of the streets; the + crooning of the mother to her babe, the scream of the tortured child; the + meeting kiss of lovers, the sob of those that part. Listen! prayers and + curses, sighs and laughter; the soft breathing of the sleeping, the + fretful feet of pain; voices of pity, voices of hate; the glad song of the + strong, the foolish complaining of the weak. Listen to it, Paul! Right and + wrong, good and evil, hope and despair, it is but one voice—a single + note, drawn by the sweep of the Player's hand across the quivering strings + of man. What is the meaning of it, Paul? Can you read it? Sometimes it + seems to me a note of joy, so full, so endless, so complete, that I cry: + 'Blessed be the Lord whose hammers have beaten upon us, whose fires have + shaped us to His ends!' And sometimes it sounds to me a dying note, so + that I could curse Him who in wantonness has wrung it from the anguish of + His creatures—till I would that I could fling myself, Prometheus + like, between Him and His victims, calling: 'My darkness, but their light; + my agony, O God; their hope!'” + </p> + <p> + The faint light from a neighbouring gas-lamp fell upon his face that an + hour before I had seen the face of a wild beast. The ugly mouth was + quivering, tears stood in his great, tender eyes. Could his prayer in that + moment have been granted, could he have pressed against his bosom all the + pain of the world, he would have rejoiced. + </p> + <p> + He shook himself together with a laugh. “Come, Paul, we have had a busy + afternoon, and I'm thirsty. Let us drink some beer, my boy, good sound + beer, and plenty of it.” + </p> + <p> + My mother fell ill that winter. Mountain born and mountain bred, the close + streets had never agreed with her, and scolded by all of us, she promised, + “come the fine weather,” to put sentiment behind her, and go away from + them. + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking she will,” said Hal, gripping my shoulder with his strong + hand, “but it'll be by herself that she'll go, lad. My wonder is,” he + continued, “that she has held out so long. If anything, it is you that + have kept her alive. Now that you are off her mind to a certain extent, + she is worrying about your father, I expect. These women, they never will + believe a man can take care of himself, even in Heaven. She's never quite + trusted the Lord with him, and never will till she's there to give an eye + to things herself.” + </p> + <p> + Hal's prophecy fell true. She left “come the fine weather,” as she had + promised: I remember it was the first day primroses were hawked in the + street. But another death had occurred just before; which, concerning me + closely as it does, I had better here dispose of; and that was the death + of old Mr. Stillwood, who passed away rich in honour and regret, and was + buried with much ostentation and much sincere sorrow; for he had been to + many of his clients, mostly old folk, rather a friend than a mere man of + business, and had gained from all with whom he had come in contact, + respect, and from many real affection. + </p> + <p> + In conformity with the old legal fashions that in his life he had so + fondly clung to, his will was read aloud by Mr. Gadley after the return + from the funeral, and many were the tears its recital called forth. + Written years ago by himself and never altered, its quaint phraseology was + full of kindly thought and expression. No one had been forgotten. Clerks, + servants, poor relations, all had been treated with even-handed justice, + while for those with claim upon him, ample provision had been made. Few + wills, I think, could ever have been read less open to criticism. + </p> + <p> + Old Gadley slipped his arm into mine as we left the house. “If you've + nothing to do, young 'un,” he said, “I'll get you to come with me to the + office. I have got all the keys in my pocket, and we shall be quiet. It + will be sad work for me, and I had rather we were alone. A couple of hours + will show us everything.” + </p> + <p> + We lighted the wax candles—old Stillwood could never tolerate gas in + his own room—and opening the safe took out the heavy ledgers one by + one, and from them Gadley dictated figures which I wrote down and added + up. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty years I have kept these books for him,” said old Gadley, as we + laid by the last of them, “thirty years come Christmas next, he and I + together. No other hands but ours have ever touched them, and now people + to whom they mean nothing but so much business will fling them about, drop + greasy crumbs upon them—I know their ways, the brutes!—scribble + all over them. And he who always would have everything so neat and + orderly!” + </p> + <p> + We came to the end of them in less than the time old Gadley had thought + needful: in such perfect order had everything been maintained. I was + preparing to go, but old Gadley had drawn a couple of small keys from his + pocket, and was shuffling again towards the safe. + </p> + <p> + “Only one more,” he explained in answer to my look, “his own private + ledger. It will merely be in the nature of a summary, but we'll just + glance through it.” + </p> + <p> + He opened an inner drawer and took from it a small thick volume bound in + green leather and closed with two brass locks. An ancient volume, it + appeared, its strong binding faded and stained. Old Gadley sat down with + it at the dead man's own desk, and snuffing the two shaded candles, + unlocked and opened it. I was standing opposite, so that the book to me + was upside down, but the date on the first page, “1841,” caught my eye, as + also the small neat writing now brown with age. + </p> + <p> + “So neat, so orderly he always was,” murmured old Gadley again, smoothing + the page affectionately with his hand, and I waited for his dictation. + </p> + <p> + But no glib flow of figures fell from him. His eyebrows suddenly + contracted, his body stiffened itself. Then for the next quarter of an + hour nothing sounded in the quiet room but his turning of the creakling + pages. Once or twice he glanced round swiftly over his shoulder, as though + haunted by the idea of some one behind him; then back to the neat, closely + written folios, his little eyes, now exhibiting a comical look of horror, + starting out of his round red face. First slowly, then quickly with + trembling hands he turned the pages, till the continual ratling of the + leaves sounded like strange, mocking laughter through the silent, empty + room; almost one could imagine it coming from some watching creature + hidden in the shadows. + </p> + <p> + The end reached, he sat staring before him, his whole body quivering, + great beads of sweat upon his shiny bald head. + </p> + <p> + “Am I mad?” was all he could find to say. “Kelver, am I mad?” + </p> + <p> + He handed me the book. It was a cynically truthful record of fraud, + extending over thirty years. Every client, every friend, every relative + that had fallen into his net he had robbed: the fortunate ones of a part, + the majority of their all. Its very first entry debited him with the + proceeds of his own partner's estate. Its last ran—“Re Kelver—various + sales of stock.” To his credit were his payments year after year of + imaginary interests on imaginary securities, the surplus accounted for + with simple brevity: “Transferred to own account.” No record could have + been more clear, more frank. Beneath each transaction was written its true + history; the actual investments, sometimes necessary, carefully + distinguished from the false. In neat red ink would occur here and there a + note for his own guidance: “Eldest child comes of age August, '73. Be + prepared for trustees desiring production.” Turning to “August, '73,” one + found that genuine investment had been made, to be sold again a few months + later on. From beginning to end not a single false step had he committed. + Suspicious clients had been ear-marked: the trusting discriminated with + gratitude, and milked again and again to meet emergency. + </p> + <p> + As a piece of organisation it was magnificent. No one but a financial + genius could have picked a dozen steps through such a network of + chicanery. For half a lifetime he had moved among it, dignified, respected + and secure. + </p> + <p> + Whether even he could have maintained his position for another month was + doubtful. Suicide, though hinted at, was proved to have been impossible. + It seemed as though with his amazing audacity he had tricked even Death + into becoming his accomplice. + </p> + <p> + “But it is impossible, Kelver!” cried Gadley, “this must be some dream. + Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal! What is the meaning of it?” + </p> + <p> + He took the book into his hands again, then burst into tears. “You never + knew him,” wailed the poor little man. “Stillwood, Waterhead and Royal! I + came here as office boy fifty years ago. He was more like a friend to me + than—” and again the sobs shook his little fat body. + </p> + <p> + I locked the books away and put him into his hat and coat. But I had much + difficulty in getting him out of the office. + </p> + <p> + “I daren't, young 'un,” he cried, drawing back. “Fifty years I have walked + out of this office, proud of it, proud of being connected with it. I + daren't face the street!” + </p> + <p> + All the way home his only idea was: Could it not be hidden? Honest, kindly + little man that he was, he seemed to have no thought for the unfortunate + victims. The good name of his master, of his friend, gone! Stillwood, + Waterhead and Royal, a by-word! To have avoided that I believe he would + have been willing for yet another hundred clients to be ruined. + </p> + <p> + I saw him to his door, then turned homeward; and to my surprise in a dark + by-street heard myself laughing heartily. I checked myself instantly, + feeling ashamed of my callousness, of my seeming indifference to the + trouble even of myself and my mother. Yet as there passed before me the + remembrance of that imposing and expensive funeral with its mournful + following of tearful faces; the hushed reading of the will with its + accompaniment of rustling approval; the picture of the admirably + sympathetic clergyman consoling with white hands Mrs. Stillwood, inclined + to hysteria, but anxious concerning her two hundred pounds' worth of crape + which by no possibility of means could now be paid for—recurred to + me the obituary notice in “The Chelsea Weekly Chronicle”: the humour of + the thing swept all else before it, and I laughed again—I could not + help it—loud and long. It was my first introduction to the comedy of + life, which is apt to be more brutal than the comedy of fiction. + </p> + <p> + But nearing home, the serious side of the matter forced itself uppermost. + Fortunately, our supposed dividends had been paid to us by Mr. Stillwood + only the month before. Could I keep the thing from troubling my mother's + last days? It would be hard work. I should have to do it alone, for a + perhaps foolish pride prevented my taking Hal into my confidence, even + made his friendship a dread to me, lest he should come to learn and offer + help. There is a higher generosity, it is said, that can receive with + pleasure as well as bestow favour; but I have never felt it. Could I be + sure of acting my part, of not betraying myself to her sharp eyes, of + keeping newspapers and chance gossip away from her? Good shrewd Amy I + cautioned, but I shrank from even speaking on the subject to Hal, and my + fear was lest he should blunder into the subject, which for the usual nine + days occupied much public attention. But fortunately he appeared not even + to have heard of the scandal. + </p> + <p> + Possibly had the need lasted longer I might have failed, but as it was, a + few weeks saw the end. + </p> + <p> + “Don't leave me to-day, Paul,” whispered my mother to me one morning. So I + stayed, and in the evening my mother put her arms around my neck and I lay + beside her, my head upon her breast, as I used to when a little boy. And + when the morning came I was alone. + </p> + <p> + BOOK II. <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + DESCRIBES THE DESERT ISLAND TO WHICH PAUL WAS DRIFTED. + </h3> + <p> + “Room to let for a single gentleman.” Sometimes in an idle hour, impelled + by foolishness, I will knock at the door. It is opened after a longer or + shorter interval by the “slavey”—in the morning, slatternly, her + arms concealed beneath her apron; in the afternoon, smart in dirty cap and + apron. How well I know her! Unchanged, not grown an inch—her round + bewildered eyes, her open mouth, her touzled hair, her scored red hands. + With an effort I refrain from muttering: “So sorry, forgot my key,” from + pushing past her and mounting two at a time the narrow stairs, carpeted to + the first floor, but bare beyond. Instead, I say, “Oh, what rooms have you + to let?” when, scuttling to the top of the kitchen stairs, she will call + over the banisters: “A gentleman to see the rooms.” There comes up, + panting, a harassed-looking, elderly female, but genteel in black. She + crushes past the little “slavey,” and approaching, eyes me critically. + </p> + <p> + “I have a very nice room on the first floor,” she informs me, “and one + behind on the third.” + </p> + <p> + I agree to see them, explaining that I am seeking them for a young friend + of mine. We squeeze past the hat and umbrella stand: there is just room, + but one must keep close to the wall. The first floor is rather an imposing + apartment, with a marble-topped sideboard measuring quite three feet by + two, the doors of which will remain closed if you introduce a wad of paper + between them. A green table-cloth, matching the curtains, covers the + loo-table. The lamp is perfectly safe so long as it stands in the exact + centre of the table, but should not be shifted. A paper fire-stove + ornament in some mysterious way bestows upon the room an air of chastity. + Above the mantelpiece is a fly-blown mirror, between the once gilt frame + and glass of which can be inserted invitation cards; indeed, one or two so + remain, proving that the tenants even of “bed-sitting-rooms” are not + excluded from social delights. The wall opposite is adorned by an + oleograph of the kind Cheap Jacks sell by auction on Saturday nights in + the Pimlico Road, and warrant as “hand-made.” Generally speaking, it is a + Swiss landscape. There appears to be more “body” in a Swiss landscape than + in scenes from less favoured localities. A dilapidated mill, a foaming + torrent, a mountain, a maiden and a cow can at the least be relied upon. + An easy chair (I disclaim all responsibility for the adjective), stuffed + with many coils of steel wire, each possessing a “business end” in + admirable working order, and covered with horsehair, highly glazed, awaits + the uninitiated. There is one way of sitting upon it, and only one: by + using the extreme edge, and planting your feet firmly on the floor. If you + attempt to lean back in it you inevitably slide out of it. When so treated + it seems to say to you: “Excuse me, you are very heavy, and you would + really be much more comfortable upon the floor. Thank you so much.” The + bed is behind the door, and the washstand behind the bed. If you sit + facing the window you can forget the bed. On the other hand, if more than + one friend come to call on you, you are glad of it. As a matter of fact, + experienced visitors prefer it—make straight for it, refusing with + firmness to exchange it for the easy chair. + </p> + <p> + “And this room is?” + </p> + <p> + “Eight shillings a week, sir—with attendance, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Any extras?” + </p> + <p> + “The lamp, sir, is eighteenpence a week; and the kitchen fire, if the + gentleman wishes to dine at home, two shillings.” + </p> + <p> + “And fire?” + </p> + <p> + “Sixpence a scuttle, sir, I charge for coals.” + </p> + <p> + “It's rather a small scuttle.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady bridles a little. “The usual size, I think, sir.” One + presumes there is a special size in coal-scuttles made exclusively for + lodging-house keepers. + </p> + <p> + I agree that while I am about it I may as well see the other room, the + third floor back. The landlady opens the door for me, but remains herself + on the landing. She is a stout lady, and does not wish to dwarf the + apartment by comparison. The arrangement here does not allow of your + ignoring the bed. It is the life and soul of the room, and it declines to + efface itself. Its only possible rival is the washstand, straw-coloured; + with staring white basin and jug, together with other appurtenances. It + glares defiantly from its corner. “I know I'm small,” it seems to say; + “but I'm very useful; and I won't be ignored.” The remaining furniture + consists of a couple of chairs—there is no hypocrisy about them: + they are not easy and they do not pretend to be easy; a small chest of + light-painted drawers before the window, with white china handles, upon + which is a tiny looking-glass; and, occupying the entire remaining space, + after allowing three square feet for the tenant, when he arrives, an + attenuated four-legged table apparently home-made. The only ornament in + the room is, suspended above the fireplace, a funeral card, framed in beer + corks. As the corpse introduced by the ancient Egyptians into their + banquets, it is hung there perhaps to remind the occupant of the apartment + that the luxuries and allurements of life have their end; or maybe it + consoles him in despondent moments with the reflection that after all he + might be worse off. + </p> + <p> + The rent of this room is three-and-sixpence a week, also including + attendance; lamp, as for the first floor, eighteen-pence; but kitchen fire + a shilling. + </p> + <p> + “But why should kitchen fire for the first floor be two shillings, and for + this only one?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a rule, sir, the first floor wants more cooking done.” + </p> + <p> + You are quite right, my dear lady, I was forgetting. The gentleman in the + third floor back! cooking for him is not a great tax upon the kitchen + fire. His breakfast, it is what, madam, we call plain, I think. His lunch + he takes out. You may see him, walking round the quiet square, up and down + the narrow street that, leading to nowhere in particular, is between + twelve and two somewhat deserted. He carries a paper bag, into which at + intervals, when he is sure nobody is looking, his mouth disappears. From + studying the neighbourhood one can guess what it contains. Saveloys + hereabouts are plentiful and only twopence each. There are pie shops, + where meat pies are twopence and fruit pies a penny. The lady behind the + counter, using deftly a broad, flat knife, lifts the little dainty with + one twist clean from its tiny dish: it is marvellous, having regard to the + thinness of the pastry, that she never breaks one. Roley-poley pudding, + sweet and wonderfully satisfying, more especially when cold, is but a + penny a slice. Peas pudding, though this is an awkward thing to eat out of + a bag, is comforting upon cold days. Then with his tea he takes two eggs + or a haddock, the fourpenny size; maybe on rare occasions, a chop or + steak; and you fry it for him, madam, though every time he urges on you + how much he would prefer it grilled, for fried in your one frying-pan its + flavour becomes somewhat confused. But maybe this is the better for him, + for, shutting his eyes and trusting only to smell and flavour, he can + imagine himself enjoying variety. He can begin with herrings, pass on to + liver and bacon, opening his eyes again for a moment perceive that he has + now arrived at the joint, and closing them again, wind up with distinct + suggestion of toasted cheese, thus avoiding monotony. For dinner he goes + out again. Maybe he is not hungry, late meals are a mistake; or, maybe, + putting his hand into his pocket and making calculations beneath a + lamp-post, appetite may come to him. Then there are places cheerful with + the sound of frizzling fat, where fried plaice brown and odorous may be + had for three halfpence, and a handful of sliced potatoes for a penny; + where for fourpence succulent stewed eels may be discussed; vinegar ad + lib.; or for sevenpence—but these are red-letter evenings—half + a sheep's head may be indulged in, which is a supper fit for any king, who + happened to be hungry. + </p> + <p> + I explain that I will discuss the matter with my young friend when he + arrives. The landlady says, “Certainly, sir:” she is used to what she + calls the “wandering Christian;” and easing my conscience by slipping a + shilling into the “slavey's” astonished, lukewarm hand, I pass out again + into the long, dreary street, now echoing maybe to the sad cry of + “Muffins!” + </p> + <p> + Or sometimes of an evening, the lamp lighted, the remnants of the meat tea + cleared away, the flickering firelight cosifying the dingy rooms, I go + a-visiting. There is no need for me to ring the bell, to mount the stairs. + Through the thin transparent walls I can see you plainly, old friends of + mine, fashions a little changed, that is all. We wore bell-shaped + trousers; eight-and-six to measure, seven-and-six if from stock; fastened + our neckties in dashing style with a horseshoe pin. I think in the matter + of waistcoats we had the advantage of you; ours were gayer, braver. Our + cuffs and collars were of paper: sixpence-halfpenny the dozen, + three-halfpence the pair. On Sunday they were white and glistening; on + Monday less aggressively obvious; on Tuesday morning decidedly dappled. + But on Tuesday evening, when with natty cane, or umbrella neatly rolled in + patent leather case, we took our promenade down Oxford Street—fashionable + hour nine to ten p.m.—we could shoot our arms and cock our chins + with the best. Your india-rubber linen has its advantages. Storm does not + wither it; it braves better the heat and turmoil of the day. The passing + of a sponge! and your “Dicky” is itself again. We had to use bread-crumbs, + and so sacrifice the glaze. Yet I cannot help thinking that for the first + few hours, at all events, our paper was more dazzling. + </p> + <p> + For the rest I see no change in you, old friends. I wave you greeting from + the misty street. God rest you, gallant gentlemen, lonely and friendless + and despised; making the best of joyless lives; keeping yourselves genteel + on twelve, fifteen, or eighteen (ah, but you are plutocrats!) shillings a + week; saving something even of that, maybe, to help the old mother in the + country, so proud of her “gentleman” son who has book learning and who is + “something in the City.” May nothing you dismay. Bullied, and badgered, + and baited from nine to six though you may be, from then till bedtime you + are rorty young dogs. The half-guinea topper, “as worn by the Prince of + Wales” (ah, how many a meal has it not cost!), warmed before the fire, + brushed and polished and coaxed, shines resplendent. The second pair of + trousers are drawn from beneath the bed; in the gaslight, with well-marked + crease from top to toe, they will pass for new. A pleasant evening to you! + May your cheap necktie make all the impression your soul can desire! May + your penny cigar be mistaken for Havana! May the barmaid charm your simple + heart by addressing you as “Baby!” May some sweet shop-girl throw a kindly + glance at you, inviting you to walk with her! May she snigger at your + humour; may other dogs cast envious looks at you, and may no harm come of + it! + </p> + <p> + You dreamers of dreams, you who while your companions play and sleep will + toil upward in the night! You have read Mr. Smiles' “Self-Help,” + Longfellow's “Psalm of Life,” and so strengthened attack with confidence + “French Without a Master,” “Bookkeeping in Six Lessons.” With a sigh to + yourselves you turn aside from the alluring streets, from the bright, + bewitching eyes, into the stuffy air of Birkbeck Institutions, Polytechnic + Schools. May success compensate you for your youth devoid of pleasure! May + the partner's chair you seen in visions be yours before the end! May you + live one day in Clapham in a twelve-roomed house! + </p> + <p> + And, after all, we have our moments, have we not? The Saturday night at + the play. The hours of waiting, they are short. We converse with kindred + souls of the British Drama, its past and future: we have our views. We + dream of Florence This, Kate That; in a little while we shall see her. Ah, + could she but know how we loved her! Her photo is on our mantelpiece, + transforming the dismal little room into a shrine. The poem we have so + often commenced! when it is finished we will post it to her. At least she + will acknowledge its receipt; we can kiss the paper her hand has rested + on. The great doors groan, then quiver. Ah, the wild thrill of that + moment! Now push for all you are worth: charge, wriggle, squirm! It is an + epitome of life. We are through—collarless, panting, pummelled from + top to toe: but what of that? Upward, still upward; then downward with + leaps at risk of our neck, from bench to bench through the gloom. We have + gained the front row! Would we exchange sensations with the stallite, + strolling languidly to his seat? The extravagant dinner once a week! We + banquet <i>a la Francais</i>, in Soho, for one-and-six, including wine. + Does Tortoni ever give his customers a repast they enjoy more? I trow not. + </p> + <p> + My first lodging was an attic in a square the other side of Blackfriars + Bridge. The rent of the room, if I remember rightly, was three shillings a + week with cooking, half-a-crown without. I purchased a methylated spirit + stove with kettle and frying-pan, and took it without. + </p> + <p> + Old Hasluck would have helped me willingly, and there were others to whom + I might have appealed, but a boy's pride held me back. I would make my way + alone, win my place in the world by myself. To Hal, knowing he would + sympathise with me, I confided the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Had your mother lived,” he told me, “I should have had something to say + on the subject. Of course, I knew what had happened, but as it is—well, + you need not be afraid, I shall not offer you help; indeed, I should + refuse it were you to ask. Put your Carlyle in your pocket: he is not all + voices, but he is the best maker of men I know. The great thing to learn + of life is not to be afraid of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look me up now and then,” he added, “and we'll talk about the stars, the + future of Socialism, and the Woman Question—anything you like except + about yourself and your twopenny-half-penny affairs.” + </p> + <p> + From another it would have sounded brutal, but I understood him. And so we + shook hands and parted for longer than either of us at the time expected. + The Franco-German War broke out a few weeks later on, and Hal, the love of + adventure always strong within him, volunteered his services, which were + accepted. It was some years before we met again. + </p> + <p> + On the door-post of a house in Farringdon Street, not far from the Circus, + stood in those days a small brass plate, announcing that the “Ludgate News + Rooms” occupied the third and fourth floors, and that the admission to the + same was one penny. We were a seedy company that every morning crowded + into these rooms: clerks, shopmen, superior artisans, travellers, + warehousemen—all of us out of work. Most of us were young, but with + us was mingled a sprinkling of elder men, and these latter were always the + saddest and most silent of this little whispering army of the + down-at-heel. Roughly speaking, we were divided into two groups: the + newcomers, cheery, confident. These would flit from newspaper to newspaper + with buzz of pleasant anticipation, select their advertisement as one + choosing some dainty out of a rich and varied menu card, and replying to + it as one conferring favour. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Sir,—in reply to your advertisement in to-day's <i>Standard</i>, + I shall be pleased to accept the post vacant in your office. I am of good + appearance and address. I am an excellent—” It was really marvellous + the quality and number of our attainments. French! we wrote and spoke it + fluently, <i>a la Ahn</i>. German! of this we possessed a slighter + knowledge, it was true, but sufficient for mere purposes of commerce. + Bookkeeping! arithmetic! geometry! we played with them. The love of work! + it was a passion with us. Our moral character! it would have adorned a + Free Kirk Elder. “I could call on you to-morrow or Friday between eleven + and one, or on Saturday any time up till two. Salary required, two guineas + a week. An early answer will oblige. Yours truly.” + </p> + <p> + The old stagers did not buzz. Hour after hour they sat writing, steadily, + methodically, with day by day less hope and heavier fears: + </p> + <p> + “Sir,—Your advt. in to-day's <i>D. T.</i> I am—” of such and + such an age. List of qualifications less lengthy, set forth with more + modesty; object desired being air of verisimilitude.—“If you decide + to engage me I will endeavour to give you every satisfaction. Any time you + like to appoint I will call on you. I should not ask a high salary to + start with. Yours obediently.” + </p> + <p> + Dozens of the first letter, hundreds of the second, I wrote with painful + care, pen carefully chosen, the one-inch margin down the left hand side of + the paper first portioned off with dots. To three or four I received a + curt reply, instructing me to call. But the shyness that had stood so in + my way during the earlier half of my school days had now, I know not why, + returned upon me, hampering me at every turn. A shy child grown-up folks + at all events can understand and forgive; but a shy young man is not + unnaturally regarded as a fool. I gave the impression of being awkward, + stupid, sulky. The more I strove against my temperament the worse I + became. My attempts to be at my ease, to assert myself, resulted—I + could see it myself—only in rudeness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have got to see one or two others. We will write and let you + know,” was the conclusion of each interview, and the end, as far as I was + concerned, of the enterprise. + </p> + <p> + My few pounds, guard them how I would, were dwindling rapidly. Looking + back, it is easy enough to regard one's early struggles from a humorous + point of view. One knows the story, it all ended happily. But at the time + there is no means of telling whether one's biography is going to be comedy + or tragedy. There were moments when I felt confident it was going to be + the latter. Occasionally, when one is feeling well, it is not unpleasant + to contemplate with pathetic sympathy one's own death-bed. One thinks of + the friends and relations who at last will understand and regret one, be + sorry they had not behaved themselves better. But myself, there was no one + to regret. I felt very small, very helpless. The world was big. I feared + it might walk over me, trample me down, never seeing me. I seemed unable + to attract its attention. + </p> + <p> + One morning I found waiting for me at the Reading Room another of the + usual missives. It ran: “Will Mr. P. Kelver call at the above address + to-morrow morning between ten-thirty and eleven.” The paper was headed: + “Lott and Co., Indian Commission Agents, Aldersgate Street.” Without much + hope I returned to my lodgings, changed my clothes, donned my silk hat, + took my one pair of gloves, drew its silk case over my holey umbrella; and + so equipped for fight with Fate made my way to Aldersgate Street. For a + quarter of an hour or so, being too soon, I walked up and down the + pavement outside the house, gazing at the second-floor windows, behind + which, so the door-plate had informed me, were the offices of Lott & + Co. I could not recall their advertisement, nor my reply to it. The firm + was evidently not in a very flourishing condition. I wondered idly what + salary they would offer. For a moment I dreamt of a Cheeryble Brother + asking me kindly if I thought I could do with thirty shillings a week as a + beginning; but the next I recalled my usual fate, and considered whether + it was even worth while to climb the stairs, go through what to me was a + painful ordeal, merely to be impressed again with the sense of my own + worthlessness. + </p> + <p> + A fine rain began to fall. I did not wish to unroll my umbrella, yet felt + nervous for my hat. It was five minutes to the half hour. Listlessly I + crossed the road and mounted the bare stairs to the second floor. Two + doors faced me, one marked “Private.” I tapped lightly at the second. Not + hearing any response, after a second or two I tapped again. A sound + reached me, but it was unintelligible. I knocked yet again, still louder. + This time I heard a reply in a shrill, plaintive tone: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do come in.” + </p> + <p> + The tone was one of pathetic entreaty. I turned the handle and entered. It + was a small room, dimly lighted by a dirty window, the bottom half of + which was rendered opaque by tissue paper pasted to its panes. The place + suggested a village shop rather than an office. Pots of jam, jars of + pickles, bottles of wine, biscuit tins, parcels of drapery, boxes of + candles, bars of soap, boots, packets of stationery, boxes of cigars, + tinned provisions, guns, cartridges—things sufficient to furnish a + desert island littered every available corner. At a small desk under the + window sat a youth with a remarkably small body and a remarkably large + head; so disproportionate were the two I should hardly have been surprised + had he put up his hands and taken it off. Half in the room and half out, I + paused. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Lott & Co.?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered; “it's a room.” One eye was fixed upon me, dull and + glassy; it never blinked, it never wavered. With the help of the other he + continued his writing. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” I explained, coming entirely into the room, “are these the + offices of Lott & Co.?” + </p> + <p> + “It's one of them,” he replied; “the back one. If you're really anxious + for a job, you can shut the door.” + </p> + <p> + I complied with his suggestion, and then announced that I was Mr. Kelver—Mr. + Paul Kelver. + </p> + <p> + “Minikin's my name,” he returned, “Sylvanus Minikin. You don't happen by + any chance to know what you've come for, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Looking at his body, my inclination was to pick my way among the goods + that covered the floor and pull his ears for him. From his grave and + massive face, he might, for all I knew, be the head clerk. + </p> + <p> + “I have called to see Mr. Lott,” I replied, with dignity; “I have an + appointment.” I produced the letter from my pocket, and leaning across a + sewing-machine, I handed it to him for his inspection. Having read it, he + suddenly took from its socket the eye with which he had been hitherto + regarding me, and proceeding to polish it upon his pocket handkerchief, + turned upon me his other. Having satisfied himself, he handed me back my + letter. + </p> + <p> + “Want my advice?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I thought it might be useful to me, so replied in the affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “Hook it,” was his curt counsel. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I asked. “Isn't he a good employer?” + </p> + <p> + Replacing his glass eye, he turned again to his work. “If employment is + what you want,” answered Mr. Minikin, “you'll get it. Best employer in + London. He'll keep you going for twenty-four hours a day, and then offer + you overtime at half salary.” + </p> + <p> + “I must get something to do,” I confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down then,” suggested Mr. Minikin. “Rest while you can.” + </p> + <p> + I took the chair; it was the only chair in the room, with the exception of + the one Minikin was sitting on. + </p> + <p> + “Apart from his being a bit of a driver,” I asked, “what sort of a man is + he? Is he pleasant?” + </p> + <p> + “Never saw him put out but once,” answered Minikin. + </p> + <p> + It sounded well. “When was that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “All the time I've known him.” + </p> + <p> + My spirits continued to sink. Had I been left alone with Minikin much + longer, I might have ended by following his advice, “hooking it” before + Mr. Lott arrived. But the next moment I heard the other door open, and + some one entered the private office. Then the bell rang, and Minikin + disappeared, leaving the communicating door ajar behind him. The + conversation that I overheard was as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Why isn't Mr. Skeat here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he hasn't come.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are the letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Under your nose.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you answer me like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's the truth. They are under your nose.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you give Thorneycroft's man my message?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Said you were a liar.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he did, did he! What did you reply?” + </p> + <p> + “Asked him to tell me something I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought that clever, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not bad.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever faults might be laid to Mr. Lott's door, he at least, I + concluded, possesssed the virtue of self-control. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody been here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kelver—Mr. Paul Kelver.” + </p> + <p> + “Kelver, Kelver. Who's Kelver?” + </p> + <p> + “Know what he is—a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He's come after the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What's he like?” + </p> + <p> + “Not bad looking; fair—” + </p> + <p> + “Idiot! I mean is he smart?” + </p> + <p> + “Just at present—got all his Sunday clothes on.” + </p> + <p> + “Send him in to me. Don't go, don't go.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I send him in to you if I don't go?” + </p> + <p> + “Take these. Have you finished those bills of lading?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! when will you have finished them?” + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour after I have begun them.” + </p> + <p> + “Get out, get out! Has that door been open all the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't suppose it's opened itself.” + </p> + <p> + Minikin re-entered with papers in his hand. “In you go,” he said. “Heaven + help you!” And I passed in and closed the door behind me. + </p> + <p> + The room was a replica of the one I had just left. If possible, it was + more crowded, more packed with miscellaneous articles. I picked my way + through these and approached the desk. Mr. Lott was a small, dingy-looking + man, with very dirty hands, and small, restless eyes. I was glad that he + was not imposing, or my shyness might have descended upon me; as it was, I + felt better able to do myself justice. At once he plunged into the + business by seizing and waving in front of my eyes a bulky bundle of + letters tied together with red tape. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and seventeen answers to an advertisement,” he cried with + evident satisfaction, “in one day! That shows you the state of the labour + market!” + </p> + <p> + I agreed it was appalling. + </p> + <p> + “Poor devils, poor devils!” murmured Mr. Lott “what will become of them? + Some of them will starve. Terrible death, starvation, Kelver; takes such a + long time—especially when you're young.” + </p> + <p> + Here also I found myself in accord with him. + </p> + <p> + “Living with your parents?” + </p> + <p> + I explained to him my situation. + </p> + <p> + “Any friends?” + </p> + <p> + I informed him I was entirely dependent upon my own efforts. + </p> + <p> + “Any money? Anything coming in?” + </p> + <p> + I told him I had a few pounds still remaining to me, but that after that + was gone I should be penniless. + </p> + <p> + “And to think, Kelver, that there are hundreds, thousands of young fellows + precisely in your position! How sad, how very sad! How long have you been + looking for a berth?” + </p> + <p> + “A month,” I answered him. + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much. Do you know why I selected your letter out of the + whole batch?” + </p> + <p> + I replied I hoped it was because he judged from it I should prove + satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “Because it's the worst written of them all.” He pushed it across to me. + “Look at it. Awful, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + I admitted that handwriting was not my strong point. + </p> + <p> + “Nor spelling either,” he added, and with truth. “Who do you think will + engage you if I don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody,” he continued, without waiting for me to reply. “A month hence + you will still be looking for a berth, and a month after that. Now, I'm + going to do you a good turn; save you from destitution; give you a start + in life.” + </p> + <p> + I expressed my gratitude. + </p> + <p> + He waived it aside. “That is my notion of philanthropy: help those that + nobody else will help. That young fellow in the other room—he isn't + a bad worker, he's smart, but he's impertinent.” + </p> + <p> + I murmured that I had gathered so much. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't mean to be, can't help it. Noticed his trick of looking at you + with his glass eye, keeping the other turned away from you?” + </p> + <p> + I replied that I had. + </p> + <p> + “Always does it. Used to irritate his last employer to madness. Said to + him one day: 'Do turn that signal lamp of yours off, Minikin, and look at + me with your real eye.' What do you think he answered? That it was the + only one he'd got, and that he didn't want to expose it to shocks. + Wouldn't have mattered so much if it hadn't been one of the ugliest men in + London.” + </p> + <p> + I murmured my indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I put up with him. Nobody else would. The poor fellow must live.” + </p> + <p> + I expressed admiration at Mr. Lott's humanity. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mind work? You're not one of those good-for-nothings who sleep + all day and wake up when it's time to go home?” + </p> + <p> + I assured him that in whatever else I might fail I could promise him + industry. + </p> + <p> + “With some of them,” complained Mr. Lott, in a tone of bitterness, “it's + nothing but play, girls, gadding about the streets. Work, business—oh, + no. I may go bankrupt; my wife and children may go into the workhouse. No + thought for me, the man that keeps them, feeds them, clothes them. How + much salary do you want?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. I gathered this was not a Cheeryble Brother; it would be + necessary to be moderate in one's demands. “Five-and-twenty shillings a + week,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + He repeated the figure in a scream. “Five-and-twenty shillings for writing + like that! And can't spell commission! Don't know anything about the + business. Five-and-twenty!—Tell you what I'll do: I'll give you + twelve.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can't live on twelve,” I explained. + </p> + <p> + “Can't live on twelve! Do you know why? Because you don't know how to + live. I know you all. One veal and ham pie, one roley-poley, one Dutch + cheese and a pint of bitter.” + </p> + <p> + His recital made my mouth water. + </p> + <p> + “You overload your stomachs, then you can't work. Half the diseases you + young fellows suffer from are brought about by overeating.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you take my advice,” continued Mr. Lott; “try vegetarianism. In the + morning, a little oatmeal. Wonderfully strengthening stuff, oatmeal: look + at the Scotch. For dinner, beans. Why, do you know there's more + nourishment in half a pint of lentil beans than in a pound of beefsteak—more + gluten. That's what you want, more gluten; no corpses, no dead bodies. + Why, I've known young fellows, vegetarians, who have lived like fighting + cocks on sevenpence a day. Seven times seven are forty-nine. How much do + you pay for your room?” + </p> + <p> + I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Four-and-a-penny and two-and-six makes six-and-seven. That leaves you + five and fivepence for mere foolery. Good God! what more do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take eighteen, sir,” I answered. “I can't really manage on less.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I won't beat you down,” he answered. “Fifteen shillings a + week.” + </p> + <p> + “I said eighteen,” I persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and I said fifteen,” he retorted, somewhat indignant at the + quibbling. “That's splitting the difference, isn't it? I can't be fairer + than that.” + </p> + <p> + I dared not throw away the one opportunity that had occurred. Anything was + better than return to the Reading Rooms, and the empty days full of + despair. I accepted, and it was agreed that I should come the following + Monday morning. + </p> + <p> + “Nabbed?” was Minikin's enquiry on my return to the back office for my + hat. + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “What's he wasting on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen shillings a week,” I whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Felt sure somehow that he'd take a liking to you,” answered Minikin. + “Don't be ungrateful and look thin on it.” + </p> + <p> + Outside the door I heard Mr. Lott's shrill voice demanding to know where + postage stamps were to be found. + </p> + <p> + “At the Post-office,” was Minikin's reply. + </p> + <p> + The hours were long—in fact, we had no office hours; we got away + when we could, which was rarely before seven or eight—but my work + was interesting. It consisted of buying for unfortunate clients in India + or the Colonies anything they might happen to want, from a stage coach to + a pot of marmalade; packing it and shipping it across to them. Our + “commission” was anything they could be persuaded to pay over and above + the value of the article. I was not much interfered with. There was that + to be said for Lott & Co., so long as the work was done he was quite + content to leave one to one's own way of doing it. And hastening through + the busy streets, bargaining in shop or warehouse, bustling important in + and out the swarming docks, I often thanked my stars that I was not as + some poor two-pound-a-week clerk chained to a dreary desk. + </p> + <p> + The fifteen shillings a week was a tight fit; but that was not my trouble. + Reduce your denominator—you know the quotation. I found it no + philosophical cant, but a practical solution of life. My food cost me on + the average a shilling a day. If more of us limited our commissariat bill + to the same figure, there would be less dyspepsia abroad. Generally I + cooked my own meals in my own frying-pan; but occasionally I would indulge + myself with a more orthodox dinner at a cook shop, or tea with hot + buttered toast at a coffee-shop; and but for the greasy table-cloth and + the dirty-handed waiter, such would have been even greater delights. The + shilling a week for amusements afforded me at least one, occasionally two, + visits to the theatre, for in those days there were Paradises where for + sixpence one could be a god. Fourpence a week on tobacco gave me + half-a-dozen cigarettes a day; I have spent more on smoke and derived less + satisfaction. Dress was my greatest difficulty. One anxiety in life the + poor man is saved: he knows not the haunting sense of debt. My tailor + never dunned me. His principle was half-a-crown down on receipt of order, + the balance on the handing over of the goods. No system is perfect; the + method avoided friction, it is true; yet on the other hand it was annoying + to be compelled to promenade, come Sundays, in shiny elbows and frayed + trousers, knowing all the while that finished, waiting, was a suit in + which one might have made one's mark—had only one shut one's eyes + passing that pastry-cook's window on pay-day. Surely there should be a + sumptuary law compelling pastry-cooks to deal in cellars or behind drawn + blinds. + </p> + <p> + Were it because of its mere material hardships that to this day I think of + that period of my life with a shudder, I should not here confess to it. I + was alone. I knew not a living soul to whom I dared to speak, who cared to + speak to me. For those first twelve months after my mother's death I lived + alone, thought alone, felt alone. In the morning, during the busy day, it + was possible to bear; but in the evenings the sense of desolation gripped + me like a physical pain. The summer evenings came again, bringing with + them the long, lingering light so laden with melancholy. I would walk into + the Parks and, sitting there, watch with hungry eyes the men and women, + boys and girls, moving all around me, talking, laughing, interested in one + another; feeling myself some speechless ghost, seeing but not seen, crying + to the living with a voice they heard not. Sometimes a solitary figure + would pass by and glance back at me; some lonely creature like myself + longing for human sympathy. In the teeming city must have been thousands + such—young men and women to whom a friendly ear, a kindly voice, + would have been as the water of life. Each imprisoned in his solitary cell + of shyness, we looked at one another through the grating with condoling + eyes; further than that was forbidden to us. Once, in Kensington Gardens, + a woman turned, then slowly retracing her steps, sat down beside me on the + bench. Neither of us spoke; had I done so she would have risen and moved + away; yet there was understanding between us. To each of us it was some + comfort to sit thus for a little while beside the other. Had she poured + out her heart to me, she could have told me nothing more than I knew: “I, + too, am lonely, friendless; I, too, long for the sound of a voice, the + touch of a hand. It is hard for you, it is harder still for me, a girl; + shut out from the bright world that laughs around me; denied the right of + youth to joy and pleasure; denied the right of womanhood to love and + tenderness.” + </p> + <p> + The footsteps to and fro grew fewer. She moved to rise. Stirred by an + impulse, I stretched out my hand, then seeing the flush upon her face, + drew it back hastily. But the next moment, changing her mind, she held + hers out to me, and I took it. It was the first clasp of a hand I had felt + since six months before I had said good-bye to Hal. She turned and walked + quickly away. I stood watching her; she never looked round, and I never + saw her again. + </p> + <p> + I take no credit to myself for keeping straight, as it is termed, during + these days. For good or evil, my shyness prevented my taking part in the + flirtations of the streets. Whether inviting eyes were ever thrown to me + as to others, I cannot say. Sometimes, fancying so—hoping so, I + would follow. Yet never could I summon up sufficient resolution to face + the possible rebuff before some less timid swain would swoop down upon the + quarry. Then I would hurry on, cursing myself for the poorness of my + spirit, fancying mocking contempt in the laughter that followed me. + </p> + <p> + On a Sunday I would rise early and take long solitary walks into the + country. One winter's day—I remember it was on the road between + Edgware and Stanmore—there issued from a by-road a little ahead of + me a party of boys and girls, young people about my own age, bound + evidently on a skating expedition. I could hear the musical ring of their + blades, clattering as they walked, and the sound of their merry laughter + so clear and bell-like through the frosty air. And an aching anguish fell + upon me. I felt a mad desire to run after them, to plead with them to let + me walk with them a little way, to let me laugh and talk with them. Every + now and then they would pirouette to cry some jest to one another. I could + see their faces: the girls' so sweetly alluring, framed by their dainty + hats and furs, the bright colour in their cheeks, the light in their + teasing eyes. A little further on they turned aside into a by-lane, and I + stood at the corner listening till the last echo of their joyous voices + died away, and on a stone that still remains standing there I sat down and + sobbed. + </p> + <p> + I would walk about the streets always till very late. I dreaded the + echoing clang of the little front door when I closed it behind me, the + climbing of the silent stairs, the solitude that waited for me in my empty + room. It would rise and come towards me like some living thing, kissing me + with cold lips. Often, unable to bear the closeness of its presence, I + would creep out into the streets. There, even though it followed me, I was + not alone with it. Sometimes I would pace them the whole night, sharing + them with the other outcasts while the city slept. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally, during these nightly wanderings would come to me moments of + exaltation when fear fell from me and my blood would leap with joy at + prospect of the fierce struggle opening out before me. Then it was the + ghostly city sighing round me that seemed dead, I the only living thing + real among a world of shadows. In long, echoing streets I would laugh and + shout. Misunderstanding policemen would turn their bull's-eyes on me, + gruffly give me practical advice: they knew not who I was! I stood the + centre of a vast galanty-show: the phantom houses came and went; from some + there shone bright lights; the doors were open, and little figures flitted + in and out, the tiny coaches glided to and fro, manikins grotesque but + pitiful crept across the star-lit curtain. + </p> + <p> + Then the mood would change. The city, grim and vast, stretched round me + endless. I crawled, a mere atom, within its folds, helpless, + insignificant, absurd. The houseless forms that shared my vigil were my + fellows. What were we? Animalcule upon its bosom, that it saw not, heeded + not. For company I would mingle with them: ragged men, frowsy women, + ageless youths, gathered round the red glow of some coffee stall. + </p> + <p> + Rarely would we speak to one another. More like animals we browsed there, + sipping the halfpenny cup of hot water coloured with coffee grounds (at + least it was warm), munching the moist slab of coarse cake; looking with + dull, indifferent eyes each upon the wretchedness of the others. Perhaps + some two would whisper to each other in listless, monotonous tone, broken + here and there by a short, mirthless laugh; some shivering creature, not + yet case-hardened to despair, seek, perhaps, the relief of curses that + none heeded. Later, a faint chill breeze would shake the shadows loose, a + thin, wan light streak the dark air with shade, and silently, stealthily, + we would fade away and disappear. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND BECOMES + CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN. + </p> + <p> + All things pass, even the self-inflicted sufferings of shy young men, + condemned by temperament to solitude. Came the winter evenings, I took to + work: in it one may drown much sorrow for oneself. With its handful of + fire, its two candles lighted, my “apartment” was more inviting. I bought + myself paper, pens and ink. Great or small, what more can a writer do? He + is but the would-be medium: will the spirit voices employ him or reject + him? + </p> + <p> + London, with its million characters, grave and gay; its ten thousand + romances, its mysteries, its pathos, and its humour, lay to my hand. It + stretched before me, asking only intelligent observation, more or less + truthful report. But that I could make a story out of the things I really + knew never occurred to me. My tales were of cottage maidens, of bucolic + yeomen. My scenes were laid in windmills, among mountains, or in moated + granges. I fancy this phase of folly is common to most youthful + fictionists. + </p> + <p> + A trail of gentle melancholy lay over them. Sentiment was more popular + then than it is now, and, as do all beginners, I scrupulously followed + fashion. Generally speaking, to be a heroine of mine was fatal. However + naturally her hair might curl—and curly hair, I believe, is the + hall-mark of vitality; whatever other indications of vigorous health she + might exhibit in the first chapter, such as “dancing eyes,” “colour that + came and went,” “ringing laughter,” “fawn-like agility,” she was tolerably + certain, poor girl, to end in an untimely grave. Snowdrops and early + primroses (my botany I worked up from a useful little volume, “Our Garden + Favourites, Illustrated”) grew there as in a forcing house; and if in the + neighbourhood of the coast, the sea-breezes would choose that particular + churchyard, somewhat irreverently, for their favourite playground. Years + later a white-haired man would come there leading little children by the + hand, and to them he would tell the tale anew, which must have been a + dismal entertainment for them. + </p> + <p> + Now and then, by way of change, it would be the gentleman who would fall a + victim of the deadly atmosphere of my literature. It was of no particular + consequence, so he himself would conclude in his last soliloquy; “it was + better so.” Snowdrops and primroses, for whatever consolation they might + have been to him, it was hopeless for him to expect; his grave, marked by + a rude cross, being as a rule situate in an exceptionally unfrequented + portion of the African veldt or amid burning sands. For description of + final scenery on these occasions a visit to the British Museum + reading-room would be necessary. + </p> + <p> + Dismal little fledgelings! And again and again would I drive them from the + nest; again and again they fluttered back to me, soiled, crumpled, + physically damaged. Yet one person had admired them, cried over them—myself. + </p> + <p> + All methods I tried. Sometimes I would send them forth accompanied by a + curt business note of the take-it-or-leave-it order. At other times I + would attach to it pathetic appeals for its consideration. Sometimes I + would give value to it, stating that the price was five guineas and + requesting that the cheque should be crossed; at other times seek to + tickle editorial cupidity by offering this, my first contribution to their + pages, for nothing—my sample packet, so to speak, sent gratis, one + trial surely sufficient. Now I would write sarcastically, enclosing + together with the stamped envelope for return a brutally penned note of + rejection. Or I would write frankly, explaining elaborately that I was a + beginner, and asking to be told my faults—if any. + </p> + <p> + Not one found a resting place for its feet. A month, a week, a couple of + days, they would remain away from me, then return. I never lost a single + one. I wished I had. It would have varied the monotony. + </p> + <p> + I hated the poor little slavey who, bursting joyously into the room, would + hold them out to me from between her apron-hidden thumb and finger; her + chronic sniff I translated into contempt. If flying down the stairs at the + sound of the postman's knock I secured it from his hands, it seemed to me + he smiled. Tearing them from their envelopes, I would curse them, abuse + them, fling them into the fire sometimes; but before they were more than + scorched I would snatch them out, smooth them, reread them. The editor + himself could never have seen them; it was impossible; some jealous + underling had done this thing. I had sent them to the wrong paper. They + had arrived at the inopportune moment. Their triumph would come. Rewriting + the first and last sheets, I would send them forth again with fresh hope. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, understanding that the would-be happy warrior must shine in + camp as well as field, I sought to fit myself also for the social side of + life. Smoking and drinking were the twin sins I found most difficulty in + acquiring. I am not claiming a mental excellence so much as confessing a + bodily infirmity. The spirit had always been willing, but my flesh was + weak. Fired by emulation, I had at school occasionally essayed a + cigarette. The result had been distinctly unsatisfactory, and after some + two or three attempts, I had abandoned, for the time being, all further + endeavour; excusing my faint-heartedness by telling myself with + sanctimonious air that smoking was bad for growing boys; attempting to + delude myself by assuming, in presence of contemporaries of stronger + stomach, fine pose of disapproval; yet in my heart knowing myself a young + hypocrite, disguising physical cowardice in the robes of moral courage: a + self-deception to which human nature is prone. + </p> + <p> + So likewise now and again I had tasted the wine that was red, and that + stood year in, year out, decanted on our sideboard. The true inwardness of + St. Paul's prescription had been revealed to me; the attitude—sometimes + sneered at—of those who drink it under doctor's orders, regarding it + purely as a medicine, appeared to me reasonable. I had noticed also that + others, some of them grown men even, making wry faces, when drinking my + mother's claret, and had concluded therefrom that taste for strong liquor + was an accomplishment less easily acquired than is generally supposed. The + lack of it in a young man could be no disgrace, and accordingly effort in + that direction also had I weakly postponed. + </p> + <p> + But now, a gentleman at large, my education could no longer be delayed. To + the artist in particular was training—and severe training—an + absolute necessity. Recently fashion has changed somewhat, but a quarter + of a century ago a genius who did not smoke and drink—and that more + than was good for him—would have been dismissed without further + evidence as an impostor. About the genius I was hopeful, but at no time + positively certain. As regarded the smoking and drinking, so much at least + I could make sure of. I set to work methodically, conscientiously. + Smoking, experience taught me, was better practised on Saturday nights, + Sunday affording me the opportunity of walking off the effects. Patience + and determination were eventually crowned with success: I learned to smoke + a cigarette to all appearance as though I were enjoying it. Young men of + less character might here have rested content, but attainment of the + highest has always been with me a motive force. The cigarette conquered, I + next proceeded to attack the cigar. My first one I remember well: most men + do. It was at a smoking concert held in the Islington Drill Hall, to which + Minikin had invited me. Not feeling sure whether my growing dizziness were + due solely to the cigar, or in part to the hot, over-crowded room, I made + my excuses and slipped out. I found myself in a small courtyard, divided + from a neighbouring garden by a low wall. The cause of my trouble was + clearly the cigar. My inclination was to take it from my mouth and see how + far I could throw it. Conscience, on the other hand, urged me to + persevere. It occurred to me that if climbing on to the wall I could walk + along it from end to end, there would be no excuse for my not heeding the + counsels of perfection. If, on the contrary, try as I might, the wall + proved not wide enough for my footsteps, then I should be entitled to lose + the beastly thing, and, as best I could, make my way home to bed. I + attained the wall with some difficulty and commenced my self-inflicted + ordeal. Two yards further I found myself lying across the wall, my legs + hanging down one side, my head overhanging the other. The position proving + suitable to my requirements, I maintained it. Inclination, again seizing + its opportunity, urged me then and there to take a solemn vow never to + smoke again. I am proud to write that through that hour of temptation I + remained firm; strengthening myself by whispering to myself: “Never + despair. What others can do, so can you. Is not all victory won through + suffering?” + </p> + <p> + A liking for drink I had found, if possible, even yet more difficult of + achievement. Spirits I almost despaired of. Once, confusing bottles, I + drank some hair oil in mistake for whiskey, and found it decidedly less + nauseous. But twice a week I would force myself to swallow a glass of + beer, standing over myself insisting on my draining it to the bitter + dregs. As reward afterwards, to take the taste out of my mouth, I would + treat myself to chocolates; at the same time comforting myself by assuring + myself that it was for my good, that there would come a day when I should + really like it, and be grateful to myself for having been severe with + myself. + </p> + <p> + In other and more sensible directions I sought also to progress. Gradually + I was overcoming my shyness. It was a slow process. I found the best plan + was not to mind being shy, to accept it as part of my temperament, and + with others laugh at it. The coldness of an indifferent world is of + service in hardening a too sensitive skin. The gradual rubbings of + existence were rounding off my many corners. I became possible to my + fellow creatures, and they to me. I began to take pleasure in their + company. + </p> + <p> + By directing me to this particular house in Nelson Square, Fate had done + to me a kindness. I flatter myself we were an interesting menagerie + gathered together under its leaky roof. Mrs. Peedles, our landlady, who + slept in the basement with the slavey, had been an actress in Charles + Keane's company at the old Princess's. There, it is true, she had played + only insignificant parts. London, as she would explain to us was even then + but a poor judge of art, with prejudices. Besides an actor-manager, + hampered by a wife—we understood. But previously in the Provinces + there had been a career of glory: Juliet, Amy Robsart, Mrs. Haller in “The + Stranger”—almost the entire roll of the “Legitimates”. Showed we any + signs of disbelief, proof was forthcoming: handbills a yard long, rich in + notes of exclamation: “On Tuesday Evening! By Special Desire!!! + Blessington's Theatre! In the Meadow, adjoining the Falcon Arms!”—“On + Saturday! Under the Patronage of Col. Sir William and the Officers of the + 74th!!!! In the Corn Exchange!” Maybe it would convince us further were + she to run through a passage here and there, say Lady Macbeth's + sleep-walking scene, or from Ophelia's entrance in the fourth act? It + would be no trouble; her memory was excellent. We would hasten to assure + her of our perfect faith. + </p> + <p> + Listening to her, it was difficult, as she herself would frankly admit, to + imagine her the once “arch Miss Lucretia Barry;” looking at her, to + remember there had been an evening when she had been “the cynosure of + every eye.” One found it necessary to fortify oneself with perusal of + underlined extracts from ancient journals, much thumbed and creased, + thoughtfully lent to one for the purpose. Since those days Fate had woven + round her a mantle of depression. She was now a faded, watery-eyed little + woman, prone on the slightest provocation to sit down suddenly on the + nearest chair and at once commence a history of her troubles. Quite + unconscious of this failing, it was an idea of hers that she was an + exceptionally cheerful person. + </p> + <p> + “But there, fretting's no good. We must grin and bear things in this + world,” she would conclude, wiping her eyes upon her apron. “It's better + to laugh than to cry, I always say.” And to prove that this was no mere + idle sentiment, she would laugh then and there upon the spot. + </p> + <p> + Much stair-climbing had bestowed upon her a shortness of breath, which no + amount of panting in her resting moments was able to make good. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know 'ow to breathe,” explained our second floor front to her + on one occasion, a kindly young man; “you don't swallow it, you only + gargle with it. Take a good draught and shut your mouth; don't be + frightened of it; don't let it out again till it's done something: that's + what it's 'ere for.” + </p> + <p> + He stood over her with his handkerchief pressed against her mouth to + assist her; but it was of no use. + </p> + <p> + “There don't seem any room for it inside me,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + Bells had become to her the business of life; she lived listening for + them. Converse to her was a filling in of time while waiting for + interruptions. + </p> + <p> + A bottle of whiskey fell into my hands that Christmas time, a present from + a commercial traveller in the way of business. Not liking whiskey myself, + it was no sacrifice for me to reserve it for the occasional comfort of + Mrs. Peedles, when, breathless, with her hands to her side, she would sink + upon the chair nearest to my door. Her poor, washed-out face would lighten + at the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” she would reply, “I don't mind if I do. It's a poor heart that + never rejoices.” + </p> + <p> + And then, her tongue unloosened, she would sit there and tell me stories + of my predecessors, young men lodgers who like myself had taken her + bed-sitting-rooms, and of the woes and misfortunes that had overtaken + them. I gathered that a more unlucky house I could not have selected. A + former tenant of my own room, of whom I strangely reminded her, had + written poetry on my very table. He was now in Portland doing five years + for forgery. Mrs. Peedles appeared to regard the two accomplishments as + merely different expressions of the same art. Another of her young men, as + she affectionately called us, had been of studious ambition. His career up + to a point appeared to have been brilliant. “What he mightn't have been,” + according to Mrs. Peedles, there was practically no saying; what he + happened to be at the moment of conversation was an unpromising inmate of + the Hanwell lunatic asylum. + </p> + <p> + “I've always noticed it,” Mrs. Peedles would explain; “it's always the + most deserving, those that try hardest, to whom trouble comes. I'm sure I + don't know why.” + </p> + <p> + I was glad on the whole when that bottle of whiskey was finished. A second + might have driven me to suicide. + </p> + <p> + There was no Mr. Peedles—at least, not for Mrs. Peedles, though as + an individual he continued to exist. He had been “general utility” at the + Princess's—the old terms were still in vogue at that time—a + fine figure of a man in his day, so I was given to understand, but one + easily led away, especially by minxes. Mrs. Peedles spoke bitterly of + general utilities as people of not much use. + </p> + <p> + For working days Mrs. Peedles had one dress and one cap, both black and + void of ostentation; but on Sundays and holidays she would appear + metamorphosed. She had carefully preserved the bulk of her stage wardrobe, + even to the paste-decked shoes and tinsel jewelry. Shapeless in classic + garb as Hermia, or bulgy in brocade and velvet as Lady Teazle, she would + receive her few visitors on Sunday evenings, discarded puppets like + herself, with whom the conversation was of gayer nights before their wires + had been cut; or, her glory hid from the ribald street beneath a + mackintosh, pay her few calls. Maybe it was the unusual excitement that + then brought colour into her furrowed cheeks, that straightened and + darkened her eyebrows, at other times so singularly unobtrusive. Be this + how it may, the change was remarkable, only the thin grey hair and the + work-worn hands remaining for purposes of identification. Nor was the + transformation merely one of surface. Mrs. Peedles hung on her hook behind + the kitchen door, dingy, limp, discarded; out of the wardrobe with the + silks and satins was lifted down to be put on as an undergarment Miss + Lucretia Barry, like her costumes somewhat aged, somewhat withered, but + still distinctly “arch.” + </p> + <p> + In the room next to me lived a law-writer and his wife. They were very old + and miserably poor. The fault was none of theirs. Despite copy-books + maxims, there is in this world such a thing as ill-luck-persistent, + monotonous, that gradually wears away all power of resistance. I learned + from them their history: it was hopelessly simple, hopelessly + uninstructive. He had been a schoolmaster, she a pupil teacher; they had + married young, and for a while the world had smiled upon them. Then came + illness, attacking them both: nothing out of which any moral could be + deduced, a mere case of bad drains resulting in typhoid fever. They had + started again, saddled by debt, and after years of effort had succeeded in + clearing themselves, only to fall again, this time in helping a friend. + Nor was it even a case of folly: a poor man who had helped them in their + trouble, hardly could they have done otherwise without proving themselves + ungrateful. And so on, a tedious tale, commonplace, trivial. Now listless, + patient, hard working, they had arrived at an animal-like indifference to + their fate, content so long as they could obtain the bare necessities of + existence, passive when these were not forthcoming, their interest in life + limited to the one luxury of the poor—an occasional glass of beer or + spirits. Often days would go by without his obtaining any work, and then + they would more or less starve. Law documents are generally given out to + such men in the evening, to be returned finished the next morning. Waking + in the night, I would hear through the thin wooden partition that divided + our rooms the even scratching of his pen. + </p> + <p> + Thus cheek by jowl we worked, I my side of the screen, he his: youth and + age, hope and realisation. + </p> + <p> + Out of him my fears fashioned a vision of the future. Past his door I + would slink on tiptoe, dread meeting him upon the stairs. Once had not he + said to himself: “The world's mine oyster?” May not the voices of the + night have proclaimed him also king? Might I not be but an idle dreamer, + mistaking desire for power? Would not the world prove stronger than I? At + such times I would see my life before me: the clerkship at thirty + shillings a week rising by slow instalments, it may be, to one hundred and + fifty a year; the four-roomed house at Brixton; the girl wife, pretty, + perhaps, but sinking so soon into the slatternly woman; the squalling + children. How could I, unaided, expect to raise myself from the ruck? Was + not this the more likely picture? + </p> + <p> + Our second floor front was a young fellow in the commercial line. Jarman + was Young London personified—blatant yet kind-hearted; aggressively + self-assertive, generous to a fault; cunning, yet at the same time frank; + shrewd, cheery, and full of pluck. “Never say die” was his motto, and + anything less dead it would be difficult to imagine. All day long he was + noisy, and all night long he snored. He woke with a start, bathed like a + porpoise, sang while dressing, roared for his boots, and whistled during + his breakfast. His entrance and exit were always to an orchestration of + banging doors, directions concerning his meals shouted at the top of his + voice as he plunged up or down the stairs, the clattering and rattling of + brooms and pails flying before his feet. His departure always left behind + it the suggestion that the house was now to let; it came almost as a shock + to meet a human being on the landing. He would have conveyed an atmosphere + of bustle to the Egyptian pyramids. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes carrying his own supper-tray, arranged for two, he would march + into my room. At first, resenting his familiarity, I would hint at my + desire to be alone, would explain that I was busy. + </p> + <p> + “You fire away, Shakespeare Redivivus,” he would reply. “Don't delay the + tragedy. Why should London wait? I'll keep quiet.” + </p> + <p> + But his notion of keeping quiet was to retire into a corner and there + amuse himself by enacting a tragedy of his own in a hoarse whisper, + accompanied by appropriate gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah!” I would hear him muttering to himself, “I 'ave killed 'er good + old father; I 'ave falsely accused 'er young man of all the crimes that I + 'ave myself committed; I 'ave robbed 'er of 'er ancestral estates. Yet she + loves me not! It is streeange!” Then changing his bass to a shrill + falsetto: “It is a cold and dismal night: the snow falls fast. I will + leave me 'at and umbrella be'ind the door and go out for a walk with the + chee-ild. Aha! who is this? 'E also 'as forgotten 'is umbrella. Ah, now I + know 'im in the pitch dark by 'is cigarette! Villain, murderer, silly + josser! it is you!” Then with lightning change of voice and gesture: + “Mary, I love yer!” “Sir Jasper Murgatroyd, let me avail myself of this + opportunity to tell you what I think of you—” “No, no; the 'ouses + close in 'alf an hour; there is not tee-ime. Fly with me instead!” “Never! + Un'and me!” “'Ear me! Ah, what 'ave I done? I 'ave slipped upon a piece of + orange peel and broke me 'ead! If you will kindly ask them to turn off the + snow and give me a little moonlight, I will confess all.” + </p> + <p> + Finding it (much to Jarman's surprise) impossible to renew the thread of + my work, I would abandon my attempts at literature, and instead listen to + his talk, which was always interesting. His conversation was, it is true, + generally about himself, but it was none the less attractive on that + account. His love affairs, which appeared to be numerous, formed his chief + topic. There was no reserve about Jarman: his life contained no secret + chambers. What he “told her straight,” what she “up and said to him” in + reply was for all the world that cared to hear. So far his search after + the ideal had met with but ill success. + </p> + <p> + “Girls,” he would say, “they're all alike, till you know 'em. So long as + they're trying to palm themselves off on yer, they'll persuade you there + isn't such another article in all the market. When they've got yer order—ah, + then yer find out what they're really made of. And you take it from me, + 'Omer Junior, most of 'em are put together cheap. Bah! it sickens me + sometimes to read the way you paper-stainers talk about 'em—angels, + goddesses, fairies! They've just been getting at yer. You're giving 'em + just the price they're asking without examining the article. Girls ain't a + special make, like what you seem to think 'em. We're all turned out of the + same old slop shop.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I say, mind yer,” he would continue, “that there are none of the + right sort. They're to be 'ad—real good 'uns. All I say is, taking + 'em at their own valuation ain't the way to do business with 'em.” + </p> + <p> + What he was on the look out for—to quote his own description—was + a really first class article, not something from which the paint would + come off almost before you got it home. + </p> + <p> + “They're to be found,” he would cheerfully affirm, “but you've got to look + for 'em. They're not the sort that advertises.” + </p> + <p> + Behind Jarman in the second floor back resided one whom Jarman had + nicknamed “The Lady 'Ortensia.” I believe before my arrival there had been + love passages between the two; but neither of them, so I gathered, had + upon closer inspection satisfied the other's standard. Their present + attitude towards each other was that of insult thinly veiled under + exaggerated politeness. Miss Rosina Sellars was, in her own language, a + “lady assistant,” in common parlance, a barmaid at the Ludgate Hill + Station refreshment room. She was a large, flabby young woman. With less + powder, her complexion might by admirers have been termed creamy; as it + was, it presented the appearance rather of underdone pastry. To be on all + occasions “quite the lady” was her pride. There were those who held the + angle of her dignity to be exaggerated. Jarman would beg her for her own + sake to be more careful lest one day she should fall down backwards and + hurt herself. On the other hand, her bearing was certainly calculated to + check familiarity. Even stockbrokers' clerks—young men as a class + with the bump of reverence but poorly developed—would in her + presence falter and grow hesitating. She had cultivated the art of not + noticing to something approaching perfection. She could draw the noisiest + customer a glass of beer, which he had never ordered; exchange it for + three of whiskey, which he had; take his money and return him his change + without ever seeing him, hearing him, or knowing he was there. It + shattered the self-assertion of the youngest of commercial travellers. Her + tone and manner, outside rare moments of excitement, were suggestive of an + offended but forgiving iceberg. Jarman invariably passed her with his coat + collar turned up to his ears, and even thus protected might have been + observed to shiver. Her stare, in conjunction with her “I beg your + pardon!” was a moral douche that would have rendered apologetic and + explanatory Don Juan himself. + </p> + <p> + To me she was always gracious, which by contrast to her general attitude + towards my sex of studied disdain, I confess flattered me. She was good + enough to observe to Mrs. Peedles, who repeated it to me, that I was the + only gentleman in the house who knew how to behave himself. + </p> + <p> + The entire first floor was occupied by an Irishman and—they never + minced the matter themselves, so hardly is there need for me to do so. She + was a charming little dark-eyed woman, an ex-tight-rope dancer, and always + greatly offended Mrs. Peedles by claiming Miss Lucretia Barry as a sister + artiste. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I don't know how it may be now,” would reply Mrs. Peedles, with + some slight asperity; “but in my time we ladies of the legitimate stage + used to look down upon dancers and such sort. Of course, no offence to + you, Mrs. O'Kelly.” + </p> + <p> + Neither of them was in the least offended. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, Mrs. Peedles, ye could never have looked down upon the Signora,” + the O'Kelly would answer laughing. “Ye had to lie back and look up to her. + Why, I've got the crick in me neck to this day!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear, and you don't know how nervous I was when glancing down I'd + see his handsome face just underneath me, thinking that with one false + step I might spoil it for ever,” would reply the Signora. + </p> + <p> + “Me darling! I'd have died happy, just smothered in loveliness!” would + return the O'Kelly; and he and the Signora would rush into each other's + arms, and the sound of their kisses would quite excite the little slavey + sweeping down the stairs outside. + </p> + <p> + He was a barrister attached in theory to the Western Circuit; in practice, + somewhat indifferent to it, much more attached to the lower strata of + Bohemia and the Signora. At the present he was earning all sufficient for + the simple needs of himself and the Signora as a teacher of music and + singing. His method was simple and suited admirably the locality. Unless + specially requested, he never troubled his pupils with such tiresome + things as scales and exercises. His plan was to discover the song the + young man fancied himself singing, the particular jingle the young lady + yearned to knock out of the piano, and to teach it to them. Was it “Tom + Bowling?” Well and good. Come on; follow your leader. The O'Kelly would + sing the first line. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, try that. Don't be afraid. Just open yer mouth and gave it + tongue. That's all right. Everything has a beginning. Sure, later on, + we'll get the time and tune, maybe a little expression.” + </p> + <p> + Whether the system had any merit in it, I cannot answer. Certain it was + that as often as not it achieved success. Gradually—say, by the end + of twelve eighteen-penny lessons—out of storm and chaos “Tom + Bowling” would emerge, recognisable for all men to hear. Had the pupil any + voice to start with, the O'Kelly improved it; had he none, the O'Kelly + would help him to disguise the fact. + </p> + <p> + “Take it easy, now; take it easy,” the O'Kelly would counsel. “Sure, it's + a delicate organ, yer voice. Don't ye strain it now. Ye're at yer best + when ye're just low and sweet.” + </p> + <p> + So also with the blushing pianiste. At the end of a month a tune was + distinctly discernible; she could hear it herself, and was happy. His + repute spread. + </p> + <p> + Twice already had he eloped with the Signora (and twice again was he to + repeat the operation, before I finally lost sight of him: to break oneself + of habit is always difficult) and once by well-meaning friends had he been + induced to return to home, if not to beauty. His wife, who was + considerably older than himself, possessed, so he would inform me with + tears in his eyes, every moral excellence that should attract mankind. + Upon her goodness and virtue, her piety and conscientiousness he would + descant to me by the half hour. His sincerity it was impossible to + question. It was beyond doubt that he respected her, admired her, honoured + her. She was a saint, an angel—a wretch, a villain such as he, was + not fit to breathe the same pure air. To do him justice, it must be + admitted he showed no particular desire to do so. As an aunt or + grandmother, I believe he would have suffered her gladly. He had nothing + to say against her, except that he found himself unable to live with her. + </p> + <p> + That she must have been a lady of exceptional merit one felt convinced. + The Signora, who had met her only once, and then under somewhat trying + conditions, spoke her praises with equal enthusiasm. Had she, the Signora, + enjoyed the advantage of meeting such a model earlier, she, the Signora, + might have been a better woman. It seemed a pity the introduction could + not have taken place sooner and under different circumstances. Could they + both have adopted her as a sort of mutual mother-in-law, it would have + given them, I am positive, the greatest satisfaction. On her occasional + visits they would have vied with each other in showing her affectionate + attention. For the deserted lady I tried to feel sorry, but could not + avoid the reflection that it would have been better for all parties had + she been less patient and forgiving. Her husband was evidently much more + suited to the Signora. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the relationship between these two was more a true marriage than + one generally meets with. No pair of love-birds could have been more snug + together. In their virtues and failings alike they fitted each other. When + sober the immorality of their behaviour never troubled them; in fact, when + sober nothing ever troubled them. They laughed, joked, played through + life, two happy children. To be shocked at them was impossible. I tried it + and failed. + </p> + <p> + But now and again there came an evening when they were not sober. It + happened when funds were high. On such occasion the O'Kelly would return + laden with bottles of a certain sweet champagne, of which they were both + extremely fond; and a friend or two would be invited to share in the + festivity. Whether any exceptional quality resided in this particular + brand of champagne I am not prepared to argue; my own personal experience + of it has prompted me to avoid it for the rest of my life. Its effect upon + them was certainly unique. Instead of intoxicating them, it sobered them: + there is no other way of explaining it. With the third or fourth glass + they began to take serious views of life. Before the end of the second + bottle they would be staring at each other, appalled at contemplation of + their own transgression. The Signora, the tears streaming down her pretty + face, would declare herself a wicked, wicked woman; she had dragged down + into shame the most blameless, the most virtuous of men. Emptying her + glass, she would bury her face in her hands, and with her elbows on her + knees, in an agony of remorse, sit rocking to and fro. The O'Kelly, + throwing himself at her feet, would passionately abjure her to “look up.” + She had, it appeared, got hold of the thing at the wrong end; it was he + who had dragged her down. + </p> + <p> + At this point metaphor would become confused. Each had been dragged down + by the other one and ruined; also each one was the other one's good angel. + All that was commendable in the Signora, she owed to the O'Kelly. Whatever + was not discreditable about the O'Kelly was in the nature of a loan from + the Signora. With the help of more champagne the right course would grow + plain to them. She would go back broken-hearted but repentant to the + tight-rope; he would return a better but a blighted man to Mrs. O'Kelly + and the Western Circuit. This would be their last evening together on + earth. A fresh bottle would be broached, and the guest or guests called + upon to assist in the ceremony of renunciation; glasses full to the brim + this time. + </p> + <p> + So much tragedy did they continue to instil into the scene that on the + first occasion of my witnessing it I was unable to refrain from mingling + my tears with theirs. As, however, the next morning they had forgotten all + about it, and as nothing came of it, nor of several subsequent + repetitions, I should have believed a separation between them impossible + but that even while I was an inmate of the house the thing actually + happened. + </p> + <p> + It came about in this wise. His friends, having discovered him, had + pointed out to him again his duty. The Signora—a really excellent + little woman so far as intention was concerned—had seconded their + endeavours, with the result that on a certain evening in autumn we of the + house assembled all of us on the first floor to support them on the + occasion of their final—so we all deemed it then—leave-taking. + For eleven o'clock two four-wheeled cabs had been ordered, one to + transport the O'Kelly with his belongings to Hampstead and respectability; + in the other the Signora would journey sorrowfully to the Tower Basin, + there to join a circus company sailing for the Continent. + </p> + <p> + I knocked at the door some quarter of an hour before the appointed hour of + the party. I fancy the idea had originated with the Signora. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Willie has something to say to you,” she had informed me that + morning on the stairs. “He has taken a sincere liking to you, and it is + something very important.” + </p> + <p> + They were sitting one each side the fireplace, looking very serious; a + bottle of the sobering champagne stood upon the table. The Signora rose + and kissed me gravely on the brow; the O'Kelly laid both hands upon my + shoulders, and sat me down on a chair between them. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kelver,” said the Signora, “you are very young.” + </p> + <p> + I hinted—it was one of those rare occasions upon which gallantry can + be combined with truth—that I found myself in company. + </p> + <p> + The Signora smiled sadly, and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Age,” said the O'Kelly, “is a matter of feeling. Kelver, may ye never be + as old as I am feeling now.” + </p> + <p> + “As <i>we</i> are feeling,” corrected the Signora. “Kelver,” said the + O'Kelly, pouring out a third glass of champagne, “we want ye to promise us + something.” + </p> + <p> + “It will make us both happier,” added the Signora. + </p> + <p> + “That ye will take warning,” continued the O'Kelly, “by our wretched + example. Paul, in this world there is only one path to possible happiness. + The path of strict—” he paused. + </p> + <p> + “Propriety,” suggested the Signora. + </p> + <p> + “Of strict propriety,” agreed the O'Kelly. “Deviate from it,” continued + the O'Kelly, impressively, “and what is the result?” + </p> + <p> + “Unutterable misery,” supplied the Signora. + </p> + <p> + “Ye think we two have been happy here together,” said the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + I replied that such was the conclusion to which observation had directed + me. + </p> + <p> + “We tried to appear so,” explained the Signora; “it was merely on the + outside. In reality all the time we hated each other. Tell him, Willie, + dear, how we have hated each other.” + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible,” said the O'Kelly, finishing and putting down his + glass, “to give ye any idea, Kelver, how we have hated each other.” + </p> + <p> + “How we have quarrelled!” said the Signora. “Tell him, dear, how we have + quarrelled.” + </p> + <p> + “All day long and half the night,” concluded the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “Fought,” added the Signora. “You see, Mr. Kelver, people in—in our + position always do. If it had been otherwise, if—if everything had + been proper, then of course we should have loved each other. As it is, it + has been a cat and dog existence. Hasn't it been a cat and dog existence, + Willie?” + </p> + <p> + “It's been just hell upon earth,” murmured the O'Kelly, with his eyes + fixed gloomily upon the fire-stove ornament. Deadly in earnest though they + both were, I could not repress a laugh, their excellent intention was so + obvious. The Signora burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't believe us,” she wailed. + </p> + <p> + “Me dear,” replied the O'Kelly, throwing up his part with promptness and + satisfaction, “how could ye expect it? How could he believe that any man + could look at ye and hate ye?” + </p> + <p> + “It's all my fault,” cried the little woman; “I am such a wicked creature. + I cannot even be miserable when I am doing wrong. A decent woman in my + place would have been wretched and unhappy, and made everybody about her + wretched and unhappy, and so have set a good example and have been a + warning. I don't seem to have any conscience, and I do try.” The poor + little lady was sobbing her heart out. + </p> + <p> + When not shy I could be sensible, and of the O'Kelly and the Signora one + could be no more shy than of a pair of robin redbreasts. Besides, I was + really fond of them; they had been very good to me. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Miss Beltoni,” I answered, “I am going to take warning by you both.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed my hand. “Oh, do, please do,” she murmured. “We really have + been miserable—now and then.” + </p> + <p> + “I am never going to be content,” I assured her, “until I find a lady as + charming and as amiable as you, and if ever I get her I'll take good care + never to run any risk of losing her.” + </p> + <p> + It sounded well and pleased us all. The O'Kelly shook me warmly by the + hand, and this time spoke his real feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Me boy,” he said, “all women are good—for somebody. But the woman + that is good for yerself is better for ye than a better woman who's the + best for somebody else. Ye understand?” + </p> + <p> + I said I did. + </p> + <p> + At eight o'clock precisely Mrs. Peedles arrived—as Flora MacDonald, + in green velvet jacket and twelve to fifteen inches of plaid stocking. As + a topic fitting the occasion we discussed the absent Mr. Peedles and the + subject of deserted wives in general. + </p> + <p> + “A fine-looking man,” allowed Mrs. Peedles, “but weak—weak as + water.” + </p> + <p> + The Signora agreed that unfortunately there did exist such men: 'twas + pitiful but true. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” continued Mrs. Peedles, “she wasn't even a lady.” + </p> + <p> + The Signora expressed astonishment at the deterioration in Mr. Peedles' + taste thus implied. + </p> + <p> + “I won't go so far as to say we never had a difference,” continued Mrs. + Peedles, whose object appeared to be an impartial statement of the whole + case. “There may have been incompatability of temperament, as they say. + Myself, I have always been of a playful disposition—frivolous, some + might call me.” + </p> + <p> + The Signora protested; the O'Kelly declined to listen to such aspersion on + her character even from Mrs. Peedles herself. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peedles, thus corrected, allowed that maybe frivolous was too + sweeping an accusation: say sportive. + </p> + <p> + “But a good wife to him I always was,” asserted Mrs. Peedles, with a fine + sense of justice; “never flighty, like some of them. I challenge any one + to accuse me of having been flighty.” + </p> + <p> + We felt we should not believe any one who did, and told her so. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peedles, drawing her chair closer to the Signora, assumed a + confidential attitude. “If they want to go, let 'em go, I always say,” she + whispered loudly into the Signora's ear. “Ten to one they'll find they've + only jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. One can always comfort + oneself with that.” + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be confusion in the mind of Mrs. Peedles. Her virtuous + sympathies, I gathered, were with the Signora. Mr. O'Kelly's return to + Mrs. O'Kelly evidently manifested itself in the light of a shameful + desertion. Having regard to the fact, patent to all who knew him, that the + poor fellow was sacrificing every inclination to stern sense of duty, such + view of the matter was rough on him. But philosophers from all ages have + agreed that our good deeds are the whips with which Fate punishes us for + our bad. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” continued Mrs. Peedles, “when Mr. Peedles left me I thought + that I should never smile again. Yet here you see me laughing away through + life, just as ever. You'll get over it all right.” And Mrs. Peedles wiped + away her tears and smiled upon the Signora; upon which the Signora + commenced to cry again. + </p> + <p> + Happily, timely diversion was made at this point by the bursting into the + room of Jarman, who upon perceiving Mrs. Peedles, at once gave vent to a + hoot, supposed to be expressive of Scottish joy, and without a moment's + hesitation commenced to dance a reel. + </p> + <p> + My neighbours of the first floor knocked at the door a little while + afterwards; and genteelly late arrived Miss Rosina Sellars, coldly + gleaming in a decollete but awe-inspiring costume of mingled black and + scarlet, out of which her fair, if fleshy, neck and arms shone luxuriant. + </p> + <p> + We did not go into supper; instead, supper came into us from the + restaurant at the corner of the Blackfriars Road. I cannot say that at + first it was a festive meal. The O'Kelly and the Signora made effort, as + in duty bound, to be cheerful, but for awhile were somewhat unsuccessful. + The third floor front wasted no time in speech, but ate and drank + copiously. Miss Sellars, retaining her gloves—which was perhaps + wise, her hands being her weak point—signalled me out, much to my + embarrassment, as the recipient of her most polite conversation. Mrs. + Peedles became reminiscent of parties generally. Seeing that most of Mrs. + Peedles' former friends and acquaintances were either dead or in more or + less trouble, her efforts did not tend to enliven the table. One + gathering, of which the present strangely reminded her, was a funeral, + chiefly remarkable from discovery of the romantic fact, late in the + proceedings, that the gentleman in whose honour the whole affair had been + organised was not dead at all; but instead, having taken advantage of an + error arising out of a railway accident, was at the moment eloping with + the wife of his own chief mourner. As Mrs. Peedles explained, and as one + could well credit, it had been an awkward position for all present. Nobody + had quite known whether to feel glad or sorry—with the exception of + the chief mourner, upon whose personal undertaking that the company might + regard the ceremony as merely postponed, festivities came to an end. + </p> + <p> + Our prop and stay from a convivial point of view was Jarman. As a delicate + attention to Mrs. Peedles and her costume he sunk his nationality and + became for the evening, according to his own declaration, “a braw laddie.” + With her—his “sonsie lassie,” so he termed her—he flirted in + the broadest, if not purest, Scotch. The O'Kelly for him became “the + Laird;” the third floor “Jamie o' the Ilk;” Miss Sellars, “the bonnie wee + rose;” myself, “the chiel.” Periods of silence were dispersed by + suggestions that we should “hoot awa',” Jarman himself setting us the + example. + </p> + <p> + With the clearance away of the eatables, making room for the production of + a more varied supply of bottles, matters began to mend. Mrs. Peedles + became more arch, Jarman's Scotch more striking and extensive, the Lady + 'Ortensia's remarks less depressingly genteel, her aitches less + accentuated. + </p> + <p> + Jarman rose to propose the health of the O'Kelly, coupled with that of the + Signora. To the O'Kelly, in a burst of generosity, Jarman promised our + united patronage. To Jarman it appeared that by employing the O'Kelly to + defend us whenever we got into trouble with the police, and by + recommending him to our friends, a steady income should be assured to him. + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly replied feelingly to the effect that Nelson Square, + Blackfriars, would ever remain engraved upon his memory as the fairest and + brightest spot on earth. Personally, nothing would have given him greater + pleasure than to die among the dear friends who now surrounded him. But + there was such a thing as duty, and he and the Signora had come to the + conclusion that true happiness could only be obtained by acting according + to one's conscience, even if it made one miserable. + </p> + <p> + Jarman, warming to his work, then proposed the health of Mrs. Peedles, as + true-hearted and hard-breathing a lady as ever it had been his privilege + to know. Her talent for cheery conversation was familiar to us all, upon + it he need not enlarge; all he would say was that personally never did she + go out of his room without leaving him more cheerful than when she entered + it. + </p> + <p> + After that—I forget in what—we drank the health of the Lady + 'Ortensia. Persons there were—Jarman would not attempt to disguise + the fact—who complained that the Lady 'Ortensia was too distant, + “too stand-offish.” With such complaint he himself had no sympathy; but + tastes differed. If the Lady 'Ortensia were inclined to be exclusive, who + should blame her? Everybody knew their own business best. For use in a + second floor front he could not honestly recommend the Lady 'Ortensia; it + would not be giving her a fair chance, and it would not be giving the + second floor a fair chance. But for any gentleman fitting up marble halls, + for any one on the lookout for a really “toney article,” Jarman would say: + Inquire for Miss Rosina Sellars, and see that you get her. + </p> + <p> + There followed my turn. There had been literary chaps in the past, Jarman + admitted so much. Against them he had nothing to say. They had no doubt + done their best. But the gentleman whose health Jarman wished the company + now to drink had this advantage over them: that they were dead, and he + wasn't. Some of this gentleman's work Jarman had read—in manuscript; + but that was a distinction purely temporary. He, Jarman, claimed to be no + judge of literature, but this he could and would say, it took a good deal + to make him miserable, yet this the literary efforts of Mr. Kelver + invariably accomplished. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peedles, speaking without rising, from personal observation in the + daytime—which she hoped would not be deemed a liberty; literature, + even in manuscript, being, so to speak, public property—found + herself in a position to confirm all that Mr. Jarman had remarked. + Speaking as one not entirely without authority on the subject of + literature and the drama, Mrs. Peedles could say that passages she had + read had struck her as distinctly not half bad. Some of the love-scenes, + in particular, had made her to feel quite a girl again. How he had + acquired such knowledge was not for her to say. Cries of “Naughty!” from + Jarman, and “Oh, Mr. Kelver, I shall be quite afraid of you,” roguishly + from Miss Sellars. + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly, who, having abandoned his favourite champagne for less + sobering liquor, had since supper-time become rapidly more cheerful, felt + sure there was a future before me. That he had not seen any of my work, so + he assured me, in no way lessened his opinion of it. One thing only would + he impress upon me: that the best work was the result of strict attention + to virtue. His advice to me was to marry young and be happy. + </p> + <p> + My persevering efforts of the last few months towards the acquisition of + convivial habits appeared this evening to be receiving their reward. The + O'Kelly's sweet champagne I had drunk with less dislike than hitherto; a + white, syrupy sort of stuff, out of a fat and artistic-looking bottle, I + had found distinctly grateful to the palate. Dimly the quotation about + taking things at the flood, and so getting on quickly, floated through my + brain, coupled with another one about fortune favouring the bold. It had + seemed to me a good occasion to try for the second time in my life a full + flavoured cigar. I had selected with the caution of a connoisseur one of + mottled green complexion from the O'Kelly's largest box. And so far all + had gone well. An easy self-confidence, delightful by reason of its + novelty, had replaced my customary shyness; a sense of lightness—of + positive airiness, emanating from myself, pervaded all things. Tossing off + another glass of the champagne, I rose to reply. + </p> + <p> + Modesty in my present mood would have been affectation. To such dear and + well-beloved friends I had no hesitation in admitting the truth, that I + was a clever fellow—a damned clever fellow. I knew it, they knew it, + in a short time everybody would know it. But they need not fear that in + the hour of my pride, when it arrived, I should prove ungrateful. Never + should I forget their kindness to me, a lonely young man, alone in a + lonely—Here the pathos of my own situation overcame me; words seemed + weak. “Jarman—” I meant, putting my hand upon his head, to have + blessed him for his goodness to me; but he being not exactly where he + looked to be, I just missed him, and sat down on the edge of my chair, + which was a hard one. I had not intended this to be the end of my speech, + by a long one; but Jarman, whispering to me: “Ended at exactly the right + moment; shows the born orator,” strong inclination to remain seated, now + that I was down seconding his counsel, and the company being clearly + satisfied, I decided to leave things where they were. + </p> + <p> + A delightful dreaminess was stealing over me. Everything and everybody + appeared to be a long way off, but, whether because of this or in spite of + it, exceedingly attractive. Never had I noticed the Signora so bewitching; + in a motherly sort of way even the third floor front was good to look + upon; Mrs. Peedles I could almost have believed to be the real Flora + MacDonald sitting in front of me. But the vision of Miss Rosina Sellars + made literally my head to swim. Never before had I dared to cast upon + female loveliness the satisfying gaze with which I now boldly regarded her + every movement. Evidently she noticed it, for she turned away her eyes. I + had heard that exceptionally strong-minded people merely by concentrating + their will could make other, ordinary people, do just whatever they, the + exceptionally strong-minded people, wished. I willed that Miss Rosina + Sellars should turn her eyes again towards me. Victory crowned my efforts. + Evidently I was one of these exceptionally strong-minded persons. Slowly + her eyes came round and met mine with a smile—a helpless, pathetic + smile that said, so I read it: “You know no woman can resist you: be + merciful!” + </p> + <p> + Inflamed by the brutal lust of conquest, I suppose I must have willed + still further, for the next thing I remember is sitting with Miss Sellars + on the sofa, holding her hand, the while the O'Kelly sang a sentimental + ballad, only one line of which comes back to me: “For the angels must have + told him, and he knows I love him now,” much stress upon the “now.” The + others had their backs towards us. Miss Sellars, with a look that pierced + my heart, dropped her somewhat large head upon my shoulder, leaving, as I + observed the next day, a patch of powder on my coat. + </p> + <p> + Miss Sellars observed that one of the saddest things in the world was + unrequited love. + </p> + <p> + I replied gallantly, “Whateryou know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you men, you men,” murmured Miss Sellars; “you're all alike.” + </p> + <p> + This suggested a personal aspersion on my character. “Not allus,” I + murmured. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what love is,” said Miss Sellars. “You're not old enough.” + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly had passed on to Sullivan's “Sweethearts,” then in its first + popularity. + </p> +<p class="ml"> + “Oh, love for a year—a week—a day! + But oh for the love that loves al-wa-ays!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Sellars' languishing eyes were fixed upon me; Miss Sellars' red lips + pouted and twitched; Miss Sellars' white bosom rose and fell. Never, so it + seemed to me, had so large an amount of beauty been concentrated in one + being. + </p> + <p> + “Yeserdo,” I said. “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + I stooped to kiss the red lips, but something was in my way. It turned out + to be a cold cigar. Miss Sellars thoughtfully removed it, and threw it + away. Our lips met. Her large arms closed about my neck and held me tight. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm sure!” came the voice of Mrs. Peedles, as from afar. “Nice + goings on!” + </p> + <p> + I have vague remembrance of a somewhat heated discussion, in which + everybody but myself appeared to be taking extreme interest—of Miss + Sellars in her most ladylike and chilling tones defending me against the + charge of “being no gentleman,” which Mrs. Peedles was explaining nobody + had said I wasn't. The argument seemed to be of the circular order. No + gentleman had ever kissed Miss Sellars who had not every right to do so, + nor ever would. To kiss Miss Sellars without such right was to declare + oneself no gentleman. Miss Sellars appealed to me to clear my character + from the aspersion of being no gentleman. I was trying to understand the + situation, when Jarman, seizing me somewhat roughly by the arm, suggested + my going to bed. Miss Sellars, seizing my other arm, suggested my refusing + to go to bed. So far I was with Miss Sellars. I didn't want to go to bed, + and said so. My desire to sit up longer was proof positive to Miss Sellars + that I was a gentleman, but to no one else. The argument shifted, the + question being now as to whether Miss Sellars were a lady. To prove the + point it was, according to Miss Sellars, necessary that I should repeat I + loved her. I did repeat it, adding, with faint remembrance of my own + fiction, that if a life's devotion was likely to be of the slightest + further proof, my heart's blood was at her service. This cleared the air, + Mrs. Peedles observing that under such circumstances it only remained for + her to withdraw everything she had said; to which Miss Sellars replied + graciously that she had always known Mrs. Peedles to be a good sort at the + bottom. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, gaiety was gone from among us, and for this, in some way I + could not understand, I appeared to be responsible. Jarman was distinctly + sulky. The O'Kelly, suddenly thinking of the time, went to the door and + discovered that the two cabs were waiting. The third floor recollected + that work had to be finished. I myself felt sleepy. + </p> + <p> + Our host and hostess departed; Jarman again suggested bed, and this time I + agreed with him. After a slight misunderstanding with the door, I found + myself upon the stairs. I had never noticed before that they were quite + perpendicular. Adapting myself to the changed conditions, I climbed them + with the help of my hands. I accomplished the last flight somewhat + quickly, and feeling tired, sat down the moment I was within my own room. + Jarman knocked at the door. I told him to come in; but he didn't. It + occurred to me that the reason was I was sitting on the floor with my back + against the door. The discovery amused me exceedingly and I laughed; and + Jarman, baffled, descended to his own floor. I found getting into bed a + difficulty, owing to the strange behaviour of the room. It spun round and + round. Now the bed was just in front of me, now it was behind me. I + managed at last to catch it before it could get past me, and holding on by + the ironwork, frustrated its efforts to throw me out again on to the + floor. + </p> + <p> + But it was some time before I went to sleep, and over my intervening + experiences I draw a veil. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + GOOD FRIENDS SHOW PAUL THE ROAD TO FREEDOM. BUT BEFORE SETTING OUT, HE + WILL GO A-VISITING. + </p> + <p> + The sun was streaming into my window when I woke in the morning. I sat up + and listened. The roar of the streets told me plainly that the day had + begun without me. I reached out my hand for my watch; it was not in its + usual place upon the rickety dressing-table. I raised myself still higher + and looked about me. My clothes lay scattered on the floor. One boot, in + solitary state, occupied the chair by the fireplace; the other I could not + see anywhere. + </p> + <p> + During the night my head appeared to have grown considerably. I wondered + idly for the moment whether I had not made a mistake and put on Minikin's; + if so, I should be glad to exchange back for my own. This thing I had got + was a top-heavy affair, and was aching most confoundedly. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the recollection of the previous night rushed at me and shook me + awake. From a neighbouring steeple rang chimes: I counted with care. + Eleven o'clock. I sprang out of bed, and at once sat down upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + I remembered how, holding on to the bed, I had felt the room waltzing + wildly round and round. It had not quite steadied itself even yet. It was + still rotating, not whirling now, but staggering feebly, as though worn + out by its all-night orgie. Creeping to the wash-stand, I succeeded, after + one or two false plunges, in getting my head inside the basin. Then, + drawing on my trousers with difficulty and reaching the easy-chair, I sat + down and reviewed matters so far as I was able, commencing from the + present and working back towards the past. + </p> + <p> + I was feeling very ill. That was quite clear. Something had disagreed with + me. + </p> + <p> + “That strong cigar,” I whispered feebly to myself; “I ought never to have + ventured upon it. And then the little room with all those people in it. + Besides, I have been working very hard. I must really take more exercise.” + </p> + <p> + It gave me some satisfaction to observe that, shuffling and cowardly + though I might be, I was not a person easily bamboozled. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” I told myself brutally; “don't try to deceive me. You were + drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Not drunk,” I pleaded; “don't say drunk; it is such a coarse expression. + Some people cannot stand sweet champagne, so I have heard. It affected my + liver. Do please make it a question of liver.” + </p> + <p> + “Drunk,” I persisted unrelentingly, “hopelessly, vulgarly drunk—drunk + as any 'Arry after a Bank Holiday.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the first time,” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It was your first opportunity,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Never again,” I promised. + </p> + <p> + “The stock phrase,” I returned. + </p> + <p> + “How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen.” + </p> + <p> + “So you have not even the excuse of youth. How do you know that it will + not grow upon you; that, having thus commenced a downward career, you will + not sink lower and lower, and so end by becoming a confirmed sot?” + </p> + <p> + My heavy head dropped into my hands, and I groaned. Many a temperance tale + perused on Sunday afternoons came back to me. Imaginative in all + directions, I watched myself hastening toward a drunkard's grave, now + heroically struggling against temptation, now weakly yielding, the craving + growing upon me. In the misty air about me I saw my father's white face, + my mother's sad eyes. I thought of Barbara, of the scorn that could quiver + round that bewitching mouth; of Hal, with his tremendous contempt for all + forms of weakness. Shame of the present and terror of the future between + them racked my mind. + </p> + <p> + “It shall be never again!” I cried aloud. “By God, it shall!” (At nineteen + one is apt to be vehement.) “I will leave this house at once,” I continued + to myself aloud; “I will get away from its unwholesome atmosphere. I will + wipe it out of my mind, and all connected with it. I will make a fresh + start. I will—” + </p> + <p> + Something I had been dimly conscious of at the back of my brain came + forward and stood before me: the flabby figure of Miss Rosina Sellars. + What was she doing here? What right had she to step between me and my + regeneration? + </p> + <p> + “The right of your affianced bride,” my other half explained, with a grim + smile to myself. + </p> + <p> + “Did I really go so far as that?” + </p> + <p> + “We will not go into details,” I replied; “I do not wish to dwell upon + them. That was the result.” + </p> + <p> + “I was—I was not quite myself at the time. I did not know what I was + doing.” + </p> + <p> + “As a rule, we don't when we do foolish things; but we have to abide by + the consequences, all the same. Unfortunately, it happened to be in the + presence of witnesses, and she is not the sort of lady to be easily got + rid of. You will marry her and settle down with her in two small rooms. + Her people will be your people. You will come to know them better before + many days are passed. Among them she is regarded as 'the lady,' from which + you can judge of them. A nice commencement of your career, is it not, my + ambitious young friend? A nice mess you have made of it!” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, I don't know,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + I passed a wretched day. Ashamed to face Mrs. Peedles or even the slavey, + I kept to my room, with the door locked. At dusk, feeling a little better—or, + rather, less bad, I stole out and indulged in a simple meal, consisting of + tea without sugar and a kippered herring, at a neighbouring coffee-house. + Another gentleman, taking his seat opposite to me and ordering hot + buttered toast, I left hastily. + </p> + <p> + At eight o'clock in the evening Minikin called round from the office to + know what had happened. Seeking help from shame, I confessed to him the + truth. + </p> + <p> + “Thought as much,” he answered. “Seems to have been an A1 from the look of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad it has happened, now it is over,” I said to him. “It will be a + lesson I shall never forget.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Minikin. “Nothing like a fair and square drunk for making + you feel real good; better than a sermon.” + </p> + <p> + In my trouble I felt the need of advice; and Minikin, though my junior, + was, I knew, far more experienced in worldly affairs than I was. + </p> + <p> + “That's not the worst,” I confided to him. “What do you think I've done?” + </p> + <p> + “Killed a policeman?” suggested Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “Got myself engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “No one like you quiet fellows for going it when you do begin,” commented + Minikin. “Nice girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered. “I only know I don't want her. How can I get + out of it?” + </p> + <p> + Minikin removed his left eye and commenced to polish it upon his + handkerchief, a habit he had when in doubt. From looking into it he + appeared to derive inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Take-her-own-part sort of a girl?” + </p> + <p> + I intimated that he had diagnosed Miss Rosina Sellars correctly. + </p> + <p> + “Know how much you're earning?” + </p> + <p> + “She knows I live up here in this attic and do my own cooking,” I + answered. + </p> + <p> + Minikin glanced round the room. “Must be fond of you.” + </p> + <p> + “She thinks I'm clever,” I explained, “and that I shall make my way. + </p> + <p> + “And she's willing to wait?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should let her wait,” replied Minikin, replacing his eye. + “There's plenty of time before you.” + </p> + <p> + “But she's a barmaid, and she'll expect me to walk with her, to take her + out on Sundays, to go and see her friends. I can't do it. Besides, she's + right: I mean to get on. Then she'll stick to me. It's awful!” + </p> + <p> + “How did it happen?” asked Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I replied. “I didn't know I had done it till it was over.” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody present?” + </p> + <p> + “Half-a-dozen of them,” I groaned. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and Jarman entered; he never troubled to knock anywhere. + In place of his usual noisy greeting, he crossed in silence and shook me + gravely by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Friend of yours?” he asked, indicating Minikin. + </p> + <p> + I introduced them to each other. + </p> + <p> + “Proud to meet you,” said Jarman. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to hear it,” said Minikin. “Don't look as if you'd got much else to + be stuck up about.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind him,” I explained to Jarman. “He was born like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful gift” replied Jarman. “D'ye know what I should do if I 'ad it?” + He did not wait for Minikin's reply. “'Ire myself out to break up evening + parties. Ever thought of it seriously?” + </p> + <p> + Minikin replied that he would give the idea consideration. + </p> + <p> + “Make your fortune going round the suburbs,” assured him Jarman. “Pity you + weren't 'ere last night,” he continued; “might 'ave saved our young friend + 'ere a deal of trouble. Has 'e told you the news?” + </p> + <p> + I explained that I had already put Minikin in possession of all the facts. + </p> + <p> + “Now you've got a good, steady eye,” said Jarman, upon whom Minikin, + according to his manner, had fixed his glass orb; “'ow d'ye think 'e is + looking?” + </p> + <p> + “As well as can be expected under the circumstances, don't you think?” + answered Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “Does 'e know the circumstances? Has 'e seen the girl?” asked Jarman. + </p> + <p> + I replied he had not as yet enjoyed that privilege. “Then 'e don't know + the worst,” said Jarman. “A hundred and sixty pounds of 'er, and still + growing! Bit of a load for 'im, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of 'em do have luck,” was Minikin's rejoinder. Jarman leant forward + and took further stock for a few seconds of his new acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “That's a fine 'ead of yours,” he remarked; “all your own? No offence,” + continued Jarman, without giving Minikin time for repartee. “I was merely + thinking there must be room for a lot of sense in it. Now, what do you, as + a practical man, advise 'im: dose of poison, or Waterloo Bridge and a + brick?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there's no doubt,” I interjected, “that we are actually + engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a blooming shadow,” assured me Jarman, cheerfully, “so far as she's + concerned.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell her plainly,” I explained, “that I was drunk at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “And 'ow are you going to convince 'er of it?” asked Jarman. “You think + your telling 'er you loved 'er proves it. So it would to anybody else, but + not to 'er. You can't expect it. Besides, if every girl is going to give + up 'er catch just because the fellow 'adn't all 'is wits about 'im at the + time—well, what do you think?” He appealed to Minikin. + </p> + <p> + To Minikin it appeared that if such contention were allowed girls might as + well shut up shop. + </p> + <p> + Jarman, who now that he had “got even” with Minikin, was more friendly + disposed towards that young man, drew his chair closer to him and entered + upon a private and confidential argument, from which I appeared to be + entirely excluded. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” explained Jarman, “this ain't an ordinary case. This chap's + going to be the future Poet Laureate. Now, when the Prince of Wales + invites him to dine at Marlborough 'ouse, 'e don't want to go there tacked + on to a girl that carries aitches with her in a bag, and don't know which + end of the spoon out of which to drink 'er soup.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes a difference, of course,” agreed Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “What we've got to do,” said Jarman, “is to get 'im out of it. And upon my + sivvy, blessed if I see 'ow to do it!” + </p> + <p> + “She fancies him?” asked Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “What she fancies,” explained Jarman, “is that nature intended 'er to be a + lady. And it's no good pointing out to 'er the mistake she's making, + because she ain't got sense enough to see it.” + </p> + <p> + “No good talking straight to her,” suggested Minikin, “telling her that it + can never be?” + </p> + <p> + “That's our difficulty,” replied Jarman; “it can be. This chap”—I + listened as might a prisoner in the dock to the argument of counsel, + interested but impotent—“don't know enough to come in out of the + rain, as the saying is. 'E's just the sort of chap this sort of thing does + 'appen to.” + </p> + <p> + “But he don't want her,” urged Minikin. “He says he don't want her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to you and me,” answered Jarman; “and of course 'e don't. I'm not + saying 'e's a natural born idiot. But let 'er come along and do a snivel—tell + 'im that 'e's breaking 'er 'eart, and appeal to 'im to be'ave as a + gentleman, and all that sort of thing, and what do you think will be the + result?” + </p> + <p> + Minikin agreed that the problem presented difficulties. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if 'twas you or me, we should just tell 'er to put 'erself + away somewhere where the moth couldn't get at 'er and wait till we sent + round for 'er; and there'd be an end of the matter. But with 'im it's + different.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a bit of a soft,” agreed Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't 'is fault,” explained Jarman; “'twas the way 'e was brought up. + 'E fancies girls are the sort of things one sees in plays, going about + saying 'Un'and me!' 'Let me pass!' Maybe some of 'em are, but this ain't + one of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “How did it happen?” asked Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “'Ow does it 'appen nine times out of ten?” returned Jarman. “'E was a bit + misty, and she was wide awake. 'E gets a bit spoony, and—well, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Artful things, girls,” commented Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “Can't blame 'em,” returned Jarman, with generosity; “it's their business. + Got to dispose of themselves somehow. Oughtn't to be binding without a + written order dated the next morning; that'd make it all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't prove a prior engagement?” suggested Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “She'd want to see the girl first before she'd believe it—only + natural,” returned Jarman. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't get a girl?” urged Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “Who could you trust?” asked the cautious Jarman. “Besides, there ain't + time. She's letting 'im rest to-day; to-morrow evening she'll be down on + 'im.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't see anything for it,” said Minikin, “but for him to do a bunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bad idea that,” mused Jarman; “only where's 'e to bunk to?” + </p> + <p> + “Needn't go far,” said Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “She'd find 'im out and follow 'im,” said Jarman. “She can look after + herself, mind you. Don't you go doing 'er any injustice.” + </p> + <p> + “He could change his name,” suggested Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “'Ow could 'e get a crib?” asked Jarman; “no character, no references.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got it,” cried Jarman, starting up; “the stage!” + </p> + <p> + “Can he act?” asked Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “Can do anything,” retorted my supporter, “that don't want too much sense. + That's 'is sanctuary, the stage. No questions asked, no character wanted. + Lord! why didn't I think of it before?” + </p> + <p> + “Wants a bit of getting on to, doesn't it?” suggested Minikin. + </p> + <p> + “Depends upon where you want to get,” replied Jarman. For the first time + since the commencement of the discussion he turned to me. “Can you sing?” + he asked me. + </p> + <p> + I replied that I could a little, though I had never done so in public. + </p> + <p> + “Sing something now,” demanded Jarman; “let's 'ear you. Wait a minute!” he + cried. + </p> + <p> + He slipped out of the room. I heard him pause upon the landing below and + knock at the door of the fair Rosina's room. The next minute he returned. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” he explained; “she's not in yet. Now, sing for all + you're worth. Remember, it's for life and freedom.” + </p> + <p> + I sang “Sally in Our Alley,” not with much spirit, I am inclined to think. + With every mention of the lady's name there rose before me the abundant + form and features of my <i>fiancee</i>, which checked the feeling that + should have trembled through my voice. But Jarman, though not + enthusiastic, was content. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't what I call a grand opera voice,” he commented, “but it ought to + do all right for a chorus where economy is the chief point to be + considered. Now, I'll tell you what to do. You go to-morrow straight to + the O'Kelly, and put the whole thing before 'im. 'E's a good sort; 'e'll + touch you up a bit, and maybe give you a few introductions. Lucky for you, + this is just the right time. There's one or two things comin' on, and if + Fate ain't dead against you, you'll lose your amorita, or whatever it's + called, and not find 'er again till it's too late.” + </p> + <p> + I was not in the mood that evening to feel hopeful about anything; but I + thanked both of them for their kind intentions and promised to think the + suggestion over on the morrow, when, as it was generally agreed, I should + be in a more fitting state to bring cool judgment to bear upon the + subject; and they rose to take their departure. + </p> + <p> + Leaving Minikin to descend alone, Jarman returned the next minute. + “Consols are down a bit this week,” he whispered, with the door in his + hand. “If you want a little of the ready to carry you through, don't go + sellin' out. I can manage a few pounds. Suck a couple of lemons and you'll + be all right in the morning. So long.” + </p> + <p> + I followed his advice regarding the lemons, and finding it correct, went + to the office next morning as usual. Lott & Co., in consideration of + my agreeing to a deduction of two shillings on the week's salary, allowed + himself to overlook the matter. I had intended acting on Jarman's advice, + to call upon the O'Kelly at his address of respectability in Hampstead + that evening, and had posted him a note saying I was coming. Before + leaving the office, however, I received a reply to the effect that he + would be out that evening, and asking me to make it the following Friday + instead. Disappointed, I returned to my lodgings in a depressed state of + mind. Jarman 's scheme, which had appeared hopeful and even attractive + during the daytime, now loomed shadowy and impossible before me. The + emptiness of the first floor parlour as I passed its open door struck a + chill upon me, reminding me of the disappearance of a friend to whom, in + spite of moral disapproval, I had during these last few months become + attached. Unable to work, the old pain of loneliness returned upon me. I + sat for awhile in the darkness, listening to the scratching of the pen of + my neighbour, the old law-writer, and the sense of despair that its sound + always communicated to me encompassed me about this evening with heavier + weight than usual. + </p> + <p> + After all, was not the sympathy of the Lady 'Ortensia, stimulated for + personal purposes though it might be, better than nothing? At least, here + was some living creature to whom I belonged, to whom my existence or + nonexistence was of interest, who, if only for her own sake, was bound to + share my hopes, my fears. + </p> + <p> + It was in this mood that I heard a slight tap at the door. In the dim + passage stood the small slavey, holding out a note. I took it, and + returning, lighted my candle. The envelope was pink and scented. It was + addressed, in handwriting not so bad as I had expected, to “Paul Kelver, + Esquire.” I opened it and read: + </p> + <p> + “Dr mr. Paul—I herd as how you was took hill hafter the party. I + feer you are not strong. You must not work so hard or you will be hill and + then I shall be very cros with you. I hop you are well now. If so I am + going for a wark and you may come with me if you are good. With much love. + From your affechonat ROSIE.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of the spelling, a curious, tingling sensation stole over me as I + read this my first love-letter. A faint mist swam before my eyes. Through + it, glorified and softened, I saw the face of my betrothed, pasty yet + alluring, her large white fleshy arms stretched out invitingly toward me. + Moved by a sudden hot haste that seized me, I dressed myself with + trembling hands; I appeared to be anxious to act without giving myself + time for thought. Complete, with a colour in my cheeks unusual to them, + and a burning in my eyes, I descended and knocked with a nervous hand at + the door of the second floor back. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” came in answer Miss Sellars' sharp tones. + </p> + <p> + “It is I—Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wait a minute, dear.” The tone was sweeter. There followed the sound + of scurried footsteps, a rustling of clothes, a banging of drawers, a few + moments' dead silence, and then: + </p> + <p> + “You can come in now, dear.” + </p> + <p> + I entered. It was a small, untidy room, smelling of smoky lamp; but all I + saw distinctly at the moment was Miss Sellars with her arms above her + head, pinning her hat upon her straw-coloured hair. + </p> + <p> + With the sight of her before me in the flesh, my feelings underwent a + sudden revulsion. During the few minutes she had kept me waiting outside + the door I had suffered from an almost uncontrollable desire to turn the + handle and rush in. Now, had I acted on impulse, I should have run out. + Not that she was an unpleasant-looking girl by any means; it was the + atmosphere of coarseness, of commonness, around her that repelled me. The + fastidiousness—finikinness; if you will—that would so often + spoil my rare chop, put before me by a waitress with dirty finger-nails, + forced me to disregard the ample charms she no doubt did possess, to + fasten my eyes exclusively upon her red, rough hands and the one or two + warts that grew thereon. + </p> + <p> + “You're a very naughty boy,” told me Miss Sellars, finishing the fastening + of her hat. “Why didn't you come in and see me in the dinner-<i>h</i>our? + I've a great mind not to kiss you.” + </p> + <p> + The powder she had evidently dabbed on hastily was plainly visible upon + her face; the round, soft arms were hidden beneath ill-fitting sleeves of + some crapey material, the thought of which put my teeth on edge. I wished + her intention had been stronger. Instead, relenting, she offered me her + flowery cheek, which I saluted gingerly, the taste of it reminding me of + certain pale, thin dough-cakes manufactured by the wife of our school + porter and sold to us in playtime at four a penny, and which, having + regard to their satisfying quality, had been popular with me in those + days. + </p> + <p> + At the top of the kitchen stairs Miss Sellars paused and called down + shrilly to Mrs. Peedles, who in course of time appeared, panting. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, me and Mr. Kelver are going out for a short walk, Mrs. Peedles. I + shan't want any supper. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good night, my dear,” replied Mrs. Peedles. “Hope you'll enjoy + yourselves. Is Mr. Kelver there?” + </p> + <p> + “He's round the corner,” I heard Miss Sellars explain in a lower voice; + and there followed a snigger. + </p> + <p> + “He's a bit shy, ain't he?” suggested Mrs. Peedles in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I've had enough of the other sort,” was Miss Sellars' answer in low + tones. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well; it's the shy ones that come out the strongest after a bit—leastways, + that's been my experience.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll do all right. So long.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Sellars, buttoning a burst glove, rejoined me. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you've never had a sweetheart before?” asked Miss Sellars, as + we turned into the Blackfriars Road. + </p> + <p> + I admitted that this was my first experience. + </p> + <p> + “I can't a-bear a flirty man,” explained Miss Sellars. “That's why I took + to you from the beginning. You was so quiet.” + </p> + <p> + I began to wish that nature had bestowed upon me a noisier temperament. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody could see you was a gentleman,” continued Miss Sellars. “Heaps + and heaps of hoffers I've had—<i>h</i>undreds you might almost say. + But what I've always told 'em is, 'I like you very much indeed as a + friend, but I'm not going to marry any one but a gentleman.' Don't you + think I was right?” + </p> + <p> + I murmured it was only what I should have expected of her. + </p> + <p> + “You may take my harm, if you like,” suggested Miss Sellars, as we crossed + St. George's Circus; and linked, we pursued our way along the Kennington + Park Road. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, there was not much need for me to talk. Miss Sellars was + content to supply most of the conversation herself, and all of it was + about herself. + </p> + <p> + I learned that her instincts since childhood had been toward gentility. + Nor was this to be wondered at, seeing that her family—on her + mother's side, at all events,—were connected distinctly with “the <i>h</i>ighest + in the land.” <i>Mesalliances</i>, however, are common in all communities, + and one of them, a particularly flagrant specimen—her “Mar” had, + alas! contracted, having married—what did I think? I should never + guess—a waiter! Miss Sellars, stopping in the act of crossing + Newington Butts to shudder at the recollection of her female parent's + shame, was nearly run down by a tramcar. + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Sellars did not appear to have “hit it off” together. Could + one wonder: Mrs. Sellars with an uncle on the Stock Exchange, and Mr. + Sellars with one on Peckham Rye? I gathered his calling to have been, + chiefly, “three shies a penny.” Mrs. Sellars was now, however, happily + dead; and if no other good thing had come out of the catastrophe, it had + determined Miss Sellars to take warning by her mother's error and avoid + connection with the lowly born. She it was who, with my help, would lift + the family back again to its proper position in society. + </p> + <p> + “It used to be a joke against me,” explained Miss Sellars, “heven when I + was quite a child. I never could tolerate anything low. Why, one day when + I was only seven years old, what do you think happened?” + </p> + <p> + I confessed my inability to guess. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you,” said Miss Sellars; “it'll just show you. Uncle + Joseph—that was father's uncle, you understand?” + </p> + <p> + I assured Miss Sellars that the point was fixed in my mind. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day when he came to see us he takes a cocoanut out of his + pocket and offers it to me. 'Thank you,' I says; 'I don't heat cocoanuts + that have been shied at by just anybody and missed!' It made him so wild. + After that,” explained Miss Sellars, “they used to call me at home the + Princess of Wales.” + </p> + <p> + I murmured it was a pretty fancy. + </p> + <p> + “Some people,” replied Miss Sellars, with a giggle, “says it fits me; but, + of course, that's only their nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + Not knowing what to reply, I remained silent, which appeared to somewhat + disappoint Miss Sellars. + </p> + <p> + Out of the Clapham Road we turned into a by-street of two-storeyed houses. + </p> + <p> + “You'll come in and have a bit of supper?” suggested Miss Sellars. “Mar's + quite hanxious to see you.” + </p> + <p> + I found sufficient courage to say I was not feeling well, and would much + rather return home. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you must just come in for five minutes, dear. It'll look so funny + if you don't. I told 'em we was coming.” + </p> + <p> + “I would really rather not,” I urged; “some other evening.” I felt a + presentiment, I confided to her, that on this particular evening I should + not shine to advantage. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you mustn't be so shy,” said Miss Sellars. “I don't like shy fellows—not + too shy. That's silly.” And Miss Sellars took my arm with a decided grip, + making it clear to me that escape could be obtained only by an unseemly + struggle in the street; not being prepared for which, I meekly yielded. + </p> + <p> + We knocked at the door of one of the small houses, Miss Sellars retaining + her hold upon me until it had been opened to us by a lank young man in his + shirt-sleeves and closed behind us. + </p> + <p> + “Don't gentlemen wear coats of a hevening nowadays?” asked Miss Sellars, + tartly, of the lank young man. “New fashion just come in?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what gentlemen wear in the evening or what they don't,” + retorted the lank young man, who appeared to be in an aggressive mood. “If + I can find one in this street, I'll ast him and let you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother in the droaring-room?” enquired Miss Sellars, ignoring the retort. + </p> + <p> + “They're all of 'em in the parlour, if that's what you mean,” returned the + lank young man, “the whole blooming shoot. If you stand up against the + wall and don't breathe, there'll just be room for you.” + </p> + <p> + Sweeping by the lank young man, Miss Sellars opened the parlour door, and + towing me in behind her, shut it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mar, here we are,” announced Miss Sellars. An enormously stout + lady, ornamented with a cap that appeared to have been made out of a + bandanna handkerchief, rose to greet us, thus revealing the fact that she + had been sitting upon an extremely small horsehair-covered easy-chair, the + disproportion between the lady and her support being quite pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “I am charmed, Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Kelver,” supplied Miss Sellars. + </p> + <p> + “Kelver, to make your ac-quain-tance,” recited Mrs. Sellars in the tone of + one repeating a lesson. + </p> + <p> + I bowed, and murmured that the honour was entirely mine. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it,” replied Mrs. Sellars. “Pray be seated.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sellars herself set the example by suddenly giving way and dropping + down into her chair, which thus again became invisible. It received her + with an agonised groan. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the insistence with which this article of furniture throughout the + evening called attention to its sufferings was really quite distracting. + With every breath that Mrs. Sellars took it moaned wearily. There were + moments when it literally shrieked. I could not have accepted Mrs. + Sellars' offer had I wished, there being no chair vacant and no room for + another. A young man with watery eyes, sitting just behind me between a + fat young lady and a lean one, rose and suggested my taking his place. + Miss Sellars introduced me to him as her cousin Joseph something or other, + and we shook hands. + </p> + <p> + The watery-eyed Joseph remarked that it had been a fine day between the + showers, and hoped that the morrow would be either wet or dry; upon which + the lean young lady, having slapped him, asked admiringly of the fat young + lady if he wasn't a “silly fool;” to which the fat young lady replied, + with somewhat unnecessary severity, I thought, that no one could help + being what they were born. To this the lean young lady retorted that it + was with precisely similar reflection that she herself controlled her own + feelings when tempted to resent the fat young lady's “nasty jealous + temper.” + </p> + <p> + The threatened quarrel was nipped in the bud by the discretion of Miss + Sellars, who took the opportunity of the fat young lady's momentary + speechlessness to introduce me promptly to both of them. They also, I + learned, were cousins. The lean girl said she had “erd on me,” and + immediately fell into an uncontrollable fit of giggles; of which the + watery-eyed Joseph requested me to take no notice, explaining that she + always went off like that at exactly three-quarters to the half-hour every + evening, Sundays and holidays excepted; that she had taken everything + possible for it without effect, and that what he himself advised was that + she should have it off. + </p> + <p> + The fat girl, seizing the chance afforded her, remarked genteelly that she + too had “heard hof me,” with emphasis upon the “hof.” She also remarked it + was a long walk from Blackfriars Bridge. + </p> + <p> + “All depends upon the company, eh? Bet they didn't find it too long.” + </p> + <p> + This came from a loud-voiced, red-faced man sitting on the sofa beside a + somewhat melancholy-looking female dressed in bright green. These twain I + discovered to be Uncle and Aunt Gutton. From an observation dropped later + in the evening concerning government restrictions on the sale of + methylated spirit, and hastily smothered, I gathered that their line was + oil and colour. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gutton's forte appeared to be badinage. He it was who, on my + explaining my heightened colour as due to the closeness of the evening, + congratulated his niece on having secured so warm a partner. + </p> + <p> + “Will be jolly handy,” shouted Uncle Gutton, “for Rosina, seeing she's + always complaining of her cold feet.” + </p> + <p> + Here the lank young man attempted to squeeze himself into the room, but + found his entrance barred by the square, squat figure of the watery-eyed + young man. + </p> + <p> + “Don't push,” advised the watery-eyed young man. “Walk over me quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why don't yer get out of the way,” growled the lank young man, now + coated, but still aggressive. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I to get to?” asked the watery-eyed young man, with some reason. + “Say the word and I'll 'ang myself up to the gas bracket.” + </p> + <p> + “In my courting days,” roared Uncle Gutton, “the girls used to be able to + find seats, even if there wasn't enough chairs to go all round.” + </p> + <p> + The sentiment was received with varying degrees of approbation. The + watery-eyed young man, sitting down, put the lean young lady on his knee, + and in spite of her struggles and sounding slaps, heroically retained her + there. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, Rosie,” shouted Uncle Gutton, who appeared to have constituted + himself master of the ceremonies, “don't stand about, my girl; you'll get + tired.” + </p> + <p> + Left to herself, I am inclined to think my <i>fiancee</i> would have + spared me; but Uncle Gutton, having been invited to a love comedy, was not + to be cheated of any part of the performance, and the audience clearly + being with him, there was nothing for it but compliance. I seated myself, + and amid plaudits accommodated the ample and heavy Rosina upon my knee. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” called out to me the watery-eyed young man, as behind the fair + Rosina I disappeared from his view. “See you again later on.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to be a plump girl myself before I married,” observed Aunt Gutton. + “Plump as butter I was at one time.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't what one eats,” said the maternal Sellars. “I myself don't eat + enough to keep a fly, and my legs—” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do, Mar,” interrupted the filial Sellars, tartly. + </p> + <p> + “I was only going to say, my dear—” + </p> + <p> + “We all know what you was going to say, Mar,” retorted Miss Sellars. + “We've heard it before, and it isn't interesting.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sellars relapsed into silence. + </p> + <p> + “'Ard work and plenty of it keeps you thin enough, I notice,” remarked the + lank young man, with bitterness. To him I was now introduced, he being Mr. + George Sellars. “Seen 'im before,” was his curt greeting. + </p> + <p> + At supper—referred to by Mrs. Sellars again in the tone of one + remembering a lesson, as a cold col-la-tion, with the accent on the “tion”—I + sat between Miss Sellars and the lean young lady, with Aunt and Uncle + Gutton opposite to us. It was remarked with approval that I did not appear + to be hungry. + </p> + <p> + “Had too many kisses afore he started,” suggested Uncle Gutton, with his + mouth full of cold roast pork and pickles. “Wonderfully nourishing thing, + kisses, eh? Look at mother and me. That's all we live on.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Gutton sighed, and observed that she had always been a poor feeder. + </p> + <p> + The watery-eyed young man, observing he had never tasted them himself—at + which sally there was much laughter—said he would not mind trying a + sample if the lean young lady would kindly pass him one. + </p> + <p> + The lean young lady opined that, not being used to high living, it might + disagree with him. + </p> + <p> + “Just one,” pleaded the watery-eyed young man, “to go with this bit of + cracklin'.” + </p> + <p> + The lean young lady, amid renewed applause, first thoughtfully wiping her + mouth, acceded to his request. + </p> + <p> + The watery-eyed young man turned it over with the air of a gourmet. + </p> + <p> + “Not bad,” was his verdict. “Reminds me of onions.” At this there was + another burst of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, ain't Paul goin' to have one?” shouted Uncle Gutton, when the + laughter had subsided. + </p> + <p> + Amid silence, feeling as wretched as perhaps I have ever felt in my life + before or since, I received one from the gracious Miss Sellars, wet and + sounding. + </p> + <p> + “Looks better for it already,” commented the delighted Uncle Gutton. + “He'll soon get fat on 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Not too many at first,” advised the watery-eyed young man. “Looks to me + as if he's got a weak stomach.” + </p> + <p> + I think, had the meal lasted much longer, I should have made a dash for + the street; the contemplation of such step was forming in my mind. But + Miss Sellars, looking at her watch, declared we must be getting home at + once, for the which I could have kissed her voluntarily; and, being a + young lady of decision, at once rose and commenced leave-taking. Polite + protests were attempted, but these, with enthusiastic assistance from + myself, she swept aside. + </p> + <p> + “Don't want any one to walk home with you?” suggested Uncle Gutton. “Sure + you won't feel lonely by yourselves, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “We shan't come to no harm,” assured him Miss Sellars. + </p> + <p> + “P'raps you're right,” agreed Uncle Gutton. “There don't seem to be much + of the fiery and untamed about him, so far as I can see.” + </p> + <p> + “'Slow waters run deep,'” reminded us Aunt Gutton, with a waggish shake of + her head. + </p> + <p> + “No question about the slow,” assented Uncle Gutton. “If you don't like + him—” observed Miss Sellars, speaking with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “To be quite candid with you, my girl, I don't,” answered Uncle Gutton, + whose temper, maybe as the result of too much cold pork and whiskey, + seemed to have suddenly changed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he happens to be good enough for me,” recommenced Miss Sellars. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry to hear a niece of mine say so,” interrupted Uncle Gutton. “If + you want my opinion of him—” + </p> + <p> + “If ever I do I'll call round some time when you're sober and ast you for + it,” returned Miss Sellars. “And as for being your niece, you was here + when I came, and I don't see very well as how I could have got out of it. + You needn't throw that in my teeth.” + </p> + <p> + The gust was dispersed by the practical remark of brother George to the + effect that the last tram for Walworth left the Oval at eleven-thirty; to + which he further added the suggestion that the Clapham Road was wide and + well adapted to a row. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't going to be no rows,” replied Uncle Gutton, returning to + amiability as suddenly as he had departed from it. “We understand each + other, don't we, my girl?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, uncle. I know what you mean,” returned Miss Sellars, + with equal handsomeness. + </p> + <p> + “Bring him round again when he's feeling better,” added Uncle Gutton, “and + we'll have another look at him.” + </p> + <p> + “What you want,” advised the watery-eyed young man on shaking hands with + me, “is complete rest and a tombstone.” + </p> + <p> + I wished at the time I could have followed his prescription. + </p> + <p> + The maternal Sellars waddled after us into the passage, which she + completely blocked. She told me she was delight-ted to have met me, and + that she was always at home on Sundays. + </p> + <p> + I said I would remember it, and thanked her warmly for a pleasant evening, + at Miss Sellars' request calling her Ma. + </p> + <p> + Outside, Miss Sellars agreed that my presentiment had proved correct—that + I had not shone to advantage. Our journey home on a tramcar was a somewhat + silent proceeding. At the door of her room she forgave me, and kissed me + good night. Had I been frank with her, I should have thanked her for that + evening's experience. It had made my course plain to me. + </p> + <p> + The next day, which was Thursday, I wandered about the streets till two + o'clock in the morning, when I slipped in quietly, passing Miss Sellars' + door with my boots in my hand. + </p> + <p> + After Mr. Lott's departure on Friday, which, fortunately, was pay-day, I + set my desk in order and confided to Minikin written instructions + concerning all matters unfinished. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be here to-morrow,” I told him. “Going to follow your + advice.” + </p> + <p> + “Found anything to do?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you can't get anything?” + </p> + <p> + “If the worst comes to the worst,” I replied, “I can hang myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know the girl. Maybe you are right,” he agreed. + </p> + <p> + “Hope it won't throw much extra work on you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shan't be catching it if it does,” was his answer. “That's all + right.” + </p> + <p> + He walked with me to the “Angel,” and there we parted. + </p> + <p> + “If you do get on to the stage,” he said, “and it's anything worth seeing, + and you send me an order, and I can find the time, maybe I'll come and see + you.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him for his promised support and jumped upon the tram. + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly's address was in Belsize Square. I was about to ring and + knock, as requested by a highly-polished brass plate, when I became aware + of pieces of small coal falling about me on the doorstep. Looking up, I + perceived the O'Kelly leaning out of an attic window. From signs I + gathered I was to retire from the doorstep and wait. In a few minutes the + door opened and his hand beckoned me to enter. + </p> + <p> + “Walk quietly,” he whispered; and on tip-toe we climbed up to the attic + from where had fallen the coal. “I've been waiting for ye,” explained the + O'Kelly, speaking low. “Me wife—a good woman, Paul; sure, a better + woman never lived; ye'll like her when ye know her, later on—she + might not care about ye're calling. She'd want to know where I met ye, and—ye + understand? Besides,” added the O'Kelly, “we can smoke up here;” and + seating himself where he could keep an eye upon the door, near to a small + cupboard out of which he produced a pipe still alight, the O'Kelly + prepared himself to listen. + </p> + <p> + I told him briefly the reason of my visit. + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault, Paul,” he was good enough to say; “my fault entirely. + Between ourselves, it was a damned silly idea, that party, the whole thing + altogether. Don't ye think so?” + </p> + <p> + I replied that I was naturally prejudiced against it myself. + </p> + <p> + “Most unfortunate for me,” continued the O'Kelly; “I know that. Me cabman + took me to Hammersmith instead of Hampstead; said I told him Hammersmith. + Didn't get home here till three o'clock in the morning. Most unfortunate—under + the circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + I could quite imagine it. + </p> + <p> + “But I'm glad ye've come,” said the O'Kelly. “I had a notion ye did + something foolish that evening, but I couldn't remember precisely what. + It's been worrying me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's been worrying me also, I can assure you,” I told him; and I gave him + an account of my Wednesday evening's experience. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go round to-morrow morning,” he said, “and see one or two people. + It's not a bad idea, that of Jarman's. I think I may be able to arrange + something for ye.” + </p> + <p> + He fixed a time for me to call again upon him the next day, when Mrs. + O'Kelly would be away from home. He instructed me to walk quietly up and + down on the opposite side of the road with my eye on the attic window, and + not to come across unless he waved a handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + Rising to go, I thanked him for his kindness. “Don't put it that way, me + dear Paul,” he answered. “If I don't get ye out of this scrape I shall + never forgive meself. If we damned silly fools don't help one another,” he + added, with his pleasant laugh, “who is to help us?” + </p> + <p> + We crept downstairs as we had crept up. As we reached the first floor, the + drawing-room door suddenly opened. + </p> + <p> + “William!” cried a sharp voice. + </p> + <p> + “Me dear,” answered the O'Kelly, snatching his pipe from his mouth and + thrusting it, still alight, into his trousers pocket. I made the rest of + the descent by myself, and slipping out, closed the door behind me as + noiselessly as possible. + </p> + <p> + Again I did not return to Nelson Square until the early hours, and the + next morning did not venture out until I had heard Miss Sellars, who + appeared to be in a bad temper, leave the house. Then running to the top + of the kitchen stairs, I called for Mrs. Peedles. I told her I was going + to leave her, and, judging the truth to be the simplest explanation, I + told her the reason why. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Mrs. Peedles, “I am only too glad to hear it. It wasn't + for me to interfere, but I couldn't help seeing you were making a fool of + yourself. I only hope you'll get clear off, and you may depend upon me to + do all I can to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think I'm acting dishonourably, do you, Mrs. Peedles?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” replied Mrs. Peedles, “it's a difficult world to live in—leastways, + that's been my experience of it.” + </p> + <p> + I had just completed my packing—it had not taken me long—when + I heard upon the stairs the heavy panting that always announced to me the + up-coming of Mrs. Peedles. She entered with a bundle of old manuscripts + under her arm, torn and tumbled booklets of various shapes and sizes. + These she plumped down upon the rickety table, and herself upon the + nearest chair. + </p> + <p> + “Put them in your box, my dear,” said Mrs. Peedles. “They'll come in + useful to you later on.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at the bundle. I saw it was a collection of old plays in + manuscript-prompt copies, scored, cut and interlined. The top one I + noticed was “The Bloodspot: Or the Maiden, the Miser and the Murderer;” + the second, “The Female Highwayman.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody's forgotten 'em,” explained Mrs. Peedles, “but there's some + good stuff in all of them.” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do with them?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Just whatever you like, my dear,” explained Mrs. Peedles. “It's quite + safe. They're all of 'em dead, the authors of 'em. I've picked 'em out + most carefully. You just take a scene from one and a scene from the other. + With judgment and your talent you'll make a dozen good plays out of that + little lot when your time comes.” + </p> + <p> + “But they wouldn't be my plays, Mrs. Peedles,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “They will if I give them to you,” answered Mrs. Peedles. “You put 'em in + your box. And never mind the bit of rent,” added Mrs. Peedles; “you can + pay me that later on.” + </p> + <p> + I kissed the kind old soul good-bye and took her gift with me to my new + lodgings in Camden Town. Many a time have I been hard put to it for plot + or scene, and more than once in weak mood have I turned with guilty intent + the torn and crumpled pages of Mrs. Peedles's donation to my literary + equipment. It is pleasant to be able to put my hand upon my heart and + reflect that never yet have I yielded to the temptation. Always have I + laid them back within their drawer, saying to myself, with stern reproof: + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Paul. Stand or fall by your own merits. Never plagiarise—in + any case, not from this 'little lot.'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <h3> + LEADS TO A MEETING. + </h3> + <p> + “Don't be nervous,” said the O'Kelly, “and don't try to do too much. You + have a very fair voice, but it's not powerful. Keep cool and open your + mouth.” + </p> + <p> + It was eleven o'clock in the morning. We were standing at the entrance of + the narrow court leading to the stage door. For a fortnight past the + O'Kelly had been coaching me. It had been nervous work for both of us, but + especially for the O'Kelly. Mrs. O'Kelly, a thin, acid-looking lady, of + whom I once or twice had caught a glimpse while promenading Belsize Square + awaiting the O'Kelly's signal, was a serious-minded lady, with a + conscientious objection to all music not of a sacred character. With the + hope of winning the O'Kelly from one at least of his sinful tendencies, + the piano had been got rid of, and its place in the drawing-room filled by + an American organ of exceptionally lugubrious tone. With this we had had + to make shift, and though the O'Kelly—a veritable musical genius—had + succeeded in evolving from it an accompaniment to “Sally in Our Alley” + less misleading and confusing than might otherwise have been the case, the + result had not been to lighten our labours. My rendering of the famous + ballad had, in consequence, acquired a dolefulness not intended by the + composer. Sung as I sang it, the theme became, to employ a definition + since grown hackneyed as applied to Art, a problem ballad. Involuntarily + one wondered whether the marriage would turn out as satisfactorily as the + young man appeared to anticipate. Was there not, when one came to think of + it, a melancholy, a pessimism ingrained within the temperament of the + complainful hero that would ill assort with those instincts toward + frivolity the careful observer could not avoid discerning in the charming + yet nevertheless somewhat shallow character of Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Lighter, lighter. Not so soulful,” would demand the O'Kelly, as the + solemn notes rolled jerkily from the groaning instrument beneath his + hands. + </p> + <p> + Once we were nearly caught, Mrs. O'Kelly returning from a district + visitors' committee meeting earlier than was expected. Hastily I was + hidden in a small conservatory adjutting from the first floor landing, + where, crouching behind flower-pots, I listened in fear and trembling to + the severe cross-examination of the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “William, do not prevaricate. It was not a hymn.” + </p> + <p> + “Me dear, so much depends upon the time. Let me give ye an example of what + I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “William, pray in my presence not to play tricks with sacred melodies. If + you have no respect for religion, please remember that I have. Besides, + why should you be playing hymns in any time at ten o'clock in the morning? + It is not like you, William, and I do not credit your explanation. And you + were singing. I distinctly heard the word 'Sally' as I opened the door.” + </p> + <p> + “Salvation, me dear,” corrected the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “Your enunciation, William, is not usually so much at fault.” + </p> + <p> + “A little hoarseness, me dear,” explained the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “Your voice did not sound hoarse. Perhaps it will be better if we do not + pursue the subject further.” + </p> + <p> + With this the O'Kelly appeared to agree. + </p> + <p> + “A lady a little difficult to get on with when ye're feeling well and + strong,” so the O'Kelly would explain her; “but if ye happen to be ill, + one of the kindest, most devoted of women. When I was down with typhoid + three years ago, a tenderer nurse no man could have had. I shall never + forget it. And so she would be again to-morrow, if there was anything + serious the matter with me.” + </p> + <p> + I murmured the well-known quotation. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. O'Kelly to a T,” concurred the O'Kelly. “I sometimes wonder if Lady + Scott may not have been the same sort of woman.” + </p> + <p> + “The unfortunate part of it is,” continued the O'Kelly, “that I'm such a + healthy beggar; it don't give her a chance. If I were only a chronic + invalid, now, there's nothing that woman would not do to make me happy. As + it is—” The O'Kelly struck a chord. We resumed our studies. + </p> + <p> + But to return to our conversation at the stage door. + </p> + <p> + “Meet me at the Cheshire Cheese at one o'clock,” said the O'Kelly, shaking + hands. “If ye don't get on here, we'll try something else; but I've spoken + to Hodgson, and I think ye will. Good luck to ye!” + </p> + <p> + He went his way and I mine. In a glass box just behind the door a + curved-nose, round-eyed little man, looking like an angry bird in a cage, + demanded of me my business. I showed him my letter of appointment. + </p> + <p> + “Up the passage, across the stage, along the corridor, first floor, second + door on the right,” he instructed me in one breath, and shut the window + with a snap. + </p> + <p> + I proceeded up the passage. It somewhat surprised me to discover that I + was not in the least excited at the thought of this, my first introduction + to “behind the scenes.” + </p> + <p> + I recall my father's asking a young soldier on his return from the Crimea + what had been his sensations at the commencement of his first charge. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied the young fellow, “I was worrying all the time, + remembering I had rushed out leaving the beer tap running in the canteen, + and I could not forget it.” + </p> + <p> + So far as the stage I found my way in safety. Pausing for a moment and + glancing round, my impression was not so much disillusionment concerning + all things theatrical as realisation of my worst forebodings. In that one + moment all glamour connected with the stage fell from me, nor has it since + ever returned to me. From the tawdry decorations of the auditorium to the + childish make-belief littered around on the stage, I saw the Theatre a + painted thing of shreds and patches—the grown child's doll's-house. + The Drama may improve us, elevate us, interest and teach us. I am sure it + does; long may it flourish! But so likewise does the dressing and + undressing of dolls, the opening of the front of the house, and the + tenderly putting of them away to bed in rooms they completely fill, train + our little dears to the duties and the joys of motherhood. Toys! what wise + child despises them? Art, fiction, the musical glasses: are they not + preparing us for the time, however distant, when we shall at last be grown + up? + </p> + <p> + In a maze of ways beyond the stage I lost myself, but eventually, guided + by voices, came to a large room furnished barely with many chairs and worn + settees, and here I found some twenty to thirty ladies and gentlemen + already seated. They were of varying ages, sizes and appearance, but all + of them alike in having about them that impossible-to-define but + impossible-to-mistake suggestion of theatricality. The men were chiefly + remarkable for having no hair on their faces, but a good deal upon their + heads; the ladies, one and all, were blessed with remarkably pink and + white complexions and exceptionally bright eyes. The conversation, carried + on in subdued but penetrating voices, was chiefly of “him” and “her.” + Everybody appeared to be on an affectionate footing with everybody else, + the terms of address being “My dear,” “My love,” “Old girl,” “Old + chappie,” Christian names—when name of any sort was needful—alone + being employed. I hesitated for a minute with the door in my hand, fearing + I had stumbled upon a family gathering. As, however, nobody seemed + disconcerted at my entry, I ventured to take a vacant seat next to an + extremely small and boyish-looking gentleman and to ask him if this was + the room in which I, an applicant for a place in the chorus of the + forthcoming comic opera, ought to be waiting. + </p> + <p> + He had large, fishy eyes, with which he looked me up and down. For such a + length of time he remained thus regarding me in silence that a massive + gentleman sitting near, who had overheard, took it upon himself to reply + in the affirmative, adding that from what he knew of Butterworth we would + all of us be waiting here a damned sight longer than any gentleman should + keep other ladies and gentlemen waiting for no reason at all. + </p> + <p> + “I think it exceedingly bad form,” observed the fishy-eyed gentleman, in + deep contralto tones, “for any gentleman to take it upon himself to reply + to a remark addressed to quite another gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” retorted the large gentleman. “I thought you were + asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it very ill manners,” remarked the small gentlemen in the same + slow and impressive tones, “for any gentleman to tell another gentleman, + who happens to be wide awake, that he thought he was asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” returned the massive gentleman, assuming with the help of a large + umbrella a quite Johnsonian attitude, “I decline to alter my manners to + suit your taste.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are satisfied with them,” replied the small gentleman, “I cannot + help it. But I think you are making a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Does anybody know what the opera is about?” asked a bright little woman + at the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Does anybody ever know what a comic opera is about?” asked another lady, + whose appearance suggested experience. + </p> + <p> + “I once asked the author,” observed a weary-looking gentleman, speaking + from a corner. “His reply was: 'Well, if you had asked me at the beginning + of the rehearsals I might have been able to tell you, but damned if I + could now!'” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't surprise me,” observed a good-looking gentleman in a velvet + coat, “if there occurred somewhere in the proceedings a drinking chorus + for male voices.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly, if we are good,” added a thin lady with golden hair, “the + heroine will confide to us her love troubles, which will interest us and + excite us.” + </p> + <p> + The door at the further end of the room opened and a name was called. An + elderly lady rose and went out. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Gertie!” remarked sympathetically the thin lady with the golden + hair. “I'm told that she really had a voice once.” + </p> + <p> + “When poor young Bond first came to London,” said the massive gentleman + who was sitting on my left, “I remember his telling me he applied to Lord + Barrymore's 'tiger,' Alexander Lee, I mean, of course, who was then + running the Strand Theatre, for a place in the chorus. Lee heard him sing + two lines, and then jumped up. 'Thanks, that'll do; good morning,' says + Lee. Bond knew he had got a good voice, so he asked Lee what was wrong. + 'What's wrong?' shouts Lee. 'Do you think I hire a chorus to show up my + principals?'” + </p> + <p> + “Having regard to the company present,” commented the fishy-eyed + gentleman, “I consider that anecdote as distinctly lacking in tact.” + </p> + <p> + The feeling of the company appeared to be with the fish-eyed young man. + </p> + <p> + For the next half hour the door at the further end of the room continued + to open and close, devouring, ogre-fashion, each time some dainty human + morsel, now chorus gentleman, now chorus lady. Conversation among our + thinning ranks became more fitful, a growing anxiety making for silence. + </p> + <p> + At length, “Mr. Horace Moncrieff” called the voice of the unseen Charon. + In common with the rest, I glanced round languidly to see what sort of man + “Mr. Horace Moncrieff” might be. The door was pushed open further. Charon, + now revealed as a pale-faced young man with a drooping moustache, put his + head into the room and repeated impatiently his invitation to the + apparently coy Moncrieff. It suddenly occurred to me that I was Mr. Horace + Moncrieff. + </p> + <p> + “So glad you've found yourself,” said the pale-faced young man, as I + joined him at the door. “Please don't lose yourself again; we're rather + pressed for time.” + </p> + <p> + I crossed with him through a deserted refreshment bar—one of the + saddest of sights—into a room beyond. A melancholy-looking gentleman + was seated at the piano. Beside him stood a tall, handsome man, who was + opening and reading rapidly from a bundle of letters he held in his hand. + A big, burly, bored-looking gentleman was making desperate efforts to be + amused at the staccato conversation of a sharp-faced, restless-eyed + gentleman, whose peculiarity was that he never by any chance looked at the + person to whom he was talking, but always at something or somebody else. + </p> + <p> + “Moncrieff?” enquired the tall, handsome man—whom I later discovered + to be Mr. Hodgson, the manager—without raising his eyes from his + letters. + </p> + <p> + The pale-faced gentleman responded for me. + </p> + <p> + “Fire away,” said Mr. Hodgson. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked of me wearily the melancholy gentleman at the piano. + </p> + <p> + “'Sally in Our Alley,'” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “What are you?” interrupted Mr. Hodgson. He had never once looked at me, + and did not now. + </p> + <p> + “A tenor,” I replied. “Not a full tenor,” I added, remembering the + O'Kelly's instructions. + </p> + <p> + “Utterly impossible to fill a tenor,” remarked the restless-eyed + gentleman, looking at me and speaking to the worried-looking gentleman. + “Ever tried?” + </p> + <p> + Everybody laughed, with the exception of the melancholy gentleman at the + piano, Mr. Hodgson throwing in his contribution without raising his eyes + from his letters. Throughout the proceedings the restless-eyed gentleman + continued to make humorous observations of this nature, at which everybody + laughed, excepting always the melancholy pianist—a short, sharp, + mechanical laugh, devoid of the least suggestion of amusement. The + restless-eyed gentleman, it appeared, was the leading low comedian of the + theatre. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the melancholy gentleman, and commenced the accompaniment. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me when he's going to begin,” remarked Mr. Hodgson at the conclusion + of the first verse. + </p> + <p> + “He has a fair voice,” said my accompanist. “He's evidently nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a prejudice throughout theatrical audiences,” observed Mr. + Hodgson, “in favour of a voice they can hear. That is all I am trying to + impress upon him.” + </p> + <p> + The second verse, so I imagined, I sang in the voice of a trumpet. The + burly gentleman—the translator of the French libretto, as he turned + out to be; the author of the English version, as he preferred to be called—acknowledged + to having distinctly detected a sound. The restless-eyed comedian + suggested an announcement from the stage requesting strict silence during + my part of the performance. + </p> + <p> + The sickness of fear was stealing over me. My voice, so it seemed to me, + disappointed at the effect it had produced, had retired, sulky, into my + boots, whence it refused to emerge. + </p> + <p> + “Your voice is all right—very good,” whispered the musical + conductor. “They want to hear the best you can do, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + At this my voice ran up my legs and out of my mouth. “Thirty shillings a + week, half salary for rehearsals. If that's all right, Mr. Catchpole will + give you your agreement. If not, very much obliged. Good morning,” said + Mr. Hodgson, still absorbed in his correspondence. + </p> + <p> + With the pale-faced young man I retired to a desk in the corner, where a + few seconds sufficed for the completion of the business. Leaving, I sought + to catch the eye of my melancholy friend, but he appeared too sunk in + dejection to notice anything. The restless-eyed comedian, looking at the + author of the English version and addressing me as Boanerges, wished me + good morning, at which the everybody laughed; and, informed as to the way + out by the pale-faced Mr. Catchpole, I left. + </p> + <p> + The first “call” was for the following Monday at two o'clock. I found the + theatre full of life and bustle. The principals, who had just finished + their own rehearsal, were talking together in a group. We ladies and + gentlemen of the chorus filled the centre of the stage. I noticed the lady + I had heard referred to as Gertie; as also the thin lady with the golden + hair. The massive gentleman and the fishy-eyed young man were again in + close proximity; so long as I knew them they always were together, + possessed, apparently, of a sympathetic antipathy for each other. The + fishy-eyed young gentleman was explaining the age at which he thought + decayed chorus singers ought, in justice to themselves and the public, to + retire from the profession; the massive gentleman, the age and size at + which he thought parcels of boys ought to be learning manners across their + mother's knee. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hodgson, still reading letters exactly as I had left him four days + ago, stood close to the footlights. My friend, the musical director, armed + with a violin and supported by about a dozen other musicians, occupied the + orchestra. The adapter and the stage manager—a Frenchman whom I + found it good policy to mistake for a born Englishman—sat deep in + confabulation at a small table underneath a temporary gas jet. Quarter of + an hour or so passed by, and then the stage manager, becoming suddenly in + a hurry, rang a small bell furiously. + </p> + <p> + “Clear, please; all clear,” shouted a small boy, with important air + suggestive of a fox terrier; and, following the others, I retreated to the + wings. + </p> + <p> + The comedian and the leading lady—whom I knew well from the front, + but whom I should never have recognised—severed themselves from + their companions and joined Mr. Hodgson by the footlights. As a + preliminary we were sorted out, according to our sizes, into loving + couples. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the stage manager, casting an admiring gaze upon the fishy-eyed + young man, whose height might have been a little over five feet two, “I + have the very girl for you—a beauty!” Darting into the group of + ladies, he returned with quite the biggest specimen, a lady of magnificent + proportions, whom, with the air of the virtuous uncle of melodrama, he + bestowed upon the fishy-eyed young man. To the massive gentleman was given + a sharp-faced little lady, who at a distance appeared quite girlish. + Myself I found mated to the thin lady with the golden hair. + </p> + <p> + At last complete, we took our places in the then approved semi-circle, and + the attenuated orchestra struck up the opening chorus. My music, which had + been sent me by post, I had gone over with the O'Kelly, and about that I + felt confident; but for the rest, ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said the thin lady, “I must ask you to put your arm round + my waist. It's very shocking, I know, but, you see, our salary depends + upon it. Do you think you could manage it?” + </p> + <p> + I glanced into her face. A whimsical expression of fun replied to me and + drove away my shyness. I carried out her instructions to the best of my + ability. + </p> + <p> + The indefatigable stage manager ran in and out among us while we sang, + driving this couple back a foot or so, this other forward, herding this + group closer together, throughout another making space, suggesting the + idea of a sheep-dog at work. + </p> + <p> + “Very good, very good indeed,” commented Mr. Hodgson at the conclusion. + “We will go over it once more, and this time in tune.” + </p> + <p> + “And we will make love,” added the stage manager; “not like marionettes, + but like ladies and gentlemen all alive.” Seizing the lady nearest to him, + he explained to us by object lesson how the real peasant invariably + behaves when under influence of the grand passion, standing gracefully + with hands clasped upon heart, head inclined at an angle of forty-five, + his whole countenance eloquent with tender adoration. + </p> + <p> + “If he expects” remarked the massive gentleman <i>sotto voce</i> to an + experienced-looking young lady, “a performance of Romeo thrown in, I, for + one, shall want an extra ten shillings a week.” + </p> + <p> + Casting the lady aside and seizing upon a gentleman, our stage manager + then proceeded to show the ladies how a village maiden should receive + affectionate advances: one shoulder a trifle higher than the other, body + from the waist upward gently waggling, roguish expression in left eye. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he's a bit new to it,” replied the experienced young lady. “He'll get + over all that.” + </p> + <p> + Again we started. Whether others attempted to follow the stage manager's + directions I cannot say, my whole attention being centred upon the + fishy-eyed young man, who did, implicitly. Soon it became apparent that + the whole of us were watching the fishy-eyed young man to the utter + neglect of our own business. Mr. Hodgson even looked up from his letters; + the orchestra was playing out of time; the author of the English version + and the leading lady exchanged glances. Three people only appeared not to + be enjoying themselves: the chief comedian, the stage manager and the + fishy-eyed young gentleman himself, who pursued his labours methodically + and conscientiously. There was a whispered confabulation between the + leading low comedian, Mr. Hodgson and the stage manager. As a result, the + music ceased and the fishy-eyed young gentleman was requested to explain + what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + “Only making love,” replied the fishy-eyed young gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “You were playing the fool, sir,” retorted the leading low comedian, + severely. + </p> + <p> + “That is a very unkind remark,” replied the fishy-eyed young gentleman, + evidently hurt, “to make to a gentleman who is doing his best.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hodgson behind his letters was laughing. “Poor fellow,” he murmured; + “I suppose he can't help it. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “We are not producing a pantomime, you know,” urged our comedian. + </p> + <p> + “I want to give him a chance, poor devil,” explained Mr. Hodgson in a + lower voice. “Only support of a widowed mother.” + </p> + <p> + Our comedian appeared inclined to argue; but at this point Mr. Hodgson's + correspondence became absorbing. + </p> + <p> + For the chorus the second act was a busy one. We opened as soldiers and + vivandieres, every warrior in this way possessing his own private + travelling bar. Our stage manager again explained to us by example how a + soldier behaves, first under stress of patriotic emotion, and secondly + under stress of cheap cognac, the difference being somewhat subtle: + patriotism displaying itself by slaps upon the chest, and cheap cognac by + slaps upon the forehead. A little later we were conspirators; our stage + manager, with the help of a tablecloth, showed us how to conspire. Next we + were a mob, led by the sentimental baritone; our stage manager, ruffling + his hair, expounded to us how a mob led by a sentimental baritone would + naturally behave itself. The act wound up with a fight. Our stage manager, + minus his coat, demonstrated to us how to fight and die, the dying being a + painful and dusty performance, necessitating, as it did, much rolling + about on the stage. The fishy-eyed young gentleman throughout the whole of + it was again the centre of attraction. Whether he were solemnly slapping + his chest and singing about glory, or solemnly patting his head and + singing about grapes, was immaterial: he was the soldier for us. What the + plot was about did not matter, so long as he was in it. Who led the mob + one did not care; one's desire was to see him lead. How others fought and + died was matter of no moment; to see him slaughtered was sufficient. + Whether his unconsciousness was assumed or natural I cannot say; in either + case it was admirable. An earnest young man, over-anxious, if anything, to + do his duty by his employers, was the extent of the charge that could be + brought against him. Our chief comedian frowned and fumed; our stage + manager was in despair. Mr. Hodgson and the author of the English version, + on the contrary, appeared kindly disposed towards the gentleman. In + addition to the widowed mother, Mr. Hodgson had invented for him five + younger brothers and sisters utterly destitute but for his earnings. To + deprive so exemplary a son and brother of the means of earning a + livelihood for dear ones dependent upon him was not in Mr. Hodgson's + heart. Our chief comedian dissociated himself from all uncharitable + feelings—would subscribe towards the subsistence of the young man + out of his own pocket, his only concern being the success of the opera. + The author of the English version was convinced the young man would not + accept a charity; had known him for years—was a most sensitive + creature. + </p> + <p> + The rehearsal proceeded. In the last act it became necessary for me to + kiss the thin lady. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” said the thin lady, “but duty is duty. It has to be + done.” + </p> + <p> + Again I followed directions. The thin lady was good enough to congratulate + me on my performance. + </p> + <p> + The last three or four rehearsals we performed in company with the + principals. Divided counsels rendered them decidedly harassing. Our chief + comedian had his views, and they were decided; the leading lady had hers, + and was generous with them. The author of the English version possessed + his also, but of these nobody took much notice. Once every twenty minutes + the stage manager washed his hands of the whole affair and left the + theatre in despair, and anybody's hat that happened to be handy, to return + a few minutes later full of renewed hope. The sentimental baritone was + sarcastic, the tenor distinctly rude to everybody. Mr. Hodgson's method + was to agree with all and listen to none. The smaller fry of the company, + together with the more pushing of the chorus, supported each in turn, when + the others were not looking. Up to the dress rehearsal it was anybody's + opera. + </p> + <p> + About one thing, and about one thing, only, had the principals fallen into + perfect agreement, and that was that the fishy-eyed young gentleman was + out of place in a romantic opera. The tenor would be making impassioned + love to the leading lady. Perception would come to both of them that, + though they might be occupying geographically the centre of the stage, + dramatically they were not. Without a shred of evidence, yet with perfect + justice, they would unhesitatingly blame for this the fishy-eyed young + man. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't doing anything,” he would explain meekly. “I was only looking.” + It was perfectly true; that was all he was doing. + </p> + <p> + “Then don't look,” would comment the tenor. + </p> + <p> + The fishy-eyed young gentleman obediently would turn his face away from + them; and in some mysterious manner the situation would thereupon become + even yet more hopelessly ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + “My scene, I think, sir!” would thunder our chief comedian, a little later + on. + </p> + <p> + “I am only doing what I was told to do,” answered the fishy-eyed young + gentleman; and nobody could say that he was not. + </p> + <p> + “Take a circus, and run him as a side-show,” counselled our comedian. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid he would never be any good as a side-show,” replied Mr. + Hodgson, who was reading letters. + </p> + <p> + On the first night, passing the gallery entrance on my way to the stage + door, the sight of the huge crowd assembled there waiting gave me my first + taste of artistic joy. I was a part of what they had come to see, to + praise or to condemn, to listen to, to watch. Within the theatre there was + an atmosphere of suppressed excitement, amounting almost to hysteria. The + bird-like gentleman in his glass cage was fluttering, agitated. The hands + of the stage carpenters putting the finishing touches to the scenery were + trembling, their voices passionate with anxiety; the fox-terrier-like + call-boy was pale with sense of responsibility. + </p> + <p> + I made my way to the dressing-room—a long, low, wooden corridor, + furnished from end to end with a wide shelf that served as common + dressing-table, lighted by a dozen flaring gas-jets, wire-shielded. Here + awaited us gentlemen of the chorus the wigmaker's assistant, whose duty it + was to make us up. From one to another he ran, armed with his hare's foot, + his box of paints and his bundle of crepe hair. My turn arriving, he + seized me by the head, jabbed a wig upon me, and in less than a couple of + minutes I left his hands the orthodox peasant of the stage, white of + forehead and pink of cheek, with curly moustache and lips of coral. + Glancing into the glass, I could not help feeling pleased with myself; a + moustache, without doubt, suited me. + </p> + <p> + The chorus ladies, when I met them on the stage, were a revelation to me. + Paint and powder though I knew their appearance to consist of chiefly, yet + in that hot atmosphere of the theatre, under that artificial glare, it + seemed fit and fascinating. The close approximation to so much bare flesh, + its curious, subtle odour was almost intoxicating. Dr. Johnson's excuse to + Garrick for the rarity of his visits to the theatre recurred to me with + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “How do you like my costume?” asked the thin lady with the golden hair. + </p> + <p> + “I think you—” We were standing apart behind a piece of projecting + scenery. She laid her hand upon my mouth, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “How old are you?” she asked me. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that a rude question?” I answered. “I don't ask your age. + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” she replied, “entitles me to talk to you as I should to a boy of + my own—I had one once. Get out of this life if you can. It's bad for + a woman; it's worse still for a man. To you especially it will be + harmful.” + </p> + <p> + “Why to me in particular?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are an exceedingly foolish little boy,” she answered, with + another laugh, “and are rather nice.” + </p> + <p> + She slipped away and joined the others. The chorus was now entirely + assembled on the stage. The sound of the rapidly-filling house reached us, + softened through the thick baize curtain, a dull, continuous droning, as + of water pouring into some huge cistern. Suddenly there fell upon our ears + a startling crash; the overture had commenced. The stage manager—more + suggestive of a sheep-dog than ever, but lacking the calm dignity, the + self-possession born of conscious capability distinctive of his prototype; + a fussy, argumentative sheep-dog—rushed into the midst of us and + worried us into our positions, where the more experienced continued to + converse in whispers, the rest of us waiting nervously, trying to remember + our words. The chorus master, taking his stand with his back to the + proscenium, held his white-gloved hand in readiness. The curtain rushed + up, the house, a nightmare of white faces, appearing to run towards us. + The chorus-master's white-gloved hand flung upward. A roar of voices + struck upon my ear, but whether my own were of them I could not say; if I + were singing at all it was unconsciously, mechanically. Later, I found + myself standing in the wings beside the thin lady; the stage was in the + occupation of the principals. On my next entrance my senses were more with + me; I was able to look about me. Here and there a strongly-marked face + among the audience stood out, but the majority were as indistinguishable + as so many blades of grass. Looked at from the stage, the house seemed no + more real than from the front do the painted faces upon a black cloth. + </p> + <p> + The curtain fell amid the usual applause, sounding to us behind it like + the rattle of tiny stones against a window-pane. Three times it rose and + fell, like the opening and shutting of a door; and then followed a scamper + for the dressing-rooms, the long corridors being filled with the rustling + of skirts and the scurrying of feet. + </p> + <p> + It was in the second act that the fishy-eyed young gentleman came into his + own. The chorus had lingered till it was quite apparent that the tenor and + the leading lady were in love with each other; then, with the exquisite + delicacy so characteristic of a chorus, foreseeing that its further + presence might be embarrassing, it turned to go, half to the east, the + other half to the west. The fishy-eyed young man, starting from the + centre, was the last to leave the stage. In another moment he would have + disappeared from view. There came a voice from the gallery, clear, + distinct, pathetic with entreaty: + </p> + <p> + “Don't go. Get behind a tree.” + </p> + <p> + The request was instantly seconded by a roar of applause from every part + of the house, followed by laughter. From that point onward the house was + chiefly concerned with the fortunes of the fishy-eyed young gentleman. At + his next entrance, disguised as a conspirator, he was welcomed with + enthusiasm, his passing away regretted loudly. At the fall of the curtain, + the tenor, furious, rushed up to him, and, shaking a fist in his face, + demanded what he meant by it. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't doing anything,” explained the fishy-eyed young man. + </p> + <p> + “You went off sideways!” roared the tenor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you told me not to look at you,” explained meekly the fishy-eyed + young gentleman. “I must go off somehow. I regard you as a very difficult + man to please.” + </p> + <p> + At the final fall of the curtain the house appeared divided as regarded + the merits of the opera; but for “Goggles” there was a unanimous and + enthusiastic call, and the while we were dressing a message came for + “Goggles” that Mr. Hodgson wished to see him in his private room. + </p> + <p> + “He can make a funny face, no doubt about it,” commented one gentleman, as + “Goggles” left the room. + </p> + <p> + “I defy him to make a funnier one than God Almighty's made for him,” + responded the massive gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “There's a deal in luck,” observed, with a sigh, another, a tall, handsome + young gentleman possessed of a rich bass voice. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the stage door, I encountered a group of gentlemen waiting upon + the pavement outside. Not interested in them myself, I was hurrying past, + when one laid a hand upon my shoulder. I turned. He was a big, + broad-shouldered fellow, with a dark Vandyke beard and soft, dreamy eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Dan!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was you, young 'un, in the first act,” he answered. “In the + second, when you came on without a moustache, I knew it. Are you in a + hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I answered. “Are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied; “we don't go to press till Thursday, so I can write my + notice to-morrow. Come and have supper with me at the Albion and we will + talk. You look tired, young 'un.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I assured him, “only excited—partly at meeting you.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, and drew my arm through his. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW ON A SWEET GREY MORNING THE FUTURE CAME TO PAUL. + </h3> + <p> + Over our supper Dan and I exchanged histories. They revealed points of + similarity. Leaving school some considerable time earlier than myself, Dan + had gone to Cambridge; but two years later, in consequence of the death of + his father, of a wound contracted in the Indian Mutiny and never cured, + had been compelled to bring his college career to an untimely termination. + </p> + <p> + “You might not have expected that to grieve me,” said Dan, with a smile, + “but, as a matter of fact, it was a severe blow to me. At Cambridge I + discovered that I was by temperament a scholar. The reason why at school I + took no interest in learning was because learning was, of set purpose, + made as uninteresting as possible. Like a Cook's tourist party through a + picture gallery, we were rushed through education; the object being not + that we should see and understand, but that we should be able to say that + we had done it. At college I chose my own subjects, studied them in my own + way. I fed on knowledge, was not stuffed with it like a Strassburg goose.” + </p> + <p> + Returning to London, he had taken a situation in a bank, the chairman of + which had been an old friend of his father. The advantage was that while + earning a small income he had time to continue his studies; but the deadly + monotony of the work had appalled him, and upon the death of his mother he + had shaken the cloying dust of the City from his brain and joined a small + “fit-up” theatrical company. On the stage he had remained for another + eighteen months; had played all roles, from “Romeo” to “Paul Pry,” had + helped to paint the scenery, had assisted in the bill-posting. The latter, + so he told me, he had found one of the most difficult of accomplishments, + the paste-laden poster having an innate tendency to recoil upon the + amateur's own head, and to stick there. Wearying of the stage proper, he + had joined a circus company, had been “Signor Ricardo, the daring + bare-back rider,” also one of the “Brothers Roscius in their marvellous + trapeze act;” inclining again towards respectability, had been a waiter + for three months at Ostend; from that, a footman. + </p> + <p> + “One never knows,” remarked Dan. “I may come to be a society novelist; if + so, inside knowledge of the aristocracy will give me decided advantage + over the majority of my competitors.” + </p> + <p> + Other callings he had sampled: had tramped through Ireland with a fiddle; + through Scotland with a lecture on Palestine, assisted by dissolving + views; had been a billiard-marker; next a schoolmaster. For the last three + months he had been a journalist, dramatic and musical critic to a Sunday + newspaper. Often had I dreamt of such a position for myself. + </p> + <p> + “How did you obtain it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The idea occurred to me,” replied Dan, “late one afternoon, sauntering + down the Strand, wondering what I should do next. I was on my beam ends, + with only a few shillings in my pocket; but luck has always been with me. + I entered the first newspaper office I came to, walked upstairs to the + first floor, and opening the first door without knocking, passed through a + small, empty room into a larger one, littered with books and papers. It + was growing dark. A gentleman of extremely youthful figure was running + round and round, cursing to himself because of three things: he had upset + the ink, could not find the matches, and had broken the bell-pull. In the + gloom, assuming him to be the office boy, I thought it would be fun to + mistake him for the editor. As a matter of fact, he turned out to be the + editor. I lit the gas for him, and found him another ink-pot. He was a + slim young man with the voice and manner of a schoolboy. I don't suppose + he is any more than five or six-and-twenty. He owes his position to the + fact of his aunt's being the proprietress. He asked me if he knew me. + Before I could tell him that he didn't, he went on talking. He appeared to + be labouring under a general sense of injury. + </p> + <p> + “'People come into this office,' he said; 'they seem to look upon it as a + shelter from the rain—people I don't know from Adam. And that damned + fool downstairs lets them march straight up—anybody, men with + articles on safety valves, people who have merely come to kick up a row + about something or another. Half my work I have to do on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “I recommended to him that he should insist upon strangers writing their + business upon a slip of paper. He thought it a good idea. + </p> + <p> + “'For the last three-quarters of an hour,' he said, 'have I been trying to + finish this one column, and four times have I been interrupted.' + </p> + <p> + “At that precise moment there came another knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “'I won't see him!' he cried. 'I don't care who he is; I won't see him. + Send him away! Send everybody away!' + </p> + <p> + “I went to the door. He was an elderly gentleman. He made to sweep by me; + but I barred his way, and closed the editorial door behind me. He seemed + surprised; but I told him it was impossible for him to see the editor that + afternoon, and suggested his writing his business on a sheet of paper, + which I handed to him for the purpose. I remained in that ante-room for + half an hour, and during that time I suppose I must have sent away about + ten or a dozen people. I don't think their business could have been + important, or I should have heard about it afterwards. The last to come + was a tired-looking gentleman, smoking a cigarette. I asked him his name. + </p> + <p> + “He looked at me in surprise, and then answered, 'Idiot!' + </p> + <p> + “I remained firm, however, and refused to let him pass. + </p> + <p> + “'It's a bit awkward,' he retorted. 'Don't you think you could make an + exception in favour of the sub-editor on press night?' + </p> + <p> + “I replied that such would be contrary to my instructions. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, all right,' he answered. 'I'd like to know who's going to the + Royalty to-night, that's all. It's seven o'clock already.' + </p> + <p> + “An idea occurred to me. If the sub-editor of a paper doesn't know whom to + send to a theatre, it must mean that the post of dramatic critic on that + paper is for some reason or another vacant. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, that's all right,' I told him. 'I shall be in time enough.' + </p> + <p> + “He appeared neither pleased nor displeased. 'Have you arranged with the + Guv'nor?' he asked me. + </p> + <p> + “'I'm just waiting to see him again for a few minutes,' I returned. 'It'll + be all right. Have you got the ticket?' + </p> + <p> + “'Haven't seen it,' he replied. + </p> + <p> + “'About a column?' I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “'Three-quarters,' he preferred, and went. + </p> + <p> + “The moment he was gone, I slipped downstairs and met a printer's boy + coming up. + </p> + <p> + “'What's the name of your sub?' I asked him. 'Tall man with a black + moustache, looks tired.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, you mean Penton,' explained the boy. + </p> + <p> + “'That's the name,' I answered; 'couldn't think of it.' + </p> + <p> + “I walked straight into the editor; he was still irritable. 'What is it? + What is it now?' he snapped out. + </p> + <p> + “'I only want the ticket for the Royalty Theatre,' I answered. 'Penton + says you've got it.' + </p> + <p> + “'I don't know where it is,' he growled. + </p> + <p> + “I found it after some little search upon his desk. + </p> + <p> + “'Who's going?' he asked. + </p> + <p> + “'I am,' I said. And I went. + </p> + <p> + “They have never discovered to this day that I appointed myself. Penton + thinks I am some relation of the proprietress, and in consequence + everybody treats me with marked respect. Mrs. Wallace herself, the + proprietress, thinks I am the discovery of Penton, in whose judgment she + has great faith; and with her I get on admirably. The paper I don't think + is doing too well, and the salary is small, but sufficient. Journalism + suits my temperament, and I dare say I shall keep to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You've been somewhat of a rolling stone hitherto,” I commented. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “From the stone's point of view,” he answered, “I never could + see the advantage of being smothered in moss. I should always prefer + remaining the stone, unhidden, able to move and see about me. But now, to + speak of other matters, what are your plans for the immediate future? Your + opera, thanks to the gentlemen, the gods have dubbed 'Goggles,' will, I + fancy, run through the winter. Are you getting any salary?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty shillings a week,” I explained to him, “with full salary for + matinees.” + </p> + <p> + “Say two pounds,” he replied. “With my three we could set up an + establishment of our own. I have an idea that is original. Shall we work + it out together?” + </p> + <p> + I assured him with fervour that nothing would please me better. + </p> + <p> + “There are four delightful rooms in Queen's Square,” he continued. “They + are charmingly furnished: a fine sitting-room in the front, with two + bedrooms and a kitchen behind. Their last tenant was a Polish + Revolutionary, who, three months ago, poor fellow, was foolish enough to + venture back to Russia, and who is now living rent free. The landlord of + the house is an original old fellow, Deleglise the engraver. He occupies + the rest of the house himself. He has told me I can have the rooms for + anything I like to offer, and I should suggest thirty shillings a week, + though under ordinary circumstances they would be worth three or four + pounds. But he will only let us have them on the understanding that we 'do + for' ourselves. He is quite an oddity. He hates petticoats, especially + elderly petticoats. He has one servant, an old Frenchwoman, who, I + believe, was housekeeper to his mother, and he and she do the housework + together, most of their time quarrelling over it. Nothing else of the + genus domestic female will he allow inside the door; not even an + occasional charwoman would be permitted to us. On the other hand, it is a + beautiful old Georgian house, with Adams mantelpieces, a stone staircase, + and oak-panelled rooms; and our portion would be the entire second floor: + no pianos and no landlady. He is a widower with one child, a girl of about + fourteen or maybe a little older. Now, what do you say? I am a very fair + cook; will you be house-and-parlour-maid?” + </p> + <p> + I needed no pressing. A week later we were installed there, and for nearly + two years we lived there. At the risk of offending an adorable but + somewhat touchy sex, convinced that man, left to himself, is capable of + little more than putting himself to bed, and that only in a + rough-and-ready fashion, truth compels me to record the fact that without + female assistance or supervision of any kind we passed through those two + years, and yet exist to tell the tale. Dan had not idly boasted. Better + plain cooking I never want to taste; so good a cup of coffee, omelette, or + devilled kidney I rarely have tasted. Had he always confined his efforts + within the boundaries of his abilities, there would be little to record + beyond continuous and monotonous success. But stirred into dangerous + ambition at the call of an occasional tea or supper party, lured out of + his depths by the example of old Deleglise, our landlord—a man who + for twenty years had made cooking his hobby—Dan would at intervals + venture upon experiment. Pastry, it became evident, was a thing he should + never have touched: his hand was heavy and his temperament too serious. + There was a thing called lemon sponge, necessitating much beating of eggs. + In the cookery-book—a remarkably fat volume, luscious with + illustrations of highly-coloured food—it appeared an airy and + graceful structure of dazzling whiteness. Served as Dan sent it to table, + it suggested rather in form and colour a miniature earthquake. Spongy it + undoubtedly was. One forced it apart with the assistance of one's spoon + and fork; it yielded with a gentle tearing sound. Another favourite dainty + of his was manna-cake. Concerning it I would merely remark that if it in + any way resembled anything the Children of Israel were compelled to eat, + then there is explanation for that fretfulness and discontent for which + they have been, perhaps, unjustly blamed—some excuse even for their + backward-flung desires in the direction of the Egyptian fleshpots. Moses + himself may have been blessed with exceptional digestion. It was + substantial, one must say that for it. One slice of it—solid, firm, + crusty on the outside, towards the centre marshy—satisfied most + people to a sense of repletion. For supper parties Dan would essay trifles—by + no means open to the criticism of being light as air—souffle's that + guests, in spite of my admonishing kicks, would persist in alluding to as + pudding; and in winter-time, pancakes. Later, as regards these latter, he + acquired some skill; but at first the difficulty was the tossing. I think + myself a safer plan would have been to turn them by the aid of a knife and + fork; it is less showy, but more sure. At least, you avoid all danger of + catching the half-baked thing upon your head instead of in the pan, of + dropping it into the fire, or among the cinders. But “Thorough” was always + Dan's motto; and after all, small particles of coal or a few hairs can + always be detected by the careful feeder, and removed. + </p> + <p> + A more even-tempered man than Dan for twenty-three hours out of every + twenty-four surely never breathed. It was a revelation to me to discover + that for the other he could be uncertain, irritable, even ungrateful. At + first, in a spirit of pure good nature, I would offer him counsel and + advice; explain to him why, as it seemed to me, the custard was pimply, + the mayonnaise sauce suggestive of hair oil. What was my return? Sneers, + insult and abuse, followed, if I did not clear out quickly, by spoilt + tomatoes, cold coffee grounds—anything that happened to be handy. + Pained, saddened, I would withdraw, he would kick the door to after me. + His greatest enemy appeared to be the oven. The oven it was that set + itself to thwart his best wrought schemes. Always it was the oven's fault + that the snowy bun appeared to have been made of red sandstone, the + macaroni cheese of Cambrian clay. One might have sympathised with him more + had his language been more restrained. As it was, the virulence of his + reproaches almost inclined one to take the part of the oven. + </p> + <p> + Concerning our house-maid, I can speak in terms of unqualified praise. + There are, alas, fussy house-maids—who has not known and suffered + them?—who overdo the thing, have no repose, no instinct telling them + when to ease up and let the place alone. I have always held the perpetual + stirring up of dust a scientific error; left to itself, it is harmless, + may even be regarded as a delicate domestic bloom, bestowing a touch of + homeliness upon objects that without it gleam cold and unsympathetic. Let + sleeping dogs lie. Why be continually waking up the stuff, filling the air + with all manner of unhealthy germs? Nature in her infinite wisdom has + ordained that upon table, floor, or picture frame it shall sink and + settle. There it remains, quiet and inoffensive; there it will continue to + remain so long as nobody interferes with it: why worry it? So also with + crumbs, odd bits of string, particles of egg-shell, stumps of matches, + ends of cigarettes: what fitter place for such than under the nearest mat? + To sweep them up is tiresome work. They cling to the carpet, you get cross + with them, curse them for their obstinacy, and feel ashamed of yourself + for your childishness. For every one you do persuade into the dust-pan, + two jump out again. You lose your temper, feel bitter towards the man that + dropped them. Your whole character becomes deteriorated. Under the mat + they are always willing to go. Compromise is true statesmanship. There + will come a day when you will be glad of an excuse for not doing something + else that you ought to be doing. Then you can take up the mats and feel + quite industrious, contemplating the amount of work that really must be + done—some time or another. + </p> + <p> + To differentiate between the essential and the non-essential, that is + where woman fails. In the name of common sense, what is the use of washing + a cup that half an hour later is going to be made dirty again? If the cat + be willing and able to so clean a plate that not one speck of grease + remain upon it, why deprive her of pleasure to inflict toil upon yourself? + If a bed looks made and feels made, then for all practical purposes it is + made; why upset it merely to put it straight again? It would surprise most + women the amount of labour that can be avoided in a house. + </p> + <p> + For needlework, I confess, I never acquired skill. Dan had learnt to + handle a thimble, but my own second finger was ever reluctant to come + forward when wanted. It had to be found, all other fingers removed out of + its way. Then, feebly, nervously, it would push, slip, get itself pricked + badly with the head of the needle, and, thoroughly frightened, remain + incapable of further action. More practical I found it to push the needle + through by help of the door or table. + </p> + <p> + The opera, as Dan had predicted, ran far into the following year. When it + was done with, another—in which “Goggles” appeared as one of the + principals—took its place, and was even more successful. After the + experience of Nelson Square, my present salary of thirty-five shillings, + occasionally forty shillings, a week seemed to me princely. There floated + before my eyes the possibility of my becoming a great opera singer. On six + hundred pounds a week, I felt I could be content. But the O'Kelly set + himself to dispel this dream. + </p> + <p> + “Ye'd be making a mistake, me boy,” explained the O'Kelly. “Ye'd be just + wasting ye're time. I wouldn't tell ye so if I weren't convinced of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it is not powerful,” I admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Ye might almost call it thin,” added the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “It might be good enough for comic opera,” I argued. “People appear to + succeed in comic opera without much voice. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, there ye're right,” agreed the O'Kelly, with a sigh. “An' of course + if ye had an exceptionally fine presence and were strikingly handsome—” + </p> + <p> + “One can do a good deal with make-up,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly shook his head. “It's never quite the same thing. It would + depend upon your acting.” + </p> + <p> + I dreamt of becoming a second Kean, of taking Macready's place. It need + not interfere with my literary ambition. I could combine the two: fill + Drury Lane in the evening, turn out epoch-making novels in the morning, + write my own plays. + </p> + <p> + Every day I studied in the reading-room of the British Museum. Wearying of + success in Art, I might eventually go into Parliament: a Prime Minister + with a thorough knowledge of history: why not? With Ollendorf for guide, I + continued French and German. It might be the diplomatic service that would + appeal to me in my old age. An ambassadorship! It would be a pleasant + termination to a brilliant career. + </p> + <p> + There was excuse for my optimistic mood about this period. All things were + going well with me. A story of mine had been accepted. I forget for the + moment the name of the journal: it is dead now. Most of the papers in + which my early efforts appeared are dead. My contributions might be + likened to their swan songs. Proofs had been sent me, which I had + corrected and returned. But proofs are not facts. This had happened to me + once before, and I had been lifted to the skies only to fall the more + heavily. The paper had collapsed before my story had appeared. (Ah, why + had they delayed? It might have saved them!) This time I remembered the + proverb, and kept my own counsel, slipping out early each morning on the + day of publication to buy the paper, to scan eagerly its columns. For + weeks I suffered hope deferred. But at last, one bright winter's day in + January, walking down the Harrow Road, I found myself standing still, + suddenly stunned, before a bill outside a small news-vendor's shop. It was + the first time I had seen my real name in print: “The Witch of Moel + Sarbod: a legend of Mona, by Paul Kelver.” (For this I had even risked + discovery by the Lady 'Ortensia.) My legs trembling under me, I entered + the shop. A ruffianly-looking man in dirty shirt-sleeves, who appeared + astonished that any one should want a copy, found one at length on the + floor underneath the counter. With it in my pocket, I retraced my + footsteps as in a dream. On a seat in Paddington Green I sat down and read + it. The hundred best books! I have waded through them all; they have never + charmed me as charmed me that one short story in that now forgotten + journal. Need I add it was a sad and sentimental composition. Once upon a + time there lived a mighty King; one—but with the names I will not + bore you; they are somewhat unpronounceable. Their selection had cost me + many hours of study in the British Museum reading-rooms, surrounded by + lexicons of the Welsh language, gazetteers, translations from the early + Celtic poets—with footnotes. He loved and was beloved by a beautiful + Princess, whose name, being translated, was Purity. One day the King, + hunting, lost his way, and being weary, lay down and fell asleep. And by + chance the spot whereon he lay was near to a place which by infinite + pains, with the aid of a magnifying glass, I had discovered upon the map, + and which means in English the Cave of the Waters, where dwelt a wicked + Sorceress, who, while he slept, cast her spells upon him, so that he awoke + to forget his kingly honour and the good of all his people, his only + desire being towards the Witch of Moel Sarbod. + </p> + <p> + Now, there lived in this Kingdom by the sea a great Magician; and Purity, + who loved the King far better than herself, bethought her of him, and of + all she had heard concerning his power and wisdom; and went to him and + besought his aid that she might save the King. There was but one way to + accomplish this: with bare feet Purity must climb the rocky path leading + to the Witch's dwelling, go boldly up to her, not fearing her sharp claws + nor her strong teeth, and kiss her upon the mouth. In this way the spirit + of Purity would pass into the Witch's soul, and she would become a woman. + But the form and spirit of the Witch would pass into Purity, transforming + her, and in the Cave of the Waters she must forever abide. Thus Purity + gave herself that the King might live. With bleeding feet she climbed the + rocky path, clasped the Witch's form within her arms, kissed her on the + mouth. And the Witch became a woman and reigned with the King over his + people, wisely and helpfully. But Purity became a hideous witch, and to + this day abides on Moel Sarbod, where is the Cave of the Waters. And they + who climb the mountain's side still hear above the roaring of the cataract + the sobbing of Purity, the King's betrothed. But many liken it rather to a + joyous song of love triumphant. + </p> + <p> + No writer worth his salt was ever satisfied with anything he ever wrote, + so I have been told, and so I try to believe. Evidently I am not worth my + salt. Candid friends, and others, to whom in my salad days I used to show + my work, asking for a frank opinion, meaning, of course, though never + would they understand me, their unadulterated praise, would assure me for + my good, that this, my first to whom the gods gave life, was but a feeble, + ill-shaped child: its attempted early English a cross between “The + Pilgrim's Progress” and “Old Moore's Almanac;” its scenery—which had + cost me weeks of research—an apparent attempt to sum up in the + language of a local guide book the leading characteristics of the Garden + of Eden combined with Dante's Inferno; its pathos of the penny-plain and + two-penny-coloured order. Maybe they were right. Much have I written since + that at the time appeared to me good, that I have read later with regret, + with burning cheek, with frowning brow. But of this, my first-born, the + harbinger of all my hopes, I am no judge. Touching the yellowing, + badly-printed pages, I feel again the deep thrill of joy with which I + first unfolded them and read. Again I am a youngster, and life opens out + before me—inmeasurable, no goal too high. This child of my brain, my + work: it shall spread my name throughout the world. It shall be a + household world in lands that I shall never see. Friends whose voices I + shall never hear will speak of me. I shall die, but it shall live, yield + fresh seed, bear fruit I know not of. Generations yet unborn shall read it + and remember me. My thoughts, my words, my spirit: in it I shall live + again; it shall keep my memory green. + </p> + <p> + The long, long thoughts of boyhood! We elders smile at them. The little + world spins round; the little voices of an hour sink hushed. The crawling + generations come and go. The solar system drops from space. The eternal + mechanism reforms and shapes itself anew. Time, turning, ploughs another + furrow. So, growing sleepy, we murmur with a yawn. Is it that we see + clearer, or that our eyes are growing dim? Let the young men see their + visions, dream their dreams, hug to themselves their hopes of enduring + fame; so shall they serve the world better. + </p> + <p> + I brushed the tears from my eyes and looked up. Half-a-dozen urchins, male + and female, were gaping at me open-mouthed. They scattered shouting, + whether compliment or insult I know not: probably the latter. I flung them + a handful of coppers, which for the moment silenced them; and went upon my + way. How bright, how fair the bustling streets, golden in the winter + sunshine, thronged with life, with effort! Laughter rang around me. Sweet + music rolled from barrel-organs. The strenuous voices of the costermongers + called invitation to the fruitful earth. Errand boys passed me whistling + shrilly joyous melodies. Perspiring tradesmen shouted generous offers to + the needy. Men and women hurried by with smiling faces. Sleek cats purred + in sheltered nooks, till merry dogs invited them to sport. The sparrows, + feasting in the roadway, chirped their hymn of praise. + </p> + <p> + At the Marble Arch I jumped upon a 'bus. I mentioned to the conductor in + mounting that it was a fine day. He replied that he had noticed it + himself. The retort struck me as a brilliant repartee. Our coachman, all + but run into by a hansom cab driven by a surly old fellow of patriarchal + appearance, remarked upon the danger of allowing horses out in charge of + bits of boys. How full the world of wit and humour! + </p> + <p> + Almost without knowing it, I found myself in earnest conversation with a + young man sitting next to me. We conversed of life, of love. Not until + afterwards, reflecting upon the matter, did it surprise me that to a mere + chance acquaintance of the moment he had spoken of the one thing dearest + to his heart: a sweet but clearly wayward maiden, the Hebe of a small, + old-fashioned coffee-shop the 'bus was at that moment passing. Hitherto I + had not been the recipient of confidences. It occurred to me that as a + rule not even my friends spoke much to me concerning their own affairs; + generally it was I who spoke to them of mine. I sympathised with him, + advised him—how, I do not recollect. He said, however, he thought + that I was right; and at Regent Street he left me, expressing his + determination to follow my counsel, whatever it may have been. + </p> + <p> + Between Berners Street and the Circus I lent a shilling to a couple of + young ladies who had just discovered with amusement, quickly swallowed by + despair, that they neither of them had any money with them. (They returned + it next day in postage stamps, with a charming note.) The assurance with + which I tendered the slight service astonished me myself. At any other + time I should have hesitated, argued with my fears, offered it with an + appearance of sulky constraint, and been declined. For a moment they were + doubtful, then, looking at me, accepted with a delightful smile. They + consulted me as to the way to Paternoster Row. I instructed them, adding a + literary anecdote, which seemed to interest them. I even ventured on a + compliment, neatly phrased, I am inclined to think. Evidently it pleased—a + result hitherto unusual in the case of my compliments. At the corner of + Southampton Row I parted from them with regret. Why had I never noticed + before how full of pleasant people this sweet and smiling London? + </p> + <p> + At the corner of Queen's Square a decent-looking woman stopped me to ask + the way to the Children's Hospital at Chelsea, explaining she had made a + mistake, thinking it was the one in Great Ormond Street where her child + lay. I directed her, then glancing into her face, noticed how tired she + looked, and a vista of the weary pavements she would have to tramp flashed + before me. I slipped some money into her hand and told her to take a 'bus. + She flushed, then thanked me. I turned a few yards further on; she was + starting after me, amazement on her face. I laughed and waved my hand to + her. She smiled back in return, and went her way. + </p> + <p> + A rain began to fall. I paused upon the doorstep for a minute, enjoying + the cool drops upon by upturned face, the tonic sharpness of the keen east + wind; then slipped my key into the lock and entered. + </p> + <p> + The door of old Deleglise's studio on the first floor happened to be open. + Hitherto, beyond the usual formal salutations, when by chance we met upon + the stairs, I had exchanged but few words with my eccentric landlord; but + remembering his kindly face, the desire came upon me to tell him my good + fortune. I felt sure his eyes would lighten with delight. By instinct I + knew him for a young man's man. + </p> + <p> + I tapped lightly; no answer came. Someone was talking; it sounded like a + girl's voice. I pushed the door further open and walked in; such was the + custom of the house. It was a large room, built over the yard, lighted by + one high window, before which was the engraving desk, shaded under a + screen of tissue paper. At the further end of the room stood a large + cheval-glass, and in front of this, its back towards me, was a figure that + excited my curiosity; so that remaining where I was, partly hidden behind + a large easel, I watched it for awhile in silence. Above a heavily + flounced blue skirt, which fell in creases on the floor and trailed a + couple of yards or so behind, it wore a black low-cut sleeveless bodice—much + too big for it—of the fashion early Victorian. A good deal of + dark-brown hair, fastened up by hair-pins that stuck out in all directions + like quills upon a porcupine, suggesting collapse with every movement, was + ornamented by three enormous green feathers, one of which hung limply over + the lady's left ear. Three times, while I watched, unnoticed, the lady + propped it into a more befitting attitude, and three times, limp and + intoxicated-looking, it fell back into its former foolish position. Her + long, thin arms, displaying a pair of brilliantly red elbows, pointed to + quite a dangerous degree, terminated in hands so very sunburnt as to + convey the impression of a pair of remarkably well-fitting gloves. Her + right hand grasped and waved with determination a large lace fan, her left + clutched fiercely the front of her skirt. With a sweeping curtsey to + herself in the glass, which would have been more effective could she have + avoided tying her legs together with her skirt—a <i>contretemps</i> + necessitating the use of both hands and a succession of jumps before she + could disentangle herself—she remarked so soon as she had recovered + her balance: + </p> + <p> + “So sorry I am late. My carriage was unfortunately delayed.” + </p> + <p> + The excuse, I gathered, was accepted, for with a gracious smile and a + vigorous bow, by help of which every hairpin made distinct further advance + towards freedom, she turned, and with much dignity and head over the right + shoulder took a short walk to the left. At the end of six short steps she + stopped and began kicking. For what reason, I, at first, could not + comprehend. It dawned upon me after awhile that her object was the + adjustment of her train. Finding the manoeuvre too difficult of + accomplishment by feet alone, she stooped, and, taking the stuff up in her + hands, threw it behind her. Then, facing north, she retraced her steps to + the glass, talking to herself, as she walked, in the high-pitched drawl, + distinctive, as my stage knowledge told me, of aristocratic society. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you think so—really? Ah, yes; you say that. Certainly not! I + shouldn't think of it.” There followed what I am inclined to believe was + intended for a laugh, musical but tantalising. If so, want of practice + marred the effort. The performance failed to satisfy even herself. She + tried again; it was still only a giggle. + </p> + <p> + Before the glass she paused, and with a haughty inclination of her head + succeeded for the third time in displacing the intoxicated feather. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother the silly thing!” she said in a voice so natural as to be, by + contrast with her previous tone, quite startling. + </p> + <p> + She fixed it again with difficulty, muttering something inarticulate. + Then, her left hand resting on an imaginary coat-sleeve, her right holding + her skirt sufficiently high to enable her to move, she commenced to + majestically gyrate. + </p> + <p> + Whether, hampered as she was by excess of skirt, handicapped by the + natural clumsiness of her age, catastrophe in any case would not sooner or + later have overtaken her, I have my doubts. I have since learnt her own + view to be that but for catching sight, in turning, of my face, staring at + her through the bars of the easel, all would have gone well and + gracefully. Avoiding controversy on this point, the facts to be recorded + are, that, seeing me, she uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise, + dropped her skirt, trod on her train, felt her hair coming down, tried to + do two things at once, and sat upon the floor. I ran to her assistance. + With flaming face and flashing eyes she sprang to her feet. There was a + sound as of the rushing down of avalanches. The blue flounced skirt lay + round her on the floor. She stood above its billowy folds, reminiscent of + Venus rising from the waves—a gawky, angular Venus in a short serge + frock, reaching a little below her knees, black stockings and a pair of + prunella boots of a size suggesting she had yet some inches to grow before + reaching her full height. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you haven't hurt yourself,” I said. + </p> + <p> + The next moment I didn't care whether she had or whether she hadn't. She + did not reply to my kindly meant enquiry. Instead, her hand swept through + the air in the form of an ample semi-circle. It terminated on my ear. It + was not a small hand; it was not a soft hand; it was not that sort of + hand. The sound of the contact rang through the room like a pistol shot; I + heard it with my other ear. I sprang at her, and catching her before she + had recovered her equilibrium, kissed her. I did not kiss her because I + wanted to. I kissed her because I could not box her ears back in return, + which I should have preferred doing. I kissed her, hoping it would make + her mad. It did. If a look could have killed me, such would have been the + tragic ending of this story. It did not kill me; it did me good. + </p> + <p> + “You horrid boy!” she cried. “You horrid, horrid boy!” + </p> + <p> + There, I admit, she scored. I did not in the least object to her thinking + me horrid, but at nineteen one does object to being mistaken for a boy. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a boy,” I explained. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are,” she retorted; “a beast of a boy!” + </p> + <p> + “If you do it again,” I warned her—a sudden movement on her part + hinting to me the possibility—“I'll kiss you again! I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave the room!” she commanded, pointing with her angular arm towards the + door. + </p> + <p> + I did not wish to remain. I was about to retire with as much dignity as + circumstances permitted. + </p> + <p> + “Boy!” she added. + </p> + <p> + At that I turned. “Now I won't go!” I replied. “See if I do.” + </p> + <p> + We stood glaring at each other. + </p> + <p> + “What right have you in here?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see Mr. Deleglise,” I answered. “I suppose you are Miss + Deleglise. It doesn't seem to me that you know how to treat a visitor.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Horace Moncrieff,” I replied. I was using at the period both my names + indiscriminately, but for this occasion Horace Moncrieff I judged the more + awe-inspiring. + </p> + <p> + She snorted. “I know. You're the house-maid. You sweep all the crumbs + under the mats.” + </p> + <p> + Now this was a subject about which at the time I was feeling somewhat + sore. “Needs must when the Devil drives;” but as matters were, Dan and I + could well have afforded domestic assistance. It rankled in my mind that + to fit in with the foolish fad of old Deleglise, I the future Dickens, + Thackeray and George Eliot, Kean, Macready and Phelps rolled into one, + should be compelled to the performance of menial duties. On this morning + of all others, my brilliant literary career just commenced, the anomaly of + the thing appeared naturally more glaring. + </p> + <p> + Besides, how came she to know I swept the crumbs under the mat—that + it was my method? Had she and Dan been discussing me, ridiculing me behind + my back? What right had Dan to reveal the secrets of our menage to this + chit of a school-girl? Had he done so? or had she been prying, poking her + tilted nose into matters that did not concern her? Pity it was she had no + mother to occasionally spank her, teach her proper behaviour. + </p> + <p> + “Where I sweep our crumbs is nothing to do with you,” I replied with some + spirit. “That I have to sweep them at all is the fault of your father. A + sensible girl—” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you speak against my father!” she interrupted me with blazing + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We will not discuss the question further,” I answered, with sense and + dignity. + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better not!” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + Turning her back on me, she commenced to gather up her hairpins—there + must have been about a hundred of them. I assisted her to the extent of + picking up about twenty, which I handed to her with a bow: it may have + been a little stiff, but that was only to be expected. I wished to show + her that her bad example had not affected my own manners. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry my presence should have annoyed you,” I said. “It was quite an + accident. I entered the room thinking your father was here.” + </p> + <p> + “When you saw he wasn't, you might have gone out again,” she replied, + “instead of hiding yourself behind a picture.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't hide myself,” I explained. “The easel happened to be in the + way.” + </p> + <p> + “And you stopped there and watched me.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked round and our eyes met. They were frank, grey eyes. An + expression of merriment shot into them. I laughed. + </p> + <p> + Then she laughed: it was a delightful laugh, the laugh one would have + expected from her. + </p> + <p> + “You might at least have coughed,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “It was so amusing,” I pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was,” she agreed, and held out her hand. “Did I hurt you?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you did,” I answered, taking it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was enough to annoy me, wasn't it?” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to a ball next week,” she explained, “a grown-up ball, and + I've got to wear a skirt. I wanted to see if I could manage a train.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to be candid, you can't,” I assured her. + </p> + <p> + “It does seem difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I show you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I see it done every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; of course, you're on the stage. Yes, do.” + </p> + <p> + We readjusted the torn skirt, accommodating it better to her figure by the + help of hairpins. I showed her how to hold the train, and, I humming a + tune, we commenced to waltz. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't count my steps,” I suggested to her. “It takes your mind away + from the music.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't waltz well,” she admitted meekly. “I know I don't do anything + well—except play hockey.” + </p> + <p> + “And try not to tread on your partner's feet. That's a very bad fault.” + </p> + <p> + “I do try not to,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + “It comes with practice,” I assured her. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get Tom to give me half an hour every evening,” she said. “He dances + beautifully.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you call your father Tom? It doesn't sound respectful.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he likes it; and it suits him so much better than father. Besides, he + isn't like a real father. He does everything I want him to.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that good for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it's very bad for me—everybody says so. When you come to think + of it, of course it isn't the way to bring up a girl. I tell him, but he + merely laughs—says it's the only way he knows. I do hope I turn out + all right. Am I doing it better now?” + </p> + <p> + “A little. Don't be too anxious about it. Don't look at your feet.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I don't they go all wrong. It was you who trod on mine that time.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I'm sorry. It's a little difficult not to.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I holding my train all right?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's no need to grip it as if you were afraid it would run away. + It will follow all right. Hold it gracefully.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I wasn't a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll get used to it.” We concluded our dance. + </p> + <p> + “What do I do—say 'Thank you'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, prettily.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he takes you back to your chaperon, or suggests refreshment, or you + sit and talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate talking. I never know what to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's his duty. He'll try and amuse you, then you must laugh. You + have a nice laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “But I never know when to laugh. If I laugh when I want to it always + offends people. What do you do if somebody asks you to dance and you don't + want to dance with them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you say your programme is full.” + </p> + <p> + “But if it isn't?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you tell a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't I say I don't dance well, and that I'm sure they'd get on better + with somebody else?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be the truth, but they might not believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope nobody asks me that I don't want.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he won't a second time, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “You are rude.” + </p> + <p> + “You are only a school-girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I look a woman in my new frock, I really do.” + </p> + <p> + “I should doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see me, then you'll be polite. It is because you are a boy you + are rude. Men are much nicer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You will be, when you are a man.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of voices rose suddenly in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” cried Miss Deleglise; and collecting her skirt in both hands, + bolted down the corkscrew staircase leading to the kitchen, leaving me + standing in the centre of the studio. + </p> + <p> + The door opened and old Deleglise entered, accompanied by a small, slight + man with red hair and beard and somewhat watery eyes. + </p> + <p> + Deleglise himself was a handsome old fellow, then a man of about + fifty-five. His massive, mobile face, illuminated by bright, restless + eyes, was crowned with a lion-like mane of iron-grey hair. Till a few + years ago he had been a painter of considerable note. But in questions of + art his temper was short. Pre-Raphaelism had gone out of fashion for the + time being; the tendency of the new age was towards impressionism, and in + disgust old Deleglise had broken his palette across his knee, and swore + never to paint again. Artistic work of some sort being necessary to his + temperament, he contented himself now with engraving. At the moment he was + engaged upon the reproduction of Memlinc's Shrine of St. Ursula, with + photographs of which he had just returned from Bruges. + </p> + <p> + At sight of me his face lighted with a smile, and he advanced with + outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah; my lad, so you have got over your shyness and come to visit the old + bear in his den. Good boy. I like young faces.” + </p> + <p> + He had a clear, musical voice, ever with the suggestion of a laugh behind + it. He laid his hand upon my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you are looking as if you had come into a fortune,” he added, “and + didn't know what a piece of bad luck that can be to a young fellow like + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “How could it be bad luck?” I asked, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Takes all the sauce out of life, young man,” answered Deleglise. “What + interest is there in running a race with the prize already in your + possession, tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not that kind of fortune,” I answered, “it is another. I have had + my first story accepted. It is in print. Look.” + </p> + <p> + I handed him the paper. He spread it out upon the engraving board before + him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that's better,” he said, “that's better. Charlie,” he turned to the + red-headed man, who had seated himself listlessly in the one easy-chair + the room contained, “come here.” + </p> + <p> + The red-headed man rose and wandered towards us. “Let me introduce you to + Mr. Paul Kelver, our new fellow servant. Our lady has accepted him. He has + just been elected; his first story is in print.” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired man stretched out his long thin hand. “I have thirty years + of fame,” said the red-haired man—“could I say world-wide?” + </p> + <p> + He turned for confirmation to old Deleglise, who laughed. “I think you + can.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could give it you would you exchange with me—at this moment?” + </p> + <p> + “You would be a fool if you did,” he went on. “One's first success, one's + first victory! It is the lover's first kiss. Fortune grows old and + wrinkled, frowns more often than she smiles. We become indifferent to her, + quarrel with her, make it up again. But the joy of her first kiss after + the long wooing! Burn it into your memory, my young friend, that it may + live with you always!” + </p> + <p> + He strolled away. Old Deleglise took up the parable. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes; one's first success, Paul! Laugh, my boy, cry! Shut yourself up + in your room, shout, dance! Throw your hat into the air and cry hurrah! + Make the most of it, Paul. Hug it to your heart, think of it, dream of it. + This is the finest hour of your life, my boy. There will never come + another like it—never!” + </p> + <p> + He crossed the studio, and taking from its nail a small oil painting, + brought it over and laid it on the board beside my paper. It was a + fascinating little picture, painted with that exquisite minutiae and + development of detail that a newer school was then ridiculing: as though + Art had but one note to her voice. The dead figure of an old man lay upon + a bed. A child had crept into the darkened room, and supporting itself by + clutching tightly at the sheet, was gazing with solemn curiosity upon the + white, still face. + </p> + <p> + “That was mine,” said old Deleglise. “It was hung in the Academy + thirty-six years ago, and bought for ten guineas by a dentist at Bury St. + Edmunds. He went mad a few years later and died in a lunatic asylum. I had + never lost sight of it, and the executors were quite agreeable to my + having it back again for the same ten guineas. I used to go every morning + to the Academy to look at it. I thought it the cleverest bit of work in + the whole gallery, and I'm not at all sure that it wasn't. I saw myself a + second Teniers, another Millet. Look how that light coming through the + open door is treated; isn't it good? Somebody will pay a thousand guineas + for it before I have been dead a dozen years, and it is worth it. But I + wouldn't sell it myself now for five thousand. One's first success; it is + worth all the rest of life!” + </p> + <p> + “All?” queried the red-haired man from his easy-chair. We looked round. + The lady of the skirt had entered, now her own proper self: a young girl + of about fifteen, angular, awkward-looking, but bringing into the room + with her that atmosphere of life, of hope, that is the eternal message of + youth. She was not beautiful, not then—plain one might almost have + called her but for her frank, grey eyes, her mass of dark-brown hair now + gathered into a long thick plait. A light came into old Deleglise's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, not all,” he murmured to the red-haired man. + </p> + <p> + She came forward shyly. I found it difficult to recognise in her the + flaming Fury that a few minutes before had sprung at me from the billows + of her torn blue skirt. She shook hands with the red-haired man and kissed + her father. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter,” said old Deleglise, introducing me to her. “Mr. Paul + Kelver, a literary gent.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kelver and I have met already,” she explained. “He has been waiting + for you here in the studio.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you been entertaining him?” asked Deleglise. “Oh, yes, I + entertained him,” she replied. Her voice was singularly like her father's, + with just the same suggestion of ever a laugh behind it. + </p> + <p> + “We entertained each other,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said old Deleglise. “Stop and lunch with us. We will + make ourselves a curry.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <h3> + OF THE GLORY AND GOODNESS AND THE EVIL THAT GO TO THE MAKING OF LOVE. + </h3> + <p> + During my time of struggle I had avoided all communication with old + Hasluck. He was not a man to sympathise with feelings he did not + understand. With boisterous good humour he would have insisted upon + helping me. Why I preferred half starving with Lott and Co. to selling my + labour for a fair wage to good-natured old Hasluck, merely because I knew + him, I cannot explain. Though the profits may not have been so large, Lott + and Co.'s dealings were not one whit more honest: I do not believe it was + that which decided me. Nor do I think it was because he was Barbara's + father. I never connected him, nor that good old soul, his vulgar, homely + wife, in any way with Barbara. To me she was a being apart from all the + world. Her true Parents! I should have sought them rather amid the sacred + groves of vanished lands, within the sky-domed shrines of banished gods. + There are instincts in us not easily analysed, not to be explained by + reason. I have always preferred the finding—sometimes the losing—of + my way according to the map, to the surer and simpler method of vocal + enquiry; working out a complicated journey, and running the risk of never + arriving at my destination, by aid of a Continental Bradshaw, to putting + myself into the hands of courteous officials maintained and paid to assist + the perplexed traveller. Possibly a far-off progenitor of mine may have + been some morose “rogue” savage with untribal inclinations, living in his + cave apart, fashioning his own stone hammer, shaping his own flint + arrow-heads, shunning the merry war-dance, preferring to caper by himself. + </p> + <p> + But now, having gained my own foothold, I could stretch out my hand + without fear of the movement being mistaken for appeal. I wrote to old + Hasluck; and almost by the next post received from him the friendliest of + notes. He told me Barbara had just returned from abroad, took it upon + himself to add that she also would be delighted to see me, and, as I knew + he would, threw his doors open to me. + </p> + <p> + Of my boyish passion for Barbara never had I spoken to a living soul, nor + do I think, excepting Barbara herself, had any ever guessed it. To my + mother, though she was very fond of her, Barbara was only a girl, with + charms but also with faults, concerning which my mother would speak + freely; hurting me, as one unwittingly might hurt a neophyte by + philosophical discussion of his newly embraced religion. Often, choosing + by preference late evening or the night, I would wander round and round + the huge red-brick house standing in its ancient garden on the top of + Stamford Hill; descending again into the noisome streets as one returning + to the world from praying at a shrine, purified, filled with peace, all + noble endeavour, all unselfish aims seeming within my grasp. + </p> + <p> + During Barbara's four years' absence my adoration had grown and + strengthened. Out of my memory of her my desire had evolved its ideal; a + being of my imagination, but by reason of that, to me the more real, the + more present. I looked forward to seeing her again, but with no + impatience, revelling rather in the anticipation than eager for the + realisation. As a creature of flesh and blood, the child I had played + with, talked with, touched, she had faded further and further into the + distance; as the vision of my dreams she stood out clearer day by day. I + knew that when next I saw her there would be a gulf between us I had no + wish to bridge. To worship her from afar was a sweeter thought to me than + would have been the hope of a passionate embrace. To live with her, sit + opposite to her while she ate and drank, see her, perhaps, with her hair + in curl-papers, know possibly that she had a corn upon her foot, hear her + speak maybe of a decayed tooth, or of a chilblain, would have been torture + to me. Into such abyss of the commonplace there was no fear of my dragging + her, and for this I was glad. In the future she would be yet more removed + from me. She was older than I was; she must be now a woman. Instinctively + I felt that in spite of years I was not yet a man. She would marry. The + thought gave me no pain, my feeling for her was utterly devoid of + appetite. No one but myself could close the temple I had built about her, + none deny to me the right of entry there. No jealous priest could hide her + from my eyes, her altar I had reared too high. Since I have come to know + myself better, I perceive that she stood to me not as a living woman, but + as a symbol; not a fellow human being to be walked with through life, + helping and to be helped, but that impalpable religion of sex to which we + raise up idols of poor human clay, alas, not always to our satisfaction, + so that foolishly we fall into anger against them, forgetting they were + but the work of our own hands; not the body, but the spirit of love. + </p> + <p> + I allowed a week to elapse after receiving old Hasluck's letter before + presenting myself at Stamford Hill. It was late one afternoon in early + summer. Hasluck had not returned from the City, Mrs. Hasluck was out + visiting, Miss Hasluck was in the garden. I told the supercilious footman + not to trouble, I would seek her there myself. I guessed where she would + be; her favourite spot had always been a sunny corner, bright with + flowers, surrounded by a thick yew hedge, cut, after the Dutch fashion, + into quaint shapes of animals and birds. She was walking there, as I had + expected, reading a book. And again, as I saw her, came back to me the + feeling that had swept across me as a boy, when first outlined against the + dusty books and papers of my father's office she had flashed upon my eyes: + that all the fairy tales had suddenly come true, only now, instead of the + Princess, she was the Queen. Taller she was, with a dignity that formerly + had been the only charm she lacked. She did not hear my coming, my way + being across the soft, short grass, and for a little while I stood there + in the shadow of the yews, drinking in the beauty of her clear-cut + profile, bent down towards her book, the curving lines of her long neck, + the wonder of the exquisite white hand against the lilac of her dress. + </p> + <p> + I did not speak; rather would I have remained so watching; but turning at + the end of the path, she saw me, and as she came towards me held out her + hand. I knelt upon the path, and raised it to my lips. The action was + spontaneous, till afterwards I was not aware of having done it. Her lips + were smiling as I raised my eyes to them, the faintest suggestion of + contempt mingling with amusement. Yet she seemed pleased, and her + contempt, even if I were not mistaken, would not have wounded me. + </p> + <p> + “So you are still in love with me? I wondered if you would be.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know that I was in love with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have been blind if I had not.” + </p> + <p> + “But I was only a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “You were not the usual type of boy. You are not going to be the usual + type of man.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not mind my loving you?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot help it, can I? Nor can you.” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself on a stone bench facing a sun-dial, and leaning hack, + her hands clasped behind her head, looked at me and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall always love you,” I answered, “but it is with a curious sort of + love. I do not understand it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she commanded, still with a smile about her lips, “describe it + to me.” + </p> + <p> + I was standing over against her, my arm resting upon the dial's stone + column. The sun was sinking, casting long shadows on the velvety grass, + illuminating with a golden light her upturned face. + </p> + <p> + “I would you were some great queen of olden days, and that I might be + always near you, serving you, doing your bidding. Your love in return + would spoil all; I shall never ask it, never desire it. That I might look + upon you, touch now and then at rare intervals with my lips your hand, + kiss in secret the glove you had let fall, the shoe you had flung off, + know that you knew of my love, that I was yours to do with as you would, + to live or die according to your wish. Or that you were priestess in some + temple of forgotten gods, where I might steal at daybreak and at dusk to + gaze upon your beauty; kneel with clasped hands, watching your sandalled + feet coming and going about the altar steps; lie with pressed lips upon + the stones your trailing robes had touched.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed a light mocking laugh. “I should prefer to be the queen. The + role of priestess would not suit me. Temples are so cold.” A slight shiver + passed through her. She made a movement with her hand, beckoning me to her + feet. “That is how you shall love me, Paul,” she said, “adoring me, + worshipping me—blindly. I will be your queen and treat you—as + it chooses me. All I think, all I do, I will tell you, and you shall tell + me it is right. The queen can do no wrong.” + </p> + <p> + She took my face between her hands, and bending over me, looked long and + steadfastly into my eyes. “You understand, Paul, the queen can do no wrong—never, + never.” There had crept into her voice a note of vehemence, in her face + was a look almost of appeal. + </p> + <p> + “My queen can do no wrong,” I repeated. And she laughed and let her hands + fall back upon her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Now you may sit beside me. So much honour, Paul, shall you have to-day, + but it will have to last you long. And you may tell me all you have been + doing, maybe it will amuse me; and afterwards you shall hear what I have + done, and shall say that it was right and good of me.” + </p> + <p> + I obeyed, sketching my story briefly, yet leaving nothing untold, not even + the transit of the Lady 'Ortensia, ashamed of the episode though I was. At + that she looked a little grave. + </p> + <p> + “You must do nothing again, Paul,” she commanded, “to make me feel ashamed + of you, or I shall dismiss you from my presence for ever. I must be proud + of you, or you shall not serve me. In dishonouring yourself you are + dishonouring me. I am angry with you, Paul. Do not let me be angry with + you again.” + </p> + <p> + And so that passed; and although my love for her—as I know well she + wished and sought it should—failed to save me at all times from the + apish voices whispering ever to the beast within us, I know the desire to + be worthy of her, to honour her with all my being, helped my life as only + love can. The glory of the morning fades, the magic veil is rent; we see + all things with cold, clear eyes. My love was a woman. She lies dead. They + have mocked her white sweet limbs with rags and tatters, but they cannot + cheat love's eyes. God knows I loved her in all purity! Only with false + love we love the false. Beneath the unclean clinging garments she sleeps + fair. + </p> + <p> + My tale finished, “Now I will tell you mine,” she said. “I am going to be + married soon. I shall be a Countess, Paul, the Countess Huescar—I + will teach you how to pronounce it—and I shall have a real castle in + Spain. You need not look so frightened, Paul; we shall not live there. It + is a half-ruined, gloomy place, among the mountains, and he loves it even + less than I do. Paris and London will be my courts, so you will see me + often. You shall know the great world, Paul, the world I mean to conquer, + where I mean to rule.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he very rich?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “As poor,” she laughed, “as poor as a Spanish nobleman. The money I shall + have to provide, or, rather, poor dear Dad will. He gives me title, + position. Of course I do not love him, handsome though he is. Don't look + so solemn, Paul. We shall get on together well enough. Queens, Paul, do + not make love matches, they contract alliances. I have done well, Paul; + congratulate me. Do you hear, Paul? Say that I have acted rightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he love you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He tells me so,” she answered, with a laugh. “How uncourtier-like you + are, Paul! Do you suggest that any man could see me and not love me?” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet. “I do not want his love,” she cried; “it would + bore me. Women hate love they cannot return. I don't mean love like yours, + devout little Paul,” she added, with a laugh. “That is sweet incense + wafted round us that we like to scent with our noses in the air. Give me + that, Paul; I want it, I ask for it. But the love of a hand, the love of a + husband that one does not care for—it would be horrible!” + </p> + <p> + I felt myself growing older. For the moment my goddess became a child + needing help. + </p> + <p> + “But have you thought—” I commenced. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she interrupted me quickly, “I have thought and thought till I + can think no more. There must be some sacrifice; it must be as little as + need be, that is all. He does not love me; he is marrying me for my money—I + know that, and I am glad of it. You do not know me, Paul. I must have + rank, position. What am I? The daughter of rich old Hasluck, who began + life as a butcher in the Mile End Road. As the Princess Huescar, society + will forget, as Mrs.”—it seemed to me she checked herself abruptly—“Jones + or Brown it would remember, however rich I might be. I am vain, Paul, + caring for power—ambition. I have my father's blood in me. All his + nights and days he has spent in gaining wealth; he can do no more. We + upstarts have our pride of race. He has done his share, I must do mine.” + </p> + <p> + “But you need not be mere Mrs. anybody commonplace,” I argued. “Why not + wait? You will meet someone who can give you position and whom at the same + time you can love. Would that not be better?” + </p> + <p> + “He will never come, the man I could love,” she answered. “Because, my + little Paul, he has come already. Hush, Paul, the queen can do no wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” I asked. “May I not know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Paul,” she answered, “you shall know; I want you to know, then you + shall tell me that I have acted rightly. Do you hear me, Paul?—quite + rightly—that you still respect me and honour me. He could not help + me. As his wife, I should be less even than I am, a mere rich nobody, + giving long dinner-parties to other rich nobodies, living amongst City + men, retired trades-people; envied only by their fat, vulgarly dressed + wives, courted by seedy Bohemians for the sake of my cook; with perhaps an + opera singer or an impecunious nobleman or two out of Dad's City list for + my show-guests. Is that the court, Paul, where you would have your queen + reign?” + </p> + <p> + “Is he so commonplace a man,” I answered, “the man you love? I cannot + believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not commonplace,” she answered. “It is I who am commonplace. The + things I desire, they are beneath him; he will never trouble himself to + secure them.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even for love of you?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not have him do so even were he willing. He is great, with a + greatness I cannot even understand. He is not the man for these times. In + old days, I should have married him, knowing he would climb to greatness + by sheer strength of manhood. But now men do not climb; they crawl to + greatness. He could not do that. I have done right, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you?” She laughed a little bitterly. “I can give you his + exact words, 'You are half a woman and half a fool, so woman-like you will + follow your folly. But let your folly see to it that your woman makes no + fool of herself.'” + </p> + <p> + The words were what I could imagine his saying. I heard the strong ring of + his voice through her mocking mimicry. + </p> + <p> + “Hal!” I cried. “It is he.” + </p> + <p> + “So you never guessed even that, Paul. I thought at times it would be + sweet to cry it out aloud, that it could have made no difference, that + everyone who knew me must have read it in my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “But he never seemed to take much notice of you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “You needn't be so unkind, Paul. What did I ever do for you + much more than snub you? We boys and girls; there is not so much + difference between us: we love our masters. Yet you must not think so + poorly of me. I was only a child to him then, but we were locked up in + Paris together during the entire siege. Have not you heard? He did take a + little notice of me there, Paul, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + Would it have been better, I wonder, had she followed the woman and not + the fool? It sounds an easy question to answer; but I am thinking of years + later, one winter's night at Tiefenkasten in the Julier Pass. I was on my + way from San Moritz to Chur. The sole passenger, I had just climbed, half + frozen, from the sledge, and was thawing myself before the stove in the + common room of the hotel when the waiter put a pencilled note into my + hand: + </p> + <p> + “Come up and see me. I am a prisoner in this damned hole till the weather + breaks. Hal.” + </p> + <p> + I hardly recognised him at first. Only the poor ghost he seemed of the Hal + I had known as a boy. His long privations endured during the Paris siege, + added to the superhuman work he had there put upon himself, had commenced + the ruin of even his magnificent physique—a ruin the wild, loose + life he was now leading was soon to complete. It was a gloomy, vaulted + room that once had been a chapel, lighted dimly by a cheap, evil-smelling + lamp, heated to suffocation by one of those great green-tiled German ovens + now only to be met with in rare out-of-the-way world corners. He was + sitting propped up by pillows on the bed, placed close to one of the high + windows, his deep eyes flaring like two gleaming caverns out of his drawn, + haggard face. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you from the window,” he explained. “It is the only excitement I + get, twice a day when the sledges come in. I broke down coming across the + Pass a fortnight ago, on my way from Davos. We were stuck in a drift for + eighteen hours; it nearly finished my last lung. And I haven't even a book + to read. By God! lad, I was glad to see your frosted face ten minutes ago + in the light of the lantern.” + </p> + <p> + He grasped me with his long bony hand. “Sit down, and let me hear my voice + using again its mother tongue—you were always a good listener—for + the last eight years I have hardly spoken it. Can you stand the room? The + windows ought to be open, but what does it matter? I may as well get + accustomed to the heat before I die.” + </p> + <p> + I drew my chair close to the bed, and for awhile, between his fits of + coughing, we talked of things that were outside our thoughts, or, rather, + Hal talked, continuously, boisterously, meeting my remonstrances with + shouts of laughter, ending in wild struggles for breath, so that I deemed + it better to let him work his mad mood out. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly: “What is she doing?” he asked. “Do you ever see her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is playing in—” I mentioned the name of a comic opera then + running in Paris. “No; I have not seen her for some time.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his white, wasted hand on mine. “What a pity you and I could not + have rolled ourselves into one, Paul—you, the saint, and I, the + satyr. Together we should have made her perfect lover.” + </p> + <p> + There came back to me the memory of those long nights when I had lain + awake listening to the angry voices of my father and mother soaking + through the flimsy wall. It seemed my fate to stand thus helpless between + those I loved, watching them hurting one another against their will. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” I asked—“I loved her, knowing her: I was not blind. Whose + fault was it? Yours or hers?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Whose fault, Paul? God made us.” + </p> + <p> + Thinking of her fair, sweet face, I hated him for his mocking laugh. But + the next moment, looking into his deep eyes, seeing the pain that dwelt + there, my pity was for him. A smile came to his ugly mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You have been on the stage, Paul; you must have heard the saying often: + 'Ah, well, the curtain must come down, however badly things are going.' It + is only a play, Paul. We do not choose our parts. I did not even know I + was the villain, till I heard the booing of the gallery. I even thought I + was the hero, full of noble sentiment, sacrificing myself for the + happiness of the heroine. She would have married me in the beginning had I + plagued her sufficiently.” + </p> + <p> + I made to speak, but he interrupted me, continuing: “Ah, yes, it might + have been better. That is easy to say, not knowing. So, too, it might have + been worse—in all probability much the same. All roads lead to the + end. You know I was always a fatalist, Paul. We tried both ways. She loved + me well enough, but she loved the world also. I thought she loved it + better, so I kissed her on her brow, mumbled a prayer for her happiness + and made my exit to a choking sob. So ended the first act. Wasn't I the + hero throughout that, Paul? I thought so; slapped myself upon the back, + told myself what a fine fellow I had been. Then—you know what + followed. She was finer clay than she had fancied. Love is woman's + kingdom, not the world. Even then I thought more of her than of myself. I + could have borne my share of the burden had I not seen her fainting under + hers, shamed, degraded. So we dared to think for ourselves, injuring + nobody but ourselves, played the man and woman, lost the world for love. + Wasn't it brave, Paul? Were we not hero and heroine? They had printed the + playbill wrong, Paul, that was all. I was really the hero, but the + printing devil had made a slip, so instead of applauding you booed. How + could you know, any of you? It was not your fault.” + </p> + <p> + “But that was not the end,” I reminded him. “If the curtain had fallen + then, I could have forgiven you.” + </p> + <p> + He grinned. “That fatal last act. Even yours don't always come right, so + the critics tell me.” + </p> + <p> + The grin faded from his face. “We may never see each other again, Paul,” + he went on; “don't think too badly of me. I found I had made a second + mistake—or thought I had. She was no happier with me after a time + than she had been with him. If all our longings were one, life would be + easy; but they are not. What is to be done but toss for it? And if it come + down head we wish it had been tail, and if tail we think of what we have + lost through its not coming down head. Love is no more the whole of a + woman's life than it is of a man's. He did not apply for a divorce: that + was smart of him. We were shunned, ignored. To some women it might not + have mattered; but she had been used to being sought, courted, feted. She + made no complaint—did worse: made desperate effort to appear + cheerful, to pretend that our humdrum life was not boring her to death. I + watched her growing more listless, more depressed; grew angry with her, + angrier with myself. There was no bond between us except our passion; that + was real enough—'grand,' I believe, is the approved literary + adjective. It is good enough for what nature intended it, a summer season + in a cave. It makes but a poor marriage settlement in these more + complicated days. We fell to mutual recriminations, vulgar scenes. Ah, + most of us look better at a little distance from one another. The sordid, + contemptible side of life became important to us. I was never rich; by + contrast with all that she had known, miserably poor. The mere sight of + the food our twelve-pound-a-year cook put upon the table would take away + her appetite. Love does not change the palate, give you a taste for cheap + claret when you have been accustomed to dry champagne. We have bodies to + think of as well as souls; we are apt to forget that in moments of + excitement. + </p> + <p> + “She fell ill, and it seemed to me that I had dragged her from the soil + where she had grown only to watch her die. And then he came, precisely at + the right moment. I cannot help admiring him. Most men take their revenge + clumsily, hurting themselves; he was so neat, had been so patient. I am + not even ashamed of having fallen into his trap; it was admirably baited. + Maybe I had despised him for having seemed to submit meekly to the blow. + What cared he for me and my opinion? It was she was all he cared for. He + knew her better than I, knew that sooner or later she would tire, not of + love but of the cottage; look back with longing eyes towards all that she + had lost. Fool! Cuckold! What was it to him that the world would laugh at + him, despise him? Love such as his made fools of men. Would I not give her + back to him? + </p> + <p> + “By God! It was fine acting; half into the night we talked, I leaving him + every now and again to creep to the top of the stairs and listen to her + breathing. He asked me my advice, I being the hard-headed partner of cool + judgment. What would be the best way of approaching her after I was gone? + Where should he take her? How should they live till the nine days' talk + had died away? And I sat opposite to him—how he must have longed to + laugh in my silly face—advising him! We could not quite agree as to + details of a possible yachting cruise, and I remember hunting up an atlas, + and we pored over it, our heads close together. By God! I envy him that + night!” + </p> + <p> + He sank back on his pillows and laughed and coughed, and laughed and + coughed again, till I feared that wild, long, broken laugh would be his + last. But it ceased at length, and for awhile, exhausted, he lay silent + before continuing. + </p> + <p> + “Then came the question: how was I to go? She loved me still. He was sure + of it, and, for the matter of that, so was I. So long as she thought that + I loved her, she would never leave me. Only from her despair could fresh + hope arise for her. Would I not make some sacrifice for her sake, persuade + her that I had tired of her? Only by one means could she be convinced. My + going off alone would not suffice; my reason for that she might suspect—she + might follow. It would be for her sake. Again it was the hero that I + played, the dear old chuckle-headed hero, Paul, that you ought to have + cheered, not hooted. I loved her as much as I ever loved her in my life, + that night I left her. I took my boots off in the passage and crept up in + my stockinged feet. I told him I was merely going to change my coat and + put a few things into a bag. He gripped my hand, and tears were standing + in his eyes. It is odd that suppressed laughter and expressed grief should + both display the same token, is it not? I stole into her room. I dared not + kiss her for fear of waking her; but a stray lock of her hair—you + remember how long it was—fell over the pillow, nearly reaching to + the floor. I pressed my lips against it, where it trailed over the + bedstead, till they bled. I have it still upon my lips, the mingling of + the cold iron and the warm, soft silken hair. He told me, when I came down + again, that I had been gone three-quarters of an hour. And we went out of + the house together, he and I. That is the last time I ever saw her.” + </p> + <p> + I leant across and put my arms around him; I suppose it was un-English; + there are times when one forgets these points. “I did not know! I did not + know,” I cried. + </p> + <p> + He pressed me to him with his feeble arms. “What a cad you must have + thought me, Paul,” he said. “But you might have given me credit for better + taste. I was always rather a gourmet than a gourmand where women were + concerned.” + </p> + <p> + “You have never seen him either again?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered; “I swore to kill him when I learnt the trick he had + played me. He commenced the divorce proceedings against her the very + morning after I had left her. Possibly, had I succeeded in finding him + within the next six months, I should have done so. A few newspaper + proprietors would have been the only people really benefited. Time is the + cheapest Bravo; a little patience is all he charges. All roads lead to the + end, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + But I tell my tale badly, marring effects of sunlight with the memory of + shadows. At the time all promised fair. He was a handsome, + distinguished-looking man. Not every aristocrat, if without disrespect to + one's betters a humble observer may say so, suggests his title; this man + would have suggested his title, had he not possessed it. I suppose he must + have been about fifty at the time; but most men of thirty would have been + glad to exchange with him both figure and complexion. His behaviour to his + <i>fiancee</i> was the essence of good taste, affectionate devotion, + carried to the exact point beyond which, having regard to the disparity of + their years, it would have appeared ridiculous. That he sincerely admired + her, was fully content with her, there could be no doubt. I am even + inclined to think he was fonder of her than, divining her feelings towards + himself, he cared to show. Knowledge of the world must have told him that + men of fifty find it easier to be the lovers of women young enough to be + their daughters, than girls find it to desire the affection of men old + enough to be their fathers; and he was not the man to allow impulse to + lead him into absurdity. + </p> + <p> + From my own peculiar point of view he appeared the ideal prince consort. + It was difficult for me to imagine my queen in love with any mere man. + This was one beside whom she could live, losing in my eyes nothing of her + dignity. My feelings for her he guessed at our first interview. Most men + in his position would have been amused, and many would have shown it. For + what reason I cannot say, but with a tact and courtesy that left me only + complimented, he drew from me, before I had met him half-a-dozen times, + more frank confession than a month previously I should have dreamt of my + yielding to anything than my own pillow. He laid his hand upon my + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if you know, my friend, how wise you are,” he said. “We all of + us at your age love an image of our own carving. Ah, if only we could be + content to worship the white, changeless statute! But we are fools. We + pray the gods to give her life, and under our hot kisses she becomes a + woman. I also loved when I was your age, Paul. Your countrymen, they are + so practical, they know only one kind of love. It is business-like, rich—how + puts it your poet? 'rich in saving common sense.' But there are many + kinds, you understand that, my friend. You are wise, do not confuse them. + She was a child of the mountains. I used to walk three leagues to Mass + each day to worship her. Had I been wise—had I so left it, the + memory of her would have coloured all my life with glory. But I was a + fool, my friend; I turned her into a woman. Ah!”—he made a gesture + of disgust—“such a fat, ugly woman, Paul, I turned her into. I had + much difficulty in getting rid of her. We should never touch things in + life that are beautiful; we have such clumsy hands, we spoil whatever we + touch.” + </p> + <p> + Hal did not return to England till the end of the year, by which time the + Count and Countess Huescar—though I had her permission still to call + her Barbara, I never availed myself of it; the “Countess” fitted my mood + better—had taken up residence in the grand Paris house old Hasluck + had bought for them. + </p> + <p> + It was the high-water mark of old Hasluck's career, and, if anything, he + was a little disappointed that with the dowry he had promised her Barbara + had not done even better for herself. + </p> + <p> + “Foreign Counts,” he grumbled to me laughingly, one day, “well, I hope + they're worth more in Society than they are in the City. A hundred guineas + is their price there, and they're not worth that. Who was that American + girl that married a Russian Prince only last week? A million dollars was + all she gave for him, and she a wholesale boot-maker's daughter into the + bargain! Our girls are not half as smart.” + </p> + <p> + But that was before he had seen his future son-in-law. After, he was + content enough, and up to the day of the wedding, childishly elated. Under + the Count's tuition he studied with reverential awe the Huescar history. + Princes, statesmen, warriors, glittered, golden apples, from the spreading + branches of its genealogical tree. Why not again! its attenuated blue sap + strengthened with the rich, red blood, brewed by toil and effort in the + grim laboratories of the under world. In imagination, old Hasluck saw + himself the grandfather of Chancellors, the great-grandfather of Kings. + </p> + <p> + “I have laid the foundation, you shall raise the edifice,” so he told her + one evening I was spending with them, caressing her golden hair with his + blunt, fat fingers. “I am glad you were not a boy. A boy, in all + probability, would have squandered the money, let the name sink back again + into the gutter. And even had he been the other sort, he could only have + been another business man, keeping where I had left him. You will call + your first boy Hasluck, won't you? It must always be the first-born's + name. It shall be famous in the world yet, and for something else than + mere money.” + </p> + <p> + I began to understand the influences that had gone towards the making—or + marring—of Barbara's character. I had never guessed he had cared for + anything beyond money and the making of money. + </p> + <p> + It was, of course, a wedding as ostentatious as possible. Old Hasluck knew + how to advertise, and spared neither expense nor labour, with the result + that it was the event of the season, at least according to the Society + papers. Mrs. Hasluck was the type of woman to have escaped observation, + even had the wedding been her own; that she was present at her daughter's, + “becomingly dressed in grey veiling spotted white, with an encrustation of + mousseline de soie,” I learnt the next day from the <i>Morning Post</i>. + Old Hasluck himself had to be fetched every time he was wanted. At the + conclusion of the ceremony, seeking him, I found him sitting on the stairs + leading to the crypt. + </p> + <p> + “Is it over?” he asked. He was mopping his face on a huge handkerchief, + and had a small looking-glass in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “All over,” I answered, “they are waiting for you to start.” + </p> + <p> + “I always perspire so when I'm excited,” he explained. “Keep me out of it + as much as possible.” + </p> + <p> + But the next time I saw him, which was two or three days later, the + reaction had set in. He was sitting in his great library, surrounded by + books he would no more have thought of disturbing than he would of + strumming on the gorgeous grand piano inlaid with silver that ornamented + his drawing-room. A change had passed over him. His swelling rotundity, + suggestive generally of a bladder inflated to its extremest limits by + excess of self-importance, appeared to be shrinking. I put the idea aside + as mere fancy at the time, but it was fact; he became a mere bag of bones + before he died. He was wearing an old pair of carpet slippers and smoking + a short clay pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “everything went off all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody's gone off all right, so far,” he grunted. He was crouching + over the fire, though the weather was still warm, one hand spread out + towards the blaze. “Now I've got to go off, that's the only thing they're + waiting for. Then everything will be in order.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think they are wanting you to go off,” I answered, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” he answered, “I'm the goose that lays the golden eggs. Ah, but + you see, so many of the eggs break, and so many of them are bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them hatch all right,” I replied. The simile was becoming + somewhat confused: in conversation similes are apt to. + </p> + <p> + “If I were to die this week,” he said—he paused, completing mental + calculations, “I should be worth, roughly speaking, a couple of million. + This time next year I may be owing a million.” + </p> + <p> + I sat down opposite to him. “Why run risks?” I suggested. “Surely you have + enough. Why not give it up—retire?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Do you think I haven't said that to myself, lad—sworn I + would a dozen times a year? I can't do it; I'm a gambler. It's the + earliest thing I can recollect doing, gambling with brace buttons. There + are men, Paul, now dying in the workhouse—men I once knew well; I + think of them sometimes, and wish I didn't—who any time during half + their life might have retired on twenty thousand a year. If I were to go + to any one of them, and settle an annuity of a hundred a year upon him, + the moment my back was turned he'd sell it out and totter up to + Threadneedle Street with the proceeds. It's in our blood. I shall gamble + on my death-bed, die with the tape in my hand.” + </p> + <p> + He kicked the fire into a blaze. A roaring flame made the room light + again. + </p> + <p> + “But that won't be just yet awhile,” he laughed, “and before it does, I'll + be the richest man in Europe. I keep my head cool—that's the great + secret.” Leaning over towards me, he sunk his voice to a whisper, “Drink, + Paul—so many of them drink. They get worried; fifty things dancing + round and round at the same time in their heads. Fifty questions to be + answered in five minutes. Tick, tick, tick, taps the little devil at their + elbow. This going down, that going up. Rumor of this, report of that. A + fortune to be lost here, a fortune to be snatched there. Everything in a + whirl! Tick, tick, tick, like nails into a coffin. God! for five minutes' + peace to think. Shut the door, turn the key. Out comes the bottle. That's + the end. All right so long as you keep away from that. Cool, quick brain, + clear judgment—that's the secret.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it worth it all?” I suggested. “Surely you have enough?” + </p> + <p> + “It means power, Paul.” He slapped his trousers pocket, making the handful + of gold and silver he always carried there jingle musically. “It is this + that rules the world. My children shall be big pots, hobnob with kings and + princes, slap them on the back and call them by their Christian names, be + kings themselves—why not? It's happened before. My children, the + children of old Noel Hasluck, son of a Whitechapel butcher! Here's my + pedigree!” Again be slapped his tuneful pocket. “It's an older one than + theirs! It's coming into its own at last! It's money—we men of money—that + are the true kings now. It's our family that rules the world—the + great money family; I mean to be its head.” + </p> + <p> + The blaze died out, leaving the room almost in darkness, and for awhile we + sat in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet, isn't it?” said old Hasluck, raising his head. + </p> + <p> + The settling of the falling embers was the only sound about us. + </p> + <p> + “Guess we'll always be like this, now,” continued old Hasluck. “Old woman + goes to bed, you see, immediately after dinner. It used to be different + when <i>she</i> was about. Somehow, the house and the lackeys and all the + rest of it seemed to be a more natural sort of thing when <i>she</i> was + the centre of it. It frightens the old woman now she's gone. She likes to + get away from it. Poor old Susan! A little country inn with herself as + landlady and me fussing about behind the bar; that was always her + ambition, poor old girl!” + </p> + <p> + “You will be visiting them,” I suggested, “and they will be coming to stop + with you.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “They won't want me, and it isn't my game to hamper + them. I never mix out of my class. I've always had sense enough for that.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed, wishing to cheer him, though I knew he was right. “Surely your + daughter belongs to your own class,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” he asked, with a grin. “That's not a pretty compliment + to her. She was my child when she used to cling round my neck, while I + made the sausages, calling me her dear old pig. It didn't trouble her then + that I dropped my aitches and had a greasy skin. I was a Whitechapel + butcher, and she was a Whitechapel brat. I could have kept her if I'd + liked, but I was set upon making a lady of her, and I did it. But I lost + my child. Every time she came back from school I could see she despised me + a little more. I'm not blaming her; how could she help it? I was making a + lady of her, teaching her to do it; though there were moments when I + almost hated her, felt tempted to snatch her back to me, drag her down + again to my level, make her my child again, before it was too late. Oh, it + wasn't all unselfishness; I could have done it. She would have remained my + class then, would have married my class, and her children would have been + my class. I didn't want that. Everything's got to be paid for. I got what + I asked for; I'm not grumbling at the price. But it ain't cheap.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe. “Ring the bell, Paul, will + you?” he said. “Let's have some light and something to drink. Don't take + any notice of me. I've got the hump to-night.” + </p> + <p> + It was a minute or two before the lamp came. He put his arm upon my + shoulder, leaning upon me somewhat heavily. + </p> + <p> + “I used to fancy sometimes, Paul,” he said, “that you and she might have + made a match of it. I should have been disappointed for some things. But + you'd have been a bit nearer to me, you two. It never occurred to you, + that, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW PAUL SET FORTH UPON A QUEST. + </h3> + <p> + Of old Deleglise's Sunday suppers, which, costumed from head to foot in + spotless linen, he cooked himself in his great kitchen, moving with + flushed, earnest face about the gleaming stove, while behind him his + guests waited, ranged round the massive oaken table glittering with cut + glass and silver, among which fluttered the deft hands of Madeline, his + ancient whitecapped Bonne, much has been already recorded, and by those + possessed of greater knowledge. They who sat there talking in whispers + until such time as old Deleglise turned towards them again, radiant with + consciousness of success, the savoury triumph steaming between his hands, + when, like the sudden swell of the Moonlight Sonata, the talk would rush + once more into a roar, were men whose names were then—and some are + still—more or less household words throughout the English-speaking + world. Artists, musicians, actors, writers, scholars, droles, their wit + and wisdom, their sayings and their doings must be tolerably familiar to + readers of memoir and biography; and if to such their epigrams appear less + brilliant, their jests less laughable than to us who heard them spoken, + that is merely because fashion in humour and in understanding changes as + in all else. + </p> + <p> + You, gentle reader of my book, I shall not trouble with second-hand record + of that which you can read elsewhere. For me it will be but to write + briefly of my own brief glimpse into that charmed circle. Concerning this + story more are the afternoon At Homes held by Dan and myself upon the + second floor of the old Georgian house in pleasant, quiet Queen Square. + For cook and house-maid on these days it would be a busy morning. Failing + other supervision, Dan and I agreed that to secure success on these + important occasions each of us should criticise the work of the other. I + passed judgment on Dan's cooking, he upon my house-work. + </p> + <p> + “Too much soda,” I would declare, sampling the cake. + </p> + <p> + “You silly Juggins! It's meant to taste of soda—it's a soda cake.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that. It isn't meant to taste of nothing but soda. There wants to + be some cake about it also. This thing, so far as flavour is concerned, is + nothing but a Seidlitz powder. You can't give people solidified Seidlitz + powders for tea!” + </p> + <p> + Dan would fume, but I would remain firm. The soda cake would be laid + aside, and something else attempted. His cookery was the one thing Dan was + obstinate about. He would never admit that anything could possibly be + wrong with it. His most ghastly failures he would devour himself later on + with pretended enjoyment. I have known him finish a sponge cake, the + centre of which had to be eaten with a teaspoon, declaring it was + delicious; that eating a dry sponge cake was like eating dust; that a + sponge cake ought to be a trifle syrupy towards the centre. Afterwards he + would be strangely silent and drink brandy out of a wine-glass. + </p> + <p> + “Call these knives clean?” It would be Dan's turn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + Dan would draw his finger across one, producing chiaro-oscuro. + </p> + <p> + “Not if you go fingering them. Why don't you leave them alone and go on + with your own work?” + </p> + <p> + “You've just wiped them, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there isn't any knife-powder.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, it ruins knives, over-cleaning them—takes all the edge + off. We shall want them pretty sharp to cut those lemon buns of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Over-cleaning them! You don't take any pride in the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! Don't I work from morning to night?” + </p> + <p> + “You lazy young devil!” + </p> + <p> + “Makes one lazy, your cooking. How can a man work when he is suffering all + day long from indigestion?” + </p> + <p> + But Dan would not be content until I had found the board and cleaned the + knives to his complete satisfaction. Perhaps it was as well that in this + way all things once a week were set in order. After lunch house-maid and + cook would vanish, two carefully dressed gentlemen being left alone to + receive their guests. + </p> + <p> + These would be gathered generally from among Dan's journalistic + acquaintances and my companions of the theatre. Occasionally, Minikin and + Jarman would be of the number, Mrs. Peedles even once or twice arriving + breathless on our landing. Left to myself, I perhaps should not have + invited them, deeming them hardly fitting company to mingle with our other + visitors; but Dan, having once been introduced to them, overrode such + objection. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lord Chamberlain,” Dan would reply, “an ounce of originality is + worth a ton of convention. Little tin ladies and gentlemen all made to + pattern! One can find them everywhere. Your friends would be an + acquisition to any society.” + </p> + <p> + “But are they quite good form?” I hinted. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what we will do,” replied Dan. “We'll forget that Mrs. + Peedles keeps a lodging-house in Blackfriars. We will speak of her as our + friend, 'that dear, quaint old creature, Lady P.' A title that is an + oddity, whose costume always suggests the wardrobe of a provincial + actress! My dear Paul, your society novelist would make a fortune out of + such a character. The personages of her amusing anecdotes, instead of + being third-rate theatrical folk, shall be Earl Blank and the Baroness de + Dash. The editors of society journals shall pay me a shilling a line for + them. Jarman—yes, Jarman shall be the son of a South American + millionaire. Vulgar? Nonsense! you mean racy. Minikin—he looks much + more like forty than twenty—he shall be an eminent scientist. His + head will then appear the natural size; his glass eye, the result of a + chemical experiment, a touch of distinction; his uncompromising rudeness, + a lovable characteristic. We will make him buy a yard of red ribbon and + wear it across his shirt-front, and address him as Herr Professor. It will + explain slight errors of English grammar and all peculiarities of accent. + They shall be our lions. You leave it to me. We will invite commonplace, + middle-class folk to meet them.” + </p> + <p> + And this, to my terror and alarm, Dan persisted in doing. Jarman entered + into the spirit of the joke with gusto. So far as he was concerned, our + guests, from the beginning to the end, were one and all, I am confident, + deceived. The more he swaggered, the more he boasted, the more he talked + about himself—and it was a failing he was prone to—the greater + was his success. At the persistent endeavours of Dan's journalistic + acquaintances to excite his cupidity by visions of new journals, to be + started with a mere couple of thousand pounds and by the inherent merit of + their ideas to command at once a circulation of hundreds of thousands, I + could afford to laugh. But watching the tremendous efforts of my actress + friends to fascinate him—luring him into corners, gazing at him with + languishing eyes, trotting out all their little tricks for his exclusive + benefit, quarrelling about him among themselves—my conscience would + prick me, lest our jest should end in a contretemps. Fortunately, Jarman + himself, was a gentleman of uncommon sense, or my fears might have been + realised. I should have been sorry myself to have been asked to remain + stone under the blandishments of girls young and old, of women handsome + and once, no doubt, good looking, showered upon him during that winter. + But Jarman, as I think I have explained, was no slave to female charms. He + enjoyed his good time while it lasted, and eventually married the eldest + daughter of a small blacking factory. She was a plain girl, but pleasant, + and later brought to Jarman possession of the factory. When I meet him—he + is now stout and rubicund—he gives me the idea of a man who has + attained to his ideals. + </p> + <p> + With Minikin we had more trouble. People turned up possessed of scientific + smattering. We had to explain that the Professor never talked shop. Others + were owners of unexpected knowledge of German, which they insisted upon + airing. We had to explain that the Herr Professor was in London to learn + English, and had taken a vow during his residence neither to speak nor + listen to his native tongue. It was remarked that his acquaintance with + colloquial English slang, for a foreigner, was quite unusual. Occasionally + he was too rude, even for a scientist, informing ladies, clamouring to + know how he liked English women, that he didn't like them silly; telling + one gentleman, a friend of Dan, a rather important man who once asked him, + referring to his yard of ribbon, what he got it for, that he got it for + fourpence. We had to explain him as a gentleman who had been soured by a + love disappointment. The ladies forgave him; the gentlemen said it was a + damned lucky thing for the girl. Altogether, Minikin took a good deal of + explaining. + </p> + <p> + Lady Peedles, our guests decided among themselves, must be the widow of + some one in the City who had been knighted in a crowd. They made fun of + her behind her back, but to her face were most effusive. “My dear Lady + Peedles” was the phrase most often heard in our rooms whenever she was + present. At the theatre “my friend Lady Peedles” became a person much + spoken of—generally in loud tones. My own social position I found + decidedly improved by reason of her ladyship's evident liking for myself. + It went abroad that I was her presumptive heir. I was courted as a + gentleman of expectations. + </p> + <p> + The fishy-eyed young man became one of our regular guests. Dan won his + heart by never laughing at him. + </p> + <p> + “I like talking to you,” said the fishy-eyed young man one afternoon to + Dan. “You don't go into fits of laughter when I remark that it has been a + fine day; most people do. Of course, on the stage I don't mind. I know I + am a funny little devil. I get my living by being a funny little devil. + There is a photograph of me hanging in the theatre lobby. I saw a workman + stop and look at it the other day as he passed; I was just behind him. He + burst into a roar of laughter. 'Little—! He makes me laugh to look + at him!' he cluttered to himself. Well, that's all right; I want the man + in the gallery to think me funny, but it annoys me when people laugh at me + off the stage. If I am out to dinner anywhere and ask somebody to pass the + mustard, I never get it; instead, they burst out laughing. I don't want + people to laugh at me when I am having my dinner. I want my dinner. It + makes me very angry sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” agreed Dan, sympathetically. “The world never grasps the fact + that man is a collection, not a single exhibit. I remember being at a + house once where the chief guest happened to be a great Hebrew scholar. + One tea time, a Miss Henman, passing the butter to some one in a hurry, + let it slip out of her hand. 'Why is Miss Henman like a caterpillar?' + asked our learned guest in a sepulchral voice. Nobody appeared to know. + 'Because she makes the butter fly.' It never occurred to any one of us + that the Doctor could possibly joke. There was dead silence for about a + minute. Then our hostess, looking grave, remarked: 'Oh, do you really + think so?'” + </p> + <p> + “If I were to enter a room full of people,” said the fishy-eyed young man, + “and tell them that my mother had been run over by an omnibus, they would + think it the funniest story they had heard in years.” + </p> + <p> + He was playing a principal part now in the opera, and it was he + undoubtedly who was drawing the house. But he was not happy. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a comic actor, really,” he explained. “I could play Romeo, so + far as feeling is concerned, and play it damned well. There is a fine vein + of poetry in me. But of course it's no good to me with this face of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you not sinning your mercies, you fellows?” Dan replied. “There + is young Kelver here. At school it was always his trouble that he could + give us a good time and make us laugh, which nobody else in the whole + school could do. His ambition was to kick a ball as well as a hundred + other fellows could kick it. He could tell us a good story now if he would + only write what the Almighty intended him to write, instead of gloomy + rigmaroles about suffering Princesses in Welsh caves. I don't say it's + bad, but a hundred others could write the same sort of thing better.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you understand,” answered the little man; “the poorest tragedian + that ever lived never wished himself the best of low comedians. The court + fool had an excellent salary, no doubt; and, likely enough, had got + two-thirds of all the brain there was in the palace. But not a + wooden-headed man-at-arms but looked down upon him. Every gallery boy who + pays a shilling to laugh at me regards himself as my intellectual + superior; while to a fourth-rate spouter of blank verse he looks up in + admiration.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it so very much matter,” suggested Dan, “how the wooden-headed + man-at-arms or the shilling gallery boy happens to regard you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does,” retorted Goggles, “because we happen to agree with them. + If I could earn five pounds a week as juvenile lead, I would never play a + comic part again.” + </p> + <p> + “There I cannot follow you,” returned Dan. “I can understand the artist + who would rather be the man of action, the poet who would rather be the + statesman or the warrior; though personally my sympathies are precisely + the other way—with Wolfe who thought it a more glorious work, the + writing of a great poem, than the burning of so many cities and the + killing of so many men. We all serve the community. It is difficult, + looking at the matter from the inside, to say who serves it best. Some + feed it, some clothe it. The churchman and the policeman between them look + after its morals, keep it in order. The doctor mends it when it injures + itself; the lawyer helps it to quarrel, the soldier teaches it to fight. + We Bohemians amuse it, instruct it. We can argue that we are the most + important. The others cater for its body, we for its mind. But their work + is more showy than ours and attracts more attention; and to attract + attention is the aim and object of most of us. But for Bohemians to worry + among themselves which is the greatest, is utterly without reason. The + story-teller, the musician, the artist, the clown, we are members of a + sharing troupe; one, with the ambition of the fat boy in Pickwick, makes + the people's flesh creep; another makes them hold their sides with + laughter. The tragedian, soliloquising on his crimes, shows us how wicked + we are; you, looking at a pair of lovers from under a scratch wig, show us + how ridiculous we are. Both lessons are necessary: who shall say which is + the superior teacher?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I am not a philosopher,” replied the little man, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” returned Dan, with another, “and I am not a comic actor on my way to + a salary of a hundred a week. We all of us want the other boy's cake.” + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly was another frequent visitor of ours. The attic in Belsize + Square had been closed. In vain had the O'Kelly wafted incense, burned + pastilles and sprinkled eau-de-Cologne. In vain had he talked of rats, + hinted at drains. + </p> + <p> + “A wonderful woman,” groaned the O'Kelly in tones of sorrowful admiration. + “There's no deceiving her.” + </p> + <p> + “But why submit?” was our natural argument. “Why not say you are going to + smoke, and do it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's her theory, me boy,” explained the O'Kelly, “that the home should be + kept pure—a sort of a temple, ye know. She's convinced that in time + it is bound to exercise an influence upon me. It's a beautiful idea, when + ye come to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, in the rooms of half-a-dozen sinful men the O'Kelly kept his + own particular pipe, together with his own particular smoking mixture; and + one such pipe and one such tobacco jar stood always on our mantelpiece. + </p> + <p> + In the spring the forces of temptation raged round that feeble but most + excellently intentioned citadel, the O'Kelly's conscience. The Signora had + returned to England, was performing then at Ashley's Theatre. The O'Kelly + would remain under long spells of silence, puffing vigorously at his pipe. + Or would fortify himself with paeans in praise of Mrs. O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “If anything could ever make a model man of me”—he spoke in the + tones of one whose doubts are stronger than his hopes—“it would be + the example of that woman.” + </p> + <p> + It was one Saturday afternoon. I had just returned from the matinee. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe,” continued the O'Kelly, “I don't really believe she has + ever done one single thing she oughtn't to, or left undone one single + thing she ought, in the whole course of her life.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she has, and you don't know of it,” I suggested, perceiving the + idea might comfort him. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could think so,” returned the O'Kelly. “I don't mean anything + really wrong,” he corrected himself quickly, “but something just a little + wrong. I feel—I really feel I should like her better if she had.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I mean I don't like her as it is, ye understand,” corrected + himself the O'Kelly a second time. “I respect that woman—I cannot + tell ye, me boy, how much I respect her. Ye don't know her. There was one + morning, about a month ago. That woman—she's down at six every morning, + summer and winter; we have prayers at half-past. I was a trifle late + meself: it was never me strong point, as ye know, early rising. Seven + o'clock struck; she didn't appear, and I thought she had overslept + herself. I won't say I didn't feel pleased for the moment; it was an + unworthy sentiment, but I almost wished she had. I ran up to her room. The + door was open, the bedclothes folded down as she always leaves them. She + came in five minutes later. She had got up at four that morning to welcome + a troupe of native missionaries from East Africa on their arrival at + Waterloo Station. She's a saint, that woman; I am not worthy of her.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't dwell too much on that phase of the subject,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it, me boy,” replied the O'Kelly. “I feel I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't for a moment say you are,” I returned; “but I shouldn't harp upon + the idea. I don't think it good for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I never will be,” he persisted gloomily, “never!” + </p> + <p> + Evidently he was started on a dangerous train of reflection. With the idea + of luring him away from it, I led the conversation to the subject of + champagne. + </p> + <p> + “Most people like it dry,” admitted the O'Kelly. “Meself, I have always + preferred it with just a suggestion of fruitiness.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a champagne,” I said, “you used to be rather fond of when we—years + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know the one ye mean,” said the O'Kelly. “It wasn't at all bad, + considering the price.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't happen to remember where you got it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It was in Bridge Street,” remembered the O'Kelly, “not so very far from + the Circus.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pleasant evening,” I remarked; “let us take a walk.” + </p> + <p> + We found the place, half wine-shop, half office. + </p> + <p> + “Just the same,” commented the O'Kelly as we pushed open the door and + entered. “Not altered a bit.” + </p> + <p> + As in all probability barely twelve months had elapsed since his last + visit, the fact in itself was not surprising. Clearly the O'Kelly had been + calculating time rather by sensation. I ordered a bottle; and we sat down. + Myself, being prejudiced against the brand, I called for a glass of + claret. The O'Kelly finished the bottle. I was glad to notice my ruse had + been successful. The virtue of that wine had not departed from it. With + every glass the O'Kelly became morally more elevated. He left the place, + determined that he would be worthy of Mrs. O'Kelly. Walking down the + Embankment, he asserted his determination of buying an alarm-clock that + very evening. At the corner of Westminster Bridge he became suddenly + absorbed in his own thoughts. Looking to discover the cause of his + silence, I saw that his eyes were resting on a poster representing a + charming lady standing on one leg upon a wire; below her—at some + distance—appeared the peaks of mountains; the artist had even caught + the likeness. I cursed the luck that had directed our footsteps, but the + next moment, lacking experience, was inclined to be reassured. + </p> + <p> + “Me dear Paul,” said the O'Kelly—he laid a fatherly hand upon my + shoulder—“there are fair-faced, laughing women—sweet + creatures, that ye want to put yer arm around and dance with.” He shook + his head disapprovingly. “There are the sainted women, who lead us up, + Paul—up, always up.” + </p> + <p> + A look, such as the young man with the banner might have borne with him to + the fields of snow and ice, suffused the O'Kelly's handsome face. Without + another word he crossed the road and entered an American store, where for + six-and-elevenpence he purchased an alarm-clock the man assured us would + awake an Egyptian mummy. With this in his hand he waved me a good-bye, and + jumped upon a Hampstead 'bus, and alone I strolled on to the theatre. + </p> + <p> + Hal returned a little after Christmas and started himself in chambers in + the City. It was the nearest he dared venture, so he said, to + civilisation. + </p> + <p> + “I'd be no good in the West End,” he explained. “For a season I might + attract as an eccentricity, but your swells would never stand me for + longer—no more would any respectable folk, anywhere: we don't get on + together. I commenced at Richmond. It was a fashionable suburb then, and I + thought I was going to do wonders. I had everything in my favour, except + myself. I do know my work, nobody can deny that of me. My father spent + every penny he had, poor gentleman, in buying me an old-established + practice: fine house, carriage and pair, white-haired butler—everything + correct, except myself. It was of no use. I can hold myself in for a month + or two; then I break out, the old original savage that I am under my frock + coat. I feel I must run amuck, stabbing, hacking at the prim, smiling Lies + mincing round about me. I can fool a silly woman for half-a-dozen visits; + bow and rub my hands, purr round her sympathetically. All the while I am + longing to tell her the truth: + </p> + <p> + “'Go home. Wash your face; don't block up the pores of your skin with + paint. Let out your corsets. You are thirty-three round the abdomen if you + are an inch: how can you expect your digestion to do its work when you're + squeezing it into twenty-one? Give up gadding about half your day and most + of your night; you are old enough to have done with that sort of thing. + Let the children come, and suckle them yourself. You'll be all the better + for them. Don't loll in bed all the morning. Get up like a decent animal + and do something for your living. Use your brain, what there is of it, and + your body. At that price you can have health to-morrow, and at no other. I + can do nothing for you.' + </p> + <p> + “And sooner or later I blurt it out.” He laughed his great roar. “Lord! + you should see the real face coming out of the simpering mask. + </p> + <p> + “Pompous old fools, strutting into me like turkey-cocks! By Jove, it was + worth it! They would dribble out, looking half their proper size after I + had done telling them what was the matter with them. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you want to know what you are really suffering from?' I would shout + at them, when I could contain myself no longer. 'Gluttony, my dear sir; + gluttony and drunkenness, and over-indulgence in other vices that shall be + nameless. Live like a man; get a little self-respect from somewhere; give + up being an ape. Treat your body properly and it will treat you properly. + That's the only prescription that will do you any good.'” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again. “'Tell the truth, you shame the Devil.' But the Devil + replies by starving you. It's a fairly effective retort. I am not the + stuff successful family physicians are made of. In the City I may manage + to rub along. One doesn't see so much of one's patients; they come and go. + Clerks and warehousemen my practice will be among chiefly. The poor man + does not so much mind being told the truth about himself; it is a blessing + to which he is accustomed.” + </p> + <p> + We spoke but once of Barbara. A photograph of her in her bride's dress + stood upon my desk. Occasionally, first fitting the room for the ceremony, + sweeping away all impurity even from under the mats, and dressing myself + with care, I would centre it amid flowers, and kneeling, kiss her hand + where it rested on the back of the top-heavy looking chair without which + no photographic studio is complete. + </p> + <p> + One day he took it up, and looked at it long and hard. + </p> + <p> + “The forehead denotes intellectuality; the eyes tenderness and courage. + The lower part of the face, on the other hand, suggests a good deal of + animalism: the finely cut nostrils show egotism—another word for + selfishness; the nose itself, vanity; the lips, sensuousness and love of + luxury. I wonder what sort of woman she really is.” He laid the photograph + back upon the desk. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you were so firm a believer in Lavater,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Only when he agrees with what I know,” he answered. “Have I not described + her rightly?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care to discuss her in that vein,” I replied, feeling the blood + mounting to my cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Too sacred a subject?” he laughed. “It is the one ingredient of manhood I + lack, ideality—an unfortunate deficiency for me. I must probe, + analyse, dissect, see the thing as it really is, know it for what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she is the Countess Huescar now,” I said. “For God's sake, leave + her alone.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to me with the snarl of a beast. “How do you know she is the + Countess Huescar? Is it a special breed of woman made on purpose? How do + you know she isn't my wife—brain and heart, flesh and blood, mine? + If she was, do you think I should give her up because some fool has stuck + his label on her?” + </p> + <p> + I felt the anger burning in my eyes. “Yours, his! She is no man's + property. She is herself,” I cried. + </p> + <p> + The wrinkles round his nose and mouth smoothed themselves out. “You need + not be afraid,” he sneered. “As you say, she is the Countess Huescar. Can + you imagine her as Mrs. Doctor Washburn? I can't.” He took her photograph + in his hand again. “The lower part of the face is the true index to the + character. It shows the animal, and it is the animal that rules. The soul, + the intellect, it comes and goes; the animal remains always. Sensuousness, + love of luxury, vanity, those are the strings to which she dances. To be a + Countess is of more importance to her than to be a woman. She is his, not + mine. Let him keep her.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know her,” I answered; “you never have. You listen to what she + says. She does not know herself.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me queerly. “What do you think her to be?” he asked me. “A + true woman, not the shallow thing she seems?” + </p> + <p> + “A true woman,” I persisted stoutly, “that you have not eyes enough to + see.” + </p> + <p> + “You little fool!” he muttered, with the same queer look—“you little + fool. But let us hope you are wrong, Paul. Let us hope, for her sake, you + are wrong.” + </p> + <p> + It was at one of Deleglise's Sunday suppers that I first met Urban Vane. + The position, nor even the character, I fear it must be confessed, of his + guests was never enquired into by old Deleglise. A simple-minded, kindly + old fellow himself, it was his fate to be occasionally surprised and + grieved at the discovery that even the most entertaining of supper + companions could fall short of the highest standard of conventional + morality. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, dear me!” he would complain, pacing up and down his studio with + puzzled visage. “The last man in the world of whom I should have expected + to hear it. So original in all his ideas. Are you quite sure?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid there can be no doubt about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't believe it! I really can't believe it! One of the most amusing + men I ever met!” + </p> + <p> + I remember a well-known artist one evening telling us with much sense of + humour how he had just completed the sale of an old Spanish cabinet to two + distinct and separate purchasers. + </p> + <p> + “I sold it first,” recounted the little gentleman with glee, “to old Jong, + the dealer. He has been worrying me about it for the last three months, + and on Saturday afternoon, hearing that I was clearing out and going + abroad, he came round again. 'Well, I am not sure I am in a position to + sell it,' I told him. 'Who'll know?' he asked. 'They are not in, are + they?' 'Not yet,' I answered, 'but I expect they will be some time on + Monday.' 'Tell your man to open the door to me at eight o'clock on Monday + morning,' he replied, 'we'll have it away without any fuss. There needn't + be any receipt. I'm lending you a hundred pounds, in cash.' I worked him + up to a hundred and twenty, and he paid me. Upon my word, I should never + have thought of it, if he hadn't put the idea into my head. But turning + round at the door: 'You won't go and sell it to some one else,' he + suggested, 'between now and Monday?' It serves him right for his damned + impertinence. 'Send and take it away to-day if you are at all nervous,' I + told him. He looked at the thing, it is about twelve feet high altogether. + 'I would if I could get a cart,' he muttered. Then an idea struck him. + 'Does the top come off?' 'See for yourself,' I answered; 'it's your + cabinet, not mine.' I was feeling rather annoyed with him. He examined it. + 'That's all right,' he said; 'merely a couple of screws. I'll take the top + with me now on my cab.' He got a man in, and they took the upper cupboard + away, leaving me the bottom. Two hours later old Sir George called to see + me about his wife's portrait. The first thing he set eyes on was the + remains of the cabinet: he had always admired it. 'Hallo,' he asked, 'are + you breaking up the studio literally? What have you done with the other + half?' 'I've sent it round to Jong's—' He didn't give me time to + finish. 'Save Jong's commission and sell it to me direct,' he said. 'We + won't argue about the price and I'll pay you in cash.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, if Providence comes forward and insists on taking charge of a man, + it is hardly good manners to flout her. Besides, his wife's portrait is + worth twice as much as he is paying for it. He handed me over the money in + notes. 'Things not going quite smoothly with you just at the moment?' he + asked me. 'Oh, about the same as usual,' I told him. 'You won't be + offended at my taking it away with me this evening?' he asked. 'Not in the + least,' I answered; 'you'll get it on the top of a four-wheeled cab.' We + called in a couple of men, and I helped them down with it, and + confoundedly heavy it was. 'I shall send round to Jong's for the other + half on Monday morning,' he said, speaking with his head through the cab + window, 'and explain it to him.' 'Do,' I answered; 'he'll understand.' + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I'm going away so early in the morning,” concluded the little + gentleman. “I'd give back Jong ten per cent. of his money to see his face + when he enters the studio.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody laughed; but after the little gentleman was gone, the subject + cropped up again. + </p> + <p> + “If I wake sufficiently early,” remarked one, “I shall find an excuse to + look in myself at eight o'clock. Jong's face will certainly be worth + seeing.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather rough both on him and Sir George,” observed another. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he hasn't really done anything of the kind,” chimed in old Deleglise + in his rich, sweet voice. “He made that all up. It's just his fun; he's + full of humour.” + </p> + <p> + “I am inclined to think that would be his idea of a joke,” asserted the + first speaker. + </p> + <p> + Old Deleglise would not hear of it; but a week or two later I noticed an + addition to old Deleglise's studio furniture in the shape of a handsome + old carved cabinet twelve feet high. + </p> + <p> + “He really had done it,” explained old Deleglise, speaking in a whisper, + though only he and I were present. “Of course, it was only his fun; but it + might have been misunderstood. I thought it better to put the thing + straight. I shall get the money back from him when he returns. A most + amusing little man!” + </p> + <p> + Old Deleglise possessed a house in Gower Street which fell vacant. One of + his guests, a writer of poetical drama, was a man who three months after + he had earned a thousand pounds never had a penny with which to bless + himself. They are dying out, these careless, good-natured, conscienceless + Bohemians; but quarter of a century ago they still lingered in Alsatian + London. Turned out of his lodgings by a Philistine landlord, his sole + possession in the wide world, two acts of a drama, for which he had + already been paid, the problem of his future, though it troubled him but + little, became acute to his friends. Old Deleglise, treating the matter as + a joke, pretending not to know who was the landlord, suggested he should + apply to the agents for position as caretaker. Some furniture was found + for him, and the empty house in Gower Street became his shelter. The + immediate present thus provided for, kindly old Deleglise worried himself + a good deal concerning what would become of his friend when the house was + let. There appeared to be no need for worry. Weeks, months went by. + Applications were received by the agents in fair number, view cards signed + by the dozen; but prospective tenants were never seen again. One Sunday + evening our poet, warmed by old Deleglise's Burgundy, forgetful whose + recommendation had secured him the lowly but timely appointment, himself + revealed the secret. + </p> + <p> + “Most convenient place I've got,” so he told old Deleglise. “Whole house + to myself. I wander about; it just suits me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to hear that,” murmured old Deleglise. + </p> + <p> + “Come and see me, and I'll cook you a chop,” continued the other. “I've + had the kitchen range brought up into the back drawing-room; saves going + up and down stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil you have!” growled old Deleglise. “What do you think the owner + of the house will say?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't the least idea who the poor old duffer is myself. They've put me + in as caretaker—an excellent arrangement: avoids all argument about + rent.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid it will soon come to an end, that excellent arrangement;” remarked + old Deleglise, drily. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Why should it?” + </p> + <p> + “A house in Gower Street oughtn't to remain vacant long.” + </p> + <p> + “This one will.” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell me,” asked old Deleglise, with a grim smile; “how do you + manage it? What happens when people come to look over the house—don't + you let them in?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried that at first,” explained the poet, “but they would go on + knocking, and boys and policemen passing would stop and help them. It got + to be a nuisance; so now I have them in, and get the thing over. I show + them the room where the murder was committed. If it's a nervous-looking + party, I let them off with a brief summary. If that doesn't do, I go into + details and show them the blood-spots on the floor. It's an interesting + story of the gruesome order. Come round one morning and I'll tell it to + you. I'm rather proud of it. With the blinds down and a clock in the next + room that ticks loudly, it goes well.” + </p> + <p> + Yet this was a man who, were the merest acquaintance to call upon him and + ask for his assistance, would at once take him by the arm and lead him + upstairs. All notes and cheques that came into his hands he changed at + once into gold. Into some attic half filled with lumber he would fling it + by the handful; then, locking the door, leave it there. On their hands and + knees he and his friends, when they wanted any, would grovel for it, + poking into corners, hunting under boxes, groping among broken furniture, + feeling between cracks and crevices. Nothing gave him greater delight than + an expedition of this nature to what he termed his gold-field; it had for + him, as he would explain, all the excitements of mining without the + inconvenience and the distance. He never knew how much was there. For a + certain period a pocketful could be picked up in five minutes. Then he + would entertain a dozen men at one of the best restaurants in London, tip + cabmen and waiters with half-sovereigns, shower half-crowns as he walked + through the streets, lend or give to anybody for the asking. Later, + half-an-hour's dusty search would be rewarded with a single coin. It made + no difference to him; he would dine in Soho for eighteenpence, smoke shag, + and run into debt. + </p> + <p> + The red-haired man, to whom Deleglise had introduced me on the day of my + first meeting with the Lady of the train, was another of his most constant + visitors. It flattered my vanity that the red-haired man, whose name was + famous throughout Europe and America, should condescend to confide to me—as + he did and at some length—the deepest secrets of his bosom. Awed—at + all events at first—I would sit and listen while by the hour he + would talk to me in corners, telling me of the women he had loved. They + formed a somewhat large collection. Julias, Marias, Janets, even Janes—he + had madly worshipped, deliriously adored so many it grew bewildering. With + a far-away look in his eyes, pain trembling through each note of his + musical, soft voice, he would with bitter jest, with passionate outburst, + recount how he had sobbed beneath the stars for love of Isabel, bitten his + own flesh in frenzied yearning for Lenore. He appeared from his own + account—if in connection with a theme so poetical I may be allowed a + commonplace expression—to have had no luck with any of them. Of the + remainder, an appreciable percentage had been mere passing visions, seen + at a distance in the dawn, at twilight—generally speaking, when the + light must have been uncertain. Never again, though he had wandered in the + neighbourhood for months, had he succeeded in meeting them. It would occur + to me that enquiries among the neighbours, applications to the local + police, might possibly have been efficacious; but to have broken in upon + his exalted mood with such suggestions would have demanded more nerve than + at the time I possessed. In consequence, my thoughts I kept to myself. + </p> + <p> + “My God, boy!” he would conclude, “may you never love as I loved that + woman Miriam”—or Henrietta, or Irene, as the case might be. + </p> + <p> + For my sympathetic attitude towards the red-haired man I received one + evening commendation from old Deleglise. + </p> + <p> + “Good boy,” said old Deleglise, laying his hand on my shoulder. We were + standing in the passage. We had just shaken hands with the red-haired man, + who, as usual, had been the last to leave. “None of the others will listen + to him. He used to stop and confide it all to me after everybody else had + gone. Sometimes I have dropped asleep, to wake an hour later and find him + still talking. He gets it over early now. Good boy!” + </p> + <p> + Soon I learnt it was characteristic of the artist to be willing—nay, + anxious, to confide his private affairs to any one and every one who would + only listen. Another characteristic appeared to be determination not to + listen to anybody else's. As attentive recipient of other people's + troubles and emotions I was subjected to practically no competition + whatever. One gentleman, a leading actor of that day, I remember, + immediately took me aside on my being introduced to him, and consulted me + as to his best course of procedure under the extremely painful conditions + that had lately arisen between himself and his wife. We discussed the + unfortunate position at some length, and I did my best to counsel fairly + and impartially. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would lunch with me at White's to-morrow,” he said. “We can + talk it over quietly. Say half-past one. By the bye, I didn't catch your + name.” + </p> + <p> + I spelt it to him: he wrote the appointment down on his shirt-cuff. I went + to White's the next day and waited an hour, but he did not turn up. I met + him three weeks later at a garden-party with his wife. But he appeared to + have forgotten me. + </p> + <p> + Observing old Deleglise's guests, comparing them with their names, it + surprised me the disconnection between the worker and the work. Writers of + noble sentiment, of elevated ideality, I found contained in men of + commonplace appearance, of gross appetites, of conventional ideas. It + seemed doubtful whether they fully comprehended their own work; certainly + it had no effect upon their own lives. On the other hand, an innocent, + boyish young man, who lived the most correct of lives with a + girlish-looking wife in an ivy-covered cottage near Barnes Common, I + discovered to be the writer of decadent stories at which the Empress + Theodora might have blushed. The men whose names were widest known were + not the men who shone the brightest in Deleglise's kitchen; more often + they appeared the dull dogs, listening enviously, or failing pathetically + when they tried to compete with others who to the public were + comparatively unknown. After a time I ceased to confound the artist with + the man, thought no more of judging the one by the other than of evolving + a tenant from the house to which circumstances or carelessness might have + directed him. Clearly they were two creations originally independent of + each other, settling down into a working partnership for purposes merely + of mutual accommodation; the spirit evidently indifferent as to the + particular body into which he crept, anxious only for a place to work in, + easily contented. + </p> + <p> + Varied were these guests that gathered round old Deleglise's oak. Cabinet + Ministers reported to be in Homburg; Russian Nihilists escaped from + Siberia; Italian revolutionaries; high church dignitaries disguised in + grey suitings; ex-errand boys, who had discovered that with six strokes of + the pen they could set half London laughing at whom they would; raw + laddies with the burr yet clinging to their tongues, but who we knew would + one day have the people dancing to the music of their words. Neither + wealth, nor birth, nor age, nor position counted. Was a man interesting, + amusing; had he ideas and thoughts of his own? Then he was welcome. Men + who had come, men who were coming, met there on equal footing. Among them, + as years ago among my schoolmates, I found my place—somewhat to my + dissatisfaction. I amused. Much rather would I have shocked them by the + originality of my views, impressed them with the depth of my judgments. + They declined to be startled, refused to be impressed; instead, they + laughed. Nor from these men could I obtain sympathy in my disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, you villain!” roared Deleglise's caretaker at me one + evening on entering the kitchen. “How dare you waste your time writing + this sort of stuff?” + </p> + <p> + He had a copy of the paper containing my “Witch of Moel Sarbod” in his + hand—then some months old. He screwed it up into a ball and flung it + in my face. “I've only just read it. What did you get for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” he screamed. “You got off for nothing? You ought to have been + whipped at the cart's tail!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, it's not as bad as that,” suggested old Deleglise. + </p> + <p> + “Not bad! There isn't a laugh in it from beginning to end.” + </p> + <p> + “There wasn't intended to be,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Why not, you swindler? What were you sent into the world to do? To make + it laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to make it think,” I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Make it think! Hasn't it got enough to think about? Aren't there ten + thousand penny-a-liners, poets, tragedians, tub-thumpers, long-eared + philosophers, boring it to death? Who are you to turn up your nose at your + work and tell the Almighty His own business? You are here to make us + laugh. Get on with your work, you confounded young idiot!” + </p> + <p> + Urban Vane was the only one among them who understood me, who agreed with + me that I was fitted for higher things than merely to minister to the + world's need of laughter. He alone it was who would listen with approval + to my dreams of becoming a famous tragedian, a writer of soul-searching + books, of passion-analysing plays. I never saw him laugh himself, + certainly not at anything funny. “Humour!” he would explain in his languid + drawl, “personally it doesn't amuse me.” One felt its introduction into + the scheme of life had been an error. He was a large, fleshy man, with a + dreamy, caressing voice and strangely impassive face. Where he came from, + who he was, nobody knew. Without ever passing a remark himself that was + worth listening to, he, nevertheless, by some mysterious trick of manner I + am unable to explain, soon established himself, even throughout that + company, where as a rule men found their proper level, as a silent + authority in all contests of wit or argument. Stories at which he + listened, bored, fell flat. The <i>bon mot</i> at which some faint + suggestion of a smile quivered round his clean-shaven lips was felt to be + the crown of the discussion. I can only conclude his secret to have been + his magnificent assumption of superiority, added to a sphinx-like + impenetrability behind which he could always retire from any danger of + exposure. Subjects about which he knew nothing—and I have come to + the conclusion they were more numerous than was suspected—became in + his presence topics outside the radius of cultivated consideration: one + felt ashamed of having introduced them. His own subjects—they were + few but exclusive—he had the knack of elevating into intellectual + tests: one felt ashamed, reflecting how little one knew about them. + Whether he really did possess a charm of manner, or whether the sense of + his superiority with which he had imbued me it was that made any + condescension he paid me a thing to grasp at, I am unable to say. Certain + it is that when he suggested I should throw up chorus singing and + accompany him into the provinces as manager of a theatrical company he was + then engaging to run a wonderful drama that was going to revolutionise the + English stage and educate the English public, I allowed myself not a + moment for consideration, but accepted his proposal with grateful delight. + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” asked Dan. Somehow he had never impressed Dan; but then Dan + was a fellow to impress whom was slow work. As he himself confessed, he + had no instinct for character. “I judge,” he would explain, “purely by + observation.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter?” was my reply. + </p> + <p> + “What does he know about the business?” + </p> + <p> + “That's why he wants me.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “There's not much to know. I can find out.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care you don't find out that there's more to know than you think. + What is this wonderful play of his?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen it yet; I don't think it's finished. It's something from + the Spanish or the Russian, I'm not sure. I'm to put it into shape when + he's done the translation. He wants me to put my name to it as the + adaptor.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder he hasn't asked you to wear his clothes. Has he got any money?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he has money. How can you run a theatrical company without + money?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the money?” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't carry it about with him in a bag.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought your ambition to be to act, not to manage. Managers + are to be had cheap enough. Why should he want some one who knows nothing + about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to act. I'm going to play a leading part.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott!” + </p> + <p> + “He'll do the management really himself; I shall simply advise him. But he + doesn't want his own name to appear. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “His people might object.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are his people?” + </p> + <p> + “How do I know? What a suspicious chap you are.” + </p> + <p> + Dan shrugged his shoulders. “You are not an actor, you never will be; you + are not a business man. You've made a start at writing, that's your proper + work. Why not go on with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't get on with it. That one thing was accepted, and never paid for; + everything else comes back regularly, just as before. Besides, I can go on + writing wherever I am.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got friends here to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't believe I can do anything but write nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, clever nonsense is worth writing. It's better than stodgy sense: + literature is blocked up with that. Why not follow their advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I don't believe they are right. I'm not a clown; I don't mean to + be. Because a man has a sense of humour it doesn't follow he has nothing + else. That is only one of my gifts, and by no means the highest. I have + knowledge of human nature, poetry, dramatic instinct. I mean to prove it + to you all. Vane's the only man that understands me.” + </p> + <p> + Dan lit his pipe. “Have you made up your mind to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have. It's an opportunity that doesn't occur twice. 'There's + a tide in the affairs—” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” interrupted Dan; “I've heard it before. Well, if you've made up + your mind, there's an end of the matter. Good luck to you! You are young, + and it's easier to learn things then than later.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk,” I answered, “as if you were old enough to be my grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled and laid both hands upon my shoulders. “So I am,” he said, + “quite old enough, little boy Paul. Don't be angry; you'll always be + little Paul to me.” He put his hands in his pockets and strolled to the + window. + </p> + <p> + “What'll you do?” I enquired. “Will you keep on these rooms?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. “I shall accept an offer that has been made to me to + take the sub-editorship of a big Yorkshire paper. It is an important + position and will give me experience.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll never be happy mewed up in a provincial town,” I told him. “I + shall want a London address, and I can easily afford it. Let's keep them + on together.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “It wouldn't be the same thing,” he said. + </p> + <p> + So there came a morning when we said good-bye. Before Dan returned from + the office I should be gone. They had been pleasant months that we had + spent together in these pretty rooms. Though my life was calling to me + full of hope, I felt the pain of leaving them. Two years is a long period + in a young man's life, when the sap is running swiftly. My affections had + already taken root there. The green leaves in summer, in winter the bare + branches of the square, the sparrows that chirped about the window-sills, + the quiet peace of the great house, Dan, kindly old Deleglise: around them + my fibres clung, closer than I had known. The Lady of the train: she + managed it now less clumsily. Her hands and feet had grown smaller, her + elbows rounder. I found myself smiling as I thought of her—one + always did smile when one thought of Norah, everybody did;—of her + tomboy ways, her ringing laugh—there were those who termed it noisy; + her irrepressible frankness—there were times when it was + inconvenient. Would she ever become lady-like, sedate, proper? One doubted + it. I tried to picture her a wife, the mistress of a house. I found the + smile deepening round my mouth. What a jolly wife she would make! I could + see her bustling, full of importance; flying into tempers, lasting + possibly for thirty seconds; then calling herself names, saving all + argument by undertaking her own scolding, and doing it well. I followed + her to motherhood. What a joke it would be! What would she do with them? + She would just let them do what they liked with her. She and they would be + a parcel of children together, she the most excited of them all. No; on + second thoughts I could detect in her a strong vein of common sense. They + would have to mind their p's and q's. I could see her romping with them, + helping them to tear their clothes; but likewise I could see her flying + after them, bringing back an armful struggling, bathing it, physicking it. + Perhaps she would grow stout, grow grey; but she would still laugh more + often than sigh, speak her mind, be quick, good-tempered Norah to the end. + Her character precluded all hope of surprise. That, as I told myself, was + its defect. About her were none of those glorious possibilities that make + of some girls charming mysteries. A woman, said I to myself, should be a + wondrous jewel, hiding unknown lights and shadows. You, my dear Norah—I + spoke my thoughts aloud, as had become a habit with me: those who live + much alone fall into this way—you are merely a crystal, not shallow—no, + I should not call you shallow by any mans, but transparent. + </p> + <p> + What would he be, her lover? Some plain, matter-of-fact, business-like + young fellow, a good player of cricket and football, fond of his dinner. + What a very uninteresting affair the love-making would be! If she liked + him—well, she would probably tell him so; if she didn't, he would + know it in five minutes. + </p> + <p> + As for inducing her to change her mind, wooing her, cajoling her—I + heard myself laughing at the idea. + </p> + <p> + There came a quick rap at the door. “Come in,” I cried; and she entered. + </p> + <p> + “I came to say good-bye to you,” she explained. “I'm just going out. What + were you laughing at?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, at an idea that occurred to me.” + </p> + <p> + “A funny one?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell it me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was something in connection with yourself. It might offend you.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't trouble you much if it did, would it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't suppose it would.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of your lover.” + </p> + <p> + It did offend her; I thought it would. But she looked really interesting + when she was cross. Her grey eyes would flash, and her whole body quiver. + There was a charming spice of danger always about making her cross. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you think I shall never have one.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I think you will have a good many.” I had not thought so + before then. I formed the idea for the first time in that moment, while + looking straight into her angry face. It was still a childish face. + </p> + <p> + The anger died out of it as it always did within the minute, and she + laughed. “It would be fun, wouldn't it. I wonder what I should do with + him? It makes you feel very serious being in love, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been in love?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated for a moment. Then the delight of talking about it overcame my + fear of being chaffed. Besides, when she felt it, nobody could be more + delightfully sympathetic. I determined to adventure it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “ever since I was a boy. If you are going to be + foolish,” I added, for I saw the laugh before it came, “I shan't talk to + you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not—I won't, really,” she pleaded, making her face serious + again. “What is she like?” + </p> + <p> + I took from my breast pocket Barbara's photograph, and handed it to her in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Is she really as beautiful as that?” she asked, gazing at it evidently + fascinated. + </p> + <p> + “More so,” I assured her. “Her expression is the most beautiful part of + her. Those are only her features.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. “I wish I was beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “You are at an awkward age,” I told her. “It is impossible to say what you + are going to be like.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma was a lovely woman, everybody says so; and Tom I call awfully + handsome. Perhaps I'll be better when I'm filled out a bit more.” A small + Venetian mirror hung between the two windows; she glanced up into it. + “It's my nose that irritates me,” she said. She rubbed it viciously, as if + she would rub it out. + </p> + <p> + “Some people admire snub noses,” I explained to her. + </p> + <p> + “No, really?” + </p> + <p> + “Tennyson speaks of them as 'tip-tilted like the petals of a rose.'” + </p> + <p> + “How nice of him! Do you think he meant my sort?” She rubbed it again, but + in a kinder fashion; then looked again at Barbara's photograph. “Who is + she?” + </p> + <p> + “She was Miss Hasluck,” I answered; “she is the Countess Huescar now. She + was married last summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I remember; you told us about her. You were children together. + But what's the good of your being in love with her if she's married?” + </p> + <p> + “It makes my whole life beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Wanting somebody you can't have?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want her.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you were in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + “So I am.” + </p> + <p> + She handed me back the photograph, and I replaced it in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand that sort of love,” she said. “If I loved anybody I + should want to have them with me always. + </p> + <p> + “She is with me always,” I answered, “in my thoughts.” She looked at me + with her clear grey eyes. I found myself blinking. Something seemed to be + slipping from me, something I did not want to lose. I remember a similar + sensation once at the moment of waking from a strange, delicious dream to + find the sunlight pouring in upon me through an open window. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't being in love,” she said. “That's being in love with the idea + of being in love. That's the way I used to go to balls”—she laughed—“in + front of the glass. You caught me once, do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “And was it not sweeter,” I argued, “the imagination? You were the belle + of the evening; you danced divinely every dance, were taken in to supper + by the Lion. In reality you trod upon your partner's toes, bumped and were + bumped, were left a wallflower more than half the time, had a headache the + next day. Were not the dream balls the more delightful?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they weren't,” she answered without the slightest hesitation. “One + real dance, when at last it came, was worth the whole of them. Oh, I know, + I've heard you talking, all of you—of the faces that you see in + dreams and that are ever so much more beautiful than the faces that you + see when you're awake; of the wonderful songs that nobody ever sings, the + wonderful pictures that nobody ever paints, and all the rest of it. I + don't believe a word of it. It's tommyrot!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't use slang.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know what I mean. What is the proper word? Give it me.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean cant,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't. Cant is something that you don't believe in yourself. It's + tommyrot: there isn't any other word. When I'm in love it will be with + something that is real.” + </p> + <p> + I was feeling angry with her. “I know just what he will be like. He will + be a good-natured, commonplace—” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever he is,” she interrupted, “he'll be alive, and he'll want me and + I shall want him. Dreams are silly. I prefer being up.” She clapped her + hands. “That's it.” Then, silent, she looked at me with an expression of + new interest. “I've been wondering and wondering what it was: you are not + really awake yet. You've never got up.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed at her whimsical way of putting it; but at the back of my brain + was a troubled idea that perhaps she was revealing to me the truth. And if + so, what would “waking up,” as she termed it, be like? A flash of memory + recalled to me that summer evening upon Barking Bridge, when, as it had + seemed to me, the little childish Paul had slipped away from me, leaving + me lonely and bewildered to find another Self. Was my boyhood in like + manner now falling from me? I found myself clinging to it with vague + terror. Its thoughts, its feelings—dreams: they had grown sweet to + me; must I lose them? This cold, unknown, new Self, waiting to receive me: + I shrank away from it with fear. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, I think you will be rather nice when you wake up.” + </p> + <p> + Her words recalled me to myself. “Perhaps I never shall wake up,” I said. + “I don't want to wake up.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but one can't go on dreaming all one's life,” she laughed. “You'll + wake up, and fall in love with somebody real.” She came across to me, and + taking the lapels of my coat in both her hands, gave me a vigorous shake. + “I hope she'll be somebody nice. I am rather afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to think me a fool!” I was still angry with her, without quite + knowing why. + </p> + <p> + She shook me again. “You know I don't. But it isn't the nice people that + take best care of themselves. Tom can't. I have to take care of him.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I do, really. You should hear me scold him. I like taking care of people. + Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand. It was white now and shapely, but one could not + have called it small. Strong it felt and firm as it gripped mine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + AND HOW CAME BACK AGAIN. + </h3> + <p> + I left London, the drums beating in my heart, the flags waving in my + brain. Somewhat more than a year later, one foggy wet December evening, I + sneaked back to it defeated—ah, that is a small thing, capable of + redress—disgraced. I returned to it as to a hiding-place where, lost + in the crowd, I might waste my days unnoticed until such time as I could + summon up sufficient resolution to put an end to my dead life. I had been + ambitious—dwelling again amid the bitterness of the months that + followed my return, I write in the past tense. I had been eager to make a + name, a position for myself. But were I to claim no higher aim, I should + be doing injustice to my blood—to the great-souled gentleman whose + whole life had been an ode to honour, to her of simple faith who had known + no other prayer to teach me than the childish cry, “God help me to be + good!” I had wished to be a great man, but it was to have been a great + good man. The world was to have admired me, but to have respected me also. + I was to have been the knight without fear, but, rarer yet, without + reproach—Galahad, not Launcelot. I had learnt myself to be a feeble, + backboneless fighter, conquered by the first serious assault of evil, a + creature of mean fears, slave to every crack of the devil's whip, a feeder + with swine. + </p> + <p> + Urban Vane I had discovered to be a common swindler. His play he had + stolen from the desk of a well-known dramatist whose acquaintance he had + made in Deleglise's kitchen. The man had fallen ill, and Vane had been + constant in his visits. Partly recovering, the man had gone abroad to + Italy. Had he died there, as at the time was expected, the robbery might + never have come to light. News reached us in a small northern town that he + had taken a fresh lease of life and was on his way back to England. Then + it was that Vane with calm indifference, smoking his cigar over a bottle + of wine to which he had invited me, told me the bald truth, adorning it + with some touches of wit. Had the recital come upon me sooner, I might + have acted differently; but six months' companionship with Urban Vane, if + it had not, by grace of the Lord, destroyed the roots of whatever flower + of manhood might have been implanted in me, had most certainly withered + its leaves. + </p> + <p> + The man was clever. That he was not clever enough to perceive from the + beginning what he has learnt since: that honesty is the best policy—at + least, for men with brains—remains somewhat of a mystery to me. + Where once he made his hundreds among shady ways, he now, I suppose, makes + his thousands in the broad daylight of legitimate enterprise. Chicanery in + the blood, one might imagine, has to be worked out. Urban Vanes are to be + found in all callings. They commence as scamps; years later, to one's + astonishment, one finds them ornaments to their profession. Wild oats are + of various quality, according to the soil from which they are preserved. + We sow them in our various ways. + </p> + <p> + At first I stormed. Vane sat with an amused smile upon his lips and + listened. + </p> + <p> + “Your language, my dear Kelver,” he replied, my vocabulary exhausted, + “might wound me were I able to accept you as an authority upon this vexed + question of morals. With the rest of the world you preach one thing and + practise another. I have noticed it so often. It is perhaps sad, but the + preaching has ceased to interest me. You profess to be very indignant with + me for making use of another man's ideas. It is done every day. You + yourself were quite ready to take credit not due to you. For months we + have been travelling with this play: 'Drama, in five acts, by Mr. Horace + Moncrieff.' Not more than two hundred lines of it are your own—excellent + lines, I admit, but they do not constitute the play.” + </p> + <p> + This aspect of the affair had not occurred to me. “But you asked me to put + my name to it,” I stammered. “You said you did not want your own to appear—for + private reasons. You made a point of it.” + </p> + <p> + He waved away the smoke from his cigar. “The man you are posing as would + never have put his name to work not his own. You never hesitated; on the + contrary, you jumped at the chance of so easy an opening to your career as + playwright. My need, as you imagined it, was your opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said it was from the French,” I argued; “you had merely + translated it, I adapted it. I don't defend the custom, but it is the + custom: the man who adapts a play calls himself the author. They all do + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he answered. “It has always amused me. Our sick friend himself, + whom I am sure we are both delighted to welcome back to life, has done it + more than once, and made a very fair profit on the transaction. Indeed, + from internal evidence, I am strongly of opinion that this present play is + a case in point. Well, chickens come home to roost: I adapt from him. What + is the difference?” + </p> + <p> + “Simply this,” he continued, pouring himself out another glass of wine, + “that whereas, owing to the anomalous state of the copyright laws, + stealing from the foreign author is legal and commendable, against + stealing from the living English author there is a certain prejudice.” + </p> + <p> + “And the consequences, I am afraid, you will find somewhat unpleasant,” I + suggested. + </p> + <p> + He laughed: it was not a frivolity to which he was prone. “You mean, my + dear Kelver that you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't look so dumbfounded,” he went on. “You cannot be so stupid as you + are pretending to be. The original manuscript at the Lord Chamberlain's + office is in your handwriting. You knew our friend as well as I did, and + visited him. Why, the whole tour has been under your management. You have + arranged everything—most excellently; I have been quite surprised.” + </p> + <p> + My anger came later. For the moment, the sudden light blinded me to + everything but fear. + </p> + <p> + “But you told me,” I cried, “it was only a matter of form, that you wanted + to keep your name out of it because—” + </p> + <p> + He was looking at me with an expression of genuine astonishment. My words + began to appear humorous even to myself. I found it difficult to believe I + had been the fool I was now seeing myself to have been. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” he said, “I am really sorry. I took you for a man of the + world. I thought you merely did not wish to know anything.” + </p> + <p> + Still, to my shame, fear was the thing uppermost in my heart. “You are not + going to put it all on to me?” I pleaded. + </p> + <p> + He had risen. He laid his hand upon my shoulder. Instead of flinging it + off, I was glad of its kindly pressure. He was the only man to whom I + could look for help. + </p> + <p> + “Don't take it so seriously,” he said. “He will merely think the + manuscript has been lost. As likely as not, he will be unable to remember + whether he wrote it or merely thought of writing it. No one in the company + will say anything: it isn't their business. We must set to work. I had + altered it a good deal before you saw it, and changed all the names of the + characters. We will retain the third act: it is the only thing of real + value in the play. The situation is not original; you have as much right + to dish it up as he had. In a fortnight we will have the whole thing so + different that if he saw it himself he would only imagine we had got hold + of the idea and had forestalled him.” + </p> + <p> + There were moments during the next few weeks when I listened to the voice + of my good angel, when I saw clearly that even from the lowest point of + view he was giving me sound advice. I would go to the man, tell him + frankly the whole truth. + </p> + <p> + But Vane never left my elbow. Suspecting, I suppose, he gave me clearly to + understand that if I did so, I must expect no mercy from him. My story, + denounced by him as an outrageous lie, would be regarded as the + funk-inspired subterfuge of a young rogue. At the best I should handicap + myself with suspicion that would last me throughout my career. On the + other hand, what harm had we done? Presented in some twenty or so small + towns, where it would soon be forgotten, a play something like. Most plays + were something like. Our friend would produce his version and reap a rich + harvest; ours would disappear. If by any unlikely chance discussion should + arise, the advertisement would be to his advantage. So soon as possible we + would replace it by a new piece altogether. A young man of my genius could + surely write something better than hotch-potch such as this; experience + was all that I had lacked. As regarded one's own conscience, was not the + world's honesty a mere question of convention? Had he been a young man, + and had we diddled him out of his play for a ten-pound note, we should + have been applauded as sharp men of business. The one commandment of the + world was: Don't get found out. The whole trouble, left alone, would sink + and fade. Later, we should tell it as a good joke—and be laughed + with. + </p> + <p> + So I fell from mine own esteem. Vane helping me—and he had brains—I + set feverishly to work. I am glad to remember that every line I wrote was + born in misery. I tried to persuade Vane to let me make a new play + altogether, which I offered to give him for nothing. He expressed himself + as grateful, but his frequently declared belief in my dramatic talent + failed to induce his acceptance. + </p> + <p> + “Later on, my dear Kelver,” was his reply. “For the present this is doing + very well. Going on as we are, we shall soon improve it out of all + recognition, while at the same time losing nothing that is essential. All + your ideas are excellent.” + </p> + <p> + By the end of about three weeks we had got together a concoction that, so + far as dialogue and characters were concerned, might be said to be our + own. There was good work in it, here and there. Under other conditions I + might have been proud of much that I had written. As it was, I experienced + only the terror of the thief dodging the constable: my cleverness might + save me; it afforded me no further satisfaction. My humour, when I heard + the people laughing at it, I remembered I had forged listening in vague + fear to every creak upon the stairs, wondering in what form discovery + might come upon me. There was one speech, addressed by the hero to the + villain: “Yes, I admit it; I do love her. But there is that which I love + better—my self-respect!” Stepping down to the footlights and + slapping his chest (which according to stage convention would appear to be + a sort of moral jewel-box bursting with assorted virtues), our juvenile + lead—a gentleman who led a somewhat rabbit-like existence, + perpetually diving down openings to avoid service of writs, at the + instance of his wife, for alimony—would invariably bring down the + house upon this sentiment. Every night, listening to the applause, I would + shudder, recalling how I had written it with burning cheeks. + </p> + <p> + There was a character in the piece, a vicious old man, that from the + beginning Vane had wanted me to play. I had disliked the part and had + refused, choosing instead to act a high-souled countryman, in the + portrayal of whose irreproachable emotions I had taken pleasure. Vane now + renewed his arguments, and my power of resistance seeming to have departed + from me, I accepted the exchange. Certainly the old gentleman's scenes + went with more snap, but at a cost of further degradation to myself. Upon + an older actor the effect might have been harmless, but the growing tree + springs back less surely; I found myself taking pleasure in the coarse + laughter that rewarded my suggestive leers, calling up all the evil in my + nature to help me in the development of fresh “business.” Vane was + enthusiastic in his praises, generous with his assistance. Under his + tuition I succeeded in making the part as unpleasant as we dared. I had + genius, so Vane told me; I understood so much of human nature. One proof + of the moral deterioration creeping over me was that I was beginning to + like Vane. + </p> + <p> + Looking back at the man as I see him plainly now, a very ordinary scamp, + his pretension not even amusing, I find it difficult to present him as he + appeared to my boyish eyes. He was well educated and well read. He gave + himself the airs of a superior being by freak of fate compelled to abide + in a world of inferior creatures. To live among them in comfort it was + necessary for him to outwardly conform to their conventions but to respect + their reasoning would have been beneath him. To accept their laws as + binding on one's own conscience was, using the common expression, to give + oneself away, to confess oneself commonplace. Every decent instinct a man + might own to was proof in Vane's eyes of his being “suburban,” “bourgeois”—everything + that was unintellectual. It was the first time I had heard this sort of + talk. Vane was one of the pioneers of the movement, which has since become + somewhat tiresome. To laugh at it is easy to a man of the world; boys are + impressed by it. From him I first heard the now familiar advocacy of pure + Hedonism. Pan, enticed from his dark groves, was to sit upon Olympus. + </p> + <p> + My lower nature rose within me to proclaim the foolish chatterer as a + prophet. So life was not as I had been taught—a painful struggle + between good and evil. There was no such thing as evil; the senseless + epithet was a libel upon Nature. Not through wearisome repression, but + rather through joyous expression of the animal lay advancement. + </p> + <p> + Villains—workers in wrong for aesthetic pleasure of the art—are + useful characters in fiction; in real life they do not exist. I am + convinced the man believed most of the rubbish he talked. Since the time + of which I write he has done some service to the world. I understand he is + an excellent husband and father, a considerate master, a delightful host. + He intended, I have no doubt, to improve me, to enlarge my understanding, + to free me from soul-stifling bondage of convention. Not to credit him + with this well-meaning intention would be to assume him something quite + inhuman, to bestow upon him a dignity beyond his deserts. I find it easier + to regard him merely as a fool. + </p> + <p> + Our leading lady was a handsome but coarse woman, somewhat over-developed. + Starting life as a music-hall singer, she had married a small tradesman in + the south of London. Some three or four years previous, her Juno-like + charms had turned the head of a youthful novelist—a refined, + sensitive man, of whom great things in literature had been expected, and, + judging from his earlier work, not unreasonably. He had run away with her, + and eventually married her; the scandal was still fresh. Already she had + repented of her bargain. These women regard their infatuated lovers merely + as steps in the social ladder, and he had failed to appreciably advance + her. Under her demoralising spell his ambition had died in him. He no + longer wrote, no longer took interest in anything beyond his own + debasement. He was with us in the company, playing small parts, and + playing them badly; he would have remained with us as bill-poster rather + than have been sent away. + </p> + <p> + Vane planned to bring this woman and myself together. To her he pictured + me a young gentleman of means, a coming author, who would soon be earning + an income sufficient to keep her in every luxury. To me he hinted that she + had fallen in love with me. I was never attracted to her by any feeling + stronger than the admiration with which one views a handsome animal. It + was my vanity upon which he worked. He envied me; any man would envy me; + experience of life was what I needed to complete my genius. The great + intellects of this earth must learn all lessons, even at the cost of + suffering to themselves and others. + </p> + <p> + As years before I had laboured to acquire a liking for cigars and whiskey, + deeming it an accomplishment necessary to a literary career, so + painstakingly I now applied myself to the cultivation of a pretty taste in + passion. According to the literature, fictional and historical, Vane was + kind enough to supply me with, men of note were invariably sad dogs. That + my temperament was not that of the sad dog, that I lacked instinct and + inclination for the part, appeared to this young idiot of whom I am + writing in the light of a defect. That her languishing glances irritated + rather than maddened me, that the occasional covert pressure of her hot, + thick hand left me cold, I felt a reproach to my manhood. I would fall in + love with her. Surely my blood was red like other men's. Besides, was I + not an artist, and was not profligacy the hall-mark of the artist? + </p> + <p> + But one grows tired of the confessional. Fate saved me from playing the + part Vane had assigned me in this vulgar comedy, dragged me from my + entanglement, flung me on my feet again. She was a little brusque in the + process; but I do not feel inclined to blame the kind lady for that. The + mud was creeping upward fast, and a quick hand must needs be rough. + </p> + <p> + Our dramatic friend produced his play sooner than we had expected. It + crept out that something very like it had been seen in the Provinces. + Argument followed, enquiries were set on foot. “It will blow over,” said + Vane. But it seemed to be blowing our way. + </p> + <p> + The salaries, as a rule, were paid by me on Friday night. Vane, in the + course of the evening, would bring me the money for me to distribute after + the performance. We were playing in the north of Ireland. I had not seen + Vane all that day. So soon as I had changed my clothes I left my + dressing-room to seek him. The box-office keeper, meeting me, put a note + into my hand. It was short and to the point. Vane had pocketed the + evening's takings, and had left by the seven-fifty train! He regretted + causing inconvenience, but life was replete with small comedies; the wise + man attached no seriousness to them. We should probably meet again and + enjoy a laugh over our experiences. + </p> + <p> + Some rumour had got about. I looked up from the letter to find myself + surrounded by suspicious faces. With dry lips I told them the truth. Only + they happened not to regard it as the truth. Vane throughout had contrived + cleverly to them I was the manager, the sole person responsible. My + wearily spoken explanations were to them incomprehensible lies. The + quarter of an hour might have been worse for me had I been sufficiently + alive to understand or care what they were saying. A dull, listless apathy + had come over me. I felt the scene only stupid, ridiculous, tiresome. + There was some talk of giving me “a damned good hiding.” I doubt whether I + should have known till the next morning whether the suggestion had been + carried out or not. I gathered that the true history of the play, the + reason for the sudden alterations, had been known to them all along. They + appeared to have reserved their virtuous indignation till this evening. As + explanation of my apparent sleepiness, somebody, whether in kindness to me + or not I cannot say, suggested I was drunk. Fortunately, it carried + conviction. No further trains left the town that night; I was allowed to + depart. A deputation promised to be round at my lodgings early in the + morning. + </p> + <p> + Our leading lady had left the theatre immediately on the fall of the + curtain; it was not necessary for her to wait, her husband acting as her + business man. On reaching my rooms, I found her sitting by the fire. It + reminded me that our agent in advance having fallen ill, her husband had, + at her suggestion, been appointed in his place, and had left us on the + Wednesday to make the necessary preparations in the next town on our list. + I thought that perhaps she had come round for her money, and the idea + amused me. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said, with her one smile. I had been doing my best for some + months to regard it as soul-consuming, but without any real success. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I answered. It bored me, her being there. I wanted to be alone. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem overjoyed to see me. What's the matter with you? What's + happened?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “Vane's bolted and taken the week's money with him.” + </p> + <p> + “The beast!” she said. “I knew he was that sort. What ever made you take + up with him? Will it make much difference to you?” + </p> + <p> + “It makes a difference all round,” I replied. “There's no money to pay any + of you. There's nothing to pay your fares back to London.” + </p> + <p> + She had risen. “Here, let me understand this,” she said. “Are you the rich + mug Vane's been representing you to be, or only his accomplice?” + </p> + <p> + “The mug and the accomplice both,” I answered, “without the rich. It's his + tour. He put my name to it because he didn't want his own to appear—for + family reasons. It's his play; he stole it—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me with a whistle. “I thought it looked a bit fishy, all + those alterations. But such funny things do happen in this profession! + Stole it, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “The whole thing in manuscript. I put my name to it for the same reason—he + didn't want his own to appear.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped into her chair and laughed—a good-tempered laugh, loud + and long. “Well, I'm damned!” she said. “The first man who has ever taken + me in. I should never have signed if I had thought it was his show. I + could see the sort he was with half an eye.” She jumped up from the chair. + “Here, let me get out of this,” she said. “I just looked in to know what + time to-morrow; I'd forgotten. You needn't say I came.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand upon the door, laughter seized her again, so that for support she + had to lean against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know why I really did come?” she said. “You'll guess when you come + to think it over, so I may as well tell you. It's a bit of a joke. I came + to say 'yes' to what you asked me last night. Have you forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + I stared at her. Last night! It seemed a long while ago—so very + unimportant what I might have said. + </p> + <p> + She laughed again. “So help me! if you haven't. Well, you asked me to run + away with you—that's all, to let our two souls unite. Damned lucky I + took a day to think it over! Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” I answered, without moving. I was gripping a chair to + prevent myself from rushing at her, pushing her out of the room, and + locking the door. I wanted to be alone. + </p> + <p> + I heard her turn the handle. “Got a pound or two to carry you over?” It + was a woman's voice. + </p> + <p> + I put my hand into my pocket. “One pound seventeen,” I answered, counting + it. “It will pay my fare to London—or buy me a dinner and a + second-hand revolver. I haven't quite decided yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you get back and pull yourself together,” she said. “You're only a + kid. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + I put a few things into a small bag and walked thirty miles that night + into Belfast. Arrived in London, I took a lodging in Deptford, where I was + least likely to come in contact with any face I had ever seen before. I + maintained myself by giving singing lessons at sixpence the half-hour, + evening lessons in French and German (the Lord forgive me!) to ambitious + shop-boys at eighteen pence a week, making up tradesmen's books. A few + articles of jewellery I had retained enabled me to tide over bad periods. + For some four months I existed there, never going outside the + neighbourhood. Occasionally, wandering listlessly about the streets, some + object, some vista, would strike me by reason of its familiarity. Then I + would turn and hasten back into my grave of dim, weltering streets. + </p> + <p> + Of thoughts, emotions, during these dead days I was unconscious. Somewhere + in my brain they may have been stirring, contending; but myself I lived as + in a long, dull dream. I ate, and drank, and woke, and slept, and walked + and walked, and lounged by corners; staring by the hour together, seeing + nothing. + </p> + <p> + It has surprised me since to find the scenes I must then have witnessed + photographed so clearly on my mind. Tragedies, dramas, farces, played + before me in that teeming underworld—the scenes present themselves + to me distinct, complete; yet I have no recollection of ever having seen + them. + </p> + <p> + I fell ill. It must have been some time in April, but I kept no count of + days. Nobody came near me, nobody knew of me. I occupied a room at the top + of a huge block of workmen's dwellings. A woman who kept a second-hand + store had lent me for a shilling a week a few articles of furniture. Lying + upon my chair-bedstead, I listened to the shrill sounds around me, that + through the light and darkness never ceased. A pint of milk, left each + morning on the stone landing, kept me alive. I would wait for the man's + descending footsteps, then crawl to the door. I hoped I was going to die, + regretting my returning strength, the desire for food that drove me out + into the streets again. + </p> + <p> + One night, a week or two after my partial recovery, I had wandered on and + on for hour after hour. The breaking dawn recalled me to myself. I was + outside the palings of a park. In the faint shadowy light it looked + strange and unfamiliar. I was too tired to walk further. I scrambled over + the low wooden fencing, and reaching a seat, dropped down and fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + I was sitting in a sunny avenue; birds were singing joyously, bright + flowers were all around me. Norah was beside me, her frank, sweet eyes + were looking into mine; they were full of tenderness, mingled with wonder. + It was a delightful dream: I felt myself smiling. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I started to my feet. Norah's strong hand drew me down again. + </p> + <p> + I was in the broad walk, Regent's Park, where, I remembered, Norah often + walked before breakfast. A park-keeper, the only other human creature + within sight, was eyeing me suspiciously. I saw myself—without a + looking-glass—unkempt, ragged. My intention was to run, but Norah + was holding me by the arm. Savagely I tried to shake her off. I was weak + from my recent illness, and, I suppose, half starved; it angered me to + learn she was the stronger of the two. In spite of my efforts, she dragged + me back. + </p> + <p> + Ashamed of my weakness, ashamed of everything about me, I burst into + tears; and that of course made me still more ashamed. To add to my + discomfort, I had no handkerchief. Holding me with one hand—it was + quite sufficient—Norah produced her own, and wiped my eyes. The + park-keeper, satisfied, I suppose, that at all events I was not dangerous, + with a grin passed on. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, and what have you been doing?” asked Norah. She + still retained her grip upon me, and in her grey eyes was quiet + determination. + </p> + <p> + So, with my face turned away from her, I told her the whole miserable + story, taking strange satisfaction in exaggerating, if anything, my own + share of the disgrace. My recital ended, I sat staring down the long, + shadow-freckled way, and for awhile there was no sound but the chirping of + the sparrows. + </p> + <p> + Then behind me I heard a smothered laugh. It was impossible to imagine it + could come from Norah. I turned quickly to see who had stolen upon us. It + was Norah who was laughing; though to do her justice she was trying to + suppress it, holding her handkerchief to her face. It was of no use, it + would out; she abandoned the struggle, and gave way to it. It astonished + the sparrows into silence; they stood in a row upon the low iron border + and looked at one another. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you think it funny,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “But it is funny,” she persisted. “Don't say you have lost your sense of + humour, Paul; it was the one real thing you possessed. You were so cocky—you + don't know how cocky you were! Everybody was a fool but Vane; nobody else + but he appreciated you at your true worth. You and he between you were + going to reform the stage, to educate the public, to put everything and + everybody to rights. I am awfully sorry for all you've gone through; but + now that it is over, can't you see yourself that it is funny?” + </p> + <p> + Faintly, dimly, this aspect of the case, for the very first time, began to + present itself to me; but I should have preferred Norah to have been + impressed by its tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “That is not all,” I said. “I nearly ran away with another man's wife.” + </p> + <p> + I was glad to notice that sobered her somewhat. “Nearly? Why not quite?” + she asked more seriously. + </p> + <p> + “She thought I was some young idiot with money,” I replied bitterly, + pleased with the effect I had produced. “Vane had told her a pack of lies. + When she found out I was only a poor devil, ruined, disgraced, without a + sixpence—-” I made a gesture expressive of eloquent contempt for + female nature generally. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said Norah; “I told you you would fall in love with + something real.” + </p> + <p> + Her words irritated me, unreasonably, I confess. “In love!” I replied; + “good God, I was never in love with her!” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you nearly run away with her?” + </p> + <p> + I was wishing now I had not mentioned the matter; it promised to be + difficult of explanation. “I don't know,” I replied irritably. “I thought + she was in love with me. She was very beautiful—at least, other + people seemed to think she was. Artists are not like ordinary men. You + must live—understand life, before you can teach it to others. When a + beautiful woman is in love with you—or pretends to be, you—you + must say something. You can't stand like a fool and—” + </p> + <p> + Again her laughter interrupted me; this time she made no attempt to hide + it. The sparrows chirped angrily, and flew off to continue their + conversation somewhere where there would be less noise. + </p> + <p> + “You are the biggest baby, Paul,” she said, so soon as she could speak, “I + ever heard of.” She seized me by the shoulders, and turned me round. “If + you weren't looking so ill and miserable, I would shake you, Paul, till + there wasn't a bit of breath left in your body.” + </p> + <p> + “How much money do you owe?” she asked—“to the people in the company + and anybody else, I mean—roughly?” + </p> + <p> + “About a hundred and fifty pounds,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then if you rest day or night, Paul, till you have paid that hundred and + fifty—every penny of it—I'll think you the meanest cad in + London!” + </p> + <p> + Her grey eyes were flashing quite alarmingly. I felt almost afraid of her. + She could be so vehement at times. + </p> + <p> + “But how can I?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Go straight home,” she commanded, “and write something funny: an article, + story—anything you like; only mind that it is funny. Post it to me + to-morrow, at the latest. Dan is in London, editing a new weekly. I'll + have it copied out and sent to him. I shan't say who it is from. I shall + merely ask him to read it and reply, at once. If you've a grain of grit + left in you, you'll write something that he will be glad to have and to + pay for. Pawn that ring on your finger and get yourself a good breakfast”—it + was my mother's wedding-ring, the only piece of dispensable property I had + not parted with—“<i>she</i> won't mind helping you. But nobody else + is going to—except yourself.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her watch. “I must be off.” She turned again. “There is + something I was forgetting. B—“—she mentioned the name of the + dramatist whose play Vane had stolen—“has been looking for you for + the last three months. If you hadn't been an idiot you might have saved + yourself a good deal of trouble. He is quite certain it was Vane stole the + manuscript. He asked the nurse to bring it to him an hour after Vane had + left the house, and it couldn't be found. Besides, the man's character is + well known. And so is yours. I won't tell it you,” she laughed; “anyhow, + it isn't that of a knave.” + </p> + <p> + She made a step towards me, then changed her mind. “No,” she said, “I + shan't shake hands with you till you have paid the last penny that you + owe. Then I shall know that you are a man.” + </p> + <p> + She did not look back. I watched her, till the sunlight, streaming in my + eyes, raised a golden mist between us. + </p> + <p> + Then I went to my work. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + THE PRINCESS OF THE GOLDEN LOCKS SENDS PAUL A RING. + </h3> + <p> + It took me three years to win that handshake. For the first six months I + remained in Deptford. There was excellent material to be found there for + humorous articles, essays, stories; likewise for stories tragic and + pathetic. But I owed a hundred and fifty pounds—a little over two + hundred it reached to, I found, when I came to add up the actual figures. + So I paid strict attention to business, left the tears to be garnered by + others—better fitted maybe for the task; kept to my own patch, + reaped and took to market only the laughter. + </p> + <p> + At the beginning I sent each manuscript to Norah; she had it copied out, + debited me with the cost received payment, and sent me the balance. At + first my earnings were small; but Norah was an excellent agent; rapidly + they increased. Dan grew quite cross with her, wrote in pained surprise at + her greed. The “matter” was fair, but in no way remarkable. Any friend of + hers, of course, he was anxious to assist; but business was business. In + justice to his proprietors, he could not and would not pay more than the + market value. Miss Deleglise, replying curtly in the third person, found + herself in perfect accord with Mr. Brian as to business being business. If + Mr. Brian could not afford to pay her price for material so excellent, + other editors with whom Miss Deleglise was equally well acquainted could + and would. Answer by return would greatly oblige, pending which the + manuscript then in her hands she retained. Mr. Brian, understanding he had + found his match, grumbled but paid. Whether he had any suspicion who “Jack + Homer” might be, he never confessed; but he would have played the game, + pulled his end of the rope, in either case. Nor was he allowed to decide + the question for himself. Competition was introduced into the argument. Of + purpose a certain proportion of my work my agent sent elsewhere. “Jack + Homer” grew to be a commodity in demand. For, seated at my rickety table, + I laughed as I wrote, the fourth wall of the dismal room fading before my + eyes revealing vistas beyond. + </p> + <p> + Still, it was slow work. Humour is not an industrious maid; declines to be + bustled, will work only when she feels inclined—does not often feel + inclined; gives herself a good many unnecessary airs; if worried, packs up + and goes off, Heaven knows where! comes back when she thinks she will: a + somewhat unreliable young person. To my literary labours I found it + necessary to add journalism. I lacked Dan's magnificent assurance. Fate + never befriends the nervous. Had I burst into the editorial sanctum, the + editor most surely would have been out; if in, would have been a man of + short ways, would have seen to it that I went out quickly. But the idea + was not to be thought of; Robert Macaire himself in my one coat would have + been diffident, apologetic. I joined the ranks of the penny-a-liners—to + be literally exact, three halfpence a liners. In company with half a dozen + other shabby outsiders—some of them young men like myself seeking to + climb; others, older men who had sunk—I attended inquests, police + courts; flew after fire engines; rejoiced in street accidents; yearned for + murders. Somewhat vulture-like we lived precariously upon the misfortunes + of others. We made occasional half crowns by providing the public with + scandal, occasional crowns by keeping our information to ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “I think, gentlemen,” would explain our spokesman in a hoarse whisper, on + returning to the table, “I think the corpse's brother-in-law is anxious + that the affair, if possible, should be kept out of the papers.” + </p> + <p> + The closeness and attention with which we would follow that particular + case, the fulness and completeness of our notes, would be quite + remarkable. Our spokesman would rise, drift carelessly away, to return + five minutes later, wiping his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Not a very interesting case, gentlemen, I don't think. Shall we say five + shillings apiece?” Sometimes a sense of the dignity of our calling would + induce us to stand out for ten. + </p> + <p> + And here also my sense of humour came to my aid; gave me perhaps an undue + advantage over my competitors. Twelve good men and true had been asked to + say how a Lascar sailor had met his death. It was perfectly clear how he + had met his death. A plumber, working on the roof of a small two-storeyed + house, had slipped and fallen on him. The plumber had escaped with a few + bruises; the unfortunate sailor had been picked up dead. Some blame + attached to the plumber. His mate, an excellent witness, told us the whole + story. + </p> + <p> + “I was fixing a gas-pipe on the first floor,” said the man. “The prisoner + was on the roof.” + </p> + <p> + “We won't call him 'the prisoner,'” interrupted the coroner, “at least, + not yet. Refer to him, if you please, as the 'last witness.'” + </p> + <p> + “The last witness,” corrected himself the man. “He shouts down the chimney + to know if I was ready for him.” + </p> + <p> + “'Ready and waiting,' I says. + </p> + <p> + “'Right,' he says; 'I'm coming in through the window.' + </p> + <p> + “'Wait a bit,' I says; 'I'll go down and move the ladder for you. + </p> + <p> + “'It's all right,' he says; 'I can reach it.' + </p> + <p> + “'No, you can't,' I says. 'It's the other side of the chimney.' + </p> + <p> + “'I can get round,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “Well, before I knew what had happened, I hears him go, smack! I rushes to + the window and looks out: I see him on the pavement, sitting up like. + </p> + <p> + “'Hullo, Jim,' I says. 'Have you hurt yourself?' + </p> + <p> + “'I think I'm all right,' he says, 'as far as I can tell. But I wish you'd + come down. This bloke I've fallen on looks a bit sick.'” + </p> + <p> + The others headed their flimsy “Sad Accident,” a title truthful but not + alluring. I altered mine to “Plumber in a Hurry—Fatal Result.” + Saying as little as possible about the unfortunate sailor, I called the + attention of plumbers generally to the coroner's very just remarks upon + the folly of undue haste; pointed out to them, as a body, the trouble that + would arise if somehow they could not cure themselves of this tendency to + rush through their work without a moment's loss of time. + </p> + <p> + It established for me a useful reputation. The sub-editor of one evening + paper condescended so far as to come out in his shirt-sleeves and shake + hands with me. + </p> + <p> + “That's the sort of thing we want,” he told me; “a light touch, a bit of + humour.” + </p> + <p> + I snatched fun from fires (I sincerely trust the insurance premiums were + not overdue); culled quaintness from street rows; extracted merriment from + catastrophes the most painful, and prospered. + </p> + <p> + Though often within a stone's throw of the street, I unremittingly avoided + the old house at Poplar. I was suffering inconvenience at this period by + reason of finding myself two distinct individuals, contending with each + other. My object was to encourage the new Paul—the sensible, + practical, pushful Paul, whose career began to look promising; to drive + away from interfering with me his strangely unlike twin—the old + childish Paul of the sad, far-seeing eyes. Sometimes out of the cracked + looking-glass his wistful, yearning face would plead to me; but I would + sternly shake my head. I knew well his cunning. Had I let him have his + way, he would have led me through the maze of streets he knew so well, + past the broken railings (outside which he would have left my body + standing), along the weedy pathway, through the cracked and dented door, + up the creaking staircase to the dismal little chamber where we once—he + and I together—had sat dreaming foolish dreams. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he would whisper; “it is so near. Let us push aside the chest of + drawers very quietly, softly raise the broken sash, prop it open with the + Latin dictionary, lean our elbows on the sill, listen to the voices of the + weary city, voices calling to us from the darkness.” + </p> + <p> + But I was too wary to be caught. “Later on,” I would reply to him; “when I + have made my way, when I am stronger to withstand your wheedling. Then I + will go with you, if you are still in existence, my sentimental little + friend. We will dream again the old impractical, foolish dreams—and + laugh at them.” + </p> + <p> + So he would fade away, and in his place would nod to me approvingly a + businesslike-looking, wide-awake young fellow. + </p> + <p> + But to one sentimental temptation I succumbed. My position was by now + assured; there was no longer any reason for my hiding myself. I determined + to move westward. I had not intended to soar so high, but passing through + Guildford Street one day, the creeper-covered corner house that my father + had once thought of taking recalled itself to me. A card was in the + fanlight. I knocked and made enquiries. A bed-sitting-room upon the third + floor was vacant. I remembered it well the moment the loquacious landlady + opened its door. + </p> + <p> + “This shall be your room, Paul,” said my father. So clearly his voice + sounded behind me that I turned, forgetting for the moment it was but a + memory. “You will be quiet here, and we can shut out the bed and washstand + with a screen.” + </p> + <p> + So my father had his way. It was a pleasant, sunny little room, + overlooking the gardens of the hospital. I followed my father's + suggestion, shut out the bed and washstand with a screen. And sometimes of + an evening it would amuse me to hear my father turn the handle of the + door. + </p> + <p> + “How are you getting on—all right?” + </p> + <p> + “Famously.” + </p> + <p> + Often there came back to me the words he had once used. “You must be the + practical man, Paul, and get on. Myself, I have always been somewhat of a + dreamer. I meant to do such great things in the world, and somehow I + suppose I aimed too high. I wasn't—practical.” + </p> + <p> + “But ought not one to aim high?” I had asked. + </p> + <p> + My father had fidgeted in his chair. “It is very difficult to say. It is + all so—so very ununderstandable. You aim high and you don't hit + anything—at least, it seems as if you didn't. Perhaps, after all, it + is better to aim at something low, and—and hit it. Yet it seems a + pity—one's ideals, all the best part of one—I don't know why + it is. Perhaps we do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + For some months I had been writing over my own name. One day a letter was + forwarded to me by an editor to whose care it had been addressed. It was a + short, formal note from the maternal Sellars, inviting me to the wedding + of her daughter with a Mr. Reginald Clapper. I had almost forgotten the + incident of the Lady 'Ortensia, but it was not unsatisfactory to learn + that it had terminated pleasantly. Also, I judged from an invitation + having been sent me, that the lady wished me to be witness of the fact + that my desertion had not left her disconsolate. So much gratification I + felt I owed her, and accordingly, purchasing a present as expensive as my + means would permit, I made my way on the following Thursday, clad in frock + coat and light grey trousers, to Kennington Church. + </p> + <p> + The ceremony was already in progress. Creeping on tiptoe up the aisle, I + was about to slip into an empty pew, when a hand was laid upon my sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “We're all here,” whispered the O'Kelly; “just room for ye.” + </p> + <p> + Squeezing his hand as I passed, I sat down between the Signora and Mrs. + Peedles. Both ladies were weeping; the Signora silently, one tear at a + time clinging fondly to her pretty face as though loath to fall from it; + Mrs. Peedles copiously, with explosive gurgles, as of water from a bottle. + </p> + <p> + “It is such a beautiful service,” murmured the Signora, pressing my hand + as I settled myself down. “I should so—so love to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “Me darling,” whispered the O'Kelly, seizing her other hand and kissing it + covertly behind his open Prayer Book, “perhaps ye will be—one day.” + </p> + <p> + The Signora through her tears smiled at him, but with a sigh shook her + head. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peedles, clad, so far as the dim November light enabled me to judge, + in the costume of Queen Elizabeth—nothing regal; the sort of thing + one might assume to have been Her Majesty's second best, say third best, + frock—explained that weddings always reminded her how fleeting a + thing was love. + </p> + <p> + “The poor dears!” she sobbed. “But there, there's no telling. Perhaps + they'll be happy. I'm sure I hope they may be. He looks harmless.” + </p> + <p> + Jarman, stretching out a hand to me from the other side of Mrs. Peedles, + urged me to cheer up. “Don't wear your 'eart upon your sleeve,” he + advised. “Try and smile.” + </p> + <p> + In the vestry I met old friends. The maternal Sellars, stouter than ever, + had been accommodated with a chair—at least, I assumed so, she being + in a sitting posture; the chair itself was not in evidence. She greeted me + with more graciousness than I had expected, enquiring after my health with + pointedness and an amount of tender solicitude that, until the explanation + broke upon me, somewhat puzzled me. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Reginald Clapper was a small but energetic gentleman, much impressed, + I was glad to notice, with a conviction of his own good fortune. He + expressed the greatest delight at being introduced to me, shook me + heartily by the hand, and hoped we should always be friends. + </p> + <p> + “Won't be my fault if we're not,” he added. “Come and see us whenever you + like.” He repeated this three times. I gathered the general sentiment to + be that he was acting, if anything, with excess of generosity. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Reginald Clapper, as I was relieved to know she now was, received my + salute to a subdued murmur of applause. She looked to my eyes handsomer + than when I had last seen her, or maybe my taste was growing less + exacting. She also trusted she might always regard me as a friend. I + replied that it would be my hope to deserve the honour; whereupon she + kissed me of her own accord, and embracing her mother, shed some tears, + explaining the reason to be that everybody was so good to her. + </p> + <p> + Brother George, less lank than formerly, hampered by a pair of enormous + white kid gloves, superintended my signing of the register, whispering to + me sympathetically: “Better luck next time, old cock.” + </p> + <p> + The fat young lady—or, maybe, the lean young lady, grown stouter, I + cannot say for certain—who feared I had forgotten her, a thing I + assured her utterly impossible, was good enough to say that, in her + opinion, I was worth all the others put together. + </p> + <p> + “And so I told her,” added the fat young lady—or the lean one grown + stouter, “a dozen times if I told her once. But there!” + </p> + <p> + I murmured my obligations. + </p> + <p> + Cousin Joseph, 'whom I found no difficulty in recognising by reason of his + watery eyes, appeared not so chirpy as of yore. + </p> + <p> + “You take my tip,” advised Cousin Joseph, drawing me aside, “and keep out + of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak from experience?” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I'm as fond of a joke,” said the watery-eyed Joseph, “as any man. But + when it comes to buckets of water—” + </p> + <p> + A reminder from the maternal Sellars that breakfast had been ordered for + eleven o'clock caused a general movement and arrested Joseph's + revelations. + </p> + <p> + “See you again, perhaps,” he murmured, and pushed past me. + </p> + <p> + What Mrs. Sellars, I suppose, would have alluded to as a cold col-la-shon + had been arranged for at a restaurant near by. I walked there in company + with Uncle and Aunt Gutton; not because I particularly desired their + companionship, but because Uncle Gutton, seizing me by the arm, left me no + alternative. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, young man,” commenced Uncle Gutton kindly, but boisterously so + soon as we were in the street, at some little distance behind the others, + “if you want to pitch into me, you pitch away. I shan't mind, and maybe + it'll do you good.” + </p> + <p> + I informed him that nothing was further from my desire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right,” returned Uncle Gutton, seemingly disappointed. “If you're + willing to forgive and forget, so am I. I never liked you, as I daresay + you saw, and so I told Rosie. 'He may be cleverer than he looks,' I says, + 'or he may be a bigger fool than I think him, though that's hardly likely. + You take my advice and get a full-grown article, then you'll know what + you're doing.'” + </p> + <p> + I told him I thought his advice had been admirable. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you think so,” he returned, somewhat puzzled; “though if you + wanted to call me names I shouldn't have blamed you. Anyhow, you've took + it like a sensible chap. You've got over it, as I always told her you + would. Young men out of story-books don't die of broken hearts, even if + for a month or two they do feel like standing on their head in the + water-butt.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I was in love myself three times,” explained Uncle Gutton, “before I + married the old woman.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Gutton sighed and said she was afraid gentlemen didn't feel these + things as much as they ought to. + </p> + <p> + “They've got their living to earn,” retorted Uncle Gutton. + </p> + <p> + I agreed with Uncle Gutton that life could not be wasted in vain regret. + </p> + <p> + “As for the rest,” admitted Uncle Gutton, handsomely, “I was wrong. You've + turned out better than I expected you would.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him for his improved opinion, and as we entered the restaurant + we shook hands. + </p> + <p> + Minikin we found there waiting for us. He explained that having been able + to obtain only limited leave of absence from business, he had concluded + the time would be better employed at the restaurant than at the church. + Others were there also with whom I was unacquainted, young sparks, + admirers, I presume, of the Lady 'Ortensia in her professional capacity, + fellow-clerks of Mr. Clapper, who was something in the City. Altogether we + must have numbered a score. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast was laid in a large room on the first floor. The wedding + presents stood displayed upon a side-table. My own, with my card attached, + had not been seen by Mrs. Clapper till that moment. She and her mother + lingered, examining it. + </p> + <p> + “Real silver!” I heard the maternal Sellars whisper, “Must have paid a ten + pound note for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you'll find it useful,” I said. + </p> + <p> + The maternal Sellars, drifting away, joined the others gathered together + at the opposite end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you think I set my cap at you merely because you were a + gentleman,” said the Lady 'Ortensia. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let's talk about it,” I answered. “We were both foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want you to think it was merely that,” continued the Lady + 'Ortensia. “I did like you. And I wouldn't have disgraced you—at + least, I'd have tried not to. We women are quick to learn. You never gave + me time.” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, things are much better as they are,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” she answered. “I was a fool.” She glanced round; we still + had the corner to ourselves. “I told a rare pack of lies,” she said; “I + didn't seem able to help it; I was feeling sore all over. But I have + always been ashamed of myself. I'll tell them the truth, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + I thought I saw a way of making her mind easy. “My dear girl,” I said, + “you have taken the blame upon yourself, and let me go scot-free. It was + generous of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The truth,” I answered, “would shift all the shame on to me. It was I who + broke my word, acted shabbily from beginning to end.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't looked at it in that light,” she replied. “Very well, I'll hold + my tongue.” + </p> + <p> + My place at breakfast was to the left of the maternal Sellars, the Signora + next to me, and the O'Kelly opposite. Uncle Gutton faced the bride and + bridegroom. The disillusioned Joseph was hidden from me by flowers, so + that his voice, raised from time to time, fell upon my ears, embellished + with the mysterious significance of the unseen oracle. + </p> + <p> + For the first quarter of an hour or so the meal proceeded almost in + silence. The maternal Sellars when not engaged in whispered argument with + the perspiring waiter, was furtively occupied in working sums upon the + table-cloth by aid of a blunt pencil. The Signora, strangely unlike her + usual self, was not in talkative mood. + </p> + <p> + “It was so kind of them to invite me,” said the Signora, speaking low. + “But I feel I ought not to have come. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” I asked + </p> + <p> + “I'm not fit to be here,” murmured the Signora in a broken voice. “What + right have I at wedding breakfasts? Of course, for dear Willie it is + different. He has been married.” + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly, who never when the Signora was present seemed to care much + for conversation in which she was unable to participate, took advantage of + his neighbour's being somewhat deaf to lapse into abstraction. Jarman + essayed a few witticisms of a general character, of which nobody took any + notice. The professional admirers of the Lady 'Ortensia, seated together + at a corner of the table, appeared to be enjoying a small joke among + themselves. Occasionally, one or another of them would laugh nervously. + But for the most part the only sounds to be heard were the clatter of the + knives and forks, the energetic shuffling of the waiter, and a curious + hissing noise as of escaping gas, caused by Uncle Gutton drinking + champagne. + </p> + <p> + With the cutting, or, rather, the smashing into a hundred fragments, of + the wedding cake—a work that taxed the united strength of bride and + bridegroom to the utmost—the atmosphere lost something of its + sombreness. The company, warmed by food, displaying indications of being + nearly done, commenced to simmer. The maternal Sellars, putting away with + her blunt pencil considerations of material nature, embraced the table + with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “But it is a sad thing,” sighed the maternal Sellars the next moment, with + a shake of her huge head, “when your daughter marries, and goes away and + leaves you.” + </p> + <p> + “Damned sight sadder,” commented Uncle Gutton, “when she don't go off, but + hangs on at home year after year and expects you to keep her.” + </p> + <p> + I credit Uncle Gutton with intending this as an aside for the exclusive + benefit of the maternal Sellars; but his voice was not of the timbre that + lends itself to secrecy. One of the bridesmaids, a plain, elderly girl, + bending over her plate, flushed scarlet. I concluded her to be Miss + Gutton. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't seem to me,” said Aunt Gutton from the other end of the table, + “that gentlemen are as keen on marrying nowadays as they used to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Got to know a bit about it, I expect,” sounded the small, shrill voice of + the unseen Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “To my thinking,” exclaimed a hatchet-faced gentleman, “one of the evils + crying most loudly for redress at the present moment is the utterly + needless and monstrous expense of legal proceedings.” He spoke rapidly and + with warmth. “Take divorce. At present, what is it? The rich man's + luxury.” + </p> + <p> + Conversation appeared to be drifting in a direction unsuitable to the + occasion; but Jarman was fortunately there to seize the helm. + </p> + <p> + “The plain fact of the matter is,” said Jarman, “girls have gone up in + value. Time was, so I've heard, when they used to be given away with a + useful bit of household linen, maybe a chair or two. Nowadays—well, + it's only chaps wallowing in wealth like Clapper there as can afford a + really first-class article.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clapper, not a gentleman in other respects of exceptional brilliancy, + possessed one quality that popularity-seekers might have envied him: the + ability to explode on the slightest provocation into a laugh instinct with + all the characteristics of genuine delight. + </p> + <p> + “Give and take,” observed the maternal Sellars, so soon as Mr. Clapper's + roar had died away; “that's what you've got to do when you're married.” + </p> + <p> + “Give a deal more than you bargained for and take what you don't want—that + sums it up,” came the bitter voice of the unseen. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do be quiet, Joe,” advised the stout young lady, from which I + concluded she had once been the lean young lady. “You talk enough for a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't I open my mouth?” demanded the indignant oracle. + </p> + <p> + “You look less foolish when you keep it shut,” returned the stout young + lady. + </p> + <p> + “We'll show them how to get on,” observed the Lady 'Ortensia to her + bridegroom, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clapper responded with a gurgle. + </p> + <p> + “When me and the old girl there fixed things up,” said Uncle Gutton, “we + didn't talk no nonsense, and we didn't start with no misunderstandings. + 'I'm not a duke,' I says—” + </p> + <p> + “Had she been mistaking you for one?” enquired Minikin. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clapper commented, not tactfully, but with appreciative laugh. I + feared for a moment lest Uncle Gutton's little eyes should leave his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not being a natural-born, one-eyed fool,” replied Uncle Gutton, glaring + at the unabashed Minikin, “she did not. 'I'm not a duke,' I says, and <i>she</i> + had sense enough to know as I was talking sarcastic like. 'I'm not + offering you a life of luxury and ease. I'm offering you myself, just what + you see, and nothing more.' + </p> + <p> + “She took it?” asked Minikin, who was mopping up his gravy with his bread. + </p> + <p> + “She accepted me, sir,” returned Uncle Gutton, in a voice that would have + awed any one but Minikin. “Can you give me any good reason for her not + doing so?” + </p> + <p> + “No need to get mad with me,” explained Minikin. “I'm not blaming the poor + woman. We all have our moments of despair.” + </p> + <p> + The unfortunate Clapper again exploded. Uncle Gutton rose to his feet. The + ready Jarman saved the situation. + </p> + <p> + “'Ear! 'ear!” cried Jarman, banging the table with the handles of two + knives. “Silence for Uncle Gutton! 'E's going to propose a toast. 'Ear, + 'ear!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clapper, seconding his efforts, the whole table broke into applause. + </p> + <p> + “What, as a matter of fact, I did get up to say—” began Uncle + Gutton. + </p> + <p> + “Good old Uncle Gutton!” persisted the determined Jarman. “Bride and + bridegroom—long life to 'em!” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Sutton, evidently pleased, allowed his indignation against Minikin + to evaporate. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Uncle Gutton, “if you think I'm the one to do it—” + </p> + <p> + The response was unmistakable. In our enthusiasm we broke two glasses and + upset a cruet; a small, thin lady was unfortunate enough to shed her + chignon. Thus encouraged, Uncle Sutton launched himself upon his task. + Personally, I should have been better pleased had Fate not interposed to + assign to him the duty. + </p> + <p> + Starting with a somewhat uninstructive history of his own career, he + suddenly, and for no reason at all obvious, branched off into fierce + censure of the Adulteration Act. Reminded of the time by the maternal + Sellars, he got in his first sensible remark by observing that with such + questions, he took it, the present company was not particularly + interested, and directed himself to the main argument. To his, Uncle + Gutton's, foresight, wisdom and instinctive understanding of humanity, Mr. + Clapper, it appeared, owed his present happiness. Uncle Gutton it was who + had divined from the outset the sort of husband the fair Rosina would come + eventually to desire—a plain, simple, hard-working, level-headed + sort of chap, with no hity-tity nonsense about him: such an one, in short, + as Mr. Clapper himself—(at this Mr. Clapper expressed approval by a + lengthy laugh)—a gentleman who, so far as Uncle Gutton's knowledge + went, had but one fault: a silly habit of laughing when there was nothing + whatever to laugh at; of which, it was to be hoped, the cares and + responsibilities of married life would cure him. (To the rest of the + discourse Mr. Clapper listened with a gravity painfully maintained.) There + had been moments, Uncle Gutton was compelled to admit, when the fair + Rosina had shown inclination to make a fool of herself—to desire in + place of honest worth mere painted baubles. He used the term in no + offensive sense. Speaking for himself, what a man wanted beyond his weekly + newspaper, he, Uncle Gutton, was unable to understand; but if there were + fools in the world who wanted to read rubbish written by other fools, then + the other fools would of course write it; Uncle Gutton did not blame them. + He mentioned no names, but what he would say was: a plain man for a + sensible girl, and no painted baubles. + </p> + <p> + The waiter here entering with a message from the cabman to the effect that + if he was to catch the twelve-forty-five from Charing Cross, it was about + full time he started, Uncle Gutton was compelled to bring his speech to a + premature conclusion. The bride and bridegroom were hustled into their + clothes. There followed much female embracing and male hand-shaking. The + rice having been forgotten, the waiter was almost thrown downstairs, with + directions to at once procure some. There appearing danger of his not + returning in time, the resourceful Jarman suggested cold semolina pudding + as a substitute. But the idea was discouraged by the bride. A slipper of + remarkable antiquity, discovered on the floor and regarded as a gift from + Providence, was flung from the window by brother George, with admirable + aim, and alighted on the roof of the cab. The waiter, on his return, not + being able to find it, seemed surprised. + </p> + <p> + I walked back as far as the Obelisk with the O'Kelly and the Signora, who + were then living together in Lambeth. Till that morning I had not seen the + O'Kelly since my departure from London, nearly two years before, so that + we had much to tell each other. For the third time now had the O'Kelly + proved his utter unworthiness to be the husband of the lady to whom he + still referred as his “dear good wife.” + </p> + <p> + “But, under the circumstances, would it not be better,” I suggested, “for + her to obtain a divorce? Then you and the Signora could marry and there + would be an end to the whole trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “From a strictly worldly point of view,” replied the O'Kelly, “it + certainly would be; but Mrs. O'Kelly”—his voice took to itself + unconsciously a tone of reverence—“is not an ordinary woman. You can + have no conception, my dear Kelver, of her goodness. I had a letter from + her only two months ago, a few weeks after the—the last occurrence. + Not one word of reproach, only that if I trespassed against her even unto + seven times seven she would still consider it her duty to forgive me; that + the 'home' would always be there for me to return to and repent.” + </p> + <p> + A tear stood in the O'Kelly's eye. “A beautiful nature,” he commented. + “There are not many women like her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not one in a million!” added the Signora, with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to me it seems like pure obstinacy,” I said. + </p> + <p> + The O'Kelly spoke quite angrily. “Don't ye say a word against her! I won't + listen to it. Ye don't understand her. She never will despair of reforming + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Mr. Kelver,” explained the Signora, “the whole difficulty arises + from my unfortunate profession. It is impossible for me to keep out of + dear Willie's way. If I could earn my living by any other means, I would; + but I can't. And when he sees my name upon the posters, it's all over with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I do wish, Willie, dear,” added the Signora in tones of gentle reproof, + “that you were not quite so weak.” + </p> + <p> + “Me dear,” replied the O'Kelly, “ye don't know how attractive ye are or ye + wouldn't blame me.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “Why don't you be firm,” I suggested to the Signora, “send him + packing about his business?” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to,” admitted the Signora. “I always mean to, until I see him. + Then I don't seem able to say anything—not anything I ought to.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye do say it,” contradicted the O'Kelly. “Ye're an angel, only I won't + listen to ye.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't say it as if I meant it,” persisted the Signora. “It's evident I + don't.” + </p> + <p> + “I still think it a pity,” I said, “someone does not explain to Mrs. + O'Kelly that a divorce would be the truer kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to decide,” argued the Signora. “If ever you should want + to leave me—” + </p> + <p> + “Me darling!” exclaimed the O'Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “But you may,” insisted the Signora. “Something may happen to help you, to + show you how wicked it all is. I shall be glad then to think that you will + go back to her. Because she is a good woman, Willie, you know she is.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a saint,” agreed Willie. + </p> + <p> + At the Obelisk I shook hands with them, and alone pursued my way towards + Fleet Street. + </p> + <p> + The next friend whose acquaintance I renewed was Dan. He occupied chambers + in the Temple, and one evening a week or two after the 'Ortensia marriage, + I called upon him. Nothing in his manner of greeting me suggested the + necessity of explanation. Dan never demanded anything of his friends + beyond their need of him. Shaking hands with me, he pushed me down into + the easy-chair, and standing with his back to the fire, filled and lighted + his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “I left you alone,” he said. “You had to go through it, your slough of + despond. It lies across every path—that leads to anywhere. Clear of + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” I replied, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You are on the high road,” he continued. “You have only to walk steadily. + Sure you have left nothing behind you—in the slough?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing worth bringing out of it,” I said. “Why do you ask so seriously?” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand upon my head, rumpling my hair, as in the old days. + </p> + <p> + “Don't leave him behind you,” he said; “the little boy Paul—Paul the + dreamer.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “Oh, he! He was only in my way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, here,” answered Dan. “This is not his world. He is of no use to you + here; won't help you to bread and cheese—no, nor kisses either. But + keep him near you. Later, you will find, perhaps, that all along he has + been the real Paul—the living, growing Paul; the other—the + active, worldly, pushful Paul, only the stuff that dreams are made of, his + fretful life a troubled night rounded by a sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been driving him away,” I said. “He is so—so impracticable.” + </p> + <p> + Dan shook his head gravely. “It is not his world,” he repeated. “We must + eat, drink—be husbands, fathers. He does not understand. Here he is + the child. Take care of him.” + </p> + <p> + We sat in silence for a little while—for longer, perhaps, than it + seemed to us—Dan in the chair opposite to me, each of us occupied + with his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “You have an excellent agent,” said Dan; “retain her services as long as + you can. She possesses the great advantage of having no conscience, as + regards your affairs. Women never have where they—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off to stir the fire. + </p> + <p> + “You like her?” I asked. The words sounded feeble. It is only the writer + who fits the language to the emotion; the living man more often selects by + contrast. + </p> + <p> + “She is my ideal woman,” returned Dan; “true and strong and tender; clear + as crystal, pure as dawn. Like her!” + </p> + <p> + He knocked the ashes from his pipe. “We do not marry our ideals,” he went + on. “We love with our hearts, not with our souls. The woman I shall marry”—he + sat gazing into the fire, a smile upon his face—“she will be some + sweet, clinging, childish woman, David Copperfield's Dora. Only I am not + Doady, who always seems to me to have been somewhat of a—He reminds + me of you, Paul, a little. Dickens was right; her helplessness, as time + went on, would have bored him more and more instead of appealing to him.” + </p> + <p> + “And the women,” I suggested, “do they marry their ideals?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Ask them.” + </p> + <p> + “The difference between men and women,” he continued, “is very slight; we + exaggerate it for purposes of art. What sort of man do you suppose he is, + Norah's ideal? Can't you imagine him?—But I can tell you the type of + man she will marry, ay, and love with all her heart.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me from under his strong brows drawn down, a twinkle in his + eye. + </p> + <p> + “A nice enough fellow—clever, perhaps, but someone—well, + someone who will want looking after, taking care of, managing; someone who + will appeal to the mother side of her—not her ideal man, but the man + for whom nature intended her.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps with her help,” I said, “he may in time become her ideal.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a long road before him,” growled Dan. + </p> + <p> + It was Norah herself who broke to me the news of Barbara's elopement with + Hal. I had seen neither of them since my return to London. Old Hasluck a + month or so before I had met in the City one day by chance, and he had + insisted on my lunching with him. I had found him greatly changed. His + buoyant self-assurance had deserted him; in its place a fretful eagerness + had become his motive force. At first he had talked boastingly: Had I seen + the <i>Post</i> for last Monday, the <i>Court Circular</i> for the week + before? Had I read that Barbara had danced with the Crown Prince, that the + Count and Countess Huescar had been entertaining a Grand Duke? What + did I think of that! and such like. Was not money + master of the world? Ay, and the nobs should be made to acknowledge it! + </p> + <p> + But as he had gulped down glass after glass the brag had died away. + </p> + <p> + “No children,” he had whispered to me across the table; “that's what I + can't understand. Nearly four years and no children! What'll be the good + of it all? Where do I come in? What do I get? Damn these rotten popinjays! + What do they think we buy them for?” + </p> + <p> + It was in the studio on a Monday morning that Norah told me. It was the + talk of the town for the next day—and the following eight. She had + heard it the evening before at supper, and had written to me to come and + see her. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would rather hear it quietly,” said Norah, “than learn it + from a newspaper paragraph. Besides, I wanted to tell you this. She did + wrong when she married, putting aside love for position. Now she has done + right. She has put aside her shame with all the advantages she derived + from it. She has proved herself a woman: I respect her.” + </p> + <p> + Norah would not have said that to please me had she not really thought it. + I could see it from that light; but it brought me no comfort. My goddess + had a heart, passions, was a mere human creature like myself. From her + cold throne she had stepped down to mingle with the world. So some + youthful page of Arthur's court may have felt, learning the Great Queen + was but a woman. + </p> + <p> + I never spoke with her again but once. That was an evening three years + later in Brussels. Strolling idly after dinner the bright lights of a + theatre invited me to enter. It was somewhat late; the second act had + commenced. I slipped quietly into my seat, the only one vacant at the + extreme end of the front row of the first range; then, looking down upon + the stage, met her eyes. A little later an attendant whispered to me that + Madame G—— would like to see me; so at the fall of the curtain + I went round. Two men were in the dressing-room smoking, and on the table + were some bottles of champagne. She was standing before her glass, a loose + shawl about her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my shaking hands,” she said. “This damned hole is like a furnace; + I have to make up fresh after each act.” + </p> + <p> + She held them up for my inspection with a laugh; they were smeared with + grease. + </p> + <p> + “D'you know my husband?” she continued. “Baron G—; Mr. Paul Kelver.” + </p> + <p> + The Baron rose. He was a red-faced, pot-bellied little man. “Delighted to + meet Mr. Kelver,” he said, speaking in excellent English. “Any friend of + my wife's is always a friend of mine.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his fat, perspiring hand. I was not in the mood to attach much + importance to ceremony. I bowed and turned away, careless whether he was + offended or not. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad I saw you,” she continued. “Do you remember a girl called + Barbara? You and she were rather chums, years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “I remember her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she died, poor girl, three years ago.” She was rubbing paint into + her cheeks as she spoke. “She asked me if ever I saw you to give you this. + I have been carrying it about with me ever since.” + </p> + <p> + She took a ring from her finger. It was the one ring Barbara had worn as a + girl, a chrysolite set plainly in a band of gold. I had noticed it upon + her hand the first time I had seen her, sitting in my father's office + framed by the dusty books and papers. She dropped it into my outstretched + palm. + </p> + <p> + “Quite a pretty little romance,” laughed the Baron. + </p> + <p> + “That's all,” added the woman at the glass. “She said you would + understand.” + </p> + <p> + From under her painted lashes she flashed a glance at me. I hope never to + see again that look upon a woman's face. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” I said. “Yes, I understand. It was very kind of you. I shall + always wear it.” + </p> + <p> + Placing the ring upon my finger, I left the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <h3> + PAUL FINDS HIS WAY. + </h3> + <p> + Slowly, surely, steadily I climbed, putting aside all dreams, paying + strict attention to business. Often my other self, little Paul of the sad + eyes, would seek to lure me from my work. But for my vehement + determination never to rest for a moment till I had purchased back my + honesty, my desire—growing day by day, till it became almost a + physical hunger—to feel again the pressure of Norah's strong white + hand in mine, he might possibly have succeeded. Heaven only knows what + then he might have made of me: politician, minor poet, more or less able + editor, hampered by convictions—something most surely of but little + service to myself. Now and again, with a week to spare—my humour + making holiday, nothing to be done but await patiently its return—I + would write stories for my own pleasure. They made no mark; but success in + purposeful work is of slower growth. Had I persisted—but there was + money to be earned. And by the time my debts were paid, I had established + a reputation. + </p> + <p> + “Madness!” argued practical friends. “You would be throwing away a certain + fortune for, at the best, a doubtful competence. The one you know you can + do, the other—it would be beginning your career all over again.” + </p> + <p> + “You would find it almost impossible now,” explained those who spoke, I + knew, words of wisdom, of experience. “The world would never listen to + you. Once a humourist always a humourist. As well might a comic actor + insist upon playing Hamlet. It might be the best Hamlet ever seen upon the + stage; the audience would only laugh—or stop away.” + </p> + <p> + Drawn by our mutual need of sympathy, “Goggles” and I, seeking some quiet + corner in the Club, would pour out our souls to each other. He would lay + before me, at some length, his conception of Romeo—an excellent + conception, I have no doubt, though I confess it failed to interest me. + Somehow I could not picture him to myself as Romeo. But I listened with + every sign of encouragement. It was the price I paid him for, in turn, + listening to me while I unfolded to him my ideas how monumental + literature, helpful to mankind, should be imagined and built up. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps in a future existence,” laughed Goggles, one evening, rising as + the clock struck seven, “I shall be a great tragedian, and you a famous + poet. Meanwhile, I suppose, as your friend Brian puts it, we are both + sinning our mercies. After all, to live is the most important thing in + life.” + </p> + <p> + I had strolled with him so far as the cloak-room and was helping him to + get into his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Take my advice”—tapping me on the chest, he fixed his funny, fishy + eyes upon me. Had I not known his intention to be serious, I should have + laughed, his expression was so comical. “Marry some dear little woman” (he + was married himself to a placid lady of about twice his own weight); “one + never understands life properly till the babies come to explain it to + one.” + </p> + <p> + I returned to my easy-chair before the fire. Wife, children, home! After + all, was not that the true work of man—of the live man, not the + dreamer? I saw them round me, giving to my life dignity, responsibility. + The fair, sweet woman, helper, comrade, comforter, the little faces + fashioned in our image, their questioning voices teaching us the answers + to life's riddles. All other hopes, ambitions, dreams, what were they? + Phantoms of the morning mist fading in the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + Hodgson came to me one evening. “I want you to write me a comic opera,” he + said. He had an open letter in his hand which he was reading. “The public + seem to be getting tired of these eternal translations from the French. I + want something English, something new and original.” + </p> + <p> + “The English is easy enough,” I replied; “but I shouldn't clamour for + anything new and original if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked, looking up from his letter. + </p> + <p> + “You might get it,” I answered. “Then you would be disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Well, you know what I mean—something we could refer to + as 'new and original' on the programme. What do you say? It will be a big + chance for you, and I'm willing to risk it. I'm sure you can do it. People + are beginning to talk about you.” + </p> + <p> + I had written a few farces, comediettas, and they had been successful. But + the chief piece of the evening is a serious responsibility. A young man + may be excused for hesitating. It can make, but also it can mar him. A + comic opera above all other forms of art—if I may be forgiven for + using the sacred word in connection with such a subject—demands + experience. + </p> + <p> + I explained my fears. I did not explain that in my desk lay a four-act + drama throbbing with humanity, with life, with which it had been my hope—growing + each day fainter—to take the theatrical public by storm, to + establish myself as a serious playwright. + </p> + <p> + “It's very simple,” urged Hodgson. “Provide Atherton plenty of comic + business; you ought to be able to do that all right. Give Gleeson + something pretty in waltz time, and Duncan a part in which she can change + her frock every quarter of an hour or so, and the thing is done.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what,” continued Hodgson, “I'll take the whole crowd down + to Richmond on Sunday. We'll have a coach, and leave the theatre at + half-past ten. It will be an opportunity for you to study them. You'll be + able to have a talk with them and get to know just what they can do. + Atherton has ideas in his head; he'll explain them to you. Then, next + week, we'll draw up a contract and set to work.” + </p> + <p> + It was too good an opportunity to let slip, though I knew that if + successful I should find myself pinned down firmer than ever to my role of + jester. But it is remunerative, the writing of comic opera. + </p> + <p> + A small crowd had gathered in the Strand to see us start. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing wrong, is there?” enquired the leading lady, in a tone of some + anxiety, alighting a quarter of an hour late from her cab. “It isn't a + fire, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely assembled to see you,” explained Mr. Hodgson, without raising his + eyes from his letters. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good gracious!” cried the leading lady, “do let us get away quickly.” + </p> + <p> + “Box seat, my dear,” returned Mr. Hodgson. + </p> + <p> + The leading lady, accepting the proffered assistance of myself and three + other gentlemen, mounted the ladder with charming hesitation. Some delay + in getting off was caused by our low comedian, who twice, making believe + to miss his footing, slid down again into the arms of the stolid + door-keeper. The crowd, composed for the most part of small boys approving + the endeavour to amuse them, laughed and applauded. Our low comedian thus + encouraged, made a third attempt upon his hands and knees, and, gaining + the roof, sat down upon the tenor, who smiled somewhat mechanically. + </p> + <p> + The first dozen or so 'busses we passed our low comedian greeted by rising + to his feet and bowing profoundly, afterwards falling back upon either the + tenor or myself. Except by the tenor and myself his performance appeared + to be much appreciated. Charing Cross passed, and nobody seeming to be + interested in our progress, to the relief of the tenor and myself, he + settled down. + </p> + <p> + “People sometimes ask me,” said the low comedian, brushing the dust off + his knees, “why I do this sort of thing off the stage. It amuses me.” + </p> + <p> + “I was coming up to London the other day from Birmingham,” he continued. + “At Willesden, when the ticket collector opened the door, I sprang out of + the carriage and ran off down the platform. Of course, he ran after me, + shouting to all the others to stop me. I dodged them for about a minute. + You wouldn't believe the excitement there was. Quite fifty people left + their seats to see what it was all about. I explained to them when they + caught me that I had been travelling second with a first-class ticket, + which was the fact. People think I do it to attract attention. I do it for + my own pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be a troublesome way of amusing oneself,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly what my wife says,” he replied; “she can never understand the + desire that comes over us all, I suppose, at times, to play the fool. As a + rule, when she is with me I don't do it.” + </p> + <p> + “She's not here today?” I asked, glancing round. + </p> + <p> + “She suffers so from headaches,” he answered, “she hardly ever goes + anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry.” I spoke not out of mere politeness; I really did feel sorry. + </p> + <p> + During the drive to Richmond this irrepressible desire to amuse himself + got the better of him more than once or twice. Through Kensington he + attracted a certain amount of attention by balancing the horn upon his + nose. At Kew he stopped the coach to request of a young ladies' boarding + school change for sixpence. At the foot of Richmond Hill he caused a crowd + to assemble while trying to persuade a deaf old gentleman in a Bath-chair + to allow his man to race us up the hill for a shilling. + </p> + <p> + At these antics and such like our party laughed uproariously, with the + exception of Hodgson, who had his correspondence to attend to, and an + elegant young lady of some social standing who had lately emerged from the + Divorce Court with a reputation worth to her in cash a hundred pounds a + week. + </p> + <p> + Arriving at the hotel quarter of an hour or so before lunch time, we + strolled into the garden. Our low comedian, observing an elderly gentleman + of dignified appearance sipping a glass of Vermouth at a small table, + stood for a moment rooted to the earth with astonishment, then, making a + bee-line for the stranger, seized and shook him warmly by the hand. We + exchanged admiring glances with one another. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie is in good form to-day,” we told one another, and followed at his + heels. + </p> + <p> + The elderly gentleman had risen; he looked puzzled. “And how's Aunt + Martha?” asked him our low comedian. “Dear old Aunt Martha! Well, I am + glad! You do look bonny! How is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid—” commenced the elderly gentleman. Our low comedian + started back. Other visitors had gathered round. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me anything has happened to her! Not dead? Don't tell me + that!” + </p> + <p> + He seized the bewildered gentleman by the shoulders and presented to him a + face distorted by terror. + </p> + <p> + “I really have not the faintest notion what you are talking about,” + returned the gentleman, who seemed annoyed. “I don't know you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not know me? Do you mean to tell me you've forgotten—? Isn't your + name Steggles?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't,” returned the stranger, somewhat shortly. + </p> + <p> + “My mistake,” replied our low comedian. He tossed off at one gulp what + remained of the stranger's Vermouth and walked away rapidly. + </p> + <p> + The elderly gentleman, not seeing the humour of the joke, one of our party + to soothe him explained to him that it was Atherton, <i>the</i> Atherton—Charlie + Atherton. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is it,” growled the elderly gentleman. “Then will you tell him from + me that when I want his damned tomfoolery I'll come to the theatre and pay + for it.” + </p> + <p> + “What a disagreeable man,” we said, as, following our low comedian, we + made our way into the hotel. + </p> + <p> + During lunch he continued in excellent spirits; kissed the bald back of + the waiter's head, pretending to mistake it for a face, called for hot + mustard and water, made believe to steal the silver, and when the + finger-bowls arrived, took off his coat and requested the ladies to look + the other way. + </p> + <p> + After lunch he became suddenly serious, and slipping his arm through mine, + led me by unfrequented paths. + </p> + <p> + “Now, about this new opera,” he said; “we don't want any of the old stale + business. Give us something new.” + </p> + <p> + I suggested that to do so might be difficult. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he answered. “Now, my idea is this. I am a young fellow, and + I'm in love with a girl.” + </p> + <p> + I promised to make a note of it. + </p> + <p> + “Her father, apoplectic old idiot—make him comic: 'Damme, sir! By + gad!' all that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + By persuading him that I understood what he meant, I rose in his + estimation. + </p> + <p> + “He won't have anything to say to me—thinks I'm an ass. I'm a simple + sort of fellow—on the outside. But I'm not such a fool as I look.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think we are getting too much out of the groove?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + His opinion was that the more so the better. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Then, in the second act I disguise myself. I'll come on as an + organ-grinder, sing a song in broken English, then as a policeman, or a + young swell about town. Give me plenty of opportunity, that's the great + thing—opportunity to be really funny, I mean. We don't want any of + the old stale tricks.” + </p> + <p> + I promised him my support. + </p> + <p> + “Put a little pathos in it,” he added, “give me a scene where I can show + them I've something else in me besides merely humour. We don't want to + make them howl, but just to feel a little. Let's send them out of the + theatre saying: 'Well, Charlie's often made me laugh, but I'm damned if I + knew he could make me cry before!' See what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + I told him I thought I did. + </p> + <p> + The leading lady, meeting us on our return, requested, with pretty tone of + authority, everybody else to go away and leave us. There were cries of + “Naughty!” The leading lady, laughing girlishly, took me by the hand and + ran away with me. + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk to you,” said the leading lady, as soon as we had reached + a secluded seat overlooking the river, “about my part in the new opera. + Now, can't you give me something original? Do.” + </p> + <p> + Her pleading was so pretty, there was nothing for it but to pledge + compliance. + </p> + <p> + “I am so tired of being the simple village maiden,” said the leading lady; + “what I want is a part with some opportunity in it—a coquettish + part. I can flirt,” assured me the leading lady, archly. “Try me.” + </p> + <p> + I satisfied her of my perfect faith. + </p> + <p> + “You might,” said the leading lady, “see your way to making the plot + depend upon me. It always seems to me that the woman's part is never made + enough of in comic opera. I am sure a comic opera built round a woman + would be a really great success. Don't you agree with me, Mr. Kelver,” + pouted the leading lady, laying her pretty hand on mine. “We are much more + interesting than the men—now, aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + Personally, as I told her, I agreed with her. + </p> + <p> + The tenor, sipping tea with me on the balcony, beckoned me aside. + </p> + <p> + “About this new opera,” said the tenor; “doesn't it seem to you the time + has come to make more of the story—that the public might prefer a + little more human interest and a little less clowning?” + </p> + <p> + I admitted that a good plot was essential. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said the tenor, “that if you could write an opera round + an interesting love story, you would score a success. Of course, let there + be plenty of humour, but reduce it to its proper place. As a support, it + is excellent; when it is made the entire structure, it is apt to be + tiresome—at least, that is my view.” + </p> + <p> + I replied with sincerity that there seemed to me much truth in what he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, so far as I am personally concerned,” went on the tenor, “it + is immaterial. I draw the same salary whether I'm on the stage five + minutes or an hour. But when you have a man of my position in the cast, + and give him next to nothing to do—well, the public are + disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + “Most naturally,” I commented. + </p> + <p> + “The lover,” whispered the tenor, noticing the careless approach towards + us of the low comedian, “that's the character they are thinking about all + the time—men and women both. It's human nature. Make your lover + interesting—that's the secret.” + </p> + <p> + Waiting for the horses to be put to, I became aware of the fact that I was + standing some distance from the others in company with a tall, thin, + somewhat oldish-looking man. He spoke in low, hurried tones, fearful + evidently of being overheard and interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “You'll forgive me, Mr. Kelver,” he said—“Trevor, Marmaduke Trevor. + I play the Duke of Bayswater in the second act.” + </p> + <p> + I was unable to recall him for the moment; there were quite a number of + small parts in the second act. But glancing into his sensitive face, I + shrank from wounding him. + </p> + <p> + “A capital performance,” I lied. “It has always amused me.” + </p> + <p> + He flushed with pleasure. “I made a great success some years ago,” he + said, “in America with a soda-water syphon, and it occurred to me that if + you could, Mr. Kelver, in a natural sort of way, drop in a small part + leading up to a little business with a soda-water syphon, it might help + the piece.” + </p> + <p> + I wrote him his soda-water scene, I am glad to remember, and insisted upon + it, in spite of a good deal of opposition. Some of the critics found fault + with the incident, as lacking in originality. But Marmaduke Trevor was + quite right, it did help a little. + </p> + <p> + Our return journey was an exaggerated repetition of our morning drive. Our + low comedian produced hideous noises from the horn, and entered into + contests of running wit with 'bus drivers—a decided mistake from his + point of view, the score generally remaining with the 'bus driver. At + Hammersmith, seizing the opportunity of a block in the traffic, he assumed + the role of Cheap Jack, and, standing up on the back seat, offered all our + hats for sale at temptingly low prices. + </p> + <p> + “Got any ideas out of them?” asked Hodgson, when the time came for us to + say good-night. + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking, if you don't mind,” I answered, “of going down into the + country and writing the piece quietly, away from everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right,” agreed Hodgson. “Too many cooks—Be sure and + have it ready for the autumn.” + </p> + <p> + I wrote it with some pleasure to myself amid the Yorkshire Wolds, and was + able to read it to the whole company assembled before the close of the + season. My turning of the last page was followed by a dead silence. The + leading lady was the first to speak. She asked if the clock upon the + mantelpiece could be relied upon; because, if so, by leaving at once, she + could just catch her train. Hodgson, consulting his watch, thought, if + anything, it was a little fast. The leading lady said she hoped it was, + and went. The only comforting words were spoken by the tenor. He recalled + to our mind a successful comic opera produced some years before at the + Philharmonic. He distinctly remembered that up to five minutes before the + raising of the curtain everybody had regarded it as rubbish. He also had a + train to catch. Marmaduke Trevor, with a covert shake of the hand, urged + me not to despair. The low comedian, the last to go, told Hodgson he + thought he might be able to do something with parts of it, if given a free + hand. Hodgson and I left alone, looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “It's no good,” said Hodgson, “from a box-office point of view. Very + clever.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know it is no good from a box-office point of view?” I + ventured to enquire. + </p> + <p> + “I never made a mistake in my life,” replied Hodgson. + </p> + <p> + “You have produced one or two failures,” I reminded him. + </p> + <p> + “And shall again,” he laughed. “The right thing isn't easy to get.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up,” he added kindly, “this is only your first attempt. We must try + and knock it into shape at rehearsal.” + </p> + <p> + Their notion of “knocking it into shape” was knocking it to pieces. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what we'll do,” would say the low comedian; “we'll cut that + scene out altogether.” Joyously he would draw his pencil through some four + or five pages of my manuscript. + </p> + <p> + “But it is essential to the story,” I would argue. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is. It is the scene in which Roderick escapes from prison and + falls in love with the gipsy.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, half-a-dozen words will do all that. I meet Roderick at the + ball. 'Hallo, what are you doing here?' 'Oh, I have escaped from prison.' + 'Good business. And how's Miriam?' 'Well and happy—she is going to + be my wife!' What more do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been speaking to Mr. Hodgson,” would observe the leading lady, + “and he agrees with me, that if instead of falling in love with Peter, I + fell in love with John—” + </p> + <p> + “But John is in love with Arabella.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we've cut out Arabella. I can sing all her songs.” + </p> + <p> + The tenor would lead me into a corner. “I want you to write in a little + scene for myself and Miss Duncan at the beginning of the first act. I'll + talk to her about it. I think it will be rather pretty. I want her—the + second time I see her—to have come out of her room on to a balcony, + and to be standing there bathed in moonlight.” + </p> + <p> + “But the first act takes place in the early morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I've thought of that. We must alter it to the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “But the opera opens with a hunting scene. People don't go hunting by + moonlight.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a novelty. That's what's wanted for comic opera. The ordinary + hunting scene! My dear boy, it has been done to death.” + </p> + <p> + I stood this sort of thing for a week. “They are people of experience,” I + argued to myself; “they must know more about it than I do.” By the end of + the week I had arrived at the conclusion that anyhow they didn't. Added to + which I lost my temper. It is a thing I should advise any lady or + gentleman thinking of entering the ranks or dramatic authorship to lose as + soon as possible. I took both manuscripts with me, and, entering Mr. + Hodgson's private room, closed the door behind me. One parcel was the + opera as I had originally written it, a neat, intelligible manuscript, + whatever its other merits. The second, scored, interlined, altered, cut, + interleaved, rewritten, reversed, turned inside out and topsy-turvy—one + long, hopeless confusion from beginning to end—was the opera, as, + everybody helping, we had “knocked it into shape.” + </p> + <p> + “That's your opera,” I said, pushing across to him the bulkier bundle. “If + you can understand it, if you can make head or tail of it, if you care to + produce it, it is yours, and you are welcome to it. This is mine!” I laid + it on the table beside the other. “It may be good, it may be bad. If it is + played at all it is played as it is written. Regard the contract as + cancelled, and make up your mind.” + </p> + <p> + He argued with force, and he argued with eloquence. He appealed to my + self-interest, he appealed to my better nature. It occupied him forty + minutes by the clock. Then he called me an obstinate young fool, flung the + opera as “knocked into shape” into the waste-paper basket—which was + the only proper place for it, and, striding into the middle of the + company, gave curt directions that the damned opera was to be played as it + was written, and be damned to it! + </p> + <p> + The company shrugged its shoulders, and for the next month kept them + shrugged. For awhile Hodgson remained away from the rehearsals, then + returning, developed by degrees a melancholy interest in the somewhat + gloomy proceedings. + </p> + <p> + So far I had won, but my difficulty was to maintain the position. The low + comedian, reciting his lines with meaningless monotony, would pause + occasionally to ask of me politely, whether this or that passage was + intended to be serious or funny. + </p> + <p> + “You think,” the leading lady would enquire, more in sorrow than in anger, + “that any girl would behave in this way—any real girl, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the audience will understand it,” would console himself hopefully + the tenor. “Myself, I confess I don't.” + </p> + <p> + With a sinking heart concealed beneath an aggressively disagreeable + manner, I remained firm in my “pigheaded conceit,” as it was regarded, + Hodgson generously supporting me against his own judgment. + </p> + <p> + “It's bound to be a failure,” he told me. “I am spending some twelve to + fifteen hundred pounds to teach you a lesson. When you have learnt it + we'll square accounts by your writing me an opera that will pay.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it does succeed?” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” replied Hodgson, “I never make mistakes.” + </p> + <p> + From all which a dramatic author of more experience would have gathered + cheerfulness and hope, knowing that the time to be depressed is when the + manager and company unanimously and unhesitatingly predict a six months' + run. But new to the business, I regarded my literary career as already at + an end. Belief in oneself is merely the match with which one lights + oneself. The oil is supplied by the belief in one of others; if that be + not forthcoming, one goes out. Later on I might try to light myself again, + but for the present I felt myself dark and dismal. My desire was to get + away from my own smoke and smell. The final dress rehearsal over, I took + my leave of all concerned. The next morning I would pack a knapsack and + start upon a walking tour through Holland. The English papers would not + reach me. No human being should know my address. In a month or so I would + return, the piece would have disappeared—would be forgotten. With + courage, I might be able to forget it myself. + </p> + <p> + “I shall run it for three weeks,” said Hodgson, “then we'll withdraw it + quietly, 'owing to previous arrangements'; or Duncan can suddenly fall ill—she's + done it often enough to suit herself; she can do it this once to suit me. + Don't be upset. There's nothing to be ashamed of in the piece; indeed, + there is a good deal that will be praised. The idea is distinctly + original. As a matter of fact, that's the fault with it,” added Hodgson, + “it's too original.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you wanted it original,” I reminded him. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Yes, but original for the stage, I meant—the old dolls + in new frocks.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him for all his kindness, and went home and packed my knapsack. + </p> + <p> + For two months I wandered, avoiding beaten tracks, my only comrades a few + books, belonging to no age, no country. My worries fell from me, the + personal affairs of Paul Kelver ceasing to appear the be all and the end + all of the universe. But for a chance meeting with Wellbourne, Deleglise's + amateur caretaker of Gower Street fame, I should have delayed yet longer + my return. It was in one of the dead cities of the Zuyder Zee. I was + sitting under the lindens on the grass-grown quay, awaiting a slow, + crawling boat that, four miles off, I watched a moving speck across the + level pastures. I heard his footsteps in the empty market-place behind me, + and turned my head. I did not rise, felt even no astonishment; anything + might come to pass in that still land of dreams. He seated himself beside + me with a nod, and for awhile we smoked in silence. + </p> + <p> + “All well with you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid not,” he answered; “the poor fellow is in great trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not Wellbourne himself,” he went on, in answer to my look; “I am only + his spirit. Have you ever tested that belief the Hindoos hold: that a man + may leave his body, wander at will for a certain period, remembering only + to return ere the thread connecting him with flesh and blood be stretched + to breaking point? It is quite correct. I often lock the door of my + lodging, leave myself behind, wander a free Spirit.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled from his pocket a handful of loose coins and looked at them. + “The thread that connects us, I am sorrow to say, is wearing somewhat + thin,” he sighed; “I shall have to be getting back to him before long—concern + myself again with his troubles, follies. It is somewhat vexing. Life is + really beautiful, when one is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the trouble?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you heard?” he replied. “Tom died five weeks ago, quite suddenly, + of syncope. We had none of us any idea.” + </p> + <p> + So Norah was alone in the world. I rose to my feet. The slowly moving + speck had grown into a thin, dark streak; minute by minute it took shape + and form. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, I have to congratulate you,” said Wellbourne. “Your opera + looked like being a big thing when I left London. You didn't sell + outright, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “Hodgson never expressed any desire to buy.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky for you,” said Wellbourne. + </p> + <p> + I reached London the next evening. Passing the theatre on my way to + Queen's Square, it occurred to me to stop my cab for a few minutes and + look in. + </p> + <p> + I met the low comedian on his way to his dressing-room. He shook me warmly + by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “we're pulling them in. I was right, you see, 'Give me + plenty of opportunity.' That's what I told you, didn't I? Come and see the + piece. I think you will agree with me that I have done you justice.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he returned; “it's a pleasure to work, when you've got + something good to work on.” + </p> + <p> + I paid my respects to the leading lady. + </p> + <p> + “I am so grateful to you,” said the leading lady. “It is so delightful to + play a real live woman, for a change.” + </p> + <p> + The tenor was quite fatherly. + </p> + <p> + “It is what I have been telling Hodgson for years,” he said, “give them a + simple human story.” + </p> + <p> + Crossing the stage, I ran against Marmaduke Trevor. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay for my scene,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “Another night,” I answered. “I have only just returned.” + </p> + <p> + He sank his voice to a whisper. “I want to talk to you on business, when + you have the time. I am thinking of taking a theatre myself—not just + now, but later on. Of course, I don't want it to get about.” + </p> + <p> + I assured him of my secrecy. + </p> + <p> + “If it comes off, I want you to write for me. You understand the public. + We will talk it over.” + </p> + <p> + He passed onward with stealthy tread. + </p> + <p> + I found Hodgson in the front of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Two stalls not sold and six seats in the upper circle,” he informed me; + “not bad for a Thursday night.” + </p> + <p> + I expressed my gratification. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you could do it,” said Hodgson, “I felt sure of it merely from + seeing that comedietta of yours at the Queen's. I never make a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + Correction under the circumstances would have been unkind. Promising to + see him again in the morning, I left him with his customary good conceit + of himself unimpaired, and went on to the Square. I rang twice, but there + was no response. I was about to sound a third and final summons, when + Norah joined me on the step. She had been out shopping and was laden with + parcels. + </p> + <p> + “We must wait to shake hands,” she laughed, as she opened the door. “I + hope you have not been kept long. Poor Annette grows deafer every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you nobody in the house with you but Annette?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No one. You know it was a whim of his. I used to get quite cross with him + at times. But I should not like to go against his wishes—now.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there any reason for it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered; “if there had been I could have argued him out of it.” + She paused at the door of the studio. “I'll just get rid of these,” she + said, “and then I will be with you.” + </p> + <p> + A wood fire was burning on the open hearth, flashing alternate beams of + light and shadow down the long bare room. The high oak stool stood in its + usual place beside the engraving desk, upon which lay old Deleglise's last + unfinished plate, emitting a dull red glow. I paced the creaking boards + with halting steps, as through some ghostly gallery hung with dim + portraits of the dead and living. In a little while Norah entered and came + to me with outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “We will not light the lamp,” she said, “the firelight is so pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to see you,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + She had seated herself upon the broad stone kerb. With her hand she + stirred the logs; they shot into a clear white flame. Thus, the light upon + her face, she raised it gravely towards mine. It spoke to me with fuller + voice. The clear grey eyes were frank and steadfast as ever, but shadow + had passed into them, deepening them, illuminating them. + </p> + <p> + For a space we talked of our two selves, our trivial plans and doings. + </p> + <p> + “Tom left something to you,” said Norah, rising, “not in his will, that + was only a few lines. He told me to give it to you, with his love.” + </p> + <p> + She brought it to me. It was the picture he had always treasured, his + first success; a child looking on death; “The Riddle” he had named it. + </p> + <p> + We spoke of him, of his work, which since had come to be appraised at + truer value, for it was out of fashion while he lived. + </p> + <p> + “Was he a disappointed man, do you think?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Norah. “I am sure not. He was too fond of his work.” + </p> + <p> + “But he dreamt of becoming a second Millet. He confessed it to me once. + And he died an engraver.” + </p> + <p> + “But they were good engravings,” smiled Norah. + </p> + <p> + “I remember a favourite saying of his,” continued Norah, after a pause; “I + do not know whether it was original or not. 'The stars guide us. They are + not our goal.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, we aim at the moon and—hit the currant bush.” + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary always to allow for deflection,” laughed Norah. + “Apparently it takes a would-be poet to write a successful comic opera.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you do not understand!” I cried. “It was not mere ambition; cap and + bells or laurel wreath! that is small matter. I wanted to help. The + world's cry of pain, I used to hear it as a boy. I hear it yet. I meant to + help. They that are heavy laden. I hear their cry. They cry from dawn to + dawn and none heed them: we pass upon the other side. Man and woman, child + and beast. I hear their dumb cry in the night. The child's sob in the + silence, the man's fierce curse of wrong. The dog beneath the vivisector's + knife, the overdriven brute, the creature tortured for an hour that a + gourmet may enjoy an instant's pleasure; they cried to me. The wrong and + the sorrow and the pain, the long, low, endless moan God's ears are weary + of; I hear it day and night. I thought to help.” + </p> + <p> + I had risen. She took my face between her quiet, cool hands. + </p> + <p> + “What do we know? We see but a corner of the scheme. This fortress of + laughter that a few of you have been set apart to guard—this + rallying-point for all the forces of joy and gladness! how do you know it + may not be the key to the whole battle! It is far removed from the grand + charges and you think yourself forgotten. Trust your leader, be true to + your post.” + </p> + <p> + I looked into her sweet grey eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You always help me,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Do I?” she answered. “I am so glad.” + </p> + <p> + She put her firm white hand in mine. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1334 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |