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diff --git a/old/1402-0.txt b/old/1402-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36d46aa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1402-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4631 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Where the Blue Begins, by Christopher Morley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Where the Blue Begins + +Author: Christopher Morley + +Posting Date: September 17, 2008 [EBook #1402] +Release Date: July, 1998 +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE THE BLUE BEGINS *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean + + + + + +WHERE THE BLUE BEGINS + +by Christopher Morley + + + + TO FELIX and TOTO + + + + “I am not free-- And it may be + Life is too tight around my shins; + For, unlike you, + I can't break through + A truant where the blue begins. + + “Out of the very element + Of bondage, that here holds me pent, + I'll make my furious sonnet: + I'll turn my noose + To tightrope use + And madly dance upon it. + + “So I will take + My leash, and make + A wilder and more subtle fleeing + And I shall be + More escapading and more free + Than you have ever dreamed of being!” + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +Gissing lived alone (except for his Japanese butler) in a little +house in the country, in that woodland suburb region called the Canine +Estates. He lived comfortably and thoughtfully, as bachelors often do. +He came of a respectable family, who had always conducted themselves +calmly and without too much argument. They had bequeathed him just +enough income to live on cheerfully, without display but without having +to do addition and subtraction at the end of the month and then tear up +the paper lest Fuji (the butler) should see it. + +It was strange, since Gissing was so pleasantly situated in life, that +he got into these curious adventures that I have to relate. I do not +attempt to explain it. + +He had no responsibilities, not even a motor car, for his tastes were +surprisingly simple. If he happened to be spending an evening at the +country club, and a rainstorm came down, he did not worry about getting +home. He would sit by the fire and chuckle to see the married members +creep away one by one. He would get out his pipe and sleep that night +at the club, after telephoning Fuji not to sit up for him. When he felt +like it he used to read in bed, and even smoke in bed. When he went to +town to the theatre, he would spend the night at a hotel to avoid the +fatigue of the long ride on the 11:44 train. He chose a different hotel +each time, so that it was always an Adventure. He had a great deal of +fun. + +But having fun is not quite the same as being happy. Even an income of +1000 bones a year does not answer all questions. That charming little +house among the groves and thickets seemed to him surrounded by strange +whispers and quiet voices. He was uneasy. He was restless, and did not +know why. It was his theory that discipline must be maintained in the +household, so he did not tell Fuji his feelings. Even when he was alone, +he always kept up a certain formality in the domestic routine. Fuji +would lay out his dinner jacket on the bed: he dressed, came down to +the dining room with quiet dignity, and the evening meal was served by +candle-light. As long as Fuji was at work, Gissing sat carefully in +the armchair by the hearth, smoking a cigar and pretending to read +the paper. But as soon as the butler had gone upstairs, Gissing +always kicked off his dinner suit and stiff shirt, and lay down on the +hearth-rug. But he did not sleep. He would watch the wings of flame +gilding the dark throat of the chimney, and his mind seemed drawn upward +on that rush of light, up into the pure chill air where the moon was +riding among sluggish thick floes of cloud. In the darkness he heard +chiming voices, wheedling and tantalizing. One night he was walking on +his little verandah. Between rafts of silver-edged clouds were channels +of ocean-blue sky, inconceivably deep and transparent. The air was +serene, with a faint acid taste. Suddenly there shrilled a soft, sweet, +melancholy whistle, earnestly repeated. It seemed to come from the +little pond in the near-by copses. It struck him strangely. It might +be anything, he thought. He ran furiously through the field, and to +the brim of the pond. He could find nothing, all was silent. Then the +whistlings broke out again, all round him, maddeningly. This kept on, +night after night. The parson, whom he consulted, said it was only +frogs; but Gissing told the constable he thought God had something to do +with it. + +Then willow trees and poplars showed a pallid bronze sheen, forsythias +were as yellow as scrambled eggs, maples grew knobby with red buds. +Among the fresh bright grass came, here and there, exhilarating smells +of last year's buried bones. The little upward slit at the back of +Gissing's nostrils felt prickly. He thought that if he could bury it +deep enough in cold beef broth it would be comforting. Several times he +went out to the pantry intending to try the experiment, but every time +Fuji happened to be around. Fuji was a Japanese pug, and rather correct, +so Gissing was ashamed to do what he wanted to. He pretended he had come +out to see that the icebox pan had been emptied properly. + +“I must get the plumber to put in a pukka drain-pipe to take the place +of the pan,” Gissing said to Fuji; but he knew that he had no intention +of doing so. The ice-box pan was his private test of a good servant. A +cook who forgot to empty it was too careless, he thought, to be a real +success. + +But certainly there was some curious elixir in the air. He went for +walks, and as soon as he was out of sight of the houses he threw down +his hat and stick and ran wildly, with great exultation, over the hills +and fields. “I really ought to turn all this energy into some sort of +constructive work,” he said to himself. No one else, he mused, seemed to +enjoy life as keenly and eagerly as he did. He wondered, too, about the +other sex. Did they feel these violent impulses to run, to shout, to +leap and caper in the sunlight? But he was a little startled, on one of +his expeditions, to see in the distance the curate rushing hotly through +the underbrush, his clerical vestments dishevelled, his tongue hanging +out with excitement. + +“I must go to church more often,” said Gissing. + +In the golden light and pringling air he felt excitable and high-strung. +His tail curled upward until it ached. Finally he asked Mike Terrier, +who lived next door, what was wrong. + +“It's spring,” Mike said. + +“Oh, yes, of course, jolly old spring!” said Gissing, as though this was +something he had known all along, and had just forgotten for the moment. +But he didn't know. This was his first spring, for he was only ten +months old. + +Outwardly he was the brisk, genial figure that the suburb knew and +esteemed. He was something of a mystery among his neighbours of the +Canine Estates, because he did not go daily to business in the city, as +most of them did; nor did he lead a life of brilliant amusement like the +Airedales, the wealthy people whose great house was near by. Mr. Poodle, +the conscientious curate, had called several times but was not able to +learn anything definite. There was a little card-index of parishioners, +which it was Mr. Poodle's duty to fill in with details of each person's +business, charitable inclinations, and what he could do to amuse +a Church Sociable. The card allotted to Gissing was marked, in Mr. +Poodle's neat script, Friendly, but vague as to definite participation +in Xian activities. Has not communicated. + +But in himself, Gissing was increasingly disturbed. Even his seizures of +joy, which came as he strolled in the smooth spring air and sniffed the +wild, vigorous aroma of the woodland earth, were troublesome because +he did not know why he was so glad. Every morning it seemed to him that +life was about to exhibit some delicious crisis in which the meaning and +excellence of all things would plainly appear. He sang in the bathtub. +Daily it became more difficult to maintain that decorum which Fuji +expected. He felt that his life was being wasted. He wondered what ought +to be done about it. + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +It was after dinner, an April evening, and Gissing slipped away from the +house for a stroll. He was afraid to stay in, because he knew that if he +did, Fuji would ask him again to fix the dishcloth rack in the kitchen. +Fuji was very short in stature, and could not reach up to the place +where the rack was screwed over the sink. Like all people whose minds +are very active, Gissing hated to attend to little details like this. It +was a weakness in his character. Fuji had asked him six times to fix the +rack, but Gissing always pretended to forget about it. To appease his +methodical butler he had written on a piece of paper FIX DISHCLOTH RACK +and pinned it on his dressing-table pincushion; but he paid no attention +to the memorandum. + +He went out into a green April dusk. Down by the pond piped those +repeated treble whistlings: they still distressed him with a mysterious +unriddled summons, but Mike Terrier had told him that the secret of +respectability is to ignore whatever you don't understand. Careful +observation of this maxim had somewhat dulled the cry of that shrill +queer music. It now caused only a faint pain in his mind. Still, he +walked that way because the little meadow by the pond was agreeably soft +underfoot. Also, when he walked close beside the water the voices were +silent. That is worth noting, he said to himself. If you go directly at +the heart of a mystery, it ceases to be a mystery, and becomes only a +question of drainage. (Mr. Poodle had told him that if he had the pond +and swamp drained, the frog-song would not annoy him.) But to-night, +when the keen chirruping ceased, there was still another sound that did +not cease--a faint, appealing cry. It caused a prickling on his shoulder +blades, it made him both angry and tender. He pushed through the bushes. +In a little hollow were three small puppies, whining faintly. They were +cold and draggled with mud. Someone had left them there, evidently, +to perish. They were huddled close together; their eyes, a cloudy +unspeculative blue, were only just opened. “This is gruesome,” said +Gissing, pretending to be shocked. “Dear me, innocent pledges of sin, I +dare say. Well, there is only one thing to do.” + +He picked them up carefully and carried them home. + +“Quick, Fuji!” he said. “Warm some milk, some of the Grade A, and put a +little brandy in it. I'll get the spare-room bed ready.” + +He rushed upstairs, wrapped the puppies in a blanket, and turned on the +electric heater to take the chill from the spare-room. The little pads +of their paws were ice-cold, and he filled the hot water bottle and held +it carefully to their twelve feet. Their pink stomachs throbbed, and at +first he feared they were dying. “They must not die!” he said fiercely. +“If they did, it would be a matter for the police, and no end of +trouble.” + +Fuji came up with the milk, and looked very grave when he saw the muddy +footprints on the clean sheet. + +“Now, Fuji,” said Gissing, “do you suppose they can lap, or will we have +to pour it down?” + +In spite of his superior manner, Fuji was a good fellow in an emergency. +It was he who suggested the fountain-pen filler. They washed the ink +out of it, and used it to drip the hot brandy-and-milk down the puppies' +throats. Their noses, which had been icy, suddenly became very hot and +dry. Gissing feared a fever and thought their temperatures should be +taken. + +“The only thermometer we have,” he said, “is the one on the porch, with +the mercury split in two. I don't suppose that would do. Have you a +clinical thermometer, Fuji?” + +Fuji felt that his employer was making too much fuss over the matter. + +“No, sir,” he said firmly. “They are quite all right. A good sleep will +revive them. They will be as fit as possible in the morning.” + +Fuji went out into the garden to brush the mud from his neat white +jacket. His face was inscrutable. Gissing sat by the spare-room bed +until he was sure the puppies were sleeping correctly. He closed the +door so that Fuji would not hear him humming a lullaby. Three Blind Mice +was the only nursery song he could remember, and he sang it over and +over again. + +When he tiptoed downstairs, Fuji had gone to bed. Gissing went into his +study, lit a pipe, and walked up and down, thinking. By and bye he wrote +two letters. One was to a bookseller in the city, asking him to send (at +once) one copy of Dr. Holt's book on the Care and Feeding of Children, +and a well-illustrated edition of Mother Goose. The other was to Mr. +Poodle, asking him to fix a date for the christening of Mr. Gissing's +three small nephews, who had come to live with him. + +“It is lucky they are all boys,” said Gissing. “I would know nothing +about bringing up girls.” + +“I suppose,” he added after a while, “that I shall have to raise Fuji's +wages.” + +Then he went into the kitchen and fixed the dishcloth rack. + +Before going to bed that night he took his usual walk around the house. +The sky was freckled with stars. It was generally his habit to make a +tour of his property toward midnight, to be sure everything was in good +order. He always looked into the ice-box, and admired the cleanliness +of Fuji's arrangements. The milk bottles were properly capped with their +round cardboard tops; the cheese was never put on the same rack with +the butter; the doors of the ice-box were carefully latched. Such +observations, and the slow twinkle of the fire in the range, deep down +under the curfew layer of coals, pleased him. In the cellar he peeped +into the garbage can, for it was always a satisfaction to assure himself +that Fuji did not waste anything that could be used. One of the laundry +tub taps was dripping, with a soft measured tinkle: he said to himself +that he really must have it attended to. All these domestic matters +seemed more significant than ever when he thought of youthful innocence +sleeping upstairs in the spare-room bed. His had been a selfish life +hitherto, he feared. These puppies were just what he needed to take him +out of himself. + +Busy with these thoughts, he did not notice the ironical whistling +coming from the pond. He tasted the night air with cheerful +satisfaction. “At any rate, to-morrow will be a fine day,” he said. + +The next day it rained. But Gissing was too busy to think about the +weather. Every hour or so during the night he had gone into the spare +room to listen attentively to the breathing of the puppies, to pull the +blanket over them, and feel their noses. It seemed to him that they +were perspiring a little, and he was worried lest they catch cold. His +morning sleep (it had always been his comfortable habit to lie abed a +trifle late) was interrupted about seven o'clock by a lively clamour +across the hall. The puppies were awake, perfectly restored, and while +they were too young to make their wants intelligible, they plainly +expected some attention. He gave them a pair of old slippers to play +with, and proceeded to his own toilet. + +As he was bathing them, after breakfast, he tried to enlist Fuji's +enthusiasm. “Did you ever see such fat rascals?” he said. “I wonder if +we ought to trim their tails? How pink their stomachs are, and how pink +and delightful between their toes! You hold these two while I dry +the other. No, not that way! Hold them so you support their spines. A +puppy's back is very delicate: you can't be too careful. We'll have to +do things in a rough-and-ready way until Dr. Holt's book comes. After +that we can be scientific.” + +Fuji did not seem very keen. Presently, in spite of the rain, he was +dispatched to the village department store to choose three small cribs +and a multitude of safety pins. “Plenty of safety pins is the idea,” + said Gissing. “With enough safety pins handy, children are easy to +manage.” + +As soon as the puppies were bestowed on the porch, in the sunshine, for +their morning nap, he telephoned to the local paperhanger. + +“I want you” (he said) “to come up as soon as you can with some nice +samples of nursery wallpaper. A lively Mother Goose pattern would do +very well.” He had already decided to change the spare room into a +nursery. He telephoned the carpenter to make a gate for the top of the +stairs. He was so busy that he did not even have time to think of his +pipe, or the morning paper. At last, just before lunch, he found a +breathing space. He sat down in the study to rest his legs, and looked +for the Times. It was not in its usual place on his reading table. At +that moment the puppies woke up, and he ran out to attend them. He would +have been distressed if he had known that Fuji had the paper in the +kitchen, and was studying the HELP WANTED columns. + +A great deal of interest was aroused in the neighbourhood by the arrival +of Gissing's nephews, as he called them. Several of the ladies, who had +ignored him hitherto, called, in his absence, and left extra cards. This +implied (he supposed, though he was not closely versed in such niceties +of society) that there was a Mrs. Gissing, and he was annoyed, for he +felt certain they knew he was a bachelor. But the children were a source +of nothing but pride to him. They grew with astounding rapidity, ate +their food without coaxing, rarely cried at night, and gave him much +amusement by their naive ways. He was too occupied to be troubled with +introspection. Indeed, his well-ordered home was very different from +before. The trim lawn, in spite of his zealous efforts, was constantly +littered with toys. In sheer mischief the youngsters got into his +wardrobe and chewed off the tails of his evening dress coat. But he +felt a satisfying dignity and happiness in his new status as head of a +family. + +What worried him most was the fear that Fuji would complain of this +sudden addition to his duties. The butler's face was rather an enigma, +particularly at meal times, when Gissing sat at the dinner table +surrounded by the three puppies in their high chairs, with a spindrift +of milk and prune-juice spattering generously as the youngsters plied +their spoons. Fuji had arranged a series of scuppers, made of oilcloth, +underneath the chairs; but in spite of this the dining-room rug, after a +meal, looked much as the desert place must have after the feeding of +the multitude. Fuji, who was pensive, recalled the five loaves and two +fishes that produced twelve baskets of fragments. The vacuum cleaner got +clogged by a surfeit of crumbs. + +Gissing saw that it would be a race between heart and head. If Fuji's +heart should become entangled (that is, if the innocent charms of the +children should engage his affections before his reason convinced him +that the situation was now too arduous), there was some hope. He tried +to ease the problem also by mental suggestion. “It is really remarkable” + (he said to Fuji) “that children should give one so little trouble.” + As he made this remark, he was speeding hotly to and fro between the +bathroom and the nursery, trying to get one tucked in bed and another +undressed, while the third was lashing the tub into soapy foam. Fuji +made his habitual response, “Very good, sir.” But one fears that he +detected some insincerity, for the next day, which was Sunday, he gave +notice. This generally happens on a Sunday, because the papers publish +more Help Wanted advertisements then than on any other day. + +“I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “But when I took this place there was nothing +said about three children.” + +This was unreasonable of Fuji. It is very rare to have everything +explained beforehand. When Adam and Eve were put into the Garden of +Eden, there was nothing said about the serpent. + +However, Gissing did not believe in entreating a servant to stay. He +offered to give Fuji a raise, but the butler was still determined to +leave. + +“My senses are very delicate,” he said. “I really cannot stand +the--well, the aroma exhaled by those three children when they have had +a warm bath.” + +“What nonsense!” cried Gissing. “The smell of wet, healthy puppies? +Nothing is more agreeable. You are cold-blooded: I don't believe you are +fond of puppies. Think of their wobbly black noses. Consider how pink is +the little cleft between their toes and the main cushion of their feet. +Their ears are like silk. Inside their upper jaws are parallel black +ridges, most remarkable. I never realized before how beautifully and +carefully we are made. I am surprised that you should be so indifferent +to these things.” + +There was a moisture in Fuji's eyes, but he left at the end of the week. + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +A solitary little path ran across the fields not far from the house. +It lay deep among tall grasses and the withered brittle stalks of +last autumn's goldenrod, and here Gissing rambled in the green hush of +twilight, after the puppies were in bed. In less responsible days +he would have lain down on his back, with all four legs upward, and +cheerily shrugged and rolled to and fro, as the crisp ground-stubble was +very pleasing to the spine. But now he paced soberly, the smoke from his +pipe eddying just above the top of the grasses. He had much to meditate. + +The dogwood tree by the house was now in flower. The blossoms, with +their four curved petals, seemed to spin like tiny white propellers +in the bright air. When he saw them fluttering Gissing had a happy +sensation of movement. The business of those tremulous petals seemed to +be thrusting his whole world forward and forward, through the viewless +ocean of space. He felt as though he were on a ship--as, indeed, we are. +He had never been down to the open sea, but he had imagined it. There, +he thought, there must be the satisfaction of a real horizon. + +Horizons had been a great disappointment to him. In earlier days he had +often slipped out of the house not long after sunrise, and had marvelled +at the blue that lies upon the skyline. Here, about him, were the clear +familiar colours of the world he knew; but yonder, on the hills, were +trees and spaces of another more heavenly tint. That soft blue light, if +he could reach it, must be the beginning of what his mind required. + +He envied Mr. Poodle, whose cottage was on that very hillslope that rose +so imperceptibly into sky. One morning he ran and ran, in the lifting +day, but always the blue receded. Hot and unbuttoned, he came by the +curate's house, just as the latter emerged to pick up the morning paper. + +“Where does the blue begin?” Gissing panted, trying hard to keep his +tongue from sliding out so wetly. + +The curate looked a trifle disturbed. He feared that something +unpleasant had happened, and that his assistance might be required +before breakfast. + +“It is going to be a warm day,” he said politely, and stooped for the +newspaper, as a delicate hint. + +“Where does--?” began Gissing, quivering; but at that moment, looking +round, he saw that it had hoaxed him again. Far away, on his own hill +the other side of the village, shone the evasive colour. As usual, +he had been too impetuous. He had not watched it while he ran; it had +circled round behind him. He resolved to be more methodical. + +The curate gave him a blank to fill in, relative to baptizing the +children, and was relieved to see him hasten away. + +But all this was some time ago. As he walked the meadow path, Gissing +suddenly realized that lately he had had little opportunity for pursuing +blue horizons. Since Fuji's departure every moment, from dawn to dusk, +was occupied. In three weeks he had had three different servants, but +none of them would stay. The place was too lonely, they said, and with +three puppies the work was too hard. The washing, particularly was a +horrid problem. Inexperienced as a parent, Gissing was probably too +proud: he wanted the children always to look clean and soigne. The last +cook had advertised herself as a General Houseworker, afraid of +nothing; but as soon as she saw the week's wash in the hamper (including +twenty-one grimy rompers), she telephoned to the station for a taxi. +Gissing wondered why it was that the working classes were not willing +to do one-half as much as he, who had been reared to indolent ease. Even +more, he was irritated by a suspicion of the ice-wagon driver. He could +not prove it, but he had an idea that this uncouth fellow obtained a +commission from the Airedales and Collies, who had large mansions in the +neighbourhood, for luring maids from the smaller homes. Of course Mrs. +Airedale and Mrs. Collie could afford to pay any wages at all. So now +the best he could do was to have Mrs. Spaniel, the charwoman, come up +from the village to do the washing and ironing, two days a week. The +rest of the work he undertook himself. On a clear afternoon, when the +neighbours were not looking, he would take his own shirts and things +down to the pond--putting them neatly in the bottom of the red +express-wagon, with the puppies sitting on the linen, so no one would +see. While the puppies played about and hunted for tadpoles, he would +wash his shirts himself. + +His legs ached as he took his evening stroll--keeping within earshot of +the house, so as to hear any possible outcry from the nursery. He +had been on his feet all day. But he reflected that there was a real +satisfaction in his family tasks, however gruelling. Now, at last (he +said to himself), I am really a citizen, not a mere dilettante. Of +course it is arduous. No one who is not a parent realizes, for example, +the extraordinary amount of buttoning and unbuttoning necessary in +rearing children. I calculate that 50,000 buttonings are required for +each one before it reaches the age of even rudimentary independence. +With the energy so expended one might write a great novel or chisel a +statue. Never mind: these urchins must be my Works of Art. If one +were writing a novel, he could not delegate to a hired servant the +composition of laborious chapters. + +So he took his responsibility gravely. This was partly due to the +christening service, perhaps, which had gone off very charmingly. It +had not been without its embarrassments. None of the neighbouring ladies +would stand as godmother, for they were secretly dubious as to the +children's origin; so he had asked good Mrs. Spaniel to act in that +capacity. She, a simple kindly creature, was much flattered, though +certainly she can have understood very little of the symbolical rite. +Gissing, filling out the form that Mr. Poodle had given him, had put +down the names of an entirely imaginary brother and sister-in-law of +his, “deceased,” whom he asserted as the parents. He had been so busy +with preparations that he did not find time, before the ceremony, +to study the text of the service; and when he and Mrs. Spaniel stood +beneath the font with an armful of ribboned infancy, he was frankly +startled by the magnitude of the promises exacted from him. He found +that, on behalf of the children, he must “renounce the devil and all his +work, the vain pomp and glory of the world;” that he must pledge himself +to see that these infants would “crucify the old man and utterly abolish +the whole body of sin.” It was rather doubtful whether they would do so, +he reflected, as he felt them squirming in his arms while Mrs. Spaniel +was busy trying to keep their socks on. When the curate exhorted him “to +follow the innocency” of these little ones, it was disconcerting to have +one of them burst into a piercing yammer, and wriggle so forcibly that +it slipped quite out of its little embroidered shift and flannel band. +But the actual access to the holy basin was more seemly, perhaps due to +the children imagining they were going to find tadpoles there. When Mr. +Poodle held them up they smiled with a vague almost bashful simplicity; +and Mrs. Spaniel could not help murmuring “The darlings!” The curate, +less experienced with children, had insisted on holding all three at +once, and Gissing feared lest one of them might swarm over the surpliced +shoulder and fall splash into the font. But though they panted a little +with excitement, they did nothing to mar the solemn instant. While Mrs. +Spaniel was picking up the small socks with which the floor was strewn, +Gissing was deeply moved by the poetry of the ceremony. He felt that +something had really been accomplished toward “burying the Old Adam.” + And if Mrs. Spaniel ever grew disheartened at the wash-tubs, he was +careful to remind her of the beautiful phrase about the mystical washing +away of sin. + +They had been christened Groups, Bunks, and Yelpers, three traditional +names in his family. + +Indeed, he was reflecting as he walked in the dusk, Mrs. Spaniel was +now his sheet anchor. Fortunately she showed signs of becoming +extraordinarily attached to the puppies. On the two days a week when she +came up from the village, it was even possible for him to get a little +relaxation--to run down to the station for tobacco, or to lie in the +hammock briefly with a book. Looking off from his airy porch, he could +see the same blue distances that had always tempted him, but he felt too +passive to wonder about them. He had given up the idea of trying to get +any other servants. If it had been possible, he would have engaged Mrs. +Spaniel to sleep in the house and be there permanently; but she had +children of her own down in the shantytown quarter of the village, and +had to go back to them at night. But certainly he made every effort to +keep her contented. It was a long steep climb up from the hollow, so +he allowed her to come in a taxi and charge it to his account. Then, on +condition that she would come on Saturdays also, to help him clean up +for Sunday, he allowed her, on that day, to bring her own children too, +and all the puppies played riotously together around the place. But this +he presently discontinued, for the clamour became so deafening that the +neighbours complained. Besides, the young Spaniels, who were a little +older, got Groups, Bunks, and Yelpers into noisy and careless habits of +speech. + +He was anxious that they should grow up refined, and was distressed by +little Shaggy Spaniel having brought up the Comic Section of a Sunday +paper. With childhood's instinctive taste for primitive effects, the +puppies fell in love with the coloured cartoons, and badgered him +continually for “funny papers.” + +There is a great deal more to think about in raising children (he said +to himself) than is intimated in Dr. Holt's book on Care and Feeding. +Even in matters that he had always taken for granted, such as fairy +tales, he found perplexity. After supper--(he now joined the children in +their evening bread and milk, for after cooking them a hearty lunch of +meat and gravy and potatoes and peas and the endless spinach and carrots +that the doctors advise, to say nothing of the prunes, he had no energy +to prepare a special dinner for himself)--after supper it was his habit +to read to them, hoping to give their imaginations a little exercise +before they went to bed. He was startled to find that Grimm and Hans +Andersen, which he had considered as authentic classics for childhood, +were full of very strong stuff--morbid sentiment, bloodshed, horror, and +all manner of painful circumstance. Reading the tales aloud, he edited +as he went along; but he was subject to that curious weakness that +afflicts some people: reading aloud made him helplessly sleepy: after a +page or so he would fall into a doze, from which he would be awakened by +the crash of a lamp or some other furniture. The children, seized with +that furious hilarity that usually begins just about bedtime, would race +madly about the house until some breakage or a burst of tears woke him +from his trance. He would thrash them all and put them to bed howling. +When they were asleep he would be touched with tender compassion, and +steal in to tuck them up, admiring the innocence of each unconscious +muzzle on its pillow. Sometimes, in a crisis of his problems, he thought +of writing to Dr. Holt for advice; but the will-power was lacking. + +It is really astonishing how children can exhaust one, he used to think. +Sometimes, after a long day, he was even too weary to correct their +grammar. “You lay down!” Groups would admonish Yelpers, who was capering +in his crib while Bunks was being lashed in with the largest size of +safety pins. And Gissing, doggedly passing from one to another, was +really too fatigued to reprove the verb, picked up from Mrs. Spaniel. + +Fairy tales proving a disappointment, he had great hopes of encouraging +them in drawing. He bought innumerable coloured crayons and stacks +of scribbling paper. After supper they would all sit down around the +dining-room table and he drew pictures for them. Tongues depending with +concentrated excitement, the children would try to copy these pictures +and colour them. In spite of having three complete sets of crayons, a +full roster of colours could rarely be found at drawing time. Bunks had +the violet when Groups wanted it, and so on. But still, this was often +the happiest hour of the day. Gissing drew amazing trains, elephants, +ships, and rainbows, with the spectrum of colours correctly arranged +and blended. The children specially loved his landscapes, which were +opulently tinted and magnificent in long perspectives. He found himself +always colouring the far horizons a pale and haunting blue. + +He was meditating these things when a shrill yammer recalled him to the +house. + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +In this warm summer weather Gissing slept on a little outdoor balcony +that opened off the nursery. The world, rolling in her majestic seaway, +heeled her gunwale slowly into the trough of space. Disked upon this +bulwark, the sun rose, and promptly Gissing woke. The poplars flittered +in a cool stir. Beyond the tadpole pond, through a notch in the +landscape, he could see the far darkness of the hills. That fringe of +woods was a railing that kept the sky from flooding over the earth. + +The level sun, warily peering over the edge like a cautious marksman, +fired golden volleys unerringly at him. At once Gissing was aware and +watchful. Brief truce was over: the hopeless war with Time began anew. + +This was his placid hour. Light, so early, lies timidly along the +ground. It steals gently from ridge to ridge; it is soft, unsure. +That blue dimness, receding from bole to bole, is the skirt of Night's +garment, trailing off toward some other star. As easily as it slips from +tree to tree, it glides from earth to Orion. + +Light, which later will riot and revel and strike pitilessly down, still +is tender and tentative. It sweeps in rosy scythe-strokes, parallel to +earth. It gilds, where later it will burn. + +Gissing lay, without stirring. The springs of the old couch were creaky, +and the slightest sound might arouse the children within. Now, until +they woke, was his peace. Purposely he had had the sleeping porch built +on the eastern side of the house. Making the sun his alarm clock, he +prolonged the slug-a-bed luxury. He had procured the darkest and +most opaque of all shades for the nursery windows, to cage as long as +possible in that room Night the silencer. At this time of the year, the +song of the mosquito was his dreaded nightingale. In spite of fine-mesh +screens, always one or two would get in. Mrs. Spaniel, he feared, left +the kitchen door ajar during the day, and these Borgias of the insect +world, patiently invasive, seized their chance. It was a rare night when +a sudden scream did not come from the nursery every hour or so. “Daddy, +a keeto, a keeto!” was the anguish from one of the trio. The other two +were up instantly, erect and yelping in their cribs, small black paws on +the rail, pink stomachs candidly exposed to the winged stilleto. Lights +on, and the room must be explored for the lurking foe. Scratching +themselves vigorously, the fun of the chase assuaged the smart of those +red welts. Gissing, wise by now, knew that after a forager the mosquito +always retires to the ceiling, so he kept a stepladder in the room. +Mounted on this, he would pursue the enemy with a towel, while the +children screamed with merriment. Then stomachs must be anointed with +more citronella; sheets and blankets reassembled, and quiet gradually +restored. Life, as parents know, can be supported on very little sleep. + +But how delicious to lie there, in the morning freshness, to hear the +earth stir with reviving gusto, the merriment of birds, the exuberant +clink of milk-bottles set down by the back-door, the whole complex +machinery of life begin anew! Gissing was amazed now, looking back upon +his previous existence, to see himself so busy, so active. Few +people are really lazy, he thought: what we call laziness is merely +maladjustment. For in any department of life where one is genuinely +interested, he will be zealous beyond belief. Certainly he had not +dreamed, until he became (in a manner of speaking) a parent, that he had +in him such capacity for detail. + +This business of raising a family, though--had he any true aptitude +for it? or was he forcing himself to go through with it? Wasn't he, +moreover, incurring all the labours of parenthood without any of +its proper dignity and social esteem? Mrs. Chow down the street, for +instance, why did she look so sniffingly upon him when she heard the +children, in the harmless uproar of their play, cry him aloud as Daddy? +Uncle, he had intended they should call him; but that is, for beginning +speech, a hard saying, embracing both a palatal and a liquid. Whereas +Da-da--the syllables come almost unconsciously to the infant mouth. +So he had encouraged it, and even felt an irrational pride in the +honourable but unearned title. + +A little word, Daddy, but one of the most potent, he was thinking. +More than a word, perhaps: a great social engine: an anchor which, cast +carelessly overboard, sinks deep and fast into the very bottom. The +vessel rides on her hawser, and where are your blue horizons then? + +But come now, isn't one horizon as good as another? And do they really +remain blue when you reach them? + +Unconsciously he stirred, stretching his legs deeply into the +comfortable nest of his couch. The springs twanged. Simultaneous +clamours! The puppies were awake. + +They yelled to be let out from the cribs. This was the time of the +morning frolic. Gissing had learned that there is only one way to deal +with the almost inexhaustible energy of childhood. That is, not to +attempt to check it, but to encourage and draw it out. To start the day +with a rush, stimulating every possible outlet of zeal; meanwhile taking +things as calmly and quietly as possible himself, sitting often to take +the weight off his legs, and allowing the youngsters to wear themselves +down. This, after all, is Nature's own way with man; it is the wise +parent's tactic with children. Thus, by dusk, the puppies will have run +themselves almost into a stupor; and you, if you have shrewdly husbanded +your strength, may have still a little power in reserve for reading and +smoking. + +The before-breakfast game was conducted on regular routine. Children +show their membership in the species by their love of strict habit. + +Gissing let them yell for a few moments--as long as he thought the +neighbours would endure it--while he gradually gathered strength and +resolution, shook off the cowardice of bed. Then he strode into the +nursery. As soon as they heard him raising the shades there was complete +silence. They hastened to pull the blankets over themselves, and lay +tense, faces on paws, with bright expectant upward eyes. They trembled a +little with impatience. It was all he could do to restrain himself from +patting the sleek heads, which always seemed to shine with extra +polish after a night's rolling to and fro on the flattened pillows. But +sternness was a part of the game at this moment. He solemnly unlatched +and lowered the tall sides of the cribs. + +He stood in the middle of the room, with a gesture of command. “Quiet +now,” he said. “Quiet, until I tell you!” + +Yelpers could not help a small whine of intense emotion, which slipped +out unintended. The eyes of Groups and Bunks swivelled angrily toward +their unlucky brother. It was his failing: in crises he always emitted +haphazard sounds. But this time Gissing, with lenient forgiveness, +pretended not to have heard. + +He returned to the balcony, and reentered his couch, where he lay +feigning sleep. In the nursery was a terrific stillness. + +It was the rule of the game that they should lie thus, in absolute +quiet, until he uttered a huge imitation snore. Once, after a +particularly exhausting night, he had postponed the snore too long: +he fell asleep. He did not wake for an hour, and then found the tragic +three also sprawled in amazing slumber. But their pillows were wet with +tears. He never succumbed again, no matter how deeply tempted. + +He snored. There were three sprawling thumps, a rush of feet, and a +tumbling squeeze through the screen door. Then they were on the couch +and upon him, with panting yelps of glee. Their hot tongues rasped +busily over his face. This was the great tickling game. Remembering his +theory of conserving energy, he lay passive while they rollicked +and scrambled, burrowing in the bedclothes, quivering imps of absurd +pleasure. All that was necessary was to give an occasional squirm, to +tweak their ribs now and then, so that they believed his heart was in +the sport. Really he got quite a little rest while they were scuffling. +No one knew exactly what was the imagined purpose of the lark--whether +he was supposed to be trying to escape from them, or they from him. Like +all the best games, it had not been carefully thought out. + +“Now, children,” said Gissing presently. “Time to get dressed.” + +It was amazing how fast they were growing. Already they were beginning +to take a pride in trying to dress themselves. While Gissing was in +the bathroom, enjoying his cold tub (and under the stimulus of that +icy sluice forming excellent resolutions for the day) the children were +sitting on the nursery floor eagerly studying the intricacies of their +gear. By the time he returned they would have half their garments on +wrong; waist and trousers front side to rear; right shoes on left feet; +buttons hopelessly mismated to buttonholes; shoelacings oddly zigzagged. +It was far more trouble to permit their ambitious bungling, which must +be undone and painstakingly reassembled, than to have clad them all +himself, swiftly revolving and garmenting them like dolls. But in these +early hours of the day, patience still is robust. It was his pedagogy to +encourage their innocent initiatives, so long as endurance might permit. + +Best of all, he enjoyed watching them clean their teeth. It was +delicious to see them, tiptoe on their hind legs at the basin, to which +their noses just reached; mouths gaping wide as they scrubbed with very +small toothbrushes. They were so elated by squeezing out the toothpaste +from the tube that he had not the heart to refuse them this privilege, +though it was wasteful. For they always squeezed out more than +necessary, and after a moment's brushing their mouths became choked and +clotted with the pungent foam. Much of this they swallowed, for he +had not been able to teach them to rinse and gargle. Their only idea +regarding any fluid in the mouth was to swallow it; so they coughed and +strangled and barked. Gissing had a theory that this toothpaste foam +most be an appetizer, for he found that the more of it they swallowed, +the better they ate their breakfast. + +After breakfast he hurried them out into the garden, before the day +became too hot. As he put a new lot of prunes to soak in cold water, he +could not help reflecting how different the kitchen and pantry looked +from the time of Fuji. The ice-box pan seemed to be continually brimming +over. Somehow--due, he feared, to a laxity on Mrs. Spaniel's part--ants +had got in. He was always finding them inside the ice-box, and wondered +where they came from. He was amazed to find how negligent he was growing +about pots and pans: he began cooking a new mess of oatmeal in the +double boiler without bothering to scrape out the too adhesive remnant +of the previous porridge. He had come to the conclusion that children +are tougher and more enduring than Dr. Holt will admit; and that a +little carelessness in matters of hygiene and sterilization does not +necessarily mean instant death. + +Truly his once dainty menage was deteriorating. He had put away his fine +china, put away the linen napery, and laid the table with oil cloth. He +had even improved upon Fuji's invention of scuppers by a little +trough which ran all round the rim of the table, to catch any possible +spillage. He was horrified to observe how inevitably callers came at +the worst possible moment. Mr. and Mrs. Chow, for instance, drew up one +afternoon in their spick-and-span coupe with their intolerably spotless +only child sitting self-consciously beside them. Groups, Bunks, and +Yelpers were just then filling the garden with horrid clamour. They had +been quarrelling, and one had pushed the other two down the back steps. +Gissing, who had attempted to find a quiet moment to scald the ants out +of the ice-box, had just rushed forth and boxed them all. As he stood +there, angry and waving a steaming dishclout, two Chows appeared. The +puppies at once set upon little Sandy Chow, and had thoroughly mauled +his starched sailor suit in the driveway before two minutes were past. +Gissing could not help laughing, for he suspected that there had been a +touch of malice in the Chows coming just at that time. + +He had given up his flower garden, too. It was all he could do to shove +the lawn-mower around, in the dusk, after the puppies were in bed. +Formerly he had found the purr of the twirling blades a soothing +stimulus to thought; but nowadays he could not even think consecutively. +Perhaps, he thought, the residence of the mind is in the legs, not in +the head; for when your legs are thoroughly weary you can't seem to +think. + +So he had decided that he simply must have more help in the cooking and +housework. He had instructed Mrs. Spaniel to send the washing to the +steam-laundry, and spend her three days in the kitchen instead. A +huge bundle had come back from the laundry, and he had paid the driver +$15.98. With dismay he sorted the clean, neatly folded garments. Here +was the worthy Mrs. Spaniel's list, painstakingly written out in her +straggling script:-- + + MR. GISHING FAMILY WOSH + + 8 towls + 6 pymjarm Mr Gishing + 12 rompers + 3 blowses + 6 cribb sheets + 1 Mr. Gishing sheat + 4 wastes + 3 wosh clothes + 2 onion sutes Mr Gishing + 6 smal onion sutes + 4 pillo slipes + 3 sherts + 18 hankerchifs smal + 6 hankerchifs large + 8 colers + 3 overhauls + 10 bibbs + 2 table clothes (coca stane) + 1 table clothe (prun juce and eg) + +After contemplating this list, Gissing went to his desk and began to +study his accounts. A resolve was forming in his mind. + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +The summer evenings sounded a very different music from that thin +wheedling of April. It was now a soft steady vibration, the incessant +drone and throb of locust and cricket, and sometimes the sudden rasp, +dry and hard, of katydids. Gissing, in spite of his weariness, was all +fidgets. He would walk round and round the house in the dark, unable +to settle down to anything; tired, but incapable of rest. What is this +uneasiness in the mind, he asked himself? The great sonorous drumming of +the summer night was like the bruit of Time passing steadily by. Even +in the soft eddy of the leaves, lifted on a drowsy creeping air, was a +sound of discontent, of troublesome questioning. Through the trees he +could see the lighted oblongs of neighbours' windows, or hear stridulent +jazz records. Why were all others so cheerfully absorbed in the minutiae +of their lives, and he so painfully ill at ease? Sometimes, under the +warm clear darkness, the noises of field and earth swelled to a kind +of soft thunder: his quickened ears heard a thousand small outcries +contributing to the awful energy of the world--faint chimings and +whistlings in the grass, and endless flutter, rustle, and whirr. His own +body, on which hair and nails grew daily like vegetation, startled and +appalled him. Consciousness of self, that miserable ecstasy, was heavy +upon him. + +He envied the children, who lay upstairs sprawled under their mosquito +nettings. Immersed in living, how happily unaware of being alive! He +saw, with tenderness, how naively they looked to him as the answer and +solution of their mimic problems. But where could he find someone to be +to him what he was to them? The truth apparently was that in his inward +mind he was desperately lonely. Reading the poets by fits and starts, +he suddenly realized that in their divine pages moved something of this +loneliness, this exquisite unhappiness. But these great hearts had had +the consolation of setting down their moods in beautiful words, words +that lived and spoke. His own strange fever burned inexpressibly inside +him. Was he the only one who felt the challenge offered by the maddening +fertility and foison of the hot sun-dazzled earth? Life, he realized, +was too amazing to be frittered out in this aimless sickness of heart. +There were truths and wonders to be grasped, if he could only throw off +this wistful vague desire. He felt like a clumsy strummer seated at a +dark shining grand piano, which he knows is capable of every glory of +rolling music, yet he can only elicit a few haphazard chords. + +He had his moments of arrogance, too. Ah, he was very young! This +miracle of blue unblemished sky that had baffled all others since life +began--he, he would unriddle it! He was inclined to sneer at his friends +who took these things for granted, and did not perceive the infamous +insolubility of the whole scheme. Remembering the promises made at +the christening, he took the children to church; but alas, carefully +analyzing his mind, he admitted that his attention had been chiefly +occupied with keeping them orderly, and he had gone through the service +almost automatically. Only in singing hymns did he experience a tingle +of exalted feeling. But Mr. Poodle was proud of his well-trained choir, +and Gissing had a feeling that the congregation was not supposed to do +more than murmur the verses, for fear of spoiling the effect. In his +favourite hymns he had a tendency to forget himself and let go: his +vigorous tenor rang lustily. Then he realized that the backs of people's +heads looked surprised. The children could not be kept quiet unless +they stood up on the pews. Mr. Poodle preached rather a long sermon, and +Yelpers, toward twelve-thirty, remarked in a clear tone of interested +inquiry, “What time does God have dinner?” + +Gissing had a painful feeling that he and Mr. Poodle did not thoroughly +understand each other. The curate, who was kindness itself, called one +evening, and they had a friendly chat. Gissing was pleased to find +that Mr. Poodle enjoyed a cigar, and after some hesitation ventured to +suggest that he still had something in the cellar. Mr. Poodle said that +he didn't care for anything, but his host could not help hearing the +curate's tail quite unconsciously thumping on the chair cushions. So he +excused himself and brought up one of his few remaining bottles of +White Horse. Mr. Poodle crossed his legs and they chatted about golf, +politics, the income tax, and some of the recent books; but when Gissing +turned the talk on religion, Mr. Poodle became diffident.. Gissing, +warmed and cheered by the vital Scotch, was perhaps too direct. + +“What ought I to do to 'crucify the old man'?” he said. + +Mr. Poodle was rather embarrassed. + +“You must mortify the desires of the flesh,” he replied. “You must dig +up the old bone of sin that is buried in all our hearts.” + +There were many more questions Gissing wanted to ask about this, but Mr. +Poodle said he really must be going, as he had a call to pay on Mr. and +Mrs. Chow. + +Gissing walked down the path with him, and the curate did indeed set off +toward the Chows'. But Gissing wondered, for a little later he heard a +cheerful canticle upraised in the open fields. + +He himself was far from gay. He longed to tear out this malady from his +breast. Poor dreamer, he did not know that to do so is to tear out God +Himself. “Mrs. Spaniel,” he said when the laundress next came up from +the village, “you are a widow, aren't you?” + +“Yes, sir,” she said. “Poor Spaniel was killed by a truck, two years ago +April.” Her face was puzzled, but beneath her apron Gissing could see +her tail wagging. + +“Don't misunderstand me,” he said quickly. “I've got to go away on +business. I want you to bring your children and move into this house +while I'm gone. I'll make arrangements at the bank about paying all the +bills. You can give up your outside washing and devote yourself entirely +to looking after this place.” + +Mrs. Spaniel was so much surprised that she could not speak. In her +amazement a bright bubble dripped from the end of her curly tongue. +Hastily she caught it in her apron, and apologized. + +“How long will you be away, sir?” she asked. + +“I don't know. It may be quite a long time.” + +“But all your beautiful things, furniture and everything,” said Mrs. +Spaniel. “I'm afraid my children are a bit rough. They're not used to +living in a house like this--” + +“Well,” said Gissing, “you must do the best you can. There are some +things more important than furniture. It will be good for your children +to get accustomed to refined surroundings, and it'll be good for my +nephews to have someone to play with. Besides, I don't want them to grow +up spoiled mollycoddles. I think I've been fussing over them too much. +If they have good stuff in them, a little roughening won't do any +permanent harm.” + +“Dear me,” cried Mrs. Spaniel, “what will the neighbours think?” + +“They won't,” said Gissing. “I don't doubt they'll talk, but they won't +think. Thinking is very rare. I've got to do some myself, that's one +reason why I'm going. You know, Mrs. Spaniel, God is a horizon, not +someone sitting on a throne.” Mrs. Spaniel didn't understand this--in +fact, she didn't seem to hear it. Her mind was full of the idea that +she would simply have to have a new dress, preferably black silk, for +Sundays. Gissing, very sagacious, had already foreseen this point. +“Let's not have any argument,” he continued. “I have planned everything. +Here is some money for immediate needs. I'll speak to them at the +bank, and they will give you a weekly allowance. I leave you here as +caretaker. Later on I'll send you an address and you can write me how +things are going.” + +Poor Mrs. Spaniel was bewildered. She came of very decent people, but +since Spaniel took to drink, and then left her with a family to support, +she had sunk in the world. She was wondering now how she could face it +out with Mrs. Chow and Mrs. Fox-Terrier and the other neighbours. + +“Oh, dear,” she cried, “I don't know what to say, sir. Why, my boys are +so disreputable-looking, they haven't even a collar between them.” + +“Get them collars and anything else they need,” said Gissing kindly. +“Don't worry, Mrs. Spaniel, it will be a fine thing for you. There will +be a little gossip, I dare say, but we'll have to chance that. Now +you had better go down to the village and make your arrangements. I'm +leaving tonight.” + +Late that evening, after seeing Mrs. Spaniel and her brood safely +installed, Gissing walked to the station with his suitcase. He felt a +pang as he lifted the mosquito nettings and kissed the cool moist noses +of the sleeping trio. But he comforted himself by thinking that this was +no merely vulgar desertion. If he was to raise the family, he must earn +some money. His modest income would not suffice for this sudden increase +in expenses. Besides, he had never known what freedom meant until it +was curtailed. For the past three months he had lived in ceaseless +attendance; had even slept with one ear open for the children's cries. +Now he owed it to himself to make one great strike for peace. Wealth, he +could see, was the answer. With money, everything was attainable: books, +leisure for study, travel, prestige--in short, command over the physical +details of life. He would go in for Big Business. Already he thrilled +with a sense of power and prosperity. + +The little house stood silent in the darkness as he went down the path. +The night was netted with the weaving sparkle of fireflies. He stood +for a moment, looking. Suddenly there came a frightened cry from the +nursery. + +“Daddy, a keeto, a keeto!” + +He nearly turned to run back, but checked himself. No, Mrs. Spaniel was +now in charge. It was up to her. Besides, he had only just enough time +to catch the last train to the city. + +But he sat on the cinder-speckled plush of the smoker in a mood that was +hardly revelry. “By Jove,” he said to himself, “I got away just in time. +Another month and I couldn't have done it.” + +It was midnight when he saw the lights of town, panelled in gold against +a peacock sky. Acres and acres of blue darkness lay close-pressing +upon the gaudy grids of light. Here one might really look at this great +miracle of shadow and see its texture. The dulcet air drifted lazily in +deep, silent crosstown streets. “Ah,” he said, “here is where the blue +begins.” + + + +CHAPTER SIX + + “For students of the troubled heart + Cities are perfect works of art.” + +There is a city so tall that even the sky above her seems to have lifted +in a cautious remove, inconceivably far. There is a city so proud, so +mad, so beautiful and young, that even heaven has retreated, lest her +placid purity be too nearly tempted by that brave tragic spell. In the +city which is maddest of all, Gissing had come to search for sanity. In +the city so strangely beautiful that she has made even poets silent, he +had come to find a voice. In the city of glorious ostent and vanity, he +had come to look for humility and peace. + +All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities are +beautiful: but the beauty is grim. Who shall tell me the truth about +this one? Tragic? Even so, because wherever ambitions, vanities, and +follies are multiplied by millionfold contact, calamity is there. Noble +and beautiful? Aye, for even folly may have the majesty of magnitude. +Hasty, cruel, shallow? Agreed, but where in this terrene orb will you +find it otherwise? I know all that can be said against her; and yet in +her great library of streets, vast and various as Shakespeare, is beauty +enough for a lifetime. O poets, why have you been so faint? Because she +seems cynical and crass, she cries with trumpet-call to the mind of the +dreamer; because she is riant and mad, she speaks to the grave sanity of +the poet. + +So, in a mood perhaps too consciously lofty, Gissing was meditating. +It was rather impudent of him to accuse the city of being mad, for he +himself, in his glee over freedom regained, was not conspicuously sane. +He scoured the town in high spirits, peering into shop-windows, riding +on top of busses, going to the Zoo, taking the rickety old steamer to +the Statue of Liberty, drinking afternoon tea at the Ritz, and all that +sort of thing. The first three nights in town he slept in one of the +little traffic-towers that perch on stilts up above Fifth Avenue. As +a matter of fact, it was that one near St. Patrick's Cathedral. He had +ridden up the Avenue in a taxi, intending to go to the Plaza (just for +a bit of splurge after his domestic confinement). As the cab went by, he +saw the traffic-tower, dark and empty, and thought what a pleasant place +to sleep. So he asked the driver to let him out at the Cathedral, and +after being sure that he was not observed, walked back to the little +turret, climbed up the ladder, and made himself at home. He liked it +so well that he returned there the two following nights; but he didn't +sleep much, for he could not resist the fun of startling night-hawk +taxis by suddenly flashing the red, green, and yellow lights at them, +and seeing them stop in bewilderment. But after three nights he +thought it best to leave. It would have been awkward if the police had +discovered him. + +It was time to settle down and begin work. He had an uncle who was head +of an important business far down-town; but Gissing, with the quixotry +of youth, was determined to make his own start in the great world of +commerce. He found a room on the top floor of a quiet brownstone house +in the West Seventies. It was not large, and he had to go down a flight +for his bath; the gas burner over the bed whistled; the dust was rather +startling after the clean country; but it was cheap, and his sense of +adventure more than compensated. Mrs. Purp, the landlady, pleased him +greatly. She was very maternal, and urged him not to bolt his meals in +armchair lunches. She put an ashtray in his room. + +Gissing sent Mrs. Spaniel a postcard with a picture of the Pennsylvania +Station. On it he wrote Arrived safely. Hard at work. Love to the +children. Then he went to look for a job. + +His ideas about business were very vague. All he knew was that he wished +to be very wealthy and influential as soon as possible. He could have +had much sound advice from his uncle, who was a member of the Union +Kennel and quite a prominent dog-about-town. But Gissing had the +secretive pride of inexperience. Moreover, he did not quite know what +to say about his establishment in the country. That houseful of children +would need some explaining. + +Those were days of brilliant heat; clear, golden, dry. The society +columns in the papers assured him that everyone was out of town; but the +Avenue seemed plentifully crowded with beautiful, superb creatures. +Far down the gentle slopes of that glimmering roadway he could see +the rolling stream of limousines, dazzles of sunlight caught on their +polished flanks. A faint blue haze of gasoline fumes hung low in the +bright warm air. This is the street where even the most passive are +pricked by the strange lure of carnal dominion. Nothing less than a job +on the Avenue itself would suit his mood, he felt. + +Fortune and audacity united (as they always do) to concede his desire. +He was in the beautiful department store of Beagle and Company, one of +the most splendid of its kind, looking at some sand-coloured spats. +In an aisle near by he heard a commotion--nothing vulgar, but still an +evident stir, with repressed yelps and a genteel, horrified bustle. He +hastened to the spot, and through the crowd saw someone lying on the +floor. An extremely beautiful sales-damsel, charmingly clad in black +crepe de chien, was supporting the victim's head, vainly fanning him. +Wealthy dowagers were whining in distress. Then an ambulance clanged +up to a side door, and a stretcher was brought in. “What is it?” said +Gissing to a female at the silk-stocking counter. + +“One of the floorwalkers--died of heat prostration,” she said, looking +very much upset. + +“Poor fellow,” said Gissing. “You never know what will happen next, do +you?” He walked away, shaking his head. + +He asked the elevator attendant to direct him to the offices of the +firm. On the seventh floor, down a quiet corridor behind the bedroom +suites, a rosewood fence barred his way. A secretary faced him +inquiringly. + +“I wish to see Mr. Beagle.” + +“Mr. Beagle senior or Mr. Beagle junior?” + +Youth cleaves to youth, said Gissing to himself. “Mr. Beagle junior,” he +stated firmly. + +“Have you an appointment?” + +“Yes,” he said. + +She took his ward, disappeared, and returned. “This way, please,” she +said. + +Mr. Beagle senior must be very old indeed, he thought; for junior was +distinctly grizzled. In fact (so rapidly does the mind run), Mr. Beagle +senior must be near the age of retirement. Very likely (he said to +himself) that will soon occur; there will be a general stepping-up among +members of the firm, and that will be my chance. I wonder how much they +pay a junior partner? + +He almost uttered this question, as Mr. Beagle junior looked at him so +inquiringly. But he caught himself in time. + +“I beg your pardon for intruding,” said Gissing, “but I am the new +floorwalker.” + +“You are very kind,” said Mr. Beagle junior, “but we do not need a new +floorwalker.” + +“I beg your pardon again,” said Gissing, “but you are not au courant +with the affairs of the store. One has just died, right by the +silk-stocking counter. Very bad for business.” + +At this moment the telephone rang, and Mr. Beagle seized it. He +listened, sharply examining his caller meanwhile. + +“You are right,” he said, as he put down the receiver. “Well, sir, have +you had any experience?” + +“Not exactly of that sort,” said Gissing; “but I think I understand the +requirements. The tone of the store--” + +“I will ask you to be here at four-thirty this afternoon,” said Mr. +Beagle. “We have a particular routine in regard to candidates for +that position. You will readily perceive that it is a post of some +importance. The floorwalker is our point of social contact with +patrons.” + +Gissing negligently dusted his shoes with a handkerchief. + +“Pray do not apologize,” he said kindly. “I am willing to congratulate +with you on your good fortune. It was mere hazard that I was in the +store. To-day, of course, business will be poor. But to-morrow, I think +you will find--” + +“At four-thirty,” said Mr. Beagle, a little puzzled. + +That day Gissing went without lunch. First he explored the whole +building from top to bottom, until he knew the location of every +department, and had the store directory firmly memorized. With almost +proprietary tenderness he studied the shining goods and trinkets; noted +approvingly the clerks who seemed to him specially prompt and obliging +to customers; scowled a little at any sign of boredom or inattention. +He heard the soft sigh of the pneumatic tubes as they received money +and blew it to some distant coffer: this money, he thought, was already +partly his. That square-cut creature whom he presently discerned +following him was undoubtedly the store detective: he smiled to think +what a pleasant anecdote this would be when he was admitted to junior +partnership. Then he went, finally, to the special Masculine Shop on the +fifth floor, where he bought a silk hat, a cutaway coat and waistcoat, +and trousers of pearly stripe. He did not forget patent leather shoes, +nor white spats. He refused--the little white linen margins which the +clerk wished to affix to the V of his waistcoat. That, he felt, was the +ultra touch which would spoil all. The just less than perfection, how +perfect it is! + +It was getting late. He hurried to Penn Station where he hired one of +those little dressing booths, and put on his regalia. His tweeds, in a +neat package, he checked at the parcel counter. Then he returned to the +store for the important interview. + +He had expected a formal talk with the two Messrs. Beagle, perhaps +touching on such matters as duties, hours, salary, and so on. To his +surprise he was ushered by the secretary into a charming Louis XVI salon +farther down the private corridor. There were several ladies: one was +pouring tea. Mr. Beagle junior came forward. The vice-president (such +was Mr. Beagle junior's rank, Gissing had learned by the sign on his +door) still wore his business garb of the morning. Gissing immediately +felt himself to have the advantage. But what a pleasant idea, he +thought, for the members of the firm to have tea together every +afternoon. He handed his hat, gloves, and stick to the secretary. + +“Very kind of you to come,” said Mr. Beagle. “Let me present you to my +wife.” + +Mrs. Beagle, at the tea-urn, received him graciously. + +“Cream or lemon?” she said. “Two lumps?” + +This is really delightful, Gissing thought. Only on Fifth Avenue could +this kind of thing happen. He looked down the hostess from his superior +height, and smiled charmingly. + +“Do you permit three?” he said. “A little weakness of mine.” As a matter +of fact, he hated tea so sweet; but he felt it was strategic to fix +himself in Mrs. Beagle's mind as a polished eccentric. + +“You must have a meringue,” she said. “Ah, Mrs. Pomeranian has them. +Mrs. Pomeranian, let me present Mr. Gissing.” + +Mrs. Pomeranian, small and plump and tightly corseted, offered the +meringues, while Mrs. Beagle pressed upon him a plate with a small +doily, embroidered with the arms of the store, and its motto je +maintiendrai--referring, no doubt, to its prices. Mr. Beagle then +introduced him to several more ladies in rapid succession. Gissing +passed along the line, bowing slightly but with courteous interest to +each. To each one he raised his eyebrows and permitted himself a small +significant smile, as though to convey that this was a moment he had +long been anticipating. How different, he thought, was this life of +enigmatic gaiety from the suburban drudgery of recent months. If only +Mrs. Spaniel could see him now! He was about to utilize a brief pause by +sipping his tea, when a white-headed patriarch suddenly appeared beside +him. + +“Mr. Gissing,” said the vice-president, “this is my father, Mr. Beagle +senior.” + +Gissing, by quick work, shuffled the teacup into his left paw, and the +meringue plate into the crook of his elbow, so he was ready for the old +gentleman's salutation. Mr. Beagle senior was indeed very old: his white +hair hung over his eyes, he spoke with growling severity. Gissing's +manner to the old merchant was one of respectful reassurance: he +attempted to make an impression that would console: to impart--of course +without saying so--the thought that though the head of the firm could +not last much longer, yet he would leave his great traffic in capable +care. + +“Where will I find an aluminum cooking pot?” growled the elder Beagle +unexpectedly. + +“In the Bargain Basement,” said Gissing promptly. + +“He'll do!” cried the president. + +To his surprise, on looking round, Gissing saw that all the ladies had +vanished. Beagle junior was grinning at him. + +“You have the job, Mr. Gissing,” he said. “You will pardon the harmless +masquerade--we always try out a floorwalker in that way. My father +thinks that if he can handle a teacup and a meringue while being +introduced to ladies, he can manage anything on the main aisle +downstairs. Mrs. Pomeranian, our millinery buyer, said she had never +seen it better done, and she mixes with some of the swellest people in +Paris.” + +“Nine to six, with half an hour off for lunch,” said the senior partner, +and left the room. + +Gissing calmly swallowed his tea, and ate the meringue. He would have +enjoyed another, but the capable secretary had already removed them. He +poured himself a second cup of tea. Mr. Beagle junior showed signs of +eagerness to leave, but Gissing detained him. + +“One moment,” he said suavely. “There is a little matter that we have +not discussed. The question of salary.” + +Mr. Beagle looked thoughtfully out of the window. + +“Thirty dollars a week,” he said. + +After all, Gissing thought, it will only take four weeks to pay for what +I have spent on clothes. + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +There was some dramatic nerve in Gissing's nature that responded +eloquently to the floorwalking job. Never, in the history of Beagle and +Company, had there been a floorwalker who threw so much passion and zeal +into his task. The very hang of his coattails, even the erect carriage +of his back, the rubbery way in which his feet trod the aisles, showed +his sense of dignity and glamour. There seemed to be a great tradition +which enriched and upheld him. Mr. Beagle senior used to stand on +the little balcony at the rear of the main floor, transfixed with the +pleasure of seeing Gissing move among the crowded passages. +Alert, watchful, urbane, with just the ideal blend of courtesy and +condescension, he raised floorwalking to a social art. Female customers +asked him the way to departments they knew perfectly well, for the +pleasure of hearing him direct them. Business began to improve before he +had been there a week. + +And how he enjoyed himself! The perfection of his bearing on the +floor was no careful pose: it was due to the brimming overplus of his +happiness. Happiness is surely the best teacher of good manners: only +the unhappy are churlish in deportment. He was young, remember; and +this was his first job. His precocious experience as a paterfamilias had +added to his mien just that suggestion of unconscious gravity which is +so appealing to ladies. He looked (they thought) as though he had been +touched--but Oh so lightly!--by poetic sorrow or strange experience: to +ask him the way to the notion counter was as much of an adventure as +to meet a reigning actor at a tea. The faint cloud of melancholy that +shadowed his brow may have been only due to the fact that his new boots +were pinching painfully; but they did not know that. + +So, quite unconsciously, he began to “establish” himself in his role, +just as an actor does. At first he felt his way tentatively and with +tact. Every store has its own tone and atmosphere: in a day or so he +divined the characteristic cachet of the Beagle establishment. He saw +what kind of customers were typical, and what sort of conduct they +expected. And the secret of conquest being always to give people +a little more than they expect, he pursued that course. Since they +expected in a floorwalker the mechanical and servile gentility of a +hired puppet, he exhibited the easy, offhand simplicity of a fellow +club-member. With perfect naturalness he went out of his way to assist +in their shopping concerns: gave advice in the selection of dress +materials, acted as arbiter in the matching of frocks and stockings. His +taste being faultless, it often happened that the things he recommended +were not the most expensive: this again endeared him to customers. +When sales slips were brought to him by ladies who wished to make an +exchange, he affixed his O. K. with a magnificent flourish, and with +such evident pleasure, that patrons felt genuine elation, and plunged +into the tumult with new enthusiasm. It was not long before there were +always people waiting for his counsel; and husbands would appear at +the store to convey (a little irritably) some such message as: “Mrs. +Sealyham says, please choose her a scarf that will go nicely with that +brown moire dress of hers. She says you will remember the dress.”--This +popularity became even a bit perplexing, as for instance when old Mrs. +Dachshund, the store's biggest Charge Account, insisted on his leaving +his beat at a very busy time, to go up to the tenth floor to tell her +which piano he thought had the richer tone. + +Of course all this was very entertaining, and an admirable opportunity +for studying his fellow-creatures; but it did not go very deep into +his mind. He lived for some time in a confused glamour and glitter; +surrounded by the fascinating specious life of the store, but drifting +merely superficially upon it. The great place, with its columns of +artificial marble and white censers of upward-shining electricity, +glimmered like a birch forest by moonlight. Silver and jewels and silks +and slippers flashed all about him. It was a marvellous education, for +he soon learned to estimate these things at their proper value; which is +low, for they have little to do with life itself. His work was tiring in +the extreme--merely having to remain upright on his hind legs for +such long hours WAS an ordeal--but it did not penetrate to the secret +observant self of which he was always aware. This was advantageous. If +you have no intellect, or only just enough to get along with, it does +not much matter what you do. But if you really have a mind--by which +is meant that rare and curious power of reason, of imagination, and +of emotion; very different from a mere fertility of conversation and +intelligent curiosity--it is better not to weary and wear it out over +trifles. + +So, when he left the store in the evening, no matter how his legs ached, +his head was clear and untarnished. He did not hurry away at closing +time. Places where people work are particularly fascinating after +the bustle is over. He loved to linger in the long aisles, to see the +tumbled counters being swiftly brought to order, to hear the pungent +cynicisms of the weary shopgirls. To these, by the way, he was a bit of +a mystery. The punctilio of his manner, the extreme courtliness of his +remarks, embarrassed them a little. Behind his back they spoke of him as +“The Duke” and admired him hugely; little Miss Whippet, at the stocking +counter, said that he was an English noble of long pedigree, who had +been unjustly deprived of his estates. + +Down in the basement of this palatial store was a little dressing +room and lavatory for the floorwalkers, where they doffed their formal +raiment and resumed street attire. His colleagues grumbled and hastened +to depart, but Gissing made himself entirely comfortable. In his locker +he kept a baby's bathtub, which he leisurely filled with hot water at +one of the basins. Then he sat serenely and bathed his feet; although it +was against the rules he often managed to smoke a pipe while doing so. +Then he hung up his store clothes neatly, and went off refreshed into +the summer evening. + +A warm rosy light floods the city at that hour. At the foot of every +crosstown street is a bonfire of sunset. What a mood of secret smiling +beset him as he viewed the great territory of his enjoyment. “The +freedom of the city”--a phrase he had somewhere heard--echoed in his +mind. The freedom of the city! A magnificent saying, Electric signs, +first burning wanly in the pink air, then brightened and grew strong. +“Not light, but rather darkness visible,” in that magic hour that just +holds the balance between paling day and the spendthrift jewellery +of evening. Or, if it rained, to sit blithely on the roof of a bus, +revelling in the gust and whipping of the shower. Why had no one told +him of the glory of the city? She was pride, she was exultation, she +was madness. She was what he had obscurely craved. In every line of +her gallant profile he saw conquest, triumph, victory! Empty conquest, +futile triumph, doomed victory--but that was the essence of the drama. +In thunderclaps of dumb ecstasy he saw her whole gigantic fabric, +leaning and clamouring upward with terrible yearning. Burnt with +pitiless sunlight, drenched with purple explosions of summer storm, he +saw her cleansed and pure. Where were her recreant poets that they had +never made these things plain? + +And then, after the senseless day, after its happy but meaningless +triviality, the throng and mixed perfumery and silly courteous gestures, +his blessed solitude! Oh solitude, that noble peace of the mind! +He loved the throng and multitude of the day: he loved people: but +sometimes he suspected that he loved them as God does--at a judicious +distance. From his rather haphazard religious training, strange words +came back to him. “For God so loved the world...” So loved the world +that--that what? That He sent someone else... Some day he must think +this out. But you can't think things out. They think themselves, +suddenly, amazingly. The city itself is God, he cried. Was not God's +ultimate promise something about a city--The City of God? Well, but that +was only symbolic language. The city--of course that was only a symbol +for the race--for all his kind. The entire species, the whole aspiration +and passion and struggle, that was God. + +On the ferries, at night, after supper, was his favourite place for +meditation. Some undeniable instinct drew him ever and again out of +the deep and shut ravines of stone, to places where he could feed on +distance. That is one of the subtleties of this straight and narrow +city, that though her ways are cliffed in, they are a long thoroughfare +for the eye: there is always a far perspective. But best of all to go +down to her environing water, where spaces are wide: the openness that +keeps her sound and free. Ships had words for him: they had crossed many +horizons: fragments of that broken blue still shone on their cutting +bows. Ferries, the most poetical things in the city, were nearly empty +at night: he stood by the rail, saw the black outline of the town slide +by, saw the lower sky gilded with her merriment, and was busy thinking. + +Now about a God (he said to himself)--instinct tells me that there is +one, for when I think about Him I find that I unconsciously wag my tail +a little. But I must not reason on that basis, which is too puppyish. I +like to think that there is, somewhere in this universe, an inscrutable +Being of infinite wisdom, harmony, and charity, by Whom all my desires +and needs would be understood; in association with Whom I would find +peace, satisfaction, a lightness of heart that exceed my present +understanding. Such a Being is to me quite inconceivable; yet I feel +that if I met Him, I would instantly understand. I do not mean that I +would understand Him: but I would understand my relationship to Him, +which would be perfect. Nor do I mean that it would be always +happy; merely that it would transcend anything in the way of social +significance that I now experience. But I must not conclude that there +is such a God, merely because it would be so pleasant if there were. + +Then (he continued) is it necessary to conceive that this deity is +super-canine in essence? What I am getting at is this: in everyone +I have ever known--Fuji, Mr. Poodle, Mrs. Spaniel, those maddening +delightful puppies, Mrs. Purp, Mr. Beagle, even Mrs. Chow and Mrs. +Sealyham and little Miss Whippet--I have always been aware that there +was some mysterious point of union at which our minds could converge and +entirely understand one another. No matter what our difference of breed, +of training, of experience and education, provided we could meet and +exchange ideas honestly there would be some satisfying point of mental +fusion where we would feel our solidarity in the common mystery of life. +People complain that wars are caused by and fought over trivial things. +Why, of course! For it is only in trivial matters that people differ: +in the deep realities they must necessarily be at one. Now I have a +suspicion that in this secret sense of unity God may lurk. Is that what +we mean by God, the sum total of all these instinctive understandings? +But what is the origin of this sense of kinship? Is it not the +realization of our common subjection to laws and forces greater than +ourselves? Then, since nothing can be greater than God, He must BE these +superior mysteries. Yet He cannot be greater than our minds, for our +minds have imagined Him. + +My mathematics is very rusty, he said to himself, but I seem to remember +something about a locus, which was a curve or a surface every point +on which satisfied some particular equation of relation among the +coordinates. It begins to look to me as though life might be a kind of +locus, whose commanding equation we call God. The points on that locus +cannot conceive of the equation, yet they are subject to it. They cannot +conceive of that equation, because of course it has no existence save +as a law of their being. It exists only for them; they, only by it. But +there it is--a perfect, potent, divine abstraction. + +This carried him into a realm of disembodied thinking which his mind was +not sufficiently disciplined to summarize. It is quite plain, he said to +himself, that I must rub up my vanished mathematics. For certainly the +mathematician comes closer to God than any other, since his mind is +trained to conceive and formulate the magnificent phantoms of legality. +He smiled to think that any one should presume to become a parson +without having at least mastered analytical geometry. + +The ferry had crossed and recrossed the river several times, but Gissing +had found no conclusion for these thoughts. As the boat drew toward +her slip, she passed astern of a great liner. Gissing saw the four tall +funnels loom up above the shed of the pier where she lay berthed. +What was it that made his heart so stir? The perfect rake of the +funnels--just that satisfying angle of slant--that, absurdly enough, was +the nobility of the sight. Why, then? Let's get at the heart of this, he +said. Just that little trick of the architect, useless in itself--what +was it but the touch of swagger, of bravado, of defiance--going out +into the vast, meaningless, unpitying sea with that dainty arrogance +of build; taking the trouble to mock the senseless elements, hurricane, +ice, and fog, with a 15-degree slope of masts and funnels: damn, what +was the analogy? + +It was pride, it was pride! It was the same lusty impudence that he saw +in his perfect city, the city that cried out to the hearts of youth, +jutted her mocking pinnacles toward sky, her clumsy turrets verticalled +on gold! And God, the God of gales and gravity, loved His children to +dare and contradict Him, to rally Him with equations of their own. + +“God, I defy you!” he cried. + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +Time is a flowing river. Happy those who allow themselves to be carried, +unresisting, with the current. They float through easy days. They live, +unquestioning, in the moment. + +But Gissing was acutely conscious of Time. Though not subtle enough to +analyze the matter acutely, he had a troublesome feeling about it. He +kept checking off a series of Nows. “Now I am having my bath,” he would +say to himself in the morning. “Now I am dressing. Now I am on the +way to the store. Now I am in the jewellery aisle, being polite to +customers. Now I am having lunch.” After a period in which time ran by +unnoticed, he would suddenly realize a fresh Now, and feel uneasy at +the knowledge that it would shortly dissolve into another one. He tried, +vainly, to swim up-stream against the smooth impalpable fatal current. +He tried to dam up Time, to deepen the stream so that he could bathe in +it carelessly. Time, he said, is life; and life is God; time, then, is +little bits of God. Those who waste their time in vulgarity or folly are +the true atheists. + +One of the things that struck him about the city was its heedlessness of +Time. On every side he saw people spending it without adequate return. +Perhaps he was young and doctrinaire: but he devised this theory for +himself--all time is wasted that does not give you some awareness of +beauty or wonder. In other words, “the days that make us happy make us +wise,” he said to himself, quoting Masefield's line. On that principle, +he asked, how much time is wasted in this city? Well, here are some six +million people. To simplify the problem (which is permitted to every +philosopher) let us (he said) assume that 2,350,000 of those people have +spent a day that could be called, on the whole, happy: a day in +which they have had glimpses of reality; a day in which they feel +satisfaction. (That was, he felt, a generous allowance. ) Very well, +then, that leaves 3,650,000 people whose day has been unfruitful: spent +in uncongenial work, or in sorrow, suffering, and talking nonsense. This +city, then, in one day, has wasted 10,000 years, or 100 centuries. One +hundred centuries squandered in a day! It made him feel quite ill, and +he tore up the scrap of paper on which he had been figuring. + +This was a new, disconcerting way to think of the subject. We are +accustomed to consider Time only as it applies to ourselves, forgetting +that it is working upon everyone else simultaneously. Why, he thought +with a sudden shock, if only 36,500 people in this city have had a +thoroughly spendthrift and useless day, that means a net loss of a +century! If the War, he said to himself, lasted over 1,500 days and +involved more than 10,000,000 men, how many aeons--He used to think +about these things during quiet evenings in the top-floor room at Mrs. +Purp's. Occasionally he went home at night still wearing his store +clothes, because it pleased good Mrs. Purp so much. She felt that it +added glamour to her house to have him do so, and always called her +husband, a frightened silent creature with no collar and a humble air, +up from the basement to admire. Mr. Purp's time, Gissing suspected, +was irretrievably wasted--a good deal of it, to judge by his dusty +appearance, in rolling around in ashcans or in the company of the +neighbourhood bootlegger; but then, he reflected, in a charitable +seizure, you must not judge other people's time-spendings by a calculus +of your own. + +Perhaps he himself was growing a little miserly in this matter. +Indulging in the rare, the sovereign luxury of thinking, he had suddenly +become aware of time's precious fluency, and wondered why everyone else +didn't think about it as passionately as he did. In the privacy of +his room, weary after the day afoot, he took off his cutaway coat and +trousers and enjoyed his old habit of stretching out on the floor for +a good rest. There he would lie, not asleep, but in a bliss of passive +meditation. He even grudged Mrs. Purp the little chats she loved--she +made a point of coming up with clean towels when she knew he was in his +room, because she cherished hearing him talk. When he heard her knock, +he had to scramble hastily to his feet, get on his clothes, and pretend +he had been sitting calmly in the rocking chair. It would never do +to let her find him sprawled on the floor. She had an almost painful +respect for him. Once, when prospective lodgers were bargaining for +rooms, and he happened to be wearing his Beagle and Company attire, she +had asked him to do her the favour of walking down the stairs, so that +the visitors might be impressed by the gentility of the establishment. + +Of course he loved to waste time--but in his own way. He gloated on the +irresponsible vacancy of those evening hours, when there was nothing to +be done. He lay very still, hardly even thinking, just feeling life go +by. Through the open window came the lights and noises of the street. +Already his domestic life seemed dim and far away. The shrill appeals +of the puppies, their appalling innocent comments on existence, came +but faintly to memory. Here, where life beat so much more thickly and +closely, was the place to be. Though he had solved nothing, yet he +seemed closer to the heart of the mystery. Entranced, he felt time +flowing on toward him, endless in sweep and fulness. There is only one +success, he said to himself--to be able to spend your life in your own +way, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it. Youth, +youth is the only wealth, for youth has Time in its purse! + +In the store, however, philosophy was laid aside. A kind of intoxication +possessed him. Never before had old Mr. Beagle (watching delightedly +from the mezzanine balcony) seen such a floorwalker. Gissing moved to +and fro exulting in the great tide of shopping. He knew all the best +customers by name and had learned their peculiarities. If a shower came +up and Mrs. Mastiff was just leaving, he hastened to give her his arm as +far as her limousine, boosting her in so expeditiously that not a drop +of wetness fell upon her. He took care to find out the special plat du +jour of the store's lunch room, and seized occasion to whisper to Mrs. +Dachshund, whose weakness was food, that the filet of sole was very nice +to-day. Mrs. Pomeranian learned that giving Gissing a hint about some +new Parisian importations was more effective than a half page ad. in the +Sunday papers. Within a few hours, by a judicious word here and there, +he would have a score of ladies hastening to the millinery salon. +A pearl necklace of great value, which Mr. Beagle had rebuked the +jewellery buyer for getting, because it seemed more appropriate for a +dealer in precious stones than for a department store, was disposed of +almost at once. Gissing casually told Mrs. Mastiff that he had heard +Mrs. Sealyham intended to buy it. As for Mrs. Dachshund, who had had a +habit of lunching at Delmonico's, she now was to be seen taking tiffin +at Beagle's almost daily. There were many husbands who would have been +glad to shoot him at sight on the first of the month, had they known who +was the real cause of their woe. + +Indeed, Gissing had raised floorwalking to a new level. He was more +prime minister than a mere patroller of aisles. With sparkling eye, +with unending curiosity, tact, and attention, he moved quietly among the +throng. He realized that shopping is the female paradise; that spending +money she has not earned is the only real fun an elderly and wealthy +lady can have; and if to this primitive shopping passion can be added +the delights of social amenity--flattery, courtesy, good-humoured +flirtation--the snare is complete. + +But all this is not accomplished without rousing the jealousy of +rivals. Among the other floorwalkers, and particularly in the gorgeously +uniformed attendant at the front door (who was outraged by Gissing's +habit of escorting special customers to their motors) moved anger, envy, +and sneers. Gissing, completely absorbed in the fascination of his work, +was unaware of this hostility, as he was equally unaware of the amazed +satisfaction of his employer. He went his way with naive and unconscious +pleasure. It did not take long for his enemies to find a fulcrum for +their chagrin. One evening, after closing, when he sat in the dressing +room, with his feet in the usual tub of hot water, placidly reviewing +the day's excitements and smoking his pipe, the superintendent burst in. + +“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Don't you know smoking's forbidden? What do you +want to do, get our fire insurance cancelled? Get out of here! You're +fired!” + +It did not occur to Gissing to question or protest. He had known +perfectly well that smoking was not allowed. But he was like the +stage hand behind the scenes who concluded it was all right to light +a cigarette because the sign only said SMOKING FORBIDDEN, instead of +SMOKING STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. He had not troubled his mind about it, one +way or about it, one way or another. + +He had drawn his salary that evening, and his first thought was, Well, +at any rate I've earned enough to pay for the clothes. He had been there +exactly four weeks. Quite calmly, he lifted his feet out of the tub and +began to towel them daintily. The meticulous way he dried between his +toes was infuriating to the superintendent. + +“Have you any children?” Gissing asked, mildly. + +“What's that to you?” snapped the other. + +“I'll sell you this bathtub for a quarter. Take it home to them. They +probably need it.” + +“You get out of here!” cried the angry official. + +“You'd be surprised,” said Gissing, “how children thrive when they're +bathed regularly. Believe me, I know.” + +He packed his formal clothes in a neat bundle, left the bathtub behind, +surrendered his locker key, and walked toward the employees' door, +escorted by his bristling superior. As they passed through the empty +aisles, scene of his brief triumph, he could not help gazing a little +sadly. True merchant to the last, a thought struck him. He scribbled a +note on the back of a sales slip and left it at Miss Whippet's post by +the stocking counter. It said:-- + +MISS WHIPPET: Show Mrs. Sealyham some of the bisque sports hose, Scotch +wool, size 9. She's coming to-morrow. Don't let her get size 8 1/2. They +shrink. + + MR. GISSING. + +At the door he paused, relit his pipe leisurely, raised his hat to the +superintendent, and strolled away. + +In spite of this nonchalance, the situation was serious. His money was +at a low ebb. All his regular income was diverted to the support of +the large household in the country. He was too proud to appeal to his +wealthy uncle. He hated also to think of Mrs. Purp's mortification if +she learned that her star boarder was out of work. By a curious irony, +when he got home he found a letter from Mrs. Spaniel:-- + +MR. GISHING, dere friend, the pupeys are well, no insecks, and eat with +nives and forx Groups is the fattest but Yelpers is the lowdest they +send wags and lix and glad to here Daddy is doing so well in buisness +with respects from + + MRS. SPANIEL. + +He did not let Mrs. Purp know of the change in his condition, and every +morning left his lodging at the usual time. By some curious attraction +he felt drawn to that downtown region where his kinsman's office was. +This part of the city he had not properly explored. + +It was a world wholly different from Fifth Avenue. There was none of +that sense of space and luxury he had known on the wide slopes of Murray +Hill. He wandered under terrific buildings, in a breezy shadow where +javelins of colourless sunlight pierced through thin slits, hot +brilliance fell in fans and cascades over the uneven terrace of roofs. +Here was where husbands worked to keep Fifth Avenue going: he wondered +vaguely whether Mrs. Sealyham had bought those stockings? One day he +saw his uncle hurrying along Wall Street with an intent face. Gissing +skipped into a doorway, fearing to be recognized. He knew that the old +fellow would insist on taking him to lunch at the Pedigree Club, would +talk endlessly, and ask family questions. But he was on the scent of +matters that talk could not pursue. + +He perceived a sense of pressure, of prodigious poetry and beauty and +amazement. This was a strange jungle of life. Tall coasts of windows +stood up into the pure brilliant sky: against their feet beat a dark +surf of slums. In one foreign street, too deeply trenched for sunlight, +oranges were the only gold. The water, reaching round in two arms, came +close: there was a note of husky summons in the whistles of passing +craft. Almost everywhere, sharp above many smells of oils and spices, +the whiff of coffee tingled his busy nose. Above one huge precipice +stood a gilded statue--a boy with wings, burning in the noon. Brilliance +flamed between the vanes of his pinions: the intangible thrust of that +pouring light seemed about to hover him off into blue air. + +The world of working husbands was more tender than that of shopping +wives: even in all their business, they had left space and quietness for +the dead. Sunken among the crags he found two graveyards. They were cups +of placid brightness. Here, looking upward, it was like being drowned +on the floor of an ocean of light. Husbands had built their offices +half-way to the sky rather than disturb these. Perhaps they appreciate +rest all the more, Gissing thought, because they get so little of it? +Somehow he could not quite imagine a graveyard left at peace in the +shopping district. It would be bad for trade, perhaps? Even the churches +on the Avenue, he had noticed, were huddled up and hemmed in so tightly +by the other buildings that they had scarcely room to kneel. If I ever +become a parson, he said (this was a fantastic dream of his), I will +insist that all churches must have a girdle of green about them, to set +them apart from the world. + +The two little brown churches among the cliffs had been gifted with a +dignity far beyond the dream of their builders. Their pointing spires +were relieved against the enormous facades of business. What other +altars ever had such a reredos? Above the strepitant racket of the +streets, he heard the harsh chimes of Trinity at noonday--strong jags of +clangour hurled against the great sounding-boards of buildings; drifting +and dying away down side alleys. There was no soft music of appeal in +the bronze volleying: it was the hoarse monitory voice of rebuke. So +spoke the church of old, he thought: not asking, not appealing, but +imperatively, sternly, as one born to command. He thought with new +respect of Mr. Sealyham, Mr. Mastiff, Mr. Dachshund, all the others +who were powers in these fantastic flumes of stone. They were more than +merely husbands of charge accounts--they were poets. They sat at lunch +on the tops of their amazing edifices, and looked off at the blue. + +Day after day went by, but with a serene fatalism Gissing did nothing +about hunting a job. He was willing to wait until the last dollar was +broken: in the meantime he was content. You never know the soul of a +city, he said, until you are down on your luck. Now, he felt, he had +been here long enough to understand her. She did not give her secrets to +the world of Fifth Avenue. Down here, where the deep crevice of Broadway +opened out into greenness, what was the first thing he saw? Out across +the harbour, turned toward open sea--Liberty! Liberty Enlightening the +World, he had heard, was her full name. Some had mocked her, he had also +heard. Well, what was the gist of her enlightenment? Why this, surely: +that Liberty could never be more than a statue: never a reality. Only a +fool would expect complete liberty. He himself, with all his latitude, +was not free. If he were, he would cook his meals in his room, and save +money--but Mrs. Purp was strict on that point. She had spoken scathingly +of two young females she ejected for just that reason. Nor was Mrs. Purp +free--she was ridden by the Gas Company. So it went. + +It struck him, now he was down to about three dollars, that a generous +gesture toward Fortune might be valuable. When you are nearly out of +money, he reasoned, to toss coins to the gods--i. e., to buy something +quite unnecessary--may be propitiatory. It may start something moving +in your direction. It is the touch of bravado that God relishes. In a +sudden mood of tenderness, he bought two dollars' worth of toys and had +them sent to the children. He smiled to think how they would frolic over +the jumping rabbit. He sent Mrs. Spaniel a postcard of the Aquarium. + +There is a good deal more to this business than I had realized, he said, +as he walked uptown through the East Side slums that hot night. The +audacity, the vitality, the magnificence, are plain enough. But I seem +to see squalor too, horror and pitiful dearth. I believe God is farther +off than I thought. Look here: if the more you know, the less you know +about God, doesn't that mean that God is really enjoyed only by the +completely simple--by faith, never by reason? + +He gave twenty-five cents to a beggar, and said angrily: “I am not +interested in a God who is known only by faith.” + +When he got uptown he was very tired and hungry. In spite of all Mrs. +Purp's rules, he smuggled in an egg, a box of biscuits, a small packet +of tea and sugar, and a tin of condensed milk. He emptied the milk into +his shaving mug, and used the tin to boil water in, holding it over the +gas jet. He was getting on finely when a sudden knock on the door made +him jump. He spilled the hot water on his leg, and uttered a wild yell. + +Mrs. Purp burst in, but she was so excited that she did not notice the +egg seeping into the clean counterpane. + +“Oh, Mr. Gissing,” she exclaimed, “I've been waiting all evening for +you to come in. Purp and I wondered if you'd seen this in the paper +to-night? Purp noticed it in the ads., but we couldn't understand what +it meant.” + +She held out a page of classified advertising, in which he read with +amazement: + + +PERSONAL + +If MR. GISSING, late floorwalker at Beagle and Company, will communicate +with Mr. Beagle Senior, he will hear matters greatly to his advantage. + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +There had been great excitement in the private offices of Beagle +and Company after Gissing's sudden disappearance. Old Mr. Beagle was +furious, and hotly scolded his son. In spite of his advanced age, Beagle +senior was still an autocrat and insisted on regulating the details +of the great business he had built up. “You numbskull!” he shouted to +Beagle junior, “that fellow was worth any dozen others in the place, and +you let him be fired by a mongrel superintendent.” + +“But, Papa,” protested the vice-president, “the superintendent had to +obey the rules. You know how strict the underwriters are about smoking. +Of course he should have warned Gissing, instead of discharging him.” + +“Rules!” interrupted old Beagle fiercely--“Rules don't apply in a case +like this. I tell you that fellow has a genius for storekeeping. Haven't +I watched him on the floor? I've never seen one like him. What's the +good of your newfangled methods, your card indexes and overhead charts, +when you haven't even got a record of his address?” + +Growling and showing his teeth, the head of the firm plodded stiffly +downstairs and discharged the superintendent himself. Already he saw +signs of disorganization in the main aisle. Miss Whippet was tearful: +customers were waiting impatiently to have exchange slips O. K.'d: Mrs. +Dachshund was turning over some jewelled lorgnettes, but it was plain +that she was only “looking,” and had no intention to purchase. + +So when, after many vain inquiries, the advertisement reached its +target, the old gentleman welcomed Gissing with genuine emotion. He +received him into his private office, locked the door, and produced a +decanter. Evidently beneath his irritable moods he had sensibilities of +his own. + +“I have given my life to trade,” he said, “and I have grown weary of +watching the half-hearted simpletons who imagine they can rise to the +top by thinking more about themselves than they do about the business. +You, Mr. Gissing, have won my heart. You see storekeeping as I do--a +fine art, an absorbing passion, a beautiful, thrilling sport. It is an +art as lovely and subtle as the theatre, with the same skill in wooing +and charming the public.” + +Gissing bowed, and drank Mr. Beagle's health, to cover his astonishment. +The aged merchant fixed him with a glittering eye. + +“I can see that storekeeping is your genius in life. I can see that you +are naturally consecrated to it. My son is a good steady fellow, but he +lacks the divine gift. I am getting old. We need new fire, new brains, +in the conduct of this business. I ask you to forgive the unlucky +blunder we made lately, and devote yourself to us.” + +Gissing was very much embarrassed. He wanted to say that if he was +going to consecrate himself to floorwalking, he would relish a raise +in salary; but old Beagle was so tremulous and kept blowing his nose so +loudly that Gissing doubted if he could make himself heard. + +“I want you to take a position as General Manager,” said Mr. Beagle, +“with a salary of ten thousand a year.” + +He rose and threw open a mahogany door that led out of his own sanctum. +“Here is your office,” he said. + +The bewildered Gissing looked about the room--the mahogany flat-topped +desk with a great sheet of plate glass shining greenly at its thick +edges; an inkwell, pens and pencils, a little glass bowl full of bright +paper-clips; one of those rocking blotters that are so tempting; a water +cooler which just then uttered a seductive gulping bubble; an electric +fan, gently humming; wooden trays for letters and memoranda; on one +wall a great chart of names, lettered Organization of Personnel; a nice +domestic-looking hat-and-coat stand; a soft green rug--Ah, how alluring +it all was! + +Mr. Beagle pointed to the outer door of the room, which had a frosted +pane. Through the glass the astounded floorwalker could read the words + +REGANAM LARENEG GNISSIG.RM + +What a delightful little room to meditate in. From the broad windows he +could see the whole shining tideway of Fifth Avenue, passing lazily in +the warm sunlight. He turned to Mr. Beagle, greatly moved. + +The next day an advertisement appeared in the leading papers, to this +effect:-- + + ________________________ + BEAGLE AND COMPANY + take pleasure in announcing to + their patrons and friends that + MR. GISSING + has been admitted to the firm in + the status of General Manager + Je Maintiendrai + __________________________ + +Mrs. Purp's excitement at this is easier imagined than described. Her +only fear was that now she would lose her best lodger. She made Purp +go out and buy a new shirt and a collar; she told Gissing, rather +pathetically, that she intended to have the whole house repapered in the +fall. The big double suite downstairs, which could be used as bedroom +and sitting-room, she suggested as a comfortable change. But Gissing +preferred to remain where he was. He had grown fond of the top floor. + +Certainly there was an exhilaration in his new importance and +prosperity. The store buzzed with the news. At his request, Miss Whippet +was promoted to the seventh floor to be his secretary. It was delightful +to make his morning tour of inspection through the vast building. Mr. +Hound, the store detective, loved to tell his cronies how suspiciously +he had followed “The Duke” that first day. As Gissing moved through the +busy departments he saw eyes following him, tails wagging. Customers +were more flattered than ever by his courteous attentions. One day +he even held a little luncheon party in the restaurant, at which Mrs. +Dachshund, Mrs. Mastiff, and Mrs. Sealyham were his guests. He invited +their husbands, but the latter were too busy to come. It would have been +more prudent of them to attend. That afternoon Mrs. Dachshund, carried +away by enthusiasm, bought a platinum wrist-watch. Mrs. Mastiff bought +a diamond dog-collar. Mrs. Sealyham, whose husband was temporarily +embarrassed in Wall Street, contented herself with a Sheraton +chifforobe. + +But it began to be evident that his delightful little office was not +going to be a shrine for quiet meditation. His vanity had been pleased +by the large advertisement about him, but he suddenly realized the +poison that lies in printer's ink. Almost overnight, it seemed, he had +been added to ten thousand mailing lists. Little Miss Whippet, although +she was fast at typewriting, was hard put to it to keep up with his +correspondence. She quivered eagerly over her machine, her small +paws flying. New pink ribbons gleamed through her translucent summery +georgette blouse. They were her flag of exultation at her surprising +rise in life. She felt it was immensely important to get all these +letters answered promptly. + +And so did Gissing. In his new zeal, and in his innocent satisfaction +at having entered the inner circle of Big Business, he insisted on +answering everything. He did not realize that dictating letters is the +quaint diversion of business men, and that most of them mean nothing. It +is simply the easiest way of assuring yourself that you are busy. + +This job was no sinecure. Old Mr. Beagle had so much affectionate +confidence in Gissing that he referred almost everything to him +for decision. Mr. Beagle junior, perhaps a little annoyed at the +floorwalker's meteoric translation, spent the summer afternoons at +golf. The infinite details of a great business crowded upon him. +Inexperienced, he had not learned the ways in which seasoned +“executives” protect themselves against useless intrusion. His telephone +buzzed like a hornet. Not five minutes went by without callers or +interruptions of some sort. + +Most amazing of all, he found, was the miscellaneous passion for +palaver displayed by Big Business. Immediately he was invited to join +innumerable clubs, societies, merchants' associations. Every day would +arrive letters, on heavily embossed paper--“The Sales Managers Club will +hold a round-table discussion on Friday at one o'clock. We would greatly +appreciate it if you would be with us and say a few words.”--“Will you +be our guest at the monthly dinner of the Fifth Avenue Guild, and give +us any preachment that is on your mind?”--“The Merchandising Uplift +Group of Murray Hill will meet at the Commodore for an informal +lunch. It has been suggested that you contribute to the discussion on +Underwriting Overhead.”--“The Executives Association plans a clambake +and barbecue at the Barking Rock Country Club. Around the bonfire a few +impromptu remarks on Business Cycles will be called for. May we count on +you?”--“Will you address the Convention of Knitted Bodygarment Buyers, +on whatever topic is nearest your heart?”--“Will you write for Bunion +and Callous, the trade organ of the Floorwalkers' Union, a thousand-word +review of your career?”--“Will you broadcast a twenty-minute talk on +Department Store Ethics, at the radio station in Newark? 250,000 radio +fans will be listening in.” New to the strange and high-spirited world +of “executives,” it was natural that Gissing did not realize that the +net importance of this kind of thing was absolute zero. It did strike +him as odd, perhaps, that merchants did not dare to go on a junket or +plan a congenial dinner without pretending to themselves that it had +some business significance. But, having been so amazingly lifted into +this atmosphere of great affairs, he felt it was his duty to the store +to play the game according to the established rules. He was borne +along on a roaring spate of conferences, telephone calls, appointments, +Rotarian lunches, Chamber of Commerce dinners, picnics to talk tariff, +house-parties to discuss demurrage, tennis tournaments to settle the +sales-tax, golf foursomes to regulate price-maintenance. Of all these +matters he knew nothing whatever; and he also saw that as far as the +business of Beagle and Company was concerned it would be better not +to waste his time on such side-issues. The way he could really be of +service was in the store itself, tactfully lubricating that complicated +engine of goods and personalities. But he learned to utter, when called +upon, a few suave generalities, barbed with a rollicking story. This +made him always welcome. He was of a studious disposition, and liked +to examine this queer territory of life with an unprejudiced eye. After +all, his inward secret purpose had nothing to do with the success or +failure of retail trade. He was still seeking a horizon that would stay +blue when he reached it. + +More and more he was interested to perceive how transparent the mummery +of business was. He was interested to note how persistently men fled +from success, how carefully most of them avoided the obvious principles +of utility, honesty, prudence, and courtesy, which are inevitably +rewarded. These sagacious, humorous fellows who were amusing themselves +with twaddling trade apothegms and ridiculous banqueteering solemnities, +surely they were aware that this had no bearing upon their own jobs? +He suspected that it was all a feverish anodyne to still some inward +unease. Since they must (not being fools) be aware that these antics +were mere subtraction of time from their business, the obvious +conclusion was, they were not happy with business. There was some +strange wistfulness in the conduct of Big Business Dogs, he thought. +Under the pretence of transacting affairs, they were really trying to +discover something that had eluded them. + +The same thing, strangely enough, seemed to be going on in a sphere of +which he knew nothing, the world of art. He gathered from the papers +that writers, painters, musicians, were holding shindies almost every +night, at which delightful rebels, too busy to occupy themselves with +actual creation, talked charmingly about their plans. Poets were reading +poems incessantly, forgetting to write any. Much of the newspaper +comment on literature made him shudder, for though this was a province +quite strange to him, he had sound instincts. He discerned fatal +ignorance and absurdity between the pompous lines. Yet, in its own way, +it seemed a bold and honest ignorance. Were these, too, like the wistful +executives, seeking where the blue begins? + +But what was this strange agitation that forbade his fellow-creatures +from enjoying the one thing that makes achievement possible--Solitude? +He himself, so happy to be left alone--was no one else like that? And +yet this very solitude that he craved and revelled in was, by a sublime +paradox, haunted by mysterious loneliness. He felt sometimes as though +his heart had been broken off from some great whole, to which it yearned +to be reunited. It felt like a bone that had been buried, which God +would some day dig up. Sometimes, in his caninomorphic conception +of deity, he felt near him the thunder of those mighty paws. In rare +moments of silence he gazed from his office window upon the sun-gilded, +tempting city. Her madness was upon him--her splendid craze of haste, +ambition, pride. Yet he wondered. This God he needed, this liberating +horizon, was it after all in the cleverest of hiding-places--in himself? +Was it in his own undeluded heart? + +Miss Whippet came scurrying in to say that the Display Manager begged +him to attend a conference. The question of apportioning window space +to the various departments was to be reconsidered. Also, the book +department had protested having rental charged against them for books +exhibited merely to add a finishing touch to a furniture display. Other +agenda: the Personnel Director wished an appointment to discuss +the ruling against salesbitches bobbing their hair. The Commissary +Department wished to present revised figures as to the economy that +would be effected by putting the employees' cafeteria on the same floor +as the store's restaurant. He must decide whether early closing on +Saturdays would continue until Labor Day. + +As he went about these and a hundred other fascinating trivialities, he +had a painful sense of treachery to Mr. Beagle senior. The old gentleman +was so touchingly certain that he had found in him the ideal shoulders +on which to unload his honourable and crushing burden. With more than +paternal pride old Beagle saw Gissing, evidently urbane and competent, +cheerfully circulating here and there. The shy angel of doubt that lay +deep in Gissing's cider-coloured eye, the proprietor did not come near +enough to observe. + +If there is tragedy in our story, alas here it is. Gissing, incorrigible +seceder from responsibilities that did not touch his soul, did not dare +tell his benefactor the horrid truth. But the worm was in his heart. +Late one night, in his room at Mrs. Purp's, he wrote a letter to Mr. +Poodle. After mailing it at a street-box, he had a sudden pang. To the +dreamer, decisions are fearful. Then he shook himself and ran lightly to +a little lunchroom on Amsterdam Avenue, where he enjoyed doughnuts and +iced tea. His mind was resolved. The doughnuts, by a simple symbolism, +made him think of Rotary Clubs, also of millstones. No, he must be +fugitive from honour, from wealth, from Chambers of Commerce. Fugitive +from all save his own instinct. Those who have bound themselves are only +too eager to see the chains on others. There was no use attempting to +explain to Mr. Beagle--the dear old creature would not understand. + +The next day, after happily and busily discharging his duties, and +staying late to clean up his desk, Gissing left Beagle and Company +for good. The only thing that worried him, as he looked round his +comfortable office for the last time, was the thought of little Miss +Whippet's chagrin when she found her new promotion at an end. She had +taken such delight in their mutual dignity. On the filing cabinet beside +her typewriter desk was a pink geranium in a pot, which she watered +every morning. He could not resist pulling out a drawer of her desk, and +smiled gently to see the careful neatness of its compartments, with +all her odds and ends usefully arranged. The ink-eraser, with an absurd +little whisk attached to it for brushing away fragments of rubbed paper; +the fascicle of sharpened pencils held together by an elastic band; the +tiny phial of typewriter oil; a small box of peppermints; a crumpled +handkerchief; the stenographic notebook with a pencil inserted at the +blank page, so as to be ready for instant service the next day; the long +paper-cutter for slitting envelopes; her memorandum pad, on which was +written Remind Mr. G. of Window Display Luncheon--it seemed cruel to +deprive her of all these innocent amusements in which she delighted so +much. And yet he could not go on as a General Manager simply for the +happiness of Miss Whippet. + +In the foliage of the geranium, where he knew she would find it the +first thing in the morning, he left a note:-- + +MISS WHIPPET: I am leaving the store to-night and will not be back. +Please notify Mr. Beagle. Explain to him that I shall never take a +position with one of his competitors; I am leaving not because I didn't +enjoy the job, but because if I stayed longer I might enjoy it too much. +Tell Mr. Beagle that I specially urge him to retain you as assistant +to the new Manager, whoever that may be. You are entirely competent to +attend to the routine, and the new Manager can spend all his time at +business lunches. + +Please inform the Display Managers' Club that I can't speak at their +meeting to-morrow. + +I wish you all possible good-fortune. + + MR. GISSING. + +As he passed through the dim and silent aisles of the store, he surveyed +them again with mixed emotions. Here he might, apparently, have been +king. But he had no very poignant regret. Another of his numerous +selves, he reflected, had committed suicide. That was the right idea: +to keep sloughing them off, throwing overboard the unreal and factitious +Gissings, paring them down until he discovered the genuine and +inalienable creature. + +And so, for the second time, he made a stealthy exit from the employees' +door. + +Four days later he read in the paper of old Mr. Beagle's death. There +can be no doubt about it. The merchant died of a broken heart. + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +Mr. Poodle's reply was disappointing. He said:-- + +St. Bernard's Rectory, September 1st. + +MY DEAR MR. GISSING: + +I regret that I cannot conscientiously see my way to writing to the +Bishop in your behalf. Any testimonial I could compose would be doubtful +at best, for I cannot agree with you that the Church is your true +vocation. I do not believe that one who has deserted his family, as +you have, and whose record (even on the most charitable interpretation) +cannot be described as other than eccentric, would be useful in Holy +Orders. You say that your life in the city has been a great purgation. +If so, I suggest that you return and take up the burdens laid upon you. +It has meant great mortification to me that one of my own parish has +been the cause of these painful rumours that have afflicted our quiet +community. Notwithstanding, I wish you well, and hope that chastening +experience may bring you peace. + +Very truly yours, + +J. ROVER POODLE. + +Gissing meditated this letter in the silence of along evening in +his room. He brought to the problem his favourite aid to clear +thinking--strong coffee mixed with condensed milk. Mrs. Purp had made +concession to his peculiarities when he had risen so high in the world: +better to break any rules, she thought, than lose so notable a tenant. +She had even installed a small gas-plate for him, so that he could brew +his morning and evening coffee. + +So he took counsel with his percolator, whose bubbling was a sound he +found both soothing and stimulating. He regarded it as a kind of private +oracle, with a calm voice of its own. He listened attentively as +he waited for the liquid to darken. Appeal--to--the--Bishop, +Appeal--to-the--Bishop, seemed to be the speech of the jetting +gurgitation under the glass lid. + +He determined to act upon this, and lay his case before Bishop Borzoi +even without the introduction he had hoped for. Fortunately he still had +some sheets of Beagle and Company notepaper, with the engraved lettering +and Office of the General Manager embossed thereon. He was in some doubt +as to the proper formality and style of address in communicating with a +Bishop: was it “Very Reverend,” or “Right Reverend”? and which of these +indicated a superior grade of reverendability? But he decided that a +masculine frankness would not be amiss. He wrote:-- + +VERY RIGHT REVEREND BISHOP BORZOI, + +Dear Bishop:-- + +May one of the least of your admirers solicit an interview with your +very right reverence, to discuss matters pertaining to religion, +theology, and a possible vacancy in the Church? If there are any sees +outstanding, it would be a favour. This is very urgent. I enclose a +stamped addressed envelope. + + Respectfully yours, + + MR. GISSING. + +A prompt reply from the Bishop's secretary granted him an appointment. + +Scrupulously attired in his tail-coat and silk hat, Gissing proceeded +toward the rendezvous. To tell the truth, he was nervous: his mind +flitted uneasily among possible embarrassments. Suppose Mr. Poodle had +written to the Bishop to prejudice his application? Another, but more +absurd, idea troubled him. One of the problems in visiting the houses +of the Great (he had learned in his brief career in Big Business) is +to find the door-bell. It is usually mysteriously concealed. Suppose he +should have to peer hopelessly about the vestibule, in a shameful and +suspicious manner, until some flunky came out to chide? In the sunny +park below the Cathedral he saw nurses sitting by their puppy-carriages; +for an instant he almost envied their gross tranquillity. THEY have not +got (he said to himself) to call on a Bishop! + +He was early, so he strolled for a few minutes in the park that lies +underneath that rocky scarp. On the summit, clear-surging against the +blue, the great church rode like a ship on a long ridge of sea. The +angel with a trumpet on the jut of the roof was like a valiant seaman in +the crow's nest. His agitation was calmed by this noble sight. Yes, he +said, the Church is a ship behind whose bulwarks I will find rest. She +sails an unworldly sea: her crew are exempt from earthly ambition and +fallacy. + +He ran nimbly up the long steps that scale the cliff, and approached +the episcopal residence. The bell was plainly visible. He rang, and +presently came a tidy little housemaid. He had meditated a form of +words. It would be absurd to say “Is the Bishop in?” for he knew the +Bishop WAS in. So he said “This is Mr. Gissing. I think the Bishop is +expecting me.” + +Bishop Borzoi was an impressive figure--immensely tall and slender, +with long, narrow ascetic face and curly white hair. He was surprisingly +cordial. + +“Ah, Mr. Gissing?” he said. “Sit down, sir. I know Beagle and Company +very well. Too well, in fact-Mrs. Borzoi has an account there.” + +Gissing, feeling rather aghast and tentative, had no comment ready. He +was still worrying a little as to the proper mode of address. + +“It is very pleasant to find you Influential Merchants interested in the +Church,” continued the Bishop. “I often thought of approaching the late +Mr. Beagle on the subject of a small contribution to the cathedral. +Indeed, I have spent so much in your store that it would be only a fair +return. Mr. Collie, of Greyhound, Collie and Company, has been very +handsome with us: he has just provided for repaving the choir.” + +Gissing began to fear that the object of his visit had perhaps been +misunderstood, but the prelate's eyes were bright with benignant +enthusiasm and he dared not interrupt. + +“You inquired most kindly in your letter as to a possible vacancy in the +Church. Indeed there is a niche in the transept that I should be happy +to see filled. It is intended for some kind of memorial statue, and +perhaps, in honour of the late Mr. Beagle--” + +“I must explain, Sir Bishop,” said Gissing, very much disturbed, “that +I have left Beagle and Company. The contribution I wish to make to the +Church is not a decorative one, I fear. It is myself.” + +“Yourself?” queried the Bishop, politely puzzled. + +“Yes,” stammered Gissing, “I--in fact, I am hoping to--to enter the +ministry.” + +The Bishop was plainly amazed, and his long, aristocratic nose seemed +longer than ever as he gazed keenly at his caller. + +“But have you had any formal training in theology?” + +“None, right reverend Bishop,” said Gissing, “But it's this way,” and, +incoherently at first, but with increasing energy and copious eloquence, +he poured out the story of his mental struggles. + +“This is singularly interesting,” said the Bishop at length. “I can +see that you are wholly lacking in the rudiments of divinity. Of modern +exegesis and criticism you are quite innocent. But you evidently have +something which is much rarer--what the Quakers call a CONCERN. Of +course you should really go to the theological seminary and establish +this naif intuitive mysticism upon a disciplined basis. You will realize +that we churchmen can only meet modern rationalism by a rationalism of +our own--by a philosophical scholarship which is unshakable. I do not +suppose that you can even harmonize the Gospels?” + +Gissing ruefully admitted his ignorance. + +“Well, at least I must make sure of a few fundamentals,” said the +Bishop. “Of course a symbological latitude is permissible, but there are +some essentials of dogma and creed that may not be foregone.” + +He subjected the candidate to a rapid catechism. Gissing, in a state of +mind curiously mingled of excitement and awe, found himself assenting to +much that, in a calmer moment, he would hardly have admitted; but +having plunged so deep into the affair he felt it would be the height of +discourtesy to give negative answers to any of the Bishop's queries. +By dint of hasty mental adjustments and symbolic interpretations, he +satisfied his conscience. + +“It is very irregular,” the Bishop admitted, “but I must confess +that your case interests me greatly. Of course I cannot admit you +to ordination until you have passed through the regular theological +curriculum. Yet I find you singularly apt for one without proper +training.” + +He brooded a while, fixing the candidate with a clear darkly burning +eye. + +“It struck me that you were a trifle vague upon some of the Articles of +Religion, and the Table of Kindred and Affinity. You must remember that +these articles are not to be subjected to your own sense or comment, but +must be taken in the literal and grammatical meaning. However, you +show outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace. It so +happens that I know of a small chapel, in the country, that has been +closed for lack of a minister. I can put you in charge there as lay +reader.” + +Gissing's face showed his elation. + +“And wear a cassock?” he cried. + +“Certainly not,” said the Bishop sternly. “Not even a surplice. You must +remember you have not been ordained. If you are serious in your zeal, +you must work your way up gradually, beginning at the bottom.” + +“I have seen some of your cloth with a little purple dickey which looks +very well in the aperture of the waistcoat,” said Gissing humbly. “How +long would it take me to work up to that?” + +Bishop Borzoi, who had a sense of humour, laughed genially. + +“Look here,” he said. “It's a fine afternoon: I'll order my car and +we'll drive out to Dalmatian Heights. I'll show you your chapel, and +tell you exactly what your duties will be.” + +Gissing was startled. Dalmatian Heights was only a few miles from the +Canine Estates. If the news should reach Mr. Poodle... + +“Sir Bishop,” he said nervously, “I begin to fear that perhaps after all +I am unworthy. Now about those Articles of Religion: I may perhaps have +given some of them a conjectural and commentating assent. Possibly I +have presumed too far--” + +The Bishop was already looking forward to a ride into the country with +his unusual novice. + +“Not at all, not at all,” he said cheerily. “In a mere lay reader, a +slight laxity is allowable. You understand, of course, that you are +expressly restricted from the pulpit. You will have to read the lessons, +conduct the service, and may address the congregation upon matters not +homiletic nor doctrinal; preaching and actual entry into the pulpit are +defended. But I see excellent possibility in you. Perform the duties +punctually in this very lowly office, and high ranks of service in the +church militant will be open.” + +He put on a very fine shovel-hat, and led the way to his large touring +car. + +It was a very uncomfortable ride for Gissing. A silk hat is the least +stable apparel for swift motoring, and the chauffeur drove at high +speed. The Bishop, leaning back in the open tonneau, crossed one +delicately slender shank over another, gazed in a kind of ecstasy at the +countryside, and talked gaily about his days as a young curate. Gissing +sat holding his hat on. He saw only too well that, by the humiliating +oddity of chance, they were going to take the road that led exactly +past his own house. He could only hope that Mrs. Spaniel and the +various children would not be visible, for explanations would be too +complicated. Desperately he praised the view to be obtained on another +road, but Bishop Borzoi was too interested in his own topic to pay much +attention. + +“By the way,” said the latter, as they drew near the familiar region, “I +must introduce you to Miss Airedale. She lives in the big place on the +hill over there. Her family always used to attend what I will now call +YOUR chapel; she is a very ardent churchgoer, and it was a sincere grief +to her when the place had to be closed. You will find her a great aid +and comfort; not only that, she is--what one does not always find in the +devouter members of her sex--young and beautiful. I think I understood +you to say you are a bachelor?” + +They were approaching the last turning at which it was still possible to +avoid the fatal road, and Gissing's attention was divided. + +“Yes, after a fashion,” he replied. “Bishop, do you know that road down +into the valley? The view is really superb--Yes, that road--Oh, no, I am +a bachelor--” + +It was too late. The chauffeur, unconscious of this private crisis, was +spinning along the homeward way. With a tender emotion Gissing saw +the spires of the poplar trees, the hemlocks down beyond the pond, the +fringe of woods that concealed the house until you were quite upon it-- + +The car swerved suddenly and the driver only saved it by a quick and +canny manoeuvre from going down the bank. He came to a stop, and almost +from underneath the rear wheels appeared a scuffling dusty group of +youngsters who had been playing in the road. There they were--Bunks, +Groups, and Yelpers (inordinately grown!) and two of the Spaniels. Their +clothes were deplorable, their faces grimed, their legs covered with +burrs, their whole demeanour was ragamuffin and wild: yet Gissing felt +a pang of pride to see his godchildren's keen, independent bearing +contrasted with the rowdier, disreputable look of the young Spaniels. +Quickly he averted his head to escape recognition. But the urchins were +all gaping at the Bishop's shovel hat. + +“Hot dog!” cried Yelpers “Some hat!” + +To his horror, Gissing now saw Mrs. Spaniel, hastening in alarm +down from the house, spilling potatoes from her apron as she ran. He +hurriedly urged the driver to proceed. + +“What terrible looking children,” observed the Bishop, who seemed +fascinated by their stare. “Really, my good sister,” he said to Mrs. +Spaniel, who was now panting by the running board; “you must keep them +off the road or someone will get hurt.” + +Gissing was looking for an imaginary object on the floor of the car. To +his great relief he heard the roar of the motor as they started again. +But he sat up a little too soon. A simultaneous roar of “Daddy!” burst +from the trio. + +“What was that they were shouting at us?” inquired the Bishop, looking +back. + +Gissing shook his head. He was too overcome to speak. + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +The little chapel at Dalmatian Heights sat upon a hill, among a grove +of pines, the most romantic of all trees. Life, a powerful but clumsy +dramatist, does not reject the most claptrap “situations,” which a +sophisticated playwright would discard as too obvious. For this sandy +plateau, strewn with satiny pine-needles, was the very horizon that had +looked so blue and beckoning from the little house by the pond. Not far +away was the great Airedale estate, which Gissing had known only at an +admiring distance--and now he was living there as an honoured guest. + +The Bishop had taken him to call upon the Airedales; and they, delighted +that the chapel was to be re-opened, had insisted upon his staying with +them. The chapel, in fact, was a special interest with Mr. Airedale, who +had been a leading contributor toward its erection. Gissing was finding +that life seemed to be continually putting him into false positions; +and now he discovered, somewhat to his chagrin, that the lovely little +shrine of St. Spitz, whose stained windows glowed like rubies in its +cloister of dark trees, was rather a fashionable hobby among the wealthy +landowners of Dalmatian Hills. It had been closed all summer, and they +had missed it. The Bishop, in his airy and indefinite way, had not made +it quite plain that Gissing was only a lay reader; and in spite of his +embarrassed disclaimers, he found himself introduced by Mr. Airedale to +the country-house clique as the new “vicar.” + +But at any rate it was lucky that the Airedales had insisted on taking +him in as a guest; for he had learned from the Bishop (just as the +latter was leaving) that there was no stipend attached to the office of +lay reader. Fortunately he still had much of the money he had saved from +his salary as General Manager. And whatever sense of anomaly he felt +was quickly assuaged by the extraordinary comfort and novelty of his +environment. In the great Airedale mansion he experienced for the first +time that ultimate triumph of civilization--a cup of tea served in bed +before breakfast, with slices of bread-and-butter of tenuous and amazing +fragile thinness. He was pleased, too, with the deference paid him as a +representative of the cloth, even though it compelled him to a +solemnity he did not inwardly feel. But most of all, undoubtedly, he was +captivated by the loveliness and warmth of Miss Airedale. + +The Bishop had not erred. Admiring the aristocratic Roman trend of +her brow and nose; the proud, inquisitive carriage of her somewhat +rectangular head, her admirable, vigorous figure and clear topaz +eyes, Gissing was aware of something he had not experienced before--a +disturbance both urgent and agreeable, in which the intellect seemed to +play little part. He was startled by the strength of her attractiveness, +amazed to learn how pleasing it was to be in her company. She was very +young and brisk: wore clothes of a smart sporting cut, and was +(he thought) quite divine in her riding breeches. But she was also +completely devoted to the chapel, where she played the music on Sundays. +She was a volatile creature, full of mischievous surprise: at their +first music practice, after playing over some hymns on the pipe-organ, +she burst into jazz, filling the quiet grove with the clamorous syncope +of Paddy-Paws, a favourite song that summer. + +So into the brilliant social life of the Airedales and their friends +he found himself suddenly pitchforked. In spite of the oddity of the +situation, and of occasional anxiety when he considered the possibility +of Mr. Poodle finding him out, he was very happy. This was not quite +what he had expected, but he was always adaptable. Miss Airedale was an +enchanting companion. In the privacy of his bedroom he measured himself +for a pair of riding breeches and wrote to his tailor in town to have +them made as soon as possible. He served the little chapel assiduously, +though he felt it better to conceal from the Airedales the fact that he +went there every day. He suspected they would think him slightly mad if +they knew, so he used to pretend that he had business in town. Then he +would slip away to the balsam-scented hilltop and be perfectly happy +sweeping the chapel floor, dusting the pews, polishing the brasswork, +rearranging the hymnals in the racks. He arranged with the milkman to +leave a bottle of milk and some cinnamon buns at the chapel gate +every morning, so he had a cheerful and stealthy little lunch in +the vestry-room, though always a trifle nervous lest some of his +parishioners should discover him. + +He practiced reading the lessons aloud at the brass lectern, and +discovered how easy is dramatic elocution when you are alone. He wished +it were possible to hold a service daily. For the first time he was able +to sing hymns as loud as he liked. Miss Airedale played the organ with +emphatic fervour, and the congregation, after a little hesitation, +enjoyed the lusty sincerity of a hymn well trolled. Some of his flock, +who had previously relished taking part in the general routine of the +service, were disappointed by his zeal, for Gissing insisted on doing +everything himself. He rang the bell, ushered the congregation to their +seats, read the service, recited the Quadrupeds' Creed, led the +choir, gave out as many announcements as he could devise, took up the +collection, and at the close skipped out through the vestry and was +ready and beaming in the porch before the nimblest worshipper had +reached the door. On his first Sunday, indeed, he carried enthusiasm +rather too far: in an innocent eagerness to prolong the service as much +as possible, and being too excited to realize quite what he was doing, +he went through the complete list of supplications for all possible +occasions. The congregation were startled to find themselves praying +simultaneously both for rain and for fair weather. + +In a cupboard in the vestry-room he had found an old surplice hanging; +he took it down, tried it on before the mirror, and wistfully put it +back. To this symbolic vestment his mind returned as he sat solitary +under the pine-trees, looking down upon the valley of home. It was the +season of goldenrod and aster on the hillsides: a hot swooning silence +lay upon the late afternoon. The weight and closeness of the air had +struck even the insects dumb. Under the pines, generally so murmurous, +there was something almost gruesome in the blank stillness: a suspension +so absolute that the ears felt dull and sealed. He tried, involuntarily, +to listen more clearly, to know if this uncanny hush were really so. +There was a sense of being imprisoned, but only most delicately, in a +spell, which some sudden cracking might disrupt. + +The surplice tempted him strongly, for it suggested the sermon he felt +impelled to deliver, against the Bishop's orders. For the beautiful +chapel in the piny glade was, somehow, false: or, at any rate, false for +him. The architect had made it a dainty poem in stone and polished wood, +but somehow God had evaded the neat little trap. Moreover, the God +his well-bred congregation worshipped, the old traditionally imagined +snow-white St. Bernard with radiant jowls of tenderness, shining dewlaps +of love; paternal, omnipotent, calm--this deity, though sublime in its +way, was too plainly an extension of their own desires. His prominent +parishioners--Mr. Dobermann-Pinscher, Mrs. Griffon, Mrs. Retriever; +even the delightful Mr. Airedale himself--was it not likely that they +esteemed a deity everlastingly forgiving because they themselves felt +need of forgiveness? He had been deeply shocked by the docility with +which they followed the codes of the service: even when he had committed +his blunder of the contradictory prayers, they had murmured the words +automatically, without protest. To the terrific solemnities of the +Litany they had made the responses with prompt gabbling precision, and +with a rapidity that frankly implied impatience to take the strain off +their knees. + +Somehow he felt that to account for a world of unutterable strangeness +they had invented a God far too cheaply simple. His mood was certainly +not one of ribald easy scoff. It was they (he assured himself) whose +theology was essentially cynical; not he. He was a little weary of +this just, charitable, consoling, hebdomadal God; this God who might be +sufficiently honoured by a decorously memorized ritual. Yet was he +too shallow? Was it not seemly that his fellows, bound on this dark, +desperate venture of living, should console themselves with decent +self-hypnosis? + +No, he thought. No, it was not entirely seemly. If they pretended that +their God was the highest thing knowable, then they must bring to +His worship the highest possible powers of the mind. He had a strange +yearning for a God less lazily conceived: a God perhaps inclement, +awful, master of inscrutable principles. Yet was it desirable to shake +his congregation's belief in their traditional divinity? He thought of +them--so amiable, amusing, spirited and generous, but utterly untrained +for abstract imaginative thought on any subject whatever. His own +strange surmisings about deity would only shock and horrify them And +after all, was it not exactly their simplicity that made them lovable? +The great laws of truth would work their own destinies without +assistance from him! Even if these pleasant creatures did not genuinely +believe the rites they so politely observed (he knew they did not, for +BELIEF is an intellectual process of extraordinary range and depth), was +it not socially useful that they should pretend to do so? + +And yet--with another painful swing of the mind--was it necessary +that Truth should be worshipped with the aid of such astonishingly +transparent formalisms, hoaxes, and mummeries? Alas, it seemed that this +was an old, old struggle that must be troublesomely fought out, again +and again down the generations. Prophets were twice stoned--first in +anger; then, after their death, with a handsome slab in the graveyard. +But words uttered in sincerity (he thought) never fail of some response. +Though he saw his fellows leashed with a heavy chain of ignorance, +stupidity, passion, and weakness, yet he divined in life some +inscrutable principle of honour and justice; some unreckonable essence +of virtue too intimate to understand; some fumbling aspiration toward +decency, some brave generosity of spirit, some cheerful fidelity to +Beauty. He could not see how, in a world so obviously vast and uncouth +beyond computation, they could find a puny, tidy, assumptive, scheduled +worship so satisfying. But perhaps, since all Beauty was so staggering, +it was better they should cherish it in small formal minims. Perhaps +in this whole matter there was some lovely symbolism that he did not +understand. + +The soft brightness was already lifting into upper air, a mingled tissue +of shadows lay along the valley. In the magical clarity of the evening +light he suddenly felt (as one often does, by unaccountable planetary +instinct) that there was a new moon. Turning, he saw it, a silver +snipping daintily afloat; and not far away, an early star. He had found +no creed in the prayer-book that accounted for the stars. Here at +the bottom of an ocean of sky, we look aloft and see them +thick-speckled--mere barnacles, perhaps, on the keel of some greater +ship of space. He remembered how at home there had been a certain +burning twinkle that peeped through the screen of the dogwood tree. +As he moved on his porch, it seemed to flit to and fro, appearing and +vanishing. He was often uncertain whether it was a firefly a few yards +away, or a star the other side of Time. Possibly Truth was like that. + +There was a light swift rustle behind him, and Miss Airedale appeared. + +“Hullo!” she said. “I wondered where you were. Is this how you spend +your afternoons, all alone?” + +Stars, creeds, cosmologies, promptly receded into remote perspective +and had to shift for themselves. It was true that Gissing had somewhat +avoided her lately, for he feared her fascination. He wished nothing +else to interfere with his search for what he had not yet found. +Postpone the female problem to the last, was his theory: not because +it was insoluble, but because the solution might prove to be less +interesting than the problem itself. But side by side with her, she was +irresistible. A skittish brightness shone in her eyes. + +“Great news!” she exclaimed. “I've persuaded Papa to take us all down to +Atlantic City for a couple of days.” + +“Wonderful!” cried Gissing. “Do you know, I've never been to the +seashore.” + +“Don't worry,” she replied. “I won't let you see much of the ocean. +We'll go to the Traymore, and spend the whole time dancing in the +Submarine Grill.” + +“But I must be back in time for the service on Sunday,” he said. + +“We're going to leave first thing in the morning. We'll go in the car, +and I'll drive. Will you sit with me in the front seat?” + +“Watch me!” replied Gissing gallantly. + +“Come on then, or you'll be late for dinner. I'll race you home!” And +she was off like a flash. + +But in spite of Miss Airedale's threat, at Atlantic City they both fell +into a kind of dreamy reverie. The wine-like tingle of that salty air +was a quiet drug. The apparently inexhaustible sunshine was sharpened +with a faint sting of coming autumn. Gissing suddenly remembered that it +was ages since he had simply let his mind run slack and allowed life to +go by unstudied. Mr. and Mrs. Airedale occupied a suite high up in the +terraced mass of the huge hotel; they wrapped themselves in rugs and +basked on their private balcony. Gissing and the daughter were left +to their own amusements. They bathed in the warm September surf; they +strolled the Boardwalk up beyond the old Absecon light, where the green +glimmer of water runs in under the promenade. They sat on the deck +of the hotel--or rather Miss Airedale sat, while Gissing, courteously +attentive, leaned over her steamer-chair. He stood so for hours, +apparently in devoted chat; but in fact he was half in dream. The smooth +flow of the little rolling shays just below had a soothing hypnotic +erect. But it was the glorious polished blue of the sea-horizon that +bounded all his thoughts. Even while Miss Airedale gazed archly up at +him, and he was busy with cheerful conversation, he was conscious of +that broad band of perfect colour, monotonous, comforting, thrilling. +For the first time he realized the great rondure of the world. His mind +went back to the section of the prayer-book that had always touched him +most pointedly--the “Forms of Prayer to be Used at Sea.” In them he had +found a note of sincere terror and humility. And now he viewed the sea +for the first time in this setting of notable irony. The open dazzle of +placid elements, obedient only to some cosmic calculus, lay as a serene +curtain against which the quaint flamboyance of the Boardwalk was all +the more amusing. The clear rim of sea curving off into space drew him +with painful curiosity. Here at last was what he had needed. The proud +waters went over his soul. Here indeed the blue began. + +He looked down at Miss Airedale, who had gone to sleep while waiting for +him to say something. He tiptoed away and went to his room to write down +some ideas. Against the wide challenge of that blue hemisphere, where +half the world lay open and free to the eye, the Bishop's prohibition +lost weight. He was resolved to preach a sermon. + +At dusk he met Miss Airedale on the high balcony that runs around the +reading-room of the hotel. They were quite alone up there. Along the +Boardwalk, in the pale sentimental twilight, the translucent electric +globes shone like a long string of pearls. She was very tempting in +a gay evening frock, and reproached him for having neglected her. She +shivered a little in the cool wind coming off the darkening water. The +weakness of the hour was upon him. He put his arm tenderly round her as +they leaned over the parapet. + +“See those darling children down on the sand,” she said. “I do adore +puppies, don't you?” + +He remembered Groups, Bunks, and Yelpers. Nothing is so potent as the +love of children when you are away from them. She gazed languishing +at him; he responded with a generous pressure. But his alarmed soul +thrilled with panic. + +“You must excuse me a moment, while I dress for dinner,” he said. He was +strangely terrified by the look of secret understanding in her beautiful +eyes. It seemed to imply some subtle, inexpressible pact. As a matter of +truth, she was unconscious of it: it was only the old demiurge speaking +in her; the old demiurge which was pursuing him just as ardently as he +was trailing the dissolving blue of his dream. But he was much agitated +as he went down in the elevator. + +“Heavens,” he said to himself; “are we all only toys in the power of +these terrific instincts?” + +For the first time he was informed of the infinite feminine capacity for +being wooed. + +That night they danced in the Submarine Grill. She floated in his +embrace with triumphant lightness. Her eyes, utilized as temporary lamps +by a lighting-circuit of which she was quite unaware, beamed with happy +lustre. The lay reader, always docile to the necessities of occasion, +murmured delightful trifles. But his private thoughts were as aloof +and shining and evasive as the goldfish that twinkled in the glass pool +overhead. He picked up her scarf and her handkerchief when she dropped +them. He smiled vaguely when she suggested that she thought she could +persuade Mr. Airedale to stay in Atlantic City over the week-end, and +why worry about the service on Sunday? But when she and the yawning Mrs. +Airedale had retired, he hastened to his chamber and packed his bag. +Stealthily he went to the desk and explained that he was leaving +unexpectedly on business, and that the bill should go to Mr. Airedale, +whose guest he had been. He slipped away out of the side door, and +caught the late train. Mrs. Airedale chafed her daughter that night for +whining in her sleep. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +The chapel of St. Spitz was crowded that fine Sunday morning, and the +clang and thud of its bells came merrily through the thin quick air to +worshippers arriving in their luxurious motors. The amiable oddity of +the lay reader's demeanour as priest had added a zest to churchgoing. +The congregation were particularly pleased, on this occasion, to see +Gissing appear in surplice and stole. They had felt that his attire on +the previous Sundays had been a little too informal. And when, at the +time usually allotted to the sermon, Gissing climbed the pulpit steps, +unfurled a sheaf of manuscript, and gazed solemnly about, they settled +back into the pew cushions in a comfortable, receptive mood. They had a +subconscious feeling that if their souls were to be saved, it was better +to have it done with all the proper formalities. They did not notice +that he was rather pale, and that his nose twitched nervously. + +“My friends,” he said, “in this beautiful little chapel, on this airy +hilltop, one might, if anywhere, speak with complete honesty. For you +who gather here for worship are, in the main, people of great +affairs; accustomed to looking at life with high spirit and with quick +imagination. I will ask you then to be patient with me while I exhort +you to carry into your religion the same enterprising and ambitious +gusto that has made your worldly careers a success. You are accustomed +to deal with great affairs. Let me talk to you about the Great Affairs +of God.” + +Gissing had been far too agitated to be able to recognize any particular +members of his audience. All the faces were fused into a common blur. +Miss Airedale, he knew, was in the organ loft, but he had not seen +her since his flight from Atlantic City, for he had removed from the +Airedale mansion before her return, and had made himself a bed in the +corner of the vestry-room. He feared she was angry: there had been a +vigorous growling note in some of the bass pipes of the organ as she +played the opening hymn. He had not seen a tall white-haired figure who +came into the chapel rather late, after the service had begun, and took +a seat at the back. Bishop Borzoi had seized the opportunity to drive +out to Dalmatian Heights this morning to see how his protege was getting +on. When the Bishop saw his lay reader appear in surplice and scarlet +hood, he was startled. But when the amateur parson actually ascended the +pulpit, the Bishop's face was a study. The hair on the back of his neck +bristled slightly. + +“It is so easy,” Gissing continued, “to let life go by us in its swift +amusing course, that sometimes it hardly seems worth while to attempt +any bold strokes for truth. Truth, of course, does not need our +assistance; it can afford to ignore our errors. But in this quiet place, +among the whisper of the trees, I seem to have heard a disconcerting +sound. I have heard laughter, and I think it is the laughter of God.” + +The congregation stirred a little, with polite uneasiness. This was not +quite the sort of thing to which they were accustomed. + +“Why should God laugh? I think it is because He sees that very often, +when we pretend to be worshipping Him, we are really worshipping and +gratifying ourselves. I used the phrase 'Great Affairs.' The point I +want to make is that God deals with far greater affairs than we have +realized. We have imagined Him on too petty a scale. If God is so great, +we must approach Him in a spirit of greatness. He is not interested in +trivialities--trivialities of ritual, of creed, of ceremony. We have +imagined a vain thing--a God of our own species; merely adding to the +conception, to gild and consecrate, a futile fuzbuz of supernaturalism. +My friends, the God I imagine is something more than a formula on +Sundays and an oath during the week.” + +Those sitting in the rear of the Chapel were startled to hear a low +rumbling sound proceeding from the diaphragm of the Bishop, who half +rose from his seat and then, by a great effort of will, contained +himself. But Gissing, rapt in his honourable speculations, continued +with growing happiness. + +“I ask you, though probably in vain, to lay aside for the moment your +inherited timidities and conventions. I ask you to lay aside pride, +which is the devil itself and the cause of most unhappiness. I ask +you to rise to the height of a great conception. To 'magnify' God is +a common phrase in our observances. Then let us truly magnify Him--not +minify, as the theologians do. If God is anything more than a social +fetich, then He must be so much more that He includes and explains +everything. It may sound inconceivable to you, it may sound +sacrilegious, but I suggest to you that it is even possible God may be a +biped--” + +The Bishop could restrain himself no longer. He rose with flaming +eyes and stood in the aisle. Mr. Airedale, Mr. Dobermann-Pinscher, and +several other prominent members of the Church burst into threatening +growls. A wild bark and clamour broke from Mr. Towser, the Sunday School +superintendent, and his pupils, who sat in the little gallery over the +door. And then, to Gissing's horror and amazement, Mr. Poodle appeared +from behind a pillar where he had been chafing unseen. In a fierce tenor +voice shaken with indignation he cried: + +“Heretic and hypocrite! Pay no attention to his abominable nonsense! He +deserted his family to lead a life of pleasure!” + +“Seize him!” cried the Bishop in a voice of thunder. + +The church was now in an uproar. A shrill yapping sounded among the +choir. Mrs. Airedale swooned; the Bishop's progress up the aisle was +impeded by a number of ladies hastening for an exit. Old Mr. Dingo, the +sexton, seized the bell-rope in the porch and set up a furious pealing. +Cries of rage mingled with hysterical howls from the ladies. Gissing, +trembling with horror, surveyed the atrocious hubbub. But it was +high time to move, or his retreat would be cut off. He abandoned his +manuscript and bounded down the pulpit stairs. + +“Unfrock him!” yelled Mr. Poodle. + +“He's never been frocked!” roared the Bishop. + +“Impostor!” cried Mr. Airedale. + +“Excommunicate him!” screamed Mr. Towser. + +“Take him before the consistory!” shouted Mr. Poodle. + +Gissing started toward the vestry door, but was delayed by the mass of +scuffling choir-puppies who had seized this uncomprehended diversion as +a chance to settle some scores of their own. The clamour was maddening. +The Bishop leapt the chancel rail and was about to seize him when Miss +Airedale, loyal to the last, interposed. She flung herself upon the +Bishop. + +“Run, run!” she cried. “They'll kill you!” + +Gissing profited by this assistance. He pushed over the lectern upon Mr. +Poodle, who was clutching at his surplice. He checked Mr. Airedale by +hurling little Tommy Bull, one of the choir, bodily at him. Tommy's +teeth fastened automatically upon Mr. Airedale's ear. The surplice, +which Mr. Poodle was still holding, parted with a rip, and Gissing +was free. With a yell of defiance he tore through the vestry and round +behind the chapel. + +He could not help pausing a moment to scan the amazing scene, which had +been all Sabbath calm a few moments before. From the long line of motor +cars parked outside the chapel incredible chauffeurs were leaping, +hurrying to see what had happened. The shady grove shook with the +hideous clamour of the bell, still wildly tolled by the frantic sexton. +The sudden excitement had liberated private quarrels long decently +repressed: in the porch Mrs. Retriever and Mrs. Dobermann-Pinscher were +locked in combat. With a splintering crash one of the choir-pups +came sailing through a stained-glass window, evidently thrown by some +infuriated adult. He recognized the voice of Mr. Towser, raised in +vigorous lamentation. To judge by the sound, Mr. Towser's pupils had +turned upon him and were giving him a bad time. Above all he could +hear the clear war-cry of Miss Airedale and the embittered yells of Mr. +Poodle. Then from the quaking edifice burst Bishop Borzoi, foaming +with wrath, his clothes much tattered, and followed by Mr. Poodle, Mr. +Airedale, and several others. They cast about for a moment, and then the +Bishop saw him. With a joint halloo they launched toward him. + +There was no time to lose. He fled down the shady path between the +trees, but with a hopeless horror in his heart. He could not long +outdistance such a runner as the Bishop, whose tremendous strides would +surely overhaul him in the end. If only he had known how to drive a car, +he might have commandeered one of the long row waiting by the gate. But +he was no motorist. Miss Airedale could have saved him, in her racing +roadster, but she had not emerged from the melee in the chapel. Perhaps +the Bishop had bitten her. His blood warmed with anger. + +It happened that they had been mending the county highways, and a large +steam roller stood a few hundred feet down the road, drawn up beside the +ditch. Gissing knew that it was customary to leave these engines with +the fire banked and a gentle pressure of steam simmering in the boiler. +It was his only chance, and he seized it. But to his dismay, when he +reached the machine, which lay just round a bend in the road, he found +it shrouded with a huge tarpaulin. However, this suggested a desperate +chance. He whipped nimbly inside the covering and hid in the coal-box. +Lying there, he heard the chase go panting by. + +As soon as he dared, he climbed out, stripped off the canvas, and +gazed at the bulky engine. It was one of those very tall and impressive +rollers with a canopy over the top. The machinery was not complicated, +and the ingenuity of desperation spurred him on. Hurriedly he opened the +draughts in the fire-box, shook up the coals, and saw the needle begin +to quiver on the pressure-gauge. He experimented with one or two levers +and handles. The first one he touched let off a loud scream from the +whistle. Then he discovered the throttle. He opened it a few notches, +cautiously. The ponderous machine, with a horrible clanking and +grinding, began to move forward. + +A steam roller may seem the least helpful of all vehicles in which to +conduct an urgent flight; but Gissing's reasoning was sound. In the +first place, no one would expect to find a hunted fugitive in this +lumbering, sluggish behemoth of the road. Secondly, sitting perched high +up in the driving saddle, right under the canopy, he was not easily +seen by the casual passer-by. And thirdly, if the pursuit came to +close grips, he was still in a strategic position. For this, the most +versatile of all land-machines except the military tank, can move across +fields, crash through underbrush, and travel in a hundred places +that would stall a motor car. He rumbled off down the road somewhat +exhilarated. He found the scarlet stole twisted round his neck, and tied +it to one of the stanchions of the canopy as a flag of defiance. It was +not long before he saw the posse of pursuit returning along the road, +very hot and angry. He crunched along solemnly, busying himself to get +up a strong head of steam. There they were, the Bishop, Mr. Poodle, Mr. +Airedale, Mr. Dobermann-Pinscher, and Mr. Towser. Mr. Poodle was talking +excitedly: the Bishop's tongue ran in and out over his gleaming teeth. +He was not saying much, but his manner was full of deadly wrath. They +paid no attention to the roller, and were about to pass it without even +looking up, when Gissing, in a sudden fit of indignation, gave the wheel +a quick twirl and turned his clumsy engine upon them. They escaped +only by a hair's breadth from being flattened out like pastry. Then the +Bishop, looking up, recognized the renegade. With a cry of anger they +all leaped at the roller. + +But he was so high above them, they had no chance. He seized the +coal-scoop and whanged Mr. Poodle across the skull. The Bishop came +dangerously near reaching him, but Gissing released a jet of scalding +steam from an exhaust-cock, which gave the impetuous prelate much cause +for grief. A lump of coal, accurately thrown, discouraged Mr. Airedale. +Mr. Towser, attacking on the other side of the engine, managed to +scramble up so high that he carried away the embroidered stole, but +otherwise the fugitive had all the best of it. Mr. Dobermann-Pinscher +burned his feet trying to climb up the side of the boiler. From the +summit of his uncouth vehicle Gissing looked down undismayed. + +“Miserable freethinker!” said Borzoi. “You shall be tried by the +assembly of bishops.” + +“In a mere lay reader,” quoted Gissing, “a slight laxity is allowable. +You had better go back and calm down the congregation, or they'll tear +the chapel to bits. This kind of thing will have a very bad influence on +church discipline.” + +They shouted additional menace, but Gissing had already started his +deafening machinery and could not hear what was said. He left them +bickering by the roadside. + +For fear of further pursuit, he turned off the highway a little beyond, +and rumbled noisily down a rustic lane between high banks and hedges +where sumac was turning red. Strangely enough, there was something very +comforting about his enormous crawling contraption. It was docile and +reliable, like an elephant. The crashing clangour of its movement was +soon forgotten--became, in fact, an actual stimulus to thought. For the +mere pleasure of novelty, he steered through a copse, and took joy in +seeing the monster thrash its way through thickets and brambles, and +then across a field of crackling stubble. Steering toward the lonelier +regions of that farming country, presently he halted in a dingle of +birches beside a small pond. He spent some time very happily, carefully +studying the machinery. He found some waste and an oilcan in the +tool-chest, and polished until the metal shone. The water looked rather +low in the gauge, and he replenished it from the pool. + +It was while grooming the roller that it struck him his own appearance +was unusual for a highway mechanic. He was still wearing the famous +floorwalker suit, which he had punctiliously donned every Sunday for +chapel. But he had had to flee without a hat--even without his luggage, +which was neatly packed in a bag in the vestry. That, he felt sure, Mr. +Poodle had already burst open for evidences of heresy and schism. The +pearly trousers were stained with oil and coal-dust; the neat cutaway +coat bore smears of engine-grease. As long as he stuck to the roller +and the telltale garments, pursuit and identification would of course be +easy enough. But he had taken a fancy to the machine: he decided not to +abandon it yet. + +Obviously it was better to keep to the roads, where the engine would at +any rate be less surprisingly conspicuous, and where it would leave no +trail. So he made a long circuit across meadows and pastures, carrying +a devilish clamour into the quiet Sunday afternoon. Regaining a macadam +surface, he set oil at random, causing considerable annoyance to +the motoring public. Finding that his cutaway coat caused jeers and +merriment, he removed it; and when any one showed a disposition to +inquire, he explained that he was doing penance for an ill-judged wager. +His oscillating perch above the boiler was extraordinarily warm, and he +bought a gallon jug of cider from a farmer by the way. Cheering himself +with this, and reviewing in his mind the queer experiences of the past +months, he went thundering mildly on. + +At first he had feared a furious pursuit on the part of the Bishop, or +even a whole college of bishops, quickly mobilized for the event. He +had imagined them speeding after him in a huge motor-bus, and himself +keeping them at bay with lumps of coal. But gradually he realized that +the Bishop would not further jeopardize his dignity, or run the risk of +making himself ridiculous. Mr. Poodle would undoubtedly set the township +road commissioner on his trail, and he would be liable to seizure for +the theft of a steam roller. But that could hardly happen so quickly. In +the meantime, a plan had been forming in his mind, but it would require +darkness for its execution. + +Darkness did not delay in coming. As he jolted cheerfully from road +to road, holding up long strings of motors at every corner while he +jovially held out his arm as a sign that he was going to turn, dark +purple clouds were massing and piling up. Foreseeing a storm, he bought +some provisions at a roadhouse, and turned into a field, where he +camped in the lee of a forest of birches. He cooked himself an excellent +supper, toasting bread and frankfurters in the firebox of the roller. +With boiling water from a steam-cock he brewed a panikin of tea; and sat +placidly admiring the fawn-pink light on wide pampas of bronze grasses, +tawny as a panther's hide. A strong wind began to draw from the +southeast. He lit the lantern at the rear of the machine and by the time +the rain came hissing upon the hot boiler, he was ready. Luckily he had +saved the tarpaulin. He spread this on the ground underneath the roller, +and curled up in it. The glow from the firebox kept him warm and dry. + +“Summer is over,” he said to himself, as he heard the clash and spouting +of rain all about him. He lay for some time, not sleepy, thinking +theology, and enjoying the close tumult of wind and weather. + +People who have had an arm or a leg amputated, he reflected, say they +can still feel pains in the absent member. Well, there's an analogy in +that. Modern skepticism has amputated God from the heart; but there is +still a twinge where the arteries were sewn up. + +He slept peacefully until about two in the morning, except when a +red-hot coal, slipping through the grate-bars, burned a lamentable hole +in his trousers. When he woke, the night still dripped, but was clear +aloft. He started the engine and drove cautiously, along black slippery +roads, to Mr. Poodle's house. In spite of the unavoidable racket, no one +stirred: he surmised that the curate slept soundly after the crises +of the day. He left the engine by the doorstep, pinning a note to the +steering-wheel. It said: + + TO REV. J. ROVER POODLE + this useful steam-roller + as a symbol of the theological mind + + MR. GISSING + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +The steamship Pomerania, which had sailed at noon, was a few hours out +of port on a calm gray sea. The passengers, after the bustle of lunch +and arranging their staterooms; had settled into their deck chairs and +were telling each other how much they loved the ocean. Captain Scottie +had taken his afternoon constitutional on his private strip of starboard +deck just aft the bridge, and was sitting in his comfortable cabin +expecting a cup of tea. He was a fine old sea-dog: squat, grizzled, +severe, with wiry eyebrows, a short coarse beard, and watchful quick +eyes. A characteristic Scot, beneath his reticent conscientious dignity +there was abundant humour and affection. He would have been recognized +anywhere as a sailor: those short solid legs were perfectly adapted for +balancing on a rolling deck. He stood by habit as though he were leaning +into a stiff gale. His mouth always held a pipe, which he smoked in +short, brisk whiffs, as though expecting to be interrupted at any moment +by an iceberg. + +The steward brought in the tea-tray, and Captain Scottie settled into +his large armchair to enjoy it. His eye glanced automatically at the +barometer. + +“A little wind to-night,” he said, his nose wrinkling unconsciously as +the cover was lifted from the dish of hot anchovy toast. + +“Yes, sir,” said the steward, but lingered, apparently anxious to speak +further. + +“Well, Shepherd?” + +“Beg pardon, sir, but the Chief Steward wanted me to say they've found +someone stowed away in the linen locker, sir. Queer kind of fellow, +sir, talks a bit like a padre. 'E must've come aboard by the engine-room +gangway, sir, and climbed into that locker near the barber shop.” + +The problem of stowaways is familiar enough to shipmasters. “Send him up +to me,” said the Captain. + +A few minutes later Gissing appeared, escorted by a burly quartermaster. +Even the experienced Captain admitted to himself that this was something +new in the category of stowaways. Never before had he seen one in a +braided cutaway coat and wedding trousers. It was true that the +garments were in grievous condition, but they were worn with an air. +The stowaway's face showed some embarrassment, but not at all the usual +hangdog mien of such wastrels. Involuntarily his tongue moistened when +he saw the tray of tea (for he had not eaten since his supper on the +steam roller the night before), but he kept his eyes politely averted +from the food. They rose to a white-painted girder that ran athwart the +cabin ceiling. CERTIFIED TO ACCOMMODATE THE MASTER he read there, in +letters deeply incised into the thick paint. “A good Christian ship,” + he said to himself. “It sounds like the Y. M. C. A.” He was pleased +to think that his suspicion was already confirmed: ships were more +religious than anything on land. + +The Captain dismissed the quartermaster, and addressed himself sternly +to the culprit. + +“Well, what have you to say for yourself?” + +“Please, Captain,” said Gissing politely, “do not allow your tea to get +cold. I can talk while you eat.” Behind his grim demeanour the Captain +was very near to smiling at this naivete. No Briton is wholly implacable +at tea-time, and he felt a genuine curiosity about this unusual +offender. + +“What was your idea in coming aboard?” he said. “Do you know that I can +put you in irons until we get across, and then have you sent home for +punishment? I suppose it's the old story: you want to go sight-seeing on +the other side?” + +“No, Captain,” said Gissing. “I have come to sea to study theology.” + +In spite of himself the Captain was touched by this amazing statement. +He was a Scot, as we have said. He poured a cup of tea to conceal his +astonishment. + +“Theology!” he exclaimed. “The theology of hard work is what you will +find most of aboard ship. Carry on and do your duty; keep a sharp +lookout, all gear shipshape, salute the bridge when going on watch, +that is the whole duty of a good officer. That's plenty theology for a +seaman.” But the skipper's eye turned brightly toward his bookshelves, +where he had several volumes of sermons, mostly of a Calvinist sort. + +“I am not afraid of work,” said Gissing. “But I'm looking for horizons. +In my work ashore I never could find any.” + +“Your horizon is likely to be peeling potatoes in the galley,” remarked +the Captain. “I understand they are short-handed there. Or sweeping out +bunks in the steerage. Ethics of the dust! What would you say to that?” + +“Sir,” replied Gissing, “I shall be grateful for any task, however +menial, that permits me to meditate. I understand your point of view. By +coming aboard your ship I have broken the law, I have committed a +crime; but not a sin. Crime and sin, every theologian admits, are not +coextensive.” + +The Captain sailed head-on into argument. + +“What?” he cried. “Are you aware of the doctrine of Moral Inability in a +Fallen State? Sit down, sit down, and have a cup of tea. We must discuss +this.” + +He rang for the steward and ordered an extra cup and a fresh supply of +toast. At that moment Gissing heard two quick strokes of a bell, rung +somewhere forward, a clear, musical, melancholy tone, echoed promptly +in other parts of the ship. “What is that, Captain?” he asked anxiously. +“An accident?” + +“Two bells in the first dog-watch,” said the Captain. “I fear you are as +much a lubber at sea as you are in theology.” + +The next two hours passed like a flash. Gissing found the skipper, in +spite of his occasional moods of austerity, a delicious companion. They +discussed Theosophy, Spiritualism, and Christian Science, all of which +the Captain, with sturdy but rather troubled vehemence, linked with +Primitive Magic. Gissing, seeing that his only hope of establishing +himself in the sailor's regard was to disagree and keep the argument +going, plunged into psycho-analysis and the philosophy of the +unconscious. Rather unwarily he ventured to introduce a nautical +illustration into the talk. + +“Your compass needle,” he said, “points to the North Pole, and although +it has never been to the Pole, and cannot even conceive of it, yet it +testifies irresistibly to the existence of such a place.” + +“I trust you navigate your soul more skilfully than you would navigate +this vessel,” retorted the Captain. “In the first place, the needle +does not point to the North Pole at all, but to the magnetic pole. +Furthermore, it has to be adjusted by magnets to counteract deviation. +Mr. Gissing, you may be a sincere student of theology, but you have not +allowed for your own temperamental deviation. Why, even the gyro compass +has to be adjusted for latitude error. You landsmen think that a ship is +simply a floating hotel. I should like to have the Bishop you spoke of +study a little navigation. That would put into him a healthy respect for +the marvels of science. On board ship, sir, the binnacle is kept locked +and the key is on the watch-chain of the master. It should be so in all +intellectual matters. Confide them to those capable of understanding.” + +Gissing saw that the Captain greatly relished his sense of superiority, +so he made a remark of intentional simplicity. + +“The binnacle?” he said. “I thought that was the little shellfish that +clings to the bottom of the boat?” + +“Don't you dare call my ship a BOAT!” said the Captain. “At sea, a boat +means only a lifeboat or some other small vagabond craft. Come out on +the bridge and I'll show you a thing or two.” + +The evening had closed in hazy, and the Pomerania swung steadily in a +long plunging roll. At the weather wing of the bridge, gazing sharply +over the canvas dodger, was Mr. Pointer, the vigilant Chief Officer, +peering off rigidly, as though mesmerized, but saying nothing. He gave +the Captain a courteous salute, but kept silence. At the large mahogany +wheel, gently steadying it to the quarterly roll of the sea, stood Dane, +a tall, solemn quartermaster. In spite of a little uneasiness, due to +the unfamiliar motion, Gissing was greatly elated by the wheelhouse, +which seemed even more thrillingly romantic than any pulpit. +Uncomprehendingly, but with admiration, he examined the binnacle, the +engine-room telegraphs, the telephones, the rack of signal-flags, the +buttons for closing the bulkheads, and the rotating clear-view screen +for lookout in thick weather. Aloft he could see the masthead light, +gently soaring in slow arcs. + +“I'll show you my particular pride,” said the Captain, evidently pleased +by his visitor's delighted enthusiasm. + +Gissing wondered what ingenious device of science this might be. + +Captain Scottie stepped to the weather gunwale of the bridge. He pointed +to the smoke, which was rolling rapidly from the funnels. + +“You see,” he said, “there's quite a strong breeze blowing. But look +here.” + +He lit a match and held it unshielded above the canvas screen which was +lashed along the front of the bridge. To Gissing's surprise it burned +steadily, without blowing out. + +“I've invented a convex wind-shield which splits the air just forward +of the bridge. I can stand here and light my pipe in the stiffest gale, +without any trouble.” + +On the decks below Gissing heard a bugle blowing gaily, a bright, +persuasive sound. + +“Six bells,” the Captain said. “I must dress for dinner. Before I start +you potato-peeling, I should like to clear up that little discussion of +ours about Free Will. One or two things you said interested me.” + +He paced the bridge for a minute, thinking hard. + +“I'll test your sincerity,” he said. “To-night you can bunk in the +chart-room. I'll have some dinner sent up to you. I wish you would write +me an essay of, say, two thousand words on the subject of Necessity.” + +For a moment Gissing pondered whether it would not be better to be put +in irons and rationed with bread and water. The wind was freshening, and +the Pomerania's sharp bow slid heavily into broad hills of sea, crashing +them into crumbling rollers of suds which fell outward and hissed +along her steep sides. The silent Mr. Pointer escorted him into +the chart-room, a bare, businesslike place with a large table, a +map-cabinet, and a settee. Here, presently, a steward appeared with +excellent viands, and a pen, ink, and notepaper. After a cautious meal, +Gissing felt more comfortable. There is something about a wet, windy +evening at sea that turns the mind naturally toward metaphysics. He +pushed away the dishes and began to write. + +Later in the evening the Captain reappeared. He looked pleased when he +saw a number of sheets already covered with script. + +“Rum lot of passengers this trip,” he said. “I don't seem to see any who +look interesting. All Big Business and that sort of thing. I must say +it's nice to have someone who can talk about books, and so on, once in a +while.” + +Gissing realized that sometimes a shipmaster's life must be a lonely +one. The weight of responsibility is always upon him; etiquette prevents +his becoming familiar with his officers; small wonder if he pines +occasionally for a little congenial talk to relieve his mind. + +“Big Business, did you say?” Gissing remarked. “Ah, I could write you +quite an essay about that. I used to be General Manager of Beagle and +Company.” + +“Come into my cabin and have a liqueur,” said the skipper. “Let the +essay go until to-morrow.” + +The Captain turned on the electric stove in his cabin, for the night +was cold. It was a snug sanctum: at the portholes were little chintz +curtains; over the bunk was a convenient reading lamp. On the wall a +brass pendulum swung slowly, registering the roll of the ship. The ruddy +shine of the stove lit up the orderly desk and the photographs of the +Captain's family. + +“Yours?” said Gissing, looking at a group of three puppies with droll +Scottish faces. “Aye,” said the Captain. + +“I've three of my own,” said Gissing, with a private pang of +homesickness. The skipper's cosy quarters were the most truly domestic +he had seen since the evening he first fled from responsibility. + +Captain Scottie was surprised. Certainly this eccentric stranger in the +badly damaged wedding garments had not given the impression of a family +head. Just then the steward entered with a decanter of Benedictine and +small glasses. + +“Brew days and bonny!” said the Captain, raising his crystal. + +“Secure amidst perils!” replied Gissing courteously. It was the phrase +engraved upon the ship's notepaper, on which he had been writing, and it +had impressed itself on his mind. + +“You said you had been a General Manager.” + +Gissing told, with some vivacity, of his experiences in the world of +trade. The Captain poured another small liqueur. + +“They're fine halesome liquor,” he said. + +“Sincerely yours,” said Gissing, nodding over the glass. He was +beginning to feel quite at home in the navigating quarters of the ship, +and hoped the potato-peeling might be postponed as long as possible. + +“How far had you got in your essay?” asked the Captain. + +“Not very far, I fear. I was beginning by laying down a few +psychological fundamentals.” + +“Excellent! Will you read it to me?” + +Gissing went to get his manuscript, and read it aloud. The Captain +listened attentively, puffing clouds of smoke. + +“I am sorry this is such a short voyage,” he said when Gissing finished. +“You have approached the matter from an entirely naif and instinctive +standpoint, and it will take some time to show you your errors. Before +I demolish your arguments I should like to turn them over in my mind. I +will reduce my ideas to writing and then read them to you.” + +“I should like nothing better,” said Gissing. “And I can think over the +subject more carefully while I peel the potatoes.” + +“Nonsense,” said the Captain. “I do not often get a chance to discuss +theology. I will tell you my idea. You spoke of your experience as +General Manager, when you had charge of a thousand employees. One of +the things we need on this ship is a staff-captain, to take over +the management of the personnel. That would permit me to concentrate +entirely on navigation. In a vessel of this size it is wrong that the +master should have to carry the entire responsibility.” + +He rang for the steward. + +“My compliments to Mr. Pointer, and tell him to come here.” + +Mr. Pointer appeared shortly in oilskins, saluted, and gazed fixedly at +his superior, with one foot raised upon the brass door-sill. + +“Mr. Pointer,” said Captain Scottie, “I have appointed Captain Gissing +staff-captain. Take orders from him as you would from me. He will have +complete charge of the ship's discipline.” + +“Aye, aye, sir,” said Mr. Pointer, stood a moment intently to see if +there were further orders, saluted again, and withdrew. + +“Now you had better turn in,” said the skipper. “Of course you must wear +uniform. I'll send the tailor up to you at once. He can remodel one of +my suits overnight. The trousers will have to be lengthened.” + +On the chart-room sofa, Gissing dozed and waked and dozed again. On the +bridge near by he heard the steady tread of feet, the mysterious words +of the officer on watch passing the course to his relief. Bells rang +with sharp double clang. Through the open port he could hear the +alternate boom and hiss of the sea under the bows. With the stately lift +and lean of the ship there mingled a faint driving vibration. + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +The first morning in any new environment is always the most exciting. +Gissing was already awake, and watching the novel sight of a patch of +sunshine sliding to and fro on the deck of the chart-room, when there +was a gentle tap at the door. The Captain's steward entered, carrying a +handsome uniform. + +“Six bells, sir,” he said. “Your bath is laid on.” + +Gissing was not very sure just what time it was, but the steward +held out a dressing gown for him to slip on, so he took the hint, and +followed him to the Captain's private bathroom where he plunged gaily +into warm salt water. He was hardly dressed before breakfast was +laid for him in the chart-room. It was a breakfast greatly to his +liking--porridge, scrambled eggs, grilled kidneys and bacon, coffee, +toast, and marmalade. Evidently the hardships of sea life had been +greatly exaggerated by fiction writers. + +He was a trifle bashful about appearing on the bridge in his blue and +brass formality, and waited a while thinking Captain Scottie might come. +But no one disturbed him, so by and bye he went out. It was a brisk +morning with a fresh breeze and plenty of whitecaps. Dancing rainbows +hovered about the bow when an occasional explosion of spray burst up +into sunlight. Mr. Pointer was on the bridge, still gazing steadily into +the distance. He saluted Gissing, but said nothing. The quartermaster at +the wheel also saluted in silence. A seaman wiping down the paintwork +on the deckhouse saluted. Gissing returned these gestures punctiliously, +and began to pace the bridge from side to side. He soon grew accustomed +to the varying slant of the deck, and felt that his footing showed a +nautical assurance. + +Now for the first time he enjoyed an untrammelled horizon on all sides. +The sea, he observed, was not really blue--not at any rate the blue he +had supposed. Where it seethed flatly along the hull, laced with swirls +of milky foam, it was almost black. Farther away, it was green, or +darkly violet. A ladder led to the top of the charthouse, and from this +commanding height the whole body of the ship lay below him. How alive +she seemed, how full of personality! The strong funnels, the tall masts +that moved so delicately against the pale open sky, the distant stern +that now dipped low in a comfortable hollow, and now soared and threshed +onward with a swimming thrust, the whole vital organism spoke to the eye +and the imagination. In the centre of this vast circle she moved, royal +and serene. She was more beautiful than the element she rode on, for +perhaps there was something meaningless in that pure vacant round of +sea and sky. Once its immense azure was grasped and noted, it brought +nothing to the mind. Reason was indignant to conceive it, sloping +endlessly away. + +The placid, beautifully planned routine of shipboard passed on its +accustomed course, and he began to suspect that his staff-captaincy was +a sinecure. Down below he could see the passengers briskly promenading, +or drowsing under their rugs. On the hurricane deck, aft, a sailor was +chalking a shuffleboard court. It occurred to him that all this might +become monotonous unless he found some actual part in it. Just then +Captain Scottie appeared on the bridge, took a quick look round, and +joined him on top of the charthouse. + +“Good morning!” he said. “You won't think me rude if you don't see much +of me? Thinking about those ideas of yours, I have come upon some rather +puzzling stuff. I must work the whole thing out more clearly. Your +suggestion that Conscience points the way to an integration of +personality into a higher type of divinity, seems to me off the track; +but I haven't quite downed it yet. I'm going to shut myself up to-day +and consider the matter. I leave you in charge.” + +“I shall be perfectly happy,” said Gissing. “Please don't worry about +me.” + +“You suggest that all the conditions of life at sea, our mastery of the +forces of Nature, and so on, seem to show that we have perfect freedom +of will, and adapt everything to our desires. I believe just the +contrary. The forces of Nature compel us to approach them in their own +way, otherwise we are shipwrecked. It is in the conditions of Nature +that this ship should reach port in eight days, otherwise we should get +nowhere. We do it because it is our destiny.” + +“I am not so sure of that,” said Gissing. But the Captain had already +departed with a clouded brow. + +On the chart-room roof Gissing had discovered an alluring instrument, +the exact use of which he did not know. It seemed to be some kind of +steering control. The dial was lettered, from left to right, as follows +HARD A PORT, PORT, STEADY, COURSE, STEADY, STARBD, HARD A STARBD. At +present the handle stood upon the section marked COURSE. After a careful +study of the whole seascape, it seemed to Gissing that off to the south +the ocean looked more blue and more interesting. After some hesitation +he moved the handle to the PORT mark, and waited to see what would +happen. To his delight he saw the bow swing slowly round, and the +Pomerania's gleaming wake spread behind her in a whitened curve. He +descended to the bridge, a little nervous as to what Mr. Pointer might +say, but he found the Mate gazing across the water with the same fierce +and unwearying attention. + +“I have changed the course,” he said. + +Mr. Pointer saluted, but said nothing. + +Having succeeded so far, Gissing ventured upon another innovation. +He had been greatly tempted by the wheel, and envied the stolid +quartermaster who was steering. So, assuming an air of calm certainty, +he entered the wheelhouse. + +“I'll take her for a while,” he said. + +“Aye, aye, sir,” said the quartermaster, and surrendered the wheel to +him. + +“You might string out a few flags,” Gissing said. He had been noticing +the bright signal buntings in the rack, and thought it a pity not to use +them. + +“I like to see a ship well dressed,” he added. + +“Aye, aye, sir,” said Dane. “Any choice, sir?” + +Gissing picked out a string of flags which were particularly lively in +colour-scheme, and had them hoisted. Then he gave his attention to the +wheel. He found it quite an art, and was surprised to learn that a big +ship requires so much helm. But it was very pleasant. He took care to +steer toward patches of sea that looked interesting, and to cut into any +particular waves that took his fancy. After an hour or so, he sighted a +fishing schooner, and gave chase. He found it so much fun to run close +beside her (taking care to pass to leeward, so as not to cut off her +wind) that a mile farther on he turned and steered a neat circle +about the bewildered craft. The Pomerania's passengers were greatly +interested, and lined the rails trying to make out what the fishermen +were shouting. The captain of the schooner seemed particularly agitated, +kept waving at the signal flags and barking through a megaphone. During +these manoeuvres Mr. Pointer gazed so hard at the horizon that Gissing +felt a bit embarrassed. + +“I thought it wise to find out exactly what our turning-circle is,” he +said. + +Mr. Pointer saluted. He was a well-trained officer. + +Late in the afternoon the Captain reappeared, looking more cheerful. +Gissing was still at the helm, which he found so fascinating he would +not relinquish it. He had ordered his tea served on a little stand +beside the wheel so that he could drink it while he steered. “Hullo!” + said the Captain. “I see you've changed the course.” + +“It seemed best to do so,” said Gissing firmly. He felt that to show any +weakness at this point would be fatal. + +“Oh, well, probably it doesn't matter. I'm coming round to some of your +ideas.” + +Gissing saw that this would never do. Unless he could keep the master +disturbed by philosophic doubts, Scottie would expect to resume command +of the ship. + +“Well,” he said, “I've been thinking about it, too. I believe I went +a bit too far. But what do you think about this? Do you believe that +Conscience is inherited or acquired? You sea how important that is. If +Conscience is a kind of automatic oracle, infallible and perfect, what +becomes of free will? And if, on the other hand, Conscience is only a +laboriously trained perception of moral and social utilities, where does +your deity come in?” + +Gissing was aware that this dilemma would not hold water very long, and +was painfully impromptu; but it hit the Captain amidships. + +“By Jove,” he said, “that's terrible, isn't it? It's no use trying to +carry on until I've got that under the hatch. Look here, would you +mind, just as a favour, keep things going while I wrestle with that +question?--I know it's asking a lot, but perhaps--” + +“It's quite all right,” Gissing replied. “Naturally you want to work +these things out.” + +The Captain started to leave the bridge, but by old seafaring habit he +cast a keen glance at the sky. He saw the bright string of code flags +fluttering. He seemed startled. + +“Are you signalling any one?” he asked. + +“No one in particular. I thought it looked better to have a few flags +about.” + +“I daresay you're right. But better take them down if you speak a ship. +They're rather confusing.” + +“Confusing? I thought they were just to brighten things up.” + +“You have two different signals up. They read, Bubonic plague, give me a +wide berth. Am coming to your assistance.” + +Toward dinner time, when Gissing had left the wheel and was humming a +tune as he walked the bridge, the steward came to him. + +“The Captain's compliments, sir, and would you take his place in the +saloon to-night? He says he's very busy writing, sir, and would take it +as a favour.” + +Gissing was always obliging. There was just a hint of conscious +sternness in his manner as he entered the Pomerania's beautiful dining +saloon, for he wished the passengers to realize that their lives +depended upon his prudence and sea-lore. Twice during the meal he +instructed the steward to bring him the latest barometer reading; and +after the dessert he scribbled a note on the back of a menu-card and had +it sent to the Chief Engineer. It said:-- + +Dear Chief: Please keep up a good head of steam to-night. I am expecting +dirty weather. + +MR. GISSING, + +(Staff-Captain) + +What the Chief said when he received the message is not included in the +story. + +But the same social aplomb that had made Gissing successful as a +floorwalker now came to his rescue as mariner. The passengers at the +Captain's table were amazed at his genial charm. His anecdotes of sea +life were heartily applauded. After dinner he circulated gracefully in +the ladies' lounge, and took coffee there surrounded by a chattering +bevy. He organized a little impromptu concert in the music room, and +when that was well started, slipped away to the smoke-room. Here he +found a pool being organized as to the exact day and hour when the +Pomerania would reach port. Appealed to for his opinion, he advised +caution. On all sides he was in demand, for dancing, for bridge, for +a recitation. At length he slipped away, pleading that he must keep +himself fit in case of fog. The passengers were loud in his praise, +asserting that they had never met so agreeable a sea-captain. One +elderly lady said she remembered crossing with him in the old Caninia, +years ago, and that he was just the same then. + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +And so the voyage went on. Gissing was quite content to do a two-hour +trick at the wheel both morning and afternoon, and worked out some new +principles of steering which gave him pleasure. In the first place, he +noticed that the shuffle-board and quoit players, on the boat deck aft, +were occasionally annoyed by cinders from the stacks, so he made it +a general plan to steer so that the smoke blew at right angles to the +ship's course. As the wind was prevailingly west, this meant that his +general trend was southerly. Whenever he saw another vessel, a mass of +floating sea-weed, a porpoise, or even a sea-gull, he steered directly +for it, and passed as close as possible, to have a good look at it. Even +Mr. Pointer admitted (in the mates' mess) that he had never experienced +so eventful a voyage. To keep the quartermasters from being idle, +Gissing had them knit him a rope hammock to be slung in the chart-room. +He felt that this would be more nautical than a plush settee. + +There was a marvellous sense of power in standing at the wheel and +feeling the great hull reply to his touch. Occasionally Captain Scottie +would emerge from his cabin, look round with a faint surprise, and +come to the bridge to see what was happening. Mr. Pointer would salute +mutely, and continue to study the skyline with indignant absorption. +The Captain would approach the wheel, where Gissing was deep in thought. +Rubbing his hands, the Captain would say heartily, “Well, I think I've +got it all clear now.” + +Gissing sighed. + +“What is it?” the Captain inquired anxiously. + +“I'm bothered about the subconscious. They tell us nowadays that +it's the subconscious mind that is really important. The more mental +operations we can turn over to the subconscious realm, the happier we +will be, and the more efficient. Morality, theology, and everything +really worth while, as I understand it, spring from the subconscious.” + +The Captain's look of cheer would vanish. + +“Maybe there's something in that.” + +“If so,” Gissing continued, “then perhaps consciousness is entirely +spurious. It seems to me that before we can get anywhere at all, we've +got to draw the line between the conscious and the subconscious. +What bothers me is, am I conscious of having a subconscious, or not? +Sometimes I think I am, and then again I'm doubtful. But if I'm aware +of my subconscious, then it isn't a genuine subconscious, and the whole +thing's just another delusion--” + +The Captain would knit his weather-beaten brow and again retire +anxiously to his quarters, after begging Gissing to be generous and +carry on a while longer. Occasionally, pacing the starboard bridge-deck, +sacred to captains, Gissing would glance through the port and see the +metaphysical commander bent over sheets of foolscap and thickly wreathed +in pipe-smoke. + +He himself had fallen into a kind of tranced felicity, in which these +questions no longer had other than an ingenious interest. His heart was +drowned in the engulfing blue. As they made their southing, wind +and weather seemed to fall astern, the sun poured with a more golden +candour. He stood at the wheel in a tranquil reverie, blithely steering +toward some bright belly of cloud that had caught his fancy. Mr. Pointer +shook his head when he glanced surreptitiously at the steering recorder, +a device that noted graphically every movement of the rudder with a view +to promoting economical helmsmanship. Indeed Gissing's course, as logged +on the chart, surprised even himself, so that he forbade the officers +taking their noon observations. When Mr. Pointer said something about +isobars, the staff-captain replied serenely that he did not expect to +find any polar bears in these latitudes. + +He had hoped privately for an occasional pirate, and scanned the sea-rim +sharply for suspicious topsails. But the ocean, as he remarked, is +not crowded. They proceeded, day after day, in a solitary wideness of +unblemished colour. The ship, travelling always in the centre of this +infinite disk, seemed strangely identified with his own itinerant +spirit, watchful at the gist of things, alert at the point which was +necessarily, for him, the nub of all existence. He wandered about the +Pomerania's sagely ordered passages and found her more and more magical. +She went on and on, with some strange urgent vitality of her own. +Through the fiddleys on the boat deck came a hot oily breath and the +steady drumming of her burning heart. From outer to hawse-hole, from +shaft-tunnel to crow's-nest, he explored and loved her. In the whole of +her proud, faithful, obedient fabric he divined honour and exultation. +Poised upon uncertainty, she was sure. The camber of her white-scrubbed +decks, the long, clean sheer of her hull, the concave flare of her +bows--what was the amazing joy and rightness of these things? And yet +the grotesque passengers regarded her only as a vehicle, to carry them +sedatively to some clamouring dock. Fools! She was more lovely than +anything they would ever see again! He yearned to drive her endlessly +toward that unreachable perimeter of sky. + +On land there had been definite horizons, even if disappointing when +reached and examined; but here there was no horizon at all. Every hour +it slid and slid over the dark orb of sea. He lost count of time. The +tremulous cradling of the Pomerania, steadily climbing the long leagues; +her noble forecastle solemnly lifting against heaven, then descending +with grave beauty into a spread of foaming beryl and snowdrift, seemed +one with the rhythm of his pulse and heart. Perhaps there had been more +than mere ingenuity in his last riddle for the theological skipper. +Truly the subconscious had usurped him. Here he was almost happy, for he +was almost unaware of life. It was all blue vacancy and suspension. The +sea is the great answer and consoler, for it means either nothing or +everything, and so need not tease the brain. + +But the passengers, though unobservant, began to murmur; especially +those who had wagered that the Pomerania would dock on the eighth day. +The world itself, they complained, was created in seven days, and why +should so fine a ship take longer to cross a comparatively small ocean? +Urbanely, over coffee and petite fours, Gissing argued with them. They +were well on their way, he protested; and then, as a hypothetical case, +he asked why one destination was more worth visiting than another? He +even quoted Shakespeare on this point--something about “ports and happy +havens”--and succeeded in turning the tide of conversation for a while. +The mention of Shakespeare suggested to some of the ladies that it +would be pleasant, now they all knew each other so well, to put on some +amateur theatricals. They compromised by playing charades in the saloon. +Another evening Gissing kept them amused by fireworks, which were very +lovely against the dark sky. For this purpose he used the emergency +rockets, star-shells and coloured flares, much to the distress of Dane, +the quartermaster, who had charge of these supplies. + +Little by little, however, the querulous protests of the passengers +began to weary him. Also, he had been receiving terse memoranda from +the Chief Engineer that the coal was getting low in the bunkers and that +something must be queer in the navigating department. This seemed very +unreasonable. The fixed gaze of Mr. Pointer, perpetually examining the +horizon as though he wanted to make sure he would recognize it if they +met again, was trying. Even Captain Scottie complained one day that +the supply of fresh meat had given out and that the steward had been +bringing him tinned beef. Gissing determined upon resolute measures. + +He had notice served that on account of possible danger from pirates +there would be a general boat drill on the following day--not merely for +the crew, but for everyone. He gave a little talk about it in the saloon +after dinner, and worked his audience up to quite a pitch of enthusiasm. +This would be better than any amateur theatricals, he insisted. Everyone +was to act exactly as though in a sudden calamity. They might make +up the boat-parties on the basis of congeniality if they wished; five +minutes would be given for reaching the stations, without panic or +disorder. They should prepare themselves as though they were actually +going to leave a sinking ship. + +The passengers were delighted with the idea of this novel entertainment. +Every soul on board--with the exception of Captain Scottie, who had +locked himself in and refused to be disturbed--was properly advertised +of the event. + +The following day, fortunately, was clear and calm. At noon Gissing +blew the syren, fired a rocket from the bridge, and swung the engine +telegraph to STOP. The ship's orchestra, by his orders, struck up a +rollicking air. Quickly and without confusion, amid cries of Women and +children first! the passengers filed to their allotted places. The crew +and officers were all at their stations. + +Gissing knocked at Captain Scottie's cabin. + +“We are taking to the boats,” he said. + +“Goad!” cried the skipper. “Wull it be a colleesion?” + +“All's clear and the davits are outboard,” said Gissing. He had been +studying the manual of boat handling in one of the nautical volumes in +the chart-room. + +“Auld Hornie!” ejaculated the skipper. “We'll no can salve the specie! +Make note of her poseetion, Mr. Gissing!” He hastened to gather his +papers, the log, a chronometer, and a large canister of tobacco. + +“The Deil's intil't,” he said as he hastened to his boat. “I had yon +pragmateesm of yours on a lee shore. Two-three hours, I'd have careened +ye.” + +Gissing was ready with his megaphone. From the wing of the bridge he +gave the orders. + +“Lower away!” and the boats dropped to the passenger rail. + +“Avast lowering!” Each boat took in her roster of passengers, who were +in high spirits at this unusual excitement. + +“Mind your painters! Lower handsomely!” + +The boats took the water in orderly fashion, and were cast off. +Remaining members of the crew swarmed down the falls. The bandsmen had a +boat to themselves, and resumed their tune as soon as they were settled. + +Gissing, left alone on the ship, waved for silence. + +“Look sharp, man!” cried Captain Scottie. “Honour's satisfied! Take your +place in the boat!” + +The passengers applauded, and there was quite a clatter of camera +shutters as they snapped the Pomerania looming grandly above them. + +“Boats are all provisioned and equipped,” shouted Gissing. “I've +broadcasted your position by radio. The barometer's at Fixed Fair. Pull +off now, and 'ware the screw.” + +He moved the telegraph handle to DEAD SLOW, and the Pomerania began to +slip forward gently. The boats dropped aft amid a loud miscellaneous +outcry. Mr. Pointer was already examining the horizon. Captain Scottie, +awakened to the situation, was uttering the language of theology but not +the purport. + +“Don't stand up in the boats,” megaphoned Gissing. “You're quite all +right, there's a ship on the way already. I wirelessed last night.” + +He slid the telegraph to slow, half, and then full. Once more the ship +creamed through the lifting purple swells. The little flock of boats was +soon out of sight. + +Alone at the wheel, he realized that a great weight was off his mind. +The responsibility of his position had burdened him more than he knew. +Now a strange eagerness and joy possessed him. His bubbling wake cut +straight and milky across the glittering afternoon. In a ruddy sunset +glow, the sea darkened through all tints of violet, amethyst, indigo. +The horizon line sharpened so clearly that he could distinguish the +tossing profile of waves wetting the sky. “A red sky at night is the +sailor's delight,” he said to himself. He switched on the port and +starboard lights and the masthead lanterns, then lashed the wheel while +he went below for supper. He did not know exactly where he was, for he +seemed to have steamed clean off the chart; but as he conned the helm +that evening, and leaned over the lighted binnacle, he had a feeling +that he was not far from some destiny. With cheerful assurance he lashed +the wheel again, and turned in. He woke once in the night, and leaped +from the hammock with a start. He thought he had heard a sound of +barking. + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +The next morning he sighted land. Coming out on the bridge, the whole +face of things was changed. The sea-colour had lightened to a tawny +green; gulls dipped and hovered; away on the horizon lay a soft blue +contour. “Land Ho!” he shouted superbly, and wondered what new country +he had discovered. He ran up a hoist of red and yellow signal flags, and +steered gaily toward the shore. + +It had grown suddenly cold: he had to fetch Captain Scottie's pea-jacket +to wear at the wheel. On the long spilling crests, that crumbled and +spread running layers of froth in their hurry shoreward, the Pomerania +rode home. She knew her landfall and seemed to quicken. Steadily +swinging on the jade-green surges, she buried her nose almost to the +hawse-pipes, then lifted until her streaming forefoot gleamed out of a +frilled ruffle of foam. + +Gissing, too, was eager. A tingling buoyancy and impatience took hold +of him: he fidgeted with sheer eagerness for life. Land, the beloved +stability of our dear and only earth, drew and charmed him. Behind was +the senseless, heartbreaking sea. Now he could discern hills rising in +a gilded opaline light. In the volatile thin air was a quick sense of +strangeness. A new world was close about him: a world that he could see, +and feel, and inhale, and yet knew nothing of. + +Suddenly a great humility possessed him. He had been froward and silly +and vain. He had shouted arrogantly at Beauty, like a noisy tourist in +a canyon; and the only answer, after long waiting, had been the paltry +diminished echo of his own voice. He thought shamefully of his follies. +What matter how you name God or in what words you praise Him? In this +new foreign land he would quietly accept things as he found them. The +laughter of God was too strange to understand. + +No, there was no answer. He was doubly damned, for he had made truth a +mere sport of intellectual riddling. The mind, like a spinning flywheel +of fatigued steel, was gradually racked to bursting by the conflict +of stresses. And yet: every equilibrium was an opposure of forces. +Rotation, if swift enough, creates amazing stability: he had seen how +the gyroscope can balance at apparently impossible angles. Perhaps it +was so of the mind. If it twirls at high speed it can lean right out +over the abyss without collapse. But the stationary mind--he thought +of Bishop Borzoi--must keep away from the edge. Try to force it to +the edge, it raves in panic. Every mind, very likely, knows its own +frailties, and does well to safeguard them. At any rate, that was the +most generous interpretation. Most minds, undoubtedly, were uneasy in +high places. They doubted their ability to refrain from jumping off. +How many bones of fine intellects lay whitening at the foot of the +theological cliff--It seemed to be a lonely coast, and wintry. +Patches of snow lay upon the hills, the woods were bare and brown. A +bottle-necked harbour opened out before him. He reduced the engines to +Dead Slow and glided gaily through the strait. He had been anxious lest +his navigation might not be equal to the occasion: he did not want to +disgrace himself at this final test. But all seemed to arrange itself +with enchanted ease. A steep ledge of ground offered a natural pier, +with tree-stumps for bollards. He let her come gently beyond the spot; +reversed the propellers just at the right time, and backed neatly +alongside. He moved the telegraph handle to FINISHED WITH ENGINES; ran +out the gangplank smartly, and stepped ashore. He moored the vessel fore +and aft, and hung out fenders to prevent chafing. + +The first thing to do, he said to himself, is to get the lie of the +land, and find out whether it is inhabited. + +A hillside rising above the water promised a clear view. The stubble +grass was dry and frosty, after the warm days at sea the chill was +nipping; but what an elixir of air! If this is a desert island, he +thought, it will be a glorious discovery. His heart was jocund with +anticipation. A curious foreign look in the landscape, he thought; quite +unlike anything--Suddenly, where the hill arched against pearly sky, he +saw narrow thread of smoke rising. He halted in alarm. Who might this +be, friend or foe? But eager agitation pushed him on. Burning to know, +he hurried up to the brow of the hill. + +The smoke mounted from a small bonfire of sticks in a sheltered thicket, +where a miraculous being--who was, as a matter of fact, a rather ragged +and dingy vagabond--was cooking a tin of stew over the blaze. + +Gissing stood, quivering with emotion. Joy such as he had never known +darted through all the cords of his body. He ran, shouting, in mirth and +terror. In fear, in a passion of love and knowledge and understanding, +he abased himself and yearned before this marvel. Impossible to have +conceived, yet, once seen, utterly satisfying and the fulfilment of all +needs. He laughed and leaped and worshipped. When the first transport +was over, he laid his head against this being's knee, he nestled there +and was content. This was the inscrutable perfect answer. + +“Cripes!” said the puzzled tramp, as he caressed the nuzzling head. “The +purp's loco. Maybe he's been lost. You might think he'd never seen a man +before.” + +He was right. + +And Gissing sat quietly, his throat resting upon the soiled knee of a +very old and spicy trouser. + +“I have found God,” he said. + +Presently he thought of the ship. It would not do to leave her so +insecurely moored. Reluctantly, with many a backward glance and a heart +full of glory, he left the Presence. He ran to the edge of the hill to +look down upon the harbour. + +The outlook was puzzlingly altered. He gazed in astonishment. What were +those poplars, rising naked into the bright air?--there was something +familiar about them. And that little house beyond... he stared +bewildered. + +The great shining breadth of the ocean had shrunk to the roundness of +a tiny pond. And the Pomerania? He leaned over, shaken with questions. +There, beside the bank, was a little plank of wood, a child's plaything, +roughly fashioned shipshape: two chips for funnels; red and yellow +frosted leaves for flags; a withered dogwood blossom for propeller. He +leaned closer, with whirling mind. In the clear cool surface of the +pond he could see the sky mirrored, deeper than any ocean, pellucid, +infinite, blue. + +He ran up the path to the house. The scuffled ragged garden lay naked +and hard. At the windows, he saw with surprise, were holly wreaths tied +with broad red ribbon. On the porch, some battered toys. He opened the +door. + +A fluttering rosy light filled the room. By the fireplace the +puppies--how big they were!--were sitting with Mrs. Spaniel. Joyous +uproar greeted him: they flung themselves upon him. Shouts of “Daddy! +Daddy!” filled the house, while the young Spaniels stood by more +bashfully. + +Good Mrs. Spaniel was gratefully moved. Her moist eyes shone brightly in +the firelight. + +“I knew you'd be home for Christmas, Mr. Gissing,” she said. “I've been +telling them so all afternoon. Now, children, be still a moment and let +me speak. I've been telling you your Daddy would be home in time for a +Christmas Eve story. I've got to go and fix that plum pudding.” + +In her excitement a clear bubble dripped from the tip of her tongue. She +caught it in her apron, and hurried to the kitchen. + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +The children insisted on leading him all through the house to show how +nicely they had taken care of things. And in every room Gissing saw +the marks of riot and wreckage. There were tooth-scars on all +furniture-legs; the fringes of rugs were chewed off; there were prints +of mud, ink, paints, and whatnot, on curtains and wallpapers and +coverlets. Poor Mrs. Spaniel kept running anxiously from the kitchen to +renew apologies. + +“I DID try to keep 'em in order,” she said, “but they seem to bash +things when you're not looking.” + +But Gissing was too happy to stew about such trifles. When the +inspection was over, they all sat down by the chimney and he piled on +more logs. + +“Well, chilluns,” he said, “what do you want Santa Claus to bring you +for Christmas?” + +“An aunbile!” exclaimed Groups + +“An elphunt!” exclaimed Bunks + +“A little train with hammers!” exclaimed Yelpers + +“A little train with hammers?” asked Gissing. “What does he mean?” + +“Oh,” said Groups and Bunks, with condescending pity, “he means a +typewriter. He calls it a little train because it moves on a track when +you hit it.” + +A painful apprehension seized him, and he went hastily to his study. He +had not noticed the typewriter, which Mrs. Spaniel had--too late--put +out of reach. Half the keys were sticking upright, jammed together and +tangled in a whirl of ribbon; the carriage was strangely dislocated. And +yet even this mischance, which would once have horrified him, left him +unperturbed. It's my own fault, he thought: I shouldn't have left it +where they could play with it. Perhaps God thinks the same when His +creatures make a mess of the dangerous laws of life. + +“A Christmas story!” the children were clamouring. + +Can it really be Christmas Eve? Gissing thought. Christmas seems to have +come very suddenly this year, I haven't really adjusted my mind to it +yet. + +“All right,” he said. “Now sit still and keep quiet. Bunks, give Yelpers +a little more room. If there's any bickering Santa Claus might hear it.” + +He sat in the big chair by the fire, and the three looked upward +expectantly from the hearthrug. + +“Once upon a time there were three little puppies, who lived in a house +in the country in the Canine Estates. And their names were Groups, +Bunks, and Yelpers.” + +The three tails thumped in turn as the names were mentioned, but the +children were too excitedly absorbed to interrupt. + +“And one year, just before Christmas, they heard a dreadful rumour.” + +“What's a rumour?” cried Yelpers, alarmed. + +This was rather difficult to explain, so Gissing did not attempt it. He +began again. + +“They heard that Santa Claus might not be able to come because he was +so behind with his housework. You see, Santa Claus is a great big +Newfoundland dog with a white beard, and he lives in a frosty kennel at +the North Pole, all shining with icicles round the roof and windows. But +it's so far away from everywhere that poor Santa couldn't get a servant. +All the maids who went there refused to stay because it was so cold +and lonely, and so far from the movies. Santa Claus was busy in his +workshop, making toys; he was busy taking care of the reindeer in their +snow-stables; and he didn't have time to wash his dishes. So all summer +he just let them pile up and pile up in the kitchen. And when Christmas +came near, there was his lovely house in a dreadful state of untidiness. +He couldn't go away and leave it like that. And so, if he didn't get his +dishes washed and the house cleaned up for Christmas, all the puppies +all over the world would have to go without toys. When Groups and Bunks +and Yelpers heard this, they were very much worried.” + +“How did they hear it?” asked Bunks, who was the analytical member of +the trio. + +“A very sensible question,” said Gissing, approvingly. “They heard it +from the chipmunk who lives in the wood behind the house. The chipmunk +heard it underground.” + +“In his chipmonastery?” cried Groups. It was a family joke to call +the chipmunk's burrow by that name, and though the puppies did not +understand the pun they relished the long word. + +“Yes,” continued Gissing. “The reindeer in Santa Claus's stable were +so unhappy about the dishes not being washed, and the chance of missing +their Christmas frolic, that they broadcasted a radio message. Their +horns are very fine for sending radio, and the chipmunk, sitting at his +little wireless outfit, with the receivers over his ears, heard it. And +Chippy told Groups and Bunks and Yelpers. + +“So these puppies decided to help Santa Claus. They didn't know exactly +where to find him, but the chipmunk told them the direction, and off +they went. They travelled and travelled, and when they came to the ocean +they begged a ride from the seagulls, and each one sat on a seagull's +back just as though he was on a little airplane. They flew and flew, +and at last they came to Santa Claus's house. Through the stable-walls, +which were made of clear ice, they could see the reindeer stamping in +their stalls. In the big workshop, where Santa Claus was busy making +toys, they could hear a lively sound of hammering. The big red sleigh +was standing outside the stables, all ready to be hitched up to the +reindeer. + +“They slipped into Santa Claus's house quickly and quietly, so no one +would see or hear them. The house was in a terrible state, but they set +to work to clean up. Groups found the vacuum cleaner and sucked up all +the crumbs from the dining-room rug. Bunks ran upstairs and made Santa +Claus's bed for him and swept the floors and put clean towels in the +bathroom. And Yelpers hurried into the kitchen and washed the dishes, +and scrubbed the pots, and polished the egg-stains off the silver +spoons, and emptied the ice-box pan. All working hard, they got through +very soon, and made Santa Claus's house as clean as any house could be. +They fixed the window-shades so that they would all hang level, not +just anyhow, as poor Santa had them. Then, when everything was spick and +span, they ran outdoors again and beckoned the seagulls. They climbed on +the gulls' backs, and away they flew homeward.” + +“Was Santa Claus pleased?” asked Bunks. + +“Indeed he was, when he came back from his workshop, very tired after +making toys all day.” + +“What kind of toys did he make?” exclaimed Yelpers anxiously. “Did he +make a typewriter?” + +“He made every kind of toy. And when he saw how his house had been +cleaned up, he thought the fairies must have done it. He lit his pipe, +and filled a thermos bottle with hot cocoa to keep him warm on his long +journey. Then he put on his red coat, and his long boots, and his fur +cap, and went out to harness the reindeer. That very night he drove off +with his sleigh packed full of toys for all the puppies in the world. In +fact, he was so pleased that he loaded his big bag with more toys than +he had ever carried before. And that was how a queer thing happened.” + +They waited in eager suspense. + +“You know, Santa Claus always drives into the Canine Estates by the +little back road through the woods, where the chipmunk lives. You know +the gateway, at the bend in the lane: well, it's rather narrow, and +Santa Claus's sleigh is very wide. And this time, because his bag had +so many toys in it, the bag bulged over the edge of the sleigh, and one +corner of the bag caught on the gatepost as he drove by. Three toys fell +out, and what do you suppose they were?” + +“An aunbile!” + +“An elphunt!” + +“A typewriter!” + +“Yes, that's quite right. And it happened that the chipmunk was out +that night, digging up some nuts for his Christmas dinner, a little sad +because he had no presents to give his children; and he found the +three toys. He took them home to the little chipmunks, and they were +tremendously pleased. That was only fair, because if it hadn't been +for the chipmunk and his radio set, no one would have had any toys that +Christmas.” + +“Did Santa Claus have any more typewriters in his bag?” asked Yelpers +gravely. + +“Oh, yes, he had plenty more of everything. And when he got to the house +where Groups and Bunks and Yelpers lived, he slid down the chimney and +took a look round. He didn't see any crumbs on the floor, or any toys +lying about not put away, so he filled the stockings with all kinds of +lovely things, and an aunbile and an elphunt and a typewriter.” + +“What did the puppies say?” they inquired. + +“They were sound asleep upstairs, and didn't know anything about it +until Christmas morning. Come on now, it's time for bed.” + +“We can undress ourselves now,” said Groups. + +“Will you tuck me in?” said Bunks. + +“You're sure he had another typewriter in his bag?” said Yelpers. + +They scrambled upstairs. + +Later, when the house was quiet, Gissing went out to the kitchen to see +Mrs. Spaniel. She was diligently rolling pastry, and her nose was white +with flour. + +“Oh, sir, I'm glad you got home in time for Christmas,” she said. “The +children were counting on it. Did you have a successful trip, sir?” + +“Every trip is successful when you get home again,” said Gissing. “I +suppose the shops will be open late to-night, won't they? I'm going to +run down to the village to get some toys.” + +Before leaving the house, he went down to the cellar to see if the +furnace was all right. He was amazed to see how naturally and cheerfully +he had slipped back into the old sense of responsibility. Where was the +illusory freedom he had dreamed of? Even the epiphany on the hilltop now +seemed a distant miracle. That fearful happiness might never come again. +And yet here, among the familiar difficult minutiae of home, what a +lightness he felt. A great phrase from the prayer-book came to his +mind--“Whose service is perfect freedom.” + +Ah, he said to himself, it is all very well to wear a crown of thorns, +and indeed every sensitive creature carries one in secret. But there are +times when it ought to be worn cocked over one ear. + +He opened the furnace door. A bright glow filled the fire-box: he could +hear a stir and singing in the boiler, and the rustle of warm pipes that +chuckled quietly through winter nights of storm. Over the coals hovered +a magic evasive flicker, the very soul of fire. It was a Pentecostal +flame, perfect and heavenly in tint, the essence of pure colour, a clear +immortal blue. + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Where the Blue Begins, by Christopher Morley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE THE BLUE BEGINS *** + +***** This file should be named 1402-0.txt or 1402-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/0/1402/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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