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diff --git a/2037-h/2037-h.htm b/2037-h/2037-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d51fadf --- /dev/null +++ b/2037-h/2037-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7010 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Novel Notes</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Novel Notes, by Jerome K. Jerome</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Novel Notes, by Jerome K. Jerome + + +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: Novel Notes + + +Author: Jerome K. Jerome + +Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #2037] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOVEL NOTES*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1893 Leadenhall Press Ltd. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>NOVEL NOTES</h1> +<p>To Big-Hearted, Big-Souled, Big-Bodied friend Conan Doyle</p> +<h2>PROLOGUE</h2> +<p>Years ago, when I was very small, we lived in a great house in a +long, straight, brown-coloured street, in the east end of London. +It was a noisy, crowded street in the daytime; but a silent, lonesome +street at night, when the gas-lights, few and far between, partook of +the character of lighthouses rather than of illuminants, and the tramp, +tramp of the policeman on his long beat seemed to be ever drawing nearer, +or fading away, except for brief moments when the footsteps ceased, +as he paused to rattle a door or window, or to flash his lantern into +some dark passage leading down towards the river.</p> +<p>The house had many advantages, so my father would explain to friends +who expressed surprise at his choosing such a residence, and among these +was included in my own small morbid mind the circumstance that its back +windows commanded an uninterrupted view of an ancient and much-peopled +churchyard. Often of a night would I steal from between the sheets, +and climbing upon the high oak chest that stood before my bedroom window, +sit peering down fearfully upon the aged gray tombstones far below, +wondering whether the shadows that crept among them might not be ghosts—soiled +ghosts that had lost their natural whiteness by long exposure to the +city’s smoke, and had grown dingy, like the snow that sometimes +lay there.</p> +<p>I persuaded myself that they were ghosts, and came, at length, to +have quite a friendly feeling for them. I wondered what they thought +when they saw the fading letters of their own names upon the stones, +whether they remembered themselves and wished they were alive again, +or whether they were happier as they were. But that seemed a still +sadder idea.</p> +<p>One night, as I sat there watching, I felt a hand upon my shoulder. +I was not frightened, because it was a soft, gentle hand that I well +knew, so I merely laid my cheek against it.</p> +<p>“What’s mumma’s naughty boy doing out of bed? +Shall I beat him?” And the other hand was laid against my +other cheek, and I could feel the soft curls mingling with my own.</p> +<p>“Only looking at the ghosts, ma,” I answered. “There’s +such a lot of ’em down there.” Then I added, musingly, +“I wonder what it feels like to be a ghost.”</p> +<p>My mother said nothing, but took me up in her arms, and carried me +back to bed, and then, sitting down beside me, and holding my hand in +hers—there was not so very much difference in the size—began +to sing in that low, caressing voice of hers that always made me feel, +for the time being, that I wanted to be a good boy, a song she often +used to sing to me, and that I have never heard any one else sing since, +and should not care to.</p> +<p>But while she sang, something fell on my hand that caused me to sit +up and insist on examining her eyes. She laughed; rather a strange, +broken little laugh, I thought, and said it was nothing, and told me +to lie still and go to sleep. So I wriggled down again and shut +my eyes tight, but I could not understand what had made her cry.</p> +<p>Poor little mother, she had a notion, founded evidently upon inborn +belief rather than upon observation, that all children were angels, +and that, in consequence, an altogether exceptional demand existed for +them in a certain other place, where there are more openings for angels, +rendering their retention in this world difficult and undependable. +My talk about ghosts must have made that foolishly fond heart ache with +a vague dread that night, and for many a night onward, I fear.</p> +<p>For some time after this I would often look up to find my mother’s +eyes fixed upon me. Especially closely did she watch me at feeding +times, and on these occasions, as the meal progressed, her face would +acquire an expression of satisfaction and relief.</p> +<p>Once, during dinner, I heard her whisper to my father (for children +are not quite so deaf as their elders think), “He seems to eat +all right.”</p> +<p>“Eat!” replied my father in the same penetrating undertone; +“if he dies of anything, it will be of eating.”</p> +<p>So my little mother grew less troubled, and, as the days went by, +saw reason to think that my brother angels might consent to do without +me for yet a while longer; and I, putting away the child with his ghostly +fancies, became, in course of time, a grown-up person, and ceased to +believe in ghosts, together with many other things that, perhaps, it +were better for a man if he did believe in.</p> +<p>But the memory of that dingy graveyard, and of the shadows that dwelt +therein, came back to me very vividly the other day, for it seemed to +me as though I were a ghost myself, gliding through the silent streets +where once I had passed swiftly, full of life.</p> +<p>Diving into a long unopened drawer, I had, by chance, drawn forth +a dusty volume of manuscript, labelled upon its torn brown paper cover, +NOVEL NOTES. The scent of dead days clung to its dogs’-eared +pages; and, as it lay open before me, my memory wandered back to the +summer evenings—not so very long ago, perhaps, if one but adds +up the years, but a long, long while ago if one measures Time by feeling—when +four friends had sat together making it, who would never sit together +any more. With each crumpled leaf I turned, the uncomfortable +conviction that I was only a ghost, grew stronger. The handwriting +was my own, but the words were the words of a stranger, so that as I +read I wondered to myself, saying: did I ever think this? did I really +hope that? did I plan to do this? did I resolve to be such? does life, +then, look so to the eyes of a young man? not knowing whether to smile +or sigh.</p> +<p>The book was a compilation, half diary, half memoranda. In +it lay the record of many musings, of many talks, and out of it—selecting +what seemed suitable, adding, altering, and arranging—I have shaped +the chapters that hereafter follow.</p> +<p>That I have a right to do so I have fully satisfied my own conscience, +an exceptionally fussy one. Of the four joint authors, he whom +I call “MacShaughnassy” has laid aside his title to all +things beyond six feet of sun-scorched ground in the African veldt; +while from him I have designated “Brown” I have borrowed +but little, and that little I may fairly claim to have made my own by +reason of the artistic merit with which I have embellished it. +Indeed, in thus taking a few of his bald ideas and shaping them into +readable form, am I not doing him a kindness, and thereby returning +good for evil? For has he not, slipping from the high ambition +of his youth, sunk ever downward step by step, until he has become a +critic, and, therefore, my natural enemy? Does he not, in the +columns of a certain journal of large pretension but small circulation, +call me “’Arry” (without an “H,” the satirical +rogue), and is not his contempt for the English-speaking people based +chiefly upon the fact that some of them read my books? But in +the days of Bloomsbury lodgings and first-night pits we thought each +other clever.</p> +<p>From “Jephson” I hold a letter, dated from a station +deep in the heart of the Queensland bush. “<i>Do what you +like with it, dear boy</i>,” the letter runs, “<i>so long +as you keep me out of it. Thanks for your complimentary regrets, +but I cannot share them. I was never fitted for a literary career. +Lucky for me, I found it out in time. Some poor devils don’t. +(I’m not getting at you, old man. We read all your stuff, +and like it very much. Time hangs a bit heavy, you know, here, +in the winter, and we are glad of almost anything.) This life +suits me better. I love to feel my horse between my thighs, and +the sun upon my skin. And there are the youngsters growing up +about us, and the hands to look after, and the stock. I daresay +it seems a very commonplace unintellectual life to you, but it satisfies +my nature more than the writing of books could ever do. Besides, +there are too many authors as it is. The world is so busy reading +and writing, it has no time left for thinking. You’ll tell +me, of course, that books are thought, but that is only the jargon of +the Press. You come out here, old man, and sit as I do sometimes +for days and nights together alone with the dumb cattle on an upheaved +island of earth, as it were, jutting out into the deep sky, and you +will know that they are not. What a man thinks—really thinks—goes +down into him and grows in silence. What a man writes in books +are the thoughts that he wishes to be thought to think</i>.”</p> +<p>Poor Jephson! he promised so well at one time. But he always +had strange notions.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>When, on returning home one evening, after a pipe party at my friend +Jephson’s, I informed my wife that I was going to write a novel, +she expressed herself as pleased with the idea. She said she had +often wondered I had never thought of doing so before. “Look,” +she added, “how silly all the novels are nowadays; I’m sure +you could write one.” (Ethelbertha intended to be complimentary, +I am convinced; but there is a looseness about her mode of expression +which, at times, renders her meaning obscure.)</p> +<p>When, however, I told her that my friend Jephson was going to collaborate +with me, she remarked, “Oh,” in a doubtful tone; and when +I further went on to explain to her that Selkirk Brown and Derrick MacShaughnassy +were also going to assist, she replied, “Oh,” in a tone +which contained no trace of doubtfulness whatever, and from which it +was clear that her interest in the matter, as a practical scheme, had +entirely evaporated.</p> +<p>I fancy that the fact of my three collaborators being all bachelors +diminished somewhat our chances of success, in Ethelbertha’s mind. +Against bachelors, as a class, she entertains a strong prejudice. +A man’s not having sense enough to want to marry, or, having that, +not having wit enough to do it, argues to her thinking either weakness +of intellect or natural depravity, the former rendering its victim unable, +and the latter unfit, ever to become a really useful novelist.</p> +<p>I tried to make her understand the peculiar advantages our plan possessed.</p> +<p>“You see,” I explained, “in the usual commonplace +novel we only get, as a matter of fact, one person’s ideas. +Now, in this novel, there will be four clever men all working together. +The public will thus be enabled to obtain the thoughts and opinions +of the whole four of us, at the price usually asked for merely one author’s +views. If the British reader knows his own business, he will order +this book early, to avoid disappointment. Such an opportunity +may not occur again for years.”</p> +<p>Ethelbertha agreed that this was probable.</p> +<p>“Besides,” I continued, my enthusiasm waxing stronger +the more I reflected upon the matter, “this work is going to be +a genuine bargain in another way also. We are not going to put +our mere everyday ideas into it. We are going to crowd into this +one novel all the wit and wisdom that the whole four of us possess, +if the book will hold it. We shall not write another novel after +this one. Indeed, we shall not be able to; we shall have nothing +more to write. This work will partake of the nature of an intellectual +clearance sale. We are going to put into this novel simply all +we know.”</p> +<p>Ethelbertha shut her lips, and said something inside; and then remarked +aloud that she supposed it would be a one volume affair.</p> +<p>I felt hurt at the implied sneer. I pointed out to her that +there already existed a numerous body of specially-trained men employed +to do nothing else but make disagreeable observations upon authors and +their works—a duty that, so far as I could judge, they seemed +capable of performing without any amateur assistance whatever. +And I hinted that, by his own fireside, a literary man looked to breathe +a more sympathetic atmosphere.</p> +<p>Ethelbertha replied that of course I knew what she meant. She +said that she was not thinking of me, and that Jephson was, no doubt, +sensible enough (Jephson is engaged), but she did not see the object +of bringing half the parish into it. (Nobody suggested bringing +“half the parish” into it. Ethelbertha will talk so +wildly.) To suppose that Brown and MacShaughnassy could be of +any use whatever, she considered absurd. What could a couple of +raw bachelors know about life and human nature? As regarded MacShaughnassy +in particular, she was of opinion that if we only wanted out of him +all that <i>he</i> knew, and could keep him to the subject, we ought +to be able to get that into about a page.</p> +<p>My wife’s present estimate of MacShaughnassy’s knowledge +is the result of reaction. The first time she ever saw him, she +and he got on wonderfully well together; and when I returned to the +drawing-room, after seeing him down to the gate, her first words were, +“What a wonderful man that Mr. MacShaughnassy is. He seems +to know so much about everything.”</p> +<p>That describes MacShaughnassy exactly. He does seem to know +a tremendous lot. He is possessed of more information than any +man I ever came across. Occasionally, it is correct information; +but, speaking broadly, it is remarkable for its marvellous unreliability. +Where he gets it from is a secret that nobody has ever yet been able +to fathom.</p> +<p>Ethelbertha was very young when we started housekeeping. (Our +first butcher very nearly lost her custom, I remember, once and for +ever by calling her “Missie,” and giving her a message to +take back to her mother. She arrived home in tears. She +said that perhaps she wasn’t fit to be anybody’s wife, but +she did not see why she should be told so by the tradespeople.) +She was naturally somewhat inexperienced in domestic affairs, and, feeling +this keenly, was grateful to any one who would give her useful hints +and advice. When MacShaughnassy came along he seemed, in her eyes, +a sort of glorified Mrs. Beeton. He knew everything wanted to +be known inside a house, from the scientific method of peeling a potato +to the cure of spasms in cats, and Ethelbertha would sit at his feet, +figuratively speaking, and gain enough information in one evening to +make the house unlivable in for a month.</p> +<p>He told her how fires ought to be laid. He said that the way +fires were usually laid in this country was contrary to all the laws +of nature, and he showed her how the thing was done in Crim Tartary, +or some such place, where the science of laying fires is alone properly +understood. He proved to her that an immense saving in time and +labour, to say nothing of coals, could be effected by the adoption of +the Crim Tartary system; and he taught it to her then and there, and +she went straight downstairs and explained it to the girl.</p> +<p>Amenda, our then “general,” was an extremely stolid young +person, and, in some respects, a model servant. She never argued. +She never seemed to have any notions of her own whatever. She +accepted our ideas without comment, and carried them out with such pedantic +precision and such evident absence of all feeling of responsibility +concerning the result as to surround our home legislation with quite +a military atmosphere.</p> +<p>On the present occasion she stood quietly by while the MacShaughnassy +method of fire-laying was expounded to her. When Ethelbertha had +finished she simply said:—</p> +<p>“You want me to lay the fires like that?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Amenda, we’ll always have the fires laid like that +in future, if you please.”</p> +<p>“All right, mum,” replied Amenda, with perfect unconcern, +and there the matter ended, for that evening.</p> +<p>On coming downstairs the next morning we found the breakfast table +spread very nicely, but there was no breakfast. We waited. +Ten minutes went by—a quarter of an hour—twenty minutes. +Then Ethelbertha rang the bell. In response Amenda presented herself, +calm and respectful.</p> +<p>“Do you know that the proper time for breakfast is half-past +eight, Amenda?”</p> +<p>“Yes’m.”</p> +<p>“And do you know that it’s now nearly nine?”</p> +<p>“Yes’m.”</p> +<p>“Well, isn’t breakfast ready?”</p> +<p>“No, mum.”</p> +<p>“Will it <i>ever</i> be ready?”</p> +<p>“Well, mum,” replied Amenda, in a tone of genial frankness, +“to tell you the truth, I don’t think it ever will.”</p> +<p>“What’s the reason? Won’t the fire light?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, it lights all right.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, why can’t you cook the breakfast?”</p> +<p>“Because before you can turn yourself round it goes out again.”</p> +<p>Amenda never volunteered statements. She answered the question +put to her and then stopped dead. I called downstairs to her on +one occasion, before I understood her peculiarities, to ask her if she +knew the time. She replied, “Yes, sir,” and disappeared +into the back kitchen. At the end of thirty seconds or so, I called +down again. “I asked you, Amenda,” I said reproachfully, +“to tell me the time about ten minutes ago.”</p> +<p>“Oh, did you?” she called back pleasantly. “I +beg your pardon. I thought you asked me if I knew it—it’s +half-past four.”</p> +<p>Ethelbertha inquired—to return to our fire—if she had +tried lighting it again.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, mum,” answered the girl. “I’ve +tried four times.” Then she added cheerfully, “I’ll +try again if you like, mum.”</p> +<p>Amenda was the most willing servant we ever paid wages to.</p> +<p>Ethelbertha said she would step down and light the fire herself, +and told Amenda to follow her and watch how she did it. I felt +interested in the experiment, and followed also. Ethelbertha tucked +up her frock and set to work. Amenda and I stood around and looked +on.</p> +<p>At the end of half an hour Ethelbertha retired from the contest, +hot, dirty, and a trifle irritable. The fireplace retained the +same cold, cynical expression with which it had greeted our entrance.</p> +<p>Then I tried. I honestly tried my best. I was eager and +anxious to succeed. For one reason, I wanted my breakfast. +For another, I wanted to be able to say that I had done this thing. +It seemed to me that for any human being to light a fire, laid as that +fire was laid, would be a feat to be proud of. To light a fire +even under ordinary circumstances is not too easy a task: to do so, +handicapped by MacShaughnassy’s rules, would, I felt, be an achievement +pleasant to look back upon. My idea, had I succeeded, would have +been to go round the neighbourhood and brag about it.</p> +<p>However, I did not succeed. I lit various other things, including +the kitchen carpet and the cat, who would come sniffing about, but the +materials within the stove appeared to be fire-proof.</p> +<p>Ethelbertha and I sat down, one each side of our cheerless hearth, +and looked at one another, and thought of MacShaughnassy, until Amenda +chimed in on our despair with one of those practical suggestions of +hers that she occasionally threw out for us to accept or not, as we +chose.</p> +<p>“Maybe,” said she, “I’d better light it in +the old way just for to-day.”</p> +<p>“Do, Amenda,” said Ethelbertha, rising. And then +she added, “I think we’ll always have them lighted in the +old way, Amenda, if you please.”</p> +<p>Another time he showed us how to make coffee—according to the +Arabian method. Arabia must be a very untidy country if they made +coffee often over there. He dirtied two saucepans, three jugs, +one tablecloth, one nutmeg-grater, one hearthrug, three cups, and himself. +This made coffee for two—what would have been necessary in the +case of a party, one dares not think.</p> +<p>That we did not like the coffee when made, MacShaughnassy attributed +to our debased taste—the result of long indulgence in an inferior +article. He drank both cups himself, and afterwards went home +in a cab.</p> +<p>He had an aunt in those days, I remember, a mysterious old lady, +who lived in some secluded retreat from where she wrought incalculable +mischief upon MacShaughnassy’s friends. What he did not +know—the one or two things that he was <i>not</i> an authority +upon—this aunt of his knew. “No,” he would say +with engaging candour—“no, that is a thing I cannot advise +you about myself. But,” he would add, “I’ll +tell you what I’ll do. I’ll write to my aunt and ask +her.” And a day or two afterwards he would call again, bringing +his aunt’s advice with him; and, if you were young and inexperienced, +or a natural born fool, you might possibly follow it.</p> +<p>She sent us a recipe on one occasion, through MacShaughnassy, for +the extermination of blackbeetles. We occupied a very picturesque +old house; but, as with most picturesque old houses, its advantages +were chiefly external. There were many holes and cracks and crevices +within its creaking framework. Frogs, who had lost their way and +taken the wrong turning, would suddenly discover themselves in the middle +of our dining-room, apparently quite as much to their own surprise and +annoyance as to ours. A numerous company of rats and mice, remarkably +fond of physical exercise, had fitted the place up as a gymnasium for +themselves; and our kitchen, after ten o’clock, was turned into +a blackbeetles’ club. They came up through the floor and +out through the walls, and gambolled there in their light-hearted, reckless +way till daylight.</p> +<p>The rats and mice Amenda did not object to. She said she liked +to watch them. But against the blackbeetles she was prejudiced. +Therefore, when my wife informed her that MacShaughnassy’s aunt +had given us an infallible recipe for their annihilation, she rejoiced.</p> +<p>We purchased the materials, manufactured the mixture, and put it +about. The beetles came and ate it. They seemed to like +it. They finished it all up, and were evidently vexed that there +was not more. But they did not die.</p> +<p>We told these facts to MacShaughnassy. He smiled, a very grim +smile, and said in a low tone, full of meaning, “Let them eat!”</p> +<p>It appeared that this was one of those slow, insidious poisons. +It did not kill the beetle off immediately, but it undermined his constitution. +Day by day he would sink and droop without being able to tell what was +the matter with himself, until one morning we should enter the kitchen +to find him lying cold and very still.</p> +<p>So we made more stuff and laid it round each night, and the blackbeetles +from all about the parish swarmed to it. Each night they came +in greater quantities. They fetched up all their friends and relations. +Strange beetles—beetles from other families, with no claim on +us whatever—got to hear about the thing, and came in hordes, and +tried to rob our blackbeetles of it. By the end of a week we had +lured into our kitchen every beetle that wasn’t lame for miles +round.</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy said it was a good thing. We should clear the +suburb at one swoop. The beetles had now been eating this poison +steadily for ten days, and he said that the end could not be far off. +I was glad to hear it, because I was beginning to find this unlimited +hospitality expensive. It was a dear poison that we were giving +them, and they were hearty eaters.</p> +<p>We went downstairs to see how they were getting on. MacShaughnassy +thought they seemed queer, and was of opinion that they were breaking +up. Speaking for myself, I can only say that a healthier-looking +lot of beetles I never wish to see.</p> +<p>One, it is true, did die that very evening. He was detected +in the act of trying to make off with an unfairly large portion of the +poison, and three or four of the others set upon him savagely and killed +him.</p> +<p>But he was the only one, so far as I could ever discover, to whom +MacShaughnassy’s recipe proved fatal. As for the others, +they grew fat and sleek upon it. Some of them, indeed, began to +acquire quite a figure. We lessened their numbers eventually by +the help of some common oil-shop stuff. But such vast numbers, +attracted by MacShaughnassy’s poison, had settled in the house, +that to finally exterminate them now was hopeless.</p> +<p>I have not heard of MacShaughnassy’s aunt lately. Possibly, +one of MacShaughnassy’s bosom friends has found out her address +and has gone down and murdered her. If so, I should like to thank +him.</p> +<p>I tried a little while ago to cure MacShaughnassy of his fatal passion +for advice-giving, by repeating to him a very sad story that was told +to me by a gentleman I met in an American railway car. I was travelling +from Buffalo to New York, and, during the day, it suddenly occurred +to me that I might make the journey more interesting by leaving the +cars at Albany and completing the distance by water. But I did +not know how the boats ran, and I had no guide-book with me. I +glanced about for some one to question. A mild-looking, elderly +gentleman sat by the next window reading a book, the cover of which +was familiar to me. I deemed him to be intelligent, and approached +him.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon for interrupting you,” I said, sitting +down opposite to him, “but could you give me any information about +the boats between Albany and New York?”</p> +<p>“Well,” he answered, looking up with a pleasant smile, +“there are three lines of boats altogether. There is the +Heggarty line, but they only go as far as Catskill. Then there +are the Poughkeepsie boats, which go every other day. Or there +is what we call the canal boat.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” I said. “Well now, which would you +advise me to—”</p> +<p>He jumped to his feet with a cry, and stood glaring down at me with +a gleam in his eyes which was positively murderous.</p> +<p>“You villain!” he hissed in low tones of concentrated +fury, “so that’s your game, is it? I’ll give +you something that you’ll want advice about,” and he whipped +out a six-chambered revolver.</p> +<p>I felt hurt. I also felt that if the interview were prolonged +I might feel even more hurt. So I left him without a word, and +drifted over to the other end of the car, where I took up a position +between a stout lady and the door.</p> +<p>I was still musing upon the incident, when, looking up, I observed +my elderly friend making towards me. I rose and laid my hand upon +the door-knob. He should not find me unprepared. He smiled, +reassuringly, however, and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “that maybe +I was a little rude just now. I should like, if you will let me, +to explain. I think, when you have heard my story, you will understand, +and forgive me.”</p> +<p>There was that about him which made me trust him. We found +a quiet corner in the smoking-car. I had a “whiskey sour,” +and he prescribed for himself a strange thing of his own invention. +Then we lighted our cigars, and he talked.</p> +<p>“Thirty years ago,” said he, “I was a young man +with a healthy belief in myself, and a desire to do good to others. +I did not imagine myself a genius. I did not even consider myself +exceptionally brilliant or talented. But it did seem to me, and +the more I noted the doings of my fellow-men and women, the more assured +did I become of it, that I possessed plain, practical common sense to +an unusual and remarkable degree. Conscious of this, I wrote a +little book, which I entitled <i>How to be Happy, Wealthy, and Wise</i>, +and published it at my own expense. I did not seek for profit. +I merely wished to be useful.</p> +<p>“The book did not make the stir that I had anticipated. +Some two or three hundred copies went off, and then the sale practically +ceased.</p> +<p>“I confess that at first I was disappointed. But after +a while, I reflected that, if people would not take my advice, it was +more their loss than mine, and I dismissed the matter from my mind.</p> +<p>“One morning, about a twelvemonth afterwards, I was sitting +in my study, when the servant entered to say that there was a man downstairs +who wanted very much to see me.</p> +<p>“I gave instructions that he should be sent up, and up accordingly +he came.</p> +<p>“He was a common man, but he had an open, intelligent countenance, +and his manner was most respectful. I motioned him to be seated. +He selected a chair, and sat down on the extreme edge of it.</p> +<p>“‘I hope you’ll pard’n this intrusion, sir,’ +he began, speaking deliberately, and twirling his hat the while; ‘but +I’ve come more’n two hundred miles to see you, sir.’</p> +<p>“I expressed myself as pleased, and he continued: ‘They +tell me, sir, as you’re the gentleman as wrote that little book, +<i>How to be Happy, Wealthy, and Wise</i>.”</p> +<p>He enumerated the three items slowly, dwelling lovingly on each. +I admitted the fact.</p> +<p>“‘Ah, that’s a wonderful book, sir,’ he went +on. ‘I ain’t one of them as has got brains of their +own—not to speak of—but I know enough to know them as has; +and when I read that little book, I says to myself, Josiah Hackett (that’s +my name, sir), when you’re in doubt don’t you get addling +that thick head o’ yours, as will only tell you all wrong; you +go to the gentleman as wrote that little book and ask him for his advice. +He is a kind-hearted gentleman, as any one can tell, and he’ll +give it you; and <i>when</i> you’ve got it, you go straight ahead, +full steam, and don’t you stop for nothing, ’cause he’ll +know what’s best for you, same as he knows what’s best for +everybody. That’s what I says, sir; and that’s what +I’m here for.’</p> +<p>“He paused, and wiped his brow with a green cotton handkerchief. +I prayed him to proceed.</p> +<p>“It appeared that the worthy fellow wanted to marry, but could +not make up his mind <i>whom</i> he wanted to marry. He had his +eye—so he expressed it—upon two young women, and they, he +had reason to believe, regarded him in return with more than usual favour. +His difficulty was to decide which of the two—both of them excellent +and deserving young persons—would make him the best wife. +The one, Juliana, the only daughter of a retired sea-captain, he described +as a winsome lassie. The other, Hannah, was an older and altogether +more womanly girl. She was the eldest of a large family. +Her father, he said, was a God-fearing man, and was doing well in the +timber trade. He asked me which of them I should advise him to +marry.</p> +<p>“I was flattered. What man in my position would not have +been? This Josiah Hackett had come from afar to hear my wisdom. +He was willing—nay, anxious—to entrust his whole life’s +happiness to my discretion. That he was wise in so doing, I entertained +no doubt. The choice of a wife I had always held to be a matter +needing a calm, unbiassed judgment, such as no lover could possibly +bring to bear upon the subject. In such a case, I should not have +hesitated to offer advice to the wisest of men. To this poor, +simple-minded fellow, I felt it would be cruel to refuse it.</p> +<p>“He handed me photographs of both the young persons under consideration. +I jotted down on the back of each such particulars as I deemed would +assist me in estimating their respective fitness for the vacancy in +question, and promised to carefully consider the problem, and write +him in a day or two.</p> +<p>“His gratitude was touching. ‘Don’t you trouble +to write no letters, sir,’ he said; ‘you just stick down +“Julia” or “Hannah” on a bit of paper, and put +it in an envelope. I shall know what it means, and that’s +the one as I shall marry.’</p> +<p>“Then he gripped me by the hand and left me.</p> +<p>“I gave a good deal of thought to the selection of Josiah’s +wife. I wanted him to be happy.</p> +<p>“Juliana was certainly very pretty. There was a lurking +playfulness about the corners of Juliana’s mouth which conjured +up the sound of rippling laughter. Had I acted on impulse, I should +have clasped Juliana in Josiah’s arms.</p> +<p>“But, I reflected, more sterling qualities than mere playfulness +and prettiness are needed for a wife. Hannah, though not so charming, +clearly possessed both energy and sense—qualities highly necessary +to a poor man’s wife. Hannah’s father was a pious +man, and was ‘doing well’—a thrifty, saving man, no +doubt. He would have instilled into her lessons of economy and +virtue; and, later on, she might possibly come in for a little something. +She was the eldest of a large family. She was sure to have had +to help her mother a good deal. She would be experienced in household +matters, and would understand the bringing up of children.</p> +<p>“Julia’s father, on the other hand, was a retired sea-captain. +Seafaring folk are generally loose sort of fish. He had probably +been in the habit of going about the house, using language and expressing +views, the hearing of which could not but have exercised an injurious +effect upon the formation of a growing girl’s character. +Juliana was his only child. Only children generally make bad men +and women. They are allowed to have their own way too much. +The pretty daughter of a retired sea-captain would be certain to be +spoilt.</p> +<p>“Josiah, I had also to remember, was a man evidently of weak +character. He would need management. Now, there was something +about Hannah’s eye that eminently suggested management.</p> +<p>“At the end of two days my mind was made up. I wrote +‘Hannah’ on a slip of paper, and posted it.</p> +<p>“A fortnight afterwards I received a letter from Josiah. +He thanked me for my advice, but added, incidentally, that he wished +I could have made it Julia. However, he said, he felt sure I knew +best, and by the time I received the letter he and Hannah would be one.</p> +<p>“That letter worried me. I began to wonder if, after +all, I had chosen the right girl. Suppose Hannah was not all I +thought her! What a terrible thing it would be for Josiah. +What data, sufficient to reason upon, had I possessed? How did +I know that Hannah was not a lazy, ill-tempered girl, a continual thorn +in the side of her poor, overworked mother, and a perpetual blister +to her younger brothers and sisters? How did I know she had been +well brought up? Her father might be a precious old fraud: most +seemingly pious men are. She may have learned from him only hypocrisy.</p> +<p>“Then also, how did I know that Juliana’s merry childishness +would not ripen into sweet, cheerful womanliness? Her father, +for all I knew to the contrary, might be the model of what a retired +sea-captain should be; with possibly a snug little sum safely invested +somewhere. And Juliana was his only child. What reason had +I for rejecting this fair young creature’s love for Josiah?</p> +<p>“I took her photo from my desk. I seemed to detect a +reproachful look in the big eyes. I saw before me the scene in +the little far-away home when the first tidings of Josiah’s marriage +fell like a cruel stone into the hitherto placid waters of her life. +I saw her kneeling by her father’s chair, while the white-haired, +bronzed old man gently stroked the golden head, shaking with silent +sobs against his breast. My remorse was almost more than I could +bear.</p> +<p>“I put her aside and took up Hannah—my chosen one. +She seemed to be regarding me with a smile of heartless triumph. +There began to take possession of me a feeling of positive dislike to +Hannah.</p> +<p>“I fought against the feeling. I told myself it was prejudice. +But the more I reasoned against it the stronger it became. I could +tell that, as the days went by, it would grow from dislike to loathing, +from loathing to hate. And this was the woman I had deliberately +selected as a life companion for Josiah!</p> +<p>“For weeks I knew no peace of mind. Every letter that +arrived I dreaded to open, fearing it might be from Josiah. At +every knock I started up, and looked about for a hiding-place. +Every time I came across the heading, ‘Domestic Tragedy,’ +in the newspapers, I broke into a cold perspiration. I expected +to read that Josiah and Hannah had murdered each other, and died cursing +me.</p> +<p>“As the time went by, however, and I heard nothing, my fears +began to assuage, and my belief in my own intuitive good judgment to +return. Maybe, I had done a good thing for Josiah and Hannah, +and they were blessing me. Three years passed peacefully away, +and I was beginning to forget the existence of the Hacketts.</p> +<p>“Then he came again. I returned home from business one +evening to find him waiting for me in the hall. The moment I saw +him I knew that my worst fears had fallen short of the truth. +I motioned him to follow me to my study. He did so, and seated +himself in the identical chair on which he had sat three years ago. +The change in him was remarkable; he looked old and careworn. +His manner was that of resigned hopelessness.</p> +<p>“We remained for a while without speaking, he twirling his +hat as at our first interview, I making a show of arranging papers on +my desk. At length, feeling that anything would be more bearable +than this silence, I turned to him.</p> +<p>“‘Things have not been going well with you, I’m +afraid, Josiah?’ I said.</p> +<p>“‘No, sir,’ he replied quietly; ‘I can’t +say as they have, altogether. That Hannah of yours has turned +out a bit of a teaser.’</p> +<p>“There was no touch of reproach in his tones. He simply +stated a melancholy fact.</p> +<p>“‘But she is a good wife to you in other ways,’ +I urged. ‘She has her faults, of course. We all have. +But she is energetic. Come now, you will admit she’s energetic.’</p> +<p>“I owed it to myself to find some good in Hannah, and this +was the only thing I could think of at that moment.</p> +<p>“‘Oh yes, she’s that,’ he assented. +‘A little too much so for our sized house, I sometimes think.’</p> +<p>“‘You see,’ he went on, ‘she’s a bit +cornery in her temper, Hannah is; and then her mother’s a bit +trying, at times.’</p> +<p>“‘Her mother!’ I exclaimed, ‘but what’s +<i>she</i> got to do with you?’</p> +<p>“‘Well, you see, sir,’ he answered, ‘she’s +living with us now—ever since the old man went off.’</p> +<p>“‘Hannah’s father! Is he dead, then?’</p> +<p>“‘Well, not exactly, sir,’ he replied. ‘He +ran off about a twelvemonth ago with one of the young women who used +to teach in the Sunday School, and joined the Mormons. It came +as a great surprise to every one.’</p> +<p>“I groaned. ‘And his business,’ I inquired—‘the +timber business, who carries that on?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, that!’ answered Josiah. ‘Oh, +that had to be sold to pay his debts—leastways, to go towards +’em.’</p> +<p>“I remarked what a terrible thing it was for his family. +I supposed the home was broken up, and they were all scattered.</p> +<p>“‘No, sir,’ he replied simply, ‘they ain’t +scattered much. They’re all living with us.’</p> +<p>“‘But there,’ he continued, seeing the look upon +my face; ‘of course, all this has nothing to do with you sir. +You’ve got troubles of your own, I daresay, sir. I didn’t +come here to worry you with mine. That would be a poor return +for all your kindness to me.’</p> +<p>“‘What has become of Julia?’ I asked. I did +not feel I wanted to question him any more about his own affairs.</p> +<p>“A smile broke the settled melancholy of his features. +‘Ah,’ he said, in a more cheerful tone than he had hitherto +employed, ‘it does one good to think about <i>her</i>, it does. +She’s married to a friend of mine now, young Sam Jessop. +I slips out and gives ’em a call now and then, when Hannah ain’t +round. Lord, it’s like getting a glimpse of heaven to look +into their little home. He often chaffs me about it, Sam does. +“Well, you <i>was</i> a sawny-headed chunk, Josiah, <i>you</i> +was,” he often says to me. We’re old chums, you know, +sir, Sam and me, so he don’t mind joking a bit like.’</p> +<p>“Then the smile died away, and he added with a sigh, ‘Yes, +I’ve often thought since, sir, how jolly it would have been if +you could have seen your way to making it Juliana.’</p> +<p>“I felt I must get him back to Hannah at any cost. I +said, ‘I suppose you and your wife are still living in the old +place?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘if you can call it living. +It’s a hard struggle with so many of us.’</p> +<p>“He said he did not know how he should have managed if it had +not been for the help of Julia’s father. He said the captain +had behaved more like an angel than anything else he knew of.</p> +<p>“‘I don’t say as he’s one of your clever +sort, you know, sir,’ he explained. ‘Not the man as +one would go to for advice, like one would to you, sir; but he’s +a good sort for all that.’</p> +<p>“‘And that reminds me, sir,’ he went on, ‘of +what I’ve come here about. You’ll think it very bold +of me to ask, sir, but—’</p> +<p>“I interrupted him. ‘Josiah,’ I said, ‘I +admit that I am much to blame for what has come upon you. You +asked me for my advice, and I gave it you. Which of us was the +bigger idiot, we will not discuss. The point is that I did give +it, and I am not a man to shirk my responsibilities. What, in +reason, you ask, and I can grant, I will give you.’</p> +<p>“He was overcome with gratitude. ‘I knew it, sir,’ +he said. ‘I knew you would not refuse me. I said so +to Hannah. I said, “I will go to that gentleman and ask +him. I will go to him and ask him for his advice.”’</p> +<p>“I said, ‘His what?’</p> +<p>“‘His advice,’ repeated Josiah, apparently surprised +at my tone, ‘on a little matter as I can’t quite make up +my mind about.’</p> +<p>“I thought at first he was trying to be sarcastic, but he wasn’t. +That man sat there, and wrestled with me for my advice as to whether +he should invest a thousand dollars which Julia’s father had offered +to lend him, in the purchase of a laundry business or a bar. He +hadn’t had enough of it (my advice, I mean); he wanted it again, +and he spun me reasons why I should give it him. The choice of +a wife was a different thing altogether, he argued. Perhaps he +ought <i>not</i> to have asked me for my opinion as to that. But +advice as to which of two trades a man would do best to select, surely +any business man could give. He said he had just been reading +again my little book, <i>How to be Happy</i>, etc., and if the gentleman +who wrote that could not decide between the respective merits of one +particular laundry and one particular bar, both situate in the same +city, well, then, all he had got to say was that knowledge and wisdom +were clearly of no practical use in this world whatever.</p> +<p>“Well, it did seem a simple thing to advise a man about. +Surely as to a matter of this kind, I, a professed business man, must +be able to form a sounder judgment than this poor pumpkin-headed lamb. +It would be heartless to refuse to help him. I promised to look +into the matter, and let him know what I thought.</p> +<p>“He rose and shook me by the hand. He said he would not +try to thank me; words would only seem weak. He dashed away a +tear and went out.</p> +<p>“I brought an amount of thought to bear upon this thousand-dollar +investment sufficient to have floated a bank. I did not mean to +make another Hannah job, if I could help it. I studied the papers +Josiah had left with me, but did not attempt to form any opinion from +them. I went down quietly to Josiah’s city, and inspected +both businesses on the spot. I instituted secret but searching +inquiries in the neighbourhood. I disguised myself as a simple-minded +young man who had come into a little money, and wormed myself into the +confidence of the servants. I interviewed half the town upon the +pretence that I was writing the commercial history of New England, and +should like some particulars of their career, and I invariably ended +my examination by asking them which was their favourite bar, and where +they got their washing done. I stayed a fortnight in the town. +Most of my spare time I spent at the bar. In my leisure moments +I dirtied my clothes so that they might be washed at the laundry.</p> +<p>“As the result of my investigations I discovered that, so far +as the two businesses themselves were concerned, there was not a pin +to choose between them. It became merely a question of which particular +trade would best suit the Hacketts.</p> +<p>“I reflected. The keeper of a bar was exposed to much +temptation. A weak-minded man, mingling continually in the company +of topers, might possibly end by giving way to drink. Now, Josiah +was an exceptionally weak-minded man. It had also to be borne +in mind that he had a shrewish wife, and that her whole family had come +to live with him. Clearly, to place Josiah in a position of easy +access to unlimited liquor would be madness.</p> +<p>“About a laundry, on the other hand, there was something soothing. +The working of a laundry needed many hands. Hannah’s relatives +might be used up in a laundry, and made to earn their own living. +Hannah might expend her energy in flat-ironing, and Josiah could turn +the mangle. The idea conjured up quite a pleasant domestic picture. +I recommended the laundry.</p> +<p>“On the following Monday, Josiah wrote to say that he had bought +the laundry. On Tuesday I read in the <i>Commercial Intelligence</i> +that one of the most remarkable features of the time was the marvellous +rise taking place all over New England in the value of hotel and bar +property. On Thursday, in the list of failures, I came across +no less than four laundry proprietors; and the paper added, in explanation, +that the American washing industry, owing to the rapid growth of Chinese +competition, was practically on its last legs. I went out and +got drunk.</p> +<p>“My life became a curse to me. All day long I thought +of Josiah. All night I dreamed of him. Suppose that, not +content with being the cause of his domestic misery, I had now deprived +him of the means of earning a livelihood, and had rendered useless the +generosity of that good old sea-captain. I began to appear to +myself as a malignant fiend, ever following this simple but worthy man +to work evil upon him.</p> +<p>“Time passed away, however; I heard nothing from or of him, +and my burden at last fell from me.</p> +<p>“Then at the end of about five years he came again.</p> +<p>“He came behind me as I was opening the door with my latch-key, +and laid an unsteady hand upon my arm. It was a dark night, but +a gas-lamp showed me his face. I recognised it in spite of the +red blotches and the bleary film that hid the eyes. I caught him +roughly by the arm, and hurried him inside and up into my study.</p> +<p>“‘Sit down,’ I hissed, ‘and tell me the worst +first.’</p> +<p>“He was about to select his favourite chair. I felt that +if I saw him and that particular chair in association for the third +time, I should do something terrible to both. I snatched it away +from him, and he sat down heavily on the floor, and burst into tears. +I let him remain there, and, thickly, between hiccoughs, he told his +tale.</p> +<p>“The laundry had gone from bad to worse. A new railway +had come to the town, altering its whole topography. The business +and residential portion had gradually shifted northward. The spot +where the bar—the particular one which I had rejected for the +laundry—had formerly stood was now the commercial centre of the +city. The man who had purchased it in place of Josiah had sold +out and made a fortune. The southern area (where the laundry was +situate) was, it had been discovered, built upon a swamp, and was in +a highly unsanitary condition. Careful housewives naturally objected +to sending their washing into such a neighbourhood.</p> +<p>“Other troubles had also come. The baby—Josiah’s +pet, the one bright thing in his life—had fallen into the copper +and been boiled. Hannah’s mother had been crushed in the +mangle, and was now a helpless cripple, who had to be waited on day +and night.</p> +<p>“Under these accumulated misfortunes Josiah had sought consolation +in drink, and had become a hopeless sot. He felt his degradation +keenly, and wept copiously. He said he thought that in a cheerful +place, such as a bar, he might have been strong and brave; but that +there was something about the everlasting smell of damp clothes and +suds, that seemed to sap his manhood.</p> +<p>“I asked him what the captain had said to it all. He +burst into fresh tears, and replied that the captain was no more. +That, he added, reminded him of what he had come about. The good-hearted +old fellow had bequeathed him five thousand dollars. He wanted +my advice as to how to invest it.</p> +<p>“My first impulse was to kill him on the spot. I wish +now that I had. I restrained myself, however, and offered him +the alternative of being thrown from the window or of leaving by the +door without another word.</p> +<p>“He answered that he was quite prepared to go by the window +if I would first tell him whether to put his money in the Terra del +Fuego Nitrate Company, Limited, or in the Union Pacific Bank. +Life had no further interest for him. All he cared for was to +feel that this little nest-egg was safely laid by for the benefit of +his beloved ones after he was gone.</p> +<p>“He pressed me to tell him what I thought of nitrates. +I replied that I declined to say anything whatever on the subject. +He assumed from my answer that I did not think much of nitrates, and +announced his intention of investing the money, in consequence, in the +Union Pacific Bank.</p> +<p>“I told him by all means to do so, if he liked.</p> +<p>“He paused, and seemed to be puzzling it out. Then he +smiled knowingly, and said he thought he understood what I meant. +It was very kind of me. He should put every dollar he possessed +in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company.</p> +<p>“He rose (with difficulty) to go. I stopped him. +I knew, as certainly as I knew the sun would rise the next morning, +that whichever company I advised him, or he persisted in thinking I +had advised him (which was the same thing), to invest in, would, sooner +or later, come to smash. My grandmother had all her little fortune +in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company. I could not see her brought +to penury in her old age. As for Josiah, it could make no difference +to him whatever. He would lose his money in any event. I +advised him to invest in Union Pacific Bank Shares. He went and +did it.</p> +<p>“The Union Pacific Bank held out for eighteen months. +Then it began to totter. The financial world stood bewildered. +It had always been reckoned one of the safest banks in the country. +People asked what could be the cause. I knew well enough, but +I did not tell.</p> +<p>“The Bank made a gallant fight, but the hand of fate was upon +it. At the end of another nine months the crash came.</p> +<p>“(Nitrates, it need hardly be said, had all this time been +going up by leaps and bounds. My grandmother died worth a million +dollars, and left the whole of it to a charity. Had she known +how I had saved her from ruin, she might have been more grateful.)</p> +<p>“A few days after the failure of the Bank, Josiah arrived on +my doorstep; and, this time, he brought his families with him. +There were sixteen of them in all.</p> +<p>“What was I to do? I had brought these people step by +step to the verge of starvation. I had laid waste alike their +happiness and their prospects in life. The least amends I could +make was to see that at all events they did not want for the necessities +of existence.</p> +<p>“That was seventeen years ago. I am still seeing that +they do not want for the necessities of existence; and my conscience +is growing easier by noticing that they seem contented with their lot. +There are twenty-two of them now, and we have hopes of another in the +spring.</p> +<p>“That is my story,” he said. “Perhaps you +will now understand my sudden emotion when you asked for my advice. +As a matter of fact, I do not give advice now on any subject.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>I told this tale to MacShaughnassy. He agreed with me that +it was instructive, and said he should remember it. He said he +should remember it so as to tell it to some fellows that he knew, to +whom he thought the lesson should prove useful.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>I can’t honestly say that we made much progress at our first +meeting. It was Brown’s fault. He would begin by telling +us a story about a dog. It was the old, old story of the dog who +had been in the habit of going every morning to a certain baker’s +shop with a penny in his mouth, in exchange for which he always received +a penny bun. One day, the baker, thinking he would not know the +difference, tried to palm off upon the poor animal a ha’penny +bun, whereupon the dog walked straight outside and fetched in a policeman. +Brown had heard this chestnut for the first time that afternoon, and +was full of it. It is always a mystery to me where Brown has been +for the last hundred years. He stops you in the street with, “Oh, +I must tell you!—such a capital story!” And he thereupon +proceeds to relate to you, with much spirit and gusto, one of Noah’s +best known jokes, or some story that Romulus must have originally told +to Remus. One of these days somebody will tell him the history +of Adam and Eve, and he will think he has got hold of a new plot, and +will work it up into a novel.</p> +<p>He gives forth these hoary antiquities as personal reminiscences +of his own, or, at furthest, as episodes in the life of his second cousin. +There are certain strange and moving catastrophes that would seem either +to have occurred to, or to have been witnessed by, nearly every one +you meet. I never came across a man yet who had not seen some +other man jerked off the top of an omnibus into a mud-cart. Half +London must, at one time or another, have been jerked off omnibuses +into mud-carts, and have been fished out at the end of a shovel.</p> +<p>Then there is the tale of the lady whose husband is taken suddenly +ill one night at an hotel. She rushes downstairs, and prepares +a stiff mustard plaster to put on him, and runs up with it again. +In her excitement, however, she charges into the wrong room, and, rolling +down the bedclothes, presses it lovingly upon the wrong man. I +have heard that story so often that I am quite nervous about going to +bed in an hotel now. Each man who has told it me has invariably +slept in the room next door to that of the victim, and has been awakened +by the man’s yell as the plaster came down upon him. That +is how he (the story-teller) came to know all about it.</p> +<p>Brown wanted us to believe that this prehistoric animal he had been +telling us about had belonged to his brother-in-law, and was hurt when +Jephson murmured, <i>sotto voce</i>, that that made the twenty-eighth +man he had met whose brother-in-law had owned that dog—to say +nothing of the hundred and seventeen who had owned it themselves.</p> +<p>We tried to get to work afterwards, but Brown had unsettled us for +the evening. It is a wicked thing to start dog stories among a +party of average sinful men. Let one man tell a dog story, and +every other man in the room feels he wants to tell a bigger one.</p> +<p>There is a story going—I cannot vouch for its truth, it was +told me by a judge—of a man who lay dying. The pastor of +the parish, a good and pious man, came to sit with him, and, thinking +to cheer him up, told him an anecdote about a dog. When the pastor +had finished, the sick man sat up, and said, “I know a better +story than that. I had a dog once, a big, brown, lop-sided—”</p> +<p>The effort had proved too much for his strength. He fell back +upon the pillows, and the doctor, stepping forward, saw that it was +a question only of minutes.</p> +<p>The good old pastor rose, and took the poor fellow’s hand in +his, and pressed it. “We shall meet again,” he gently +said.</p> +<p>The sick man turned towards him with a consoled and grateful look.</p> +<p>“I’m glad to hear you say that,” he feebly murmured. +“Remind me about that dog.”</p> +<p>Then he passed peacefully away, with a sweet smile upon his pale +lips.</p> +<p>Brown, who had had his dog story and was satisfied, wanted us to +settle our heroine; but the rest of us did not feel equal to settling +anybody just then. We were thinking of all the true dog stories +we had ever heard, and wondering which was the one least likely to be +generally disbelieved.</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy, in particular, was growing every moment more restless +and moody. Brown concluded a long discourse—to which nobody +had listened—by remarking with some pride, “What more can +you want? The plot has never been used before, and the characters +are entirely original!”</p> +<p>Then MacShaughnassy gave way. “Talking of plots,” +he said, hitching his chair a little nearer the table, “that puts +me in mind. Did I ever tell you about that dog we had when we +lived in Norwood?”</p> +<p>“It’s not that one about the bull-dog, is it?” +queried Jephson anxiously.</p> +<p>“Well, it was a bull-dog,” admitted MacShaughnassy, “but +I don’t think I’ve ever told it you before.”</p> +<p>We knew, by experience, that to argue the matter would only prolong +the torture, so we let him go on.</p> +<p>“A great many burglaries had lately taken place in our neighbourhood,” +he began, “and the pater came to the conclusion that it was time +he laid down a dog. He thought a bull-dog would be the best for +his purpose, and he purchased the most savage and murderous-looking +specimen that he could find.</p> +<p>“My mother was alarmed when she saw the dog. ‘Surely +you’re not going to let that brute loose about the house!’ +she exclaimed. ‘He’ll kill somebody. I can see +it in his face.’</p> +<p>“‘I want him to kill somebody,’ replied my father; +‘I want him to kill burglars.’</p> +<p>“‘I don’t like to hear you talk like that, Thomas,’ +answered the mater; ‘it’s not like you. We’ve +a right to protect our property, but we’ve no right to take a +fellow human creature’s life.’</p> +<p>“‘Our fellow human creatures will be all right—so +long as they don’t come into our kitchen when they’ve no +business there,’ retorted my father, somewhat testily. ‘I’m +going to fix up this dog in the scullery, and if a burglar comes fooling +around—well, that’s <i>his</i> affair.’</p> +<p>“The old folks quarrelled on and off for about a month over +this dog. The dad thought the mater absurdly sentimental, and +the mater thought the dad unnecessarily vindictive. Meanwhile +the dog grew more ferocious-looking every day.</p> +<p>“One night my mother woke my father up with: ‘Thomas, +there’s a burglar downstairs, I’m positive. I distinctly +heard the kitchen door open.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, well, the dog’s got him by now, then,’ +murmured my father, who had heard nothing, and was sleepy.</p> +<p>“‘Thomas,’ replied my mother severely, ‘I’m +not going to lie here while a fellow-creature is being murdered by a +savage beast. If you won’t go down and save that man’s +life, I will.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, bother,’ said my father, preparing to get +up. ‘You’re always fancying you hear noises. +I believe that’s all you women come to bed for—to sit up +and listen for burglars.’ Just to satisfy her, however, +he pulled on his trousers and socks, and went down.</p> +<p>“Well, sure enough, my mother was right, this time. There +<i>was</i> a burglar in the house. The pantry window stood open, +and a light was shining in the kitchen. My father crept softly +forward, and peeped through the partly open door. There sat the +burglar, eating cold beef and pickles, and there, beside him, on the +floor, gazing up into his face with a blood-curdling smile of affection, +sat that idiot of a dog, wagging his tail.</p> +<p>“My father was so taken aback that he forgot to keep silent.</p> +<p>“‘Well, I’m—,’ and he used a word that +I should not care to repeat to you fellows.</p> +<p>“The burglar, hearing him, made a dash, and got clear off by +the window; and the dog seemed vexed with my father for having driven +him away.</p> +<p>“Next morning we took the dog back to the trainer from whom +we had bought it.</p> +<p>“‘What do you think I wanted this dog for?’ asked +my father, trying to speak calmly.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ replied the trainer, ‘you said you +wanted a good house dog.’</p> +<p>“‘Exactly so,’ answered the dad. ‘I +didn’t ask for a burglar’s companion, did I? I didn’t +say I wanted a dog who’d chum on with a burglar the first time +he ever came to the house, and sit with him while he had supper, in +case he might feel lonesome, did I?’ And my father recounted +the incidents of the previous night.</p> +<p>“The man agreed that there was cause for complaint. ‘I’ll +tell you what it is, sir,’ he said. ‘It was my boy +Jim as trained this ’ere dawg, and I guess the young beggar’s +taught ’im more about tackling rats than burglars. You leave +’im with me for a week, sir; I’ll put that all right.’</p> +<p>“We did so, and at the end of the time the trainer brought +him back again.</p> +<p>“‘You’ll find ’im game enough now, sir,’ +said the man. ‘’E ain’t what I call an intellectual +dawg, but I think I’ve knocked the right idea into ’im.’</p> +<p>“My father thought he’d like to test the matter, so we +hired a man for a shilling to break in through the kitchen window while +the trainer held the dog by a chain. The dog remained perfectly +quiet until the man was fairly inside. Then he made one savage +spring at him, and if the chain had not been stout the fellow would +have earned his shilling dearly.</p> +<p>“The dad was satisfied now that he could go to bed in peace; +and the mater’s alarm for the safety of the local burglars was +proportionately increased.</p> +<p>“Months passed uneventfully by, and then another burglar sampled +our house. This time there could be no doubt that the dog was +doing something for his living. The din in the basement was terrific. +The house shook with the concussion of falling bodies.</p> +<p>“My father snatched up his revolver and rushed downstairs, +and I followed him. The kitchen was in confusion. Tables +and chairs were overturned, and on the floor lay a man gurgling for +help. The dog was standing over him, choking him.</p> +<p>“The pater held his revolver to the man’s ear, while +I, by superhuman effort, dragged our preserver away, and chained him +up to the sink, after which I lit the gas.</p> +<p>“Then we perceived that the gentleman on the floor was a police +constable.</p> +<p>“‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed my father, dropping +the revolver, ‘however did you come here?’</p> +<p>“‘’Ow did <i>I</i> come ’ere?’ retorted +the man, sitting up and speaking in a tone of bitter, but not unnatural, +indignation. ‘Why, in the course of my dooty, that’s +’ow <i>I</i> come ’ere. I see a burglar getting in +through the window, so I just follows and slips in after ’im.’</p> +<p>“‘Did you catch him?’ asked my father.</p> +<p>“‘Did I catch ’im!’ almost shrieked the man. +‘’Ow could I catch ’im with that blasted dog of yours +’olding me down by the throat, while ’e lights ’is +pipe and walks out by the back door?’</p> +<p>“The dog was for sale the next day. The mater, who had +grown to like him, because he let the baby pull his tail, wanted us +to keep him. The mistake, she said, was not the animal’s +fault. Two men broke into the house almost at the same time. +The dog could not go for both of them. He did his best, and went +for one. That his selection should have fallen upon the policeman +instead of upon the burglar was unfortunate. But still it was +a thing that might have happened to any dog.</p> +<p>“My father, however, had become prejudiced against the poor +creature, and that same week he inserted an advertisement in <i>The +Field</i>, in which the animal was recommended as an investment likely +to prove useful to any enterprising member of the criminal classes.”</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy having had his innings, Jephson took a turn, and told +us a pathetic story about an unfortunate mongrel that was run over in +the Strand one day and its leg broken. A medical student, who +was passing at the time, picked it up and carried it to the Charing +Cross Hospital, where its leg was set, and where it was kept and tended +until it was quite itself again, when it was sent home.</p> +<p>The poor thing had quite understood what was being done for it, and +had been the most grateful patient they had ever had in the hospital. +The whole staff were quite sorry when it left.</p> +<p>One morning, a week or two later, the house-surgeon, looking out +of the window, saw the dog coming down the street. When it came +near he noticed that it had a penny in its mouth. A cat’s-meat +barrow was standing by the kerb, and for a moment, as he passed it, +the dog hesitated.</p> +<p>But his nobler nature asserted itself, and, walking straight up to +the hospital railings, and raising himself upon his hind legs, he dropped +his penny into the contribution box.</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy was much affected by this story. He said it +showed such a beautiful trait in the dog’s character. The +animal was a poor outcast, vagrant thing, that had perhaps never possessed +a penny before in all its life, and might never have another. +He said that dog’s penny seemed to him to be a greater gift than +the biggest cheque that the wealthiest patron ever signed.</p> +<p>The other three were very eager now to get to work on the novel, +but I did not quite see the fairness of this. I had one or two +dog stories of my own.</p> +<p>I knew a black-and-tan terrier years ago. He lodged in the +same house with me. He did not belong to any one. He had +discharged his owner (if, indeed, he had ever permitted himself to possess +one, which is doubtful, having regard to his aggressively independent +character), and was now running himself entirely on his own account. +He appropriated the front hall for his sleeping-apartment, and took +his meals with the other lodgers—whenever they happened to be +having meals.</p> +<p>At five o’clock he would take an early morning snack with young +Hollis, an engineer’s pupil, who had to get up at half-past four +and make his own coffee, so as to be down at the works by six. +At eight-thirty he would breakfast in a more sensible fashion with Mr. +Blair, on the first floor, and on occasions would join Jack Gadbut, +who was a late riser, in a devilled kidney at eleven.</p> +<p>From then till about five, when I generally had a cup of tea and +a chop, he regularly disappeared. Where he went and what he did +between those hours nobody ever knew. Gadbut swore that twice +he had met him coming out of a stockbroker’s office in Threadneedle +Street, and, improbable though the statement at first appeared, some +colour of credibility began to attach to it when we reflected upon the +dog’s inordinate passion for acquiring and hoarding coppers.</p> +<p>This craving of his for wealth was really quite remarkable. +He was an elderly dog, with a great sense of his own dignity; yet, on +the promise of a penny, I have seen him run round after his own tail +until he didn’t know one end of himself from the other.</p> +<p>He used to teach himself tricks, and go from room to room in the +evening, performing them, and when he had completed his programme he +would sit up and beg. All the fellows used to humour him. +He must have made pounds in the course of the year.</p> +<p>Once, just outside our door, I saw him standing in a crowd, watching +a performing poodle attached to a hurdy-gurdy. The poodle stood +on his head, and then, with his hind legs in the air, walked round on +his front paws. The people laughed very much, and, when afterwards +he came amongst them with his wooden saucer in his mouth, they gave +freely.</p> +<p>Our dog came in and immediately commenced to study. In three +days <i>he</i> could stand on his head and walk round on his front legs, +and the first evening he did so he made sixpence. It must have +been terribly hard work for him at his age, and subject to rheumatism +as he was; but he would do anything for money. I believe he would +have sold himself to the devil for eightpence down.</p> +<p>He knew the value of money. If you held out to him a penny +in one hand and a threepenny-bit in the other, he would snatch at the +threepence, and then break his heart because he could not get the penny +in as well. You might safely have left him in the room with a +leg of mutton, but it would not have been wise to leave your purse about.</p> +<p>Now and then he spent a little, but not often. He was desperately +fond of sponge-cakes, and occasionally, when he had had a good week, +he would indulge himself to the extent of one or two. But he hated +paying for them, and always made a frantic and frequently successful +effort to get off with the cake and the penny also. His plan of +operations was simple. He would walk into the shop with his penny +in his mouth, well displayed, and a sweet and lamblike expression in +his eyes. Taking his stand as near to the cakes as he could get, +and fixing his eyes affectionately upon them, he would begin to whine, +and the shopkeeper, thinking he was dealing with an honest dog, would +throw him one.</p> +<p>To get the cake he was obliged, of course, to drop the penny, and +then began a struggle between him and the shopkeeper for the possession +of the coin. The man would try to pick it up. The dog would +put his foot upon it, and growl savagely. If he could finish the +cake before the contest was over, he would snap up the penny and bolt. +I have known him to come home gorged with sponge-cakes, the original +penny still in his mouth.</p> +<p>So notorious throughout the neighbourhood did this dishonest practice +of his become, that, after a time, the majority of the local tradespeople +refused to serve him at all. Only the exceptionally quick and +able-bodied would attempt to do business with him.</p> +<p>Then he took his custom further afield, into districts where his +reputation had not yet penetrated. And he would pick out shops +kept by nervous females or rheumatic old men.</p> +<p>They say that the love of money is the root of all evil. It +seemed to have robbed him of every shred of principle.</p> +<p>It robbed him of his life in the end, and that came about in this +way. He had been performing one evening in Gadbut’s room, +where a few of us were sitting smoking and talking; and young Hollis, +being in a generous mood, had thrown him, as he thought, a sixpence. +The dog grabbed it, and retired under the sofa. This was an odd +thing for him to do, and we commented upon it. Suddenly a thought +occurred to Hollis, and he took out his money and began counting it.</p> +<p>“By Jove,” he exclaimed, “I’ve given that +little beast half-a-sovereign—here, Tiny!”</p> +<p>But Tiny only backed further underneath the sofa, and no mere verbal +invitation would induce him to stir. So we adopted a more pressing +plan, and coaxed him out by the scruff of his neck.</p> +<p>He came, an inch at a time, growling viciously, and holding Hollis’s +half-sovereign tight between his teeth. We tried sweet reasonableness +at first. We offered him a sixpence in exchange; he looked insulted, +and evidently considered the proposal as tantamount to our calling him +a fool. We made it a shilling, then half-a-crown—he seemed +only bored by our persistence.</p> +<p>“I don’t think you’ll ever see this half-sovereign +again, Hollis,” said Gadbut, laughing. We all, with the +exception of young Hollis, thought the affair a very good joke. +He, on the contrary, seemed annoyed, and, taking the dog from Gadbut, +made an attempt to pull the coin out of its mouth.</p> +<p>Tiny, true to his life-long principle of never parting if he could +possibly help it, held on like grim death, until, feeling that his little +earnings were slowly but surely going from him, he made one final desperate +snatch, and swallowed the money. It stuck in his throat, and he +began to choke.</p> +<p>Then we became seriously alarmed for the dog. He was an amusing +chap, and we did not want any accident to happen to him. Hollis +rushed into his room and procured a long pair of pincers, and the rest +of us held the little miser while Hollis tried to relieve him of the +cause of his suffering.</p> +<p>But poor Tiny did not understand our intentions. He still thought +we were seeking to rob him of his night’s takings, and resisted +vehemently. His struggles fixed the coin firmer, and, in spite +of our efforts, he died—one more victim, among many, to the fierce +fever for gold.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>I dreamt a very curious dream about riches once, that made a great +impression upon me. I thought that I and a friend—a very +dear friend—were living together in a strange old house. +I don’t think anybody else dwelt in the house but just we two. +One day, wandering about this strange old rambling place, I discovered +the hidden door of a secret room, and in this room were many iron-bound +chests, and when I raised the heavy lids I saw that each chest was full +of gold.</p> +<p>And, when I saw this, I stole out softly and closed the hidden door, +and drew the worn tapestries in front of it again, and crept back along +the dim corridor, looking behind me, fearfully.</p> +<p>And the friend that I had loved came towards me, and we walked together +with our hands clasped. But I hated him.</p> +<p>And all day long I kept beside him, or followed him unseen, lest +by chance he should learn the secret of that hidden door; and at night +I lay awake watching him.</p> +<p>But one night I sleep, and, when I open my eyes, he is no longer +near me. I run swiftly up the narrow stairs and along the silent +corridor. The tapestry is drawn aside, and the hidden door stands +open, and in the room beyond the friend that I loved is kneeling before +an open chest, and the glint of the gold is in my eyes.</p> +<p>His back is towards me, and I crawl forward inch by inch. I +have a knife in my hand, with a strong, curved blade; and when I am +near enough I kill him as he kneels there.</p> +<p>His body falls against the door, and it shuts to with a clang, and +I try to open it, and cannot. I beat my hands against its iron +nails, and scream, and the dead man grins at me. The light streams +in through the chink beneath the massive door, and fades, and comes +again, and fades again, and I gnaw at the oaken lids of the iron-bound +chests, for the madness of hunger is climbing into my brain.</p> +<p>Then I awake, and find that I really am hungry, and remember that +in consequence of a headache I did not eat any dinner. So I slip +on a few clothes, and go down to the kitchen on a foraging expedition.</p> +<p>It is said that dreams are momentary conglomerations of thought, +centring round the incident that awakens us, and, as with most scientific +facts, this is occasionally true. There is one dream that, with +slight variations, is continually recurring to me. Over and over +again I dream that I am suddenly called upon to act an important part +in some piece at the Lyceum. That poor Mr. Irving should invariably +be the victim seems unfair, but really it is entirely his own fault. +It is he who persuades and urges me. I myself would much prefer +to remain quietly in bed, and I tell him so. But he insists on +my getting up at once and coming down to the theatre. I explain +to him that I can’t act a bit. He seems to consider this +unimportant, and says, “Oh, that will be all right.” +We argue for a while, but he makes the matter quite a personal one, +and to oblige him and get him out of the bedroom I consent, though much +against my own judgment. I generally dress the character in my +nightshirt, though on one occasion, for Banquo, I wore pyjamas, and +I never remember a single word of what I ought to say. How I get +through I do not know. Irving comes up afterwards and congratulates +me, but whether upon the brilliancy of my performance, or upon my luck +in getting off the stage before a brickbat is thrown at me, I cannot +say.</p> +<p>Whenever I dream this incident I invariably wake up to find that +the bedclothes are on the floor, and that I am shivering with cold; +and it is this shivering, I suppose, that causes me to dream I am wandering +about the Lyceum stage in nothing but my nightshirt. But still +I do not understand why it should always be the Lyceum.</p> +<p>Another dream which I fancy I have dreamt more than once—or, +if not, I have dreamt that I dreamt it before, a thing one sometimes +does—is one in which I am walking down a very wide and very long +road in the East End of London. It is a curious road to find there. +Omnibuses and trams pass up and down, and it is crowded with stalls +and barrows, beside which men in greasy caps stand shouting; yet on +each side it is bordered by a strip of tropical forest. The road, +in fact, combines the advantages of Kew and Whitechapel.</p> +<p>Some one is with me, but I cannot see him, and we walk through the +forest, pushing our way among the tangled vines that cling about our +feet, and every now and then, between the giant tree-trunks, we catch +glimpses of the noisy street.</p> +<p>At the end of this road there is a narrow turning, and when I come +to it I am afraid, though I do not know why I am afraid. It leads +to a house that I once lived in when a child, and now there is some +one waiting there who has something to tell me.</p> +<p>I turn to run away. A Blackwall ’bus is passing, and +I try to overtake it. But the horses turn into skeletons and gallop +away from me, and my feet are like lead, and the thing that is with +me, and that I cannot see, seizes me by the arm and drags me back.</p> +<p>It forces me along, and into the house, and the door slams to behind +us, and the sound echoes through the lifeless rooms. I recognise +the rooms; I laughed and cried in them long ago. Nothing is changed. +The chairs stand in their places, empty. My mother’s knitting +lies upon the hearthrug, where the kitten, I remember, dragged it, somewhere +back in the sixties.</p> +<p>I go up into my own little attic. My cot stands in the corner, +and my bricks lie tumbled out upon the floor (I was always an untidy +child). An old man enters—an old, bent, withered man—holding +a lamp above his head, and I look at his face, and it is my own face. +And another enters, and he also is myself. Then more and more, +till the room is thronged with faces, and the stair-way beyond, and +all the silent house. Some of the faces are old and others young, +and some are fair and smile at me, and many are foul and leer at me. +And every face is my own face, but no two of them are alike.</p> +<p>I do not know why the sight of myself should alarm me so, but I rush +from the house in terror, and the faces follow me; and I run faster +and faster, but I know that I shall never leave them behind me.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>As a rule one is the hero of one’s own dreams, but at times +I have dreamt a dream entirely in the third person—a dream with +the incidents of which I have had no connection whatever, except as +an unseen and impotent spectator. One of these I have often thought +about since, wondering if it could not be worked up into a story. +But, perhaps, it would be too painful a theme.</p> +<p>I dreamt I saw a woman’s face among a throng. It is an +evil face, but there is a strange beauty in it. The flickering +gleams thrown by street lamps flash down upon it, showing the wonder +of its evil fairness. Then the lights go out.</p> +<p>I see it next in a place that is very far away, and it is even more +beautiful than before, for the evil has gone out of it. Another +face is looking down into it, a bright, pure face. The faces meet +and kiss, and, as his lips touch hers, the blood mounts to her cheeks +and brow. I see the two faces again. But I cannot tell where +they are or how long a time has passed. The man’s face has +grown a little older, but it is still young and fair, and when the woman’s +eyes rest upon it there comes a glory into her face so that it is like +the face of an angel. But at times the woman is alone, and then +I see the old evil look struggling back.</p> +<p>Then I see clearer. I see the room in which they live. +It is very poor. An old-fashioned piano stands in one corner, +and beside it is a table on which lie scattered a tumbled mass of papers +round an ink-stand. An empty chair waits before the table. +The woman sits by the open window.</p> +<p>From far below there rises the sound of a great city. Its lights +throw up faint beams into the dark room. The smell of its streets +is in the woman’s nostrils.</p> +<p>Every now and again she looks towards the door and listens: then +turns to the open window. And I notice that each time she looks +towards the door the evil in her face shrinks back; but each time she +turns to the window it grows more fierce and sullen.</p> +<p>Suddenly she starts up, and there is a terror in her eyes that frightens +me as I dream, and I see great beads of sweat upon her brow. Then, +very slowly, her face changes, and I see again the evil creature of +the night. She wraps around her an old cloak, and creeps out. +I hear her footsteps going down the stairs. They grow fainter +and fainter. I hear a door open. The roar of the streets +rushes up into the house, and the woman’s footsteps are swallowed +up.</p> +<p>Time drifts onward through my dream. Scenes change, take shape, +and fade; but all is vague and undefined, until, out of the dimness, +there fashions itself a long, deserted street. The lights make +glistening circles on the wet pavement. A figure, dressed in gaudy +rags, slinks by, keeping close against the wall. Its back is towards +me, and I do not see its face. Another figure glides from out +the shadows. I look upon its face, and I see it is the face that +the woman’s eyes gazed up into and worshipped long ago, when my +dream was just begun. But the fairness and the purity are gone +from it, and it is old and evil, as the woman’s when I looked +upon her last. The figure in the gaudy rags moves slowly on. +The second figure follows it, and overtakes it. The two pause, +and speak to one another as they draw near. The street is very +dark where they have met, and the figure in the gaudy rags keeps its +face still turned aside. They walk together in silence, till they +come to where a flaring gas-lamp hangs before a tavern; and there the +woman turns, and I see that it is the woman of my dream. And she +and the man look into each other’s eyes once more.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In another dream that I remember, an angel (or a devil, I am not +quite sure which) has come to a man and told him that so long as he +loves no living human thing—so long as he never suffers himself +to feel one touch of tenderness towards wife or child, towards kith +or kin, towards stranger or towards friend, so long will he succeed +and prosper in his dealings—so long will all this world’s +affairs go well with him; and he will grow each day richer and greater +and more powerful. But if ever he let one kindly thought for living +thing come into his heart, in that moment all his plans and schemes +will topple down about his ears; and from that hour his name will be +despised by men, and then forgotten.</p> +<p>And the man treasures up these words, for he is an ambitious man, +and wealth and fame and power are the sweetest things in all the world +to him. A woman loves him and dies, thirsting for a loving look +from him; children’s footsteps creep into his life and steal away +again, old faces fade and new ones come and go.</p> +<p>But never a kindly touch of his hand rests on any living thing; never +a kindly word comes from his lips; never a kindly thought springs from +his heart. And in all his doings fortune favours him.</p> +<p>The years pass by, and at last there is left to him only one thing +that he need fear—a child’s small, wistful face. The +child loves him, as the woman, long ago, had loved him, and her eyes +follow him with a hungry, beseeching look. But he sets his teeth, +and turns away from her.</p> +<p>The little face grows thin, and one day they come to him where he +sits before the keyboard of his many enterprises, and tell him she is +dying. He comes and stands beside the bed, and the child’s +eyes open and turn towards him; and, as he draws nearer, her little +arms stretch out towards him, pleading dumbly. But the man’s +face never changes, and the little arms fall feebly back upon the tumbled +coverlet, and the wistful eyes grow still, and a woman steps softly +forward, and draws the lids down over them; then the man goes back to +his plans and schemes.</p> +<p>But in the night, when the great house is silent, he steals up to +the room where the child still lies, and pushes back the white, uneven +sheet.</p> +<p>“Dead—dead,” he mutters. Then he takes the +tiny corpse up in his arms, and holds it tight against his breast, and +kisses the cold lips, and the cold cheeks, and the little, cold, stiff +hands.</p> +<p>And at that point my story becomes impossible, for I dream that the +dead child lies always beneath the sheet in that quiet room, and that +the little face never changes, nor the limbs decay.</p> +<p>I puzzle about this for an instant, but soon forget to wonder; for +when the Dream Fairy tells us tales we are only as little children, +sitting round with open eyes, believing all, though marvelling that +such things should be.</p> +<p>Each night, when all else in the house sleeps, the door of that room +opens noiselessly, and the man enters and closes it behind him. +Each night he draws away the white sheet, and takes the small dead body +in his arms; and through the dark hours he paces softly to and fro, +holding it close against his breast, kissing it and crooning to it, +like a mother to her sleeping baby.</p> +<p>When the first ray of dawn peeps into the room, he lays the dead +child back again, and smooths the sheet above her, and steals away.</p> +<p>And he succeeds and prospers in all things, and each day he grows +richer and greater and more powerful.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>We had much trouble with our heroine. Brown wanted her ugly. +Brown’s chief ambition in life is to be original, and his method +of obtaining the original is to take the unoriginal and turn it upside +down.</p> +<p>If Brown were given a little planet of his own to do as he liked +with, he would call day, night, and summer, winter. He would make +all his men and women walk on their heads and shake hands with their +feet, his trees would grow with their roots in the air, and the old +cock would lay all the eggs while the hens sat on the fence and crowed. +Then he would step back and say, “See what an original world I +have created, entirely my own idea!”</p> +<p>There are many other people besides Brown whose notion of originality +would seem to be precisely similar.</p> +<p>I know a little girl, the descendant of a long line of politicians. +The hereditary instinct is so strongly developed in her that she is +almost incapable of thinking for herself. Instead, she copies +in everything her elder sister, who takes more after the mother. +If her sister has two helpings of rice pudding for supper, then she +has two helpings of rice pudding. If her sister isn’t hungry +and doesn’t want any supper at all, then she goes to bed without +any supper.</p> +<p>This lack of character in the child troubles her mother, who is not +an admirer of the political virtues, and one evening, taking the little +one on her lap, she talked seriously to her.</p> +<p>“Do try to think for yourself,” said she. “Don’t +always do just what Jessie does, that’s silly. Have an idea +of your own now and then. Be a little original.”</p> +<p>The child promised she’d try, and went to bed thoughtful.</p> +<p>Next morning, for breakfast, a dish of kippers and a dish of kidneys +were placed on the table, side by side. Now the child loved kippers +with an affection that amounted almost to passion, while she loathed +kidneys worse than powders. It was the one subject on which she +did know her own mind.</p> +<p>“A kidney or a kipper for you, Jessie?” asked the mother, +addressing the elder child first.</p> +<p>Jessie hesitated for a moment, while her sister sat regarding her +in an agony of suspense.</p> +<p>“Kipper, please, ma,” Jessie answered at last, and the +younger child turned her head away to hide the tears.</p> +<p>“You’ll have a kipper, of course, Trixy?” said +the mother, who had noticed nothing.</p> +<p>“No, thank you, ma,” said the small heroine, stifling +a sob, and speaking in a dry, tremulous voice, “I’ll have +a kidney.”</p> +<p>“But I thought you couldn’t bear kidneys,” exclaimed +her mother, surprised.</p> +<p>“No, ma, I don’t like ’em much.”</p> +<p>“And you’re so fond of kippers!”</p> +<p>“Yes, ma.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, why on earth don’t you have one?”</p> +<p>“’Cos Jessie’s going to have one, and you told +me to be original,” and here the poor mite, reflecting upon the +price her originality was going to cost her, burst into tears.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The other three of us refused to sacrifice ourselves upon the altar +of Brown’s originality. We decided to be content with the +customary beautiful girl.</p> +<p>“Good or bad?” queried Brown.</p> +<p>“Bad,” responded MacShaughnassy emphatically. “What +do you say, Jephson?”</p> +<p>“Well,” replied Jephson, taking the pipe from between +his lips, and speaking in that soothingly melancholy tone of voice that +he never varies, whether telling a joke about a wedding or an anecdote +relating to a funeral, “not altogether bad. Bad, with good +instincts, the good instincts well under control.”</p> +<p>“I wonder why it is,” murmured MacShaughnassy reflectively, +“that bad people are so much more interesting than good.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think the reason is very difficult to find,” +answered Jephson. “There’s more uncertainty about +them. They keep you more on the alert. It’s like the +difference between riding a well-broken, steady-going hack and a lively +young colt with ideas of his own. The one is comfortable to travel +on, but the other provides you with more exercise. If you start +off with a thoroughly good woman for your heroine you give your story +away in the first chapter. Everybody knows precisely how she will +behave under every conceivable combination of circumstances in which +you can place her. On every occasion she will do the same thing—that +is the right thing.</p> +<p>“With a bad heroine, on the other hand, you can never be quite +sure what is going to happen. Out of the fifty or so courses open +to her, she may take the right one, or she may take one of the forty-nine +wrong ones, and you watch her with curiosity to see which it will be.”</p> +<p>“But surely there are plenty of good heroines who are interesting,” +I said.</p> +<p>“At intervals—when they do something wrong,” answered +Jephson. “A consistently irreproachable heroine is as irritating +as Socrates must have been to Xantippe, or as the model boy at school +is to all the other lads. Take the stock heroine of the eighteenth-century +romance. She never met her lover except for the purpose of telling +him that she could not be his, and she generally wept steadily throughout +the interview. She never forgot to turn pale at the sight of blood, +nor to faint in his arms at the most inconvenient moment possible. +She was determined never to marry without her father’s consent, +and was equally resolved never to marry anybody but the one particular +person she was convinced he would never agree to her marrying. +She was an excellent young woman, and nearly as uninteresting as a celebrity +at home.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but you’re not talking about good women now,” +I observed. “You’re talking about some silly person’s +idea of a good woman.”</p> +<p>“I quite admit it,” replied Jephson. “Nor, +indeed, am I prepared to say what is a good woman. I consider +the subject too deep and too complicated for any mere human being to +give judgment upon. But I <i>am</i> talking of the women who conformed +to the popular idea of maidenly goodness in the age when these books +were written. You must remember goodness is not a known quantity. +It varies with every age and every locality, and it is, generally speaking, +your ‘silly persons’ who are responsible for its varying +standards. In Japan, a ‘good’ girl would be a girl +who would sell her honour in order to afford little luxuries to her +aged parents. In certain hospitable islands of the torrid zone +the ‘good’ wife goes to lengths that we should deem altogether +unnecessary in making her husband’s guest feel himself at home. +In ancient Hebraic days, Jael was accounted a good woman for murdering +a sleeping man, and Sarai stood in no danger of losing the respect of +her little world when she led Hagar unto Abraham. In eighteenth-century +England, supernatural stupidity and dulness of a degree that must have +been difficult to attain, were held to be feminine virtues—indeed, +they are so still—and authors, who are always among the most servile +followers of public opinion, fashioned their puppets accordingly. +Nowadays ‘slumming’ is the most applauded virtue, and so +all our best heroines go slumming, and are ‘good to the poor.’”</p> +<p>“How useful ‘the poor’ are,” remarked MacShaughnassy, +somewhat abruptly, placing his feet on the mantelpiece, and tilting +his chair back till it stood at an angle that caused us to rivet our +attention upon it with hopeful interest. “I don’t +think we scribbling fellows ever fully grasp how much we owe to ‘the +poor.’ Where would our angelic heroines and our noble-hearted +heroes be if it were not for ‘the poor’? We want to +show that the dear girl is as good as she is beautiful. What do +we do? We put a basket full of chickens and bottles of wine on +her arm, a fetching little sun-bonnet on her head, and send her round +among the poor. How do we prove that our apparent scamp of a hero +is really a noble young man at heart? Why, by explaining that +he is good to the poor.</p> +<p>“They are as useful in real life as they are in Bookland. +What is it consoles the tradesman when the actor, earning eighty pounds +a week, cannot pay his debts? Why, reading in the theatrical newspapers +gushing accounts of the dear fellow’s invariable generosity to +the poor. What is it stills the small but irritating voice of +conscience when we have successfully accomplished some extra big feat +of swindling? Why, the noble resolve to give ten per cent of the +net profits to the poor.</p> +<p>“What does a man do when he finds himself growing old, and +feels that it is time for him to think seriously about securing his +position in the next world? Why, he becomes suddenly good to the +poor. If the poor were not there for him to be good to, what could +he do? He would be unable to reform at all. It’s a +great comfort to think that the poor will always be with us. They +are the ladder by which we climb into heaven.”</p> +<p>There was silence for a few moments, while MacShaughnassy puffed +away vigorously, and almost savagely, at his pipe, and then Brown said: +“I can tell you rather a quaint incident, bearing very aptly on +the subject. A cousin of mine was a land-agent in a small country +town, and among the houses on his list was a fine old mansion that had +remained vacant for many years. He had despaired of ever selling +it, when one day an elderly lady, very richly dressed, drove up to the +office and made inquiries about it. She said she had come across +it accidentally while travelling through that part of the country the +previous autumn, and had been much struck by its beauty and picturesqueness. +She added she was looking out for some quiet spot where she could settle +down and peacefully pass the remainder of her days, and thought this +place might possibly prove to be the very thing for her.</p> +<p>“My cousin, delighted with the chance of a purchaser, at once +drove her across to the estate, which was about eight miles distant +from the town, and they went over it together. My cousin waxed +eloquent upon the subject of its advantages. He dwelt upon its +quiet and seclusion, its proximity—but not too close proximity—to +the church, its convenient distance from the village.</p> +<p>“Everything pointed to a satisfactory conclusion of the business. +The lady was charmed with the situation and the surroundings, and delighted +with the house and grounds. She considered the price moderate.</p> +<p>“‘And now, Mr. Brown,’ said she, as they stood +by the lodge gate, ‘tell me, what class of poor have you got round +about?’</p> +<p>“‘Poor?’ answered my cousin; ‘there are no +poor.’</p> +<p>“‘No poor!’ exclaimed the lady. ‘No +poor people in the village, or anywhere near?’</p> +<p>“‘You won’t find a poor person within five miles +of the estate,’ he replied proudly. ‘You see, my dear +madam, this is a thinly populated and exceedingly prosperous county: +this particular district especially so. There is not a family +in it that is not, comparatively speaking, well-to-do.’</p> +<p>“‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said the lady, +in a tone of disappointment. ‘The place would have suited +me so admirably but for that.’</p> +<p>“‘But surely, madam,’ cried my cousin, to whom +a demand for poor persons was an entirely new idea, ‘you don’t +mean to say that you <i>want</i> poor people! Why, we’ve +always considered it one of the chief attractions of the property—nothing +to shock the eye or wound the susceptibilities of the most tender-hearted +occupant.’</p> +<p>“‘My dear Mr. Brown,’ replied the lady, ‘I +will be perfectly frank with you. I am becoming an old woman, +and my past life has not, perhaps, been altogether too well spent. +It is my desire to atone for the—er—follies of my youth +by an old age of well-doing, and to that end it is essential that I +should be surrounded by a certain number of deserving poor. I +had hoped to find in this charming neighbourhood of yours the customary +proportion of poverty and misery, in which case I should have taken +the house without hesitation. As it is, I must seek elsewhere.’</p> +<p>“My cousin was perplexed, and sad. ‘There are plenty +of poor people in the town,’ he said, ‘many of them most +interesting cases, and you could have the entire care of them all. +There’d be no opposition whatever, I’m positive.’</p> +<p>“‘Thank you,’ replied the lady, ‘but I really +couldn’t go as far as the town. They must be within easy +driving distance or they are no good.’</p> +<p>“My cousin cudgelled his brains again. He did not intend +to let a purchaser slip through his fingers if he could help it. +At last a bright thought flashed into his mind. ‘I’ll +tell you what we could do,’ he said. ‘There’s +a piece of waste land the other end of the village that we’ve +never been able to do much with, in consequence of its being so swampy. +If you liked, we could run you up a dozen cottages on that, cheap—it +would be all the better their being a bit ramshackle and unhealthy—and +get some poor people for you, and put into them.’</p> +<p>“The lady reflected upon the idea, and it struck her as a good +one.</p> +<p>“‘You see,’ continued my cousin, pushing his advantage, +‘by adopting this method you would be able to select your own +poor. We would get you some nice, clean, grateful poor, and make +the thing pleasant for you.’</p> +<p>“It ended in the lady’s accepting my cousin’s offer, +and giving him a list of the poor people she would like to have. +She selected one bedridden old woman (Church of England preferred); +one paralytic old man; one blind girl who would want to be read aloud +to; one poor atheist, willing to be converted; two cripples; one drunken +father who would consent to be talked to seriously; one disagreeable +old fellow, needing much patience; two large families, and four ordinary +assorted couples.</p> +<p>“My cousin experienced some difficulty in securing the drunken +father. Most of the drunken fathers he interviewed upon the subject +had a rooted objection to being talked to at all. After a long +search, however, he discovered a mild little man, who, upon the lady’s +requirements and charitable intentions being explained to him, undertook +to qualify himself for the vacancy by getting intoxicated at least once +a week. He said he could not promise more than once a week at +first, he unfortunately possessing a strong natural distaste for all +alcoholic liquors, which it would be necessary for him to overcome. +As he got more used to them, he would do better.</p> +<p>“Over the disagreeable old man, my cousin also had trouble. +It was hard to hit the right degree of disagreeableness. Some +of them were so very unpleasant. He eventually made choice of +a decayed cab-driver with advanced Radical opinions, who insisted on +a three years’ contract.</p> +<p>“The plan worked exceedingly well, and does so, my cousin tells +me, to this day. The drunken father has completely conquered his +dislike to strong drink. He has not been sober now for over three +weeks, and has lately taken to knocking his wife about. The disagreeable +fellow is most conscientious in fulfilling his part of the bargain, +and makes himself a perfect curse to the whole village. The others +have dropped into their respective positions and are working well. +The lady visits them all every afternoon, and is most charitable. +They call her Lady Bountiful, and everybody blesses her.”</p> +<p>Brown rose as he finished speaking, and mixed himself a glass of +whisky and water with the self-satisfied air of a benevolent man about +to reward somebody for having done a good deed; and MacShaughnassy lifted +up his voice and talked.</p> +<p>“I know a story bearing on the subject, too,” he said. +“It happened in a tiny Yorkshire village—a peaceful, respectable +spot, where folks found life a bit slow. One day, however, a new +curate arrived, and that woke things up considerably. He was a +nice young man, and, having a large private income of his own, was altogether +a most desirable catch. Every unmarried female in the place went +for him with one accord.</p> +<p>“But ordinary feminine blandishments appeared to have no effect +upon him. He was a seriously inclined young man, and once, in +the course of a casual conversation upon the subject of love, he was +heard to say that he himself should never be attracted by mere beauty +and charm. What would appeal to him, he said, would be a woman’s +goodness—her charity and kindliness to the poor.</p> +<p>“Well, that set the petticoats all thinking. They saw +that in studying fashion plates and practising expressions they had +been going upon the wrong tack. The card for them to play was +‘the poor.’ But here a serious difficulty arose. +There was only one poor person in the whole parish, a cantankerous old +fellow who lived in a tumble-down cottage at the back of the church, +and fifteen able-bodied women (eleven girls, three old maids, and a +widow) wanted to be ‘good’ to him.</p> +<p>“Miss Simmonds, one of the old maids, got hold of him first, +and commenced feeding him twice a day with beef-tea; and then the widow +boarded him with port wine and oysters. Later in the week others +of the party drifted in upon him, and wanted to cram him with jelly +and chickens.</p> +<p>“The old man couldn’t understand it. He was accustomed +to a small sack of coals now and then, accompanied by a long lecture +on his sins, and an occasional bottle of dandelion tea. This sudden +spurt on the part of Providence puzzled him. He said nothing, +however, but continued to take in as much of everything as he could +hold. At the end of a month he was too fat to get through his +own back door.</p> +<p>“The competition among the women-folk grew keener every day, +and at last the old man began to give himself airs, and to make the +place hard for them. He made them clean his cottage out, and cook +his meals, and when he was tired of having them about the house, he +set them to work in the garden.</p> +<p>“They grumbled a good deal, and there was a talk at one time +of a sort of a strike, but what could they do? He was the only +pauper for miles round, and knew it. He had the monopoly, and, +like all monopolises, he abused his position.</p> +<p>“He made them run errands. He sent them out to buy his +‘baccy,’ at their own expense. On one occasion he +sent Miss Simmonds out with a jug to get his supper beer. She +indignantly refused at first, but he told her that if she gave him any +of her stuck-up airs out she would go, and never come into his house +again. If she wouldn’t do it there were plenty of others +who would. She knew it and went.</p> +<p>“They had been in the habit of reading to him—good books +with an elevating tendency. But now he put his foot down upon +that sort of thing. He said he didn’t want Sunday-school +rubbish at his time of life. What he liked was something spicy. +And he made them read him French novels and seafaring tales, containing +realistic language. And they didn’t have to skip anything +either, or he’d know the reason why.</p> +<p>“He said he liked music, so a few of them clubbed together +and bought him a harmonium. Their idea was that they would sing +hymns and play high-class melodies, but it wasn’t his. His +idea was—‘Keeping up the old girl’s birthday’ +and ‘She winked the other eye,’ with chorus and skirt dance, +and that’s what they sang.</p> +<p>“To what lengths his tyranny would have gone it is difficult +to say, had not an event happened that brought his power to a premature +collapse. This was the curate’s sudden and somewhat unexpected +marriage with a very beautiful burlesque actress who had lately been +performing in a neighbouring town. He gave up the Church on his +engagement, in consequence of his <i>fiancée’s</i> objection +to becoming a minister’s wife. She said she could never +‘tumble to’ the district visiting.</p> +<p>“With the curate’s wedding the old pauper’s brief +career of prosperity ended. They packed him off to the workhouse +after that, and made him break stones.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>At the end of the telling of his tale, MacShaughnassy lifted his +feet off the mantelpiece, and set to work to wake up his legs; and Jephson +took a hand, and began to spin us stories.</p> +<p>But none of us felt inclined to laugh at Jephson’s stories, +for they dealt not with the goodness of the rich to the poor, which +is a virtue yielding quick and highly satisfactory returns, but with +the goodness of the poor to the poor, a somewhat less remunerative investment +and a different matter altogether.</p> +<p>For the poor themselves—I do not mean the noisy professional +poor, but the silent, fighting poor—one is bound to feel a genuine +respect. One honours them, as one honours a wounded soldier.</p> +<p>In the perpetual warfare between Humanity and Nature, the poor stand +always in the van. They die in the ditches, and we march over +their bodies with the flags flying and the drums playing.</p> +<p>One cannot think of them without an uncomfortable feeling that one +ought to be a little bit ashamed of living in security and ease, leaving +them to take all the hard blows. It is as if one were always skulking +in the tents, while one’s comrades were fighting and dying in +the front.</p> +<p>They bleed and fall in silence there. Nature with her terrible +club, “Survival of the Fittest”; and Civilisation with her +cruel sword, “Supply and Demand,” beat them back, and they +give way inch by inch, fighting to the end. But it is in a dumb, +sullen way, that is not sufficiently picturesque to be heroic.</p> +<p>I remember seeing an old bull-dog, one Saturday night, lying on the +doorstep of a small shop in the New Cut. He lay there very quiet, +and seemed a bit sleepy; and, as he looked savage, nobody disturbed +him. People stepped in and out over him, and occasionally in doing +so, one would accidentally kick him, and then he would breathe a little +harder and quicker.</p> +<p>At last a passer-by, feeling something wet beneath his feet, looked +down, and found that he was standing in a pool of blood, and, looking +to see where it came from, found that it flowed in a thick, dark stream +from the step on which the dog was lying.</p> +<p>Then he stooped down and examined the dog, and the dog opened its +eyes sleepily and looked at him, gave a grin which may have implied +pleasure, or may have implied irritation at being disturbed, and died.</p> +<p>A crowd collected, and they turned the dead body of the dog over +on its side, and saw a fearful gash in the groin, out of which oozed +blood, and other things. The proprietor of the shop said the animal +had been there for over an hour.</p> +<p>I have known the poor to die in that same grim, silent way—not +the poor that you, my delicately-gloved Lady Bountiful and my very excellent +Sir Simon DoGood, know, or that you would care to know; not the poor +who march in processions with banners and collection-boxes; not the +poor that clamour round your soup kitchens and sing hymns at your tea +meetings; but the poor that you don’t know are poor until the +tale is told at the coroner’s inquest—the silent, proud +poor who wake each morning to wrestle with Death till night-time, and +who, when at last he overcomes them, and, forcing them down on the rotting +floor of the dim attic, strangles them, still die with their teeth tight +shut.</p> +<p>There was a boy I came to know when I was living in the East End +of London. He was not a nice boy by any means. He was not +quite so clean as are the good boys in the religious magazines, and +I have known a sailor to stop him in the street and reprove him for +using indelicate language.</p> +<p>He and his mother and the baby, a sickly infant of about five months +old, lived in a cellar down a turning off Three Colt Street. I +am not quite sure what had become of the father. I rather think +he had been “converted,” and had gone off round the country +on a preaching tour. The lad earned six shillings a week as an +errand-boy; and the mother stitched trousers, and on days when she was +feeling strong and energetic would often make as much as tenpence, or +even a shilling. Unfortunately, there were days when the four +bare walls would chase each other round and round, and the candle seem +a faint speck of light, a very long way off; and the frequency of these +caused the family income for the week to occasionally fall somewhat +low.</p> +<p>One night the walls danced round quicker and quicker till they danced +away altogether, and the candle shot up through the ceiling and became +a star and the woman knew that it was time to put away her sewing.</p> +<p>“Jim,” she said: she spoke very low, and the boy had +to bend over her to hear, “if you poke about in the middle of +the mattress you’ll find a couple of pounds. I saved them +up a long while ago. That will pay for burying me. And, +Jim, you’ll take care of the kid. You won’t let it +go to the parish.”</p> +<p>Jim promised.</p> +<p>“Say ‘S’welp me Gawd,’ Jim.”</p> +<p>“S’welp me Gawd, mother.”</p> +<p>Then the woman, having arranged her worldly affairs, lay back ready, +and Death struck.</p> +<p>Jim kept his oath. He found the money, and buried his mother; +and then, putting his household goods on a barrow, moved into cheaper +apartments—half an old shed, for which he paid two shillings a +week.</p> +<p>For eighteen months he and the baby lived there. He left the +child at a nursery every morning, fetching it away each evening on his +return from work, and for that he paid fourpence a day, which included +a limited supply of milk. How he managed to keep himself and more +than half keep the child on the remaining two shillings I cannot say. +I only know that he did it, and that not a soul ever helped him or knew +that there was help wanted. He nursed the child, often pacing +the room with it for hours, washed it, occasionally, and took it out +for an airing every Sunday.</p> +<p>Notwithstanding all which care, the little beggar, at the end of +the time above mentioned, “pegged out,” to use Jimmy’s +own words.</p> +<p>The coroner was very severe on Jim. “If you had taken +proper steps,” he said, “this child’s life might have +been preserved.” (He seemed to think it would have been +better if the child’s life had been preserved. Coroners +have quaint ideas!) “Why didn’t you apply to the relieving +officer?”</p> +<p>“’Cos I didn’t want no relief,” replied Jim +sullenly. “I promised my mother it should never go on the +parish, and it didn’t.”</p> +<p>The incident occurred, very luckily, during the dead season, and +the evening papers took the case up, and made rather a good thing out +of it. Jim became quite a hero, I remember. Kind-hearted +people wrote, urging that somebody—the ground landlord, or the +Government, or some one of that sort—ought to do something for +him. And everybody abused the local vestry. I really think +some benefit to Jim might have come out of it all if only the excitement +had lasted a little longer. Unfortunately, however, just at its +height a spicy divorce case cropped up, and Jim was crowded out and +forgotten.</p> +<p>I told the boys this story of mine, after Jephson had done telling +his, and, when I had finished, we found it was nearly one o’clock. +So, of course, it was too late to do any more work to the novel that +evening.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>We held our next business meeting on my houseboat. Brown was +opposed at first to my going down to this houseboat at all. He +thought that none of us should leave town while the novel was still +on hand.</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy, on the contrary, was of opinion that we should work +better on a houseboat. Speaking for himself, he said he never +felt more like writing a really great work than when lying in a hammock +among whispering leaves, with the deep blue sky above him, and a tumbler +of iced claret cup within easy reach of his hand. Failing a hammock, +he found a deck chair a great incentive to mental labour. In the +interests of the novel, he strongly recommended me to take down with +me at least one comfortable deck chair, and plenty of lemons.</p> +<p>I could not myself see any reason why we should not be able to think +as well on a houseboat as anywhere else, and accordingly it was settled +that I should go down and establish myself upon the thing, and that +the others should visit me there from time to time, when we would sit +round and toil.</p> +<p>This houseboat was Ethelbertha’s idea. We had spent a +day, the summer before, on one belonging to a friend of mine, and she +had been enraptured with the life. Everything was on such a delightfully +tiny scale. You lived in a tiny little room; you slept on a tiny +little bed, in a tiny, tiny little bedroom; and you cooked your little +dinner by a tiny little fire, in the tiniest little kitchen that ever +you did see. “Oh, it must be lovely, living on a houseboat,” +said Ethelbertha, with a gasp of ecstasy; “it must be like living +in a doll’s house.”</p> +<p>Ethelbertha was very young—ridiculously young, as I think I +have mentioned before—in those days of which I am writing, and +the love of dolls, and of the gorgeous dresses that dolls wear, and +of the many-windowed but inconveniently arranged houses that dolls inhabit—or +are supposed to inhabit, for as a rule they seem to prefer sitting on +the roof with their legs dangling down over the front door, which has +always appeared to me to be unladylike: but then, of course, I am no +authority on doll etiquette—had not yet, I think, quite departed +from her. Nay, am I not sure that it had not? Do I not remember, +years later, peeping into a certain room, the walls of which are covered +with works of art of a character calculated to send any æsthetic +person mad, and seeing her, sitting on the floor, before a red brick +mansion, containing two rooms and a kitchen; and are not her hands trembling +with delight as she arranges the three real tin plates upon the dresser? +And does she not knock at the real brass knocker upon the real front +door until it comes off, and I have to sit down beside her on the floor +and screw it on again?</p> +<p>Perhaps, however, it is unwise for me to recall these things, and +bring them forward thus in evidence against her, for cannot she in turn +laugh at me? Did not I also assist in the arrangement and appointment +of that house beautiful? We differed on the matter of the drawing-room +carpet, I recollect. Ethelbertha fancied a dark blue velvet, but +I felt sure, taking the wall-paper into consideration, that some shade +of terra-cotta would harmonise best. She agreed with me in the +end, and we manufactured one out of an old chest protector. It +had a really charming effect, and gave a delightfully warm tone to the +room. The blue velvet we put in the kitchen. I deemed this +extravagance, but Ethelbertha said that servants thought a lot of a +good carpet, and that it paid to humour them in little things, when +practicable.</p> +<p>The bedroom had one big bed and a cot in it; but I could not see +where the girl was going to sleep. The architect had overlooked +her altogether: that is so like an architect. The house also suffered +from the inconvenience common to residences of its class, of possessing +no stairs, so that to move from one room to another it was necessary +to burst your way up through the ceiling, or else to come outside and +climb in through a window; either of which methods must be fatiguing +when you come to do it often.</p> +<p>Apart from these drawbacks, however, the house was one that any doll +agent would have been justified in describing as a “most desirable +family residence”; and it had been furnished with a lavishness +that bordered on positive ostentation. In the bedroom there was +a washing-stand, and on the washing-stand there stood a jug and basin, +and in the jug there was real water. But all this was as nothing. +I have known mere ordinary, middle-class dolls’ houses in which +you might find washing-stands and jugs and basins and real water—ay, +and even soap. But in this abode of luxury there was a real towel; +so that a body could not only wash himself, but wipe himself afterwards, +and that is a sensation that, as all dolls know, can be enjoyed only +in the very first-class establishments.</p> +<p>Then, in the drawing-room, there was a clock, which would tick just +so long as you continued to shake it (it never seemed to get tired); +also a picture and a piano, and a book upon the table, and a vase of +flowers that would upset the moment you touched it, just like a real +vase of flowers. Oh, there was style about this room, I can tell +you.</p> +<p>But the glory of the house was its kitchen. There were all +things that heart could desire in this kitchen, saucepans with lids +that took on and off, a flat-iron and a rolling-pin. A dinner +service for three occupied about half the room, and what space was left +was filled up by the stove—a <i>real</i> stove! Think of +it, oh ye owners of dolls’ houses, a stove in which you could +burn real bits of coal, and on which you could boil real bits of potato +for dinner—except when people said you mustn’t, because +it was dangerous, and took the grate away from you, and blew out the +fire, a thing that hampers a cook.</p> +<p>I never saw a house more complete in all its details. Nothing +had been overlooked, not even the family. It lay on its back, +just outside the front door, proud but calm, waiting to be put into +possession. It was not an extensive family. It consisted +of four—papa, and mamma, and baby, and the hired girl; just the +family for a beginner.</p> +<p>It was a well-dressed family too—not merely with grand clothes +outside, covering a shameful condition of things beneath, such as, alas! +is too often the case in doll society, but with every article necessary +and proper to a lady or gentleman, down to items that I could not mention. +And all these garments, you must know, could be unfastened and taken +off. I have known dolls—stylish enough dolls, to look at, +some of them—who have been content to go about with their clothes +gummed on to them, and, in some cases, nailed on with tacks, which I +take to be a slovenly and unhealthy habit. But this family could +be undressed in five minutes, without the aid of either hot water or +a chisel.</p> +<p>Not that it was advisable from an artistic point of view that any +of them should. They had not the figure that looks well in its +natural state—none of them. There was a want of fulness +about them all. Besides, without their clothes, it might have +been difficult to distinguish the baby from the papa, or the maid from +the mistress, and thus domestic complications might have arisen.</p> +<p>When all was ready for their reception we established them in their +home. We put as much of the baby to bed as the cot would hold, +and made the papa and mamma comfortable in the drawing-room, where they +sat on the floor and stared thoughtfully at each other across the table. +(They had to sit on the floor because the chairs were not big enough.) +The girl we placed in the kitchen, where she leant against the dresser +in an attitude suggestive of drink, embracing the broom we had given +her with maudlin affection. Then we lifted up the house with care, +and carried it cautiously into another room, and with the deftness of +experienced conspirators placed it at the foot of a small bed, on the +south-west corner of which an absurdly small somebody had hung an absurdly +small stocking.</p> +<p>To return to our own doll’s house, Ethelbertha and I, discussing +the subject during our return journey in the train, resolved that, next +year, we ourselves would possess a houseboat, a smaller houseboat, if +possible, than even the one we had just seen. It should have art-muslin +curtains and a flag, and the flowers about it should be wild roses and +forget-me-nots. I could work all the morning on the roof, with +an awning over me to keep off the sun, while Ethelbertha trimmed the +roses and made cakes for tea; and in the evenings we would sit out on +the little deck, and Ethelbertha would play the guitar (she would begin +learning it at once), or we could sit quiet and listen to the nightingales.</p> +<p>For, when you are very, very young you dream that the summer is all +sunny days and moonlight nights, that the wind blows always softly from +the west, and that roses will thrive anywhere. But, as you grow +older, you grow tired of waiting for the gray sky to break. So +you close the door and come in, and crouch over the fire, wondering +why the winds blow ever from the east: and you have given up trying +to rear roses.</p> +<p>I knew a little cottage girl who saved up her money for months and +months so as to buy a new frock in which to go to a flower-show. +But the day of the flower-show was a wet day, so she wore an old frock +instead. And all the fête days for quite a long while were +wet days, and she feared she would never have a chance of wearing her +pretty white dress. But at last there came a fête day morning +that was bright and sunny, and then the little girl clapped her hands +and ran upstairs, and took her new frock (which had been her “new +frock” for so long a time that it was now the oldest frock she +had) from the box where it lay neatly folded between lavender and thyme, +and held it up, and laughed to think how nice she would look in it.</p> +<p>But when she went to put it on, she found that she had out-grown +it, and that it was too small for her every way. So she had to +wear a common old frock after all.</p> +<p>Things happen that way, you know, in this world. There were +a boy and girl once who loved each other very dearly. But they +were both poor, so they agreed to wait till he had made enough money +for them to live comfortably upon, and then they would marry and be +happy. It took him a long while to make, because making money +is very slow work, and he wanted, while he was about it, to make enough +for them to be very happy upon indeed. He accomplished the task +eventually, however, and came back home a wealthy man.</p> +<p>Then they met again in the poorly-furnished parlour where they had +parted. But they did not sit as near to each other as of old. +For she had lived alone so long that she had grown old-maidish, and +she was feeling vexed with him for having dirtied the carpet with his +muddy boots. And he had worked so long earning money that he had +grown hard and cold like the money itself, and was trying to think of +something affectionate to say to her.</p> +<p>So for a while they sat, one each side of the paper “fire-stove +ornament,” both wondering why they had shed such scalding tears +on that day they had kissed each other good-bye; then said “good-bye” +again, and were glad.</p> +<p>There is another tale with much the same moral that I learnt at school +out of a copy-book. If I remember rightly, it runs somewhat like +this:—</p> +<p>Once upon a time there lived a wise grasshopper and a foolish ant. +All through the pleasant summer weather the grasshopper sported and +played, gambolling with his fellows in and out among the sun-beams, +dining sumptuously each day on leaves and dew-drops, never troubling +about the morrow, singing ever his one peaceful, droning song.</p> +<p>But there came the cruel winter, and the grasshopper, looking around, +saw that his friends, the flowers, lay dead, and knew thereby that his +own little span was drawing near its close.</p> +<p>Then he felt glad that he had been so happy, and had not wasted his +life. “It has been very short,” said he to himself; +“but it has been very pleasant, and I think I have made the best +use of it. I have drunk in the sunshine, I have lain on the soft, +warm air, I have played merry games in the waving grass, I have tasted +the juice of the sweet green leaves. I have done what I could. +I have spread my wings, I have sung my song. Now I will thank +God for the sunny days that are passed, and die.”</p> +<p>Saying which, he crawled under a brown leaf, and met his fate in +the way that all brave grasshoppers should; and a little bird that was +passing by picked him up tenderly and buried him.</p> +<p>Now when the foolish ant saw this, she was greatly puffed up with +Pharisaical conceit. “How thankful I ought to be,” +said she, “that I am industrious and prudent, and not like this +poor grasshopper. While he was flitting about from flower to flower, +enjoying himself, I was hard at work, putting by against the winter. +Now he is dead, while I am about to make myself cosy in my warm home, +and eat all the good things that I have been saving up.”</p> +<p>But, as she spoke, the gardener came along with his spade, and levelled +the hill where she dwelt to the ground, and left her lying dead amidst +the ruins.</p> +<p>Then the same kind little bird that had buried the grasshopper came +and picked her out and buried her also; and afterwards he composed and +sang a song, the burthen of which was, “Gather ye rosebuds while +ye may.” It was a very pretty song, and a very wise song, +and a man who lived in those days, and to whom the birds, loving him +and feeling that he was almost one of themselves, had taught their language, +fortunately overheard it and wrote it down, so that all may read it +to this day.</p> +<p>Unhappily for us, however, Fate is a harsh governess, who has no +sympathy with our desire for rosebuds. “Don’t stop +to pick flowers now, my dear,” she cries, in her sharp, cross +tones, as she seizes our arm and jerks us back into the roadway; “we +haven’t time to-day. We will come back again to-morrow, +and you shall pick them then.”</p> +<p>And we have to follow her, knowing, if we are experienced children, +that the chances are that we shall never come that way to-morrow; or +that, if we do, the roses will be dead.</p> +<p>Fate would not hear of our having a houseboat that summer,—which +was an exceptionally fine summer,—but promised us that if we were +good and saved up our money, we should have one next year; and Ethelbertha +and I, being simple-minded, inexperienced children, were content with +the promise, and had faith in its satisfactory fulfilment.</p> +<p>As soon as we reached home we informed Amenda of our plan. +The moment the girl opened the door, Ethelbertha burst out with:—“Oh! +can you swim, Amenda?”</p> +<p>“No, mum,” answered Amenda, with entire absence of curiosity +as to why such a question had been addressed to her, “I never +knew but one girl as could, and she got drowned.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’ll have to make haste and learn, then,” +continued Ethelbertha, “because you won’t be able to walk +out with your young man, you’ll have to swim out. We’re +not going to live in a house any more. We’re going to live +on a boat in the middle of the river.”</p> +<p>Ethelbertha’s chief object in life at this period was to surprise +and shock Amenda, and her chief sorrow that she had never succeeded +in doing so. She had hoped great things from this announcement, +but the girl remained unmoved. “Oh, are you, mum,” +she replied; and went on to speak of other matters.</p> +<p>I believe the result would have been the same if we had told her +we were going to live in a balloon.</p> +<p>I do not know how it was, I am sure. Amenda was always most +respectful in her manner. But she had a knack of making Ethelbertha +and myself feel that we were a couple of children, playing at being +grown up and married, and that she was humouring us.</p> +<p>Amenda stayed with us for nearly five years—until the milkman, +having saved up sufficient to buy a “walk” of his own, had +become practicable—but her attitude towards us never changed. +Even when we came to be really important married people, the proprietors +of a “family,” it was evident that she merely considered +we had gone a step further in the game, and were playing now at being +fathers and mothers.</p> +<p>By some subtle process she contrived to imbue the baby also with +this idea. The child never seemed to me to take either of us quite +seriously. She would play with us, or join with us in light conversation; +but when it came to the serious affairs of life, such as bathing or +feeding, she preferred her nurse.</p> +<p>Ethelbertha attempted to take her out in the perambulator one morning, +but the child would not hear of it for a moment.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, baby dear,” explained Ethelbertha +soothingly. “Baby’s going out with mamma this morning.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, baby ain’t,” was baby’s rejoinder, +in effect if not in words. “Baby don’t take a hand +in experiments—not this baby. I don’t want to be upset +or run over.”</p> +<p>Poor Ethel! I shall never forget how heart-broken she was. +It was the want of confidence that wounded her.</p> +<p>But these are reminiscences of other days, having no connection with +the days of which I am—or should be—writing; and to wander +from one matter to another is, in a teller of tales, a grievous sin, +and a growing custom much to be condemned. Therefore I will close +my eyes to all other memories, and endeavour to see only that little +white and green houseboat by the ferry, which was the scene of our future +collaborations.</p> +<p>Houseboats then were not built to the scale of Mississippi steamers, +but this boat was a small one, even for that primitive age. The +man from whom we hired it described it as “compact.” +The man to whom, at the end of the first month, we tried to sub-let +it, characterised it as “poky.” In our letters we +traversed this definition. In our hearts we agreed with it.</p> +<p>At first, however, its size—or, rather, its lack of size—was +one of its chief charms in Ethelbertha’s eyes. The fact +that if you got out of bed carelessly you were certain to knock your +head against the ceiling, and that it was utterly impossible for any +man to put on his trousers except in the saloon, she regarded as a capital +joke.</p> +<p>That she herself had to take a looking-glass and go upon the roof +to do her back hair, she thought less amusing.</p> +<p>Amenda accepted her new surroundings with her usual philosophic indifference. +On being informed that what she had mistaken for a linen-press was her +bedroom, she remarked that there was one advantage about it, and that +was, that she could not tumble out of bed, seeing there was nowhere +to tumble; and, on being shown the kitchen, she observed that she should +like it for two things—one was that she could sit in the middle +and reach everything without getting up; the other, that nobody else +could come into the apartment while she was there.</p> +<p>“You see, Amenda,” explained Ethelbertha apologetically, +“we shall really live outside.”</p> +<p>“Yes, mum,” answered Amenda, “I should say that +would be the best place to do it.”</p> +<p>If only we could have lived more outside, the life might have been +pleasant enough, but the weather rendered it impossible, six days out +of the seven, for us to do more than look out of the window and feel +thankful that we had a roof over our heads.</p> +<p>I have known wet summers before and since. I have learnt by +many bitter experiences the danger and foolishness of leaving the shelter +of London any time between the first of May and the thirty-first of +October. Indeed, the country is always associate in my mind with +recollections of long, weary days passed in the pitiless rain, and sad +evenings spent in other people’s clothes. But never have +I known, and never, I pray night and morning, may I know again, such +a summer as the one we lived through (though none of us expected to) +on that confounded houseboat.</p> +<p>In the morning we would be awakened by the rain’s forcing its +way through the window and wetting the bed, and would get up and mop +out the saloon. After breakfast I would try to work, but the beating +of the hail upon the roof just over my head would drive every idea out +of my brain, and, after a wasted hour or two, I would fling down my +pen and hunt up Ethelbertha, and we would put on our mackintoshes and +take our umbrellas and go out for a row. At mid-day we would return +and put on some dry clothes, and sit down to dinner.</p> +<p>In the afternoon the storm generally freshened up a bit, and we were +kept pretty busy rushing about with towels and cloths, trying to prevent +the water from coming into the rooms and swamping us. During tea-time +the saloon was usually illuminated by forked lightning. The evenings +we spent in baling out the boat, after which we took it in turns to +go into the kitchen and warm ourselves. At eight we supped, and +from then until it was time to go to bed we sat wrapped up in rugs, +listening to the roaring of the thunder, and the howling of the wind, +and the lashing of the waves, and wondering whether the boat would hold +out through the night.</p> +<p>Friends would come down to spend the day with us—elderly, irritable +people, fond of warmth and comfort; people who did not, as a rule, hanker +after jaunts, even under the most favourable conditions; but who had +been persuaded by our silly talk that a day on the river would be to +them like a Saturday to Monday in Paradise.</p> +<p>They would arrive soaked; and we would shut them up in different +bunks, and leave them to strip themselves and put on things of Ethelbertha’s +or of mine. But Ethel and I, in those days, were slim, so that +stout, middle-aged people in our clothes neither looked well nor felt +happy.</p> +<p>Upon their emerging we would take them into the saloon and try to +entertain them by telling them what we had intended to do with them +had the day been fine. But their answers were short, and occasionally +snappy, and after a while the conversation would flag, and we would +sit round reading last week’s newspapers and coughing.</p> +<p>The moment their own clothes were dry (we lived in a perpetual atmosphere +of steaming clothes) they would insist upon leaving us, which seemed +to me discourteous after all that we had done for them, and would dress +themselves once more and start off home, and get wet again before they +got there.</p> +<p>We would generally receive a letter a few days afterwards, written +by some relative, informing us that both patients were doing as well +as could be expected, and promising to send us a card for the funeral +in case of a relapse.</p> +<p>Our chief recreation, our sole consolation, during the long weeks +of our imprisonment, was to watch from our windows the pleasure-seekers +passing by in small open boats, and to reflect what an awful day they +had had, or were going to have, as the case might be.</p> +<p>In the forenoon they would head up stream—young men with their +sweethearts; nephews taking out their rich old aunts; husbands and wives +(some of them pairs, some of them odd ones); stylish-looking girls with +cousins; energetic-looking men with dogs; high-class silent parties; +low-class noisy parties; quarrelsome family parties—boatload after +boatload they went by, wet, but still hopeful, pointing out bits of +blue sky to each other.</p> +<p>In the evening they would return, drenched and gloomy, saying disagreeable +things to one another.</p> +<p>One couple, and one couple only, out of the many hundreds that passed +under our review, came back from the ordeal with pleasant faces. +He was rowing hard and singing, with a handkerchief tied round his head +to keep his hat on, and she was laughing at him, while trying to hold +up an umbrella with one hand and steer with the other.</p> +<p>There are but two explanations to account for people being jolly +on the river in the rain. The one I dismissed as being both uncharitable +and improbable. The other was creditable to the human race, and, +adopting it, I took off my cap to this damp but cheerful pair as they +went by. They answered with a wave of the hand, and I stood looking +after them till they disappeared in the mist.</p> +<p>I am inclined to think that those young people, if they be still +alive, are happy. Maybe, fortune has been kind to them, or maybe +she has not, but in either event they are, I am inclined to think, happier +than are most people.</p> +<p>Now and again, the daily tornado would rage with such fury as to +defeat its own purpose by prematurely exhausting itself. On these +rare occasions we would sit out on the deck, and enjoy the unwonted +luxury of fresh air.</p> +<p>I remember well those few pleasant evenings: the river, luminous +with the drowned light, the dark banks where the night lurked, the storm-tossed +sky, jewelled here and there with stars.</p> +<p>It was delightful not to hear for an hour or so the sullen thrashing +of the rain; but to listen to the leaping of the fishes, the soft swirl +raised by some water-rat, swimming stealthily among the rushes, the +restless twitterings of the few still wakeful birds.</p> +<p>An old corncrake lived near to us, and the way he used to disturb +all the other birds, and keep them from going to sleep, was shameful. +Amenda, who was town-bred, mistook him at first for one of those cheap +alarm clocks, and wondered who was winding him up, and why they went +on doing it all night; and, above all, why they didn’t oil him.</p> +<p>He would begin his unhallowed performance about dusk, just as every +respectable bird was preparing to settle down for the night. A +family of thrushes had their nest a few yards from his stand, and they +used to get perfectly furious with him.</p> +<p>“There’s that fool at it again,” the female thrush +would say; “why can’t he do it in the daytime if he must +do it at all?” (She spoke, of course, in twitters, but I +am confident the above is a correct translation.)</p> +<p>After a while, the young thrushes would wake up and begin chirping, +and then the mother would get madder than ever.</p> +<p>“Can’t you say something to him?” she would cry +indignantly to her husband. “How do you think the children +can get to sleep, poor things, with that hideous row going on all night? +Might just as well be living in a saw-mill.”</p> +<p>Thus adjured, the male thrush would put his head over the nest, and +call out in a nervous, apologetic manner:—</p> +<p>“I say, you know, you there, I wish you wouldn’t mind +being quiet a bit. My wife says she can’t get the children +to sleep. It’s too bad, you know, ’pon my word it +is.”</p> +<p>“Gor on,” the corncrake would answer surlily. “You +keep your wife herself quiet; that’s enough for you to do.” +And on he would go again worse than before.</p> +<p>Then a mother blackbird, from a little further off, would join in +the fray.</p> +<p>“Ah, it’s a good hiding he wants, not a talking to. +And if I was a cock, I’d give it him.” (This remark +would be made in a tone of withering contempt, and would appear to bear +reference to some previous discussion.)</p> +<p>“You’re quite right, ma’am,” Mrs. Thrush +would reply. “That’s what I tell my husband, but” +(with rising inflection, so that every lady in the plantation might +hear) “<i>he</i> wouldn’t move himself, bless you—no, +not if I and the children were to die before his eyes for want of sleep.”</p> +<p>“Ah, he ain’t the only one, my dear,” the blackbird +would pipe back, “they’re all alike”; then, in a voice +more of sorrow than of anger:—“but there, it ain’t +their fault, I suppose, poor things. If you ain’t got the +spirit of a bird you can’t help yourself.”</p> +<p>I would strain my ears at this point to hear if the male blackbird +was moved at all by these taunts, but the only sound I could ever detect +coming from his neighbourhood was that of palpably exaggerated snoring.</p> +<p>By this time the whole glade would be awake, expressing views concerning +that corncrake that would have wounded a less callous nature.</p> +<p>“Blow me tight, Bill,” some vulgar little hedge-sparrow +would chirp out, in the midst of the hubbub, “if I don’t +believe the gent thinks ’e’s a-singing.”</p> +<p>“’Tain’t ’is fault,” Bill would reply, +with mock sympathy. “Somebody’s put a penny in the +slot, and ’e can’t stop ’isself.”</p> +<p>Irritated by the laugh that this would call forth from the younger +birds, the corncrake would exert himself to be more objectionable than +ever, and, as a means to this end, would commence giving his marvellous +imitation of the sharpening of a rusty saw by a steel file.</p> +<p>But at this an old crow, not to be trifled with, would cry out angrily:—</p> +<p>“Stop that, now. If I come down to you I’ll peck +your cranky head off, I will.”</p> +<p>And then would follow silence for a quarter of an hour, after which +the whole thing would begin again.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>Brown and MacShaughnassy came down together on the Saturday afternoon; +and, as soon as they had dried themselves, and had had some tea, we +settled down to work.</p> +<p>Jephson had written that he would not be able to be with us until +late in the evening, and Brown proposed that we should occupy ourselves +until his arrival with plots.</p> +<p>“Let each of us,” said he, “sketch out a plot. +Afterwards we can compare them, and select the best.”</p> +<p>This we proceeded to do. The plots themselves I forget, but +I remember that at the subsequent judging each man selected his own, +and became so indignant at the bitter criticism to which it was subjected +by the other two, that he tore it up; and, for the next half-hour, we +sat and smoked in silence.</p> +<p>When I was very young I yearned to know other people’s opinion +of me and all my works; now, my chief aim is to avoid hearing it. +In those days, had any one told me there was half a line about myself +in a newspaper, I should have tramped London to obtain that publication. +Now, when I see a column headed with my name, I hurriedly fold up the +paper and put it away from me, subduing my natural curiosity to read +it by saying to myself, “Why should you? It will only upset +you for the day.”</p> +<p>In my cubhood I possessed a friend. Other friends have come +into my life since—very dear and precious friends—but they +have none of them been to me quite what this friend was. Because +he was my first friend, and we lived together in a world that was much +bigger than this world—more full of joy and of grief; and, in +that world, we loved and hated deeper than we love and hate in this +smaller world that I have come to dwell in since.</p> +<p>He also had the very young man’s craving to be criticised, +and we made it our custom to oblige each other. We did not know +then that what we meant, when we asked for “criticism,” +was encouragement. We thought that we were strong—one does +at the beginning of the battle, and that we could bear to hear the truth.</p> +<p>Accordingly, each one pointed out to the other one his errors, and +this task kept us both so busy that we had never time to say a word +of praise to one another. That we each had a high opinion of the +other’s talents I am convinced, but our heads were full of silly +saws. We said to ourselves: “There are many who will praise +a man; it is only his friend who will tell him of his faults.” +Also, we said: “No man sees his own shortcomings, but when these +are pointed out to him by another he is grateful, and proceeds to mend +them.”</p> +<p>As we came to know the world better, we learnt the fallacy of these +ideas. But then it was too late, for the mischief had been done.</p> +<p>When one of us had written anything, he would read it to the other, +and when he had finished he would say, “Now, tell me what you +think of it—frankly and as a friend.”</p> +<p>Those were his words. But his thoughts, though he may not have +known them, were:—</p> +<p>“Tell me it is clever and good, my friend, even if you do not +think so. The world is very cruel to those that have not yet conquered +it, and, though we keep a careless face, our young hearts are scored +with wrinkles. Often we grow weary and faint-hearted. Is +it not so, my friend? No one has faith in us, and in our dark +hours we doubt ourselves. You are my comrade. You know what +of myself I have put into this thing that to others will be but an idle +half-hour’s reading. Tell me it is good, my friend. +Put a little heart into me, I pray you.”</p> +<p>But the other, full of the lust of criticism, which is civilisation’s +substitute for cruelty, would answer more in frankness than in friendship. +Then he who had written would flush angrily, and scornful words would +pass.</p> +<p>One evening, he read me a play he had written. There was much +that was good in it, but there were also faults (there are in some plays), +and these I seized upon and made merry over. I could hardly have +dealt out to the piece more unnecessary bitterness had I been a professional +critic.</p> +<p>As soon as I paused from my sport he rose, and, taking his manuscript +from the table, tore it in two, and flung it in the fire—he was +but a very young man, you must remember—and then, standing before +me with a white face, told me, unsolicited, his opinion of me and of +my art. After which double event, it is perhaps needless to say +that we parted in hot anger.</p> +<p>I did not see him again for years. The streets of life are +very crowded, and if we loose each other’s hands we are soon hustled +far apart. When I did next meet him it was by accident.</p> +<p>I had left the Whitehall Rooms after a public dinner, and, glad of +the cool night air, was strolling home by the Embankment. A man, +slouching along under the trees, paused as I overtook him.</p> +<p>“You couldn’t oblige me with a light, could you, guv’nor?” +he said. The voice sounded strange, coming from the figure that +it did.</p> +<p>I struck a match, and held it out to him, shaded by my hands. +As the faint light illumined his face, I started back, and let the match +fall:—</p> +<p>“Harry!”</p> +<p>He answered with a short dry laugh. “I didn’t know +it was you,” he said, “or I shouldn’t have stopped +you.”</p> +<p>“How has it come to this, old fellow?” I asked, laying +my hand upon his shoulder. His coat was unpleasantly greasy, and +I drew my hand away again as quickly as I could, and tried to wipe it +covertly upon my handkerchief.</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s a long, story,” he answered carelessly, +“and too conventional to be worth telling. Some of us go +up, you know. Some of us go down. You’re doing pretty +well, I hear.”</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” I replied; “I’ve climbed +a few feet up a greasy pole, and am trying to stick there. But +it is of you I want to talk. Can’t I do anything for you?”</p> +<p>We were passing under a gas-lamp at the moment. He thrust his +face forward close to mine, and the light fell full and pitilessly upon +it.</p> +<p>“Do I look like a man you could do anything for?” he +said.</p> +<p>We walked on in silence side by side, I casting about for words that +might seize hold of him.</p> +<p>“You needn’t worry about me,” he continued after +a while, “I’m comfortable enough. We take life easily +down here where I am. We’ve no disappointments.”</p> +<p>“Why did you give up like a weak coward?” I burst out +angrily. “You had talent. You would have won with +ordinary perseverance.”</p> +<p>“Maybe,” he replied, in the same even tone of indifference. +“I suppose I hadn’t the grit. I think if somebody +had believed in me it might have helped me. But nobody did, and +at last I lost belief in myself. And when a man loses that, he’s +like a balloon with the gas let out.”</p> +<p>I listened to his words in indignation and astonishment. “Nobody +believed in you!” I repeated. “Why, <i>I</i> always +believed in you, you know that I—”</p> +<p>Then I paused, remembering our “candid criticism” of +one another.</p> +<p>“Did you?” he replied quietly, “I never heard you +say so. Good-night.”</p> +<p>In the course of our Strandward walking we had come to the neighbourhood +of the Savoy, and, as he spoke, he disappeared down one of the dark +turnings thereabouts.</p> +<p>I hastened after him, calling him by name, but though I heard his +quick steps before me for a little way, they were soon swallowed up +in the sound of other steps, and, when I reached the square in which +the chapel stands, I had lost all trace of him.</p> +<p>A policeman was standing by the churchyard railings, and of him I +made inquiries.</p> +<p>“What sort of a gent was he, sir?” questioned the man.</p> +<p>“A tall thin gentleman, very shabbily dressed—might be +mistaken for a tramp.”</p> +<p>“Ah, there’s a good many of that sort living in this +town,” replied the man. “I’m afraid you’ll +have some difficulty in finding him.”</p> +<p>Thus for a second time had I heard his footsteps die away, knowing +I should never listen for their drawing near again.</p> +<p>I wondered as I walked on—I have wondered before and since—whether +Art, even with a capital A, is quite worth all the suffering that is +inflicted in her behalf—whether she and we are better for all +the scorning and the sneering, all the envying and the hating, that +is done in her name.</p> +<p>Jephson arrived about nine o’clock in the ferry-boat. +We were made acquainted with this fact by having our heads bumped against +the sides of the saloon.</p> +<p>Somebody or other always had their head bumped whenever the ferry-boat +arrived. It was a heavy and cumbersome machine, and the ferry-boy +was not a good punter. He admitted this frankly, which was creditable +of him. But he made no attempt to improve himself; that is, where +he was wrong. His method was to arrange the punt before starting +in a line with the point towards which he wished to proceed, and then +to push hard, without ever looking behind him, until something suddenly +stopped him. This was sometimes the bank, sometimes another boat, +occasionally a steamer, from six to a dozen times a day our riparian +dwelling. That he never succeeded in staving the houseboat in +speaks highly for the man who built her.</p> +<p>One day he came down upon us with a tremendous crash. Amenda +was walking along the passage at the moment, and the result to her was +that she received a violent blow first on the left side of her head +and then on the right.</p> +<p>She was accustomed to accept one bump as a matter of course, and +to regard it as an intimation from the boy that he had come; but this +double knock annoyed her: so much “style” was out of place +in a mere ferry-boy. Accordingly she went out to him in a state +of high indignation.</p> +<p>“What do you think you are?” she cried, balancing accounts +by boxing his ears first on one side and then on the other, “a +torpedo! What are you doing here at all? What do you want?”</p> +<p>“I don’t want nothin’,” explained the boy, +rubbing his head; “I’ve brought a gent down.”</p> +<p>“A gent?” said Amenda, looking round, but seeing no one. +“What gent?”</p> +<p>“A stout gent in a straw ’at,” answered the boy, +staring round him bewilderedly.</p> +<p>“Well, where is he?” asked Amenda.</p> +<p>“I dunno,” replied the boy, in an awed voice; “’e +was a-standin’ there, at the other end of the punt, a-smokin’ +a cigar.”</p> +<p>Just then a head appeared above the water, and a spent but infuriated +swimmer struggled up between the houseboat and the bank.</p> +<p>“Oh, there ’e is!” cried the boy delightedly, evidently +much relieved at this satisfactory solution of the mystery; “’e +must ha’ tumbled off the punt.”</p> +<p>“You’re quite right, my lad, that’s just what he +did do, and there’s your fee for assisting him to do it.” +Saying which, my dripping friend, who had now scrambled upon deck, leant +over, and following Amenda’s excellent example, expressed his +feelings upon the boy’s head.</p> +<p>There was one comforting reflection about the transaction as a whole, +and that was that the ferry-boy had at last received a fit and proper +reward for his services. I had often felt inclined to give him +something myself. I think he was, without exception, the most +clumsy and stupid boy I have ever come across; and that is saying a +good deal.</p> +<p>His mother undertook that for three-and-sixpence a week he should +“make himself generally useful” to us for a couple of hours +every morning.</p> +<p>Those were the old lady’s very words, and I repeated them to +Amenda when I introduced the boy to her.</p> +<p>“This is James, Amenda,” I said; “he will come +down here every morning at seven, and bring us our milk and the letters, +and from then till nine he will make himself generally useful.”</p> +<p>Amenda took stock of him.</p> +<p>“It will be a change of occupation for him, sir, I should say, +by the look of him,” she remarked.</p> +<p>After that, whenever some more than usually stirring crash or blood-curdling +bump would cause us to leap from our seats and cry: “What on earth +has happened?” Amenda would reply: “Oh, it’s +only James, mum, making himself generally useful.”</p> +<p>Whatever he lifted he let fall; whatever he touched he upset; whatever +he came near—that was not a fixture—he knocked over; if +it was a fixture, it knocked <i>him</i> over. This was not carelessness: +it seemed to be a natural gift. Never in his life, I am convinced, +had he carried a bucketful of anything anywhere without tumbling over +it before he got there. One of his duties was to water the flowers +on the roof. Fortunately—for the flowers—Nature, that +summer, stood drinks with a lavishness sufficient to satisfy the most +confirmed vegetable toper: otherwise every plant on our boat would have +died from drought. Never one drop of water did they receive from +him. He was for ever taking them water, but he never arrived there +with it. As a rule he upset the pail before he got it on to the +boat at all, and this was the best thing that could happen, because +then the water simply went back into the river, and did no harm to any +one. Sometimes, however, he would succeed in landing it, and then +the chances were he would spill it over the deck or into the passage. +Now and again, he would get half-way up the ladder before the accident +occurred. Twice he nearly reached the top; and once he actually +did gain the roof. What happened there on that memorable occasion +will never be known. The boy himself, when picked up, could explain +nothing. It is supposed that he lost his head with the pride of +the achievement, and essayed feats that neither his previous training +nor his natural abilities justified him in attempting. However +that may be, the fact remains that the main body of the water came down +the kitchen chimney; and that the boy and the empty pail arrived together +on deck before they knew they had started.</p> +<p>When he could find nothing else to damage, he would go out of his +way to upset himself. He could not be sure of stepping from his +own punt on to the boat with safety. As often as not, he would +catch his foot in the chain or the punt-pole, and arrive on his chest.</p> +<p>Amenda used to condole with him. “Your mother ought to +be ashamed of herself,” I heard her telling him one morning; “she +could never have taught you to walk. What you want is a go-cart.”</p> +<p>He was a willing lad, but his stupidity was super-natural. +A comet appeared in the sky that year, and everybody was talking about +it. One day he said to me:—</p> +<p>“There’s a comet coming, ain’t there, sir?” +He talked about it as though it were a circus.</p> +<p>“Coming!” I answered, “it’s come. Haven’t +you seen it?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, you have a look for it to-night. It’s +worth seeing.”</p> +<p>“Yees, sir, I should like to see it. It’s got a +tail, ain’t it, sir?”</p> +<p>“Yes, a very fine tail.”</p> +<p>“Yees, sir, they said it ’ad a tail. Where do you +go to see it, sir?”</p> +<p>“Go! You don’t want to go anywhere. You’ll +see it in your own garden at ten o’clock.”</p> +<p>He thanked me, and, tumbling over a sack of potatoes, plunged head +foremost into his punt and departed.</p> +<p>Next morning, I asked him if he had seen the comet.</p> +<p>“No, sir, I couldn’t see it anywhere.”</p> +<p>“Did you look?”</p> +<p>“Yees, sir. I looked a long time.”</p> +<p>“How on earth did you manage to miss it then?” I exclaimed. +“It was a clear enough night. Where did you look?”</p> +<p>“In our garden, sir. Where you told me.”</p> +<p>“Whereabouts in the garden?” chimed in Amenda, who happened +to be standing by; “under the gooseberry bushes?”</p> +<p>“Yees—everywhere.”</p> +<p>That is what he had done: he had taken the stable lantern and searched +the garden for it.</p> +<p>But the day when he broke even his own record for foolishness happened +about three weeks later. MacShaughnassy was staying with us at +the time, and on the Friday evening he mixed us a salad, according to +a recipe given him by his aunt. On the Saturday morning, everybody +was, of course, very ill. Everybody always is very ill after partaking +of any dish prepared by MacShaughnassy. Some people attempt to +explain this fact by talking glibly of “cause and effect.” +MacShaughnassy maintains that it is simply coincidence.</p> +<p>“How do you know,” he says, “that you wouldn’t +have been ill if you hadn’t eaten any? You’re queer +enough now, any one can see, and I’m very sorry for you; but, +for all that you can tell, if you hadn’t eaten any of that stuff +you might have been very much worse—perhaps dead. In all +probability, it has saved your life.” And for the rest of +the day, he assumes towards you the attitude of a man who has dragged +you from the grave.</p> +<p>The moment Jimmy arrived I seized hold of him.</p> +<p>“Jimmy,” I said, “you must rush off to the chemist’s +immediately. Don’t stop for anything. Tell him to +give you something for colic—the result of vegetable poisoning. +It must be something very strong, and enough for four. Don’t +forget, something to counteract the effects of vegetable poisoning. +Hurry up, or it may be too late.”</p> +<p>My excitement communicated itself to the boy. He tumbled back +into his punt, and pushed off vigorously. I watched him land, +and disappear in the direction of the village.</p> +<p>Half an hour passed, but Jimmy did not return. No one felt +sufficiently energetic to go after him. We had only just strength +enough to sit still and feebly abuse him. At the end of an hour +we were all feeling very much better. At the end of an hour and +a half we were glad he had not returned when he ought to have, and were +only curious as to what had become of him.</p> +<p>In the evening, strolling through the village, we saw him sitting +by the open door of his mother’s cottage, with a shawl wrapped +round him. He was looking worn and ill.</p> +<p>“Why, Jimmy,” I said, “what’s the matter? +Why didn’t you come back this morning?”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t, sir,” Jimmy answered, “I was +so queer. Mother made me go to bed.”</p> +<p>“You seemed all right in the morning,” I said; “what’s +made you queer?”</p> +<p>“What Mr. Jones give me, sir: it upset me awful.”</p> +<p>A light broke in upon me.</p> +<p>“What did you say, Jimmy, when you got to Mr. Jones’s +shop?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I told ’im what you said, sir, that ’e was to +give me something to counteract the effects of vegetable poisoning. +And that it was to be very strong, and enough for four.”</p> +<p>“And what did he say?”</p> +<p>“’E said that was only your nonsense, sir, and that I’d +better have enough for one to begin with; and then ’e asked me +if I’d been eating green apples again.”</p> +<p>“And you told him?”</p> +<p>“Yees, sir, I told ’im I’d ’ad a few, and +’e said it served me right, and that ’e ’oped it would +be a warning to me. And then ’e put something fizzy in a +glass and told me to drink it.”</p> +<p>“And you drank it?”</p> +<p>“Yees, sir.”</p> +<p>“It never occurred to you, Jimmy, that there was nothing the +matter with you—that you were never feeling better in your life, +and that you did not require any medicine?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Did one single scintilla of thought of any kind occur to you +in connection with the matter, Jimmy, from beginning to end?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>People who never met Jimmy disbelieve this story. They argue +that its premises are in disaccord with the known laws governing human +nature, that its details do not square with the average of probability. +People who have seen and conversed with Jimmy accept it with simple +faith.</p> +<p>The advent of Jephson—which I trust the reader has not entirely +forgotten—cheered us up considerably. Jephson was always +at his best when all other things were at their worst. It was +not that he struggled in Mark Tapley fashion to appear most cheerful +when most depressed; it was that petty misfortunes and mishaps genuinely +amused and inspirited him. Most of us can recall our unpleasant +experiences with amused affection; Jephson possessed the robuster philosophy +that enabled him to enjoy his during their actual progress. He +arrived drenched to the skin, chuckling hugely at the idea of having +come down on a visit to a houseboat in such weather.</p> +<p>Under his warming influence, the hard lines on our faces thawed, +and by supper time we were, as all Englishmen and women who wish to +enjoy life should be, independent of the weather.</p> +<p>Later on, as if disheartened by our indifference, the rain ceased, +and we took our chairs out on the deck, and sat watching the lightning, +which still played incessantly. Then, not unnaturally, the talk +drifted into a sombre channel, and we began recounting stories, dealing +with the gloomy and mysterious side of life.</p> +<p>Some of these were worth remembering, and some were not. The +one that left the strongest impression on my mind was a tale that Jephson +told us.</p> +<p>I had been relating a somewhat curious experience of my own. +I met a man in the Strand one day that I knew very well, as I thought, +though I had not seen him for years. We walked together to Charing +Cross, and there we shook hands and parted. Next morning, I spoke +of this meeting to a mutual friend, and then I learnt, for the first +time, that the man had died six months before.</p> +<p>The natural inference was that I had mistaken one man for another, +an error that, not having a good memory for faces, I frequently fall +into. What was remarkable about the matter, however, was that +throughout our walk I had conversed with the man under the impression +that he was that other dead man, and, whether by coincidence or not, +his replies had never once suggested to me my mistake.</p> +<p>As soon as I finished, Jephson, who had been listening very thoughtfully, +asked me if I believed in spiritualism “to its fullest extent.”</p> +<p>“That is rather a large question,” I answered. +“What do you mean by ‘spiritualism to its fullest extent’?”</p> +<p>“Well, do you believe that the spirits of the dead have not +only the power of revisiting this earth at their will, but that, when +here, they have the power of action, or rather, of exciting to action? +Let me put a definite case. A spiritualist friend of mine, a sensible +and by no means imaginative man, once told me that a table, through +the medium of which the spirit of a friend had been in the habit of +communicating with him, came slowly across the room towards him, of +its own accord, one night as he sat alone, and pinioned him against +the wall. Now can any of you believe that, or can’t you?”</p> +<p>“I could,” Brown took it upon himself to reply; “but, +before doing so, I should wish for an introduction to the friend who +told you the story. Speaking generally,” he continued, “it +seems to me that the difference between what we call the natural and +the supernatural is merely the difference between frequency and rarity +of occurrence. Having regard to the phenomena we are compelled +to admit, I think it illogical to disbelieve anything we are unable +to disprove.”</p> +<p>“For my part,” remarked MacShaughnassy, “I can +believe in the ability of our spirit friends to give the quaint entertainments +credited to them much easier than I can in their desire to do so.”</p> +<p>“You mean,” added Jephson, “that you cannot understand +why a spirit, not compelled as we are by the exigencies of society, +should care to spend its evenings carrying on a laboured and childish +conversation with a room full of abnormally uninteresting people.”</p> +<p>“That is precisely what I cannot understand,” MacShaughnassy +agreed.</p> +<p>“Nor I, either,” said Jephson. “But I was +thinking of something very different altogether. Suppose a man +died with the dearest wish of his heart unfulfilled, do you believe +that his spirit might have power to return to earth and complete the +interrupted work?”</p> +<p>“Well,” answered MacShaughnassy, “if one admits +the possibility of spirits retaining any interest in the affairs of +this world at all, it is certainly more reasonable to imagine them engaged +upon a task such as you suggest, than to believe that they occupy themselves +with the performance of mere drawing-room tricks. But what are +you leading up to?”</p> +<p>“Why, to this,” replied Jephson, seating himself straddle-legged +across his chair, and leaning his arms upon the back. “I +was told a story this morning at the hospital by an old French doctor. +The actual facts are few and simple; all that is known can be read in +the Paris police records of sixty-two years ago.</p> +<p>“The most important part of the case, however, is the part +that is not known, and that never will be known.</p> +<p>“The story begins with a great wrong done by one man unto another +man. What the wrong was I do not know. I am inclined to +think, however, it was connected with a woman. I think that, because +he who had been wronged hated him who had wronged him with a hate such +as does not often burn in a man’s brain, unless it be fanned by +the memory of a woman’s breath.</p> +<p>“Still that is only conjecture, and the point is immaterial. +The man who had done the wrong fled, and the other man followed him. +It became a point-to-point race, the first man having the advantage +of a day’s start. The course was the whole world, and the +stakes were the first man’s life.</p> +<p>“Travellers were few and far between in those days, and this +made the trail easy to follow. The first man, never knowing how +far or how near the other was behind him, and hoping now and again that +he might have baffled him, would rest for a while. The second +man, knowing always just how far the first one was before him, never +paused, and thus each day the man who was spurred by Hate drew nearer +to the man who was spurred by Fear.</p> +<p>“At this town the answer to the never-varied question would +be:—</p> +<p>“‘At seven o’clock last evening, M’sieur.’</p> +<p>“‘Seven—ah; eighteen hours. Give me something +to eat, quick, while the horses are being put to.’</p> +<p>“At the next the calculation would be sixteen hours.</p> +<p>“Passing a lonely châlet, Monsieur puts his head out +of the window:—</p> +<p>“‘How long since a carriage passed this way, with a tall, +fair man inside?’</p> +<p>“‘Such a one passed early this morning, M’sieur.’</p> +<p>“‘Thanks, drive on, a hundred francs apiece if you are +through the pass before daybreak.’</p> +<p>“‘And what for dead horses, M’sieur?’</p> +<p>“‘Twice their value when living.’</p> +<p>“One day the man who was ridden by Fear looked up, and saw +before him the open door of a cathedral, and, passing in, knelt down +and prayed. He prayed long and fervently, for men, when they are +in sore straits, clutch eagerly at the straws of faith. He prayed +that he might be forgiven his sin, and, more important still, that he +might be pardoned the consequences of his sin, and be delivered from +his adversary; and a few chairs from him, facing him, knelt his enemy, +praying also.</p> +<p>“But the second man’s prayer, being a thanksgiving merely, +was short, so that when the first man raised his eyes, he saw the face +of his enemy gazing at him across the chair-tops, with a mocking smile +upon it.</p> +<p>“He made no attempt to rise, but remained kneeling, fascinated +by the look of joy that shone out of the other man’s eyes. +And the other man moved the high-backed chairs one by one, and came +towards him softly.</p> +<p>“Then, just as the man who had been wronged stood beside the +man who had wronged him, full of gladness that his opportunity had come, +there burst from the cathedral tower a sudden clash of bells, and the +man, whose opportunity had come, broke his heart and fell back dead, +with that mocking smile still playing round his mouth.</p> +<p>“And so he lay there.</p> +<p>“Then the man who had done the wrong rose up and passed out, +praising God.</p> +<p>“What became of the body of the other man is not known. +It was the body of a stranger who had died suddenly in the cathedral. +There was none to identify it, none to claim it.</p> +<p>“Years passed away, and the survivor in the tragedy became +a worthy and useful citizen, and a noted man of science.</p> +<p>“In his laboratory were many objects necessary to him in his +researches, and, prominent among them, stood in a certain corner a human +skeleton. It was a very old and much-mended skeleton, and one +day the long-expected end arrived, and it tumbled to pieces.</p> +<p>“Thus it became necessary to purchase another.</p> +<p>“The man of science visited a dealer he well knew—a little +parchment-faced old man who kept a dingy shop, where nothing was ever +sold, within the shadow of the towers of Notre Dame.</p> +<p>“The little parchment-faced old man had just the very thing +that Monsieur wanted—a singularly fine and well-proportioned ‘study.’ +It should be sent round and set up in Monsieur’s laboratory that +very afternoon.</p> +<p>“The dealer was as good as his word. When Monsieur entered +his laboratory that evening, the thing was in its place.</p> +<p>“Monsieur seated himself in his high-backed chair, and tried +to collect his thoughts. But Monsieur’s thoughts were unruly, +and inclined to wander, and to wander always in one direction.</p> +<p>“Monsieur opened a large volume and commenced to read. +He read of a man who had wronged another and fled from him, the other +man following. Finding himself reading this, he closed the book +angrily, and went and stood by the window and looked out. He saw +before him the sun-pierced nave of a great cathedral, and on the stones +lay a dead man with a mocking smile upon his face.</p> +<p>“Cursing himself for a fool, he turned away with a laugh. +But his laugh was short-lived, for it seemed to him that something else +in the room was laughing also. Struck suddenly still, with his +feet glued to the ground, he stood listening for a while: then sought +with starting eyes the corner from where the sound had seemed to come. +But the white thing standing there was only grinning.</p> +<p>“Monsieur wiped the damp sweat from his head and hands, and +stole out.</p> +<p>“For a couple of days he did not enter the room again. +On the third, telling himself that his fears were those of a hysterical +girl, he opened the door and went in. To shame himself, he took +his lamp in his hand, and crossing over to the far corner where the +skeleton stood, examined it. A set of bones bought for three hundred +francs. Was he a child, to be scared by such a bogey!</p> +<p>“He held his lamp up in front of the thing’s grinning +head. The flame of the lamp flickered as though a faint breath +had passed over it.</p> +<p>“The man explained this to himself by saying that the walls +of the house were old and cracked, and that the wind might creep in +anywhere. He repeated this explanation to himself as he recrossed +the room, walking backwards, with his eyes fixed on the thing. +When he reached his desk, he sat down and gripped the arms of his chair +till his fingers turned white.</p> +<p>“He tried to work, but the empty sockets in that grinning head +seemed to be drawing him towards them. He rose and battled with +his inclination to fly screaming from the room. Glancing fearfully +about him, his eye fell upon a high screen, standing before the door. +He dragged it forward, and placed it between himself and the thing, +so that he could not see it—nor it see him. Then he sat +down again to his work. For a while he forced himself to look +at the book in front of him, but at last, unable to control himself +any longer, he suffered his eyes to follow their own bent.</p> +<p>“It may have been an hallucination. He may have accidentally +placed the screen so as to favour such an illusion. But what he +saw was a bony hand coming round the corner of the screen, and, with +a cry, he fell to the floor in a swoon.</p> +<p>“The people of the house came running in, and lifting him up, +carried him out, and laid him upon his bed. As soon as he recovered, +his first question was, where had they found the thing—where was +it when they entered the room? and when they told him they had seen +it standing where it always stood, and had gone down into the room to +look again, because of his frenzied entreaties, and returned trying +to hide their smiles, he listened to their talk about overwork, and +the necessity for change and rest, and said they might do with him as +they would.</p> +<p>“So for many months the laboratory door remained locked. +Then there came a chill autumn evening when the man of science opened +it again, and closed it behind him.</p> +<p>“He lighted his lamp, and gathered his instruments and books +around him, and sat down before them in his high-backed chair. +And the old terror returned to him.</p> +<p>“But this time he meant to conquer himself. His nerves +were stronger now, and his brain clearer; he would fight his unreasoning +fear. He crossed to the door and locked himself in, and flung +the key to the other end of the room, where it fell among jars and bottles +with an echoing clatter.</p> +<p>“Later on, his old housekeeper, going her final round, tapped +at his door and wished him good-night, as was her custom. She +received no response, at first, and, growing nervous, tapped louder +and called again; and at length an answering ‘good-night’ +came back to her.</p> +<p>“She thought little about it at the time, but afterwards she +remembered that the voice that had replied to her had been strangely +grating and mechanical. Trying to describe it, she likened it +to such a voice as she would imagine coming from a statue.</p> +<p>“Next morning his door remained still locked. It was +no unusual thing for him to work all night and far into the next day, +so no one thought to be surprised. When, however, evening came, +and yet he did not appear, his servants gathered outside the room and +whispered, remembering what had happened once before.</p> +<p>“They listened, but could hear no sound. They shook the +door and called to him, then beat with their fists upon the wooden panels. +But still no sound came from the room.</p> +<p>“Becoming alarmed, they decided to burst open the door, and, +after many blows, it gave way, and they crowded in.</p> +<p>“He sat bolt upright in his high-backed chair. They thought +at first he had died in his sleep. But when they drew nearer and +the light fell upon him, they saw the livid marks of bony fingers round +his throat; and in his eyes there was a terror such as is not often +seen in human eyes.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Brown was the first to break the silence that followed. He +asked me if I had any brandy on board. He said he felt he should +like just a nip of brandy before going to bed. That is one of +the chief charms of Jephson’s stories: they always make you feel +you want a little brandy.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>“Cats,” remarked Jephson to me, one afternoon, as we +sat in the punt discussing the plot of our novel, “cats are animals +for whom I entertain a very great respect. Cats and Nonconformists +seem to me the only things in this world possessed of a practicable +working conscience. Watch a cat doing something mean and wrong—if +ever one gives you the chance; notice how anxious she is that nobody +should see her doing it; and how prompt, if detected, to pretend that +she was not doing it—that she was not even thinking of doing it—that, +as a matter of fact, she was just about to do something else, quite +different. You might almost think they had a soul.</p> +<p>“Only this morning I was watching that tortoise-shell of yours +on the houseboat. She was creeping along the roof, behind the +flower-boxes, stalking a young thrush that had perched upon a coil of +rope. Murder gleamed from her eye, assassination lurked in every +twitching muscle of her body. As she crouched to spring, Fate, +for once favouring the weak, directed her attention to myself, and she +became, for the first time, aware of my presence. It acted upon +her as a heavenly vision upon a Biblical criminal. In an instant +she was a changed being. The wicked beast, going about seeking +whom it might devour, had vanished. In its place sat a long-tailed, +furry angel, gazing up into the sky with an expression that was one-third +innocence and two-thirds admiration of the beauties of nature. +What was she doing there, did I want to know? Why, could I not +see, playing with a bit of earth. Surely I was not so evil-minded +as to imagine she wanted to kill that dear little bird—God bless +it.</p> +<p>“Then note an old Tom, slinking home in the early morning, +after a night spent on a roof of bad repute. Can you picture to +yourself a living creature less eager to attract attention? ‘Dear +me,’ you can all but hear it saying to itself, ‘I’d +no idea it was so late; how time does go when one is enjoying oneself. +I do hope I shan’t meet any one I know—very awkward, it’s +being so light.’</p> +<p>“In the distance it sees a policeman, and stops suddenly within +the shelter of a shadow. ‘Now what’s he doing there,’ +it says, ‘and close to our door too? I can’t go in +while he’s hanging about. He’s sure to see and recognise +me; and he’s just the sort of man to talk to the servants.’</p> +<p>“It hides itself behind a post and waits, peeping cautiously +round the corner from time to time. The policeman, however, seems +to have taken up his residence at that particular spot, and the cat +becomes worried and excited.</p> +<p>“‘What’s the matter with the fool?’ it mutters +indignantly; ‘is he dead? Why don’t he move on, he’s +always telling other people to. Stupid ass.’</p> +<p>“Just then a far-off cry of ‘milk’ is heard, and +the cat starts up in an agony of alarm. ‘Great Scott, hark +at that! Why, everybody will be down before I get in. Well, +I can’t help it. I must chance it.’</p> +<p>“He glances round at himself, and hesitates. ‘I +wouldn’t mind if I didn’t look so dirty and untidy,’ +he muses; ‘people are so prone to think evil in this world.’</p> +<p>“‘Ah, well,’ he adds, giving himself a shake, ‘there’s +nothing else for it, I must put my trust in Providence, it’s pulled +me through before: here goes.’</p> +<p>“He assumes an aspect of chastened sorrow, and trots along +with a demure and saddened step. It is evident he wishes to convey +the idea that he has been out all night on work connected with the Vigilance +Association, and is now returning home sick at heart because of the +sights that he has seen.</p> +<p>“He squirms in, unnoticed, through a window, and has just time +to give himself a hurried lick down before he hears the cook’s +step on the stairs. When she enters the kitchen he is curled up +on the hearthrug, fast asleep. The opening of the shutters awakes +him. He rises and comes forward, yawning and stretching himself.</p> +<p>“‘Dear me, is it morning, then?’ he says drowsily. +‘Heigh-ho! I’ve had such a lovely sleep, cook; and +such a beautiful dream about poor mother.’</p> +<p>“Cats! do you call them? Why, they are Christians in +everything except the number of legs.”</p> +<p>“They certainly are,” I responded, “wonderfully +cunning little animals, and it is not by their moral and religious instincts +alone that they are so closely linked to man; the marvellous ability +they display in taking care of ‘number one’ is worthy of +the human race itself. Some friends of mine had a cat, a big black +Tom: they have got half of him still. They had reared him from +a kitten, and, in their homely, undemonstrative way, they liked him. +There was nothing, however, approaching passion on either side.</p> +<p>“One day a Chinchilla came to live in the neighbourhood, under +the charge of an elderly spinster, and the two cats met at a garden +wall party.</p> +<p>“‘What sort of diggings have you got?’ asked the +Chinchilla.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, pretty fair.’</p> +<p>“‘Nice people?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, nice enough—as people go.’</p> +<p>“‘Pretty willing? Look after you well, and all +that sort of thing?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes—oh yes. I’ve no fault to find +with them.’</p> +<p>“‘What’s the victuals like?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, the usual thing, you know, bones and scraps, and +a bit of dog-biscuit now and then for a change.’</p> +<p>“‘Bones and dog-biscuits! Do you mean to say you +eat bones?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, when I can get ’em. Why, what’s +wrong about them?’</p> +<p>“‘Shade of Egyptian Isis, bones and dog-biscuits! +Don’t you ever get any spring chickens, or a sardine, or a lamb +cutlet?’</p> +<p>“‘Chickens! Sardines! What are you talking +about? What are sardines?’</p> +<p>“‘What are sardines! Oh, my dear child (the Chinchilla +was a lady cat, and always called gentlemen friends a little older than +herself ‘dear child’), these people of yours are treating +you just shamefully. Come, sit down and tell me all about it. +What do they give you to sleep on?’</p> +<p>“‘The floor.’</p> +<p>“‘I thought so; and skim milk and water to drink, I suppose?’</p> +<p>“‘It <i>is</i> a bit thin.’</p> +<p>“‘I can quite imagine it. You must leave these +people, my dear, at once.’</p> +<p>“‘But where am I to go to?’</p> +<p>“‘Anywhere.’</p> +<p>“‘But who’ll take me in?’</p> +<p>“‘Anybody, if you go the right way to work. How +many times do you think I’ve changed my people? Seven!—and +bettered myself on each occasion. Why, do you know where I was +born? In a pig-sty. There were three of us, mother and I +and my little brother. Mother would leave us every evening, returning +generally just as it was getting light. One morning she did not +come back. We waited and waited, but the day passed on and she +did not return, and we grew hungrier and hungrier, and at last we lay +down, side by side, and cried ourselves to sleep.</p> +<p>“‘In the evening, peeping through a hole in the door, +we saw her coming across the field. She was crawling very slowly, +with her body close down against the ground. We called to her, +and she answered with a low “crroo”; but she did not hasten +her pace.</p> +<p>“‘She crept in and rolled over on her side, and we ran +to her, for we were almost starving. We lay long upon her breasts, +and she licked us over and over.</p> +<p>“‘I dropped asleep upon her, and in the night I awoke, +feeling cold. I crept closer to her, but that only made me colder +still, and she was wet and clammy with a dark moisture that was oozing +from her side. I did not know what it was at that time, but I +have learnt since.</p> +<p>“‘That was when I could hardly have been four weeks old, +and from that day to this I’ve looked after myself: you’ve +got to do that in this world, my dear. For a while, I and my brother +lived on in that sty and kept ourselves. It was a grim struggle +at first, two babies fighting for life; but we pulled through. +At the end of about three months, wandering farther from home than usual, +I came upon a cottage, standing in the fields. It looked warm +and cosy through the open door, and I went in: I have always been blessed +with plenty of nerve. Some children were playing round the fire, +and they welcomed me and made much of me. It was a new sensation +to me, and I stayed there. I thought the place a palace at the +time.</p> +<p>“‘I might have gone on thinking so if it had not been +that, passing through the village one day, I happened to catch sight +of a room behind a shop. There was a carpet on the floor, and +a rug before the fire. I had never known till then that there +were such luxuries in the world. I determined to make that shop +my home, and I did so.’</p> +<p>“‘How did you manage it?’ asked the black cat, +who was growing interested.</p> +<p>“‘By the simple process of walking in and sitting down. +My dear child, cheek’s the “Open sesame” to every +door. The cat that works hard dies of starvation, the cat that +has brains is kicked downstairs for a fool, and the cat that has virtue +is drowned for a scamp; but the cat that has cheek sleeps on a velvet +cushion and dines on cream and horseflesh. I marched straight +in and rubbed myself against the old man’s legs. He and +his wife were quite taken with what they called my “trustfulness,” +and adopted me with enthusiasm. Strolling about the fields of +an evening I often used to hear the children of the cottage calling +my name. It was weeks before they gave up seeking for me. +One of them, the youngest, would sob herself to sleep of a night, thinking +that I was dead: they were affectionate children.</p> +<p>“‘I boarded with my shopkeeping friends for nearly a +year, and from them I went to some new people who had lately come to +the neighbourhood, and who possessed a really excellent cook. +I think I could have been very satisfied with these people, but, unfortunately, +they came down in the world, and had to give up the big house and the +cook, and take a cottage, and I did not care to go back to that sort +of life.</p> +<p>“‘Accordingly I looked about for a fresh opening. +There was a curious old fellow who lived not far off. People said +he was rich, but nobody liked him. He was shaped differently from +other men. I turned the matter over in my mind for a day or two, +and then determined to give him a trial. Being a lonely sort of +man, he might make a fuss over me, and if not I could go.</p> +<p>“‘My surmise proved correct. I have never been +more petted than I was by “Toady,” as the village boys had +dubbed him. My present guardian is foolish enough over me, goodness +knows, but she has other ties, while “Toady” had nothing +else to love, not even himself. He could hardly believe his eyes +at first when I jumped up on his knees and rubbed myself against his +ugly face. “Why, Kitty,” he said, “do you know +you’re the first living thing that has ever come to me of its +own accord.” There were tears in his funny little red eyes +as he said that.</p> +<p>“‘I remained two years with “Toady,” and +was very happy indeed. Then he fell ill, and strange people came +to the house, and I was neglected. “Toady” liked me +to come up and lie upon the bed, where he could stroke me with his long, +thin hand, and at first I used to do this. But a sick man is not +the best of company, as you can imagine, and the atmosphere of a sick +room not too healthy, so, all things considered, I felt it was time +for me to make a fresh move.</p> +<p>“‘I had some difficulty in getting away. “Toady” +was always asking for me, and they tried to keep me with him: he seemed +to lie easier when I was there. I succeeded at length, however, +and, once outside the door, I put sufficient distance between myself +and the house to ensure my not being captured, for I knew “Toady” +so long as he lived would never cease hoping to get me back.</p> +<p>“‘Where to go, I did not know. Two or three homes +were offered me, but none of them quite suited me. At one place, +where I put up for a day, just to see how I liked it, there was a dog; +and at another, which would otherwise have done admirably, they kept +a baby. Whatever you do, never stop at a house where they keep +a baby. If a child pulls your tail or ties a paper bag round your +head, you can give it one for itself and nobody blames you. “Well, +serve you right,” they say to the yelling brat, “you shouldn’t +tease the poor thing.” But if you resent a baby’s +holding you by the throat and trying to gouge out your eye with a wooden +ladle, you are called a spiteful beast, and “shoo’d” +all round the garden. If people keep babies, they don’t +keep me; that’s my rule.</p> +<p>“‘After sampling some three or four families, I finally +fixed upon a banker. Offers more advantageous from a worldly point +of view were open to me. I could have gone to a public-house, +where the victuals were simply unlimited, and where the back door was +left open all night. But about the banker’s (he was also +a churchwarden, and his wife never smiled at anything less than a joke +by the bishop) there was an atmosphere of solid respectability that +I felt would be comforting to my nature. My dear child, you will +come across cynics who will sneer at respectability: don’t you +listen to them. Respectability is its own reward—and a very +real and practical reward. It may not bring you dainty dishes +and soft beds, but it brings you something better and more lasting. +It brings you the consciousness that you are living the right life, +that you are doing the right thing, that, so far as earthly ingenuity +can fix it, you are going to the right place, and that other folks ain’t. +Don’t you ever let any one set you against respectability. +It’s the most satisfying thing I know of in this world—and +about the cheapest.</p> +<p>“‘I was nearly three years with this family, and was +sorry when I had to go. I should never have left if I could have +helped it, but one day something happened at the bank which necessitated +the banker’s taking a sudden journey to Spain, and, after that, +the house became a somewhat unpleasant place to live in. Noisy, +disagreeable people were continually knocking at the door and making +rows in the passage; and at night folks threw bricks at the windows.</p> +<p>“‘I was in a delicate state of health at the time, and +my nerves could not stand it. I said good-bye to the town, and +making my way back into the country, put up with a county family.</p> +<p>“‘They were great swells, but I should have preferred +them had they been more homely. I am of an affectionate disposition, +and I like every one about me to love me. They were good enough +to me in their distant way, but they did not take much notice of me, +and I soon got tired of lavishing attentions on people that neither +valued nor responded to them.</p> +<p>“‘From these people I went to a retired potato merchant. +It was a social descent, but a rise so far as comfort and appreciation +were concerned. They appeared to be an exceedingly nice family, +and to be extremely fond of me. I say they “appeared” +to be these things, because the sequel proved that they were neither. +Six months after I had come to them they went away and left me. +They never asked me to accompany them. They made no arrangements +for me to stay behind. They evidently did not care what became +of me. Such egotistical indifference to the claims of friendship +I had never before met with. It shook my faith—never too +robust—in human nature. I determined that, in future, no +one should have the opportunity of disappointing my trust in them. +I selected my present mistress on the recommendation of a gentleman +friend of mine who had formerly lived with her. He said she was +an excellent caterer. The only reason he had left her was that +she expected him to be in at ten each night, and that hour didn’t +fit in with his other arrangements. It made no difference to me—as +a matter of fact, I do not care for these midnight <i>réunions</i> +that are so popular amongst us. There are always too many cats +for one properly to enjoy oneself, and sooner or later a rowdy element +is sure to creep in. I offered myself to her, and she accepted +me gratefully. But I have never liked her, and never shall. +She is a silly old woman, and bores me. She is, however, devoted +to me, and, unless something extra attractive turns up, I shall stick +to her.</p> +<p>“‘That, my dear, is the story of my life, so far as it +has gone. I tell it you to show you how easy it is to be “taken +in.” Fix on your house, and mew piteously at the back door. +When it is opened run in and rub yourself against the first leg you +come across. Rub hard, and look up confidingly. Nothing +gets round human beings, I have noticed, quicker than confidence. +They don’t get much of it, and it pleases them. Always be +confiding. At the same time be prepared for emergencies. +If you are still doubtful as to your reception, try and get yourself +slightly wet. Why people should prefer a wet cat to a dry one +I have never been able to understand; but that a wet cat is practically +sure of being taken in and gushed over, while a dry cat is liable to +have the garden hose turned upon it, is an undoubted fact. Also, +if you can possibly manage it, and it is offered you, eat a bit of dry +bread. The Human Race is always stirred to its deepest depths +by the sight of a cat eating a bit of dry bread.’</p> +<p>“My friend’s black Tom profited by the Chinchilla’s +wisdom. A catless couple had lately come to live next door. +He determined to adopt them on trial. Accordingly, on the first +rainy day, he went out soon after lunch and sat for four hours in an +open field. In the evening, soaked to the skin, and feeling pretty +hungry, he went mewing to their door. One of the maids opened +it, he rushed under her skirts and rubbed himself against her legs. +She screamed, and down came the master and the mistress to know what +was the matter.</p> +<p>“‘It’s a stray cat, mum,’ said the girl.</p> +<p>“‘Turn it out,’ said the master.</p> +<p>“‘Oh no, don’t,’ said the mistress.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, poor thing, it’s wet,’ said the housemaid.</p> +<p>“‘Perhaps it’s hungry,’ said the cook.</p> +<p>“‘Try it with a bit of dry bread,’ sneered the +master, who wrote for the newspapers, and thought he knew everything.</p> +<p>“A stale crust was proffered. The cat ate it greedily, +and afterwards rubbed himself gratefully against the man’s light +trousers.</p> +<p>“This made the man ashamed of himself, likewise of his trousers. +‘Oh, well, let it stop if it wants to,’ he said.</p> +<p>“So the cat was made comfortable, and stayed on.</p> +<p>“Meanwhile its own family were seeking for it high and low. +They had not cared over much for it while they had had it; now it was +gone, they were inconsolable. In the light of its absence, it +appeared to them the one thing that had made the place home. The +shadows of suspicion gathered round the case. The cat’s +disappearance, at first regarded as a mystery, began to assume the shape +of a crime. The wife openly accused the husband of never having +liked the animal, and more than hinted that he and the gardener between +them could give a tolerably truthful account of its last moments; an +insinuation that the husband repudiated with a warmth that only added +credence to the original surmise.</p> +<p>“The bull-terrier was had up and searchingly examined. +Fortunately for him, he had not had a single fight for two whole days. +Had any recent traces of blood been detected upon him, it would have +gone hard with him.</p> +<p>“The person who suffered most, however, was the youngest boy. +Three weeks before, he had dressed the cat in doll’s clothes and +taken it round the garden in the perambulator. He himself had +forgotten the incident, but Justice, though tardy, was on his track. +The misdeed was suddenly remembered at the very moment when unavailing +regret for the loss of the favourite was at its deepest, so that to +box his ears and send him, then and there, straight off to bed was felt +to be a positive relief.</p> +<p>“At the end of a fortnight, the cat, finding he had not, after +all, bettered himself, came back. The family were so surprised +that at first they could not be sure whether he was flesh and blood, +or a spirit come to comfort them. After watching him eat half +a pound of raw steak, they decided he was material, and caught him up +and hugged him to their bosoms. For a week they over-fed him and +made much of him. Then, the excitement cooling, he found himself +dropping back into his old position, and didn’t like it, and went +next door again.</p> +<p>“The next door people had also missed him, and they likewise +greeted his return with extravagant ebullitions of joy. This gave +the cat an idea. He saw that his game was to play the two families +off one against the other; which he did. He spent an alternate +fortnight with each, and lived like a fighting cock. His return +was always greeted with enthusiasm, and every means were adopted to +induce him to stay. His little whims were carefully studied, his +favourite dishes kept in constant readiness.</p> +<p>“The destination of his goings leaked out at length, and then +the two families quarrelled about him over the fence. My friend +accused the newspaper man of having lured him away. The newspaper +man retorted that the poor creature had come to his door wet and starving, +and added that he would be ashamed to keep an animal merely to ill-treat +it. They have a quarrel about him twice a week on the average. +It will probably come to blows one of these days.”</p> +<p>Jephson appeared much surprised by this story. He remained +thoughtful and silent. I asked him if he would like to hear any +more, and as he offered no active opposition I went on. (Maybe +he was asleep; that idea did not occur to me at the time.)</p> +<p>I told him of my grandmother’s cat, who, after living a blameless +life for upwards of eleven years, and bringing up a family of something +like sixty-six, not counting those that died in infancy and the water-butt, +took to drink in her old age, and was run over while in a state of intoxication +(oh, the justice of it! ) by a brewer’s dray. I have read +in temperance tracts that no dumb animal will touch a drop of alcoholic +liquor. My advice is, if you wish to keep them respectable, don’t +give them a chance to get at it. I knew a pony—But never +mind him; we are talking about my grandmother’s cat.</p> +<p>A leaky beer-tap was the cause of her downfall. A saucer used +to be placed underneath it to catch the drippings. One day the +cat, coming in thirsty, and finding nothing else to drink, lapped up +a little, liked it, and lapped a little more, went away for half an +hour, and came back and finished the saucerful. Then sat down +beside it, and waited for it to fill again.</p> +<p>From that day till the hour she died, I don’t believe that +cat was ever once quite sober. Her days she passed in a drunken +stupor before the kitchen fire. Her nights she spent in the beer +cellar.</p> +<p>My grandmother, shocked and grieved beyond expression, gave up her +barrel and adopted bottles. The cat, thus condemned to enforced +abstinence, meandered about the house for a day and a half in a disconsolate, +quarrelsome mood. Then she disappeared, returning at eleven o’clock +as tight as a drum.</p> +<p>Where she went, and how she managed to procure the drink, we never +discovered; but the same programme was repeated every day. Some +time during the morning she would contrive to elude our vigilance and +escape; and late every evening she would come reeling home across the +fields in a condition that I will not sully my pen by attempting to +describe.</p> +<p>It was on Saturday night that she met the sad end to which I have +before alluded. She must have been very drunk, for the man told +us that, in consequence of the darkness, and the fact that his horses +were tired, he was proceeding at little more than a snail’s pace.</p> +<p>I think my grandmother was rather relieved than otherwise. +She had been very fond of the cat at one time, but its recent conduct +had alienated her affection. We children buried it in the garden +under the mulberry tree, but the old lady insisted that there should +be no tombstone, not even a mound raised. So it lies there, unhonoured, +in a drunkard’s grave.</p> +<p>I also told him of another cat our family had once possessed. +She was the most motherly thing I have ever known. She was never +happy without a family. Indeed, I cannot remember her when she +hadn’t a family in one stage or another. She was not very +particular what sort of a family it was. If she could not have +kittens, then she would content herself with puppies or rats. +Anything that she could wash and feed seemed to satisfy her. I +believe she would have brought up chickens if we had entrusted them +to her.</p> +<p>All her brains must have run to motherliness, for she hadn’t +much sense. She could never tell the difference between her own +children and other people’s. She thought everything young +was a kitten. We once mixed up a spaniel puppy that had lost its +own mother among her progeny. I shall never forget her astonishment +when it first barked. She boxed both its ears, and then sat looking +down at it with an expression of indignant sorrow that was really touching.</p> +<p>“You’re going to be a credit to your mother,” she +seemed to be saying “you’re a nice comfort to any one’s +old age, you are, making a row like that. And look at your ears +flopping all over your face. I don’t know where you pick +up such ways.”</p> +<p>He was a good little dog. He did try to mew, and he did try +to wash his face with his paw, and to keep his tail still, but his success +was not commensurate with his will. I do not know which was the +sadder to reflect upon, his efforts to become a creditable kitten, or +his foster-mother’s despair of ever making him one.</p> +<p>Later on we gave her a baby squirrel to rear. She was nursing +a family of her own at the time, but she adopted him with enthusiasm, +under the impression that he was another kitten, though she could not +quite make out how she had come to overlook him. He soon became +her prime favourite. She liked his colour, and took a mother’s +pride in his tail. What troubled her was that it would cock up +over his head. She would hold it down with one paw, and lick it +by the half-hour together, trying to make it set properly. But +the moment she let it go up it would cock again. I have heard +her cry with vexation because of this.</p> +<p>One day a neighbouring cat came to see her, and the squirrel was +clearly the subject of their talk.</p> +<p>“It’s a good colour,” said the friend, looking +critically at the supposed kitten, who was sitting up on his haunches +combing his whiskers, and saying the only truthfully pleasant thing +about him that she could think of.</p> +<p>“He’s a lovely colour,” exclaimed our cat proudly.</p> +<p>“I don’t like his legs much,” remarked the friend.</p> +<p>“No,” responded his mother thoughtfully, “you’re +right there. His legs are his weak point. I can’t +say I think much of his legs myself.”</p> +<p>“Maybe they’ll fill out later on,” suggested the +friend, kindly.</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope so,” replied the mother, regaining her momentarily +dashed cheerfulness. “Oh yes, they’ll come all right +in time. And then look at his tail. Now, honestly, did you +ever see a kitten with a finer tail?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s a good tail,” assented the other; “but +why do you do it up over his head?”</p> +<p>“I don’t,” answered our cat. “It goes +that way. I can’t make it out. I suppose it will come +straight as he gets older.”</p> +<p>“It will be awkward if it don’t,” said the friend.</p> +<p>“Oh, but I’m sure it will,” replied our cat. +“I must lick it more. It’s a tail that wants a good +deal of licking, you can see that.”</p> +<p>And for hours that afternoon, after the other cat had gone, she sat +trimming it; and, at the end, when she lifted her paw off it, and it +flew back again like a steel spring over the squirrel’s head, +she sat and gazed at it with feelings that only those among my readers +who have been mothers themselves will be able to comprehend.</p> +<p>“What have I done,” she seemed to say—“what +have I done that this trouble should come upon me?”</p> +<p>Jephson roused himself on my completion of this anecdote and sat +up.</p> +<p>“You and your friends appear to have been the possessors of +some very remarkable cats,” he observed.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I answered, “our family has been singularly +fortunate in its cats.”</p> +<p>“Singularly so,” agreed Jephson; “I have never +met but one man from whom I have heard more wonderful cat talk than, +at one time or another, I have from you.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” I said, not, perhaps without a touch of jealousy +in my voice, “and who was he?”</p> +<p>“He was a seafaring man,” replied Jephson. “I +met him on a Hampstead tram, and we discussed the subject of animal +sagacity.</p> +<p>“‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘monkeys is cute. +I’ve come across monkeys as could give points to one or two lubbers +I’ve sailed under; and elephants is pretty spry, if you can believe +all that’s told of ’em. I’ve heard some tall +tales about elephants. And, of course, dogs has their heads screwed +on all right: I don’t say as they ain’t. But what +I do say is: that for straightfor’ard, level-headed reasoning, +give me cats. You see, sir, a dog, he thinks a powerful deal of +a man—never was such a cute thing as a man, in a dog’s opinion; +and he takes good care that everybody knows it. Naturally enough, +we says a dog is the most intellectual animal there is. Now a +cat, she’s got her own opinion about human beings. She don’t +say much, but you can tell enough to make you anxious not to hear the +whole of it. The consequence is, we says a cat’s got no +intelligence. That’s where we let our prejudice steer our +judgment wrong. In a matter of plain common sense, there ain’t +a cat living as couldn’t take the lee side of a dog and fly round +him. Now, have you ever noticed a dog at the end of a chain, trying +to kill a cat as is sitting washing her face three-quarters of an inch +out of his reach? Of course you have. Well, who’s +got the sense out of those two? The cat knows that it ain’t +in the nature of steel chains to stretch. The dog, who ought, +you’d think, to know a durned sight more about ’em than +she does, is sure they will if you only bark loud enough.</p> +<p>“‘Then again, have you ever been made mad by cats screeching +in the night, and jumped out of bed and opened the window and yelled +at them? Did they ever budge an inch for that, though you shrieked +loud enough to skeer the dead, and waved your arms about like a man +in a play? Not they. They’ve turned and looked at +you, that’s all. “Yell away, old man,” they’ve +said, “we like to hear you: the more the merrier.” +Then what have you done? Why, you’ve snatched up a hair-brush, +or a boot, or a candlestick, and made as if you’d throw it at +them. They’ve seen your attitude, they’ve seen the +thing in your hand, but they ain’t moved a point. They knew +as you weren’t going to chuck valuable property out of window +with the chance of getting it lost or spoiled. They’ve got +sense themselves, and they give you credit for having some. If +you don’t believe that’s the reason, you try showing them +a lump of coal, or half a brick, next time—something as they know +you <i>will</i> throw. Before you’re ready to heave it, +there won’t be a cat within aim.</p> +<p>“‘Then as to judgment and knowledge of the world, why +dogs are babies to ’em. Have you ever tried telling a yarn +before a cat, sir?’</p> +<p>“I replied that cats had often been present during anecdotal +recitals of mine, but that, hitherto, I had paid no particular attention +to their demeanour.</p> +<p>“‘Ah, well, you take an opportunity of doing so one day, +sir,’ answered the old fellow; ‘it’s worth the experiment. +If you’re telling a story before a cat, and she don’t get +uneasy during any part of the narrative, you can reckon you’ve +got hold of a thing as it will be safe for you to tell to the Lord Chief +Justice of England.</p> +<p>“‘I’ve got a messmate,’ he continued; ‘William +Cooley is his name. We call him Truthful Billy. He’s +as good a seaman as ever trod quarter-deck; but when he gets spinning +yarns he ain’t the sort of man as I could advise you to rely upon. +Well, Billy, he’s got a dog, and I’ve seen him sit and tell +yarns before that dog that would make a cat squirm out of its skin, +and that dog’s taken ’em in and believed ’em. +One night, up at his old woman’s, Bill told us a yarn by the side +of which salt junk two voyages old would pass for spring chicken. +I watched the dog, to see how he would take it. He listened to +it from beginning to end with cocked ears, and never so much as blinked. +Every now and then he would look round with an expression of astonishment +or delight that seemed to say: “Wonderful, isn’t it!” +“Dear me, just think of it!” “Did you ever!” +“Well, if that don’t beat everything!” He was +a chuckle-headed dog; you could have told him anything.</p> +<p>“‘It irritated me that Bill should have such an animal +about him to encourage him, and when he had finished I said to him, +“I wish you’d tell that yarn round at my quarters one evening.”</p> +<p>“‘Why?’ said Bill.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, it’s just a fancy of mine,’ I says. +I didn’t tell him I was wanting my old cat to hear it.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, all right,’ says Bill, ‘you remind +me.’ He loved yarning, Billy did.</p> +<p>“‘Next night but one he slings himself up in my cabin, +and I does so. Nothing loth, off he starts. There was about +half-a-dozen of us stretched round, and the cat was sitting before the +fire fussing itself up. Before Bill had got fairly under weigh, +she stops washing and looks up at me, puzzled like, as much as to say, +“What have we got here, a missionary?” I signalled +to her to keep quiet, and Bill went on with his yarn. When he +got to the part about the sharks, she turned deliberately round and +looked at him. I tell you there was an expression of disgust on +that cat’s face as might have made a travelling Cheap Jack feel +ashamed of himself. It was that human, I give you my word, sir, +I forgot for the moment as the poor animal couldn’t speak. +I could see the words that were on its lips: “Why don’t +you tell us you swallowed the anchor?” and I sat on tenter-hooks, +fearing each instant that she would say them aloud. It was a relief +to me when she turned her back on Bill.</p> +<p>“’For a few minutes she sat very still, and seemed to +be wrestling with herself like. I never saw a cat more set on +controlling its feelings, or that seemed to suffer more in silence. +It made my heart ache to watch it.</p> +<p>“‘At last Bill came to the point where he and the captain +between ’em hold the shark’s mouth open while the cabin-boy +dives in head foremost, and fetches up, undigested, the gold watch and +chain as the bo’sun was a-wearing when he fell overboard; and +at that the old cat giv’d a screech, and rolled over on her side +with her legs in the air.</p> +<p>“‘I thought at first the poor thing was dead, but she +rallied after a bit, and it seemed as though she had braced herself +up to hear the thing out.</p> +<p>“‘But a little further on, Bill got too much for her +again, and this time she owned herself beat. She rose up and looked +round at us: “You’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” she said—leastways +that is what she said if looks go for anything—“maybe you’re +used to this sort of rubbish, and it don’t get on your nerves. +With me it’s different. I guess I’ve heard as much +of this fool’s talk as my constitution will stand, and if it’s +all the same to you I’ll get outside before I’m sick.”</p> +<p>“‘With that she walked up to the door, and I opened it +for her, and she went out.</p> +<p>“‘You can’t fool a cat with talk same as you can +a dog.’”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>Does man ever reform? Balzac says he doesn’t. So +far as my experience goes, it agrees with that of Balzac—a fact +the admirers of that author are at liberty to make what use of they +please.</p> +<p>When I was young and accustomed to take my views of life from people +who were older than myself, and who knew better, so they said, I used +to believe that he did. Examples of “reformed characters” +were frequently pointed out to me—indeed, our village, situate +a few miles from a small seaport town, seemed to be peculiarly rich +in such. They were, from all accounts, including their own, persons +who had formerly behaved with quite unnecessary depravity, and who, +at the time I knew them, appeared to be going to equally objectionable +lengths in the opposite direction. They invariably belonged to +one of two classes, the low-spirited or the aggressively unpleasant. +They said, and I believed, that they were happy; but I could not help +reflecting how very sad they must have been before they were happy.</p> +<p>One of them, a small, meek-eyed old man with a piping voice, had +been exceptionally wild in his youth. What had been his special +villainy I could never discover. People responded to my inquiries +by saying that he had been “Oh, generally bad,” and increased +my longing for detail by adding that little boys ought not to want to +know about such things. From their tone and manner I assumed that +he must have been a pirate at the very least, and regarded him with +awe, not unmingled with secret admiration.</p> +<p>Whatever it was, he had been saved from it by his wife, a bony lady +of unprepossessing appearance, but irreproachable views.</p> +<p>One day he called at our house for some purpose or other, and, being +left alone with him for a few minutes, I took the opportunity of interviewing +him personally on the subject.</p> +<p>“You were very wicked once, weren’t you?” I said, +seeking by emphasis on the “once” to mitigate what I felt +might be the disagreeable nature of the question.</p> +<p>To my intense surprise, a gleam of shameful glory lit up his wizened +face, and a sound which I tried to think a sigh, but which sounded like +a chuckle, escaped his lips.</p> +<p>“Ay,” he replied; “I’ve been a bit of a spanker +in my time.”</p> +<p>The term “spanker” in such connection puzzled me. +I had been hitherto led to regard a spanker as an eminently conscientious +person, especially where the shortcomings of other people were concerned; +a person who laboured for the good of others. That the word could +also be employed to designate a sinful party was a revelation to me.</p> +<p>“But you are good now, aren’t you?” I continued, +dismissing further reflection upon the etymology of “spanker” +to a more fitting occasion.</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” he answered, his countenance resuming its customary +aspect of resigned melancholy. “I be a brand plucked from +the burning, I be. There beant much wrong wi’ Deacon Sawyers, +now.”</p> +<p>“And it was your wife that made you good, wasn’t it?” +I persisted, determined, now that I had started this investigation, +to obtain confirmation at first hand on all points.</p> +<p>At the mention of his wife his features became suddenly transformed. +Glancing hurriedly round, to make sure, apparently, that no one but +myself was within hearing, he leaned across and hissed these words into +my ear—I have never forgotten them, there was a ring of such evident +sincerity about them—</p> +<p>“I’d like to skin her, I’d like to skin her alive.”</p> +<p>It struck me, even in the light of my then limited judgment, as an +unregenerate wish; and thus early my faith in the possibility of man’s +reformation received the first of those many blows that have resulted +in shattering it.</p> +<p>Nature, whether human or otherwise, was not made to be reformed. +You can develop, you can check, but you cannot alter it.</p> +<p>You can take a small tiger and train it to sit on a hearthrug, and +to lap milk, and so long as you provide it with hearthrugs to lie on +and sufficient milk to drink, it will purr and behave like an affectionate +domestic pet. But it is a tiger, with all a tiger’s instincts, +and its progeny to the end of all time will be tigers.</p> +<p>In the same way, you can take an ape and develop it through a few +thousand generations until it loses its tail and becomes an altogether +superior ape. You can go on developing it through still a few +more thousands of generations until it gathers to itself out of the +waste vapours of eternity an intellect and a soul, by the aid of which +it is enabled to keep the original apish nature more or less under control.</p> +<p>But the ape is still there, and always will be, and every now and +again, when Constable Civilisation turns his back for a moment, as during +“Spanish Furies,” or “September massacres,” +or Western mob rule, it creeps out and bites and tears at quivering +flesh, or plunges its hairy arms elbow deep in blood, or dances round +a burning nigger.</p> +<p>I knew a man once—or, rather, I knew of a man—who was +a confirmed drunkard. He became and continued a drunkard, not +through weakness, but through will. When his friends remonstrated +with him, he told them to mind their own business, and to let him mind +his. If he saw any reason for not getting drunk he would give +it up. Meanwhile he liked getting drunk, and he meant to get drunk +as often as possible.</p> +<p>He went about it deliberately, and did it thoroughly. For nearly +ten years, so it was reported, he never went to bed sober. This +may be an exaggeration—it would be a singular report were it not—but +it can be relied upon as sufficiently truthful for all practical purposes.</p> +<p>Then there came a day when he did see a reason for not getting drunk. +He signed no pledge, he took no oath. He said, “I will never +touch another drop of drink,” and for twenty-six years he kept +his word.</p> +<p>At the end of that time a combination of circumstances occurred that +made life troublesome to him, so that he desired to be rid of it altogether. +He was a man accustomed, when he desired a thing within his reach, to +stretch out his hand and take it. He reviewed the case calmly, +and decided to commit suicide.</p> +<p>If the thing were to be done at all, it would be best, for reasons +that if set forth would make this a long story, that it should be done +that very night, and, if possible, before eleven o’clock, which +was the earliest hour a certain person could arrive from a certain place.</p> +<p>It was then four in the afternoon. He attended to some necessary +business, and wrote some necessary letters. This occupied him +until seven. He then called a cab and drove to a small hotel in +the suburbs, engaged a private room, and ordered up materials for the +making of the particular punch that had been the last beverage he had +got drunk on, six-and-twenty years ago.</p> +<p>For three hours he sat there drinking steadily, with his watch before +him. At half-past ten he rang the bell, paid his bill, came home, +and cut his throat.</p> +<p>For a quarter of a century people had been calling that man a “reformed +character.” His character had not reformed one jot. +The craving for drink had never died. For twenty-six years he +had, being a great man, held it gripped by the throat. When all +things became a matter of indifference to him, he loosened his grasp, +and the evil instinct rose up within him as strong on the day he died +as on the day he forced it down.</p> +<p>That is all a man can do, pray for strength to crush down the evil +that is in him, and to keep it held down day after day. I never +hear washy talk about “changed characters” and “reformed +natures” but I think of a sermon I once heard at a Wesleyan revivalist +meeting in the Black Country.</p> +<p>“Ah! my friends, we’ve all of us got the devil inside +us. I’ve got him, you’ve got him,” cried the +preacher—he was an old man, with long white hair and beard, and +wild, fighting eyes. Most of the preachers who came “reviving,” +as it was called, through that district, had those eyes. Some +of them needed “reviving” themselves, in quite another sense, +before they got clear out of it. I am speaking now of more than +thirty years ago.</p> +<p>“Ah! so us have—so us have,” came the response.</p> +<p>“And you carn’t get rid of him,” continued the +speaker.</p> +<p>“Not of oursel’s,” ejaculated a fervent voice at +the end of the room, “but the Lord will help us.”</p> +<p>The old preacher turned on him almost fiercely:—</p> +<p>“But th’ Lord woan’t,” he shouted; “doan’t +’ee reckon on that, lad. Ye’ve got him an’ ye’ve +got ta keep him. Ye carn’t get rid of him. Th’ +Lord doan’t mean ’ee to.”</p> +<p>Here there broke forth murmurs of angry disapproval, but the old +fellow went on, unheeding:—</p> +<p>“It arn’t good for ’ee to get rid of him. +Ye’ve just got to hug him tight. Doan’t let him go. +Hold him fast, and—LAM INTO HIM. I tell ’ee it’s +good, healthy Christian exercise.”</p> +<p>We had been discussing the subject with reference to our hero. +It had been suggested by Brown as an unhackneyed idea, and one lending +itself, therefore, to comparative freshness of treatment, that our hero +should be a thorough-paced scamp.</p> +<p>Jephson seconded the proposal, for the reason that it would the better +enable us to accomplish artistic work. He was of opinion that +we should be more sure of our ground in drawing a villain than in attempting +to portray a good man.</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy thirded (if I may coin what has often appeared to +me to be a much-needed word) the motion with ardour. He was tired, +he said, of the crystal-hearted, noble-thinking young man of fiction. +Besides, it made bad reading for the “young person.” +It gave her false ideas, and made her dissatisfied with mankind as he +really is.</p> +<p>And, thereupon, he launched forth and sketched us his idea of a hero, +with reference to whom I can only say that I should not like to meet +him on a dark night.</p> +<p>Brown, our one earnest member, begged us to be reasonable, and reminded +us, not for the first time, and not, perhaps, altogether unnecessarily, +that these meetings were for the purpose of discussing business, not +of talking nonsense.</p> +<p>Thus adjured, we attacked the subject conscientiously.</p> +<p>Brown’s idea was that the man should be an out-and-out blackguard, +until about the middle of the book, when some event should transpire +that would have the effect of completely reforming him. This naturally +brought the discussion down to the question with which I have commenced +this chapter: Does man ever reform? I argued in the negative, +and gave the reasons for my disbelief much as I have set them forth +here. MacShaughnassy, on the other hand, contended that he did, +and instanced the case of himself—a man who, in his early days, +so he asserted, had been a scatterbrained, impracticable person, entirely +without stability.</p> +<p>I maintained that this was merely an example of enormous will-power +enabling a man to overcome and rise superior to the defects of character +with which nature had handicapped him.</p> +<p>“My opinion of you,” I said, “is that you are naturally +a hopelessly irresponsible, well-meaning ass. But,” I continued +quickly, seeing his hand reaching out towards a complete Shakespeare +in one volume that lay upon the piano, “your mental capabilities +are of such extraordinary power that you can disguise this fact, and +make yourself appear a man of sense and wisdom.”</p> +<p>Brown agreed with me that in MacShaughnassy’s case traces of +the former disposition were clearly apparent, but pleaded that the illustration +was an unfortunate one, and that it ought not to have weight in the +discussion.</p> +<p>“Seriously speaking,” said he, “don’t you +think that there are some experiences great enough to break up and re-form +a man’s nature?”</p> +<p>“To break up,” I replied, “yes; but to re-form, +no. Passing through a great experience may shatter a man, or it +may strengthen a man, just as passing through a furnace may melt or +purify metal, but no furnace ever lit upon this earth can change a bar +of gold into a bar of lead, or a bar of lead into one of gold.”</p> +<p>I asked Jephson what he thought. He did not consider the bar +of gold simile a good one. He held that a man’s character +was not an immutable element. He likened it to a drug—poison +or elixir—compounded by each man for himself from the pharmacopoeia +of all things known to life and time, and saw no impossibility, though +some improbability, in the glass being flung aside and a fresh draught +prepared with pain and labour.</p> +<p>“Well,” I said, “let us put the case practically; +did you ever know a man’s character to change?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered, “I did know a man whose character +seemed to me to be completely changed by an experience that happened +to him. It may, as you say, only have been that he was shattered, +or that the lesson may have taught him to keep his natural disposition +ever under control. The result, in any case, was striking.”</p> +<p>We asked him to give us the history of the case, and he did so.</p> +<p>“He was a friend of some cousins of mine,” Jephson began, +“people I used to see a good deal of in my undergraduate days. +When I met him first he was a young fellow of twenty-six, strong mentally +and physically, and of a stern and stubborn nature that those who liked +him called masterful, and that those who disliked him—a more numerous +body—termed tyrannical. When I saw him three years later, +he was an old man of twenty-nine, gentle and yielding beyond the border-line +of weakness, mistrustful of himself and considerate of others to a degree +that was often unwise. Formerly, his anger had been a thing very +easily and frequently aroused. Since the change of which I speak, +I have never known the shade of anger to cross his face but once. +In the course of a walk, one day, we came upon a young rough terrifying +a small child by pretending to set a dog at her. He seized the +boy with a grip that almost choked him, and administered to him a punishment +that seemed to me altogether out of proportion to the crime, brutal +though it was.</p> +<p>“I remonstrated with him when he rejoined me.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ he replied apologetically; ‘I suppose +I’m a hard judge of some follies.’ And, knowing what +his haunted eyes were looking at, I said no more.</p> +<p>“He was junior partner in a large firm of tea brokers in the +City. There was not much for him to do in the London office, and +when, therefore, as the result of some mortgage transactions, a South +Indian tea plantation fell into the hands of the firm, it was suggested +that he should go out and take the management of it. The plan +suited him admirably. He was a man in every way qualified to lead +a rough life; to face a by no means contemptible amount of difficulty +and danger, to govern a small army of native workers more amenable to +fear than to affection. Such a life, demanding thought and action, +would afford his strong nature greater interest and enjoyment than he +could ever hope to obtain amid the cramped surroundings of civilisation.</p> +<p>“Only one thing could in reason have been urged against the +arrangement, that thing was his wife. She was a fragile, delicate +girl, whom he had married in obedience to that instinct of attraction +towards the opposite which Nature, for the purpose of maintaining her +average, has implanted in our breasts—a timid, meek-eyed creature, +one of those women to whom death is less terrible than danger, and fate +easier to face than fear. Such women have been known to run screaming +from a mouse and to meet martyrdom with heroism. They can no more +keep their nerves from trembling than an aspen tree can stay the quivering +of its leaves.</p> +<p>“That she was totally unfitted for, and would be made wretched +by the life to which his acceptance of the post would condemn her might +have readily occurred to him, had he stopped to consider for a moment +her feelings in the matter. But to view a question from any other +standpoint than his own was not his habit. That he loved her passionately, +in his way, as a thing belonging to himself, there can be no doubt, +but it was with the love that such men have for the dog they will thrash, +the horse they will spur to a broken back. To consult her on the +subject never entered his head. He informed her one day of his +decision and of the date of their sailing, and, handing her a handsome +cheque, told her to purchase all things necessary to her, and to let +him know if she needed more; and she, loving him with a dog-like devotion +that was not good for him, opened her big eyes a little wider, but said +nothing. She thought much about the coming change to herself, +however, and, when nobody was by, she would cry softly; then, hearing +his footsteps, would hastily wipe away the traces of her tears, and +go to meet him with a smile.</p> +<p>“Now, her timidity and nervousness, which at home had been +a butt for mere chaff, became, under the new circumstances of their +life, a serious annoyance to the man. A woman who seemed unable +to repress a scream whenever she turned and saw in the gloom a pair +of piercing eyes looking out at her from a dusky face, who was liable +to drop off her horse with fear at the sound of a wild beast’s +roar a mile off, and who would turn white and limp with horror at the +mere sight of a snake, was not a companionable person to live with in +the neighbourhood of Indian jungles.</p> +<p>“He himself was entirely without fear, and could not understand +it. To him it was pure affectation. He had a muddled idea, +common to men of his stamp, that women assume nervousness because they +think it pretty and becoming to them, and that if one could only convince +them of the folly of it they might be induced to lay it aside, in the +same way that they lay aside mincing steps and simpering voices. +A man who prided himself, as he did, upon his knowledge of horses, might, +one would think, have grasped a truer notion of the nature of nervousness, +which is a mere matter of temperament. But the man was a fool.</p> +<p>“The thing that vexed him most was her horror of snakes. +He was unblessed—or uncursed, whichever you may prefer—with +imagination of any kind. There was no special enmity between him +and the seed of the serpent. A creature that crawled upon its +belly was no more terrible to him than a creature that walked upon its +legs; indeed, less so, for he knew that, as a rule, there was less danger +to be apprehended from them. A reptile is only too eager at all +times to escape from man. Unless attacked or frightened, it will +make no onset. Most people are content to acquire their knowledge +of this fact from the natural history books. He had proved it +for himself. His servant, an old sergeant of dragoons, has told +me that he has seen him stop with his face six inches from the head +of a hooded cobra, and stand watching it through his eye-glass as it +crawled away from him, knowing that one touch of its fangs would mean +death from which there could be no possible escape. That any reasoning +being should be inspired with terror—sickening, deadly terror—by +such pitifully harmless things, seemed to him monstrous; and he determined +to try and cure her of her fear of them.</p> +<p>“He succeeded in doing this eventually somewhat more thoroughly +than he had anticipated, but it left a terror in his own eyes that has +not gone out of them to this day, and that never will.</p> +<p>“One evening, riding home through a part of the jungle not +far from his bungalow, he heard a soft, low hiss close to his ear, and, +looking up, saw a python swing itself from the branch of a tree and +make off through the long grass. He had been out antelope-shooting, +and his loaded rifle hung by his stirrup. Springing from the frightened +horse, he was just in time to get a shot at the creature before it disappeared. +He had hardly expected, under the circumstances, to even hit it. +By chance the bullet struck it at the junction of the vertebræ +with the head, and killed it instantly. It was a well-marked specimen, +and, except for the small wound the bullet had made, quite uninjured. +He picked it up, and hung it across the saddle, intending to take it +home and preserve it.</p> +<p>“Galloping along, glancing down every now and again at the +huge, hideous thing swaying and writhing in front of him almost as if +still alive, a brilliant idea occurred to him. He would use this +dead reptile to cure his wife of her fear of living ones. He would +fix matters so that she should see it, and think it was alive, and be +terrified by it; then he would show her that she had been frightened +by a mere dead thing, and she would feel ashamed of herself, and be +healed of her folly. It was the sort of idea that would occur +to a fool.</p> +<p>“When he reached home, he took the dead snake into his smoking-room; +then, locking the door, the idiot set out his prescription. He +arranged the monster in a very natural and life-like position. +It appeared to be crawling from the open window across the floor, and +any one coming into the room suddenly could hardly avoid treading on +it. It was very cleverly done.</p> +<p>“That finished, he picked out a book from the shelves, opened +it, and laid it face downward upon the couch. When he had completed +all things to his satisfaction he unlocked the door and came out, very +pleased with himself.</p> +<p>“After dinner he lit a cigar and sat smoking a while in silence.</p> +<p>“‘Are you feeling tired?’ he said to her at length, +with a smile.</p> +<p>“She laughed, and, calling him a lazy old thing, asked what +it was he wanted.</p> +<p>“‘Only my novel that I was reading. I left it in +my den. Do you mind? You will find it open on the couch.’</p> +<p>“She sprang up and ran lightly to the door.</p> +<p>“As she paused there for a moment to look back at him and ask +the name of the book, he thought how pretty and how sweet she was; and +for the first time a faint glimmer of the true nature of the thing he +was doing forced itself into his brain.</p> +<p>“‘Never mind,’ he said, half rising, ‘I’ll—’; +then, enamoured of the brilliancy of his plan, checked himself; and +she was gone.</p> +<p>“He heard her footsteps passing along the matted passage, and +smiled to himself. He thought the affair was going to be rather +amusing. One finds it difficult to pity him even now when one +thinks of it.</p> +<p>“The smoking-room door opened and closed, and he still sat +gazing dreamily at the ash of his cigar, and smiling.</p> +<p>“One moment, perhaps two passed, but the time seemed much longer. +The man blew the gray cloud from before his eyes and waited. Then +he heard what he had been expecting to hear—a piercing shriek. +Then another, which, expecting to hear the clanging of the distant door +and the scurrying back of her footsteps along the passage, puzzled him, +so that the smile died away from his lips.</p> +<p>“Then another, and another, and another, shriek after shriek.</p> +<p>“The native servant, gliding noiselessly about the room, laid +down the thing that was in his hand and moved instinctively towards +the door. The man started up and held him back.</p> +<p>“‘Keep where you are,’ he said hoarsely. +‘It is nothing. Your mistress is frightened, that is all. +She must learn to get over this folly.’ Then he listened +again, and the shrieks ended with what sounded curiously like a smothered +laugh; and there came a sudden silence.</p> +<p>“And out of that bottomless silence, Fear for the first time +in his life came to the man, and he and the dusky servant looked at +each other with eyes in which there was a strange likeness; and by a +common instinct moved together towards the place where the silence came +from.</p> +<p>“When the man opened the door he saw three things: one was +the dead python, lying where he had left it; the second was a live python, +its comrade apparently, slowly crawling round it; the third a crushed, +bloody heap in the middle of the floor.</p> +<p>“He himself remembered nothing more until, weeks afterwards, +he opened his eyes in a darkened, unfamiliar place, but the native servant, +before he fled screaming from the house, saw his master fling himself +upon the living serpent and grasp it with his hands, and when, later +on, others burst into the room and caught him staggering in their arms, +they found the second python with its head torn off.</p> +<p>“That is the incident that changed the character of my man—if +it be changed,” concluded Jephson. “He told it me +one night as we sat on the deck of the steamer, returning from Bombay. +He did not spare himself. He told me the story, much as I have +told it to you, but in an even, monotonous tone, free from emotion of +any kind. I asked him, when he had finished, how he could bear +to recall it.</p> +<p>“‘Recall it!’ he replied, with a slight accent +of surprise; ‘it is always with me.’”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>One day we spoke of crime and criminals. We had discussed the +possibility of a novel without a villain, but had decided that it would +be uninteresting.</p> +<p>“It is a terribly sad reflection,” remarked MacShaughnassy, +musingly; “but what a desperately dull place this earth would +be if it were not for our friends the bad people. Do you know,” +he continued, “when I hear of folks going about the world trying +to reform everybody and make them good, I get positively nervous. +Once do away with sin, and literature will become a thing of the past. +Without the criminal classes we authors would starve.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t worry,” replied Jephson, drily; “one +half mankind has been ‘reforming’ the other half pretty +steadily ever since the Creation, yet there appears to be a fairly appreciable +amount of human nature left in it, notwithstanding. Suppressing +sin is much the same sort of task that suppressing a volcano would be—plugging +one vent merely opens another. Evil will last our time.”</p> +<p>“I cannot take your optimistic view of the case,” answered +MacShaughnassy. “It seems to me that crime—at all +events, interesting crime—is being slowly driven out of our existence. +Pirates and highwaymen have been practically abolished. Dear old +‘Smuggler Bill’ has melted down his cutlass into a pint-can +with a false bottom. The pressgang that was always so ready to +rescue our hero from his approaching marriage has been disbanded. +There’s not a lugger fit for the purposes of abduction left upon +the coast. Men settle their ‘affairs of honour’ in +the law courts, and return home wounded only in the pocket. Assaults +on unprotected females are confined to the slums, where heroes do not +dwell, and are avenged by the nearest magistrate. Your modern +burglar is generally an out-of-work green-grocer. His ‘swag’ +usually consists of an overcoat and a pair of boots, in attempting to +make off with which he is captured by the servant-girl. Suicides +and murders are getting scarcer every season. At the present rate +of decrease, deaths by violence will be unheard of in another decade, +and a murder story will be laughed at as too improbable to be interesting. +A certain section of busybodies are even crying out for the enforcement +of the seventh commandment. If they succeed authors will have +to follow the advice generally given to them by the critics, and retire +from business altogether. I tell you our means of livelihood are +being filched from us one by one. Authors ought to form themselves +into a society for the support and encouragement of crime.”</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy’s leading intention in making these remarks +was to shock and grieve Brown, and in this object he succeeded. +Brown is—or was, in those days—an earnest young man with +an exalted—some were inclined to say an exaggerated—view +of the importance and dignity of the literary profession. Brown’s +notion of the scheme of Creation was that God made the universe so as +to give the literary man something to write about. I used at one +time to credit Brown with originality for this idea; but as I have grown +older I have learned that the theory is a very common and popular one +in cultured circles.</p> +<p>Brown expostulated with MacShaughnassy. “You speak,” +he said, “as though literature were the parasite of evil.”</p> +<p>“And what else is she?” replied the MacShaughnassy, with +enthusiasm. “What would become of literature without folly +and sin? What is the work of the literary man but raking a living +for himself out of the dust-heap of human woe? Imagine, if you +can, a perfect world—a world where men and women never said foolish +things and never did unwise ones; where small boys were never mischievous +and children never made awkward remarks; where dogs never fought and +cats never screeched; where wives never henpecked their husbands and +mothers-in-law never nagged; where men never went to bed in their boots +and sea-captains never swore; where plumbers understood their work and +old maids never dressed as girls; where niggers never stole chickens +and proud men were never sea-sick! where would be your humour and your +wit? Imagine a world where hearts were never bruised; where lips +were never pressed with pain; where eyes were never dim; where feet +were never weary; where stomachs were never empty! where would be your +pathos? Imagine a world where husbands never loved more wives +than one, and that the right one; where wives were never kissed but +by their husbands; where men’s hearts were never black and women’s +thoughts never impure; where there was no hating and no envying; no +desiring; no despairing! where would be your scenes of passion, your +interesting complications, your subtle psychological analyses? +My dear Brown, we writers—novelists, dramatists, poets—we +fatten on the misery of our fellow-creatures. God created man +and woman, and the woman created the literary man when she put her teeth +into the apple. We came into the world under the shadow of the +serpent. We are special correspondents with the Devil’s +army. We report his victories in our three-volume novels, his +occasional defeats in our five-act melodramas.”</p> +<p>“All of which is very true,” remarked Jephson; “but +you must remember it is not only the literary man who traffics in misfortune. +The doctor, the lawyer, the preacher, the newspaper proprietor, the +weather prophet, will hardly, I should say, welcome the millennium. +I shall never forget an anecdote my uncle used to relate, dealing with +the period when he was chaplain of the Lincolnshire county jail. +One morning there was to be a hanging; and the usual little crowd of +witnesses, consisting of the sheriff, the governor, three or four reporters, +a magistrate, and a couple of warders, was assembled in the prison. +The condemned man, a brutal ruffian who had been found guilty of murdering +a young girl under exceptionally revolting circumstances, was being +pinioned by the hangman and his assistant; and my uncle was employing +the last few moments at his disposal in trying to break down the sullen +indifference the fellow had throughout manifested towards both his crime +and his fate.</p> +<p>“My uncle failing to make any impression upon him, the governor +ventured to add a few words of exhortation, upon which the man turned +fiercely on the whole of them.</p> +<p>“‘Go to hell,’ he cried, ‘with your snivelling +jaw. Who are you, to preach at me? <i>You’re</i> glad +enough I’m here—all of you. Why, I’m the only +one of you as ain’t going to make a bit over this job. Where +would you all be, I should like to know, you canting swine, if it wasn’t +for me and my sort? Why, it’s the likes of me as <i>keeps</i> +the likes of you,’ with which he walked straight to the gallows +and told the hangman to ‘hurry up’ and not keep the gentlemen +waiting.”</p> +<p>“There was some ‘grit’ in that man,” said +MacShaughnassy.</p> +<p>“Yes,” added Jephson, “and wholesome wit also.”</p> +<p>MacShaughnassy puffed a mouthful of smoke over a spider which was +just about to kill a fly. This caused the spider to fall into +the river, from where a supper-hunting swallow quickly rescued him.</p> +<p>“You remind me,” he said, “of a scene I once witnessed +in the office of <i>The Daily</i>—well, in the office of a certain +daily newspaper. It was the dead season, and things were somewhat +slow. An endeavour had been made to launch a discussion on the +question ‘Are Babies a Blessing?’ The youngest reporter +on the staff, writing over the simple but touching signature of ‘Mother +of Six,’ had led off with a scathing, though somewhat irrelevant, +attack upon husbands, as a class; the Sporting Editor, signing himself +‘Working Man,’ and garnishing his contribution with painfully +elaborated orthographical lapses, arranged to give an air of verisimilitude +to the correspondence, while, at the same time, not to offend the susceptibilities +of the democracy (from whom the paper derived its chief support), had +replied, vindicating the British father, and giving what purported to +be stirring midnight experiences of his own. The Gallery Man, +calling himself, with a burst of imagination, ‘Gentleman and Christian,’ +wrote indignantly that he considered the agitation of the subject to +be both impious and indelicate, and added he was surprised that a paper +holding the exalted, and deservedly popular, position of <i>The</i> +--- should have opened its columns to the brainless vapourings of ‘Mother +of Six’ and ‘Working Man.’</p> +<p>“The topic had, however, fallen flat. With the exception +of one man who had invented a new feeding-bottle, and thought he was +going to advertise it for nothing, the outside public did not respond, +and over the editorial department gloom had settled down.</p> +<p>“One evening, as two or three of us were mooning about the +stairs, praying secretly for a war or a famine, Todhunter, the town +reporter, rushed past us with a cheer, and burst into the Sub-editor’s +room. We followed. He was waving his notebook above his +head, and clamouring, after the manner of people in French exercises, +for pens, ink, and paper.</p> +<p>“‘What’s up?’ cried the Sub-editor, catching +his enthusiasm; ‘influenza again?’</p> +<p>“‘Better than that!’ shouted Todhunter. ‘Excursion +steamer run down, a hundred and twenty-five lives lost—four good +columns of heartrending scenes.’</p> +<p>“‘By Jove!’ said the Sub, ‘couldn’t +have happened at a better time either’—and then he sat down +and dashed off a leaderette, in which he dwelt upon the pain and regret +the paper felt at having to announce the disaster, and drew attention +to the exceptionally harrowing account provided by the energy and talent +of ‘our special reporter.’”</p> +<p>“It is the law of nature,” said Jephson: “we are +not the first party of young philosophers who have been struck with +the fact that one man’s misfortune is another man’s opportunity.”</p> +<p>“Occasionally, another woman’s,” I observed.</p> +<p>I was thinking of an incident told me by a nurse. If a nurse +in fair practice does not know more about human nature—does not +see clearer into the souls of men and women than all the novelists in +little Bookland put together—it must be because she is physically +blind and deaf. All the world’s a stage, and all the men +and women merely players; so long as we are in good health, we play +our parts out bravely to the end, acting them, on the whole, artistically +and with strenuousness, even to the extent of sometimes fancying ourselves +the people we are pretending to be. But with sickness comes forgetfulness +of our part, and carelessness of the impression we are making upon the +audience. We are too weak to put the paint and powder on our faces, +the stage finery lies unheeded by our side. The heroic gestures, +the virtuous sentiments are a weariness to us. In the quiet, darkened +room, where the foot-lights of the great stage no longer glare upon +us, where our ears are no longer strained to catch the clapping or the +hissing of the town, we are, for a brief space, ourselves.</p> +<p>This nurse was a quiet, demure little woman, with a pair of dreamy, +soft gray eyes that had a curious power of absorbing everything that +passed before them without seeming to look at anything. Gazing +upon much life, laid bare, had given to them a slightly cynical expression, +but there was a background of kindliness behind.</p> +<p>During the evenings of my convalescence she would talk to me of her +nursing experiences. I have sometimes thought I would put down +in writing the stories that she told me, but they would be sad reading. +The majority of them, I fear, would show only the tangled, seamy side +of human nature, and God knows there is little need for us to point +that out to each other, though so many nowadays seem to think it the +only work worth doing. A few of them were sweet, but I think they +were the saddest; and over one or two a man might laugh, but it would +not be a pleasant laugh.</p> +<p>“I never enter the door of a house to which I have been summoned,” +she said to me one evening, “without wondering, as I step over +the threshold, what the story is going to be. I always feel inside +a sick-room as if I were behind the scenes of life. The people +come and go about you, and you listen to them talking and laughing, +and you look into your patient’s eyes, and you just know that +it’s all a play.”</p> +<p>The incident that Jephson’s remark had reminded me of, she +told me one afternoon, as I sat propped up by the fire, trying to drink +a glass of port wine, and feeling somewhat depressed at discovering +I did not like it.</p> +<p>“One of my first cases,” she said, “was a surgical +operation. I was very young at the time, and I made rather an +awkward mistake—I don’t mean a professional mistake—but +a mistake nevertheless that I ought to have had more sense than to make.</p> +<p>“My patient was a good-looking, pleasant-spoken gentleman. +The wife was a pretty, dark little woman, but I never liked her from +the first; she was one of those perfectly proper, frigid women, who +always give me the idea that they were born in a church, and have never +got over the chill. However, she seemed very fond of him, and +he of her; and they talked very prettily to each other—too prettily +for it to be quite genuine, I should have said, if I’d known as +much of the world then as I do now.</p> +<p>“The operation was a difficult and dangerous one. When +I came on duty in the evening I found him, as I expected, highly delirious. +I kept him as quiet as I could, but towards nine o’clock, as the +delirium only increased, I began to get anxious. I bent down close +to him and listened to his ravings. Over and over again I heard +the name ‘Louise.’ Why wouldn’t ‘Louise’ +come to him? It was so unkind of her—they had dug a great +pit, and were pushing him down into it—oh! why didn’t she +come and save him? He should be saved if she would only come and +take his hand.</p> +<p>“His cries became so pitiful that I could bear them no longer. +His wife had gone to attend a prayer-meeting, but the church was only +in the next street. Fortunately, the day-nurse had not left the +house: I called her in to watch him for a minute, and, slipping on my +bonnet, ran across. I told my errand to one of the vergers and +he took me to her. She was kneeling, but I could not wait. +I pushed open the pew door, and, bending down, whispered to her, ‘Please +come over at once; your husband is more delirious than I quite care +about, and you may be able to calm him.’</p> +<p>“She whispered back, without raising her head, ‘I’ll +be over in a little while. The meeting won’t last much longer.’</p> +<p>“Her answer surprised and nettled me. ‘You’ll +be acting more like a Christian woman by coming home with me,’ +I said sharply, ‘than by stopping here. He keeps calling +for you, and I can’t get him to sleep.’</p> +<p>“She raised her head from her hands: ‘Calling for me?’ +she asked, with a slightly incredulous accent.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘it has been his one cry +for the last hour: Where’s Louise, why doesn’t Louise come +to him.’</p> +<p>“Her face was in shadow, but as she turned it away, and the +faint light from one of the turned-down gas-jets fell across it, I fancied +I saw a smile upon it, and I disliked her more than ever.</p> +<p>“‘I’ll come back with you,’ she said, rising +and putting her books away, and we left the church together.</p> +<p>“She asked me many questions on the way: Did patients, when +they were delirious, know the people about them? Did they remember +actual facts, or was their talk mere incoherent rambling? Could +one guide their thoughts in any way?</p> +<p>“The moment we were inside the door, she flung off her bonnet +and cloak, and came upstairs quickly and softly.</p> +<p>“She walked to the bedside, and stood looking down at him, +but he was quite unconscious of her presence, and continued muttering. +I suggested that she should speak to him, but she said she was sure +it would be useless, and drawing a chair back into the shadow, sat down +beside him.</p> +<p>“Seeing she was no good to him, I tried to persuade her to +go to bed, but she said she would rather stop, and I, being little more +than a girl then, and without much authority, let her. All night +long he tossed and raved, the one name on his lips being ever Louise—Louise—and +all night long that woman sat there in the shadow, never moving, never +speaking, with a set smile on her lips that made me long to take her +by the shoulders and shake her.</p> +<p>“At one time he imagined himself back in his courting days, +and pleaded, ‘Say you love me, Louise. I know you do. +I can read it in your eyes. What’s the use of our pretending? +We <i>know</i> each other. Put your white arms about me. +Let me feel your breath upon my neck. Ah! I knew it, my +darling, my love!’</p> +<p>“The whole house was deadly still, and I could hear every word +of his troubled ravings. I almost felt as if I had no right to +be there, listening to them, but my duty held me. Later on, he +fancied himself planning a holiday with her, so I concluded. ‘I +shall start on Monday evening,’ he was saying, and you can join +me in Dublin at Jackson’s Hotel on the Wednesday, and we’ll +go straight on.’</p> +<p>“His voice grew a little faint, and his wife moved forward +on her chair, and bent her head closer to his lips.</p> +<p>“‘No, no,’ he continued, after a pause, ‘there’s +no danger whatever. It’s a lonely little place, right in +the heart of the Galway Mountains—O’Mullen’s Half-way +House they call it—five miles from Ballynahinch. We shan’t +meet a soul there. We’ll have three weeks of heaven all +to ourselves, my goddess, my Mrs. Maddox from Boston—don’t +forget the name.’</p> +<p>“He laughed in his delirium; and the woman, sitting by his +side, laughed also; and then the truth flashed across me.</p> +<p>“I ran up to her and caught her by the arm. ‘Your +name’s not Louise,’ I said, looking straight at her. +It was an impertinent interference, but I felt excited, and acted on +impulse.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ she replied, very quietly; ‘but it’s +the name of a very dear school friend of mine. I’ve got +the clue to-night that I’ve been waiting two years to get. +Good-night, nurse, thanks for fetching me.’</p> +<p>“She rose and went out, and I listened to her footsteps going +down the stairs, and then drew up the blind and let in the dawn.</p> +<p>“I’ve never told that incident to any one until this +evening,” my nurse concluded, as she took the empty port wine +glass out of my hand, and stirred the fire. “A nurse wouldn’t +get many engagements if she had the reputation for making blunders of +that sort.”</p> +<p>Another story that she told me showed married life more lovelit, +but then, as she added, with that cynical twinkle which glinted so oddly +from her gentle, demure eyes, this couple had only very recently been +wed—had, in fact, only just returned from their honeymoon.</p> +<p>They had been travelling on the Continent, and there had both contracted +typhoid fever, which showed itself immediately on their home-coming.</p> +<p>“I was called in to them on the very day of their arrival,” +she said; “the husband was the first to take to his bed, and the +wife followed suit twelve hours afterwards. We placed them in +adjoining rooms, and, as often as was possible, we left the door ajar +so that they could call out to one another.</p> +<p>“Poor things! They were little else than boy and girl, +and they worried more about each other than they thought about themselves. +The wife’s only trouble was that she wouldn’t be able to +do anything for ‘poor Jack.’ ‘Oh, nurse, you +will be good to him, won’t you?’ she would cry, with her +big childish eyes full of tears; and the moment I went in to him it +would be: ‘Oh, don’t trouble about me, nurse, I’m +all right. Just look after the wifie, will you?’</p> +<p>“I had a hard time between the two of them, for, with the help +of her sister, I was nursing them both. It was an unprofessional +thing to do, but I could see they were not well off, and I assured the +doctor that I could manage. To me it was worth while going through +the double work just to breathe the atmosphere of unselfishness that +sweetened those two sick-rooms. The average invalid is not the +patient sufferer people imagine. It is a fretful, querulous, self-pitying +little world that we live in as a rule, and that we grow hard in. +It gave me a new heart, nursing these young people.</p> +<p>“The man pulled through, and began steadily to recover, but +the wife was a wee slip of a girl, and her strength—what there +was of it—ebbed day by day. As he got stronger he would +call out more and more cheerfully to her through the open door, and +ask her how she was getting on, and she would struggle to call back +laughing answers. It had been a mistake to put them next to each +other, and I blamed myself for having done so, but it was too late to +change then. All we could do was to beg her not to exhaust herself, +and to let us, when he called out, tell him she was asleep. But +the thought of not answering him or calling to him made her so wretched +that it seemed safer to let her have her way.</p> +<p>“Her one anxiety was that he should not know how weak she was. +‘It will worry him so,’ she would say; ‘he is such +an old fidget over me. And I <i>am</i> getting stronger, slowly; +ain’t I, nurse?’</p> +<p>“One morning he called out to her, as usual, asking her how +she was, and she answered, though she had to wait for a few seconds +to gather strength to do so. He seemed to detect the effort, for +he called back anxiously, ‘Are you <i>sure</i> you’re all +right, dear?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘getting on famously. +Why?’</p> +<p>“‘I thought your voice sounded a little weak, dear,’ +he answered; ‘don’t call out if it tries you.’</p> +<p>“Then for the first time she began to worry about herself—not +for her own sake, but because of him.</p> +<p>“‘Do you think I <i>am</i> getting weaker, nurse?’ +she asked me, fixing her great eyes on me with a frightened look.</p> +<p>“‘You’re making yourself weak by calling out,’ +I answered, a little sharply. ‘I shall have to keep that +door shut.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, don’t tell him’—that was all +her thought—‘don’t let him know it. Tell him +I’m strong, won’t you, nurse? It will kill him if +he thinks I’m not getting well.’</p> +<p>“I was glad when her sister came up, and I could get out of +the room, for you’re not much good at nursing when you feel, as +I felt then, as though you had swallowed a tablespoon and it was sticking +in your throat.</p> +<p>“Later on, when I went in to him, he drew me to the bedside, +and whispered me to tell him truly how she was. If you are telling +a lie at all, you may just as well make it a good one, so I told him +she was really wonderfully well, only a little exhausted after the illness, +as was natural, and that I expected to have her up before him.</p> +<p>“Poor lad! that lie did him more good than a week’s doctoring +and nursing; and next morning he called out more cheerily than ever +to her, and offered to bet her a new bonnet against a new hat that he +would race her, and be up first.</p> +<p>“She laughed back quite merrily (I was in his room at the time). +‘All right,’ she said, ‘you’ll lose. I +shall be well first, and I shall come and visit you.’</p> +<p>“Her laugh was so bright, and her voice sounded so much stronger, +that I really began to think she had taken a turn for the better, so +that when on going in to her I found her pillow wet with tears, I could +not understand it.</p> +<p>“‘Why, we were so cheerful just a minute ago,’ +I said; ‘what’s the matter?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, poor Jack!’ she moaned, as her little, wasted +fingers opened and closed upon the counterpane. ‘Poor Jack, +it will break his heart.’</p> +<p>“It was no good my saying anything. There comes a moment +when something tells your patient all that is to be known about the +case, and the doctor and the nurse can keep their hopeful assurances +for where they will be of more use. The only thing that would +have brought comfort to her then would have been to convince her that +he would soon forget her and be happy without her. I thought it +at the time, and I tried to say something of the kind to her, but I +couldn’t get it out, and she wouldn’t have believed me if +I had.</p> +<p>“So all I could do was to go back to the other room, and tell +him that I wanted her to go to sleep, and that he must not call out +to her until I told him.</p> +<p>“She lay very still all day. The doctor came at his usual +hour and looked at her. He patted her hand, and just glanced at +the untouched food beside her.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ he said, quietly. ‘I shouldn’t +worry her, nurse.’ And I understood.</p> +<p>“Towards evening she opened her eyes, and beckoned to her sister, +who was standing by the bedside, to bend down.</p> +<p>“‘Jeanie,’ she whispered, ‘do you think it +wrong to deceive any one when it’s for their own good?’</p> +<p>“‘I don’t know,’ said the girl, in a dry +voice; ‘I shouldn’t think so. Why do you ask?’</p> +<p>“‘Jeanie, your voice was always very much like mine—do +you remember, they used to mistake us at home. Jeanie, call out +for me—just till—till he’s a bit better; promise me.’</p> +<p>“They had loved each other, those two, more than is common +among sisters. Jeanie could not answer, but she pressed her sister +closer in her arms, and the other was satisfied.</p> +<p>“Then, drawing all her little stock of life together for one +final effort, the child raised herself in her sister’s arms.</p> +<p>“‘Good-night, Jack,’ she called out, loud and clear +enough to be heard through the closed door.</p> +<p>“‘Good-night, little wife,’ he cried back, cheerily; +‘are you all right?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, dear. Good-night.’</p> +<p>“Her little, worn-out frame dropped back upon the bed, and +the next thing I remember is snatching up a pillow, and holding it tight-pressed +against Jeanie’s face for fear the sound of her sobs should penetrate +into the next room; and afterwards we both got out, somehow, by the +other door, and rushed downstairs, and clung to each other in the back +kitchen.</p> +<p>“How we two women managed to keep up the deceit, as, for three +whole days, we did, I shall never myself know. Jeanie sat in the +room where her dead sister, from its head to its sticking-up feet, lay +outlined under the white sheet; and I stayed beside the living man, +and told lies and acted lies, till I took a joy in them, and had to +guard against the danger of over-elaborating them.</p> +<p>“He wondered at what he thought my ‘new merry mood,’ +and I told him it was because of my delight that his wife was out of +danger; and then I went on for the pure devilment of the thing, and +told him that a week ago, when we had let him think his wife was growing +stronger, we had been deceiving him; that, as a matter of fact, she +was at that time in great peril, and I had been in hourly alarm concerning +her, but that now the strain was over, and she was safe; and I dropped +down by the foot of the bed, and burst into a fit of laughter, and had +to clutch hold of the bedstead to keep myself from rolling on the floor.</p> +<p>“He had started up in bed with a wild white face when Jeanie +had first answered him from the other room, though the sisters’ +voices had been so uncannily alike that I had never been able to distinguish +one from the other at any time. I told him the slight change was +the result of the fever, that his own voice also was changed a little, +and that such was always the case with a person recovering from a long +illness. To guide his thoughts away from the real clue, I told +him Jeanie had broken down with the long work, and that, the need for +her being past, I had packed her off into the country for a short rest. +That afternoon we concocted a letter to him, and I watched Jeanie’s +eyes with a towel in my hand while she wrote it, so that no tears should +fall on it, and that night she travelled twenty miles down the Great +Western line to post it, returning by the next up-train.</p> +<p>“No suspicion of the truth ever occurred to him, and the doctor +helped us out with our deception; yet his pulse, which day by day had +been getting stronger, now beat feebler every hour. In that part +of the country where I was born and grew up, the folks say that wherever +the dead lie, there round about them, whether the time be summer or +winter, the air grows cold and colder, and that no fire, though you +pile the logs half-way up the chimney, will ever make it warm. +A few months’ hospital training generally cures one of all fanciful +notions about death, but this idea I have never been able to get rid +of. My thermometer may show me sixty, and I may try to believe +that the temperature <i>is</i> sixty, but if the dead are beside me +I feel cold to the marrow of my bones. I could <i>see</i> the +chill from the dead room crawling underneath the door, and creeping +up about his bed, and reaching out its hand to touch his heart.</p> +<p>“Jeanie and I redoubled our efforts, for it seemed to us as +if Death were waiting just outside in the passage, watching with his +eye at the keyhole for either of us to make a blunder and let the truth +slip out. I hardly ever left his side except now and again to +go into that next room, and poke an imaginary fire, and say a few chaffing +words to an imaginary living woman on the bed where the dead one lay; +and Jeanie sat close to the corpse, and called out saucy messages to +him, or reassuring answers to his anxious questions.</p> +<p>“At times, knowing that if we stopped another moment in these +rooms we should scream, we would steal softly out and rush downstairs, +and, shutting ourselves out of hearing in a cellar underneath the yard, +laugh till we reeled against the dirty walls. I think we were +both getting a little mad.</p> +<p>“One day—it was the third of that nightmare life, so +I learned afterwards, though for all I could have told then it might +have been the three hundredth, for Time seemed to have fled from that +house as from a dream, so that all things were tangled—I made +a slip that came near to ending the matter, then and there.</p> +<p>“I had gone into that other room. Jeanie had left her +post for a moment, and the place was empty.</p> +<p>“I did not think what I was doing. I had not closed my +eyes that I can remember since the wife had died, and my brain and my +senses were losing their hold of one another. I went through my +usual performance of talking loudly to the thing underneath the white +sheet, and noisily patting the pillows and rattling the bottles on the +table.</p> +<p>“On my return, he asked me how she was, and I answered, half +in a dream, ‘Oh, bonny, she’s trying to read a little,’ +and he raised himself on his elbow and called out to her, and for answer +there came back silence—not the silence that <i>is</i> silence, +but the silence that is as a voice. I do not know if you understand +what I mean by that. If you had lived among the dead as long as +I have, you would know.</p> +<p>“I darted to the door and pretended to look in. ‘She’s +fallen asleep,’ I whispered, closing it; and he said nothing, +but his eyes looked queerly at me.</p> +<p>“That night, Jeanie and I stood in the hall talking. +He had fallen to sleep early, and I had locked the door between the +two rooms, and put the key in my pocket, and had stolen down to tell +her what had happened, and to consult with her.</p> +<p>“‘What can we do! God help us, what can we do!’ +was all that Jeanie could say. We had thought that in a day or +two he would be stronger, and that the truth might be broken to him. +But instead of that he had grown so weak, that to excite his suspicions +now by moving him or her would be to kill him.</p> +<p>“We stood looking blankly in each other’s faces, wondering +how the problem could be solved; and while we did so the problem solved +itself.</p> +<p>“The one woman-servant had gone out, and the house was very +silent—so silent that I could hear the ticking of Jeanie’s +watch inside her dress. Suddenly, into the stillness there came +a sound. It was not a cry. It came from no human voice. +I have heard the voice of human pain till I know its every note, and +have grown careless to it; but I have prayed God on my knees that I +may never hear that sound again, for it was the sob of a soul.</p> +<p>“It wailed through the quiet house and passed away, and neither +of us stirred.</p> +<p>“At length, with the return of the blood to our veins, we went +upstairs together. He had crept from his own room along the passage +into hers. He had not had strength enough to pull the sheet off, +though he had tried. He lay across the bed with one hand grasping +hers.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>My nurse sat for a while without speaking, a somewhat unusual thing +for her to do.</p> +<p>“You ought to write your experiences,” I said.</p> +<p>“Ah!” she said, giving the fire a contemplative poke, +“if you’d seen as much sorrow in the world as I have, you +wouldn’t want to write a sad book.”</p> +<p>“I think,” she added, after a long pause, with the poker +still in her hand, “it can only be the people who have never <i>known</i> +suffering who can care to read of it. If I could write a book, +I should write a merry book—a book that would make people laugh.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>The discussion arose in this way. I had proposed a match between +our villain and the daughter of the local chemist, a singularly noble +and pure-minded girl, the humble but worthy friend of the heroine.</p> +<p>Brown had refused his consent on the ground of improbability. +“What in thunder would induce him to marry <i>her</i>?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“Love!” I replied; “love, that burns as brightly +in the meanest villain’s breast as in the proud heart of the good +young man.”</p> +<p>“Are you trying to be light and amusing,” returned Brown, +severely, “or are you supposed to be discussing the matter seriously? +What attraction could such a girl have for such a man as Reuben Neil?”</p> +<p>“Every attraction,” I retorted. “She is the +exact moral contrast to himself. She is beautiful (if she’s +not beautiful enough, we can touch her up a bit), and, when the father +dies, there will be the shop.”</p> +<p>“Besides,” I added, “it will make the thing seem +more natural if everybody wonders what on earth could have been the +reason for their marrying each other.”</p> +<p>Brown wasted no further words on me, but turned to MacShaughnassy.</p> +<p>“Can <i>you</i> imagine our friend Reuben seized with a burning +desire to marry Mary Holme?” he asked, with a smile.</p> +<p>“Of course I can,” said MacShaughnassy; “I can +imagine anything, and believe anything of anybody. It is only +in novels that people act reasonably and in accordance with what might +be expected of them. I knew an old sea-captain who used to read +the <i>Young Ladies’ Journal</i> in bed, and cry over it. +I knew a bookmaker who always carried Browning’s poems about with +him in his pocket to study in the train. I have known a Harley +Street doctor to develop at forty-eight a sudden and overmastering passion +for switchbacks, and to spend every hour he could spare from his practice +at one or other of the exhibitions, having three-pen’orths one +after the other. I have known a book-reviewer give oranges (not +poisoned ones) to children. A man is not a character, he is a +dozen characters, one of them prominent, the other eleven more or less +undeveloped. I knew a man once, two of whose characters were of +equal value, and the consequences were peculiar.”</p> +<p>We begged him to relate the case to us, and he did so.</p> +<p>“He was a Balliol man,” said MacShaughnassy, “and +his Christian name was Joseph. He was a member of the ‘Devonshire’ +at the time I knew him, and was, I think, the most superior person I +have ever met. He sneered at the <i>Saturday Review</i> as the +pet journal of the suburban literary club; and at the <i>Athenæum</i> +as the trade organ of the unsuccessful writer. Thackeray, he considered, +was fairly entitled to his position of favourite author to the cultured +clerk; and Carlyle he regarded as the exponent of the earnest artisan. +Living authors he never read, but this did not prevent his criticising +them contemptuously. The only inhabitants of the nineteenth century +that he ever praised were a few obscure French novelists, of whom nobody +but himself had ever heard. He had his own opinion about God Almighty, +and objected to Heaven on account of the strong Clapham contingent likely +to be found in residence there. Humour made him sad, and sentiment +made him ill. Art irritated him and science bored him. He +despised his own family and disliked everybody else. For exercise +he yawned, and his conversation was mainly confined to an occasional +shrug.</p> +<p>“Nobody liked him, but everybody respected him. One felt +grateful to him for his condescension in living at all.</p> +<p>“One summer, I was fishing over the Norfolk Broads, and on +the Bank Holiday, thinking I would like to see the London ’Arry +in his glory, I ran over to Yarmouth. Walking along the sea-front +in the evening, I suddenly found myself confronted by four remarkably +choice specimens of the class. They were urging on their wild +and erratic career arm-in-arm. The one nearest the road was playing +an unusually wheezy concertina, and the other three were bawling out +the chorus of a music-hall song, the heroine of which appeared to be +‘Hemmer.’</p> +<p>“They spread themselves right across the pavement, compelling +all the women and children they met to step into the roadway. +I stood my ground on the kerb, and as they brushed by me something in +the face of the one with the concertina struck me as familiar.</p> +<p>“I turned and followed them. They were evidently enjoying +themselves immensely. To every girl they passed they yelled out, +‘Oh, you little jam tart!’ and every old lady they addressed +as ‘Mar.’ The noisiest and the most vulgar of the +four was the one with the concertina.</p> +<p>“I followed them on to the pier, and then, hurrying past, waited +for them under a gas-lamp. When the man with the concertina came +into the light and I saw him clearly I started. From the face +I could have sworn it was Joseph; but everything else about him rendered +such an assumption impossible. Putting aside the time and the +place, and forgetting his behaviour, his companions, and his instrument, +what remained was sufficient to make the suggestion absurd. Joseph +was always clean shaven; this youth had a smudgy moustache and a pair +of incipient red whiskers. He was dressed in the loudest check +suit I have ever seen, off the stage. He wore patent-leather boots +with mother-of-pearl buttons, and a necktie that in an earlier age would +have called down lightning out of Heaven. He had a low-crowned +billycock hat on his head, and a big evil-smelling cigar between his +lips.</p> +<p>“Argue as I would, however, the face was the face of Joseph; +and, moved by a curiosity I could not control, I kept near him, watching +him.</p> +<p>“Once, for a little while, I missed him; but there was not +much fear of losing that suit for long, and after a little looking about +I struck it again. He was sitting at the end of the pier, where +it was less crowded, with his arm round a girl’s waist. +I crept close. She was a jolly, red-faced girl, good-looking enough, +but common to the last degree. Her hat lay on the seat beside +her, and her head was resting on his shoulder. She appeared to +be fond of him, but he was evidently bored.</p> +<p>“‘Don’tcher like me, Joe?’ I heard her murmur.</p> +<p>“‘Yas,’ he replied, somewhat unconvincingly, ‘o’ +course I likes yer.’</p> +<p>“She gave him an affectionate slap, but he did not respond, +and a few minutes afterwards, muttering some excuse, he rose and left +her, and I followed him as he made his way towards the refreshment-room. +At the door he met one of his pals.</p> +<p>“‘Hullo!’ was the question, ‘wot ’a +yer done wi’ ’Liza?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, I carn’t stand ’er,’ was his +reply; ‘she gives me the bloomin’ ’ump. You +’ave a turn with ’er.’</p> +<p>“His friend disappeared in the direction of ’Liza, and +Joe pushed into the room, I keeping close behind him. Now that +he was alone I was determined to speak to him. The longer I had +studied his features the more resemblance I had found in them to those +of my superior friend Joseph.</p> +<p>“He was leaning across the bar, clamouring for two of gin, +when I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head, and the +moment he saw me, his face went livid.</p> +<p>“‘Mr. Joseph Smythe, I believe,’ I said with a +smile.</p> +<p>“‘Who’s Mr. Joseph Smythe?’ he answered hoarsely; +‘my name’s Smith, I ain’t no bloomin’ Smythe. +Who are you? I don’t know yer.’</p> +<p>“As he spoke, my eyes rested upon a curious gold ring of Indian +workmanship which he wore upon his left hand. There was no mistaking +the ring, at all events: it had been passed round the club on more than +one occasion as a unique curiosity. His eyes followed my gaze. +He burst into tears, and pushing me before him into a quiet corner of +the saloon, sat down facing me.</p> +<p>“‘Don’t give me away, old man,’ he whimpered; +‘for Gawd’s sake, don’t let on to any of the chaps +’ere that I’m a member of that blessed old waxwork show +in Saint James’s: they’d never speak to me agen. And +keep yer mug shut about Oxford, there’s a good sort. I wouldn’t +’ave ’em know as ’ow I was one o’ them college +blokes for anythink.’</p> +<p>“I sat aghast. I had listened to hear him entreat me +to keep ‘Smith,’ the rorty ’Arry, a secret from the +acquaintances of ‘Smythe,’ the superior person. Here +was ‘Smith’ in mortal terror lest his pals should hear of +his identity with the aristocratic ‘Smythe,’ and discard +him. His attitude puzzled me at the time, but, when I came to +reflect, my wonder was at myself for having expected the opposite.</p> +<p>“‘I carn’t ’elp it,’ he went on; ‘I +’ave to live two lives. ’Arf my time I’m a stuck-up +prig, as orter be jolly well kicked—’</p> +<p>“‘At which times,’ I interrupted, ‘I have +heard you express some extremely uncomplimentary opinions concerning +’Arries.’</p> +<p>“‘I know,’ he replied, in a voice betraying strong +emotion; ‘that’s where it’s so precious rough on me. +When I’m a toff I despises myself, ’cos I knows that underneath +my sneering phiz I’m a bloomin’ ’Arry. When +I’m an ’Arry, I ’ates myself ’cos I knows I’m +a toff.’</p> +<p>“‘Can’t you decide which character you prefer, +and stick to it?’ I asked.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ he answered, ‘I carn’t. +It’s a rum thing, but whichever I am, sure as fate, ’bout +the end of a month I begin to get sick o’ myself.’</p> +<p>“‘I can quite understand it,’ I murmured; ‘I +should give way myself in a fortnight.’</p> +<p>“‘I’ve been myself, now,’ he continued, without +noticing my remark, ‘for somethin’ like ten days. +One mornin’, in ’bout three weeks’ time, I shall get +up in my diggins in the Mile End Road, and I shall look round the room, +and at these clothes ’angin’ over the bed, and at this yer +concertina’ (he gave it an affectionate squeeze), ‘and I +shall feel myself gettin’ scarlet all over. Then I shall +jump out o’ bed, and look at myself in the glass. “You +howling little cad,” I shall say to myself, “I have half +a mind to strangle you”; and I shall shave myself, and put on +a quiet blue serge suit and a bowler ’at, tell my landlady to +keep my rooms for me till I comes back, slip out o’ the ’ouse, +and into the fust ’ansom I meets, and back to the Halbany. +And a month arter that, I shall come into my chambers at the Halbany, +fling Voltaire and Parini into the fire, shy me ’at at the bust +of good old ’Omer, slip on my blue suit agen, and back to the +Mile End Road.’</p> +<p>“‘How do you explain your absence to both parties?’ +I asked.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, that’s simple enough,’ he replied. +‘I just tells my ’ousekeeper at the Halbany as I’m +goin’ on the Continong; and my mates ’ere thinks I’m +a traveller.’</p> +<p>“‘Nobody misses me much,’ he added, pathetically; +‘I hain’t a partic’larly fetchin’ sort o’ +bloke, either of me. I’m sich an out-and-outer. When +I’m an ’Arry, I’m too much of an ’Arry, and +when I’m a prig, I’m a reg’lar fust prize prig. +Seems to me as if I was two ends of a man without any middle. +If I could only mix myself up a bit more, I’d be all right.’</p> +<p>“He sniffed once or twice, and then he laughed. ‘Ah, +well,’ he said, casting aside his momentary gloom; ‘it’s +all a game, and wot’s the odds so long as yer ’appy. +’Ave a wet?’</p> +<p>“I declined the wet, and left him playing sentimental airs +to himself upon the concertina.</p> +<p>“One afternoon, about a month later, the servant came to me +with a card on which was engraved the name of ‘Mr. Joseph Smythe.’ +I requested her to show him up. He entered with his usual air +of languid superciliousness, and seated himself in a graceful attitude +upon the sofa.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ I said, as soon as the girl had closed +the door behind her, ‘so you’ve got rid of Smith?’</p> +<p>“A sickly smile passed over his face. ‘You have +not mentioned it to any one?’ he asked anxiously.</p> +<p>“‘Not to a soul,’ I replied; ‘though I confess +I often feel tempted to.’</p> +<p>“‘I sincerely trust you never will,’ he said, in +a tone of alarm. ‘You can have no conception of the misery +the whole thing causes me. I cannot understand it. What +possible affinity there can be between myself and that disgusting little +snob passes my comprehension. I assure you, my dear Mac, the knowledge +that I was a ghoul, or a vampire, would cause me less nausea than the +reflection that I am one and the same with that odious little Whitechapel +bounder. When I think of him every nerve in my body—’</p> +<p>“‘Don’t think about him any more,’ I interrupted, +perceiving his strongly-suppressed emotion. ‘You didn’t +come here to talk about him, I’m sure. Let us dismiss him.’</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ he replied, ‘in a certain roundabout +way it is slightly connected with him. That is really my excuse +for inflicting the subject upon you. You are the only man I <i>can</i> +speak to about it—if I shall not bore you?’</p> +<p>“‘Not in the least,’ I said. ‘I am +most interested.’ As he still hesitated, I asked him point-blank +what it was.</p> +<p>“He appeared embarrassed. ‘It is really very absurd +of me,’ he said, while the faintest suspicion of pink crossed +his usually colourless face; ‘but I feel I must talk to somebody +about it. The fact is, my dear Mac, I am in love.’</p> +<p>“‘Capital!’ I cried; ‘I’m delighted +to hear it.’ (I thought it might make a man of him.) +‘Do I know the lady?’</p> +<p>“‘I am inclined to think you must have seen her,’ +he replied; ‘she was with me on the pier at Yarmouth that evening +you met me.’</p> +<p>“‘Not ’Liza!’ I exclaimed.</p> +<p>“‘That was she,’ he answered; ‘Miss Elizabeth +Muggins.’ He dwelt lovingly upon the name.</p> +<p>“‘But,’ I said, ‘you seemed—I really +could not help noticing, it was so pronounced—you seemed to positively +dislike her. Indeed, I gathered from your remark to a friend that +her society was distinctly distasteful to you.’</p> +<p>“‘To Smith,’ he corrected me. ‘What +judge would that howling little blackguard be of a woman’s worth! +The dislike of such a man as that is a testimonial to her merit!’</p> +<p>“‘I may be mistaken,’ I said; ‘but she struck +me as a bit common.’</p> +<p>“‘She is not, perhaps, what the world would call a lady,’ +he admitted; ‘but then, my dear Mac, my opinion of the world is +not such as to render <i>its</i> opinion of much value to me. +I and the world differ on most subjects, I am glad to say. She +is beautiful, and she is good, and she is my choice.’</p> +<p>“‘She’s a jolly enough little girl,’ I replied, +‘and, I should say, affectionate; but have you considered, Smythe, +whether she is quite—what shall we say—quite as intellectual +as could be desired?’</p> +<p>“‘Really, to tell the truth, I have not troubled myself +much about her intellect,’ he replied, with one of his sneering +smiles. ‘I have no doubt that the amount of intellect absolutely +necessary to the formation of a British home, I shall be able to supply +myself. I have no desire for an intellectual wife. One is +compelled to meet tiresome people, but one does not live with them if +one can avoid it.’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ he continued, reverting to his more natural +tone; ‘the more I think of Elizabeth the more clear it becomes +to me that she is the one woman in the world for whom marriage with +me is possible. I perceive that to the superficial observer my +selection must appear extraordinary. I do not pretend to explain +it, or even to understand it. The study of mankind is beyond man. +Only fools attempt it. Maybe it is her contrast to myself that +attracts me. Maybe my, perhaps, too spiritual nature feels the +need of contact with her coarser clay to perfect itself. I cannot +tell. These things must always remain mysteries. I only +know that I love her—that, if any reliance is to be placed upon +instinct, she is the mate to whom Artemis is leading me.’</p> +<p>“It was clear that he was in love, and I therefore ceased to +argue with him. ‘You kept up your acquaintanceship with +her, then, after you’—I was going to say ‘after you +ceased to be Smith,’ but not wishing to agitate him by more mention +of that person than I could help, I substituted, ‘after you returned +to the Albany?’</p> +<p>“‘Not exactly,’ he replied; ‘I lost sight +of her after I left Yarmouth, and I did not see her again until five +days ago, when I came across her in an aerated bread shop. I had +gone in to get a glass of milk and a bun, and <i>she</i> brought them +to me. I recognised her in a moment.’ His face lighted +up with quite a human smile. ‘I take tea there every afternoon +now,’ he added, glancing towards the clock, ‘at four.’</p> +<p>“‘There’s not much need to ask <i>her</i> views +on the subject,’ I said, laughing; ‘her feelings towards +you were pretty evident.’</p> +<p>“‘Well, that is the curious part of it,’ he replied, +with a return to his former embarrassment; ‘she does not seem +to care for me now at all. Indeed, she positively refuses me. +She says—to put it in the dear child’s own racy language—that +she wouldn’t take me on at any price. She says it would +be like marrying a clockwork figure without the key. She’s +more frank than complimentary, but I like that.’</p> +<p>“‘Wait a minute,’ I said; ‘an idea occurs +to me. Does she know of your identity with Smith?’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ he replied, alarmed, ‘I would not +have her know it for worlds. Only yesterday she told me that I +reminded her of a fellow she had met at Yarmouth, and my heart was in +my mouth.’</p> +<p>“‘How did she look when she told you that?’ I asked.</p> +<p>“‘How did she look?’ he repeated, not understanding +me.</p> +<p>“‘What was her expression at that moment?’ I said—‘was +it severe or tender?’</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ he replied, ‘now I come to think +of it, she did seem to soften a bit just then.’</p> +<p>“‘My dear boy,’ I said, ‘the case is as clear +as daylight. She loves Smith. No girl who admired Smith +could be attracted by Smythe. As your present self you will never +win her. In a few weeks’ time, however, you will be Smith. +Leave the matter over until then. Propose to her as Smith, and +she will accept you. After marriage you can break Smythe gently +to her.’</p> +<p>“‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed, startled out of his customary +lethargy, ‘I never thought of that. The truth is, when I +am in my right senses, Smith and all his affairs seem like a dream to +me. Any idea connected with him would never enter my mind.’</p> +<p>“He rose and held out his hand. ‘I am so glad I +came to see you,’ he said; ‘your suggestion has almost reconciled +me to my miserable fate. Indeed, I quite look forward to a month +of Smith, now.’</p> +<p>“‘I’m so pleased,’ I answered, shaking hands +with him. ‘Mind you come and tell me how you get on. +Another man’s love affairs are not usually absorbing, but there +is an element of interest about yours that renders the case exceptional.’</p> +<p>“We parted, and I did not see him again for another month. +Then, late one evening, the servant knocked at my door to say that a +Mr. Smith wished to see me.</p> +<p>“’Smith, Smith,’ I repeated; ‘what Smith? +didn’t he give you a card?’</p> +<p>“‘No, sir,’ answered the girl; ‘he doesn’t +look the sort that would have a card. He’s not a gentleman, +sir; but he says you’ll know him.’ She evidently regarded +the statement as an aspersion upon myself.</p> +<p>“I was about to tell her to say I was out, when the recollection +of Smythe’s other self flashed into my mind, and I directed her +to send him up.</p> +<p>“A minute passed, and then he entered. He was wearing +a new suit of a louder pattern, if possible, than before. I think +he must have designed it himself. He looked hot and greasy. +He did not offer to shake hands, but sat down awkwardly on the extreme +edge of a small chair, and gaped about the room as if he had never seen +it before.</p> +<p>“He communicated his shyness to myself. I could not think +what to say, and we sat for a while in painful silence.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ I said, at last, plunging head-foremost +into the matter, according to the method of shy people, ‘and how’s +’Liza?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, <i>she’s</i> all right,’ he replied, +keeping his eyes fixed on his hat.</p> +<p>“‘Have you done it?’ I continued.</p> +<p>“‘Done wot?’ he asked, looking up.</p> +<p>“‘Married her.’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ he answered, returning to the contemplation +of his hat.</p> +<p>“‘Has she refused you then?’ I said.</p> +<p>“‘I ain’t arst ’er,’ he returned.</p> +<p>“He seemed unwilling to explain matters of his own accord. +I had to put the conversation into the form of a cross-examination.</p> +<p>“‘Why not?’ I asked; ‘don’t you think +she cares for you any longer?’</p> +<p>“He burst into a harsh laugh. ‘There ain’t +much fear o’ that,’ he said; ‘it’s like ’aving +an Alcock’s porous plaster mashed on yer, blowed if it ain’t. +There’s no gettin’ rid of ’er. I wish she’d +giv’ somebody else a turn. I’m fair sick of ’er.’</p> +<p>“‘But you were enthusiastic about her a month ago!’ +I exclaimed in astonishment.</p> +<p>“‘Smythe may ’ave been,’ he said; ‘there +ain’t no accounting for that ninny, ’is ’ead’s +full of starch. Anyhow, I don’t take ’er on while +I’m myself. I’m too jolly fly.’</p> +<p>“‘That sort o’ gal’s all right enough to +lark with,’ he continued; ‘but yer don’t want to marry +’em. They don’t do yer no good. A man wants +a wife as ’e can respect—some one as is a cut above ’imself, +as will raise ’im up a peg or two—some one as ’e can +look up to and worship. A man’s wife orter be to ’im +a gawddess—a hangel, a—’</p> +<p>“‘You appear to have met the lady,’ I remarked, +interrupting him.</p> +<p>“He blushed scarlet, and became suddenly absorbed in the pattern +of the carpet. But the next moment he looked up again, and his +face seemed literally transformed.</p> +<p>“‘Oh! Mr. MacShaughnassy,’ he burst out, +with a ring of genuine manliness in his voice, ‘you don’t +know ’ow good, ’ow beautiful she is. I ain’t +fit to breathe ’er name in my thoughts. An’ she’s +so clever. I met ’er at that Toynbee ’All. There +was a party of toffs there all together. You would ’ave +enjoyed it, Mr. MacShaughnassy, if you could ’ave ’eard +’er; she was makin’ fun of the pictures and the people round +about to ’er pa—such wit, such learnin’, such ’aughtiness. +I follered them out and opened the carriage door for ’er, and +she just drew ’er skirt aside and looked at me as if I was the +dirt in the road. I wish I was, for then perhaps one day I’d +kiss ’er feet.’</p> +<p>“His emotion was so genuine that I did not feel inclined to +laugh at him. ‘Did you find out who she was?’ I asked.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ he answered; ‘I ’eard the old +gentleman say “’Ome” to the coachman, and I ran after +the carriage all the way to ’Arley Street. Trevior’s +’er name, Hedith Trevior.’</p> +<p>“‘Miss Trevior!’ I cried, ‘a tall, dark girl, +with untidy hair and rather weak eyes?’</p> +<p>“‘Tall and dark,’ he replied ‘with ’air +that seems tryin’ to reach ’er lips to kiss ’em, and +heyes, light blue, like a Cambridge necktie. A ’undred and +seventy-three was the number.’</p> +<p>“‘That’s right,’ I said; ‘my dear Smith, +this is becoming complicated. You’ve met the lady and talked +to her for half an hour—as Smythe, don’t you remember?’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ he said, after cogitating for a minute, +‘carn’t say I do; I never can remember much about Smythe. +He allers seems to me like a bad dream.’</p> +<p>“‘Well, you met her,’ I said; ‘I’m +positive. I introduced you to her myself, and she confided to +me afterwards that she thought you a most charming man.’</p> +<p>“‘No—did she?’ he remarked, evidently softening +in his feelings towards Smythe; ‘and did <i>I</i> like ’<i>er</i>?’</p> +<p>“‘Well, to tell the truth,’ I answered, ‘I +don’t think you did. You looked intensely bored.’</p> +<p>“‘The Juggins,’ I heard him mutter to himself, +and then he said aloud: ‘D’yer think I shall get a chance +o’ seein’ ’er agen, when I’m—when I’m +Smythe?’</p> +<p>“‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I’ll take you +round myself. By the bye,’ I added, jumping up and looking +on the mantelpiece, ‘I’ve got a card for a Cinderella at +their place—something to do with a birthday. Will you be +Smythe on November the twentieth?’</p> +<p>“‘Ye—as,’ he replied; ‘oh, yas—bound +to be by then.’</p> +<p>“‘Very well, then,’ I said, ‘I’ll call +round for you at the Albany, and we’ll go together.’</p> +<p>“He rose and stood smoothing his hat with his sleeve. +‘Fust time I’ve ever looked for’ard to bein’ +that hanimated corpse, Smythe,’ he said slowly. ‘Blowed +if I don’t try to ’urry it up—’pon my sivey +I will.’</p> +<p>“‘He’ll be no good to you till the twentieth,’ +I reminded him. ‘And,’ I added, as I stood up to ring +the bell, ‘you’re sure it’s a genuine case this time. +You won’t be going back to ’Liza?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, don’t talk ’bout ’Liza in the +same breath with Hedith,’ he replied, ‘it sounds like sacrilege.’</p> +<p>“He stood hesitating with the handle of the door in his hand. +At last, opening it and looking very hard at his hat, he said, ‘I’m +goin’ to ’Arley Street now. I walk up and down outside +the ’ouse every evening, and sometimes, when there ain’t +no one lookin’, I get a chance to kiss the doorstep.’</p> +<p>“He disappeared, and I returned to my chair.</p> +<p>“On November twentieth, I called for him according to promise. +I found him on the point of starting for the club: he had forgotten +all about our appointment. I reminded him of it, and he with difficulty +recalled it, and consented, without any enthusiasm, to accompany me. +By a few artful hints to her mother (including a casual mention of his +income), I manoeuvred matters so that he had Edith almost entirely to +himself for the whole evening. I was proud of what I had done, +and as we were walking home together I waited to receive his gratitude.</p> +<p>“As it seemed slow in coming, I hinted my expectations.</p> +<p>“‘Well,’ I said, ‘I think I managed that +very cleverly for you.’</p> +<p>“‘Managed what very cleverly?’ said he.</p> +<p>“‘Why, getting you and Miss Trevior left together for +such a long time in the conservatory,’ I answered, somewhat hurt; +‘<i>I</i> fixed that for you.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, it was <i>you</i>, was it,’ he replied; ‘I’ve +been cursing Providence.’</p> +<p>“I stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, and faced him. +‘Don’t you love her?’ I said.</p> +<p>“‘Love her!’ he repeated, in the utmost astonishment; +‘what on earth is there in her to love? She’s nothing +but a bad translation of a modern French comedy, with the interest omitted.’</p> +<p>“This ‘tired’ me—to use an Americanism. +‘You came to me a month ago,’ I said, ‘raving over +her, and talking about being the dirt under her feet and kissing her +doorstep.’</p> +<p>“He turned very red. ‘I wish, my dear Mac,’ +he said, ‘you would pay me the compliment of not mistaking me +for that detestable little cad with whom I have the misfortune to be +connected. You would greatly oblige me if next time he attempts +to inflict upon you his vulgar drivel you would kindly kick him downstairs.’</p> +<p>“‘No doubt,’ he added, with a sneer, as we walked +on, ‘Miss Trevior would be his ideal. She is exactly the +type of woman, I should say, to charm that type of man. For myself, +I do not appreciate the artistic and literary female.’</p> +<p>“‘Besides,’ he continued, in a deeper tone, ‘you +know my feelings. I shall never care for any other woman but Elizabeth.’</p> +<p>“‘And she?’ I said</p> +<p>“‘She,’ he sighed, ‘is breaking her heart +for Smith.’</p> +<p>“‘Why don’t you tell her you are Smith?’ +I asked.</p> +<p>“‘I cannot,’ he replied, ‘not even to win +her. Besides, she would not believe me.’</p> +<p>“We said good-night at the corner of Bond Street, and I did +not see him again till one afternoon late in the following March, when +I ran against him in Ludgate Circus. He was wearing his transition +blue suit and bowler hat. I went up to him and took his arm.</p> +<p>“‘Which are you?’ I said.</p> +<p>“‘Neither, for the moment,’ he replied, ‘thank +God. Half an hour ago I was Smythe, half an hour hence I shall +be Smith. For the present half-hour I am a man.’</p> +<p>“There was a pleasant, hearty ring in his voice, and a genial, +kindly light in his eyes, and he held himself like a frank gentleman.</p> +<p>“‘You are certainly an improvement upon both of them,’ +I said.</p> +<p>“He laughed a sunny laugh, with just the shadow of sadness +dashed across it. ‘Do you know my idea of Heaven?’ +he said.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ I replied, somewhat surprised at the question.</p> +<p>“‘Ludgate Circus,’ was the answer. ‘The +only really satisfying moments of my life,’ he said, ‘have +been passed in the neighbourhood of Ludgate Circus. I leave Piccadilly +an unhealthy, unwholesome prig. At Charing Cross I begin to feel +my blood stir in my veins. From Ludgate Circus to Cheapside I +am a human thing with human feeling throbbing in my heart, and human +thought throbbing in my brain—with fancies, sympathies, and hopes. +At the Bank my mind becomes a blank. As I walk on, my senses grow +coarse and blunted; and by the time I reach Whitechapel I am a poor +little uncivilised cad. On the return journey it is the same thing +reversed.’</p> +<p>“‘Why not live in Ludgate Circus,’ I said, ‘and +be always as you are now?’</p> +<p>“‘Because,’ he answered, ‘man is a pendulum, +and must travel his arc.’</p> +<p>“‘My dear Mac,’ said he, laying his hand upon my +shoulder, ‘there is only one good thing about me, and that is +a moral. Man is as God made him: don’t be so sure that you +can take him to pieces and improve him. All my life I have sought +to make myself an unnaturally superior person. Nature has retaliated +by making me also an unnaturally inferior person. Nature abhors +lopsidedness. She turns out man as a whole, to be developed as +a whole. I always wonder, whenever I come across a supernaturally +pious, a supernaturally moral, a supernaturally cultured person, if +they also have a reverse self.’</p> +<p>“I was shocked at his suggested argument, and walked by his +side for a while without speaking. At last, feeling curious on +the subject, I asked him how his various love affairs were progressing.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, as usual,’ he replied; ‘in and out +of a <i>cul de sac</i>. When I am Smythe I love Eliza, and Eliza +loathes me. When I am Smith I love Edith, and the mere sight of +me makes her shudder. It is as unfortunate for them as for me. +I am not saying it boastfully. Heaven knows it is an added draught +of misery in my cup; but it is a fact that Eliza is literally pining +away for me as Smith, and—as Smith I find it impossible to be +even civil to her; while Edith, poor girl, has been foolish enough to +set her heart on me as Smythe, and as Smythe she seems to me but the +skin of a woman stuffed with the husks of learning, and rags torn from +the corpse of wit.’</p> +<p>“I remained absorbed in my own thoughts for some time, and +did not come out of them till we were crossing the Minories. Then, +the idea suddenly occurring to me, I said:</p> +<p>“‘Why don’t you get a new girl altogether? +There must be medium girls that both Smith and Smythe could like, and +that would put up with both of you.’</p> +<p>“‘No more girls for this child,’ he answered ‘they’re +more trouble than they’re worth. Those yer want yer carn’t +get, and those yer can ’ave, yer don’t want.’</p> +<p>“I started, and looked up at him. He was slouching along +with his hands in his pockets, and a vacuous look in his face.</p> +<p>“A sudden repulsion seized me. ‘I must go now,’ +I said, stopping. ‘I’d no idea I had come so far.’</p> +<p>“He seemed as glad to be rid of me as I to be rid of him. +‘Oh, must yer,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Well, +so long.’</p> +<p>“We shook hands carelessly. He disappeared in the crowd, +and that is the last I have ever seen of him.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Is that a true story?” asked Jephson.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve altered the names and dates,” said +MacShaughnassy; “but the main facts you can rely upon.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>The final question discussed at our last meeting been: What shall +our hero be? MacShaughnassy had suggested an author, with a critic +for the villain. My idea was a stockbroker, with an undercurrent +of romance in his nature. Said Jephson, who has a practical mind: +“The question is not what we like, but what the female novel-reader +likes.”</p> +<p>“That is so,” agreed MacShaughnassy. “I propose +that we collect feminine opinion upon this point. I will write +to my aunt and obtain from her the old lady’s view. You,” +he said, turning to me, “can put the case to your wife, and get +the young lady’s ideal. Let Brown write to his sister at +Newnham, and find out whom the intellectual maiden favours, while Jephson +can learn from Miss Medbury what is most attractive to the common-sensed +girl.”</p> +<p>This plan we had adopted, and the result was now under consideration. +MacShaughnassy opened the proceedings by reading his aunt’s letter. +Wrote the old lady:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I think, if I were you, my dear boy, I should +choose a soldier. You know your poor grandfather, who ran away +to America with that <i>wicked</i> Mrs. Featherly, the banker’s +wife, was a soldier, and so was your poor cousin Robert, who lost eight +thousand pounds at Monte Carlo. I have always felt singularly +drawn towards soldiers, even as a girl; though your poor dear uncle +could not bear them. You will find many allusions to soldiers +and men of war in the Old Testament (see Jer. xlviii. 14). Of +course one does not like to think of their fighting and killing each +other, but then they do not seem to do that sort of thing nowadays.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“So much for the old lady,” said MacShaughnassy, as he +folded up the letter and returned it to his pocket. “What +says culture?”</p> +<p>Brown produced from his cigar-case a letter addressed in a bold round +hand, and read as follows:</p> +<blockquote><p>“What a curious coincidence! A few of us +were discussing this very subject last night in Millicent Hightopper’s +rooms, and I may tell you at once that our decision was unanimous in +favour of soldiers. You see, my dear Selkirk, in human nature +the attraction is towards the opposite. To a milliner’s +apprentice a poet would no doubt be satisfying; to a woman of intelligence +he would he an unutterable bore. What the intellectual woman requires +in man is not something to argue with, but something to look at. +To an empty-headed woman I can imagine the soldier type proving vapid +and uninteresting; to the woman of mind he represents her ideal of man—a +creature strong, handsome, well-dressed, and not too clever.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“That gives us two votes for the army,” remarked MacShaughnassy, +as Brown tore his sister’s letter in two, and threw the pieces +into the waste-paper basket. “What says the common-sensed +girl?”</p> +<p>“First catch your common-sensed girl,” muttered Jephson, +a little grumpily, as it seemed to me. “Where do you propose +finding her?”</p> +<p>“Well,” returned MacShaughnassy, “I looked to find +her in Miss Medbury.”</p> +<p>As a rule, the mention of Miss Medbury’s name brings a flush +of joy to Jephson’s face; but now his features wore an expression +distinctly approaching a scowl.</p> +<p>“Oh!” he replied, “did you? Well, then, the +common-sensed girl loves the military also.”</p> +<p>“By Jove!” exclaimed MacShaughnassy, “what an extraordinary +thing. What reason does she give?”</p> +<p>“That there’s a something about them, and that they dance +so divinely,” answered Jephson, shortly.</p> +<p>“Well, you do surprise me,” murmured MacShaughnassy, +“I am astonished.”</p> +<p>Then to me he said: “And what does the young married woman +say? The same?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I replied, “precisely the same.”</p> +<p>“Does <i>she</i> give a reason?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” I explained; “because you can’t +help liking them.”</p> +<p>There was silence for the next few minutes, while we smoked and thought. +I fancy we were all wishing we had never started this inquiry.</p> +<p>That four distinctly different types of educated womanhood should, +with promptness and unanimity quite unfeminine, have selected the soldier +as their ideal, was certainly discouraging to the civilian heart. +Had they been nursemaids or servant girls, I should have expected it. +The worship of Mars by the Venus of the white cap is one of the few +vital religions left to this devoutless age. A year or two ago +I lodged near a barracks, and the sight to be seen round its huge iron +gates on Sunday afternoons I shall never forget. The girls began +to assemble about twelve o’clock. By two, at which hour +the army, with its hair nicely oiled and a cane in its hand, was ready +for a stroll, there would be some four or five hundred of them waiting +in a line. Formerly they had collected in a wild mob, and as the +soldiers were let out to them two at a time, had fought for them, as +lions for early Christians. This, however, had led to scenes of +such disorder and brutality, that the police had been obliged to interfere; +and the girls were now marshalled in <i>queue</i>, two abreast, and +compelled, by a force of constables specially told off for the purpose, +to keep their places and wait their proper turn.</p> +<p>At three o’clock the sentry on duty would come down to the +wicket and close it. “They’re all gone, my dears,” +he would shout out to the girls still left; “it’s no good +your stopping, we’ve no more for you to-day.”</p> +<p>“Oh, not one!” some poor child would murmur pleadingly, +while the tears welled up into her big round eyes, “not even a +little one. I’ve been waiting <i>such</i> a long time.”</p> +<p>“Can’t help that,” the honest fellow would reply, +gruffly, but not unkindly, turning aside to hide his emotion; “you’ve +had ’em all between you. We don’t make ’em, +you know: you can’t have ’em if we haven’t got ’em, +can you? Come earlier next time.”</p> +<p>Then he would hurry away to escape further importunity; and the police, +who appeared to have been waiting for this moment with gloating anticipation, +would jeeringly hustle away the weeping remnant. “Now then, +pass along, you girls, pass along,” they would say, in that irritatingly +unsympathetic voice of theirs. “You’ve had your chance. +Can’t have the roadway blocked up all the afternoon with this +’ere demonstration of the unloved. Pass along.”</p> +<p>In connection with this same barracks, our char-woman told Amenda, +who told Ethelbertha, who told me a story, which I now told the boys.</p> +<p>Into a certain house, in a certain street in the neighbourhood, there +moved one day a certain family. Their servant had left them—most +of their servants did at the end of a week—and the day after the +moving-in an advertisement for a domestic was drawn up and sent to the +<i>Chronicle</i>. It ran thus:</p> +<blockquote><p>WANTED, GENERAL SERVANT, in small family of eleven. +Wages, £6; no beer money. Must be early riser and hard worker. +Washing done at home. Must be good cook, and not object to window-cleaning. +Unitarian preferred.—Apply, with references, to A. B., etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That advertisement was sent off on Wednesday afternoon. At +seven o’clock on Thursday morning the whole family were awakened +by continuous ringing of the street-door bell. The husband, looking +out of window, was surprised to see a crowd of about fifty girls surrounding +the house. He slipped on his dressing-gown and went down to see +what was the matter. The moment he opened the door, fifteen of +them charged tumultuously into the passage, sweeping him completely +off his legs. Once inside, these fifteen faced round, fought the +other thirty-five or so back on to the doorstep, and slammed the door +in their faces. Then they picked up the master of the house, and +asked him politely to conduct them to “A. B.”</p> +<p>At first, owing to the clamour of the mob outside, who were hammering +at the door and shouting curses through the keyhole, he could understand +nothing, but at length they succeeded in explaining to him that they +were domestic servants come ill answer to his wife’s advertisement. +The man went and told his wife, and his wife said she would see them, +one at a time.</p> +<p>Which one should have audience first was a delicate question to decide. +The man, on being appealed to, said he would prefer to leave it to them. +They accordingly discussed the matter among themselves. At the +end of a quarter of an hour, the victor, having borrowed some hair-pins +and a looking-glass from our char-woman, who had slept in the house, +went upstairs, while the remaining fourteen sat down in the hall, and +fanned themselves with their bonnets.</p> +<p>“A. B.” was a good deal astonished when the first applicant +presented herself. She was a tall, genteel-looking girl. +Up to yesterday she had been head housemaid at Lady Stanton’s, +and before that she had been under-cook for two years to the Duchess +of York.</p> +<p>“And why did you leave Lady Stanton?” asked “A. +B.”</p> +<p>“To come here, mum,” replied the girl. The lady +was puzzled.</p> +<p>“And you’ll be satisfied with six pounds a year?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“Certainly, mum, I think it ample.”</p> +<p>“And you don’t mind hard work?”</p> +<p>“I love it, mum.”</p> +<p>“And you’re an early riser?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, mum, it upsets me stopping in bed after half-past +five.”</p> +<p>“You know we do the washing at home?”</p> +<p>“Yes, mum. I think it so much better to do it at home. +Those laundries ruin good clothes. They’re so careless.”</p> +<p>“Are you a Unitarian?” continued the lady.</p> +<p>“Not yet, mum,” replied the girl, “but I should +like to be one.”</p> +<p>The lady took her reference, and said she would write.</p> +<p>The next applicant offered to come for three pounds—thought +six pounds too much. She expressed her willingness to sleep in +the back kitchen: a shakedown under the sink was all she wanted. +She likewise had yearnings towards Unitarianism.</p> +<p>The third girl did not require any wages at all—could not understand +what servants wanted with wages—thought wages only encouraged +a love of foolish finery—thought a comfortable home in a Unitarian +family ought to be sufficient wages for any girl.</p> +<p>This girl said there was one stipulation she should like to make, +and that was that she should be allowed to pay for all breakages caused +by her own carelessness or neglect. She objected to holidays and +evenings out; she held that they distracted a girl from her work.</p> +<p>The fourth candidate offered a premium of five pounds for the place; +and then “A. B.” began to get frightened, and refused to +see any more of the girls, convinced that they must be lunatics from +some neighbouring asylum out for a walk.</p> +<p>Later in the day, meeting the next-door lady on the doorstep, she +related her morning’s experiences.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s nothing extraordinary,” said the next-door +lady; “none of us on this side of the street pay wages; and we +get the pick of all the best servants in London. Why, girls will +come from the other end of the kingdom to get into one of these houses. +It’s the dream of their lives. They save up for years, so +as to be able to come here for nothing.”</p> +<p>“What’s the attraction?” asked “A. B.,” +more amazed than ever.</p> +<p>“Why, don’t you see,” explained the next door lady, +“our back windows open upon the barrack yard. A girl living +in one of these houses is always close to soldiers. By looking +out of window she can always see soldiers; and sometimes a soldier will +nod to her or even call up to her. They never dream of asking +for wages. They’ll work eighteen hours a day, and put up +with anything just to be allowed to stop.”</p> +<p>“A. B.” profited by this information, and engaged the +girl who offered the five pounds premium. She found her a perfect +treasure of a servant. She was invariably willing and respectful, +slept on a sofa in the kitchen, and was always contented with an egg +for her dinner.</p> +<p>The truth of this story I cannot vouch for. Myself, I can believe +it. Brown and MacShaughnassy made no attempt to do so, which seemed +unfriendly. Jephson excused himself on the plea of a headache. +I admit there are points in it presenting difficulties to the average +intellect. As I explained at the commencement, it was told to +me by Ethelbertha, who had it from Amenda, who got it from the char-woman, +and exaggerations may have crept into it. The following, however, +were incidents that came under my own personal observation. They +afforded a still stronger example of the influence exercised by Tommy +Atkins upon the British domestic, and I therefore thought it right to +relate them.</p> +<p>“The heroine of them,” I said, “is our Amenda. +Now, you would call her a tolerably well-behaved, orderly young woman, +would you not?”</p> +<p>“She is my ideal of unostentatious respectability,” answered +MacShaughnassy.</p> +<p>“That was my opinion also,” I replied. “You +can, therefore, imagine my feelings on passing her one evening in the +Folkestone High Street with a Panama hat upon her head (<i>my</i> Panama +hat), and a soldier’s arm round her waist. She was one of +a mob following the band of the Third Berkshire Infantry, then in camp +at Sandgate. There was an ecstatic, far-away look in her eyes. +She was dancing rather than walking, and with her left hand she beat +time to the music.</p> +<p>“Ethelbertha was with me at the time. We stared after +the procession until it had turned the corner, and then we stared at +each other.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, it’s impossible,’ said Ethelbertha +to me.</p> +<p>“‘But that was my hat,’ I said to Ethelbertha.</p> +<p>“The moment we reached home Ethelbertha looked for Amenda, +and I looked for my hat. Neither was to be found.</p> +<p>“Nine o’clock struck, ten o’clock struck. +At half-past ten, we went down and got our own supper, and had it in +the kitchen. At a quarter-past eleven, Amenda returned. +She walked into the kitchen without a word, hung my hat up behind the +door, and commenced clearing away the supper things.</p> +<p>“Ethelbertha rose, calm but severe.</p> +<p>“‘Where have you been, Amenda?’ she inquired.</p> +<p>“‘Gadding half over the county with a lot of low soldiers,’ +answered Amenda, continuing her work.</p> +<p>“‘You had on my hat,’ I added.</p> +<p>“‘Yes, sir,’ replied Amenda, still continuing her +work, ‘it was the first thing that came to hand. What I’m +thankful for is that it wasn’t missis’s best bonnet.’</p> +<p>“Whether Ethelbertha was mollified by the proper spirit displayed +in this last remark, I cannot say, but I think it probable. At +all events, it was in a voice more of sorrow than of anger that she +resumed her examination.</p> +<p>“‘You were walking with a soldier’s arm around +your waist when we passed you, Amenda?’ she observed interrogatively.</p> +<p>“‘I know, mum,’ admitted Amenda, ‘I found +it there myself when the music stopped.’</p> +<p>“Ethelbertha looked her inquiries. Amenda filled a saucepan +with water, and then replied to them.</p> +<p>“‘I’m a disgrace to a decent household,’ +she said; ‘no mistress who respected herself would keep me a moment. +I ought to be put on the doorstep with my box and a month’s wages.’</p> +<p>“‘But why did you do it then?’ said Ethelbertha, +with natural astonishment.</p> +<p>“‘Because I’m a helpless ninny, mum. I can’t +help myself; if I see soldiers I’m bound to follow them. +It runs in our family. My poor cousin Emma was just such another +fool. She was engaged to be married to a quiet, respectable young +fellow with a shop of his own, and three days before the wedding she +ran off with a regiment of marines to Chatham and married the colour-sergeant. +That’s what I shall end by doing. I’ve been all the +way to Sandgate with that lot you saw me with, and I’ve kissed +four of them—the nasty wretches. I’m a nice sort of +girl to be walking out with a respectable milkman.’</p> +<p>“She was so deeply disgusted with herself that it seemed superfluous +for anybody else to be indignant with her; and Ethelbertha changed her +tone and tried to comfort her.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, you’ll get over all that nonsense, Amenda,’ +she said, laughingly; ‘you see yourself how silly it is. +You must tell Mr. Bowles to keep you away from soldiers.’</p> +<p>“‘Ah, I can’t look at it in the same light way +that you do, mum,’ returned Amenda, somewhat reprovingly; ‘a +girl that can’t see a bit of red marching down the street without +wanting to rush out and follow it ain’t fit to be anybody’s +wife. Why, I should be leaving the shop with nobody in it about +twice a week, and he’d have to go the round of all the barracks +in London, looking for me. I shall save up and get myself into +a lunatic asylum, that’s what I shall do.’</p> +<p>“Ethelbertha began to grow quite troubled. ‘But +surely this is something altogether new, Amenda,’ she said; ‘you +must have often met soldiers when you’ve been out in London?’</p> +<p>“‘Oh yes, one or two at a time, walking about anyhow, +I can stand that all right. It’s when there’s a lot +of them with a band that I lose my head.’</p> +<p>“‘You don’t know what it’s like, mum,’ +she added, noticing Ethelbertha’s puzzled expression; ‘you’ve +never had it. I only hope you never may.’</p> +<p>“We kept a careful watch over Amenda during the remainder of +our stay at Folkestone, and an anxious time we had of it. Every +day some regiment or other would march through the town, and at the +first sound of its music Amenda would become restless and excited. +The Pied Piper’s reed could not have stirred the Hamelin children +deeper than did those Sandgate bands the heart of our domestic. +Fortunately, they generally passed early in the morning when we were +indoors, but one day, returning home to lunch, we heard distant strains +dying away upon the Hythe Road. We hurried in. Ethelbertha +ran down into the kitchen; it was empty!—up into Amenda’s +bedroom; it was vacant! We called. There was no answer.</p> +<p>“‘That miserable girl has gone off again,’ said +Ethelbertha. ‘What a terrible misfortune it is for her. +It’s quite a disease.’</p> +<p>“Ethelbertha wanted me to go to Sandgate camp and inquire for +her. I was sorry for the girl myself, but the picture of a young +and innocent-looking man wandering about a complicated camp, inquiring +for a lost domestic, presenting itself to my mind, I said that I’d +rather not.</p> +<p>“Ethelbertha thought me heartless, and said that if I would +not go she would go herself. I replied that I thought one female +member of my household was enough in that camp at a time, and requested +her not to. Ethelbertha expressed her sense of my inhuman behaviour +by haughtily declining to eat any lunch, and I expressed my sense of +her unreasonableness by sweeping the whole meal into the grate, after +which Ethelbertha suddenly developed exuberant affection for the cat +(who didn’t want anybody’s love, but wanted to get under +the grate after the lunch), and I became supernaturally absorbed in +the day-before-yesterday’s newspaper.</p> +<p>“In the afternoon, strolling out into the garden, I heard the +faint cry of a female in distress. I listened attentively, and +the cry was repeated. I thought it sounded like Amenda’s +voice, but where it came from I could not conceive. It drew nearer, +however, as I approached the bottom of the garden, and at last I located +it in a small wooden shed, used by the proprietor of the house as a +dark-room for developing photographs.</p> +<p>“The door was locked. ‘Is that you, Amenda?’ +I cried through the keyhole.</p> +<p>“’Yes, sir,’ came back the muffled answer. ‘Will +you please let me out? you’ll find the key on the ground near +the door.’</p> +<p>“I discovered it on the grass about a yard away, and released +her. ‘Who locked you in?’ I asked.</p> +<p>“‘I did, sir,’ she replied; ‘I locked myself +in, and pushed the key out under the door. I had to do it, or +I should have gone off with those beastly soldiers.’</p> +<p>“‘I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you, sir,’ +she added, stepping out; ‘I left the lunch all laid.’”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Amenda’s passion for soldiers was her one tribute to sentiment. +Towards all others of the male sex she maintained an attitude of callous +unsusceptibility, and her engagements with them (which were numerous) +were entered into or abandoned on grounds so sordid as to seriously +shock Ethelbertha.</p> +<p>When she came to us she was engaged to a pork butcher—with +a milkman in reserve. For Amenda’s sake we dealt with the +man, but we never liked him, and we liked his pork still less. +When, therefore, Amenda announced to us that her engagement with him +was “off,” and intimated that her feelings would in no way +suffer by our going elsewhere for our bacon, we secretly rejoiced.</p> +<p>“I am confident you have done right, Amenda,” said Ethelbertha; +“you would never have been happy with that man.”</p> +<p>“No, mum, I don’t think I ever should,” replied +Amenda. “I don’t see how any girl could as hadn’t +the digestion of an ostrich.”</p> +<p>Ethelbertha looked puzzled. “But what has digestion got +to do with it?” she asked.</p> +<p>“A pretty good deal, mum,” answered Amenda, “when +you’re thinking of marrying a man as can’t make a sausage +fit to eat.”</p> +<p>“But, surely,” exclaimed Ethelbertha, “you don’t +mean to say you’re breaking off the match because you don’t +like his sausages!”</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose that’s what it comes to,” agreed +Amenda, unconcernedly.</p> +<p>“What an awful idea!” sighed poor Ethelbertha, after +a long pause. “Do you think you ever really loved him?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” said Amenda, “I loved him right enough, +but it’s no good loving a man that wants you to live on sausages +that keep you awake all night.”</p> +<p>“But does he want you to live on sausages?” persisted +Ethelbertha.</p> +<p>“Oh, he doesn’t say anything about it,” explained +Amenda; “but you know what it is, mum, when you marry a pork butcher; +you’re expected to eat what’s left over. That’s +the mistake my poor cousin Eliza made. She married a muffin man. +Of course, what he didn’t sell they had to finish up themselves. +Why, one winter, when he had a run of bad luck, they lived for two months +on nothing but muffins. I never saw a girl so changed in all my +life. One has to think of these things, you know.”</p> +<p>But the most shamefully mercenary engagement that I think Amenda +ever entered into, was one with a ’bus conductor. We were +living in the north of London then, and she had a young man, a cheesemonger, +who kept a shop in Lupus Street, Chelsea. He could not come up +to her because of the shop, so once a week she used to go down to him. +One did not ride ten miles for a penny in those days, and she found +the fare from Holloway to Victoria and back a severe tax upon her purse. +The same ’bus that took her down at six brought her back at ten. +During the first journey the ’bus conductor stared at Amenda; +during the second he talked to her, during the third he gave her a cocoanut, +during the fourth he proposed to her, and was promptly accepted. +After that, Amenda was enabled to visit her cheesemonger without expense.</p> +<p>He was a quaint character himself, this ’bus conductor. +I often rode with him to Fleet Street. He knew me quite well (I +suppose Amenda must have pointed me out to him), and would always ask +me after her—aloud, before all the other passengers, which was +trying—and give me messages to take back to her. Where women +were concerned he had what is called “a way” with him, and +from the extent and variety of his female acquaintance, and the evident +tenderness with which the majority of them regarded him, I am inclined +to hope that Amenda’s desertion of him (which happened contemporaneously +with her jilting of the cheesemonger) caused him less prolonged suffering +than might otherwise have been the case.</p> +<p>He was a man from whom I derived a good deal of amusement one way +and another. Thinking of him brings back to my mind a somewhat +odd incident.</p> +<p>One afternoon, I jumped upon his ’bus in the Seven Sisters +Road. An elderly Frenchman was the only other occupant of the +vehicle. “You vil not forget me,” the Frenchman was +saying as I entered, “I desire Sharing Cross.”</p> +<p>“I won’t forget yer,” answered the conductor, “you +shall ’ave yer Sharing Cross. Don’t make a fuss about +it.”</p> +<p>“That’s the third time ’ee’s arst me not +to forget ’im,” he remarked to me in a stentorian aside; +“’ee don’t giv’ yer much chance of doin’ +it, does ’ee?”</p> +<p>At the corner of the Holloway Road we drew up, and our conductor +began to shout after the manner of his species: “Charing Cross—Charing +Cross—’ere yer are—Come along, lady—Charing +Cross.”</p> +<p>The little Frenchman jumped up, and prepared to exit; the conductor +pushed him back.</p> +<p>“Sit down and don’t be silly,” he said; “this +ain’t Charing Cross.”</p> +<p>The Frenchman looked puzzled, but collapsed meekly. We picked +up a few passengers, and proceeded on our way. Half a mile up +the Liverpool Road a lady stood on the kerb regarding us as we passed +with that pathetic mingling of desire and distrust which is the average +woman’s attitude towards conveyances of all kinds. Our conductor +stopped.</p> +<p>“Where d’yer want to go to?” he asked her severely—“Strand—Charing +Cross?”</p> +<p>The Frenchman did not hear or did not understand the first part of +the speech, but he caught the words “Charing Cross,” and +bounced up and out on to the step. The conductor collared him +as he was getting off, and jerked him back savagely.</p> +<p>“Carn’t yer keep still a minute,” he cried indignantly; +“blessed if you don’t want lookin’ after like a bloomin’ +kid.”</p> +<p>“I vont to be put down at Sharing Cross,” answered the +Frenchman, humbly.</p> +<p>“You vont to be put down at Sharing Cross,” repeated +the other bitterly, as he led him back to his seat. “I shall +put yer down in the middle of the road if I ’ave much more of +yer. You stop there till I come and sling yer out. I ain’t +likely to let yer go much past yer Sharing Cross, I shall be too jolly +glad to get rid o’ yer.”</p> +<p>The poor Frenchman subsided, and we jolted on. At “The +Angel” we, of course, stopped. “Charing Cross,” +shouted the conductor, and up sprang the Frenchman.</p> +<p>“Oh, my Gawd,” said the conductor, taking him by the +shoulders and forcing him down into the corner seat, “wot am I +to do? Carn’t somebody sit on ’im?”</p> +<p>He held him firmly down until the ’bus started, and then released +him. At the top of Chancery Lane the same scene took place, and +the poor little Frenchman became exasperated.</p> +<p>“He keep saying Sharing Cross, Sharing Cross,” he exclaimed, +turning to the other passengers; “and it is <i>no</i> Sharing +Cross. He is fool.”</p> +<p>“Carn’t yer understand,” retorted the conductor, +equally indignant; “of course I say Sharing Cross—I mean +Charing Cross, but that don’t mean that it <i>is</i> Charing Cross. +That means—” and then perceiving from the blank look on +the Frenchman’s face the utter impossibility of ever making the +matter clear to him, he turned to us with an appealing gesture, and +asked:</p> +<p>“Does any gentleman know the French for ‘bloomin’ +idiot’?”</p> +<p>A day or two afterwards, I happened to enter his omnibus again.</p> +<p>“Well,” I asked him, “did you get your French friend +to Charing Cross all right?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” he replied, “you’ll ’ardly +believe it, but I ’ad a bit of a row with a policeman just before +I got to the corner, and it put ’im clean out o’ my ’ead. +Blessed if I didn’t run ’im on to Victoria.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>Said Brown one evening, “There is but one vice, and that is +selfishness.”</p> +<p>Jephson was standing before the fire lighting his pipe. He +puffed the tobacco into a glow, threw the match into the embers, and +then said:</p> +<p>“And the seed of all virtue also.”</p> +<p>“Sit down and get on with your work,” said MacShaughnassy +from the sofa where he lay at full length with his heels on a chair; +“we’re discussing the novel. Paradoxes not admitted +during business hours.”</p> +<p>Jephson, however, was in an argumentative mood.</p> +<p>“Selfishness,” he continued, “is merely another +name for Will. Every deed, good or bad, that we do is prompted +by selfishness. We are charitable to secure ourselves a good place +in the next world, to make ourselves respected in this, to ease our +own distress at the knowledge of suffering. One man is kind because +it gives him pleasure to be kind, just as another is cruel because cruelty +pleases him. A great man does his duty because to him the sense +of duty done is a deeper delight than would be the case resulting from +avoidance of duty. The religious man is religious because he finds +a joy in religion; the moral man moral because with his strong self-respect, +viciousness would mean wretchedness. Self-sacrifice itself is +only a subtle selfishness: we prefer the mental exaltation gained thereby +to the sensual gratification which is the alternative reward. +Man cannot be anything else but selfish. Selfishness is the law +of all life. Each thing, from the farthest fixed star to the smallest +insect crawling on the earth, fighting for itself according to its strength; +and brooding over all, the Eternal, working for <i>Himself</i>: that +is the universe.”</p> +<p>“Have some whisky,” said MacShaughnassy; “and don’t +be so complicatedly metaphysical. You make my head ache.”</p> +<p>“If all action, good and bad, spring from selfishness,” +replied Brown, “then there must be good selfishness and bad selfishness: +and your bad selfishness is my plain selfishness, without any adjective, +so we are back where we started. I say selfishness—bad selfishness—is +the root of all evil, and there you are bound to agree with me.”</p> +<p>“Not always,” persisted Jephson; “I’ve known +selfishness—selfishness according to the ordinarily accepted meaning +of the term—to be productive of good actions. I can give +you an instance, if you like.”</p> +<p>“Has it got a moral?” asked MacShaughnassy, drowsily,</p> +<p>Jephson mused a moment. “Yes,” he said at length; +“a very practical moral—and one very useful to young men.”</p> +<p>“That’s the sort of story we want,” said the MacShaughnassy, +raising himself into a sitting position. “You listen to +this, Brown.”</p> +<p>Jephson seated himself upon a chair, in his favourite attitude, with +his elbows resting upon the back, and smoked for a while in silence.</p> +<p>“There are three people in this story,” he began; “the +wife, the wife’s husband, and the other man. In most dramas +of this type, it is the wife who is the chief character. In this +case, the interesting person is the other man.</p> +<p>“The wife—I met her once: she was the most beautiful +woman I have ever seen, and the most wicked-looking; which is saying +a good deal for both statements. I remember, during a walking +tour one year, coming across a lovely little cottage. It was the +sweetest place imaginable. I need not describe it. It was +the cottage one sees in pictures, and reads of in sentimental poetry. +I was leaning over the neatly-cropped hedge, drinking in its beauty, +when at one of the tiny casements I saw, looking out at me, a face. +It stayed there only a moment, but in that moment the cottage had become +ugly, and I hurried away with a shudder.</p> +<p>“That woman’s face reminded me of the incident. +It was an angel’s face, until the woman herself looked out of +it: then you were struck by the strange incongruity between tenement +and tenant.</p> +<p>“That at one time she had loved her husband, I have little +doubt. Vicious women have few vices, and sordidness is not usually +one of them. She had probably married him, borne towards him by +one of those waves of passion upon which the souls of animal natures +are continually rising and falling. On possession, however, had +quickly followed satiety, and from satiety had grown the desire for +a new sensation.</p> +<p>“They were living at Cairo at the period; her husband held +an important official position there, and by virtue of this, and of +her own beauty and tact, her house soon became the centre of the Anglo-Saxon +society ever drifting in and out of the city. The women disliked +her, and copied her. The men spoke slightingly of her to their +wives, lightly of her to each other, and made idiots of themselves when +they were alone with her. She laughed at them to their faces, +and mimicked them behind their backs. Their friends said it was +clever.</p> +<p>“One year there arrived a young English engineer, who had come +out to superintend some canal works. He brought with him satisfactory +letters of recommendation, and was at once received by the European +residents as a welcome addition to their social circle. He was +not particularly good-looking, he was not remarkably charming, but he +possessed the one thing that few women can resist in a man, and that +is strength. The woman looked at the man, and the man looked back +at the woman; and the drama began.</p> +<p>“Scandal flies swiftly through small communities. Before +a month, their relationship was the chief topic of conversation throughout +the quarter. In less than two, it reached the ears of the woman’s +husband.</p> +<p>“He was either an exceptionally mean or an exceptionally noble +character, according to how one views the matter. He worshipped +his wife—as men with big hearts and weak brains often do worship +such women—with dog-like devotion. His only dread was lest +the scandal should reach proportions that would compel him to take notice +of it, and thus bring shame and suffering upon the woman to whom he +would have given his life. That a man who saw her should love +her seemed natural to him; that she should have grown tired of himself, +a thing not to be wondered at. He was grateful to her for having +once loved him, for a little while.</p> +<p>“As for ‘the other man,’ he proved somewhat of +an enigma to the gossips. He attempted no secrecy; if anything, +he rather paraded his subjugation—or his conquest, it was difficult +to decide which term to apply. He rode and drove with her; visited +her in public and in private (in such privacy as can be hoped for in +a house filled with chattering servants, and watched by spying eyes); +loaded her with expensive presents, which she wore openly, and papered +his smoking-den with her photographs. Yet he never allowed himself +to appear in the least degree ridiculous; never allowed her to come +between him and his work. A letter from her, he would lay aside +unopened until he had finished what he evidently regarded as more important +business. When boudoir and engine-shed became rivals, it was the +boudoir that had to wait.</p> +<p>“The woman chafed under his self-control, which stung her like +a lash, but clung to him the more abjectly.</p> +<p>“‘Tell me you love me!’ she would cry fiercely, +stretching her white arms towards him.</p> +<p>“‘I have told you so,’ he would reply calmly, without +moving.</p> +<p>“‘I want to hear you tell it me again,’ she would +plead with a voice that trembled on a sob. ‘Come close to +me and tell it me again, again, again!’</p> +<p>“Then, as she lay with half-closed eyes, he would pour forth +a flood of passionate words sufficient to satisfy even her thirsty ears, +and afterwards, as the gates clanged behind him, would take up an engineering +problem at the exact point at which half an hour before, on her entrance +into the room, he had temporarily dismissed it.</p> +<p>“One day, a privileged friend put bluntly to him this question: +‘Are you playing for love or vanity?’</p> +<p>“To which the man, after long pondering, gave this reply: ‘’Pon +my soul, Jack, I couldn’t tell you.’</p> +<p>“Now, when a man is in love with a woman who cannot make up +her mind whether she loves him or not, we call the complication comedy; +where it is the woman who is in earnest the result is generally tragedy.</p> +<p>“They continued to meet and to make love. They talked—as +people in their position are prone to talk—of the beautiful life +they would lead if it only were not for the thing that was; of the earthly +paradise—or, maybe, ‘earthy’ would be the more suitable +adjective—they would each create for the other, if only they had +the right which they hadn’t.</p> +<p>“In this work of imagination the man trusted chiefly to his +literary faculties, which were considerable; the woman to her desires. +Thus, his scenes possessed a grace and finish which hers lacked, but +her pictures were the more vivid. Indeed, so realistic did she +paint them, that to herself they seemed realities, waiting for her. +Then she would rise to go towards them only to strike herself against +the thought of the thing that stood between her and them. At first +she only hated the thing, but after a while there came an ugly look +of hope into her eyes.</p> +<p>“The time drew near for the man to return to England. +The canal was completed, and a day appointed for the letting in of the +water. The man determined to make the event the occasion of a +social gathering. He invited a large number of guests, among whom +were the woman and her husband, to assist at the function. Afterwards +the party were to picnic at a pleasant wooded spot some three-quarters +of a mile from the first lock.</p> +<p>“The ceremony of flooding was to be performed by the woman, +her husband’s position entitling her to this distinction. +Between the river and the head of the cutting had been left a strong +bank of earth, pierced some distance down by a hole, which hole was +kept closed by means of a closely-fitting steel plate. The woman +drew the lever releasing this plate, and the water rushed through and +began to press against the lock gates. When it had attained a +certain depth, the sluices were raised, and the water poured down into +the deep basin of the lock.</p> +<p>“It was an exceptionally deep lock. The party gathered +round and watched the water slowly rising. The woman looked down, +and shuddered; the man was standing by her side.</p> +<p>“‘How deep it is,’ she said.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it holds thirty feet +of water, when full.’</p> +<p>“The water crept up inch by inch.</p> +<p>“‘Why don’t you open the gates, and let it in quickly?’ +she asked.</p> +<p>“‘It would not do for it to come in too quickly,’ +he explained; ‘we shall half fill this lock, and then open the +sluices at the other end, and so let the water pass through.’</p> +<p>“The woman looked at the smooth stone walls and at the iron-plated +gates.</p> +<p>“‘I wonder what a man would do,’ she said, ‘if +he fell in, and there was no one near to help him?’</p> +<p>“The man laughed. ‘I think he would stop there,’ +he answered. ‘Come, the others are waiting for us.’</p> +<p>“He lingered a moment to give some final instructions to the +workmen. ‘You can follow on when you’ve made all right,’ +he said, ‘and get something to eat. There’s no need +for more than one to stop.’ Then they joined the rest of +the party, and sauntered on, laughing and talking, to the picnic ground.</p> +<p>“After lunch the party broke up, as is the custom of picnic +parties, and wandered away in groups and pairs. The man, whose +duty as host had hitherto occupied all his attention, looked for the +woman, but she was gone.</p> +<p>“A friend strolled by, the same that had put the question to +him about love and vanity.</p> +<p>“‘Have you quarrelled?’ asked the friend.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ replied the man.</p> +<p>“‘I fancied you had,’ said the other. ‘I +met her just now walking with her husband, of all men in the world, +and making herself quite agreeable to him.’</p> +<p>“The friend strolled on, and the man sat down on a fallen tree, +and lighted a cigar. He smoked and thought, and the cigar burnt +out, but he still sat thinking.</p> +<p>“After a while he heard a faint rustling of the branches behind +him, and peering between the interlacing leaves that hid him, saw the +crouching figure of the woman creeping through the wood.</p> +<p>“His lips were parted to call her name, when she turned her +listening head in his direction, and his eyes fell full upon her face. +Something about it, he could not have told what, struck him dumb, and +the woman crept on.</p> +<p>“Gradually the nebulous thoughts floating through his brain +began to solidify into a tangible idea, and the man unconsciously started +forward. After walking a few steps he broke into a run, for the +idea had grown clearer. It continued to grow still clearer and +clearer, and the man ran faster and faster, until at last he found himself +racing madly towards the lock. As he approached it he looked round +for the watchman who ought to have been there, but the man was gone +from his post. He shouted, but if any answer was returned, it +was drowned by the roar of the rushing water.</p> +<p>“He reached the edge and looked down. Fifteen feet below +him was the reality of the dim vision that had come to him a mile back +in the woods: the woman’s husband swimming round and round like +a rat in a pail.</p> +<p>“The river was flowing in and out of the lock at the same rate, +so that the level of the water remained constant. The first thing +the man did was to close the lower sluices and then open those in the +upper gate to their fullest extent. The water began to rise.</p> +<p>“‘Can you hold out?’ he cried.</p> +<p>“The drowning man turned to him a face already contorted by +the agony of exhaustion, and answered with a feeble ‘No.’</p> +<p>“He looked around for something to throw to the man. +A plank had lain there in the morning, he remembered stumbling over +it, and complaining of its having been left there; he cursed himself +now for his care.</p> +<p>“A hut used by the navvies to keep their tools in stood about +two hundred yards away; perhaps it had been taken there, perhaps there +he might even find a rope.</p> +<p>“‘Just one minute, old fellow!’ he shouted down, +‘and I’ll be back.’</p> +<p>“But the other did not hear him. The feeble struggles +ceased. The face fell back upon the water, the eyes half closed +as if with weary indifference. There was no time for him to do +more than kick off his riding boots and jump in and clutch the unconscious +figure as it sank.</p> +<p>“Down there, in that walled-in trap, he fought a long fight +with Death for the life that stood between him and the woman. +He was not an expert swimmer, his clothes hampered him, he was already +blown with his long race, the burden in his arms dragged him down, the +water rose slowly enough to make his torture fit for Dante’s hell.</p> +<p>“At first he could not understand why this was so, but in glancing +down he saw to his horror that he had not properly closed the lower +sluices; in each some eight or ten inches remained open, so that the +stream was passing out nearly half as fast as it came in. It would +be another five-and-twenty minutes before the water would be high enough +for him to grasp the top.</p> +<p>“He noted where the line of wet had reached to, on the smooth +stone wall, then looked again after what he thought must be a lapse +of ten minutes, and found it had risen half an inch, if that. +Once or twice he shouted for help, but the effort taxed severely his +already failing breath, and his voice only came back to him in a hundred +echoes from his prison walls.</p> +<p>“Inch by inch the line of wet crept up, but the spending of +his strength went on more swiftly. It seemed to him as if his +inside were being gripped and torn slowly out: his whole body cried +out to him to let it sink and lie in rest at the bottom.</p> +<p>“At length his unconscious burden opened its eyes and stared +at him stupidly, then closed them again with a sigh; a minute later +opened them once more, and looked long and hard at him.</p> +<p>“‘Let me go,’ he said, ‘we shall both drown. +You can manage by yourself.’</p> +<p>“He made a feeble effort to release himself, but the other +held him.</p> +<p>“‘Keep still, you fool!’ he hissed; ‘you’re +going to get out of this with me, or I’m going down with you.’</p> +<p>“So the grim struggle went on in silence, till the man, looking +up, saw the stone coping just a little way above his head, made one +mad leap and caught it with his finger-tips, held on an instant, then +fell back with a ‘plump’ and sank; came up and made another +dash, and, helped by the impetus of his rise, caught the coping firmly +this time with the whole of his fingers, hung on till his eyes saw the +stunted grass, till they were both able to scramble out upon the bank +and lie there, their breasts pressed close against the ground, their +hands clutching the earth, while the overflowing water swirled softly +round them.</p> +<p>“After a while, they raised themselves and looked at one another.</p> +<p>“‘Tiring work,’ said the other man, with a nod +towards the lock.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ answered the husband, ‘beastly awkward +not being a good swimmer. How did you know I had fallen in? +You met my wife, I suppose?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ said the other man.</p> +<p>“The husband sat staring at a point in the horizon for some +minutes. ‘Do you know what I was wondering this morning?’ +said he.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ said the other man.</p> +<p>“‘Whether I should kill you or not.’</p> +<p>“‘They told me,’ he continued, after a pause, ‘a +lot of silly gossip which I was cad enough to believe. I know +now it wasn’t true, because—well, if it had been, you would +not have done what you have done.’</p> +<p>“He rose and came across. ‘I beg your pardon,’ +he said, holding out his hand.</p> +<p>“‘I beg yours,’ said the other man, rising and +taking it; ‘do you mind giving me a hand with the sluices?’</p> +<p>“They set to work to put the lock right.</p> +<p>“‘How did you manage to fall in?’ asked the other +man, who was raising one of the lower sluices, without looking round.</p> +<p>“The husband hesitated, as if he found the explanation somewhat +difficult. ‘Oh,’ he answered carelessly, ‘the +wife and I were chaffing, and she said she’d often seen you jump +it, and’—he laughed a rather forced laugh—‘she +promised me a—a kiss if I cleared it. It was a foolish thing +to do.’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, it was rather,’ said the other man.</p> +<p>“A few days afterwards the man and woman met at a reception. +He found her in a leafy corner of the garden talking to some friends. +She advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. ‘What can +I say more than thank you?’ she murmured in a low voice.</p> +<p>“The others moved away, leaving them alone. ‘They +tell me you risked your life to save his?’ she said.</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ he answered.</p> +<p>“She raised her eyes to his, then struck him across the face +with her ungloved hand.</p> +<p>“‘You damned fool!’ she whispered.</p> +<p>“He seized her by her white arms, and forced her back behind +the orange trees. ‘Do you know why?’ he said, speaking +slowly and distinctly; ‘because I feared that, with him dead, +you would want me to marry you, and that, talked about as we have been, +I might find it awkward to avoid doing so; because I feared that, without +him to stand between us, you might prove an annoyance to me—perhaps +come between me and the woman I love, the woman I am going back to. +Now do you understand?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ whispered the woman, and he left her.</p> +<p>“But there are only two people,” concluded Jephson, “who +do not regard his saving of the husband’s life as a highly noble +and unselfish action, and they are the man himself and the woman.”</p> +<p>We thanked Jephson for his story, and promised to profit by the moral, +when discovered. Meanwhile, MacShaughnassy said that he knew a +story dealing with the same theme, namely, the too close attachment +of a woman to a strange man, which really had a moral, which moral was: +don’t have anything to do with inventions.</p> +<p>Brown, who had patented a safety gun, which he had never yet found +a man plucky enough to let off, said it was a bad moral. We agreed +to hear the particulars, and judge for ourselves.</p> +<p>“This story,” commenced MacShaughnassy, “comes +from Furtwangen, a small town in the Black Forest. There lived +there a very wonderful old fellow named Nicholaus Geibel. His +business was the making of mechanical toys, at which work he had acquired +an almost European reputation. He made rabbits that would emerge +from the heart of a cabbage, flap their ears, smooth their whiskers, +and disappear again; cats that would wash their faces, and mew so naturally +that dogs would mistake them for real cats, and fly at them; dolls, +with phonographs concealed within them, that would raise their hats +and say, ‘Good morning; how do you do?’ and some that would +even sing a song.</p> +<p>“But he was something more than a mere mechanic; he was an +artist. His work was with him a hobby, almost a passion. +His shop was filled with all manner of strange things that never would, +or could, be sold—things he had made for the pure love of making +them. He had contrived a mechanical donkey that would trot for +two hours by means of stored electricity, and trot, too, much faster +than the live article, and with less need for exertion on the part of +the driver; a bird that would shoot up into the air, fly round and round +in a circle, and drop to earth at the exact spot from where it started; +a skeleton that, supported by an upright iron bar, would dance a hornpipe; +a life-size lady doll that could play the fiddle; and a gentleman with +a hollow inside who could smoke a pipe and drink more lager beer than +any three average German students put together, which is saying much.</p> +<p>“Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel could +make a man capable of doing everything that a respectable man need want +to do. One day he made a man who did too much, and it came about +in this way.</p> +<p>“Young Doctor Follen had a baby, and the baby had a birthday. +Its first birthday put Doctor Follen’s household into somewhat +of a flurry, but on the occasion of its second birthday, Mrs. Doctor +Follen gave a ball in honour of the event. Old Geibel and his +daughter Olga were among the guests.</p> +<p>“During the afternoon of the next day, some three or four of +Olga’s bosom friends, who had also been present at the ball, dropped +in to have a chat about it. They naturally fell to discussing +the men, and to criticising their dancing. Old Geibel was in the +room, but he appeared to be absorbed in his newspaper, and the girls +took no notice of him.</p> +<p>“‘There seem to be fewer men who can dance, at every +ball you go to,’ said one of the girls.</p> +<p>“‘Yes, and don’t the ones who can, give themselves +airs,’ said another; ‘they make quite a favour of asking +you.’</p> +<p>“‘And how stupidly they talk,’ added a third. +‘They always say exactly the same things: “How charming +you are looking to-night.” “Do you often go to Vienna? +Oh, you should, it’s delightful.” “What a charming +dress you have on.” “What a warm day it has been.” +“Do you like Wagner?” I do wish they’d think +of something new.’</p> +<p>“‘Oh, I never mind how they talk,’ said a fourth. +‘If a man dances well he may be a fool for all I care.’</p> +<p>“‘He generally is,’ slipped in a thin girl, rather +spitefully.</p> +<p>“‘I go to a ball to dance,’ continued the previous +speaker, not noticing the interruption. ‘All I ask of a +partner is that he shall hold me firmly, take me round steadily, and +not get tired before I do.’</p> +<p>“‘A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,’ +said the girl who had interrupted.</p> +<p>“‘Bravo!’ cried one of the others, clapping her +hands, ‘what a capital idea!’</p> +<p>“‘What’s a capital idea?’ they asked.</p> +<p>“‘Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that +would go by electricity and never run down.’</p> +<p>“The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,’ said +one; ‘he would never kick you, or tread on your toes.’</p> +<p>“‘Or tear your dress,’ said another.</p> +<p>“‘Or get out of step.’</p> +<p>“‘Or get giddy and lean on you.’</p> +<p>“‘And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief. +I do hate to see a man do that after every dance.’</p> +<p>“‘And wouldn’t want to spend the whole evening +in the supper-room.’</p> +<p>“‘Why, with a phonograph inside him to grind out all +the stock remarks, you would not be able to tell him from a real man,’ +said the girl who had first suggested the idea.</p> +<p>“‘Oh yes, you would,’ said the thin girl, ‘he +would be so much nicer.’</p> +<p>“Old Geibel had laid down his paper, and was listening with +both his ears. On one of the girls glancing in his direction, +however, he hurriedly hid himself again behind it.</p> +<p>“After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, where +Olga heard him walking up and down, and every now and then chuckling +to himself; and that night he talked to her a good deal about dancing +and dancing men—asked what they usually said and did—what +dances were most popular—what steps were gone through, with many +other questions bearing on the subject.</p> +<p>“Then for a couple of weeks he kept much to his factory, and +was very thoughtful and busy, though prone at unexpected moments to +break into a quiet low laugh, as if enjoying a joke that nobody else +knew of.</p> +<p>“A month later another ball took place in Furtwangen. +On this occasion it was given by old Wenzel, the wealthy timber merchant, +to celebrate his niece’s betrothal, and Geibel and his daughter +were again among the invited.</p> +<p>“When the hour arrived to set out, Olga sought her father. +Not finding him in the house, she tapped at the door of his workshop. +He appeared in his shirt-sleeves, looking hot, but radiant.</p> +<p>“’Don’t wait for me,’ he said, ‘you +go on, I’ll follow you. I’ve got something to finish.’</p> +<p>“As she turned to obey he called after her, ‘Tell them +I’m going to bring a young man with me—such a nice young +man, and an excellent dancer. All the girls will like him.’ +Then he laughed and closed the door.</p> +<p>“Her father generally kept his doings secret from everybody, +but she had a pretty shrewd suspicion of what he had been planning, +and so, to a certain extent, was able to prepare the guests for what +was coming. Anticipation ran high, and the arrival of the famous +mechanist was eagerly awaited.</p> +<p>“At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, followed +by a great commotion in the passage, and old Wenzel himself, his jolly +face red with excitement and suppressed laughter, burst into the room +and announced in stentorian tones:</p> +<p>“‘Herr Geibel—and a friend.’</p> +<p>“Herr Geibel and his ‘friend’ entered, greeted +with shouts of laughter and applause, and advanced to the centre of +the room.</p> +<p>“‘Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Herr Geibel, +‘to introduce you to my friend, Lieutenant Fritz. Fritz, +my dear fellow, bow to the ladies and gentlemen.’</p> +<p>“Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz’s shoulder, +and the lieutenant bowed low, accompanying the action with a harsh clicking +noise in his throat, unpleasantly suggestive of a death rattle. +But that was only a detail.</p> +<p>“‘He walks a little stiffly’ (old Geibel took his +arm and walked him forward a few steps. He certainly did walk +stiffly), ‘but then, walking is not his forte. He is essentially +a dancing man. I have only been able to teach him the waltz as +yet, but at that he is faultless. Come, which of you ladies may +I introduce him to, as a partner? He keeps perfect time; he never +gets tired; he won’t kick you or tread on your dress; he will +hold you as firmly as you like, and go as quickly or as slowly as you +please; he never gets giddy; and he is full of conversation. Come, +speak up for yourself, my boy.’</p> +<p>“The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons of his coat, +and immediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in thin tones that appeared +to proceed from the back of his head, remarked suddenly, ‘May +I have the pleasure?’ and then shut his mouth again with a snap.</p> +<p>“That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression on the +company was undoubted, yet none of the girls seemed inclined to dance +with him. They looked askance at his waxen face, with its staring +eyes and fixed smile, and shuddered. At last old Geibel came to +the girl who had conceived the idea.</p> +<p>“‘It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,’ +said Geibel, ‘an electric dancer. You owe it to the gentleman +to give him a trial.’</p> +<p>“She was a bright saucy little girl, fond of a frolic. +Her host added his entreaties, and she consented.</p> +<p>“Herr Geibel fixed the figure to her. Its right arm was +screwed round her waist, and held her firmly; its delicately jointed +left hand was made to fasten itself upon her right. The old toymaker +showed her how to regulate its speed, and how to stop it, and release +herself.</p> +<p>“‘It will take you round in a complete circle,’ +he explained; ‘be careful that no one knocks against you, and +alters its course.’</p> +<p>“The music struck up. Old Geibel put the current in motion, +and Annette and her strange partner began to dance.</p> +<p>“For a while every one stood watching them. The figure +performed its purpose admirably. Keeping perfect time and step, +and holding its little partner tightly clasped in an unyielding embrace, +it revolved steadily, pouring forth at the same time a constant flow +of squeaky conversation, broken by brief intervals of grinding silence.</p> +<p>“‘How charming you are looking to-night,’ it remarked +in its thin, far-away voice. ‘What a lovely day it has been. +Do you like dancing? How well our steps agree. You will +give me another, won’t you? Oh, don’t be so cruel. +What a charming gown you have on. Isn’t waltzing delightful? +I could go on dancing for ever—with you. Have you had supper?’</p> +<p>“As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, the girl’s +nervousness wore off, and she entered into the fun of the thing.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, he’s just lovely,’ she cried, laughing, +‘I could go on dancing with him all my life.’</p> +<p>“Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all the dancers +in the room were whirling round behind them. Nicholaus Geibel +stood looking on, beaming with childish delight at his success,</p> +<p>“Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered something in his +ear. Geibel laughed and nodded, and the two worked their way quietly +towards the door.</p> +<p>“‘This is the young people’s house to-night,’ +said Wenzel, as soon as they were outside; ‘you and I will have +a quiet pipe and a glass of hock, over in the counting-house.’</p> +<p>“Meanwhile the dancing grew more fast and furious. Little +Annette loosened the screw regulating her partner’s rate of progress, +and the figure flew round with her swifter and swifter. Couple +after couple dropped out exhausted, but they only went the faster, till +at length they were the only pair left dancing.</p> +<p>“Madder and madder became the waltz. The music lagged +behind: the musicians, unable to keep pace, ceased, and sat staring. +The younger guests applauded, but the older faces began to grow anxious.</p> +<p>“‘Hadn’t you better stop, dear,’ said one +of the women, ‘You’ll make yourself so tired.’</p> +<p>“But Annette did not answer.</p> +<p>“‘I believe she’s fainted,’ cried out a girl, +who had caught sight of her face as it was swept by.</p> +<p>“One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, +but its impetus threw him down on to the floor, where its steel-cased +feet laid bare his cheek. The thing evidently did not intend to +part with its prize easily.</p> +<p>“Had any one retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help +thinking, might easily have been stopped. Two or three men, acting +in concert, might have lifted it bodily off the floor, or have jammed +it into a corner. But few human heads are capable of remaining +cool under excitement. Those who are not present think how stupid +must have been those who were; those who are, reflect afterwards how +simple it would have been to do this, that, or the other, if only they +had thought of it at the time.</p> +<p>“The women grew hysterical. The men shouted contradictory +directions to one another. Two of them made a bungling rush at +the figure, which had the result of forcing it out of its orbit in the +centre of the room, and sending it crashing against the walls and furniture. +A stream of blood showed itself down the girl’s white frock, and +followed her along the floor. The affair was becoming horrible. +The women rushed screaming from the room. The men followed them.</p> +<p>“One sensible suggestion was made: ‘Find Geibel—fetch +Geibel.’</p> +<p>“No one had noticed him leave the room, no one knew where he +was. A party went in search of him. The others, too unnerved +to go back into the ballroom, crowded outside the door and listened. +They could hear the steady whir of the wheels upon the polished floor, +as the thing spun round and round; the dull thud as every now and again +it dashed itself and its burden against some opposing object and ricocheted +off in a new direction.</p> +<p>“And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, repeating +over and over the same formula: ‘How charming you are looking +to-night. What a lovely day it has been. Oh, don’t +be so cruel. I could go on dancing for ever—with you. +Have you had supper?’</p> +<p>“Of course they sought for Geibel everywhere but where he was. +They looked in every room in the house, then they rushed off in a body +to his own place, and spent precious minutes in waking up his deaf old +housekeeper. At last it occurred to one of the party that Wenzel +was missing also, and then the idea of the counting-house across the +yard presented itself to them, and there they found him.</p> +<p>“He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel +forced their way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered +the room, and locked the door behind them.</p> +<p>“From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and +quick steps, followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then +the low voices again.</p> +<p>“After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward +to enter, but old Wenzel’s broad shoulders barred the way.</p> +<p>“‘I want you—and you, Bekler,’ he said, addressing +a couple of the elder men. His voice was calm, but his face was +deadly white. ‘The rest of you, please go—get the +women away as quickly as you can.’</p> +<p>“From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the +making of mechanical rabbits and cats that mewed and washed their faces.”</p> +<p>We agreed that the moral of MacShaughnassy’s story was a good +one.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>How much more of our—fortunately not very valuable—time +we devoted to this wonderful novel of ours, I cannot exactly say. +Turning the dogs’-eared leaves of the dilapidated diary that lies +before me, I find the record of our later gatherings confused and incomplete. +For weeks there does not appear a single word. Then comes an alarmingly +business-like minute of a meeting at which there were—“Present: +Jephson, MacShaughnassy, Brown, and Self”; and at which the “Proceedings +commenced at 8.30.” At what time the “proceedings” +terminated, and what business was done, the chronicle, however, sayeth +not; though, faintly pencilled in the margin of the page, I trace these +hieroglyphics: “3.14.9-2.6.7,” bringing out a result of +“1.8.2.” Evidently an unremunerative night.</p> +<p>On September 13th we seem to have become suddenly imbued with energy +to a quite remarkable degree, for I read that we “Resolved to +start the first chapter at once”—“at once” being +underlined. After this spurt, we rest until October 4th, when +we “Discussed whether it should be a novel of plot or of character,” +without—so far as the diary affords indication—arriving +at any definite decision. I observe that on the same day “Mac +told a story about a man who accidentally bought a camel at a sale.” +Details of the story are, however, wanting, which, perhaps, is fortunate +for the reader.</p> +<p>On the 16th, we were still debating the character of our hero; and +I see that I suggested “a man of the Charley Buswell type.”</p> +<p>Poor Charley, I wonder what could have made me think of him in connection +with heroes; his lovableness, I suppose—certainly not his heroic +qualities. I can recall his boyish face now (it was always a boyish +face), the tears streaming down it as he sat in the schoolyard beside +a bucket, in which he was drowning three white mice and a tame rat. +I sat down opposite and cried too, while helping him to hold a saucepan +lid over the poor little creatures, and thus there sprang up a friendship +between us, which grew.</p> +<p>Over the grave of these murdered rodents, he took a solemn oath never +to break school rules again, by keeping either white mice or tame rats, +but to devote the whole of his energies for the future to pleasing his +masters, and affording his parents some satisfaction for the money being +spent upon his education.</p> +<p>Seven weeks later, the pervadence throughout the dormitory of an +atmospheric effect more curious than pleasing led to the discovery that +he had converted his box into a rabbit hutch. Confronted with +eleven kicking witnesses, and reminded of his former promises, he explained +that rabbits were not mice, and seemed to consider that a new and vexatious +regulation had been sprung upon him. The rabbits were confiscated. +What was their ultimate fate, we never knew with certainty, but three +days later we were given rabbit-pie for dinner. To comfort him +I endeavoured to assure him that these could not be his rabbits. +He, however, convinced that they were, cried steadily into his plate +all the time that he was eating them, and afterwards, in the playground, +had a stand-up fight with a fourth form boy who had requested a second +helping.</p> +<p>That evening he performed another solemn oath-taking, and for the +next month was the model boy of the school. He read tracts, sent +his spare pocket-money to assist in annoying the heathen, and subscribed +to <i>The Young Christian</i> and <i>The Weekly Rambler</i>, an Evangelical +Miscellany (whatever that may mean). An undiluted course of this +pernicious literature naturally created in him a desire towards the +opposite extreme. He suddenly dropped <i>The Young Christian</i> +and <i>The Weekly Rambler</i>, and purchased penny dreadfuls; and taking +no further interest in the welfare of the heathen, saved up and bought +a second-hand revolver and a hundred cartridges. His ambition, +he confided to me, was to become “a dead shot,” and the +marvel of it is that he did not succeed.</p> +<p>Of course, there followed the usual discovery and consequent trouble, +the usual repentance and reformation, the usual determination to start +a new life.</p> +<p>Poor fellow, he lived “starting a new life.” Every +New Year’s Day he would start a new life—on his birthday—on +other people’s birthdays. I fancy that, later on, when he +came to know their importance, he extended the principle to quarter +days. “Tidying up, and starting afresh,” he always +called it.</p> +<p>I think as a young man he was better than most of us. But he +lacked that great gift which is the distinguishing feature of the English-speaking +race all the world over, the gift of hypocrisy. He seemed incapable +of doing the slightest thing without getting found out; a grave misfortune +for a man to suffer from, this.</p> +<p>Dear simple-hearted fellow, it never occurred to him that he was +as other men—with, perhaps, a dash of straightforwardness added; +he regarded himself as a monster of depravity. One evening I found +him in his chambers engaged upon his Sisyphean labour of “tidying +up.” A heap of letters, photographs, and bills lay before him. +He was tearing them up and throwing them into the fire.</p> +<p>I came towards him, but he stopped me. “Don’t come +near me,” he cried, “don’t touch me. I’m +not fit to shake hands with a decent man.”</p> +<p>It was the sort of speech to make one feel hot and uncomfortable. +I did not know what to answer, and murmured something about his being +no worse than the average.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk like that,” he answered excitedly; +“you say that to comfort me, I know; but I don’t like to +hear it. If I thought other men were like me I should be ashamed +of being a man. I’ve been a blackguard, old fellow, but, +please God, it’s not too late. To-morrow morning I begin +a new life.”</p> +<p>He finished his work of destruction, and then rang the bell, and +sent his man downstairs for a bottle of champagne.</p> +<p>“My last drink,” he said, as we clicked glasses. +“Here’s to the old life out, and the new life in.”</p> +<p>He took a sip and flung the glass with the remainder into the fire. +He was always a little theatrical, especially when most in earnest.</p> +<p>For a long while after that I saw nothing of him. Then, one +evening, sitting down to supper at a restaurant, I noticed him opposite +to me in company that could hardly be called doubtful.</p> +<p>He flushed and came over to me. “I’ve been an old +woman for nearly six months,” he said, with a laugh. “I +find I can’t stand it any longer.”</p> +<p>“After all,” he continued, “what is life for but +to live? It’s only hypocritical to try and be a thing we +are not. And do you know”—he leant across the table, +speaking earnestly—“honestly and seriously, I’m a +better man—I feel it and know it—when I am my natural self +than when I am trying to be an impossible saint.”</p> +<p>That was the mistake he made; he always ran to extremes. He +thought that an oath, if it were only big enough, would frighten away +Human Nature, instead of serving only as a challenge to it. Accordingly, +each reformation was more intemperate than the last, to be duly followed +by a greater swing of the pendulum in the opposite direction.</p> +<p>Being now in a thoroughly reckless mood, he went the pace rather +hotly. Then, one evening, without any previous warning, I had +a note from him. “Come round and see me on Thursday. +It is my wedding eve.”</p> +<p>I went. He was once more “tidying up.” All +his drawers were open, and on the table were piled packs of cards, betting +books, and much written paper, all, as before, in course of demolition.</p> +<p>I smiled: I could not help it, and, no way abashed, he laughed his +usual hearty, honest laugh.</p> +<p>“I know,” he exclaimed gaily, “but this is not +the same as the others.”</p> +<p>Then, laying his hand on my shoulder, and speaking with the sudden +seriousness that comes so readily to shallow natures, he said, “God +has heard my prayer, old friend. He knows I am weak. He +has sent down an angel out of Heaven to help me.”</p> +<p>He took her portrait from the mantelpiece and handed it me. +It seemed to me the face of a hard, narrow woman, but, of course, he +raved about her.</p> +<p>As he talked, there fluttered to the ground from the heap before +him an old restaurant bill, and, stooping, he picked it up and held +it in his hand, musing.</p> +<p>“Have you ever noticed how the scent of the champagne and the +candles seems to cling to these things?” he said lightly, sniffing +carelessly at it. “I wonder what’s become of her?”</p> +<p>“I think I wouldn’t think about her at all to-night,” +I answered.</p> +<p>He loosened his hand, letting the paper fall into the fire.</p> +<p>“My God!” he cried vehemently, “when I think of +all the wrong I have done—the irreparable, ever-widening ruin +I have perhaps brought into the world—O God! spare me a long life +that I may make amends. Every hour, every minute of it shall be +devoted to your service.”</p> +<p>As he stood there, with his eager boyish eyes upraised, a light seemed +to fall upon his face and illumine it. I had pushed the photograph +back to him, and it lay upon the table before him. He knelt and +pressed his lips to it.</p> +<p>“With your help, my darling, and His,” he murmured.</p> +<p>The next morning he was married. She was a well-meaning girl, +though her piety, as is the case with most people, was of the negative +order; and her antipathy to things evil much stronger than her sympathy +with things good. For a longer time than I had expected she kept +him straight—perhaps a little too straight. But at last +there came the inevitable relapse.</p> +<p>I called upon him, in answer to an excited message, and found him +in the depths of despair. It was the old story, human weakness, +combined with lamentable lack of the most ordinary precautions against +being found out. He gave me details, interspersed with exuberant +denunciations of himself, and I undertook the delicate task of peace-maker.</p> +<p>It was a weary work, but eventually she consented to forgive him. +His joy, when I told him, was boundless.</p> +<p>“How good women are,” he said, while the tears came into +his eyes. “But she shall not repent it. Please God, +from this day forth, I’ll—”</p> +<p>He stopped, and for the first time in his life the doubt of himself +crossed his mind. As I sat watching him, the joy died out of his +face, and the first hint of age passed over it.</p> +<p>“I seem to have been ‘tidying up and starting afresh’ +all my life,” he said wearily; “I’m beginning to see +where the untidiness lies, and the only way to get rid of it.”</p> +<p>I did not understand the meaning of his words at the time, but learnt +it later on.</p> +<p>He strove, according to his strength, and fell. But by a miracle +his transgression was not discovered. The facts came to light +long afterwards, but at the time there were only two who knew.</p> +<p>It was his last failure. Late one evening I received a hurriedly-scrawled +note from his wife, begging me to come round.</p> +<p>“A terrible thing has happened,” it ran; “Charley +went up to his study after dinner, saying he had some ‘tidying +up,’ as he calls it, to do, and did not wish to be disturbed. +In clearing out his desk he must have handled carelessly the revolver +that he always keeps there, not remembering, I suppose, that it was +loaded. We heard a report, and on rushing into the room found +him lying dead on the floor. The bullet had passed right through +his heart.”</p> +<p>Hardly the type of man for a hero! And yet I do not know. +Perhaps he fought harder than many a man who conquers. In the +world’s courts, we are compelled to judge on circumstantial evidence +only, and the chief witness, the man’s soul, cannot very well +be called.</p> +<p>I remember the subject of bravery being discussed one evening at +a dinner party, when a German gentleman present related an anecdote, +the hero of which was a young Prussian officer.</p> +<p>“I cannot give you his name,” our German friend explained—“the +man himself told me the story in confidence; and though he personally, +by virtue of his after record, could afford to have it known, there +are other reasons why it should not be bruited about.</p> +<p>“How I learnt it was in this way. For a dashing exploit +performed during the brief war against Austria he had been presented +with the Iron Cross. This, as you are well aware, is the most +highly-prized decoration in our army; men who have earned it are usually +conceited about it, and, indeed, have some excuse for being so. +He, on the contrary, kept his locked in a drawer of his desk, and never +wore it except when compelled by official etiquette. The mere +sight of it seemed to be painful to him. One day I asked him the +reason. We are very old and close friends, and he told me.</p> +<p>“The incident occurred when he was a young lieutenant. +Indeed, it was his first engagement. By some means or another +he had become separated from his company, and, unable to regain it, +had attached himself to a line regiment stationed at the extreme right +of the Prussian lines.</p> +<p>“The enemy’s effort was mainly directed against the left +centre, and for a while our young lieutenant was nothing more than a +distant spectator of the battle. Suddenly, however, the attack +shifted, and the regiment found itself occupying an extremely important +and critical position. The shells began to fall unpleasantly near, +and the order was given to ‘grass.’</p> +<p>“The men fell upon their faces and waited. The shells +ploughed the ground around them, smothering them with dirt. A +horrible, griping pain started in my young friend’s stomach, and +began creeping upwards. His head and heart both seemed to be shrinking +and growing cold. A shot tore off the head of the man next to +him, sending the blood spurting into his face; a minute later another +ripped open the back of a poor fellow lying to the front of him.</p> +<p>“His body seemed not to belong to himself at all. A strange, +shrivelled creature had taken possession of it. He raised his +head and peered about him. He and three soldiers—youngsters, +like himself, who had never before been under fire—appeared to +be utterly alone in that hell. They were the end men of the regiment, +and the configuration of the ground completely hid them from their comrades.</p> +<p>“They glanced at each other, these four, and read one another’s +thoughts. Leaving their rifles lying on the grass, they commenced +to crawl stealthily upon their bellies, the lieutenant leading, the +other three following.</p> +<p>“Some few hundred yards in front of them rose a small, steep +hill. If they could reach this it would shut them out of sight. +They hastened on, pausing every thirty yards or so to lie still and +pant for breath, then hurrying on again, quicker than before, tearing +their flesh against the broken ground.</p> +<p>“At last they reached the base of the slope, and slinking a +little way round it, raised their heads and looked back. Where +they were it was impossible for them to be seen from the Prussian lines.</p> +<p>“They sprang to their feet and broke into a wild race. +A dozen steps further they came face to face with an Austrian field +battery.</p> +<p>“The demon that had taken possession of them had been growing +stronger the further they had fled. They were not men, they were +animals mad with fear. Driven by the same frenzy that prompted +other panic-stricken creatures to once rush down a steep place into +the sea, these four men, with a yell, flung themselves, sword in hand, +upon the whole battery; and the whole battery, bewildered by the suddenness +and unexpectedness of the attack, thinking the entire battalion was +upon them, gave way, and rushed pell-mell down the hill.</p> +<p>“With the sight of those flying Austrians the fear, as independently +as it had come to him, left him, and he felt only a desire to hack and +kill. The four Prussians flew after them, cutting and stabbing +at them as they ran; and when the Prussian cavalry came thundering up, +they found my young lieutenant and his three friends had captured two +guns and accounted for half a score of the enemy.</p> +<p>“Next day, he was summoned to headquarters.</p> +<p>“‘Will you be good enough to remember for the future, +sir,’ said the Chief of the Staff, ‘that His Majesty does +not require his lieutenants to execute manoeuvres on their own responsibility, +and also that to attack a battery with three men is not war, but damned +tomfoolery. You ought to be court-martialled, sir!’</p> +<p>“Then, in somewhat different tones, the old soldier added, +his face softening into a smile: ‘However, alertness and daring, +my young friend, are good qualities, especially when crowned with success. +If the Austrians had once succeeded in planting a battery on that hill +it might have been difficult to dislodge them. Perhaps, under +the circumstances, His Majesty may overlook your indiscretion.’</p> +<p>“‘His Majesty not only overlooked it, but bestowed upon +me the Iron Cross,’ concluded my friend. ‘For the +credit of the army, I judged it better to keep quiet and take it. +But, as you can understand, the sight of it does not recall very pleasurable +reflections.’”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>To return to my diary, I see that on November 14th we held another +meeting. But at this there were present only “Jephson, MacShaughnassy, +and Self”; and of Brown’s name I find henceforth no further +trace. On Christmas eve we three met again, and my notes inform +me that MacShaughnassy brewed some whiskey-punch, according to a recipe +of his own, a record suggestive of a sad Christmas for all three of +us. No particular business appears to have been accomplished on +either occasion.</p> +<p>Then there is a break until February 8th, and the assemblage has +shrunk to “Jephson and Self.” With a final flicker, +as of a dying candle, my diary at this point, however, grows luminous, +shedding much light upon that evening’s conversation.</p> +<p>Our talk seems to have been of many things—of most things, +in fact, except our novel. Among other subjects we spoke of literature +generally.</p> +<p>“I am tired of this eternal cackle about books,” said +Jephson; “these columns of criticism to every line of writing; +these endless books about books; these shrill praises and shrill denunciations; +this silly worship of novelist Tom; this silly hate of poet Dick; this +silly squabbling over playwright Harry. There is no soberness, +no sense in it all. One would think, to listen to the High Priests +of Culture, that man was made for literature, not literature for man. +Thought existed before the Printing Press; and the men who wrote the +best hundred books never read them. Books have their place in +the world, but they are not its purpose. They are things side +by side with beef and mutton, the scent of the sea, the touch of a hand, +the memory of a hope, and all the other items in the sum-total of our +three-score years and ten. Yet we speak of them as though they +were the voice of Life instead of merely its faint echo. Tales +are delightful <i>as</i> tales—sweet as primroses after the long +winter, restful as the cawing of rooks at sunset. But we do not +write ‘tales’ now; we prepare ‘human documents’ +and dissect souls.”</p> +<p>He broke off abruptly in the midst of his tirade. “Do +you know what these ‘psychological studies,’ that are so +fashionable just now, always make me think of?” he said. +“One monkey examining another monkey for fleas.</p> +<p>“And what, after all, does our dissecting pen lay bare?” +he continued. “Human nature? or merely some more or less +unsavoury undergarment, disguising and disfiguring human nature? +There is a story told of an elderly tramp, who, overtaken by misfortune, +was compelled to retire for a while to the seclusion of Portland. +His hosts, desiring to see as much as possible of their guest during +his limited stay with them, proceeded to bath him. They bathed +him twice a day for a week, each time learning more of him; until at +last they reached a flannel shirt. And with that they had to be +content, soap and water proving powerless to go further.</p> +<p>“That tramp appears to me symbolical of mankind. Human +Nature has worn its conventions for so long that its habit has grown +on to it. In this nineteenth century it is impossible to say where +the clothes of custom end and the natural man begins. Our virtues +are taught to us as a branch of ‘Deportment’; our vices +are the recognised vices of our reign and set. Our religion hangs +ready-made beside our cradle to be buttoned upon us by loving hands. +Our tastes we acquire, with difficulty; our sentiments we learn by rote. +At cost of infinite suffering, we study to love whiskey and cigars, +high art and classical music. In one age we admire Byron and drink +sweet champagne: twenty years later it is more fashionable to prefer +Shelley, and we like our champagne dry. At school we are told +that Shakespeare is a great poet, and that the Venus di Medici is a +fine piece of sculpture; and so for the rest of our lives we go about +saying what a great poet we think Shakespeare, and that there is no +piece of sculpture, in our opinion, so fine as the Venus di Medici. +If we are Frenchmen we adore our mother; if Englishmen we love dogs +and virtue. We grieve for the death of a near relative twelve +months; but for a second cousin we sorrow only three. The good +man has his regulation excellencies to strive after, his regulation +sins to repent of. I knew a good man who was quite troubled because +he was not proud, and could not, therefore, with any reasonableness, +pray for humility. In society one must needs be cynical and mildly +wicked: in Bohemia, orthodoxly unorthodox. I remember my mother +expostulating with a friend, an actress, who had left a devoted husband +and eloped with a disagreeable, ugly, little low comedian (I am speaking +of long, long ago).</p> +<p>“‘You must be mad,’ said my mother; ‘what +on earth induced you to take such a step?’</p> +<p>“‘My dear Emma,’ replied the lady; ‘what +else was there for me? You know I can’t act. I had +to do <i>something</i> to show I was ‘an artiste!’</p> +<p>“We are dressed-up marionettes. Our voice is the voice +of the unseen showman, Convention; our very movements of passion and +pain are but in answer to his jerk. A man resembles one of those +gigantic bundles that one sees in nursemaids’ arms. It is +very bulky and very long; it looks a mass of delicate lace and rich +fur and fine woven stuffs; and somewhere, hidden out of sight among +the finery, there is a tiny red bit of bewildered humanity, with no +voice but a foolish cry.</p> +<p>“There is but one story,” he went on, after a long pause, +uttering his own thoughts aloud rather than speaking to me. “We +sit at our desks and think and think, and write and write, but the story +is ever the same. Men told it and men listened to it many years +ago; we are telling it to one another to-day; we shall be telling it +to one another a thousand years hence; and the story is: ‘Once +upon a time there lived a man, and a woman who loved him.’ +The little critic cries that it is not new, and asks for something fresh, +thinking—as children do—that there are strange things in +the world.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>At that point my notes end, and there is nothing in the book beyond. +Whether any of us thought any more of the novel, whether we ever met +again to discuss it, whether it were ever begun, whether it were ever +abandoned—I cannot say. There is a fairy story that I read +many, many years ago that has never ceased to haunt me. It told +how a little boy once climbed a rainbow. And at the end of the +rainbow, just behind the clouds, he found a wondrous city. Its +houses were of gold, and its streets were paved with silver, and the +light that shone upon it was as the light that lies upon the sleeping +world at dawn. In this city there were palaces so beautiful that +merely to look upon them satisfied all desires; temples so perfect that +they who once knelt therein were cleansed of sin. And all the +men who dwelt in this wondrous city were great and good, and the women +fairer than the women of a young man’s dreams. And the name +of the city was, “The city of the things men meant to do.”</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOVEL NOTES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2037-h.htm or 2037-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/3/2037 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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