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diff --git a/old/jhnng10.txt b/old/jhnng10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0615ae0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/jhnng10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2770 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of John Ingerfield etc by Jerome K. Jerome +#25 in our series by Jeroke K. Jerome + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +John Ingerfield and Other Stories + +by Jerome K. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +JOHN INGERFIELD AND OTHER STORIES + + + + +Contents + +To the Gentle Reader +In Remembrance of John Ingerfield and of Anne, his Wife +The Woman of the Saeter +Variety Patter +Silhouettes +The Lease of the "Cross Keys" + + + +TO THE GENTLE READER; +also +TO THE GENTLE CRITIC. + + +Once upon a time, I wrote a little story of a woman who was crushed +to death by a python. A day or two after its publication, a friend +stopped me in the street. "Charming little story of yours," he +said," that about the woman and the snake; but it's not as funny as +some of your things!" The next week, a newspaper, referring to the +tale, remarked, "We have heard the incident related before with +infinitely greater humour." + +With this--and many similar experiences--in mind, I wish distinctly +to state that "John Ingerfield," "The Woman of the Saeter," and +"Silhouettes," are not intended to be amusing. The two other items-- +"Variety Patter," and "The Lease of the Cross Keys"--I give over to +the critics of the new humour to rend as they will; but "John +Ingerfield," "The Woman of the Saeter," and "Silhouettes," I repeat, +I should be glad if they would judge from some other standpoint than +that of humour, new or old. + + +IN REMEMBRANCE OF JOHN INGERFIELD AND OF ANNE, HIS WIFE +A STORY OF OLD LONDON, IN TWO CHAPTERS + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + +If you take the Underground Railway to Whitechapel Road (the East +station), and from there take one of the yellow tramcars that start +from that point, and go down the Commercial Road, past the George, in +front of which starts--or used to stand--a high flagstaff, at the +base of which sits--or used to sit--an elderly female purveyor of +pigs' trotters at three-ha'pence apiece, until you come to where a +railway arch crosses the road obliquely, and there get down and turn +to the right up a narrow, noisy street leading to the river, and then +to the right again up a still narrower street, which you may know by +its having a public-house at one corner (as is in the nature of +things) and a marine store-dealer's at the other, outside which +strangely stiff and unaccommodating garments of gigantic size flutter +ghost-like in the wind, you will come to a dingy railed-in +churchyard, surrounded on all sides by cheerless, many-peopled +houses. Sad-looking little old houses they are, in spite of the +tumult of life about their ever open doors. They and the ancient +church in their midst seem weary of the ceaseless jangle around them. +Perhaps, standing there for so many years, listening to the long +silence of the dead, the fretful voices of the living sound foolish +in their ears. + +Peering through the railings on the side nearest the river, you will +see beneath the shadow of the soot-grimed church's soot-grimed porch- +-that is, if the sun happen, by rare chance, to be strong enough to +cast any shadow at all in that region of grey light--a curiously high +and narrow headstone that once was white and straight, not tottering +and bent with age as it is now. There is upon this stone a carving +in bas-relief, as you will see for yourself if you will make your way +to it through the gateway on the opposite side of the square. It +represents, so far as can be made out, for it is much worn by time +and dirt, a figure lying on the ground with another figure bending +over it, while at a little distance stands a third object. But this +last is so indistinct that it might be almost anything, from an angel +to a post. + +And below the carving are the words (already half obliterated) that I +have used for the title of this story. + +Should you ever wander of a Sunday morning within sound of the +cracked bell that calls a few habit-bound, old-fashioned folk to +worship within those damp-stained walls, and drop into talk with the +old men who on such days sometimes sit, each in his brass-buttoned +long brown coat, upon the low stone coping underneath those broken +railings, you might hear this tale from them, as I did, more years +ago than I care to recollect. + +But lest you do not choose to go to all this trouble, or lest the old +men who could tell it you have grown tired of all talk, and are not +to be roused ever again into the telling of tales, and you yet wish +for the story, I will here set it down for you. + +But I cannot recount it to you as they told it to me, for to me it +was only a tale that I heard and remembered, thinking to tell it +again for profit, while to them it was a thing that had been, and the +threads of it were interwoven with the woof of their own life. As +they talked, faces that I did not see passed by among the crowd and +turned and looked at them, and voices that I did not hear spoke to +them below the clamour of the street, so that through their thin +piping voices there quivered the deep music of life and death, and my +tale must be to theirs but as a gossip's chatter to the story of him +whose breast has felt the press of battle. + + +John Ingerfield, oil and tallow refiner, of Lavender Wharf, +Limehouse, comes of a hard-headed, hard-fisted stock. The first of +the race that the eye of Record, piercing the deepening mists upon +the centuries behind her, is able to discern with any clearness is a +long-haired, sea-bronzed personage, whom men call variously Inge or +Unger. Out of the wild North Sea he has come. Record observes him, +one of a small, fierce group, standing on the sands of desolate +Northumbria, staring landward, his worldly wealth upon his back. +This consists of a two-handed battle-axe, value perhaps some forty +stycas in the currency of the time. A careful man, with business +capabilities, may, however, manipulate a small capital to great +advantage. In what would appear, to those accustomed to our slow +modern methods, an incredibly short space of time, Inge's two-handed +battle-axe has developed into wide lands and many head of cattle; +which latter continue to multiply with a rapidity beyond the dreams +of present-day breeders. Inge's descendants would seem to have +inherited the genius of their ancestor, for they prosper and their +worldly goods increase. They are a money-making race. In all times, +out of all things, by all means, they make money. They fight for +money, marry for money, live for money, are ready to die for money. + +In the days when the most saleable and the highest priced article in +the markets of Europe was a strong arm and a cool head, then each +Ingerfield (as "Inge," long rooted in Yorkshire soil, had grown or +been corrupted to) was a soldier of fortune, and offered his strong +arm and his cool head to the highest bidder. They fought for their +price, and they took good care that they obtained their price; but, +the price settled, they fought well, for they were staunch men and +true, according to their lights, though these lights may have been +placed somewhat low down, near the earth. + +Then followed the days when the chief riches of the world lay tossed +for daring hands to grasp upon the bosom of the sea, and the sleeping +spirit of the old Norse Rover stirred in their veins, and the lilt of +a wild sea-song they had never heard kept ringing in their ears; and +they built them ships and sailed for the Spanish Main, and won much +wealth, as was their wont. + +Later on, when Civilisation began to lay down and enforce sterner +rules for the game of life, and peaceful methods promised to prove +more profitable than violent, the Ingerfields became traders and +merchants of grave mien and sober life; for their ambition from +generation to generation remains ever the same, their various +callings being but means to an end. + +A hard, stern race of men they would seem to have been, but just--so +far as they understood justice. They have the reputation of having +been good husbands, fathers, and masters; but one cannot help +thinking of them as more respected than loved. + +They were men to exact the uttermost farthing due to them, yet not +without a sense of the thing due from them, their own duty and +responsibility--nay, not altogether without their moments of heroism, +which is the duty of great men. History relates how a certain +Captain Ingerfield, returning with much treasure from the West +Indies--how acquired it were, perhaps, best not to inquire too +closely--is overhauled upon the high seas by King's frigate. Captain +of King's frigate sends polite message to Captain Ingerfield +requesting him to be so kind as to promptly hand over a certain +member of his ship's company, who, by some means or another, has made +himself objectionable to King's friends, in order that he (the said +objectionable person) may be forthwith hanged from the yard-arm. + +Captain Ingerfield returns polite answer to Captain of King's frigate +that he (Captain Ingerfield) will, with much pleasure, hang any +member of his ship's company that needs hanging, but that neither the +King of England nor any one else on God Almighty's sea is going to do +it for him. Captain of King's frigate sends back word that if +objectionable person be not at once given up he shall be compelled +with much regret to send Ingerfield and his ship to the bottom of the +Atlantic. Replies Captain Ingerfield, "That is just what he will +have to do before I give up one of my people," and fights the big +frigate--fights it so fiercely that after three hours Captain of +King's frigate thinks it will be good to try argument again, and +sends therefore a further message, courteously acknowledging Captain +Ingerfield's courage and skill, and suggesting that, he having done +sufficient to vindicate his honour and renown, it would be politic to +now hand over the unimportant cause of contention, and so escape with +his treasure. + +"Tell your Captain," shouts back this Ingerfield, who has discovered +there are sweeter things to fight for than even money, "that the Wild +Goose has flown the seas with her belly full of treasure before now, +and will, if it be God's pleasure, so do again, but that master and +man in her sail together, fight together, and die together." + +Whereupon King's frigate pounds away more vigorously than ever, and +succeeds eventually in carrying out her threat. Down goes the Wild +Goose, her last chase ended--down she goes with a plunge, spit +foremost with her colours flying; and down with her goes every man +left standing on her decks; and at the bottom of the Atlantic they +lie to this day, master and man side by side, keeping guard upon +their treasure. + +Which incident, and it is well authenticated, goes far to prove that +the Ingerfields, hard men and grasping men though they be--men caring +more for the getting of money than for the getting of love--loving +more the cold grip of gold than the grip of kith or kin, yet bear +buried in their hearts the seeds of a nobler manhood, for which, +however, the barren soil of their ambition affords scant nourishment. + +The John Ingerfield of this story is a man very typical of his race. +He has discovered that the oil and tallow refining business, though +not a pleasant one, is an exceedingly lucrative one. These are the +good days when George the Third is king, and London is rapidly +becoming a city of bright night. Tallow and oil and all materials +akin thereto are in ever-growing request, and young John Ingerfield +builds himself a large refining house and warehouse in the growing +suburb of Limehouse, which lies between the teeming river and the +quiet fields, gathers many people round about him, puts his strong +heart into his work, and prospers. + +All the days of his youth he labours and garners, and lays out and +garners yet again. In early middle age he finds himself a wealthy +man. The chief business of life, the getting of money, is +practically done; his enterprise is firmly established, and will +continue to grow with ever less need of husbandry. It is time for +him to think about the secondary business of life, the getting +together of a wife and home, for the Ingerfields have ever been good +citizens, worthy heads of families, openhanded hosts, making a brave +show among friends and neighbours. + +John Ingerfield, sitting in his stiff, high-backed chair, in his +stiffly, but solidly, furnished dining-room, above his counting- +house, sipping slowly his one glass of port, takes counsel with +himself. + +What shall she be? + +He is rich, and can afford a good article. She must be young and +handsome, fit to grace the fine house he will take for her in +fashionable Bloomsbury, far from the odour and touch of oil and +tallow. She must be well bred, with a gracious, noble manner, that +will charm his guests and reflect honour and credit upon himself; she +must, above all, be of good family, with a genealogical tree +sufficiently umbrageous to hide Lavender Wharf from the eyes of +Society. + +What else she may or may not be he does not very much care. She +will, of course, be virtuous and moderately pious, as it is fit and +proper that women should be. It will also be well that her +disposition be gentle and yielding, but that is of minor importance, +at all events so far as he is concerned: the Ingerfield husbands are +not the class of men upon whom wives vent their tempers. + +Having decided in his mind WHAT she shall be, he proceeds to discuss +with himself WHO she shall be. His social circle is small. +Methodically, in thought, he makes the entire round of it, mentally +scrutinising every maiden that he knows. Some are charming, some are +fair, some are rich; but no one of them approaches near to his +carefully considered ideal. + +He keeps the subject in his mind, and muses on it in the intervals of +business. At odd moments he jots down names as they occur to him +upon a slip of paper, which he pins for the purpose on the inside of +the cover of his desk. He arranges them alphabetically, and when it +is as complete as his memory can make it, he goes critically down the +list, making a few notes against each. As a result, it becomes clear +to him that he must seek among strangers for his wife. + +He has a friend, or rather an acquaintance, an old school-fellow, who +has developed into one of those curious social flies that in all ages +are to be met with buzzing contentedly within the most exclusive +circles, and concerning whom, seeing that they are neither rare nor +rich, nor extraordinarily clever nor well born, one wonders "how the +devil they got there!" Meeting this man by chance one afternoon, he +links his arm in his and invites him home to dinner. + +So soon as they are left alone, with the walnuts and wine between +them, John Ingerfield says, thoughtfully cracking a hard nut between +his fingers - + +"Will, I'm going to get married." + +"Excellent idea--delighted to hear it, I'm sure," replies Will, +somewhat less interested in the information than in the delicately +flavoured Madeira he is lovingly sipping. "Who's the lady?" + +"I don't know, yet," is John Ingerfield's answer. + +His friend glances slyly at him over his glass, not sure whether he +is expected to be amused or sympathetically helpful. + +"I want you to find one for me." + +Will Cathcart puts down his glass and stares at his host across the +table. + +"Should be delighted to help you, Jack," he stammers, in an alarmed +tone--"'pon my soul I should; but really don't know a damned woman I +could recommend--'pon my soul I don't." + +"You must see a good many: I wish you'd look out for one that you +COULD recommend." + +"Certainly I will, my dear Jack!" answers the other, in a relieved +voice. "Never thought about 'em in that way before. Daresay I shall +come across the very girl to suit you. I'll keep my eyes open and +let you know." + +"I shall be obliged to you if you will," replies John Ingerfield, +quietly; "and it's your turn, I think, to oblige me, Will. I have +obliged you, if you recollect." + +"Shall never forget it, my dear Jack," murmurs Will, a little +uneasily. "It was uncommonly good of you. You saved me from ruin, +Jack: shall think about it to my dying day--'pon my soul I shall." + +"No need to let it worry you for so long a period as that," returns +John, with the faintest suspicion of a smile playing round his firm +mouth. "The bill falls due at the end of next month. You can +discharge the debt then, and the matter will be off your mind." + +Will finds his chair growing uncomfortable under him, while the +Madeira somehow loses its flavour. He gives a short, nervous laugh. + +"By Jove," he says: "so soon as that? The date had quite slipped my +memory." + +"Fortunate that I reminded you," says John, the smile round his lips +deepening. + +Will fidgets on his seat. "I'm afraid, my dear Jack," he says, "I +shall have to get you to renew it, just for a month or two,--deuced +awkward thing, but I'm remarkably short of money this year. Truth +is, I can't get what's owing to myself." + +"That's very awkward, certainly," replies his friend, "because I am +not at all sure that I shall be able to renew it." + +Will stares at him in some alarm. "But what am I to do if I hav'n't +the money?" + +John Ingerfield shrugs his shoulders. + +"You don't mean, my dear Jack, that you would put me in prison?" + +"Why not? Other people have to go there who can't pay their debts." + +Will Cathcart's alarm grows to serious proportions. "But our +friendship," he cries, "our--" + +"My dear Will," interrupts the other, "there are few friends I would +lend three hundred pounds to and make no effort to get it back. You, +certainly, are not one of them." + +"Let us make a bargain," he continues. "Find me a wife, and on the +day of my marriage I will send you back that bill with, perhaps, a +couple of hundred added. If by the end of next month you have not +introduced me to a lady fit to be, and willing to be, Mrs. John +Ingerfield, I shall decline to renew it." + +John Ingerfield refills his own glass and hospitably pushes the +bottle towards his guest--who, however, contrary to his custom, takes +no notice of it, but stares hard at his shoe-buckles. + +"Are you serious?" he says at length. + +"Quite serious," is the answer. "I want to marry. My wife must be a +lady by birth and education. She must be of good family--of family +sufficiently good, indeed, to compensate for the refinery. She must +be young and beautiful and charming. I am purely a business man. I +want a woman capable of conducting the social department of my life. +I know of no such lady myself. I appeal to you, because you, I know, +are intimate with the class among whom she must be sought." + +"There may be some difficulty in persuading a lady of the required +qualifications to accept the situation," says Cathcart, with a touch +of malice. + +"I want you to find one who will," says John Ingerfield. + +Early in the evening Will Cathcart takes leave of his host, and +departs thoughtful and anxious; and John Ingerfield strolls +contemplatively up and down his wharf, for the smell of oil and +tallow has grown to be very sweet to him, and it is pleasant to watch +the moonbeams shining on the piled-up casks. + +Six weeks go by. On the first day of the seventh John takes Will +Cathcart's acceptance from its place in the large safe, and lays it +in the smaller box beside his desk, devoted to more pressing and +immediate business. Two days later Cathcart picks his way across the +slimy yard, passes through the counting-house, and enters his +friend's inner sanctum, closing the door behind him. + +He wears a jubilant air, and slaps the grave John on the back. "I've +got her, Jack," he cries. "It's been hard work, I can tell you: +sounding suspicious old dowagers, bribing confidential servants, +fishing for information among friends of the family. By Jove, I +shall be able to join the Duke's staff as spy-in-chief to His +Majesty's entire forces after this!" + +"What is she like?" asks John, without stopping his writing. + +"Like! My dear Jack, you'll fall over head and ears in love with her +the moment you see her. A little cold, perhaps, but that will just +suit you." + +"Good family?" asks John, signing and folding the letter he has +finished. + +"So good that I was afraid at first it would be useless thinking of +her. But she's a sensible girl, no confounded nonsense about her, +and the family are poor as church mice. In fact--well, to tell the +truth, we have become most excellent friends, and she told me herself +frankly that she meant to marry a rich man, and didn't much care +whom." + +"That sounds hopeful," remarks the would-be bridegroom, with his +peculiar dry smile: "when shall I have the pleasure of seeing her?" + +"I want you to come with me to-night to the Garden," replies the +other; "she will be in Lady Heatherington's box, and I will introduce +you." + +So that evening John Ingerfield goes to Covent Garden Theatre, with +the blood running a trifle quicker in his veins, but not much, than +would be the case were he going to the docks to purchase tallow-- +examines, covertly, the proposed article from the opposite side of +the house, and approves her--is introduced to her, and, on closer +inspection, approves her still more--receives an invitation to visit- +-visits frequently, and each time is more satisfied of the rarity, +serviceableness, and quality of the article. + +If all John Ingerfield requires for a wife is a beautiful social +machine, surely here he has found his ideal. Anne Singleton, only +daughter of that persistently unfortunate but most charming of +baronets, Sir Harry Singleton (more charming, it is rumoured, outside +his family circle than within it), is a stately graceful, high-bred +woman. Her portrait, by Reynolds, still to be seen above the carved +wainscoting of one of the old City halls, shows a wonderfully +handsome and clever face, but at the same time a wonderfully cold and +heartless one. It is the face of a woman half weary of, half +sneering at the world. One reads in old family letters, whereof the +ink is now very faded and the paper very yellow, long criticisms of +this portrait. The writers complain that if the picture is at all +like her she must have greatly changed since her girlhood, for they +remember her then as having a laughing and winsome expression. + +They say--they who knew her in after-life--that this earlier face +came back to her in the end, so that the many who remembered opening +their eyes and seeing her bending down over them could never +recognise the portrait of the beautiful sneering lady, even when they +were told whom it represented. + +But at the time of John Ingerfield's strange wooing she was the Anne +Singleton of Sir Joshua's portrait, and John Ingerfield liked her the +better that she was. + +He had no feeling of sentiment in the matter himself, and it +simplified the case that she had none either. He offered her a plain +bargain, and she accepted it. For all he knew or cared, her attitude +towards this subject of marriage was the usual one assumed by women. +Very young girls had their heads full of romantic ideas. It was +better for her and for him that she had got rid of them. + +"Ours will be a union founded on good sense," said John Ingerfield. + +"Let us hope the experiment will succeed," said Anne Singleton. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + +But the experiment does not succeed. The laws of God decree that man +shall purchase woman, that woman shall give herself to man, for other +coin than that of good sense. Good sense is not a legal tender in +the marriage mart. Men and women who enter therein with only sense +in their purse have no right to complain if, on reaching home, they +find they have concluded an unsatisfactory bargain. + +John Ingerfield, when he asked Anne Singleton to be his wife, felt no +more love for her than he felt for any of the other sumptuous +household appointments he was purchasing about the same time, and +made no pretence of doing so. Nor, had he done so, would she have +believed him; for Anne Singleton has learned much in her twenty-two +summers and winters, and knows that love is only a meteor in life's +sky, and that the true lodestar of this world is gold. Anne +Singleton has had her romance and buried it deep down in her deep +nature and over its grave, to keep its ghost from rising, has piled +the stones of indifference and contempt, as many a woman has done +before and since. Once upon a time Anne Singleton sat dreaming out a +story. It was a story old as the hills--older than some of them--but +to her, then, it was quite new and very wonderful. It contained all +the usual stock material common to such stories: the lad and the +lass, the plighted troth, the richer suitors, the angry parents, the +love that was worth braving all the world for. One day into this +dream there fell from the land of the waking a letter, a poor, +pitiful letter: "You know I love you and only you," it ran; "my +heart will always be yours till I die. But my father threatens to +stop my allowance, and, as you know, I have nothing of my own except +debts. Some would call her handsome, but how can I think of her +beside you? Oh, why was money ever let to come into the world to +curse us?" with many other puzzling questions of a like character, +and much severe condemnation of Fate and Heaven and other parties +generally, and much self-commiseration. + +Anne Singleton took long to read the letter. When she had finished +it, and had read it through again, she rose, and, crushing it her +hand, flung it in the fire with a laugh, and as the flame burnt up +and died away felt that her life had died with it, not knowing that +bruised hearts can heal. + +So when John Ingerfield comes wooing, and speaks to her no word of +love but only of money, she feels that here at last is a genuine +voice that she can trust. Love of the lesser side of life is still +left to her. It will be pleasant to be the wealthy mistress of a +fine house, to give great receptions, to exchange the secret poverty +of home for display and luxury. These things are offered to her on +the very terms she would have suggested herself. Accompanied by love +she would have refused them, knowing she could give none in return. + +But a woman finds it one thing not to desire affection and another +thing not to possess it. Day by day the atmosphere of the fine house +in Bloomsbury grows cold and colder about her heart. Guests warm it +at times for a few hours, then depart, leaving it chillier than +before. + +For her husband she attempts to feel indifference, but living +creatures joined together cannot feel indifference for each other. +Even two dogs in a leash are compelled to think of one another. A +man and wife must love or hate, like or dislike, in degree as the +bond connecting them is drawn tight or allowed to hang slack. By +mutual desire their chains of wedlock have been fastened as loosely +as respect for security will permit, with the happy consequence that +her aversion to him does not obtrude itself beyond the limits of +politeness. + +Her part of the contract she faithfully fulfils, for the Singletons +also have their code of honour. Her beauty, her tact, her charm, her +influence, are devoted to his service--to the advancement of his +position, the furtherance of his ambition. Doors that would +otherwise remain closed she opens to him. Society, that would +otherwise pass by with a sneer, sits round his table. His wishes and +pleasures are hers. In all things she yields him wifely duty, seeks +to render herself agreeable to him, suffers in silence his occasional +caresses. Whatever was implied in the bargain, that she will perform +to the letter. + +He, on his side, likewise performs his part with businesslike +conscientiousness--nay, seeing that the pleasing of her brings no +personal gratification to himself--not without generosity. He is +ever thoughtful of and deferential to her, awarding her at all times +an unvarying courteousness that is none the less sincere for being +studied. Her every expressed want is gratified, her every known +distaste respected. Conscious of his presence being an oppression to +her, he is even careful not to intrude it upon her oftener than is +necessary. + +At times he asks himself, somewhat pertinently, what he has gained by +marriage--wonders whether this social race was quite the most +interesting game he could have elected to occupy his leisure--wonders +whether, after all, he would not have been happier over his counting- +house than in these sumptuous, glittering rooms, where he always +seems, and feels himself to be, the uninvited guest. + +The only feeling that a closer intimacy has created in him for his +wife is that of indulgent contempt. As there is no equality between +man and woman, so there can be no respect. She is a different being. +He must either look up to her as superior to himself, or down upon +her as inferior. When a man does the former he is more or less in +love, and love to John Ingerfield is an unknown emotion. Her beauty, +her charm, her social tact--even while he makes use of them for his +own purposes, he despises as the weapons of a weak nature. + +So in their big, cold mansion John Ingerfield and Anne, his wife, sit +far apart, strangers to one another, neither desiring to know the +other nearer. + +About his business he never speaks to her, and she never questions +him. To compensate for the slight shrinkage of time he is able to +devote to it, he becomes more strict and exacting; grows a harsher +master to his people, a sterner creditor, a greedier dealer, +squeezing the uttermost out of every one, feverish to grow richer, so +that he may spend more upon the game that day by day he finds more +tiresome and uninteresting. + +And the piled-up casks upon his wharves increase and multiply; and on +the dirty river his ships and barges lie in ever-lengthening lines; +and round his greasy cauldrons sweating, witch-like creatures swarm +in ever-denser numbers, stirring oil and tallow into gold. + +Until one summer, from its nest in the far East, there flutters +westward a foul thing. Hovering over Limehouse suburb, seeing it +crowded and unclean, liking its fetid smell, it settles down upon it. + +Typhus is the creature's name. At first it lurks there unnoticed, +battening upon the rich, rank food it finds around it, until, grown +too big to hide longer, it boldly shows its hideous head, and the +white face of Terror runs swiftly through alley and street, crying as +it runs, forces itself into John Ingerfield's counting-house, and +tells its tale. John Ingerfield sits for a while thinking. Then he +mounts his horse and rides home at as hard a pace as the condition of +the streets will allow. In the hall he meets Anne going out, and +stops her. + +"Don't come too near me," he says quietly. "Typhus fever has broken +out at Limehouse, and they say one can communicate it, even without +having it oneself. You had better leave London for a few weeks. Go +down to your father's: I will come and fetch you when it is all +over." + +He passes her, giving her a wide berth, and goes upstairs, where he +remains for some minutes in conversation with his valet. Then, +coming down, he remounts and rides off again. + +After a little while Anne goes up into his room. His man is kneeling +in the middle of the floor, packing a valise. + +"Where are you to take it?" she asks. + +"Down to the wharf, ma'am," answers the man: "Mr. Ingerfield is +going to be there for a day or two." + +Then Anne sits in the great empty drawing-room, and takes HER turn at +thinking. + +John Ingerfield finds, on his return to Limehouse, that the evil has +greatly increased during the short time he has been away. Fanned by +fear and ignorance, fed by poverty and dirt, the scourge is spreading +through the district like a fire. Long smouldering in secret, it has +now burst forth at fifty different points at once. Not a street, not +a court but has its "case." Over a dozen of John's hands are down +with it already. Two more have sunk prostrate beside their work +within the last hour. The panic grows grotesque. Men and women tear +their clothes off, looking to see if they have anywhere upon them a +rash or a patch of mottled skin, find that they have, or imagine that +they have, and rush, screaming, half-undressed, into the street. Two +men, meeting in a narrow passage, both rush back, too frightened to +pass each other. A boy stoops down and scratches his leg--not an +action that under ordinary circumstances would excite much surprise +in that neighbourhood. In an instant there is a wild stampede from +the room, the strong trampling on the weak in their eagerness to +escape. + +These are not the days of organised defence against disease. There +are kind hearts and willing hands in London town, but they are not +yet closely enough banded together to meet a swift foe such as this. +There are hospitals and charities galore, but these are mostly in the +City, maintained by the City Fathers for the exclusive benefit of +poor citizens and members of the guilds. The few free hospitals are +already over-crowded and ill-prepared. Squalid, outlying Limehouse, +belonging to nowhere, cared for by nobody, must fight for itself. + +John Ingerfield calls the older men together, and with their help +attempts to instil some sense and reason into his terrified people. +Standing on the step of his counting-house, and addressing as many of +them as are not too scared to listen, he tells them of the danger of +fear and of the necessity for calmness and courage. + +"We must face and fight this thing like men," he cries, in that deep, +din-conquering voice that has served the Ingerfields in good stead on +many a steel-swept field, on many a storm-struck sea; "there must be +no cowardly selfishness, no faint-hearted despair. If we've got to +die we'll die; but please God we'll live. Anyhow, we will stick +together, and help each other. I mean to stop here with you, and do +what I can for you. None of my people shall want." + +John Ingerfield ceases, and as the vibrations of his strong tones +roll away a sweet voice from beside him rises clear and firm:- + +"I have come down to be with you also, and to help my husband. I +shall take charge of the nursing and tending of your sick, and I hope +I shall be of some real use to you. My husband and I are so sorry +for you in your trouble. I know you will be brave and patient. We +will all do our best, and be hopeful." + +He turns, half expecting to see only the empty air and to wonder at +the delirium in his brain. She puts her hand in his, and their eyes +meet; and in that moment, for the first time in their lives, these +two see one another. + +They speak no word. There is no opportunity for words. There is +work to be done, and done quickly, and Anne grasps it with the greed +of a woman long hungry for the joy of doing. As John watches her +moving swiftly and quietly through the bewildered throng, +questioning, comforting, gently compelling, the thought comes to him, +Ought he to allow her to be here, risking her life for his people? +followed by the thought, How is he going to prevent it? For in this +hour the knowledge is born within him that Anne is not his property; +that he and she are fellow hands taking their orders from the same +Master; that though it be well for them to work together and help +each other, they must not hinder one another. + +As yet John does not understand all this. The idea is new and +strange to him. He feels as the child in a fairy story on suddenly +discovering that the trees and flowers has he passed by carelessly a +thousand times can think and talk. Once he whispers to her of the +labour and the danger, but she answers simply, "They are my people +too, John: it is my work"; and he lets her have her way. + +Anne has a true woman's instinct for nursing, and her strong sense +stands her in stead of experience. A glance into one or two of the +squalid dens where these people live tells her that if her patients +are to be saved they must be nursed away from their own homes; and +she determines to convert the large counting-house--a long, lofty +room at the opposite end of the wharf to the refinery--into a +temporary hospital. Selecting some seven or eight of the most +reliable women to assist her, she proceeds to prepare it for its +purpose. Ledgers might be volumes of poetry, bills of lading mere +street ballads, for all the respect that is shown to them. The older +clerks stand staring aghast, feeling that the end of all things is +surely at hand, and that the universe is rushing down into space, +until, their idleness being detected, they are themselves promptly +impressed for the sacrilegious work, and made to assist in the +demolition of their own temple. + +Anne's commands are spoken very sweetly, and are accompanied by the +sweetest of smiles; but they are nevertheless commands, and somehow +it does not occur to any one to disobey them. John--stern, +masterful, authoritative John, who has never been approached with +anything more dictatorial than a timid request since he left Merchant +Taylors' School nineteen years ago, who would have thought that +something had suddenly gone wrong with the laws of Nature if he had +been--finds himself hurrying along the street on his way to a +druggist's shop, slackens his pace an instant to ask himself why and +wherefore he is doing so, recollects that he was told to do so and to +make haste back, marvels who could have dared to tell him to do +anything and to make haste back, remembers that it was Anne, is not +quite sure what to think about it, but hurries on. He "makes haste +back," is praised for having been so quick, and feels pleased with +himself; is sent off again in another direction, with instructions +what to say when he gets there. He starts off (he is becoming used +to being ordered about now). Halfway there great alarm seizes him, +for on attempting to say over the message to himself, to be sure that +he has it quite right, he discovers he has forgotten it. He pauses, +nervous and excited; cogitates as to whether it will be safe for him +to concoct a message of his own, weighs anxiously the chances-- +supposing that he does so--of being found out. Suddenly, to his +intense surprise and relief, every word of what he was told to say +comes back to him; and he hastens on, repeating it over and over to +himself as he walks, lest it should escape him again. + +And then a few hundred yards farther on there occurs one of the most +extraordinary events that has ever happened in that street before or +since: John Ingerfield laughs. + +John Ingerfield, of Lavender Wharf, after walking two-thirds of Creek +Lane, muttering to himself with his eyes on the ground, stops in the +middle of the road and laughs; and one small boy, who tells the story +to his dying day, sees him and hears him, and runs home at the top of +his speed with the wonderful news, and is conscientiously slapped by +his mother for telling lies. + +All that day Anne works like a heroine, John helping her, and +occasionally getting in the way. By night she has her little +hospital prepared and three beds already up and occupied; and, all +now done that can be done, she and John go upstairs to his old rooms +above the counting-house. + +John ushers her into them with some misgiving, for by contrast with +the house at Bloomsbury they are poor and shabby. He places her in +the arm-chair near the fire, begging her to rest quiet, and then +assists his old housekeeper, whose wits, never of the strongest, have +been scared by the day's proceeding, to lay the meal. + +Anne's eyes follow him as he moves about the room. Perhaps here, +where all the real part of his life has been passed, he is more his +true self than amid the unfamiliar surroundings of fashion; perhaps +this simpler frame shows him to greater advantage; but Anne wonders +how it is she has never noticed before that he is a well-set, +handsome man. Nor, indeed, is he so very old-looking. Is it a trick +of the dim light, or what? He looks almost young. But why should he +not look young, seeing he is only thirty-six, and at thirty-six a man +is in his prime? Anne wonders why she has always thought of him as +an elderly person. + +A portrait of one of John's ancestors hangs over the great +mantelpiece--of that sturdy Captain Ingerfield who fought the King's +frigate rather than give up one of his people. Anne glances from the +dead face to the living and notes the strong likeness between them. +Through her half-closed eyes she sees the grim old captain hurling +back his message of defiance, and his face is the face she saw a few +hours ago, saying, "I mean to stop here with you and do what I can +for you. None of my people shall want." + +John is placing a chair for her at the table, and the light from the +candles falls upon him. She steals another glance at his face--a +strong, stern, handsome face, capable of becoming a noble face. Anne +wonders if it has ever looked down tenderly at anyone; feels a sudden +fierce pain at the thought; dismisses the thought as impossible; +wonders, nevertheless, how tenderness would suit it; thinks she would +like to see a look of tenderness upon it, simply out of curiosity; +wonders if she ever will. + +She rouses herself from her reverie as John, with a smile, tells her +supper is ready, and they seat themselves opposite each other, an odd +air of embarrassment pervading. + +Day by day their work grows harder; day by day the foe grows +stronger, fiercer, more all-conquering; and day by day, fighting side +by side against it, John Ingerfield and Anne, his wife, draw closer +to each other. On the battle-field of life we learn the worth of +strength. Anne feels it good, when growing weary, to glance up and +find him near her; feels it good, amid the troubled babel round her, +to hear the deep, strong music of his voice. + +And John, watching Anne's fair figure moving to and fro among the +stricken and the mourning; watching her fair, fluttering hands, busy +with their holy work, her deep, soul-haunting eyes, changeful with +the light and shade of tenderness; listening to her sweet, clear +voice, laughing with the joyous, comforting the comfortless, gently +commanding, softly pleading, finds creeping into his brain strange +new thoughts concerning women--concerning this one woman in +particular. + +One day, rummaging over an old chest, he comes across a coloured +picture-book of Bible stories. He turns the torn pages fondly, +remembering the Sunday afternoons of long ago. At one picture, +wherein are represented many angels, he pauses; for in one of the +younger angels of the group--one not quite so severe of feature as +her sisters--he fancies he can trace resemblance to Anne. He lingers +long over it. Suddenly there rushes through his brain the thought, +How good to stoop and kiss the sweet feet of such a woman! and, +thinking it, he blushes like a boy. + +So from the soil of human suffering spring the flowers of human love +and joy, and from the flowers there fall the seeds of infinite pity +for human pain, God shaping all things to His ends. + +Thinking of Anne, John's face grows gentler, his hand kinder; +dreaming of him, her heart grows stronger, deeper, fuller. Every +available room in the warehouse has been turned into a ward, and the +little hospital is open free to all, for John and Anne feel that the +whole world are their people. The piled-up casks are gone--shipped +to Woolwich and Gravesend, bundled anywhere out of the way, as though +oil and tallow and the gold they can be stirred into were matters of +small moment in this world, not to be thought of beside such a thing +as the helping of a human brother in sore strait. + +All the labour of the day seems light to them, looking forward to the +hour when they sit together in John's old shabby dining-room above +the counting-house. Yet a looker-on might imagine such times dull to +them; for they are strangely shy of one another, strangely sparing of +words--fearful of opening the flood-gates of speech, feeling the +pressure of the pent-up thought. + +One evening, John, throwing out words, not as a sop to the necessity +for talk, but as a bait to catch Anne's voice, mentions girdle-cakes, +remembers that his old housekeeper used to be famous for the making +of them, and wonders if she has forgotten the art. + +Anne, answering tremulously, as though girdle-cakes were a somewhat +delicate topic, claims to be a successful amateur of them herself. +John, having been given always to understand that the talent for them +was exceedingly rare, and one usually hereditary, respectfully doubts +Anne's capabilities, deferentially suggesting that she is thinking of +scones. Anne indignantly repudiates the insinuation, knows quite +well the difference between girdle-cakes and scones, offers to prove +her powers by descending into the kitchen and making some then and +there, if John will accompany her and find the things for her. + +John accepts the challenge, and, guiding Anne with one shy, awkward +hand, while holding aloft a candle in the other, leads the way. It +is past ten o'clock, and the old housekeeper is in bed. At each +creaking stair they pause, to listen if the noise has awakened her; +then, finding all silent, creep forward again, with suppressed +laughter, wondering with alarm, half feigned, half real, what the +prim, methodical dame would say were she to come down and catch them. + +They reach the kitchen, thanks more to the suggestions of a friendly +cat than to John's acquaintanceship with the geography of his own +house; and Anne rakes together the fire and clears the table for her +work. What possible use John is to her--what need there was for her +stipulating that he should accompany her, Anne might find it +difficult, if examined, to explain satisfactorily. As for his +"finding the things" for her, he has not the faintest notion where +they are, and possesses no natural aptitude for discovery. Told to +find flour, he industriously searches for it in the dresser drawers; +sent for the rolling-pin--the nature and characteristics of rolling- +pins being described to him for his guidance--he returns, after a +prolonged absence, with the copper stick. Anne laughs at him; but +really it would seem as though she herself were almost as stupid, for +not until her hands are covered with flour does it occur to her that +she has not taken that preliminary step in all cooking operations of +rolling up her sleeves. + +She holds out her arms to John, first one and then the other, asking +him sweetly if he minds doing it for her. John is very slow and +clumsy, but Anne stands very patient. Inch by inch he peels the +black sleeve from the white round arm. Hundreds of times must he +have seen those fair arms, bare to the shoulder, sparkling with +jewels; but never before has he seen their wondrous beauty. He longs +to clasp them round his neck, yet is fearful lest his trembling +fingers touching them as he performs his tantalising task may offend +her. Anne thanks him, and apologises for having given him so much +trouble, and he murmurs some meaningless reply, and stands foolishly +silent, watching her. + +Anne seems to find one hand sufficient for her cake-making, for the +other rests idly on the table--very near to one of John's, as she +would see were not her eyes so intent upon her work. How the impulse +came to him, where he--grave, sober, business-man John--learnt such +story-book ways can never be known; but in one instant he is down on +both knees, smothering the floury hand with kisses, and the next +moment Anne's arms are round his neck and her lips against his, and +the barrier between them is swept away, and the deep waters of their +love rush together. + +With that kiss they enter a new life whereinto one may not follow +them. One thinks it must have been a life made strangely beautiful +by self-forgetfulness, strangely sweet by mutual devotion--a life too +ideal, perhaps, to have remained for long undimmed by the mists of +earth. + +They who remember them at that time speak of them in hushed tones, as +one speaks of visions. It would almost seem as though from their +faces in those days there shone a radiance, as though in their voices +dwelt a tenderness beyond the tenderness of man. + +They seem never to rest, never to weary. Day and night, through that +little stricken world, they come and go, bearing healing and peace, +till at last the plague, like some gorged beast of prey, slinks +slowly back towards its lair, and men raise their heads and breathe. + +One afternoon, returning from a somewhat longer round than usual, +John feels a weariness creeping into his limbs, and quickens his +step, eager to reach home and rest. Anne, who has been up all the +previous night, is asleep, and not wishing to disturb her, he goes +into the dining-room and sits down in the easy chair before the fire. +The room strikes cold. He stirs the logs, but they give out no +greater heat. He draws his chair right in front of them, and sits +leaning over them with his feet on the hearth and his hands +outstretched towards the blaze; yet he still shivers. + +Twilight fills the room and deepens into dusk. He wonders listlessly +how it is that Time seems to be moving with such swift strides. +After a while he hears a voice close to him, speaking in a slow, +monotonous tone--a voice curiously familiar to him, though he cannot +tell to whom it belongs. He does not turn his head, but sits +listening to it drowsily. It is talking about tallow: one hundred +and ninety-four casks of tallow, and they must all stand one inside +the other. It cannot be done, the voice complains pathetically. +They will not go inside each other. It is no good pushing them. +See! they only roll out again. + +The voice grows wearily fretful. Oh! why do they persist when they +see it is impossible? What fools they all are! + +Suddenly he recollects the voice, and starts up and stares wildly +about him, trying to remember where he is. With a fierce straining +of his will he grips the brain that is slipping away from him, and +holds it. As soon as he feels sure of himself he steals out of the +room and down the stairs. + +In the hall he stands listening; the house is very silent. He goes +to the head of the stairs leading to the kitchen and calls softly to +the old housekeeper, and she comes up to him, panting and grunting as +she climbs each step. Keeping some distance from her, he asks in a +whisper where Anne is. The woman answers that she is in the +hospital. + +"Tell her I have been called away suddenly on business," he says, +speaking in quick, low tones: "I shall be away for some days. Tell +her to leave here and return home immediately. They can do without +her here now. Tell her to go back home at once. I will join her +there." + +He moves toward the door but stops and faces round again. + +"Tell her I beg and entreat her not to stop in this place an hour +longer. There is nothing to keep her now. It is all over: there is +nothing that cannot be done by any one. Tell her she must go home-- +this very night. Tell her if she loves me to leave this place at +once." + +The woman, a little bewildered by his vehemence, promises, and +disappears down the stairs. He takes his hat and cloak from the +chair on which he had thrown them, and turns once more to cross the +hall. As he does so, the door opens and Anne enters. + +He darts back into the shadow, squeezing himself against the wall. +Anne calls to him laughingly, then, as he does not answer, with a +frightened accent: + +"John,--John, dear. Was not that you? Are not you there?" + +He holds his breath, and crouches still closer into the dark corner; +and Anne, thinking she must have been mistaken in the dim light, +passes him and goes upstairs. + +Then he creeps stealthily to the door, lets himself out and closes it +softly behind him. + +After the lapse of a few minutes the old housekeeper plods upstairs +and delivers John's message. Anne, finding it altogether +incomprehensible, subjects the poor dame to severe examination, but +fails to elicit anything further. What is the meaning of it? What +"business" can have compelled John, who for ten weeks has never let +the word escape his lips, to leave her like this--without a word! +without a kiss! Then suddenly she remembers the incident of a few +moments ago, when she had called to him, thinking she saw him, and he +did not answer; and the whole truth strikes her full in the heart. + +She refastens the bonnet-strings she has been slowly untying, and +goes down and out into the wet street. + +She makes her way rapidly to the house of the only doctor resident in +the neighbourhood--a big, brusque-mannered man, who throughout these +terrible two months has been their chief stay and help. He meets her +on her entrance with an embarrassed air that tells its own tale, and +at once renders futile his clumsy attempts at acting + +How should he know where John is? Who told her John had the fever--a +great, strong, hulking fellow like that? She has been working too +hard, and has got fever on the brain. She must go straight back +home, or she will be having it herself. She is more likely to take +it than John. + +Anne, waiting till he has finished jerking out sentences while +stamping up and down the room, says gently, taking no notice of his +denials,--"If you will not tell me I must find out from some one +else--that is all." Then, her quick eyes noting his momentary +hesitation, she lays her little hand on his rough paw, and, with the +shamelessness of a woman who loves deeply, wheedles everything out of +him that he has promised to keep secret. + +He stops her, however, as she is leaving the room. "Don't go in to +him now," he says; "he will worry about you. Wait till to-morrow." + +So, while John lies counting endless casks of tallow, Anne sits by +his side, tending her last "case." + +Often in his delirium he calls her name, and she takes his fevered +hand in hers and holds it, and he falls asleep. + +Each morning the doctor comes and looks at him, asks a few questions +and gives a few commonplace directions, but makes no comment. It +would be idle his attempting to deceive her. + +The days move slowly through the darkened room. Anne watches his +thin hands grow thinner, his sunken eyes grow bigger; yet remains +strangely calm, almost contented. + +Very near the end there comes an hour when John wakes as from a +dream, and remembers all things clearly. + +He looks at her half gratefully, half reproachfully. + +"Anne, why are you here?" he asks, in a low, laboured voice. "Did +they not give you my message?" + +For answer she turns her deep eyes upon him. + +"Would you have gone away and left me here to die?" she questions +him, with a faint smile. + +She bends her head down nearer to him, so that her soft hair falls +about his face. + +"Our lives were one, dear," she whispers to him. "I could not have +lived without you; God knew that. We shall be together always." + +She kisses him, and laying his head upon her breast, softly strokes +it as she might a child's; and he puts his weak arms around her. + +Later on she feels them growing cold about her, and lays him gently +back upon the bed, looks for the last time into his eyes, then draws +the lids down over them. + +His people ask that they may bury him in the churchyard hard by, so +that he may always be among them; and, Anne consenting, they do all +things needful with their own hands, wishful that no unloving labour +may be mingled with their work. They lay him close to the porch, +where, going in and out the church, their feet will pass near to him; +and one among them who is cunning with the graver's chisel shapes the +stone. + +At the head he carves in bas-relief the figure of the good Samaritan +tending the brother fallen by the way, and underneath the letters, +"In Remembrance of John Ingerfield." + +He thinks to put a verse of Scripture immediately after; but the +gruff doctor says, "Better leave a space, in case you want to add +another name." + +So the stone remains a little while unfinished; till the same hand +carves thereon, a few weeks later, "And of Anne, his Wife." + + + + +THE WOMAN OF THE SAETER. + + + +Wild-reindeer stalking is hardly so exciting a sport as the evening's +verandah talk in Norroway hotels would lead the trustful traveller to +suppose. Under the charge of your guide, a very young man with the +dreamy, wistful eyes of those who live in valleys, you leave the +farmstead early in the forenoon, arriving towards twilight at the +desolate hut which, for so long as you remain upon the uplands, will +be your somewhat cheerless headquarters. + +Next morning, in the chill, mist-laden dawn, you rise; and, after a +breakfast of coffee and dried fish, shoulder your Remington, and step +forth silently into the raw, damp air; the guide locking the door +behind you, the key grating harshly in the rusty lock. + +For hour after hour you toil over the steep, stony ground, or wind +through the pines, speaking in whispers, lest your voice reach the +quick ears of your prey, that keeps its head ever pressed against the +wind. Here and there, in the hollows of the hills lie wide fields of +snow, over which you pick your steps thoughtfully, listening to the +smothered thunder of the torrent, tunnelling its way beneath your +feet, and wondering whether the frozen arch above it be at all points +as firm as is desirable. Now and again, as in single file you walk +cautiously along some jagged ridge, you catch glimpses of the green +world, three thousand feet below you; though you gaze not long upon +the view, for your attention is chiefly directed to watching the +footprints of the guide, lest by deviating to the right or left you +find yourself at one stride back in the valley--or, to be more +correct, are found there. + +These things you do, and as exercise they are healthful and +invigorating. But a reindeer you never see, and unless, overcoming +the prejudices of your British-bred conscience, you care to take an +occasional pop at a fox, you had better have left your rifle at the +hut, and, instead, have brought a stick which would have been +helpful. Notwithstanding which the guide continues sanguine, and in +broken English, helped out by stirring gesture, tells of the terrible +slaughter generally done by sportsmen under his superintendence, and +of the vast herds that generally infest these fields; and when you +grow sceptical upon the subject of Reins he whispers alluringly of +Bears. + +Once in a way you will come across a track, and will follow it +breathlessly for hours, and it will lead to a sheer precipice. +Whether the explanation is suicide, or a reprehensible tendency on +the part of the animal towards practical joking, you are left to +decide for yourself. Then, with many rough miles between you and +your rest, you abandon the chase. + +But I speak from personal experience merely. + +All day long we had tramped through the pitiless rain, stopping only +for an hour at noon to eat some dried venison and smoke a pipe +beneath the shelter of an overhanging cliff. Soon afterwards Michael +knocked over a ryper (a bird that will hardly take the trouble to hop +out of your way) with his gun-barrel, which incident cheered us a +little; and, later on, our flagging spirits were still further +revived by the discovery of apparently very recent deer-tracks. +These we followed, forgetful, in our eagerness, of the lengthening +distance back to the hut, of the fading daylight, of the gathering +mist. The track led us higher and higher, farther and farther into +the mountains, until on the shores of a desolate rock-bound vand it +abruptly ended, and we stood staring at one another, and the snow +began to fall. + +Unless in the next half-hour we could chance upon a saeter, this +meant passing the night upon the mountain. Michael and I looked at +the guide; but though, with characteristic Norwegian sturdiness, he +put a bold face upon it, we could see that in that deepening darkness +he knew no more than we did. Wasting no time on words, we made +straight for the nearest point of descent, knowing that any human +habitation must be far below us. + +Down we scrambled, heedless of torn clothes and bleeding hands, the +darkness pressing closer round us. Then suddenly it became black-- +black as pitch--and we could only hear each other. Another step +might mean death. We stretched out our hands, and felt each other. +Why we spoke in whispers, I do not know, but we seemed afraid of our +own voices. We agreed there was nothing for it but to stop where we +were till morning, clinging to the short grass; so we lay there side +by side, for what may have been five minutes or may have been an +hour. Then, attempting to turn, I lost my grip and rolled. I made +convulsive efforts to clutch the ground, but the incline was too +steep. How far I fell I could not say, but at last something stopped +me. I felt it cautiously with my foot: it did not yield, so I +twisted myself round and touched it with my hand. It seemed planted +firmly in the earth. I passed my arm along to the right, then to the +left. I shouted with joy. It was a fence. + +Rising and groping about me, I found an opening, and passed through, +and crept forward with palms outstretched until I touched the logs of +a hut; then, feeling my way round, discovered the door, and knocked. +There came no response, so I knocked louder; then pushed, and the +heavy woodwork yielded, groaning. But the darkness within was even +darker than the darkness without. The others had contrived to crawl +down and join me. Michael struck a wax vesta and held it up, and +slowly the room came out of the darkness and stood round us. + +Then something rather startling happened. Giving one swift glance +about him, our guide uttered a cry, and rushed out into the night. +We followed to the door, and called after him, but only a voice came +to us out of the blackness, and the only words that we could catch, +shrieked back in terror, were: "Saetervronen! Saetervronen!" ("The +woman of the saeter"). + +"Some foolish superstition about the place, I suppose," said Michael. +"In these mountain solitudes men breed ghosts for company. Let us +make a fire. Perhaps, when he sees the light, his desire for food +and shelter may get the better of his fears." + +We felt about in the small enclosure round the house, and gathered +juniper and birch-twigs, and kindled a fire upon the open stove built +in the corner of the room. Fortunately, we had some dried reindeer +and bread in our bag, and on that and the ryper and the contents of +our flasks we supped. Afterwards, to while away the time, we made an +inspection of the strange eyrie we had lighted on. + +It was an old log-built saeter. Some of these mountain farmsteads +are as old as the stone ruins of other countries. Carvings of +strange beasts and demons were upon its blackened rafters, and on the +lintel, in runic letters, ran this legend: "Hund builded me in the +days of Haarfager." The house consisted of two large apartments. +Originally, no doubt, these had been separate dwellings standing +beside one another, but they were now connected by a long, low +gallery. Most of the scanty furniture was almost as ancient as the +walls themselves, but many articles of a comparatively recent date +had been added. All was now, however, rotting and falling into +decay. + +The place appeared to have been deserted suddenly by its last +occupants. Household utensils lay as they were left, rust and dirt +encrusted on them. An open book, limp and mildewed, lay face +downwards on the table, while many others were scattered about both +rooms, together with much paper, scored with faded ink. The curtains +hung in shreds about the windows; a woman's cloak, of an antiquated +fashion, drooped from a nail behind the door. In an oak chest we +found a tumbled heap of yellow letters. They were of various dates, +extending over a period of four months; and with them, apparently +intended to receive them, lay a large envelope, inscribed with an +address in London that has since disappeared. + +Strong curiosity overcoming faint scruples, we read them by the dull +glow of the burning juniper twigs, and, as we lay aside the last of +them, there rose from the depths below us a wailing cry, and all +night long it rose and died away, and rose again, and died away +again; whether born of our brain or of some human thing, God knows. + +And these, a little altered and shortened, are the letters:- + + +Extract from first letter: + +"I cannot tell you, my dear Joyce, what a haven of peace this place +is to me after the racket and fret of town. I am almost quite +recovered already, and am growing stronger every day; and, joy of +joys, my brain has come back to me, fresher and more vigorous, I +think, for its holiday. In this silence and solitude my thoughts +flow freely, and the difficulties of my task are disappearing as if +by magic. We are perched upon a tiny plateau halfway up the +mountain. On one side the rock rises almost perpendicularly, +piercing the sky; while on the other, two thousand feet below us, the +torrent hurls itself into the black waters of the fiord. The house +consists of two rooms--or, rather, it is two cabins connected by a +passage. The larger one we use as a living room, and the other is +our sleeping apartment. We have no servant, but do everything for +ourselves. I fear sometimes Muriel must find it lonely. The nearest +human habitation is eight miles away, across the mountain, and not a +soul comes near us. I spend as much time as I can with her, however, +during the day, and make up for it by working at night after she has +gone to sleep; and when I question her, she only laughs, and answers +that she loves to have me all to herself. (Here you will smile +cynically, I know, and say, 'Humph, I wonder will she say the same +when they have been married six years instead of six months.') At +the rate I am working now I shall have finished my first volume by +the spring, and then, my dear fellow, you must try and come over, and +we will walk and talk together 'amid these storm-reared temples of +the gods.' I have felt a new man since I arrived here. Instead of +having to 'cudgel my brains,' as we say, thoughts crowd upon me. +This work will make my name." + + +Part of the third letter, the second being mere talk about the book +(a history apparently) that the man was writing: + +"MY DEAR JOYCE,--I have written you two letters--this will make the +third--but have been unable to post them. Every day I have been +expecting a visit from some farmer or villager, for the Norwegians +are kindly people towards strangers--to say nothing of the +inducements of trade. A fortnight having passed, however, and the +commissariat question having become serious, I yesterday set out +before dawn, and made my way down to the valley; and this gives me +something to tell you. Nearing the village, I met a peasant woman. +To my intense surprise, instead of returning my salutation, she +stared at me, as if I were some wild animal, and shrank away from me +as far as the width of the road would permit. In the village the +same experience awaited me. The children ran from me, the people +avoided me. At last a grey-haired old man appeared to take pity on +me, and from him I learnt the explanation of the mystery. It seems +there is a strange superstition attaching to this house in which we +are living. My things were brought up here by the two men who +accompanied me from Drontheim, but the natives are afraid to go near +the place, and prefer to keep as far as possible from any one +connected with it. + +"The story is that the house was built by one Hund, 'a maker of +runes' (one of the old saga writers, no doubt), who lived here with +his young wife. All went peacefully until, unfortunately for him, a +certain maiden stationed at a neighbouring saeter grew to love him. + +"Forgive me if I am telling you what you know, but a 'saeter' is the +name given to the upland pastures to which, during the summer, are +sent the cattle, generally under the charge of one or more of the +maids. Here for three months these girls will live in their lonely +huts, entirely shut off from the world. Customs change little in +this land. Two or three such stations are within climbing distance +of this house, at this day, looked after by the farmers' daughters, +as in the days of Hund, 'maker of runes.' + +"Every night, by devious mountain paths, the woman would come and tap +lightly at Hund's door. Hund had built himself two cabins, one +behind the other (these are now, as I think I have explained to you, +connected by a passage); the smaller one was the homestead; in the +other he carved and wrote, so that while the young wife slept the +'maker of runes' and the saeter woman sat whispering. + +"One night, however, the wife learnt all things, but said no word. +Then, as now, the ravine in front of the enclosure was crossed by a +slight bridge of planks, and over this bridge the woman of the saeter +passed and repassed each night. On a day when Hund had gone down to +fish in the fiord, the wife took an axe, and hacked and hewed at the +bridge, yet it still looked firm and solid; and that night, as Hund +sat waiting in his workshop, there struck upon his ears a piercing +cry, and a crashing of logs and rolling rock, and then again the dull +roaring of the torrent far below. + +"But the woman did not die unavenged; for that winter a man, skating +far down the fiord, noticed a curious object embedded in the ice; and +when, stooping, he looked closer, he saw two corpses, one gripping +the other by the throat, and the bodies were the bodies of Hund and +his young wife. + +"Since then, they say, the woman of the saeter haunts Hund's house, +and if she sees a light within she taps upon the door, and no man may +keep her out. Many, at different times, have tried to occupy the +house, but strange tales are told of them. 'Men do not live at +Hund's saeter,' said my old grey-haired friend, concluding his tale,- +-'they die there.' + +"I have persuaded some of the braver of the villagers to bring what +provisions and other necessaries we require up to a plateau about a +mile from the house and leave them there. That is the most I have +been able to do. It comes somewhat as a shock to one to find men and +women--fairly educated and intelligent as many of them are--slaves to +fears that one would expect a child to laugh at. But there is no +reasoning with superstition." + + +Extract from the same letter, but from a part seemingly written a day +or two later: + +"At home I should have forgotten such a tale an hour after I had +heard it, but these mountain fastnesses seem strangely fit to be the +last stronghold of the supernatural. The woman haunts me already. +At night instead of working, I find myself listening for her tapping +at the door; and yesterday an incident occurred that makes me fear +for my own common sense. I had gone out for a long walk alone, and +the twilight was thickening into darkness as I neared home. Suddenly +looking up from my reverie, I saw, standing on a knoll the other side +of the ravine, the figure of a woman. She held a cloak about her +head, and I could not see her face. I took off my cap, and called +out a good-night to her, but she never moved or spoke. Then--God +knows why, for my brain was full of other thoughts at the time--a +clammy chill crept over me, and my tongue grew dry and parched. I +stood rooted to the spot, staring at her across the yawning gorge +that divided us; and slowly she moved away, and passed into the +gloom, and I continued my way. I have said nothing to Muriel, and +shall not. The effect the story has had upon myself warns me not to +do so." + + +From a letter dated eleven days later: + +"She has come. I have known she would, since that evening I saw her +on the mountain; and last night she came, and we have sat and looked +into each other's eyes. You will say, of course, that I am mad--that +I have not recovered from my fever--that I have been working too +hard--that I have heard a foolish tale, and that it has filled my +overstrung brain with foolish fancies: I have told myself all that. +But the thing came, nevertheless--a creature of flesh and blood? a +creature of air? a creature of my own imagination?--what matter? it +was real to me. + +"It came last night, as I sat working, alone. Each night I have +waited for it, listened for it--longed for it, I know now. I heard +the passing of its feet upon the bridge, the tapping of its hand upon +the door, three times--tap, tap, tap. I felt my loins grow cold, and +a pricking pain about my head; and I gripped my chair with both +hands, and waited, and again there came the tapping--tap, tap, tap. +I rose and slipped the bolt of the door leading to the other room, +and again I waited, and again there came the tapping--tap, tap, tap. +Then I opened the heavy outer door, and the wind rushed past me, +scattering my papers, and the woman entered in, and I closed the door +behind her. She threw her hood back from her head, and unwound a +kerchief from about her neck, and laid it on the table. Then she +crossed and sat before the fire, and I noticed her bare feet were +damp with the night dew. + +"I stood over against her and gazed at her, and she smiled at me--a +strange, wicked smile, but I could have laid my soul at her feet. +She never spoke or moved, and neither did I feel the need of spoken +words, for I understood the meaning of those upon the Mount when they +said, 'Let us make here tabernacles: it is good for us to be here.' + +"How long a time passed thus I do not know, but suddenly the woman +held her hand up, listening, and there came a faint sound from the +other room. Then swiftly she drew her hood about her face and passed +out, closing the door softly behind her; and I drew back the bolt of +the inner door and waited, and hearing nothing more, sat down, and +must have fallen asleep in my chair. + +"I awoke, and instantly there flashed through my mind the thought of +the kerchief the woman had left behind her, and I started from my +chair to hide it. But the table was already laid for breakfast, and +my wife sat with her elbows on the table and her head between her +hands, watching me with a look in her eyes that was new to me. + +"She kissed me, though her lips were cold; and I argued to myself +that the whole thing must have been a dream. But later in the day, +passing the open door when her back was towards me, I saw her take +the kerchief from a locked chest and look at it. + +"I have told myself it must have been a kerchief of her own, and that +all the rest has been my imagination; that, if not, then my strange +visitant was no spirit, but a woman; and that, if human thing knows +human thing, it was no creature of flesh and blood that sat beside me +last night. Besides, what woman would she be? The nearest saeter is +a three-hours' climb to a strong man, and the paths are dangerous +even in daylight: what woman would have found them in the night? +What woman would have chilled the air around her, and have made the +blood flow cold through all my veins? Yet if she come again I will +speak to her. I will stretch out my hand and see whether she be +mortal thing or only air." + + +The fifth letter: + +"MY DEAR JOYCE,--Whether your eyes will ever see these letters is +doubtful. From this place I shall never send them. They would read +to you as the ravings of a madman. If ever I return to England I may +one day show them to you, but when I do it will be when I, with you, +can laugh over them. At present I write them merely to hide away,-- +putting the words down on paper saves my screaming them aloud. + +"She comes each night now, taking the same seat beside the embers, +and fixing upon me those eyes, with the hell-light in them, that burn +into my brain; and at rare times she smiles, and all my being passes +out of me, and is hers. I make no attempt to work. I sit listening +for her footsteps on the creaking bridge, for the rustling of her +feet upon the grass, for the tapping of her hand upon the door. No +word is uttered between us. Each day I say: 'When she comes to- +night I will speak to her. I will stretch out my hand and touch +her.' Yet when she enters, all thought and will goes out from me. + +"Last night, as I stood gazing at her, my soul filled with her +wondrous beauty as a lake with moonlight, her lips parted, and she +started from her chair; and, turning, I thought I saw a white face +pressed against the window, but as I looked it vanished. Then she +drew her cloak about her, and passed out. I slid back the bolt I +always draw now, and stole into the other room, and, taking down the +lantern, held it above the bed. But Muriel's eyes were closed as if +in sleep." + + +Extract from the sixth letter: + +"It is not the night I fear, but the day. I hate the sight of this +woman with whom I live, whom I call 'wife.' I shrink from the blow +of her cold lips, the curse of her stony eyes. She has seen, she has +learnt; I feel it, I know it. Yet she winds her arms around my neck, +and calls me sweetheart, and smoothes my hair with her soft, false +hands. We speak mocking words of love to one another, but I know her +cruel eyes are ever following me. She is plotting her revenge, and I +hate her, I hate her, I hate her!" + + +Part of the seventh letter: + +"This morning I went down to the fiord. I told her I should not be +back until the evening. She stood by the door watching me until we +were mere specks to one another, and a promontory of the mountain +shut me from view. Then, turning aside from the track, I made my +way, running and stumbling over the jagged ground, round to the other +side of the mountain, and began to climb again. It was slow, weary +work. Often I had to go miles out of my road to avoid a ravine, and +twice I reached a high point only to have to descend again. But at +length I crossed the ridge, and crept down to a spot from where, +concealed, I could spy upon my own house. She--my wife--stood by the +flimsy bridge. A short hatchet, such as butchers use, was in her +hand. She leant against a pine trunk, with her arm behind her, as +one stands whose back aches with long stooping in some cramped +position; and even at that distance I could see the cruel smile about +her lips. + +"Then I recrossed the ridge, and crawled down again, and, waiting +until evening, walked slowly up the path. As I came in view of the +house she saw me, and waved her handkerchief to me, and in answer I +waved my hat, and shouted curses at her that the wind whirled away +into the torrent. She met me with a kiss, and I breathed no hint to +her that I had seen. Let her devil's work remain undisturbed. Let +it prove to me what manner of thing this is that haunts me. If it be +a spirit, then the bridge wilt bear it safely; if it be woman - + +"But I dismiss the thought. If it be human thing, why does it sit +gazing at me, never speaking? why does my tongue refuse to question +it? why does all power forsake me in its presence, so that I stand as +in a dream? Yet if it be spirit, why do I hear the passing of her +feet? and why does the night-rain glisten on her hair? + +"I force myself back into my chair. It is far into the night, and I +am alone, waiting, listening. If it be spirit, she will come to me; +and if it be woman, I shall hear her cry above the storm--unless it +be a demon mocking me. + +"I have heard the cry. It rose, piercing and shrill, above the +storm, above the riving and rending of the bridge, above the downward +crashing of the logs and loosened stones. I hear it as I listen now. +It is cleaving its way upward from the depths below. It is wailing +through the room as I sit writing. + +"I have crawled upon my belly to the utmost edge of the still +standing pier, until I could feel with my hand the jagged splinters +left by the fallen planks, and have looked down. But the chasm was +full to the brim with darkness. I shouted, but the wind shook my +voice into mocking laughter. I sit here, feebly striking at the +madness that is creeping nearer and nearer to me. I tell myself the +whole thing is but the fever in my brain. The bridge was rotten. +The storm was strong. The cry is but a single one among the many +voices of the mountain. Yet still I listen; and it rises, clear and +shrill, above the moaning of the pines, above the sobbing of the +waters. It beats like blows upon my skull, and I know that she will +never come again." + + +Extract from the last letter: + +"I shall address an envelope to you, and leave it among these +letters. Then, should I never come back, some chance wanderer may +one day find and post them to you, and you will know. + +"My books and writings remain untouched. We sit together of a night- +-this woman I call 'wife' and I--she holding in her hands some +knitted thing that never grows longer by a single stitch, and I with +a volume before me that is ever open at the same page. And day and +night we watch each other stealthily, moving to and fro about the +silent house; and at times, looking round swiftly, I catch the smile +upon her lips before she has time to smooth it away. + +"We speak like strangers about this and that, making talk to hide our +thoughts. We make a pretence of busying ourselves about whatever +will help us to keep apart from one another. + +"At night, sitting here between the shadows and the dull glow of the +smouldering twigs, I sometimes think I hear the tapping I have learnt +to listen for, and I start from my seat, and softly open the door and +look out. But only the Night stands there. Then I close-to the +latch, and she--the living woman--asks me in her purring voice what +sound I heard, hiding a smile as she stoops low over her work; and I +answer lightly, and, moving towards her, put my arm about her, +feeling her softness and her suppleness, and wondering, supposing I +held her close to me with one arm while pressing her from me with the +other, how long before I should hear the cracking of her bones. + +"For here, amid these savage solitudes, I also am grown savage. The +old primeval passions of love and hate stir within me, and they are +fierce and cruel and strong, beyond what you men of the later ages +could understand. The culture of the centuries has fallen from me as +a flimsy garment whirled away by the mountain wind; the old savage +instincts of the race lie bare. One day I shall twine my fingers +about her full white throat, and her eyes will slowly come towards +me, and her lips will part, and the red tongue creep out; and +backwards, step by step, I shall push her before me, gazing the while +upon her bloodless face, and it will be my turn to smile. Backwards +through the open door, backwards along the garden path between the +juniper bushes, backwards till her heels are overhanging the ravine, +and she grips life with nothing but her little toes, I shall force +her, step by step, before me. Then I shall lean forward, closer, +closer, till I kiss her purpling lips, and down, down, down, past the +startled sea-birds, past the white spray of the foss, past the +downward peeping pines, down, down, down, we will go together, till +we find the thing that lies sleeping beneath the waters of the +fiord." + + +With these words ended the last letter, unsigned. At the first +streak of dawn we left the house, and, after much wandering, found +our way back to the valley. But of our guide we heard no news. +Whether he remained still upon the mountain, or whether by some false +step he had perished upon that night, we never learnt. + + + +VARIETY PATTER. + + + +My first appearance at a Music Hall was in the year one thousand +eight hundred and s--. Well, I would rather not mention the exact +date. I was fourteen at the time. It was during the Christmas +holidays, and my aunt had given me five shillings to go and see +Phelps--I think it was Phelps--in Coriolanus--I think it was +Coriolanus. Anyhow, it was to see a high-class and improving +entertainment, I know. + +I suggested that I should induce young Skegson, who lived in our +road, to go with me. Skegson is a barrister now, and could not tell +you the difference between a knave of clubs and a club of knaves. A +few years hence he will, if he works hard, be innocent enough for a +judge. But at the period of which I speak he was a red-haired boy of +worldly tastes, notwithstanding which I loved him as a brother. My +dear mother wished to see him before consenting to the arrangement, +so as to be able to form her own opinion as to whether he was a fit +and proper companion for me; and, accordingly, he was invited to tea. +He came, and made a most favourable impression upon both my mother +and my aunt. He had a way of talking about the advantages of +application to study in early life, and the duties of youth towards +those placed in authority over it, that won for him much esteem in +grown-up circles. The spirit of the Bar had descended upon Skegson +at a very early period of his career. + +My aunt, indeed, was so much pleased with him that she gave him two +shillings towards his own expenses ("sprung half a dollar" was how he +explained the transaction when we were outside), and commended me to +his especial care. + +Skegson was very silent during the journey. An idea was evidently +maturing in his mind. At the Angel he stopped and said: "Look here, +I'll tell you what we'll do. Don't let's go and see that rot. Let's +go to a Music Hall." + +I gasped for breath. I had heard of Music Halls. A stout lady had +denounced them across our dinner table on one occasion--fixing the +while a steely eye upon her husband, who sat opposite and seemed +uncomfortable--as low, horrid places, where people smoked and drank, +and wore short skirts, and had added an opinion that they ought to be +put down by the police--whether the skirts or the halls she did not +explain. I also recollected that our charwoman, whose son had lately +left London for a protracted stay in Devonshire, had, in conversation +with my mother, dated his downfall from the day when he first visited +one of these places; and likewise that Mrs. Philcox's nursemaid, upon +her confessing that she had spent an evening at one with her young +man, had been called a shameless hussy, and summarily dismissed as +being no longer a fit associate for the baby. + +But the spirit of lawlessness was strong within me in those days, so +that I hearkened to the voice of Skegson, the tempter, and he lured +my feet from the paths that led to virtue and Sadler's Wells, and we +wandered into the broad and crowded ways that branch off from the +Angel towards Merry Islington. + +Skegson insisted that we should do the thing in style, so we stopped +at a shop near the Agricultural Hall and purchased some big cigars. +A huge card in the window claimed for these that they were "the most +satisfactory twopenny smokes in London." I smoked two of them during +the evening, and never felt more satisfied--using the word in its +true sense, as implying that a person has had enough of a thing, and +does not desire any more of it, just then--in all my life. Where we +went, and what we saw, my memory is not very clear upon. We sat at a +little marble table. I know it was marble because it was so hard, +and cool to the head. From out of the smoky mist a ponderous +creature of strange, undefined shape floated heavily towards us, and +deposited a squat tumbler in front of me containing a pale yellowish +liquor, which subsequent investigation has led me to believe must +have been Scotch whisky. It seemed to me then the most nauseous +stuff I had ever swallowed. It is curious to look back and notice +how one's tastes change. + +I reached home very late and very sick. That was my first +dissipation, and, as a lesson, it has been of more practical use to +me than all the good books and sermons in the world could have been. +I can remember to this day standing in the middle of the room in my +night-shirt, trying to catch my bed as it came round. + +Next morning I confessed everything to my mother, and, for several +months afterwards, was a reformed character. Indeed, the pendulum of +my conscience swung too far the other way, and I grew exaggeratedly +remorseful and unhealthily moral. + +There was published in those days, for the edification of young +people, a singularly pessimistic periodical, entitled The Children's +Band of Hope Review. It was a magazine much in favour among grown-up +people, and a bound copy of Vol. IX. had lately been won by my sister +as a prize for punctuality (I fancy she must have exhausted all the +virtue she ever possessed, in that direction, upon the winning of +that prize. At all events, I have noticed no ostentatious display of +the quality in her later life.) I had formerly expressed contempt +for this book, but now, in my regenerate state, I took a morbid +pleasure in poring over its denunciations of sin and sinners. There +was one picture in it that appeared peculiarly applicable to myself. +It represented a gaudily costumed young man, standing on the topmost +of three steep steps, smoking a large cigar. Behind him was a very +small church, and below, a bright and not altogether uninviting +looking hell. The picture was headed "The Three Steps to Ruin," and +the three stairs were labelled respectively "Smoking," "Drinking," +"Gambling." I had already travelled two-thirds of the road! Was I +going all the way, or should I be able to retrace those steps? I +used to lie awake at night and think about it till I grew half crazy. +Alas! since then I have completed the descent, so where my future +will be spent I do not care to think. + +Another picture in the book that troubled me was the frontispiece. +This was a highly-coloured print, illustrating the broad and narrow +ways. The narrow way led upward past a Sunday-school and a lion to a +city in the clouds. This city was referred to in the accompanying +letterpress as a place of "Rest and Peace," but inasmuch as the town +was represented in the illustration as surrounded by a perfect mob of +angels, each one blowing a trumpet twice his own size, and obviously +blowing it for all he was worth, a certain confusion of ideas would +seem to have crept into the allegory. + +The other path--the "broad way"--which ended in what at first glance +appeared to be a highly successful display of fireworks, started from +the door of a tavern, and led past a Music Hall, on the steps of +which stood a gentleman smoking a cigar. All the wicked people in +this book smoked cigars--all except one young man who had killed his +mother and died raving mad. He had gone astray on short pipes. + +This made it uncomfortably clear to me which direction I had chosen, +and I was greatly alarmed, until, on examining the picture more +closely, I noticed, with much satisfaction, that about midway the two +paths were connected by a handy little bridge, by the use of which it +seemed feasible, starting on the one path and ending up on the other, +to combine the practical advantages of both roads. From subsequent +observation I have come to the conclusion that a good many people +have made a note of that little bridge. + +My own belief in the possibility of such convenient compromise must, +I fear, have led to an ethical relapse, for there recurs to my mind a +somewhat painful scene of a few months' later date, in which I am +seeking to convince a singularly unresponsive landed proprietor that +my presence in his orchard is solely and entirely due to my having +unfortunately lost my way. + +It was not until I was nearly seventeen that the idea occurred to me +to visit a Music Hall again. Then, having regard to my double +capacity of "Man About Town" and journalist (for I had written a +letter to The Era, complaining of the way pit doors were made to +open, and it had been inserted), I felt I had no longer any right to +neglect acquaintanceship with so important a feature in the life of +the people. Accordingly, one Saturday night, I wended my way to the +"Pav."; and there the first person that I ran against was my uncle. +He laid a heavy hand upon my shoulder, and asked me, in severe tones, +what I was doing there. I felt this to be an awkward question, for +it would have been useless trying to make him understand my real +motives (one's own relations are never sympathetic), and I was +somewhat nonplussed for an answer, until the reflection occurred to +me: What was HE doing there? This riddle I, in my turn, propounded +to him, with the result that we entered into treaty, by the terms of +which it was agreed that no future reference should be made to the +meeting by either of us--especially not in the presence of my aunt-- +and the compact was ratified according to the usual custom, my uncle +paying the necessary expenses. + +In those days, we sat, some four or six of us, round a little table, +on which were placed our drinks. Now we have to balance them upon a +narrow ledge; and ladies, as they pass, dip the ends of their cloaks +into them, and gentlemen stir them up for us with the ferrules of +their umbrellas, or else sweep them off into our laps with their coat +tails, saying as they do so, "Oh, I beg your pardon." + +Also, in those days, there were "chairmen"--affable gentlemen, who +would drink anything at anybody's expense, and drink any quantity of +it, and never seem to get any fuller. I was introduced to a Music +Hall chairman once, and when I said to him, "What is your drink?" he +took up the "list of beverages" that lay before him, and, opening it, +waved his hand lightly across its entire contents, from clarets, past +champagnes and spirits, down to liqueurs. "That's my drink, my boy," +said he. There was nothing narrow-minded or exclusive about his +tastes. + +It was the chairman's duty to introduce the artists. "Ladies and +gentlemen," he would shout, in a voice that united the musical +characteristics of a foghorn and a steam saw, "Miss 'Enerietta +Montressor, the popular serio-comic, will now happear." These +announcements were invariably received with great applause by the +chairman himself, and generally with chilling indifference by the +rest of the audience. + +It was also the privilege of the chairman to maintain order, and +reprimand evil-doers. This he usually did very effectively, +employing for the purpose language both fit and forcible. One +chairman that I remember seemed, however, to be curiously deficient +in the necessary qualities for this part of his duty. He was a mild +and sleepy little man, and, unfortunately, he had to preside over an +exceptionally rowdy audience at a small hall in the South-East +district. On the night that I was present, there occurred a great +disturbance. "Joss Jessop, the Monarch of Mirth," a gentleman +evidently high in local request was, for some reason or other, not +forthcoming, and in his place the management proposed to offer a +female performer on the zithern, one Signorina Ballatino. + +The little chairman made the announcement in a nervous, deprecatory +tone, as if he were rather ashamed of it himself. "Ladies and +gentlemen," he began,--the poor are staunch sticklers for etiquette: +I overheard a small child explaining to her mother one night in Three +Colts Street, Limehouse, that she could not get into the house +because there was a "lady" on the doorstep, drunk,--"Signorina +Ballatino, the world-renowned--" + +Here a voice from the gallery requested to know what had become of +"Old Joss," and was greeted by loud cries of "'Ear, 'ear." + +The chairman, ignoring the interruption, continued: + +"--the world-renowned performer on the zither--" + +"On the whoter?" came in tones of plaintive inquiry from the back of +the hall. + +"HON the zither," retorted the chairman, waxing mildly indignant; he +meant zithern, but he called it a zither. "A hinstrument well-known +to anybody as 'as 'ad any learning." + +This sally was received with much favour, and a gentleman who claimed +to be acquainted with the family history of the interrupter begged +the chairman to excuse that ill-bred person on the ground that his +mother used to get drunk with the twopence a week and never sent him +to school. + +Cheered by this breath of popularity, our little president +endeavoured to complete his introduction of the Signorina. He again +repeated that she was the world-renowned performer on the zithern; +and, undeterred by the audible remark of a lady in the pit to the +effect that she'd "never 'eard on 'er," added: + +"She will now, ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission, give +you examples of the--" + +"Blow yer zither!" here cried out the gentleman who had started the +agitation; "we want Joss Jessop." + +This was the signal for much cheering and shrill whistling, in the +midst of which a wag with a piping voice suggested as a reason for +the favourite's non-appearance that he bad not been paid his last +week's salary. + +A temporary lull occurred at this point; and the chairman, seizing +the opportunity to complete his oft-impeded speech, suddenly +remarked, "songs of the Sunny South"; and immediately sat down and +began hammering upon the table. + +Then Signora Ballatino, clothed in the costume of the Sunny South, +where clothes are less essential than in these colder climes, skipped +airily forward, and was most ungallantly greeted with a storm of +groans and hisses. Her beloved instrument was unfeelingly alluded to +as a pie-dish, and she was advised to take it back and get the penny +on it. The chairman, addressed by his Christian name of "Jimmee," +was told to lie down and let her sing him to sleep. Every time she +attempted to start playing, shouts were raised for Joss. + +At length the chairman, overcoming his evident disinclination to take +any sort of hand whatever in the game, rose and gently hinted at the +desirability of silence. The suggestion not meeting with any +support, he proceeded to adopt sterner measures. He addressed +himself personally to the ringleader of the rioters, the man who had +first championed the cause of the absent Joss. This person was a +brawny individual, who, judging from appearances, followed in his +business hours the calling of a coalheaver. "Yes, sir," said the +chairman, pointing a finger towards him, where he sat in the front +row of the gallery; "you, sir, in the flannel shirt. I can see you. +Will you allow this lady to give her entertainment?" + +"No," answered he of the coalheaving profession, in stentorian tones. + +"Then, sir," said the little chairman, working himself up into a +state suggestive of Jove about to launch a thunderbolt--"then, sir, +all I can say is that you are no gentleman." + +This was a little too much, or rather a good deal too little, for the +Signora Ballatino. She had hitherto been standing in a meek attitude +of pathetic appeal, wearing a fixed smile of ineffable sweetness but +she evidently felt that she could go a bit farther than that herself, +even if she was a lady. Calling the chairman "an old messer," and +telling him for Gawd's sake to shut up if that was all he could do +for his living, she came down to the front, and took the case into +her own hands. + +She did not waste time on the rest of the audience. She went direct +for that coalheaver, and thereupon ensued a slanging match the memory +of which sends a trill of admiration through me even to this day. It +was a battle worthy of the gods. He was a heaver of coals, quick and +ready beyond his kind. During many years sojourn East and South, in +the course of many wanderings from Billingsgate to Limehouse Hole, +from Petticoat Lane to White-chapel Road; out of eel-pie shop and +penny gaff; out of tavern and street, and court and doss-house, he +had gathered together slang words and terms and phrases, and they +came back to him now, and he stood up against her manfully. + +But as well might the lamb stand up against the eagle, when the +shadow of its wings falls across the green pastures, and the wind +flies before its dark oncoming. At the end of two minutes he lay +gasping, dazed, and speechless. + +Then she began. + +She announced her intention of "wiping down the bloomin' 'all" with +him, and making it respectable; and, metaphorically speaking, that is +what she did. Her tongue hit him between the eyes, and knocked him +down and trampled on him. It curled round and round him like a whip, +and then it uncurled and wound the other way. It seized him by the +scruff of his neck, and tossed him up into the air, and caught him as +he descended, and flung him to the ground, and rolled him on it. It +played around him like forked lightning, and blinded him. It danced +and shrieked about him like a host of whirling fiends, and he tried +to remember a prayer, and could not. It touched him lightly on the +sole of his foot and the crown of his head, and his hair stood up +straight, and his limbs grew stiff. The people sitting near him drew +away, not feeling it safe to be near, and left him alone, surrounded +by space, and language. + +It was the most artistic piece of work of its kind that I have ever +heard. Every phrase she flung at him seemed to have been woven on +purpose to entangle him and to embrace in its choking folds his +people and his gods, to strangle with its threads his every hope, +ambition, and belief. Each term she put upon him clung to him like a +garment, and fitted him without a crease. The last name that she +called him one felt to be, until one heard the next, the one name +that he ought to have been christened by. + +For five and three-quarter minutes by the clock she spoke, and never +for one instant did she pause or falter; and in the whole of that +onslaught there was only one weak spot. + +That was when she offered to make a better man than he was out of a +Guy Fawkes and a lump of coal. You felt that one lump of coal would +not have been sufficient. + +At the end, she gathered herself together for one supreme effort, and +hurled at him an insult so bitter with scorn so sharp with insight +into his career and character, so heavy with prophetic curse, that +strong men drew and held their breath while it passed over them, and +women hid their faces and shivered. + +Then she folded her arms, and stood silent; and the house, from floor +to ceiling, rose and cheered her until there was no more breath left +in its lungs. + +In that one night she stepped from oblivion into success. She is now +a famous "artiste." + +But she does not call herself Signora Ballatino, and she does not +play upon the zithern. Her name has a homelier sound, and her +speciality is the delineation of coster character. + + + +SILHOUETTES. + + + +I fear I must be of a somewhat gruesome turn of mind. My sympathies +are always with the melancholy side of life and nature. I love the +chill October days, when the brown leaves lie thick and sodden +underneath your feet, and a low sound as of stifled sobbing is heard +in the damp woods--the evenings in late autumn time, when the white +mist creeps across the fields, making it seem as though old Earth, +feeling the night air cold to its poor bones, were drawing ghostly +bedclothes round its withered limbs. I like the twilight of the long +grey street, sad with the wailing cry of the distant muffin man. One +thinks of him, as, strangely mitred, he glides by through the gloom, +jangling his harsh bell, as the High Priest of the pale spirit of +Indigestion, summoning the devout to come forth and worship. I find +a sweetness in the aching dreariness of Sabbath afternoons in genteel +suburbs--in the evil-laden desolateness of waste places by the river, +when the yellow fog is stealing inland across the ooze and mud, and +the black tide gurgles softly round worm-eaten piles. + +I love the bleak moor, when the thin long line of the winding road +lies white on the darkening heath, while overhead some belated bird, +vexed with itself for being out so late, scurries across the dusky +sky, screaming angrily. I love the lonely, sullen lake, hidden away +in mountain solitudes. I suppose it was my childhood's surroundings +that instilled in me this affection for sombre hues. One of my +earliest recollections is of a dreary marshland by the sea. By day, +the water stood there in wide, shallow pools. But when one looked in +the evening they were pools of blood that lay there. + +It was a wild, dismal stretch of coast. One day, I found myself +there all alone--I forget how it came about--and, oh, how small I +felt amid the sky and the sea and the sandhills! I ran, and ran, and +ran, but I never seemed to move; and then I cried, and screamed, +louder and louder, and the circling seagulls screamed back mockingly +at me. It was an "unken" spot, as they say up North. + +In the far back days of the building of the world, a long, high ridge +of stones had been reared up by the sea, dividing the swampy +grassland from the sand. Some of these stones--"pebbles," so they +called them round about--were as big as a man, and many as big as a +fair-sized house; and when the sea was angry--and very prone he was +to anger by that lonely shore, and very quick to wrath; often have I +known him sink to sleep with a peaceful smile on his rippling waves, +to wake in fierce fury before the night was spent--he would snatch up +giant handfuls of these pebbles and fling and toss them here and +there, till the noise of their rolling and crashing could be heard by +the watchers in the village afar off. + +"Old Nick's playing at marbles to-night," they would say to one +another, pausing to listen. And then the women would close tight +their doors, and try not to hear the sound. + +Far out to sea, by where the muddy mouth of the river yawned wide, +there rose ever a thin white line of surf, and underneath those +crested waves there dwelt a very fearsome thing, called the Bar. I +grew to hate and be afraid of this mysterious Bar, for I heard it +spoken of always with bated breath, and I knew that it was very cruel +to fisher folk, and hurt them so sometimes that they would cry whole +days and nights together with the pain, or would sit with white +scared faces, rocking themselves to and fro. + +Once when I was playing among the sandhills, there came by a tall, +grey woman, bending beneath a load of driftwood. She paused when +nearly opposite to me, and, facing seaward, fixed her eyes upon the +breaking surf above the Bar. "Ah, how I hate the sight of your white +teeth!" she muttered; then turned and passed on. + +Another morning, walking through the village, I heard a low wailing +come from one of the cottages, while a little farther on a group of +women were gathered in the roadway, talking. "Ay," said one of them, +"I thought the Bar was looking hungry last night." + +So, putting one and the other together, I concluded that the "Bar" +must be an ogre, such as a body reads of in books, who lived in a +coral castle deep below the river's mouth, and fed upon the fishermen +as he caught them going down to the sea or coming home. + +From my bedroom window, on moonlight nights, I could watch the +silvery foam, marking the spot beneath where he lay hid; and I would +stand on tip-toe, peering out, until at length I would come to fancy +I could see his hideous form floating below the waters. Then, as the +little white-sailed boats stole by him, tremblingly, I used to +tremble too, lest he should suddenly open his grim jaws and gulp them +down; and when they had all safely reached the dark, soft sea beyond, +I would steal back to the bedside, and pray to God to make the Bar +good, so that he would give up eating the poor fishermen. + +Another incident connected with that coast lives in my mind. It was +the morning after a great storm--great even for that stormy coast-- +and the passion-worn waters were still heaving with the memory of a +fury that was dead. Old Nick had scattered his marbles far and wide, +and there were rents and fissures in the pebbly wall such as the +oldest fisherman had never known before. Some of the hugest stones +lay tossed a hundred yards away, and the waters had dug pits here and +there along the ridge so deep that a tall man might stand in some of +them, and yet his head not reach the level of the sand. + +Round one of these holes a small crowd was pressing eagerly, while +one man, standing in the hollow, was lifting the few remaining stones +off something that lay there at the bottom. I pushed my way between +the straggling legs of a big fisher lad, and peered over with the +rest. A ray of sunlight streamed down into the pit, and the thing at +the bottom gleamed white. Sprawling there among the black pebbles it +looked like a huge spider. One by one the last stones were lifted +away, and the thing was left bare, and then the crowd looked at one +another and shivered. + +"Wonder how he got there," said a woman at length; "somebody must ha' +helped him." + +"Some foreign chap, no doubt," said the man who had lifted off the +stones; "washed ashore and buried here by the sea." + +"What, six foot below the water-mark, wi' all they stones atop of +him?" said another. + +"That's no foreign chap," cried a grizzled old woman, pressing +forward. "What's that that's aside him?" + +Some one jumped down and took it from the stone where it lay +glistening, and handed it up to her, and she clutched it in her +skinny hand. It was a gold earring, such as fishermen sometimes +wear. But this was a somewhat large one, and of rather unusual +shape. + +"That's young Abram Parsons, I tell 'ee, as lies down there," cried +the old creature, wildly. "I ought to know. I gave him the pair o' +these forty year ago." + +It may be only an idea of mine, born of after brooding upon the +scene. I am inclined to think it must be so, for I was only a child +at the time, and would hardly have noticed such a thing. But it +seems to my remembrance that as the old crone ceased, another woman +in the crowd raised her eyes slowly, and fixed them on a withered, +ancient man, who leant upon a stick, and that for a moment, unnoticed +by the rest, these two stood looking strangely at each other. + +From these sea-scented scenes, my memory travels to a weary land +where dead ashes lie, and there is blackness--blackness everywhere. +Black rivers flow between black banks; black, stunted trees grow in +black fields; black withered flowers by black wayside. Black roads +lead from blackness past blackness to blackness; and along them +trudge black, savage-looking men and women; and by them black, old- +looking children play grim, unchildish games. + +When the sun shines on this black land, it glitters black and hard; +and when the rain falls a black mist rises towards heaven, like the +hopeless prayer of a hopeless soul. + +By night it is less dreary, for then the sky gleams with a lurid +light, and out of the darkness the red flames leap, and high up in +the air they gambol and writhe--the demon spawn of that evil land, +they seem. + +Visitors who came to our house would tell strange tales of this black +land, and some of the stories I am inclined to think were true. One +man said he saw a young bull-dog fly at a boy and pin him by the +throat. The lad jumped about with much sprightliness, and tried to +knock the dog away. Whereupon the boy's father rushed out of the +house, hard by, and caught his son and heir roughly by the shoulder. +"Keep still, thee young --, can't 'ee!" shouted the man angrily; "let +'un taste blood." + +Another time, I heard a lady tell how she had visited a cottage +during a strike, to find the baby, together with the other children, +almost dying for want of food. "Dear, dear me!" she cried, taking +the wee wizened mite from the mother's arms, "but I sent you down a +quart of milk, yesterday. Hasn't the child had it?" + +"Theer weer a little coom, thank 'ee kindly, ma'am," the father took +upon himself to answer; "but thee see it weer only just enow for the +poops." + +We lived in a big lonely house on the edge of a wide common. One +night, I remember, just as I was reluctantly preparing to climb into +bed, there came a wild ringing at the gate, followed by a hoarse, +shrieking cry, and then a frenzied shaking of the iron bars. + +Then hurrying footsteps sounded through the house, and the swift +opening and closing of doors; and I slipped back hastily into my +knickerbockers and ran out. The women folk were gathered on the +stairs, while my father stood in the hall, calling to them to be +quiet. And still the wild ringing of the bell continued, and, above +it, the hoarse, shrieking cry. + +My father opened the door and went out, and we could hear him +striding down the gravel path, and we clung to one another and +waited. + +After what seemed an endless time, we heard the heavy gate unbarred, +and quickly clanged to, and footsteps returning on the gravel. Then +the door opened again, and my father entered, and behind him a +crouching figure that felt its way with its hands as it crept along, +as a blind man might. The figure stood up when it reached the middle +of the hall, and mopped its eyes with a dirty rag that it carried in +its hand; after which it held the rag over the umbrella-stand and +wrung it out, as washerwomen wring out clothes, and the dark +drippings fell into the tray with a dull, heavy splut. + +My father whispered something to my mother, and she went out towards +the back; and, in a little while, we heard the stamping of hoofs--the +angry plunge of a spur-startled horse--the rhythmic throb of the +long, straight gallop, dying away into the distance. + +My mother returned and spoke some reassuring words to the servants. +My father, having made fast the door and extinguished all but one or +two of the lights, had gone into a small room on the right of the +hall; the crouching figure, still mopping that moisture from its +eyes, following him. We could hear them talking there in low tones, +my father questioning, the other voice thick and interspersed with +short panting grunts. + +We on the stairs huddled closer together, and, in the darkness, I +felt my mother's arm steal round me and encompass me, so that I was +not afraid. Then we waited, while the silence round our frightened +whispers thickened and grew heavy till the weight of it seemed to +hurt us. + +At length, out of its depths, there crept to our ears a faint murmur. +It gathered strength like the sound of the oncoming of a wave upon a +stony shore, until it broke in a Babel of vehement voices just +outside. After a few moments, the hubbub ceased, and there came a +furious ringing--then angry shouts demanding admittance. + +Some of the women began to cry. My father came out into the hall, +closing the room door behind him, and ordered them to be quiet, so +sternly that they were stunned into silence. The furious ringing was +repeated; and, this time, threats mingled among the hoarse shouts. +My mother's arm tightened around me, and I could hear the beating of +her heart. + +The voices outside the gate sank into a low confused mumbling. Soon +they died away altogether, and the silence flowed back. + +My father turned up the hall lamp, and stood listening. + +Suddenly, from the back of the house, rose the noise of a great +crashing, followed by oaths and savage laughter. + +My father rushed forward, but was borne back; and, in an instant, the +hall was full of grim, ferocious faces. My father, trembling a +little (or else it was the shadow cast by the flickering lamp), and +with lips tight pressed, stood confronting them; while we women and +children, too scared to even cry, shrank back up the stairs. + +What followed during the next few moments is, in my memory, only a +confused tumult, above which my father's high, clear tones rise every +now and again, entreating, arguing, commanding. I see nothing +distinctly until one of the grimmest of the faces thrusts itself +before the others, and a voice which, like Aaron's rod, swallows up +all its fellows, says in deep, determined bass, "Coom, we've had enow +chatter, master. Thee mun give 'un up, or thee mun get out o' th' +way an' we'll search th' house for oursel'." + +Then a light flashed into my father's eyes that kindled something +inside me, so that the fear went out of me, and I struggled to free +myself from my mother's arm, for the desire stirred me to fling +myself down upon the grimy faces below, and beat and stamp upon them +with my fists. Springing across the hall, he snatched from the wall +where it hung an ancient club, part of a trophy of old armour, and +planting his back against the door through which they would have to +pass, he shouted, "Then be damned to you all, he's in this room! +Come and fetch him out." + +(I recollect that speech well. I puzzled over it, even at that time, +excited though I was. I had always been told that only low, wicked +people ever used the word "damn," and I tried to reconcile things, +and failed.) + +The men drew back and muttered among themselves. It was an ugly- +looking weapon, studded with iron spikes. My father held it secured +to his hand by a chain, and there was an ugly look about him also, +now, that gave his face a strange likeness to the dark faces round +him. + +But my mother grew very white and cold, and underneath her breath she +kept crying, "Oh, will they never come--will they never come?" and a +cricket somewhere about the house began to chirp. + +Then all at once, without a word, my mother flew down the stairs, and +passed like a flash of light through the crowd of dusky figures. How +she did it I could never understand, for the two heavy bolts had both +been drawn, but the next moment the door stood wide open; and a hum +of voices, cheery with the anticipation of a period of perfect bliss, +was borne in upon the cool night air. + +My mother was always very quick of hearing. + + +Again, I see a wild crowd of grim faces, and my father's, very pale, +amongst them. But this time the faces are very many, and they come +and go like faces in a dream. The ground beneath my feet is wet and +sloppy, and a black rain is falling. There are women's faces in the +crowd, wild and haggard, and long skinny arms stretch out +threateningly towards my father, and shrill, frenzied voices call out +curses on him. Boys' faces also pass me in the grey light, and on +some of them there is an impish grin. + +I seem to be in everybody's way; and to get out of it, I crawl into a +dark, draughty corner and crouch there among cinders. Around me, +great engines fiercely strain and pant like living things fighting +beyond their strength. Their gaunt arms whirl madly above me, and +the ground rocks with their throbbing. Dark figures flit to and fro, +pausing from time to time to wipe the black sweat from their faces. + +The pale light fades, and the flame-lit night lies red upon the land. +The flitting figures take strange shapes. I hear the hissing of +wheels, the furious clanking of iron chains, the hoarse shouting of +many voices, the hurrying tread of many feet; and, through all, the +wailing and weeping and cursing that never seem to cease. I drop +into a restless sleep, and dream that I have broken a chapel window, +stone-throwing, and have died and gone to hell. + +At length, a cold hand is laid upon my shoulder, and I awake. The +wild faces have vanished and all is silent now, and I wonder if the +whole thing has been a dream. My father lifts me into the dog-cart, +and we drive home through the chill dawn. + +My mother opens the door softly as we alight. She does not speak, +only looks her question. "It's all over, Maggie," answers my father +very quietly, as he takes off his coat and lays it across a chair; +"we've got to begin the world afresh." + +My mother's arms steal up about his neck; and I, feeling heavy with a +trouble I do not understand, creep off to bed. + + + +THE LEASE OF THE "CROSS KEYS." + + + +This story is about a shop: many stories are. One Sunday evening +this Bishop had to preach a sermon at St. Paul's Cathedral. The +occasion was a very special and important one, and every God-fearing +newspaper in the kingdom sent its own special representative to +report the proceedings. + +Now, of the three reporters thus commissioned, one was a man of +appearance so eminently respectable that no one would have thought of +taking him for a journalist. People used to put him down for a +County Councillor or an Archdeacon at the very least. As a matter of +fact, however, he was a sinful man, with a passion for gin. He lived +at Bow, and, on the Sabbath in question, he left his home at five +o'clock in the afternoon, and started to walk to the scene of his +labours. The road from Bow to the City on a wet and chilly Sunday +evening is a cheerless one; who can blame him if on his way he +stopped once or twice to comfort himself with "two" of his favourite +beverage? On reaching St. Paul's he found he had twenty minutes to +spare--just time enough for one final "nip." Half way down a narrow +court leading out of the Churchyard he found a quiet little hostelry, +and, entering the private bar, whispered insinuatingly across the +counter: + +"Two of gin hot, if you please, my dear." + +His voice had the self-satisfied meekness of the successful +ecclesiastic, his bearing suggested rectitude tempered by desire to +avoid observation. The barmaid, impressed by his manner and +appearance, drew the attention of the landlord to him. The landlord +covertly took stock of so much of him as could be seen between his +buttoned-up coat and his drawn-down hat, and wondered how so bland +and innocent-looking a gentleman came to know of gin. + +A landlord's duty, however, is not to wonder, but to serve. The gin +was given to the man, and the man drank it. He liked it. It was +good gin: he was a connoisseur, and he knew. Indeed, so good did it +seem to him that he felt it would be a waste of opportunity not to +have another twopen'orth. Therefore he had a second "go"; maybe a +third. Then he returned to the Cathedral, and sat himself down with +his notebook on his knee and waited. + +As the service proceeded there stole over him that spirit of +indifference to all earthly surroundings that religion and drink are +alone able to bestow. He heard the good Bishop's text and wrote it +down. Then he heard the Bishop's "sixthly and lastly," and took that +down, and looked at his notebook and wondered in a peaceful way what +had become of the "firstly" to "fifthly" inclusive. He sat there +wondering until the people round him began to get up and move away, +whereupon it struck him swiftly and suddenly that be had been asleep, +and had thereby escaped the main body of the discourse. + +What on earth was he to do? He was representing one of the leading +religious papers. A full report of the sermon was wanted that very +night. Seizing the robe of a passing wandsman, he tremulously +inquired if the Bishop had yet left the Cathedral. The wandsman +answered that he had not, but that he was just on the point of doing +so. + +"I must see him before he goes!" exclaimed the reporter, excitedly. + +"You can't," replied the wandsman. The journalist grew frantic. + +"Tell him," he cried, "a penitent sinner desires to speak with him +about the sermon he has just delivered. To-morrow it will be too +late." + +The wandsman was touched; so was the Bishop. He said he would see +the poor fellow. + +As soon as the door was shut the man, with tears in his eyes, told +the Bishop the truth--leaving out the gin. He said that he was a +poor man, and not in good health, that he had been up half the night +before, and had walked all the way from Bow that evening. He dwelt +on the disastrous results to himself and his family should he fail to +obtain a report of the sermon. The Bishop felt sorry for the man. +Also, he was anxious that his sermon should be reported. + +"Well, I trust it will be a warning to you against going to sleep in +church," he said, with an indulgent smile. "Luckily, I have brought +my notes with me, and if you will promise to be very careful of them, +and to bring them back to me the first thing in the morning, I will +lend them to you." + +With this, the Bishop opened and handed to the man a neat little +black leather bag, inside which lay a neat little roll of manuscript. + +"Better take the bag to keep it in," added the Bishop. "Be sure and +let me have them both back early to-morrow." + +The reporter, when he examined the contents of the bag under a lamp +in the Cathedral vestibule, could hardly believe his good fortune. +The careful Bishop's notes were so full and clear that for all +practical purposes they were equal to a report. His work was already +done. He felt so pleased with himself that he determined to treat +himself to another "two" of gin, and, with this intent, made his way +across to the little "public" before-mentioned. + +"It's really excellent gin you sell here," he said to the barmaid +when he had finished; "I think, my dear, I'll have just one more." + +At eleven the landlord gently but firmly insisted on his leaving, and +he went, assisted, as far as the end of the court, by the potboy. +After he was gone, the landlord noticed a neat little black bag on +the seat where he had been lying. Examining it closely, he +discovered a brass plate between the handles, and upon the brass +plate were engraved the owner's name and title. Opening the bag, the +landlord saw a neat little roll of manuscript, and across a corner of +the manuscript was written the Bishop's name and address. + +The landlord blew a long, low whistle, and stood with his round eyes +wide open gazing down at the open bag. Then he put on his hat and +coat, and taking the bag, went out down the court, chuckling hugely +as he walked. He went straight to the house of the Resident Canon +and rang the bell. + +"Tell Mr. --," he said to the servant, "that I must see him to-night. +I wouldn't disturb him at this late hour if it wasn't something very +important." + +The landlord was ushered up. Closing the door softly behind him, he +coughed deferentially. + +"Well, Mr. Peters" (I will call him "Peters"), said the Canon, "what +is it?" + +"Well, sir," said Mr. Peters, slowly and deliberately, "it's about +that there lease o' mine. I do hope you gentlemen will see your way +to makin' it twenty-one year instead o' fourteen." + +"God bless the man!" cried the Canon, jumping up indignantly, "you +don't mean to say you've come to me at eleven o'clock on a Sunday +night to talk about your lease?" + +"Well, not entirely, sir," answered Peters, unabashed; "there's +another little thing I wished to speak to you about, and that's +this"--saying which, he laid the Bishop's bag before the Canon and +told his story. + +The Canon looked at Mr. Peters, and Mr. Peters looked at the Canon. + +"There must be some mistake," said the Canon. + +"There's no mistake," said the landlord. "I had my suspicions when I +first clapped eyes on him. I seed he wasn't our usual sort, and I +seed how he tried to hide his face. If he weren't the Bishop, then I +don't know a Bishop when I sees one, that's all. Besides, there's +his bag, and there's his sermon." + +Mr. Peters folded his arms and waited. The Canon pondered. Such +things had been known to happen before in Church history. Why not +again? + +"Does any one know of this besides yourself?" asked the Canon. + +"Not a livin' soul," replied Mr. Peters, "as yet." + +"I think--I think, Mr. Peters," said the Canon, "that we may be able +to extend your lease to twenty-one years." + +"Thank you kindly, sir," said the landlord, and departed. Next +morning the Canon waited on the Bishop and laid the bag before him. + +"Oh," said the Bishop cheerfully, "he's sent it back by you, has he?" + +"He has, sir," replied the Canon; "and thankful I am that it was to +me he brought it. It is right," continued the Canon, "that I should +inform your lordship that I am aware of the circumstances under which +it left your hands." + +The Canon's eye was severe, and the Bishop laughed uneasily. + +"I suppose it wasn't quite the thing for me to do," he answered +apologetically; "but there, all's well that ends well," and the +Bishop laughed. + +This stung the Canon. "Oh, sir," he exclaimed, with a burst of +fervour, "in Heaven's name--for the sake of our Church, let me +entreat--let me pray you never to let such a thing occur again." + +The Bishop turned upon him angrily. + +"Why, what a fuss you make about a little thing!" he cried; then, +seeing the look of agony upon the other's face, he paused. + +"How did you get that bag?" he asked. + +"The landlord of the Cross Keys brought it me," answered the Canon; +"you left it there last night." + +The Bishop gave a gasp, and sat down heavily. When he recovered his +breath, he told the Canon the real history of the case; and the Canon +is still trying to believe it. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText John Ingerfield and Other Stories |