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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2828-0.txt b/2828-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a05877 --- /dev/null +++ b/2828-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5472 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Under the Deodars + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Posting Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #2828] +Release Date: September, 2001 +Last Updated: October 7, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE DEODARS *** + + + + + + + + + + +UNDER THE DEODARS + +By Rudyard Kipling + + + + +Contents + + The Education of Otis Yeere + At the Pit’s Mouth + A Wayside Comedy + The Hill of Illusion + A Second-rate Woman + Only a Subaltern + In the Matter of a Private + The Enlightenments of Pagett. M. P. + + + + +UNDER THE DEODARS + + + + +THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE + + +I + + In the pleasant orchard-closes + ‘God bless all our gains,’ say we; + But ‘May God bless all our losses,’ + Better suits with our degree. + The Lost Bower. + +This is the history of a failure; but the woman who failed said that it +might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the +younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction, +being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will listen to it. None +the less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should +begin, that is to say at Simla, where all things begin and many come to +an evil end. + +The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not +retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever woman’s mistake +is outside the regular course of Nature and Providence; since all good +people know that a woman is the only infallible thing in this world, +except Government Paper of the ‘79 issue, bearing interest at four and +a half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days +of rehearsing the leading part of The Fallen Angel, at the New Gaiety +Theatre where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought +about an unhingement of spirits which, again, might have led to +eccentricities. + +Mrs. Hauksbee came to ‘The Foundry’ to tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, her one +bosom friend, for she was in no sense ‘a woman’s woman.’ And it was a +woman’s tiffin, the door shut to all the world; and they both talked +chiffons, which is French for Mysteries. + +‘I’ve enjoyed an interval of sanity,’ Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after +tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little +writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe’s bedroom. + +‘My dear girl, what has he done?’ said Mrs. Mallowe sweetly. It is +noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other ‘dear girl,’ +just as commissioners of twenty-eight years’ standing address their +equals in the Civil List as ‘my boy.’ + +‘There’s no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should be +always credited to me? Am I an Apache?’ + +‘No, dear, but somebody’s scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door. +Soaking rather.’ + +This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding +all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady +laughed. + +‘For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The +Mussuck. Hsh! Don’t laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the +duff came some one really ought to teach them to make puddings at +Tyrconnel The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.’ + +‘Sweet soul! I know his appetite,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘Did he, oh did +he, begin his wooing?’ + +‘By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a +Pillar of the Empire. I didn’t laugh.’ + +‘Lucy, I don’t believe you.’ + +‘Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, +The Mussuck dilated.’ + +‘I think I can see him doing it,’ said Mrs. Mallowe pensively, +scratching her fox-terrier’s ears. + +‘I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. “Strict +supervision, and play them off one against the other,” said The Mussuck, +shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. “That, Mrs. +Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.”’ + +Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. ‘And what did you say?’ + +‘Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: “So I have +observed in my dealings with you.” The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is +coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.’ + +‘“Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That, +Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.” And I daresay if we +could get to The Mussuck’s heart, we should find that he considers +himself a man of the world.’ + +‘As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won’t have +you call him names. He amuses me.’ + +‘He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of +sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog +is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?’ + +‘No, thanks. Polly, I’m wearied of this life. It’s hollow.’ + +‘Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.’ + +‘Only exchanging half-a-dozen attaches in red for one in black, and if I +fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever struck +you, dear, that I’m getting old?’ + +‘Thanks for your courtesy. I’ll return it. Ye-es, we are both not +exactly how shall I put it?’ + +‘What we have been. “I feel it in my bones,” as Mrs. Crossley says. +Polly, I’ve wasted my life.’ + +‘As how?’ + +‘Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.’ + +‘Be a Power then. You’ve wits enough for anything and beauty!’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. ‘Polly, if you +heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you’re a +woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.’ + +‘Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in +Asia, and he’ll tell you anything and everything you please.’ + +‘Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power not a gas-power. +Polly, I’m going to start a salon.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. +‘Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,’ she said. + +‘Will you talk sensibly?’ + +‘I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.’ + +‘I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn’t +explain away afterwards.’ + +‘Going to make a mistake,’ went on Mrs. Mallowe composedly. ‘It is +impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the +point.’ + +‘Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.’ + +‘Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in +Simla?’ + +‘Myself and yourself,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment’s +hesitation. + +‘Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many +clever men?’ + +‘Oh er hundreds,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely. + +‘What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government. +Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so +who shouldn’t. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of +conversation he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife in the +old days are taken from him by this this kitchen-sink of a Government. +That’s the case with every man up here who is at work. I don’t suppose +a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang; +and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.’ + +‘But there are scores--’ + +‘I know what you’re going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I +admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who’d +be delightful if he had the military man’s knowledge of the world and +style, and the military man who’d be adorable if he had the Civilian’s +culture.’ + +‘Detestable word! Have Civilians culchaw? I never studied the breed +deeply.’ + +‘Don’t make fun of Jack’s Service. Yes. They’re like the teapoys in the +Lakka Bazar good material but not polished. They can’t help themselves, +poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked +about the world for fifteen years.’ + +‘And a military man?’ + +‘When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species +are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon.’ + +‘I would not!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely. + +‘I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them. I’d put their own +colonels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I’d give them +to the Topsham Girl to play with.’ + +‘The Topsham Girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the +salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, +what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one +accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti’s a +“Scandal Point” by lamplight.’ + +‘There’s a certain amount of wisdom in that view.’ + +‘There’s all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons +ought to have taught you that you can’t focus anything in India; and +a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your +roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of +dirt on the hillsides here one day and blown down the road the next. We +have lost the art of talking at least our men have. We have no cohesion.’ + +‘George Eliot in the flesh,’ interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee wickedly. + +‘And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no +influence. Come into the verandah and look at the Mall!’ + +The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was +abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. + +‘How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There’s The Mussuck head of +goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like +a costermonger. There’s Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir +Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of +Departments, and all powerful.’ + +‘And all my fervent admirers,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. ‘Sir Henry +Haughton raves about me. But go on.’ + +‘One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they’re just +a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon +won’t weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, +dear. And these creatures won’t talk administrative “shop” in a crowd +your salon because they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks +overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever +knew, and the women--’ + +‘Can’t talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of +their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.’ + +‘You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the +subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views +admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and +provided plenty of kala juggahs.’ + +‘Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a +salon! But who made you so awfully clever?’ + +‘Perhaps I’ve tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have +preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof.’ + +‘You needn’t go on. “Is Vanity.” Polly, I thank you. These vermin’ Mrs. +Hauksbee waved her hand from the verandah to two men in the crowd below +who had raised their hats to her ‘these vermin shall not rejoice in a +new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti’s. I will abandon the notion of a +salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do +something.’ + +‘Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar.’ + +‘Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I’m +tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to +the blandishments of The Mussuck.’ + +‘Yes that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make +your bow yet?’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee’s mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. ‘I think I see +myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: “Mrs. Hauksbee! +Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!” No +more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals with +supper to follow; no more sparring with one’s dearest, dearest friend; +no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn’t wit enough to clothe +what he’s pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more +parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla, +spreading horrible stories about me! No more of anything that is +thoroughly wearying, abominable, and detestable, but, all the same, +makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don’t interrupt, Polly, +I’m inspired. A mauve and white striped “cloud” round my excellent +shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. +Delightful vision! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in three different +draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for +all the couples to stumble over as they go into the verandah! Then at +supper. Can’t you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. Reluctant +subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby, they really ought +to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly, sent back by the +hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at +a glove two sizes too large for him I hate a man who wears gloves like +overcoats and trying to look as if he’d thought of it from the first. +“May I ah-have the pleasure ‘f takin’ you ‘nt’ supper?” Then I get up +with a hungry smile. Just like this.’ + +‘Lucy, how can you be so absurd?’ + +‘And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you +know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for +my ‘rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve +and white “cloud” over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, +venerable feet, and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib’s gharri. +Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out +by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down below +there.’ She pointed through the pines toward the Cemetery, and continued +with vigorous dramatic gesture, + +‘Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! +Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel or list, is it? that they +put into the tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of +them.’ + +‘Lucy, for Heaven’s sake, don’t go waving your arms about in that +idiotic manner! Recollect every one can see you from the Mall.’ + +‘Let them see! They’ll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! +There’s The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!’ + +She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite +grace. + +‘Now,’ she continued, ‘he’ll be chaffed about that at the Club in the +delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell +me all about it softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy +is too good to live, Polly. I’ve serious thoughts of recommending him to +throw up his commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of +mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child!’ + +‘Never again,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, +‘shall you tiffin here! “Lucindy your behaviour is scand’lus.”’ + +‘All your fault,’ retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, ‘for suggesting such a thing +as my abdication. No! jamais! nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, +talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any +woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to +shame before all Simla, and it’s dust and ashes in my mouth while I’m +doing it!’ + +She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm +round her waist. + +‘I’m not!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummaging for her handkerchief. +‘I’ve been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the +afternoon. You’d be tired yourself. It’s only because I’m tired.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie +down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk. + +‘I’ve been through that too, dear,’ she said. + +‘I remember,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. ‘In ‘84, +wasn’t it? You went out a great deal less next season.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion. + +‘I became an Influence,’ said she. + +‘Good gracious, child, you didn’t join the Theosophists and kiss +Buddha’s big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they +cast me out for a sceptic without a chance of improving my poor little +mind, too.’ + +‘No, I didn’t Theosophilander. Jack says--’ + +‘Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do?’ + +‘I made a lasting impression.’ + +‘So have I for four months. But that didn’t console me in the least. I +hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me +what you mean?’ + +Mrs. Mallowe told. + +‘And you mean to say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?’ + +‘Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.’ + +‘And his last promotion was due to you?’ + +Mrs. Mallowe nodded. + +‘And you warned him against the Topsham Girl?’ + +Another nod. + +‘And told him of Sir Dugald Delane’s private memo about him?’ + +A third nod. + +‘Why?’ + +‘What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am +proud of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be successful. +Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything +else that a man values. The rest depends upon himself.’ + +‘Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.’ + +‘Not in the least. I’m concentrated, that’s all. You diffuse yourself, +dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team.’ + +‘Can’t you choose a prettier word?’ + +‘Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain +nothing by it. Not even amusement.’ + +‘And you?’ + +‘Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, +unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You’ll find +it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be +done you needn’t look like that because I’ve done it.’ + +‘There’s an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. +I’ll get such a man and say to him, “Now, understand that there must be +no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and +counsels, and all will yet be well.” Is that the idea?’ + +‘More or less,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. ‘But be +sure he understands.’ + + +II + + Dribble-dribble trickle-trickle + What a lot of raw dust! + My dollie’s had an accident + And out came all the sawdust! + + Nursery Rhyme. + +So Mrs. Hauksbee, in ‘The Foundry’ which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at +the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference +was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. + +‘I warn you,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her suggestion, +‘that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman even the +Topsham Girl can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him +when caught.’ + +‘My child,’ was the answer, ‘I’ve been a female St. Simon Stylites +looking down upon men for these these years past. Ask The Mussuck +whether I can manage them.’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, ‘I’ll go to him and say to him in manner +most ironical.’ Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly +sober. ‘I wonder whether I’ve done well in advising that amusement? +Lucy’s a clever woman, but a thought too careless.’ + +A week later the two met at a Monday Pop. ‘Well?’ said Mrs. Mallowe. + +‘I’ve caught him!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee: her eyes were dancing with +merriment. + +‘Who is it, mad woman? I’m sorry I ever spoke to you about it.’ + +‘Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You +can see his face now. Look!’ + +‘Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don’t +believe you.’ + +‘Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I’ll +tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman’s voice always reminds me of +an Underground train coming into Earl’s Court with the brakes on. Now +listen. It is really Otis Yeere.’ + +‘So I see, but does it follow that he is your property!’ + +‘He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the +very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delanes’ burra-khana. I +liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we +went for a ride together, and to-day he’s tied to my ‘richshaw-wheels +hand and foot. You’ll see when the concert’s over. He doesn’t know I’m +here yet.’ + +‘Thank goodness you haven’t chosen a boy. What are you going to do with +him, assuming that you’ve got him?’ + +‘Assuming, indeed! Does a woman do I ever make a mistake in that sort of +thing? First’ Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on her +little gloved fingers ‘First, my dear, I shall dress him properly. At +present his raiment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress-shirt like +a crumpled sheet of the Pioneer. Secondly, after I have made him +presentable, I shall form his manners his morals are above reproach.’ + +‘You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the +shortness of your acquaintance.’ + +‘Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his +interest in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self. +If the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she +flatters the animal’s vanity, he ends by adoring her.’ + +‘In some cases.’ + +‘Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. +Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as +you said, be his guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall become a +success as great a success as your friend. I always wondered how +that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you with the Civil List and, +dropping on one knee no, two knees, a la Gibbon hand it to you and say, +“Adorable angel, choose your friend’s appointment”?’ + +‘Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralised +you. One doesn’t do that sort of thing on the Civil Side.’ + +‘No disrespect meant to Jack’s Service, my dear. I only asked for +information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall work in +my prey.’ + +‘Go your own way since you must. But I’m sorry that I was weak enough to +suggest the amusement.’ + +‘“I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-fin-ite extent,”’ +quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased +with Mrs. Tarkass’s last, long-drawn war-whoop. + +Her bitterest enemies and she had many could hardly accuse Mrs. Hauksbee +of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering ‘dumb’ +characters, foredoomed through life to be nobody’s property. Ten years +in Her Majesty’s Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most part, in +undesirable Districts, had given him little to be proud of, and nothing +to bring confidence. Old enough to have lost the first fine careless +rapture that showers on the immature ‘Stunt imaginary Commissionerships +and Stars, and sends him into the collar with coltish earnestness and +abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the progress he had +made, and thank Providence that under the conditions of the day he had +come even so far, he stood upon the dead-centre of his career. And when +a man stands still he feels the slightest impulse from without. Fortune +had ruled that Otis Yeere should be, for the first part of his service, +one of the rank and file who are ground up in the wheels of the +Administration; losing heart and soul, and mind and strength, in the +process. Until steam replaces manual power in the working of the Empire, +there must always be this percentage must always be the men who are used +up, expended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these promotion is far +off and the mill-grind of every day very instant. The Secretariats know +them only by name; they are not the picked men of the Districts with +Divisions and Collectorates awaiting them. They are simply the rank and +file the food for fever sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the +honour of being the plinth on which the State rests. The older ones +have lost their aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with +a sigh. Both learn to endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve +years in the rank and file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest +and dull the wits of the most keen. + +Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few months; drifting, in the +hope of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over +he would return to his swampy, sour-green, under-manned Bengal district; +to the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the +steaming, sweltering Station, the ill-kempt City, and the undisguised +insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life +was cheap, however. The soil spawned humanity, as it bred frogs in +the Rains, and the gap of the sickness of one season was filled to +overflowing by the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful +to lay down his work for a little while and escape from the seething, +whining, weakly hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its power +to cripple, thwart, and annoy the sunkeneyed man who, by official irony, +was said to be ‘in charge’ of it. + +‘I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. +But I didn’t know that there were men-dowds, too.’ + +Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes +wore rather the mark of the ages. It will be seen that his friendship +with Mrs. Hauksbee had made great strides. + +As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is +talking about himself. From Otis Yeere’s lips Mrs. Hauksbee, before +long, learned everything that she wished to know about the subject +of her experiment: learned what manner of life he had led in what she +vaguely called ‘those awful cholera districts’; learned, too, but this +knowledge came later, what manner of life he had purposed to lead and +what dreams he had dreamed in the year of grace ‘77, before the +reality had knocked the heart out of him. Very pleasant are the shady +bridle-paths round Prospect Hill for the telling of such confidences. + +‘Not yet,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Maliowe. ‘Not yet. I must wait +until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great heavens, is it +possible that he doesn’t know what an honour it is to be taken up by +Me!’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. + +‘Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!’ murmured Mrs. Mallowe, with her sweetest +smile, to Otis. ‘Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis growling +because you’ve monopolised the nicest woman in Simla. They’ll tear you +to pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe rattled downhill, having satisfied herself, by a glance +through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. + +The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this +bewildering whirl of Simla had monopolised the nicest woman in it, and +the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity. +He had never looked upon his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter +for general interest. + +The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no account. +It was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said +spitefully, ‘Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it. +Hasn’t any kind friend told you that she’s the most dangerous woman in +Simla?’ + +Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh, when would his new clothes be +ready? He descended into the Mall to inquire; and Mrs. Hauksbee, +coming over the Church Ridge in her ‘rickshaw, looked down upon him +approvingly. ‘He’s learning to carry himself as if he were a man, +instead of a piece of furniture, and,’ she screwed up her eyes to see +the better through the sunlight ‘he is a man when he holds himself like +that. O blessed Conceit, what should we be without you?’ + +With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis Yeere +discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into a gentle +perspiration could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though +rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for the first time in nine years +proud of himself, and contented with his life, satisfied with his new +clothes, and rejoicing in the friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. + +‘Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,’ she said in confidence to Mrs. +Mallowe. ‘I believe they must use Civilians to plough the fields with in +Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very beginning haven’t I? +But you’ll admit, won’t you, dear, that he is immensely improved since +I took him in hand. Only give me a little more time and he won’t know +himself.’ + +Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of +his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in +reference to nothing, ‘And who has been making you a Member of Council, +lately? You carry the side of half-a-dozen of ‘em.’ + +‘I I’m awf’ly sorry. I didn’t mean it, you know,’ said Yeere +apologetically. + +‘There’ll be no holding you,’ continued the old stager grimly. ‘Climb +down, Otis climb down, and get all that beastly affectation knocked out +of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn’t support it.’ + +Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon +her as his Mother Confessor. + +‘And you apologised!’ she said. ‘Oh, shame! I hate a man who apologises. +Never apologise for what your friend called “side.” Never! It’s a man’s +business to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger. +Now, you bad boy, listen to me.’ + +Simply and straightforwardly, as the ‘rickshaw loitered round Jakko, +Mrs. Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, +illustrating it with living pictures encountered during their Sunday +afternoon stroll. + +‘Good gracious!’ she ended with the personal argument, ‘you’ll apologise +next for being my attache--’ + +‘Never!’ said Otis Yeere. ‘That’s another thing altogether. I shall +always be.’ + +‘What’s coming?’ thought Mrs. Hauksbee. + +‘Proud of that,’ said Otis. + +‘Safe for the present,’ she said to herself. + +‘But I’m afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshurun, you know. When +he waxed fat, then he kicked. It’s the having no worry on one’s mind and +the Hill air, I suppose.’ + +‘Hill air, indeed!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to herself. ‘He’d have been +hiding in the Club till the last day of his leave, if I hadn’t +discovered him.’ And aloud, + +‘Why shouldn’t you be? You have every right to.’ + +‘I! Why?’ + +‘Oh, hundreds of things. I’m not going to waste this lovely afternoon +by explaining; but I know you have. What was that heap of manuscript you +showed me about the grammar of the aboriginal what’s their names?’ + +‘Gullals. A piece of nonsense. I’ve far too much work to do to bother +over Gullals now. You should see my District. Come down with your +husband some day and I’ll show you round. Such a lovely place in the +Rains! A sheet of water with the railway-embankment and the snakes +sticking out, and, in the summer, green flies and green squash. The +people would die of fear if you shook a dogwhip at ‘em. But they know +you’re forbidden to do that, so they conspire to make your life a burden +to you. My District’s worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength +of a native pleader’s false reports. Oh, it’s a heavenly place!’ + +Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. + +‘There’s not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do +you?’ + +‘Because I must. How’m I to get out of it?’ + +‘How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren’t so many people on +the road I’d like to box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask! Look! There +is young Hexarly with six years’ service and half your talents. He asked +for what he wanted, and he got it. See, down by the Convent! There’s +McArthurson, who has come to his present position by asking sheer, +downright asking after he had pushed himself out of the rank and file. +One man is as good as another in your service believe me. I’ve seen +Simla for more seasons than I care to think about. Do you suppose men +are chosen for appointments because of their special fitness beforehand? +You have all passed a high test what do you call it? in the beginning, +and, except for the few who have gone altogether to the bad, you can all +work hard. Asking does the rest. Call it cheek, call it insolence, call +it anything you like, but ask! Men argue yes, I know what men say that a +man, by the mere audacity of his request, must have some good in him. A +weak man doesn’t say: “Give me this and that.” He whines: “Why haven’t +I been given this and that?” If you were in the Army, I should say learn +to spin plates or play a tambourine with your toes. As it is ask! You +belong to a Service that ought to be able to command the Channel Fleet, +or set a leg at twenty minutes’ notice, and yet you hesitate over asking +to escape from a squashy green district where you admit you are not +master. Drop the Bengal Government altogether. Even Darjiling is +a little out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the rents were +extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the Government of India to take you +over. Try to get on the Frontier, where every man has a grand chance +if he can trust himself. Go somewhere! Do something! You have twice the +wits and three times the presence of the men up here, and, and’ Mrs. +Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued ‘and in any way you look at +it, you ought to. You who could go so far!’ + +‘I don’t know,’ said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected +eloquence. ‘I haven’t such a good opinion of myself.’ + +It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid +her hand lightly upon the ungloved paw that rested on the turned-back +‘rickshaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said tenderly, +almost too tenderly, ‘I believe in you if you mistrust yourself. Is that +enough, my friend?’ + +‘It is enough,’ answered Otis very solemnly. + +He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had dreamed +eight years ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through +golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee’s violet eyes. + +Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life the only existence +in this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among +men and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and Gymkhana, that +Otis Yeere, the man with the newly-lit light of self-confidence in his +eyes, had ‘done something decent’ in the wilds whence he came. He had +brought an erring Municipality to reason, appropriated the funds on his +own responsibility, and saved the lives of hundreds. He knew more about +the Gullals than any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aboriginal +tribes; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the +aboriginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals were till +The Mussuck, who had been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself +upon picking people’s brains, explained they were a tribe of ferocious +hillmen, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friendship even the Great Indian +Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis +Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his MS. notes of six years’ standing on +these same Gullals. He had told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the +fever their negligence had bred, crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, +and savagely angry at the desolation in his charge, he had once damned +the collective eyes of his ‘intelligent local board’ for a set of +haramzadas. Which act of ‘brutal and tyrannous oppression’ won him +a Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government; but in the anecdote as +amended for Northern consumption we find no record of this. Hence we are +forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee edited his reminiscences before +sowing them in idle ears, ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or +evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as befitted the hero of many tales. + +‘You can talk to me when you don’t fall into a brown study. Talk now, +and talk your brightest and best,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. + +Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has the counsel of a woman of or +above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can meet +both sexes on equal ground an advantage never intended by Providence, +who fashioned Man on one day and Woman on another, in sign that neither +should know more than a very little of the other’s life. Such a man goes +far, or, the counsel being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world +seeks the reason. + +Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee, who, again, had all Mrs. Mallowe’s wisdom +at her disposal, proud of himself and, in the end, believing in himself +because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready for any fortune that +might befall, certain that it would be good. He would fight for his own +hand, and intended that this second struggle should lead to better issue +than the first helpless surrender of the bewildered ‘Stunt. + +What might have happened it is impossible to say. This lamentable thing +befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would +spend the next season in Darjiling. + +‘Are you certain of that?’ said Otis Yeere. + +‘Quite. We’re writing about a house now.’ + +Otis Yeere ‘stopped dead,’ as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the +relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. + +‘He has behaved,’ she said angrily, ‘just like Captain Kerrington’s pony +only Otis is a donkey at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet and +refused to go on another step. Polly, my man’s going to disappoint me. +What shall I do?’ + +As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this +occasion she opened her eyes to the utmost. + +‘You have managed cleverly so far,’ she said. ‘Speak to him, and ask him +what he means.’ + +‘I will at to-night’s dance.’ + +‘No o, not at a dance,’ said Mrs. Mallowe cautiously. ‘Men are never +themselves quite at dances. Better wait till to-morrow morning.’ + +‘Nonsense. If he’s going to ‘vert in this insane way there isn’t a day +to lose. Are you going? No? Then sit up for me, there’s a dear. I shan’t +stay longer than supper under any circumstances.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and earnestly into +the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. + +‘Oh! oh! oh! The man’s an idiot! A raving, positive idiot! I’m sorry I +ever saw him!’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe’s house, at midnight, almost in +tears. + +‘What in the world has happened?’ said Mrs. Mallowe, but her eyes showed +that she had guessed an answer. + +‘Happened! Everything has happened! He was there. I went to him and +said, “Now, what does this nonsense mean?” Don’t laugh, dear, I can’t +bear it. But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a square, and I +sat it out with him and wanted an explanation, and he said Oh! I haven’t +patience with such idiots! You know what I said about going to Darjiling +next year? It doesn’t matter to me where I go. I’d have changed the +Station and lost the rent to have saved this. He said, in so many words, +that he wasn’t going to try to work up any more, because because he +would be shifted into a province away from Darjiling, and his own +District, where these creatures are, is within a day’s journey.’ + +‘Ah hh!’ said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully +tracked an obscure word through a large dictionary. + +‘Did you ever hear of anything so mad so absurd? And he had the ball +at his feet. He had only to kick it! I would have made him anything! +Anything in the wide world. He could have gone to the world’s end. I +would have helped him. I made him, didn’t I, Polly? Didn’t I create +that man? Doesn’t he owe everything to me? And to reward me, just when +everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that spoilt everything!’ + +‘Very few men understand your devotion thoroughly.’ + +‘Oh, Polly, don’t laugh at me! I give men up from this hour. I could +have killed him then and there. What right had this man this Thing I had +picked out of his filthy paddy--fields to make love to me?’ + +‘He did that, did he?’ + +‘He did. I don’t remember half he said, I was so angry. Oh, but such +a funny thing happened! I can’t help laughing at it now, though I felt +nearly ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed I’m afraid we must +have made an awful noise in our kala juggah. Protect my character, dear, +if it’s all over Simla by to-morrow and then he bobbed forward in the +middle of this insanity I firmly believe the man’s demented and kissed +me.’ + +‘Morals above reproach,’ purred Mrs. Mallowe. + +‘So they were so they are! It was the most absurd kiss. I don’t believe +he’d ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw my head back, and +it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the chin here.’ +Mrs. Hauksbee tapped her masculine little chin with her fan. ‘Then, of +course, I was furiously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, +and I was sorry I’d ever met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily +then I couldn’t be very angry. Then I came away straight to you.’ + +‘Was this before or after supper?’ + +‘Oh! before oceans before. Isn’t it perfectly disgusting?’ + +‘Let me think. I withhold judgment till tomorrow. Morning brings +counsel.’ + +But morning brought only a servant with a dainty bouquet of Annandale +roses for Mrs. Hauksbee to wear at the dance at Viceregal Lodge that +night. + +‘He doesn’t seem to be very penitent,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘What’s the +billet-doux in the centre?’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly-folded note, another accomplishment that +she had taught Otis, read it, and groaned tragically. + +‘Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry! Is it his own, do you think? +Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot!’ + +‘No. It’s a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and in view of the facts of +the case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen + + Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart, + Pass! There’s a world full of men; + And women as fair as thou art + Must do such things now and then. + Thou only hast stepped unaware + Malice not one can impute; + And why should a heart have been there, + In the way of a fair woman’s foot? + +‘I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee angrily, her +eyes filling with tears; ‘there was no malice at all. Oh, it’s too +vexatious!’ + +‘You’ve misunderstood the compliment,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘He clears +you completely and ahem I should think by this, that he has cleared +completely too. My experience of men is that when they begin to quote +poetry they are going to flit. Like swans singing before they die, you +know.’ + +‘Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.’ + +‘Do I? Is it so terrible? If he’s hurt your vanity, I should say that +you’ve done a certain amount of damage to his heart.’ + +‘Oh, you can never tell about a man!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. + + + + +AT THE PIT’S MOUTH + + + Men say it was a stolen tide + The Lord that sent it He knows all, + But in mine ear will aye abide + The message that the bells let fall-- + And awesome bells they were to me, + That in the dark rang, ‘Enderby.’ + --Jean Ingelow + +Once upon a time there was a Man and his Wife and a Tertium Quid. + +All three were unwise, but the Wife was the unwisest. The Man should +have looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, +who, again, should have married a wife of his own, after clean and +open flirtations, to which nobody can possibly object, round Jakko or +Observatory Hill. When you see a young man with his pony in a white +lather and his hat on the back of his head, flying downhill at fifteen +miles an hour to meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet +him, you naturally approve of that young man, and wish him Staff +appointments, and take an interest in his welfare, and, as the proper +time comes, give them sugar-tongs or side-saddles according to your +means and generosity. + +The Tertium Quid flew downhill on horseback, but it was to meet the +Man’s Wife; and when he flew uphill it was for the same end. The Man +was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend on dresses and +four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive luxuries of that kind. He +worked very hard, and sent her a letter or a post-card daily. She also +wrote to him daily, and said that she was longing for him to come up to +Simla. The Tertium Quid used to lean over her shoulder and laugh as she +wrote the notes. Then the two would ride to the Post-office together. + +Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are peculiar; nor is +any man who has not spent at least ten seasons there qualified to pass +judgment on circumstantial evidence, which is the most untrustworthy in +the Courts. For these reasons, and for others which need not appear, +I decline to state positively whether there was anything irretrievably +wrong in the relations between the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid. If +there was, and hereon you must form your own opinion, it was the Man’s +Wife’s fault. She was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an +air of soft and fluffy innocence. But she was deadlily learned and +evil-instructed; and, now and again, when the mask dropped, men saw +this, shuddered and almost drew back. Men are occasionally particular, +and the least particular men are always the most exacting. + +Simla is eccentric in its fashion of treating friendships. Certain +attachments which have set and crystallised through half-a-dozen seasons +acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are revered as +such. Again, certain attachments equally old, and, to all appearance, +equally venerable, never seem to win any recognised official status; +while a chance-sprung acquaintance, not two months born, steps into the +place which by right belongs to the senior. There is no law reducible to +print which regulates these affairs. + +Some people have a gift which secures them infinite toleration, and +others have not. The Man’s Wife had not. If she looked over the garden +wall, for instance, women taxed her with stealing their husbands. She +complained pathetically that she was not allowed to choose her own +friends. When she put up her big white muff to her lips, and gazed over +it and under her eyebrows at you as she said this thing, you felt +that she had been infamously misjudged, and that all the other women’s +instincts were all wrong; which was absurd. She was not allowed to own +the Tertium Quid in peace; and was so strangely constructed that she +would not have enjoyed peace had she been so permitted. She preferred +some semblance of intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace actions. + +After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then Summer +Hill, then Observatory Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly up and down +the Cart Road as far as the Tara Devi gap in the dusk, she said to the +Tertium Quid, ‘Frank, people say we are too much together, and people +are so horrid.’ + +The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid people +were unworthy of the consideration of nice people. + +‘But they have done more than talk they have written written to my hubby +I’m sure of it,’ said the Man’s Wife, and she pulled a letter from her +husband out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the Tertium Quid. + +It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in the +Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight +hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It said +that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdom of allowing her name +to be so generally coupled with the Tertium Quid’s; that she was too +much of a child to understand the dangers of that sort of thing; that +he, her husband, was the last man in the world to interfere jealously +with her little amusements and interests, but that it would be better +were she to drop the Tertium Quid quietly and for her husband’s sake. +The letter was sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it +amused the Tertium Quid considerably. He and She laughed over it, so +that you, fifty yards away, could see their shoulders shaking while the +horses slouched along side by side. + +Their conversation was not worth reporting. The upshot of it was that, +next day, no one saw the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid together. They +had both gone down to the Cemetery, which, as a rule, is only visited +officially by the inhabitants of Simla. + +A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, and the +coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of the most +depressing things on this earth, particularly when the procession passes +under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe Hotel, where the sun is +shut out, and all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together as +they go down the valleys. + +Occasionally folk tend the graves, but we in India shift and are +transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead have +no friend only acquaintances who are far too busy amusing themselves up +the hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a Cemetery as a +rendezvous is distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply, +‘Let people talk. We’ll go down the Mall.’ A woman is made differently, +especially if she be such a woman as the Man’s Wife. She and the Tertium +Quid enjoyed each other’s society among the graves of men and women whom +they had known and danced with aforetime. + +They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit on the grass a little to +the left of the lower end, where there is a dip in the ground, and where +the occupied graves stop short and the ready-made ones are not +ready. Each well-regulated Indian Cemetery keeps half-a-dozen graves +permanently open for contingencies and incidental wear and tear. In the +Hills these are more usually baby’s size, because children who come up +weakened and sick from the Plains often succumb to the effects of the +Rains in the Hills or get pneumonia from their ayahs taking them through +damp pine-woods after the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the +man’s size is more in request; these arrangements varying with the +climate and population. + +One day when the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the +Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a +full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was +sick. They said that they did not know; but it was an order that they +should dig a Sahib’s grave. + +‘Work away,’ said the Tertium Quid, ‘and let’s see how it’s done.’ + +The coolies worked away, and the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid watched +and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was being deepened. +Then a coolie, taking the earth in baskets as it was thrown up, jumped +over the grave. + +‘That’s queer,’ said the Tertium Quid. ‘Where’s my ulster?’ + +‘What’s queer?’ said the Man’s Wife. + +‘I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over my +grave.’ + +‘Why do you look at the thing, then?’ said the Man’s Wife. ‘Let us go.’ + +The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared without +answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble down, ‘It +is nasty and cold: horribly cold. I don’t think I shall come to the +Cemetery any more. I don’t think grave-digging is cheerful.’ + +The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also +arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra +Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a +garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go +too. + +Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid’s horse tried to bolt +uphill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to strain a back +sinew. + +‘I shall have to take the mare to-morrow,’ said the Tertium Quid, ‘and +she will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.’ + +They made their arrangements to meet in the Cemetery, after allowing +all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it +rained heavily, and, next day, when the Tertium Quid came to the +trysting-place, he saw that the new grave had a foot of water in it, the +ground being a tough and sour clay. + +‘Jove! That looks beastly,’ said the Tertium Quid. ‘Fancy being boarded +up and dropped into that well!’ + +They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle and +picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the sun shining +divinely. The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the +Himalayan-Thibet road; but in spite of its name it is not much more than +six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below may be +anything between one and two thousand feet. + +‘Now we’re going to Thibet,’ said the Man’s Wife merrily, as the horses +drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. + +‘Into Thibet,’ said the Tertium Quid, ‘ever so far from people who say +horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you to the end +of the world!’ + +A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went +wide to avoid him forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare +should go. + +‘To the world’s end,’ said the Man’s Wife, and looked unspeakable things +over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. + +He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it were +on his face, and changed to a nervous grin the sort of grin men wear +when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be +sinking by the stern, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to +realise what was happening. The rain of the night before had rotted the +drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and it was giving way under +her. ‘What are you doing?’ said the Man’s Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no +answer. He grinned nervously and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped +with her forefeet on the road, and the struggle began. The Man’s Wife +screamed, ‘Oh, Frank, get off!’ + +But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle his face blue and white and +he looked into the Man’s Wife’s eyes. Then the Man’s Wife clutched at +the mare’s head and caught her by the nose instead of the bridle. The +brute threw up her head and went down with a scream, the Tertium Quid +upon her, and the nervous grin still set on his face. + +The Man’s Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose earth +falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man and horse going +down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank to leave his +mare and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He was underneath the mare, +nine hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn. + +As the revellers came back from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of the +evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily mad +horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes and her mouth open, and +her head like the head of a Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the risk +of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on the +bank to explain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she was +sent home in a lady’s ‘rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her hands +picking at her riding-gloves. + +She was in bed through the following three days, which were rainy; so +she missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered +into eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to which he had +first objected. + + + + +A WAYSIDE COMEDY + + + Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore + the misery of man is great upon him. + --Eccles. viii. 6. + +Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kashima into +a prison; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are now +lying there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Government +of India may be moved to scatter the European population to the four +winds. + +Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rocktipped circle of the Dosehri +hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die and +the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists from +the jhils cover the place as with water, and in Winter the frosts nip +everything young and tender to earth-level. There is but one view in +Kashima a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plough-land, running up +to the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills. + +There are no amusements, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigers +have been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and the +snipe only come once a year. Narkarra one hundred and forty-three miles +by road is the nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never goes to +Narkarra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stays +within the circle of the Dosehri hills. + +All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but all +Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain. + +Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. They +are the English population of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen, +who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the most +important of all. + +You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws weaken +in a small and hidden community where there is no public opinion. When +a man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk of +falling into evil ways. This risk is multiplied by every addition to the +population up to twelve the Jury-number. After that, fear and consequent +restraint begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely jerky. + +There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was a +charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and she charmed every +one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is so +perverse, she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had +she been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to +Kashima. But she was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour +of a lake just before the light of the sun touches it. No man who had +seen those eyes could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was +to look upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was ‘not +bad-looking, but spoilt by pretending to be so grave.’ And yet her +gravity was natural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely went +through life, looking at those who passed; and the women objected while +the men fell down and worshipped. + +She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima; but +Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in +to afternoon tea at least three times a week. ‘When there are only two +women in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,’ +says Major Vansuythen. + +Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-away +places where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had discovered +that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and you dare +not blame them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other +Place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no +concern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was +a hard, heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They +had all Kashima and each other for their very, very own; and Kashima +was the Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his +wanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call him ‘old +fellow,’ and the three would dine together. Kashima was happy then when +the judgment of God seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the railway +that ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to +Kashima, and with him came his wife. + +The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island. +When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore to +make him welcome. Kashima assembled at the masonry platform close to +the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony was +reckoned a formal call, and made them free of the Station, its rights +and privileges. When the Vansuythens settled down they gave a tiny +house-warming to all Kashima; and that made Kashima free of their house, +according to the immemorial usage of the Station. + +Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the Narkarra +Road was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pastures +of Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from the +Dosehri hills and covered everything. + +At the end of the Rains Boulte’s manner towards his wife changed and +became demonstratively affectionate. They had been married twelve years, +and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her husband with the hate +of a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, in +the teeth of this kindness, has done him a great wrong. Moreover, +she had her own trouble to fight with her watch to keep over her own +property, Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills +and many other things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs. +Boulte that her man among men, her Ted for she called him Ted in the +old days when Boulte was out of earshot was slipping the links of the +allegiance. + +‘The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,’ Mrs. Boulte said to herself; +and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of the +over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fortunate as +Love because there is nothing to weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. +Boulte had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because she was not +certain; and her nature led her to be very certain before she took steps +in any direction. That is why she behaved as she did. + +Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the +door-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte was +putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civilisation +even in Kashima. + +‘Little woman,’ said Boulte quietly, ‘do you care for me?’ + +‘Immensely,’ said she, with a laugh. ‘Can you ask it?’ + +‘But I’m serious,’ said Boulte. ‘Do you care for me?’ + +Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. ‘Do you want +an honest answer?’ + +‘Ye-es, I’ve asked for it.’ + +Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very +distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. When +Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to +be compared to the deliberate pulling down of a woman’s homestead about +her own ears. There was no wise female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, +the singularly cautious wife, to hold her hand. She struck at Boulte’s +heart, because her own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out +with the long strain of watching alone through the Rains. There was +no plan or purpose in her speaking. The sentences made themselves; and +Boulte listened, leaning against the door-post with his hands in his +pockets. When all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her +nose before breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in +front of him at the Dosehri hills. + +‘Is that all?’ he said. ‘Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.’ + +‘What are you going to do?’ said the woman, between her sobs. + +‘Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell, or send you Home, or +apply for leave to get a divorce? It’s two days’ treck into Narkarra.’ He +laughed again and went on: ‘I’ll tell you what you can do. You can ask +Kurrell to dinner tomorrow no, on Thursday, that will allow you time to +pack and you can bolt with him. I give you my word I won’t follow.’ + +He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till +the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking. +She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house +down; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand her +husband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulness +struck her, and she was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying, ‘I have +gone mad and told everything. My husband says that I am free to elope +with you. Get a dek for Thursday, and we will fly after dinner.’ There +was a cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not appeal to her. +So she sat still in her own house and thought. + +At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn and +haggard, and the woman was touched at his distress. As the evening wore +on she muttered some expression of sorrow, something approaching to +contrition. Boulte came out of a brown study and said, ‘Oh, that! I +wasn’t thinking about that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to the +elopement?’ + +‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Mrs. Boulte. ‘Good God, is that all?’ + +But Boulte was not listening and her sentence ended in a gulp. + +The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not +appear, and the new lift that she, in the five minutes’ madness of the +previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed +to be no nearer. + +Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the +verandah, and went out. The morning wore through, and at mid-day the +tension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished +her crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone. +Perhaps the Vansuythen Woman would talk to her; and, since talking +opens the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in her +company. She was the only other woman in the Station. + +In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in +upon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and +walked across to the Vansuythens’ house to borrow last week’s Queen. The +two compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossed +through the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from the back. +As she passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that +cloaked the drawing-room door, her husband’s voice, saying, + +‘But on my Honour! On my Soul and Honour, I tell you she doesn’t +care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then if +Vansuythen hadn’t been with you. If it is for her sake that you’ll have +nothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It’s Kurrell.’ + +‘What?’ said Mrs. Vansuythen, with a hysterical little laugh. ‘Kurrell! +Oh, it can’t be! You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhaps +you you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can’t +be as wrong as you say.’ + +Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man’s pleading, and +was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. + +‘There must be some mistake,’ she insisted, ‘and it can be all put right +again.’ + +Boulte laughed grimly. + +‘It can’t be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the +least the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He +said he had not. He swore he had not,’ said Mrs. Vansuythen. + +The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a +little thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood +up with a gasp. + +‘What was that you said?’ asked Mrs. Boulte. ‘Never mind that man. What +did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?’ + +Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the +trouble of her questioner. + +‘He said I can’t remember exactly what he said but I understood him +to say that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn’t it rather a strange +question?’ + +‘Will you tell me what he said?’ repeated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger will +fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was only +an ordinarily good woman. She began in a sort of desperation: ‘Well, he +said that the never cared for you at all, and, of course, there was not +the least reason why he should have, and and that was all.’ + +‘You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly. + +Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell +forward fainting. + +‘What did I tell you?’ said Boulte, as though the conversation had been +unbroken. ‘You can see for yourself. She cares for him.’ The light began +to break into his dull mind, and he went on, ‘And what was he saying +to you?’ + +But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned +protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. + +‘Oh, you brute!’ she cried. ‘Are all men like this? Help me to get her +into my room and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be +quiet, and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell. +Lift her up carefully, and now go! Go away!’ + +Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen’s bedroom, and departed +before the storm of that lady’s wrath and disgust, impenitent and +burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuythen +would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, who +caught himself considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she +discovered that the man she loved had forsworn her. + +In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the +road and pulled up with a cheery ‘Good-mornin’. ‘Been mashing Mrs. +Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What +will Mrs. Boulte say?’ + +Boulte raised his head and said slowly, ‘Oh, you liar!’ Kurrell’s face +changed. ‘What’s that?’ he asked quickly. + +‘Nothing much,’ said Boulte. ‘Has my wife told you that you two are free +to go off whenever you please? She has been good enough to explain +the situation to me. You’ve been a true friend to me, Kurrell old man +haven’t you?’ + +Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence about +being willing to give ‘satisfaction.’ But his interest in the woman was +dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her for +her amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken off +the thing gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled with Boulte’s +voice recalled him. + +‘I don’t think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I’m +pretty sure you’d get none from killing me.’ + +Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, +Boulte added, + +‘Seems rather a pity that you haven’t the decency to keep to the woman, +now you’ve got her. You’ve been a true friend to her too, haven’t you?’ + +Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him. + +‘What do you mean?’ he said. + +Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: ‘My wife came +over to Mrs. Vansuythen’s just now; and it seems you’d been telling +Mrs. Vansuythen that you’d never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, as +usual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her? Try to +speak the truth for once in a way.’ + +Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another +question: ‘Go on. What happened?’ + +‘Emma fainted,’ said Boulte simply. ‘But, look here, what had you been +saying to Mrs. Vansuythen?’ + +Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc of +his plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whose +eyes he was humiliated and shown dishonourable. + +‘Said to her? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I said +pretty much what you’ve said, unless I’m a good deal mistaken.’ + +‘I spoke the truth,’ said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell. +‘Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.’ + +‘No! I suppose not. You’re only her husband, y’know. And what did Mrs. +Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet?’ + +Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. + +‘I don’t think that matters,’ Boulte replied; ‘and it doesn’t concern +you.’ + +‘But it does! I tell you it does’ began Kurrell shamelessly. + +The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte’s lips. Kurrell +was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed laughed long and +loudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound the mirthless +mirth of these men on the long white line of the Narkarra Road. There +were no strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity +within the Dosehri hills had driven half the European population mad. +The laughter ended abruptly, and Kurrell was the first to speak. + +‘Well, what are you going to do?’ + +Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. ‘Nothing,’ said he quietly; +‘what’s the use? It’s too ghastly for anything. We must let the old life +go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can’t go on calling +you names for ever. Besides which, I don’t feel that I’m much better. We +can’t get out of this place. What is there to do?’ + +Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. The +injured husband took up the wondrous tale. + +‘Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don’t care what +you do.’ + +He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrell +did not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat in +his saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by the roadside. + +The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was driving +home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead. + +‘Stop, please,’ said Mrs. Boulte, ‘I want to speak to Ted.’ + +Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting her +hand upon the splashboard of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke. + +‘I’ve seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.’ + +There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man’s eyes were +fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte saw the +look. + +‘Speak to him!’ she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. ‘Oh, +speak to him! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him. +Tell him you hate him!’ + +She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went +forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped +the reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy explanations. + +‘I’ve nothing to do with it,’ she began coldly; but Mrs. Boulte’s sobs +overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. ‘I don’t know what +I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don’t know what I can call you. I think +you’ve you’ve behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terribly +against the table.’ + +‘It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t anything,’ said Mrs. Boulte feebly. ‘That +doesn’t matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don’t care for him. +Oh, Ted, won’t you believe her?’ + +‘Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were that you were fond of +her once upon a time,’ went on Mrs. Vansuythen. + +‘Well!’ said Kurrell brutally. ‘It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had +better be fond of her own husband first.’ + +‘Stop!’ said Mrs. Vansuythen. ‘Hear me first. I don’t care I don’t want +to know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you to know that +I hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I’ll never, never speak +to you again. Oh, I don’t dare to say what I think of you, you man!’ + +‘I want to speak to Ted,’ moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart rattled +on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath +against Mrs. Boulte. + +He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, +and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte’s presence, +learned for the second time her opinion of himself and his actions. + +In the evenings it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform +on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea and discuss the trivialities of +the day. Major Vansuythen and his wife found themselves alone at the +gathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; and +the cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife’s remarkably reasonable +suggestion that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upon +driving round to the two bungalows and unearthing the population. + +‘Sitting in the twilight!’ said he, with great indignation, to the +Boultes. ‘That’ll never do! Hang it all, we’re one family here! You must +come out, and so must Kurrell. I’ll make him bring his banjo.’ + +So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion over +guilty consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down to the +banjo; and the Major embraced the company in one expansive grin. As he +grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked at +all Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would never know +anything. He was to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage was +the Dosehri hills. + +‘You’re singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,’ said the Major +truthfully. ‘Pass me that banjo.’ + +And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima +went to dinner. + +That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima the life that Mrs. +Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. + +Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since he insists upon +keeping up a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break her +vow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity +preserve the semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably to +keep alight the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte’s bosom, as +it awakens the same passions in his wife’s heart. Mrs. Boulte hates +Mrs. Vansuythen because she has taken Ted from her, and, in some curious +fashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuythen and here the wife’s eyes see +far more clearly than the husband’s detests Ted. And Ted that gallant +captain and honourable man knows now that it is possible to hate a woman +once loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her for ever with blows. +Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her +ways. + +Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boulte +has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. + +‘You’re a blackguard,’ he says to Kurrell, ‘and I’ve lost any +self-respect I may ever have had; but when you’re with me, I can +feel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emma +miserable.’ + +Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they are +away for three days together, and then the Major insists upon his +wife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. Vansuythen has +repeatedly declared that she prefers her husband’s company to any in the +world. From the way in which she clings to him, she would certainly seem +to be speaking the truth. + +But of course, as the Major says, ‘in a little Station we must all be +friendly.’ + + + + +THE HILL OF ILLUSION + + + What rendered vain their deep desire? + A God, a God their severance ruled, + And bade between their shores to be + The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. + --Matthew Arnold. + +He. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear. They forget I’m fresh +from the Plains. + +She. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, they +are an untrained crew. Where do we go? + +He. As usual to the world’s end. No, Jakko. + +She. Have your pony led after you, then. It’s a long round. + +He. And for the last time, thank Heaven! + +She. Do you mean that still? I didn’t dare to write to you about it all +these months. + +He. Mean it! I’ve been shaping my affairs to that end since Autumn. What +makes you speak as though it had occurred to you for the first time? + +She. I? Oh! I don’t know. I’ve had long enough to think, too. + +He. And you’ve changed your mind? + +She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are +your arrangements? + +He. Ours, Sweetheart, please. + +She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your +forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water? + +He. It’ll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are simple +enough. Tonga in the early morning reach Kalka at twelve Umballa at +seven down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and then the steamer of +the 21st for Rome. That’s my idea. The Continent and Sweden a ten-week +honeymoon. + +She. Ssh! Don’t talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how +long have we two been insane? + +He. Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours exactly, but +I’ll think. + +She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the +Blessington Road? + +He. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me +everything that you’ve been doing and saying and thinking. + +She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I’ve hardly +been out at all. + +He. That was wrong of you. You haven’t been moping? + +She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I’m disinclined for amusement? + +He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? + +She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I’m known here, +the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don’t +like that. + +He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. + +She. You think so? + +He. I’m sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to +carry us away. Ha! ha! + +She. And the fun of the situation comes in where, my Lancelot? + +He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. + +She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women. Now I was +thinking of the scandal. + +He. Don’t think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. + +She. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla telegraphed +over India, and talked of at the dinners and when He goes out they will +stare at Him to see how he takes it. And we shall be dead, Guy dear dead +and cast into the outer darkness where there is-- + +He. Love at least. Isn’t that enough? + +She. I have said so. + +He. And you think so still? + +She. What do you think? + +He. What have I done? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons it +outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off my life’s work. +I pay my price. + +She. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it. +Am I? + +He. My Divinity what else? + +She. A very ordinary woman, I’m afraid, but so far, respectable. How +d’you do, Mrs. Middle-ditch? Your husband? I think he’s riding down to +Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn’t it divine after the rain? +Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till the +17th? + +He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of bringing her into the +discussion? You were saying? + +She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged? + +He. Yes. Once. + +She. What was it for? + +He. Murder, of course. + +She. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt +before the drop fell. + +He. I don’t think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this +evening! You’re shivering. Put on your cape, dear. + +She. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and I +thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies’ Mile! Let’s turn back. + +He. What’s the good? There’s a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means +it’s foggy all down the Mall. We’ll go on. It’ll blow away before we get +to the Convent, perhaps. ‘Jove! It is chilly. + +She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you +think of my cape? + +He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman’s dress when he is +desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like +everything else of yours it’s perfect. Where did you get it from? + +She. He gave it me, on Wednesday our wedding-day, you know. + +He. The Deuce He did! He’s growing generous in his old age. D’you like +all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don’t. + +She. Don’t you? + + Kind Sir, o’ your courtesy, + As you go by the town, Sir, + ‘Pray you o’ your love for me, + Buy me a russet gown, Sir. + +He. I won’t say: ‘Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.’ Only wait +a little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and +everything else. + +She. And when the frocks wear out you’ll get me new ones and everything +else? + +He. Assuredly. + +She. I wonder! + +He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn’t spend two days and two nights in +the train to hear you wonder. I thought we’d settled all that at +Shaifazehat. + +She. (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That +was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the +Amirtollah kutcha road. I don’t believe that could crumble till the Day +of Judgment. + +He. You think so? What is the mood now? + +She. I can’t tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly. + +He. ‘Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanies and get out. What’s the +matter with you this evening, dear? + +She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I’m boring you I +can go home. Here’s Captain Congleton coming, I daresay he’ll be willing +to escort me. + +He. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton. + +She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It +jars a little, and you might swear at me. + +He. My angel! I didn’t know what I was saying; and you changed so +quickly that I couldn’t follow. I’ll apologise in dust and ashes. + +She. There’ll be enough of those later on Good-night, Captain Congleton. +Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you +next week? No! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I +said. If you’ve made a mistake, I certainly don’t intend to suffer for +it. You must alter your programme. + +He. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this +season? + +She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances +very nicely. + +He. And sit out with him, I suppose? + +She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in +future? + +He. What does he talk to you about? + +She. What do men talk about when they sit out? + +He. Ugh! Don’t! Well, now I’m up, you must dispense with the fascinating +Congleton for a while. I don’t like him. + +She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said? + +He ‘Can’t say that I do exactly. I’m not in the best of tempers. + +She So I see, and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your +‘eternal constancy,’ ‘unalterable trust,’ and ‘reverent devotion’? I +remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a +man’s name. + +He. A good deal more than that. + +She. Well, speak to him about a dance perhaps the last dance that I +shall ever dance in my life before I, before I go away; and you at once +distrust and insult me. + +He. I never said a word. + +She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our +stock to start the new life on? + +He. No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. On my word and honour, I +didn’t. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass. + +She. This once yes and a second time, and again and again, all through +the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my +Lancelot, and, you know too much. + +He. How do you mean? + +She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust +between us. + +He. In Heaven’s name, why not? + +She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. + +He. I don’t follow. + +She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man Never +mind. Guy, have you ever made love to a girl a good girl? + +He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago in the Dark Ages, before I ever +met you, dear. + +She. Tell me what you said to her. + +He. What does a man say to a girl? I’ve forgotten. + +She. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground +she walks on, and that he’ll love and honour and protect her till her +dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one +girl who was not protected. + +He. Well, and then? + +She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and +trust and honour yes, honour that was enough when she was only a +mere wife if if the other life she chooses to lead is to be made even +bearable. Do you understand? + +He. Even bearable! It’ll be Paradise. + +She. Ah! Can you give me all I’ve asked for not now, nor a few months +later, but when you begin to think of what you might have done if you +had kept your own appointment and your caste here when you begin to +look upon me as a drag and a burden? I shall want it most then, Guy, for +there will be no one in the wide world but you. + +He. You’re a little over-tired to-night, Sweetheart, and you’re taking a +stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in the Courts, +the road is clear to-- + +She. ‘The holy state of matrimony!’ Ha! ha! ha! + +He. Ssh! Don’t laugh in that horrible way! + +She. I I c-c-c-can’t help it! Isn’t it too absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, +stop me quick or I shall l-l-laugh till we get to the Church. + +He. For goodness sake, stop! Don’t make an exhibition of yourself. What +is the matter with you? + +She. N-nothing. I’m better now. + +He. That’s all right. One moment, dear. There’s a little wisp of hair +got loose from behind your right ear and it’s straggling over your +cheek. So! + +She. Thank’oo. I’m ‘fraid my hat’s on one side, too. + +He. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? They’re big +enough to kill a man with. + +She. Oh! don’t kill me, though. You’re sticking it into my head! Let me +do it. You men are so clumsy. + +He. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us in this sort of +work? + +She. Guy, what is my name? + +He. Eh! I don’t follow. + +She. Here’s my card-case. Can you read? + +He. Yes. Well? + +She. Well, that answers your question. You know the other’s man’s name. +Am I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any +one else? + +He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only +joking. There! Lucky there’s no one on the road. They’d be scandalised. + +She. They’ll be more scandalised before the end. + +He. Do-on’t! I don’t like you to talk in that way. + +She. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and accept +it? Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty woman! +Swear I don’t! Give me your word of honour, my honourable friend, that +I’m not like Mrs. Buzgago. That’s the way she stands, with her hands +clasped at the back of her head. D’you like that? + +He. Don’t be affected. + +She. I’m not. I’m Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! + + Pendant une anne’ toute entiere + Le regiment n’a pas r’paru. + Au Ministere de la Guerre + On le r’porta comme perdu. + On se r’noncait--retrouver sa trace, + Quand un matin subitement, + On le vit reparaetre sur la place, + L’Colonel toujours en avant. + +That’s the way she rolls her r’s. Am I like her? + +He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of +that kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It +isn’t a drawing-room song. It isn’t proper. + +She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and +in another month she’ll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she +isn’t as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women +and had no scruples about What is it Keene says? ‘Wearing a corpse’s +hair and being false to the bread they eat.’ + +He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very +bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods +tell me, and I’ll try to understand the last one. + +She. Moods, Guy! I haven’t any. I’m sixteen years old and you’re just +twenty, and you’ve been waiting for two hours outside the school in the +cold. And now I’ve met you, and now we’re walking home together. Does +that suit you, My Imperial Majesty? + +He. No. We aren’t children. Why can’t you be rational? + +She. He asks me that when I’m going to commit suicide for his sake, and, +and I don’t want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever +told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I +married? He’s married now. Can’t you imagine the pleasure that the news +of the elopement will give him? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be +pleased with your performances? + +He. One or two. One can’t make omelets without breaking eggs. + +She (slowly). I don’t see the necessity + +He. Hah! What do you mean? + +She. Shall I speak the truth? + +He Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. + +She. Guy, I’m afraid. + +He I thought we’d settled all that. What of? + +She. Of you. + +He. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too bad! + +She. Of you. + +He. And what now? + +She. What do you think of me? + +He. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? + +She. I daren’t risk it. I’m afraid. If I could only cheat + +He. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That’s the one point on which I have any +notion of Honour. I won’t eat his salt and steal too. I’ll loot openly +or not at all. + +She. I never meant anything else. + +He. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come? + +She. It’s not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. + +He. Please explain. + +She. It can’t last, Guy. It can’t last. You’ll get angry, and then +you’ll swear, and then you’ll get jealous, and then you’ll mistrust me +you do now and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And +I what shall I do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out no +better than any one. And you’ll know that. Oh, Guy, can’t you see? + +He I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. + +She. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you +do when I am only your property stolen property? It can’t be, Guy. It +can’t be! I thought it could, but it can’t. You’ll get tired of me. + +He I tell you I shall not. Won’t anything make you understand that? + +She. There, can’t you see? If you speak to me like that now, you’ll call +me horrible names later, if I don’t do everything as you like. And if +you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go? where should I go? I can’t +trust you. Oh! I can’t trust you! + +He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I’ve ample reason. + +She. Please don’t, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. + +He. It isn’t exactly pleasant for me. + +She. I can’t help it. I wish I were dead! I can’t trust you, and I don’t +trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten! + +He. Too late now. I don’t understand you I won’t and I can’t trust +myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow? + +She. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my ‘rickshaw +here and meet Him at Peliti’s. You ride. + +He. I’ll go on to Peliti’s too. I think I want a drink. My world’s +knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes +howling in the Old Library? + +She. They’re rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can’t +you hear Mrs. Buzgago’s voice? She has a solo. It’s quite a new idea. +Listen! + +Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con molt. exp.). + +See-saw! Margery Daw! + +Sold her bed to lie upon straw. + +Wasn’t she a silly slut + +To sell her bed and lie upon dirt? + +Captain Congleton, I’m going to alter that to ‘flirt.’ It sounds better. + +He. No, I’ve changed my mind about the drink. Good-night, little lady. I +shall see you to-morrow? + +She. Ye es. Good-night, Guy. Don’t be angry with me. + +He. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good-night and God bless +you! + +(Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I’d give something to discover +whether there’s another man at the back of all this. + + + + +A SECOND-RATE WOMAN + + + Est fuga, volvitur rota, + On we drift: where looms the dim port? + One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota: + Something is gained if one caught but the import, + Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + --Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + +‘Dressed! Don’t tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood +in the middle of the room while her ayah no, her husband it must have +been a man threw her clothes at her. She then did her hair with her +fingers, and rubbed her bonnet in the flue under the bed. I know she +did, as well as if I had assisted at the orgy. Who is she?’ said Mrs. +Hauksbee. + +‘Don’t!’ said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. ‘You make my head ache. I am +miserable to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for +I am. Did you bring anything from Peliti’s?’ + +‘Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have +answered them. Who and what is the creature? There were at least +half-a-dozen men round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep in +their midst.’ + +‘Delville,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, “‘Shady” Delville, to distinguish her +from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I +believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if you are +so interested.’ + +‘What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught my +attention for a minute, and I wondered at the attraction that a dowd has +for a certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out of her clothes +until I looked at her eyes.’ + +‘Hooks and eyes, surely,’ drawled Mrs. Mallowe. + +‘Don’t be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick +stood a crowd of men a positive crowd!’ + +‘Perhaps they also expected.’ + +‘Polly, don’t be Rabelaisian!’ + +Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and turned her +attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house +at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis +Yeere, which has been already recorded. + +Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and looked down upon the Mall, +her forehead puckered with thought. + +‘Hah!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. ‘Indeed!’ + +‘What is it?’ said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily. + +‘That dowd and The Dancing Master to whom I object.’ + +‘Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate +and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.’ + +‘Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should +imagine that this animal how terrible her bonnet looks from above! is +specially clingsome.’ + +‘She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never +could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his +life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.’ + +‘O-oh! I think I’ve met that sort of man before. And isn’t he?’ + +‘No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to be +killed.’ + +‘What happened then?’ + +‘He posed as the horror of horrors a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the +femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough but the other thing!’ + +‘And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide +in me. How is it they come to you?’ + +‘For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect +me from men with confidences!’ + +‘And yet you encourage them?’ + +‘What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. +I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is of the most +old possible.’ + +‘Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, +whereas women’s confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except--’ + +‘When they go mad and babble of the Unutter-abilities after a week’s +acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a great deal more +of men than of our own sex.’ + +‘And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say +we are trying to hide something.’ + +‘They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These +chocolates pall upon me, and I haven’t eaten more than a dozen. I think +I shall go to sleep.’ + +‘Then you’ll get fat, dear. If you took more exercise and a more +intelligent interest in your neighbours you would--’ + +‘Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You’re a darling in many ways, and +I like you you are not a woman’s woman but why do you trouble yourself +about mere human beings?’ + +‘Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, +men and women are the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, +lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd I am interested in The Dancing +Master I am interested in the Hawley Boy and I am interested in you.’ + +‘Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.’ + +‘Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I’m making a good thing out +of him. When he is slightly more reformed, and has passed his Higher +Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit to exact from him, I +shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and’ here she +waved her hands airily “‘whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together let no +man put asunder.” That’s all.’ + +‘And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious detrimental +in Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do +with me, Dispenser of the Destinies of the Universe?’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin +in hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. + +‘I do not know,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘what I shall do with +you, dear. It’s obviously impossible to marry you to some one else your +husband would object and the experiment might not be successful after +all. I think I shall begin by preventing you from what is it? “sleeping +on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun.”’ + +‘Don’t! I don’t like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the +Library and bring me new books.’ + +‘While you sleep? No! If you don’t come with me I shall spread your +newest frock on my ‘rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I am +doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps’s to get it let out. I +shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there’s +a good girl.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the Library, +where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nick-name of +The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs. Mallowe was awake and eloquent. + +‘That is the Creature!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing +out a slug in the road. + +‘No,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, +Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.’ + +‘Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?’ answered The Dancing Master. +‘I understood I fancied I’m so sorry How very unfortunate!’ + +But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. + +‘For the practised equivocator you said he was,’ murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, +‘he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a +walk with The Dowd to tea with us? Elective affinities, I suppose both +grubby. Polly, I’d never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls.’ + +‘I forgive every woman everything,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘He will be a +sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!’ + +Mrs. Delville’s voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, +and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe +noticed over the top of a magazine. + +‘Now what is there in her?’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘Do you see what I meant +about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner +than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, but Oh!’ + +‘What is it?’ + +‘She doesn’t know how to use them! On my honour, she does not. Look! Oh +look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman’s a fool.’ + +‘Hsh! She’ll hear you.’ + +‘All the women in Simla are fools. She’ll think I mean some one else. +Now she’s going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The +Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they’ll ever dance +together?’ + +‘Wait and see. I don’t envy her the conversation of The Dancing Master +loathly man! His wife ought to be up here before long?’ + +‘Do you know anything about him?’ + +‘Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred +in the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul, told +me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her as often as possible +a person who has lived in the Doon since the memory of man and goes to +Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with her at present. So +he says.’ + +‘Babies?’ + +‘One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for +it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.’ + +‘That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is generally +in the wake of some girl, disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute +May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.’ + +‘No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.’ + +‘Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?’ + +‘Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell +you. Don’t you know that type of man?’ + +‘Not intimately, thank goodness! As a general rule, when a man begins to +abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer +him according to his folly; and we part with a coolness between us. I +laugh.’ + +‘I’m different. I’ve no sense of humour.’ + +‘Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care +to think about. A well-educated sense of humour will save a woman +when Religion, Training, and Home influences fail; and we may all need +salvation sometimes.’ + +‘Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humour?’ + +‘Her dress betrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplement under +her left arm have any notion of the fitness of things much less their +folly? If she discards The Dancing Master after having once seen him +dance, I may respect her. Otherwise--’ + +‘But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You saw +the woman at Peliti’s half an hour later you saw her walking with The +Dancing Master an hour later you met her here at the Library.’ + +‘Still with The Dancing Master, remember.’ + +‘Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that +should you imagine--’ + +‘I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that The +Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable +in every way and she in every other. If I know the man as you have +described him, he holds his wife in slavery at present.’ + +‘She is twenty years younger than he.’ + +‘Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and lied +he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made for lies he will +be rewarded according to his merits.’ + +‘I wonder what those really are,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. + +But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, was +humming softly: ‘What shall he have who killed the Deer?’ She was a lady +of unfettered speech. + +One month later she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. +Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, +and there was a great peace in the land. + +‘I should go as I was,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘It would be a delicate +compliment to her style.’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. + +‘Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put +on this robe, after all the others, to show her what a morning-wrapper +ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall go in the +dove-coloured sweet emblem of youth and innocence and shall put on my +new gloves.’ + +‘If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know that +dove-colour spots with the rain.’ + +‘I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one +cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her +habit.’ + +‘Just Heavens! When did she do that?’ + +‘Yesterday riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the back of +Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, +she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. I felt +almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her.’ + +‘The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?’ + +‘Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? +He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the +elastic, he said, “There’s something very taking about that face.” I +rebuked him on the spot. I don’t approve of boys being taken by faces.’ + +‘Other than your own. I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if the +Hawley Boy immediately went to call.’ + +‘I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and his +wife when she comes up. I’m rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the +Delville woman together.’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly +flushed. + +‘There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley Boy, +as he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble over +literally stumble over in her poky, dark little drawing-room is, of +course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then +emerged as though she had been tipped out of the dirtyclothes-basket. +You know my way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, +crrrrushingly Superior! ‘Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of +nothing ‘dropped my eyes on the carpet and “really didn’t know” ‘played +with my cardcase and “supposed so.” The Hawley Boy giggled like a girl, +and I had to freeze him with scowls between the sentences.’ + +‘And she?’ + +‘She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey the +impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the very least. +It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose, she +grunted just like a buffalo in the water too lazy to move.’ + +‘Are you certain?’ + +‘Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else or her +garments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a +quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her +surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.’ + +‘Lu cy!’ + +‘Well I’ll withdraw the tongue, though I’m sure if she didn’t do it when +I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she +lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the +grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I +can’t swear to it.’ + +‘You are incorrigible, simply.’ + +‘I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honour, don’t put the +only available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my +lap before Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn’t you? Do you +suppose that she communicates her views on life and love to The Dancing +Master in a set of modulated “Grmphs”?’ + +‘You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.’ + +‘He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of +him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a +suspiciously familiar way.’ + +‘Don’t be uncharitable. Any sin but that I’ll forgive.’ + +‘Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He +entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and +I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to +lecture him severely for going there. And that’s all.’ + +‘Now for Pity’s sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master +alone. They never did you any harm.’ + +‘No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half Simla, +and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of God not that +I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka dhurzie way +He attires those lilies of the field this Person draws the eyes of +men and some of them nice men? It’s almost enough to make one discard +clothing. I told the Hawley Boy so.’ + +‘And what did that sweet youth do?’ + +‘Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a +distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and +I shall be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few +original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn’t +a single woman in the land who understands me when I am what’s the +word?’ + +‘Tete-fele suggested Mrs. Mallowe. + +‘Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are +exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says,--’ Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the +horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. +Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. + +‘“God gie us a guid conceit of oorselves,”’ said Mrs. Hauksbee piously, +returning to her natural speech. ‘Now, in any other woman that would +have been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I +expect complications.’ + +‘Woman of one idea,’ said Mrs. Mallowe shortly; ‘all complications are +as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all all All!’ + +‘And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. +I am old who was young if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big +sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze but never, no never, +have I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this +business out to the bitter end.’ + +‘I am going to sleep,’ said Mrs. Mallowe calmly. ‘I never interfere with +men or women unless I am compelled,’ and she retired with dignity to her +own room. + +Mrs. Hauksbee’s curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. Bent +came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported +above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband’s side. + +‘Behold!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. ‘That is +the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, +whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit +the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy do you know +the Waddy? who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the +male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she +will eventually go to Heaven.’ + +‘Don’t be irreverent,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, ‘I like Mrs. Bent’s face.’ + +‘I am discussing the Waddy,’ returned Mrs. Hauksbee loftily. ‘The Waddy +will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed yes! everything +that she can, from hairpins to babies’ bottles. Such, my dear, is life +in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about +The Dancing Master and The Dowd.’ + +‘Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into +people’s back-bedrooms.’ + +‘Anybody can look into their front drawingrooms; and remember whatever +I do, and whatever I look, I never talk as the Waddy will. Let us hope +that The Dancing Master’s greasy smile and manner of the pedagogue will +soften the heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should +think that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion.’ + +‘But what reason has she for being angry?’ + +‘What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go? +“If in his life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face and you’ll +believe them all.” I am prepared to credit any evil of The Dancing +Master, because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly +dressed.’ + +‘That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to believe +the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.’ + +‘Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure +of sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with +me.’ + +Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. + +The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was +dressing for a dance. + +‘I am too tired to go,’ pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee left +her in peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of emphatic +knocking at her door. + +‘Don’t be very angry, dear,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘My idiot of an ayah +has gone home, and, as I hope to sleep to-night, there isn’t a soul in +the place to unlace me.’ + +‘Oh, this is too bad!’ said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. + +‘Cant help it. I’m a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not sleep +in my stays. And such news too! Oh, do unlace me, there’s a darling! +The Dowd The Dancing Master I and the Hawley Boy You know the North +verandah?’ + +‘How can I do anything if you spin round like this?’ protested Mrs. +Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. + +‘Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you +know you’ve lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the Hawley +Boy to a kala juggah.’ + +‘Did he want much taking?’ + +‘Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in +the next one talking to him.’ + +‘Which? How? Explain.’ + +‘You know what I mean The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear +every word, and we listened shamelessly ‘specially the Hawley Boy. +Polly, I quite love that woman!’ + +‘This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?’ + +‘One moment. Ah h! Blessed relief. I’ve been looking forward to taking +them off for the last half-hour which is ominous at my time of life. +But, as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd drawl worse +than ever. She drops her final g’s like a barmaid or a blue-blooded +Aide-de-Camp. “Look he-ere, you’re gettin’ too fond o’ me,” she said, +and The Dancing Master owned it was so in language that nearly made +me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. Then we heard her say, “Look +he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you such an aw-ful liar?” I nearly exploded +while The Dancing Master denied the charge. It seems that he never told +her he was a married man.’ + +‘I said he wouldn’t.’ + +‘And she had taken this to heart, on personal grounds, I suppose. She +drawled along for five minutes, reproaching him with his perfidy, and +grew quite motherly. “Now you’ve got a nice little wife of your own you +have,” she said. “She’s ten times too good for a fat old man like you, +and, look he-ere, you never told me a word about her, and I’ve been +thinkin’ about it a good deal, and I think you’re a liar.” Wasn’t that +delicious? The Dancing Master maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy +suggested that he should burst in and beat him. His voice runs up +into an impassioned squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an +extraordinary woman. She explained that had he been a bachelor she might +not have objected to his devotion; but since he was a married man and +the father of a very nice baby, she considered him a hypocrite, and this +she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with: “An’ I’m tellin’ you +this because your wife is angry with me, an’ I hate quarrellin’ with any +other woman, an’ I like your wife. You know how you have behaved for the +last six weeks. You shouldn’t have done it, indeed you shouldn’t. You’re +too old an’ too fat.” Can’t you imagine how The Dancing Master would +wince at that! “Now go away,” she said. “I don’t want to tell you what +I think of you, because I think you are not nice. I’ll stay he-ere till +the next dance begins.” Did you think that the creature had so much in +her?’ + +‘I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What +happened?’ + +‘The Dancing Master attempted blandishment, reproof, jocularity, and the +style of the Lord High Warden, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley Boy +to make him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of each sentence and, in +the end, he went away swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel. +He looked more objectionable than ever. I laughed. I love that woman +in spite of her clothes. And now I’m going to bed. What do you think of +it?’ + +‘I shan’t begin to think till the morning,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, +yawning. ‘Perhaps she spoke the truth. They do fly into it by accident +sometimes.’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee’s account of her eavesdropping was an ornate one, but +truthful in the main. For reasons best known to herself, Mrs. ‘Shady’ +Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from limb, casting +him away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes +from him permanently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased +in that he had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to +understand that he had, during her absence in the Doon, been the victim +of unceasing persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the +tale so often and with such eloquence that he ended in believing it, +while his wife marvelled at the manners and customs of ‘some women.’ +When the situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on +hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent’s bosom +and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel. Mr. +Bent’s life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy’s story were true, +he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own +statement was true, his charms of manner and conversation were so +great that he needed constant surveillance. And he received it, till +he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal +appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel was unchanged. She removed +her chair some six paces towards the head of the table, and occasionally +in the twilight ventured on timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, +which were repulsed. + +‘She does it for my sake,’ hinted the virtuous Bent. + +‘A dangerous and designing woman,’ purred Mrs. Waddy. + +Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! + +‘Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?’ + +‘Of nothing in the world except small-pox, Diphtheria kills, but it +doesn’t disfigure. Why do you ask?’ + +‘Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside down in +consequence. The Waddy has “set her five young on the rail” and fled. +The Dancing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miserable +little woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought to be done. She +wanted to put it into a mustard bath for croup!’ + +‘Where did you learn all this?’ + +‘Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The manager of the hotel +is abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abusing the manager. They are a +feckless couple.’ + +‘Well. What’s on your mind?’ + +‘This; and I know it’s a grave thing to ask. + +Would you seriously object to my bringing the child over here, with its +mother?’ + +‘On the most strict understanding that we see nothing of the Dancing +Master.’ + +‘He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you’re an angel. The +woman really is at her wits’ end.’ + +‘And you know nothing about her, careless, and would hold her up to +public scorn if it gave you a minute’s amusement. Therefore you risk +your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, I’m not the angel. I shall +keep to my rooms and avoid her. But do as you please only tell me why +you do it.’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee’s eyes softened; she looked out of the window and back +into Mrs. Mallowe’s face. + +‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee simply. + +‘You dear!’ + +‘Polly! and for aught you knew you might have taken my fringe off. Never +do that again without warning. Now we’ll get the rooms ready. I don’t +suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for a month.’ + +‘And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.’ + +Much to Mrs. Bent’s surprise she and the baby were brought over to +the house almost before she knew where she was. Bent was devoutly and +undisguisedly thankful, for he was afraid of the infection, and also +hoped that a few weeks in the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead +to explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown her jealousy to the winds in her +fear for her child’s life. + +‘We can give you good milk,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to her, ‘and our house +is much nearer to the Doctor’s than the hotel, and you won’t feel as +though you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy? +She seemed to be a particular friend of yours.’ + +‘They’ve all left me,’ said Mrs. Bent bitterly. ‘Mrs. Waddy went first. +She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, +and I am sure it wasn’t my fault that little Dora--’ + +‘How nice!’ cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘The Waddy is an infectious disease +herself “more quickly caught than the plague and the taker runs +presently mad.” I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three years +ago. Now see, you won’t give us the least trouble, and I’ve ornamented +all the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells comforting, +doesn’t it? Remember I’m always in call, and my ayah’s at your service +when yours goes to her meals, and and if you cry I’ll never forgive +you.’ + +Dora Bent occupied her mother’s unprofitable attention through the day +and the night. The Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and +the house reeked with the smell of the Condy’s Fluid, chlorine-water, +and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms she +considered that she had made sufficient concessions in the cause of +humanity and Mrs. Hauksbee was more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in +the sick-room than the half-distraught mother. + +‘I know nothing of illness,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. ‘Only +tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.’ + +‘Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as +little to do with the nursing as you possibly can,’ said the Doctor; +‘I’d turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she’d +die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the +ayahs, remember.’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive +hollows under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent +clung to her with more than childlike faith. + +‘I know you’ll make Dora well, won’t you?’ she said at least twenty +times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly, +‘Of course I will.’ + +But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the +house. + +‘There’s some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,’ he said; ‘I’ll +come over between three and four in the morning to-morrow.’ + +‘Good gracious!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘He never told me what the turn +would be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I have only this +foolish mother-woman to fall back upon.’ + +The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dozed in a chair by the +fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it +till she was aware of Mrs. Bent’s anxious eyes staring into her own. + +‘Wake up! Wake up! Do something!’ cried Mrs. Bent piteously. ‘Dora’s +choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was +fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairingly. + +‘Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She won’t stay still! I can’t hold +her. Why didn’t the Doctor say this was coming?’ screamed Mrs. Bent. +‘Won’t you help me? She’s dying!’ + +‘I I’ve never seen a child die before!’ stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, +and then let none blame her weakness after the strain of long watching +she broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs on the +threshold snored peacefully. + +There was a rattle of ‘rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening +door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. +Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the room. Mrs. Hauksbee, +her hands to her ears, and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was +quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and murmuring, ‘Thank God, +I never bore a child! Oh! thank God, I never bore a child!’ + +Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the +shoulders, and said quietly, ‘Get me some caustic. Be quick.’ + +The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by +the side of the child and was opening its mouth. + +‘Oh, you’re killing her!’ cried Mrs. Bent. ‘Where’s the Doctor? Leave +her alone!’ + +Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the +child. + +‘Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you do as you +are told? The acid-bottle, if you don’t know what I mean,’ she said. + +A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face +still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs staggered sleepily +into the room, yawning: ‘Doctor Sahib come.’ + +Mrs. Delville turned her head. + +‘You’re only just in time,’ she said. ‘It was chokin’ her when I came, +an’ I’ve burnt it.’ + +‘There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages after the +last steaming. It was the general weakness I feared,’ said the Doctor +half to himself, and he whispered as he looked, ‘You’ve done what I +should have been afraid to do without consultation.’ + +‘She was dyin’,’ said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. ‘Can you do +anythin’? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. + +‘Is it all over?’ she gasped. ‘I’m useless I’m worse than useless! What +are you doing here?’ + +She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realising for the first time +who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. + +Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove and +smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. + +‘I was at the dance, an’ the Doctor was tellin’ me about your baby bein’ +so ill. So I came away early, an’ your door was open, an’ I I lost my +boy this way six months ago, an’ I’ve been tryin’ to forget it ever +since, an’ I I I am very sorry for intrudin’ an’ anythin’ that has +happened.’ + +Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor’s eye with a lamp as he stooped +over Dora. + +‘Take it away,’ said the Doctor. ‘I think the child will do, thanks to +you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you’ he +was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville ‘I had not the faintest reason +to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one +of you help me, please?’ + +He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself +into Mrs. Delville’s arms, where she was weeping bitterly, and Mrs. Bent +was unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while from the tangle came the +sound of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. + +‘Good gracious! I’ve spoilt all your beautiful roses!’ said Mrs. +Hauksbee, lifting her head from the lump of crushed gum and calico +atrocities on Mrs. Delville’s shoulder and hurrying to the Doctor. + +Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, mopping +her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. + +‘I always said she was more than a woman,’ sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee +hysterically, ‘and that proves it!’ + +Six weeks later Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. +Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to +reproach herself for her collapse in an hour of need, and was even +beginning to direct the affairs of the world as before. + +‘So nobody died, and everything went off as it should, and I kissed The +Dowd, Polly. I feel so old. Does it show in my face?’ + +‘Kisses don’t as a rule, do they? Of course you know what the result of +The Dowd’s providential arrival has been.’ + +‘They ought to build her a statue only no sculptor dare copy those +skirts.’ + +‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. ‘She has found another reward. The +Dancing Master has been smirking through Simla, giving every one to +understand that she came because of her undying love for him for him to +save his child, and all Simla naturally believes this.’ + +‘But Mrs. Bent--’ + +‘Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won’t speak to The +Dowd now. Isn’t The Dancing Master an angel?’ + +Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bed-time. The doors of +the two rooms stood open. + +‘Polly,’ said a voice from the darkness, ‘what did that +American-heiress-globe-trotter girl say last season when she was tipped +out of her ‘rickshaw turning a corner? Some absurd adjective that made +the man who picked her up explode.’ + +“‘Paltry,”’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘Through her nose like this “Ha-ow +pahltry!”’ + +‘Exactly,’ said the voice. ‘Ha-ow pahltry it all is!’ + +‘Which?’ + +‘Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and The Dancing Master, I +whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder +what the motive was all the motives.’ + +‘Um!’ + +‘What do you think?’ + +‘Don’t ask me. Go to sleep.’ + + + + +ONLY A SUBALTERN + + + .... Not only to enforce by command, but to encourage by + example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady endurance + of the difficulties and privations inseparable from Military Service. + --Bengal Army Regulations. + +They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was a +gentleman before he was gazetted, so, when the Empress announced that +‘Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick’ was posted as Second Lieutenant to +the Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an officer and a +gentleman, which is an enviable thing; and there was joy in the house of +Wick where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees and +offered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievements. + +Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority over +three millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great +works for the good of the land, and doing his best to make two blades +of grass grow where there was but one before. Of course, nobody knew +anything about this in the little English village where he was just ‘old +Mr. Wick,’ and had forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order of the +Star of India. + +He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: ‘Well done, my boy!’ + +There followed, while the uniform was being prepared, an interval of +pure delight, during which Bobby took brevet-rank as a ‘man’ at the +women-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village, and, I +daresay, had his joining-time been extended, would have fallen in love +with several girls at once. Little country villages at Home are very +full of nice girls, because all the young men come out to India to make +their fortunes. + +‘India,’ said Papa Wick, ‘is the place. I’ve had thirty years of it and, +begad, I’d like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters you’ll +be among friends, if every one hasn’t forgotten Wick of Chota-Buldana, +and a lot of people will be kind to you for our sakes. The mother will +tell you more about outfit than I can; but remember this. Stick to your +Regiment, Bobby stick to your Regiment. You’ll see men all round you +going into the Staff Corps, and doing every possible sort of duty but +regimental, and you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as you +keep within your allowance, and I haven’t stinted you there, stick to +the Line, the whole Line, and nothing but the Line. Be careful how you +back another young fool’s bill, and if you fall in love with a woman +twenty years older than yourself, don’t tell me about it, that’s all.’ + +With these counsels, and many others equally valuable, did Papa Wick +fortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers’ +Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by the Regulations, +and the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and +the battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the slums of Longport, +while the drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the faces of the +Queen’s Officers. + +Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and shaky +detachment to manuvre in ship, and the comfort of fifty scornful females +to attend to, had no time to feel home-sick till the Malabar reached +mid-Channel, when he doubled his emotions with a little guard-visiting +and a great many other matters. + +The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who knew them +least said that they were eaten up with ‘side.’ But their reserve and +their internal arrangements generally were merely protective diplomacy. +Some five years before, the Colonel commanding had looked into the +fourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and juicy subalterns who had all +applied to enter the Staff Corps, and had asked them why the three +stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed nursery for +double-dashed bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rode +qualified mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. He +was a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures +[with the half-butt as an engine of public opinion] till the rumour +went abroad that young men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to the +Staff Corps had many and varied trials to endure. However, a regiment +had just as much right to its own secrets as a woman. + +When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his’ place among the Tail +Twisters, it was gently but firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment +was his father and his mother and his indissolubly wedded wife, and +that there was no crime under the canopy of heaven blacker than that +of bringing shame on the Regiment, which was the best-shooting, +best-drilled, best-set-up, bravest, most illustrious, and in all +respects most desirable Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas. +He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate, from the great grinning +Golden Gods that had come out of the Summer Palace in Pekin to the +silver-mounted markhor-horn snuff-mull presented by the last C.O. [he +who spake to the seven subalterns]. And every one of those legends told +him of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; of +hospitality catholic as an Arab’s; of friendships deep as the sea and +steady as the fighting-line; of honour won by hard roads for honour’s +sake; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the Regiment the +Regiment that claims the lives of all and lives for ever. + +More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the Regimental +colours, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer’s hat on the end +of a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship them, because British +subalterns are not constructed in that manner. Indeed, he condemned them +for their weight at the very moment that they were filling with awe and +other more noble sentiments. + +But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail Twisters +in review order at the breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-men +and sick, the Regiment was one thousand and eighty strong, and Bobby +belonged to them; for was he not a Subaltern of the Line the whole Line, +and nothing but the Line as the tramp of two thousand one hundred and +sixty sturdy ammunition boots attested? He would not have changed places +with Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud +to a chorus of ‘Strong right! Strong left!’ or Hogan-Yale of the White +Hussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the price of +horseshoes thrown in; or ‘Tick’ Boileau, trying to live up to his fierce +blue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretched +to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping Walers of the White +Hussars. + +They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little thrill +run down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the empty +cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the roar of the +volleys; for he knew that he should live to hear that sound in action. +The review ended in a glorious chase across the plain batteries +thundering after cavalry to the huge disgust of the White Hussars, and +the Tyneside Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the lean lathy +Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long before +noon, but his enthusiasm was merely focused not diminished. + +He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his ‘skipper,’ that is to say, +the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art and +mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession of +Arms. + +‘If you haven’t a taste that way,’ said Revere between his puffs of +his cheroot, ‘you’ll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember, +Bobby, ‘t isn’t the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, that +hauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the other side. It’s the man +who knows how to handle men goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.’ + +‘Dormer, for instance,’ said Bobby, ‘I think he comes under the head of +fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.’ + +‘That’s where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn’t a fool yet, +but he’s a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his +socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes +into a corner and growls.’ + +‘How do you know?’ said Bobby admiringly. + +‘Because a Company commander has to know these things because, if he +does not know, he may have crime ay, murder brewing under his very nose +and yet not see that it’s there. Dormer is being badgered out of his +mind big as he is and he hasn’t intellect enough to resent it. He’s +taken to quiet boozing, and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the +drink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull him +out of himself.’ + +‘What measures? ‘Man can’t run round coddling his men for ever.’ + +‘No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You’ve +got to--’ + +Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby reflected for a +while as Revere looked through the Company forms. + +‘Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?’ Bobby asked with the air of one +continuing an interrupted conversation. + +‘No, sir. Does ‘is dooty like a hortomato,’ said the Sergeant, who +delighted in long words. ‘A dirty soldier and ‘e’s under full stoppages +for new kit. It’s covered with scales, sir.’ + +‘Scales? What scales?’ + +‘Fish-scales, sir. ‘E’s always pokin’ in the mud by the river an’ +a-cleanin’ them muchly-fish with ‘is thumbs.’ Revere was still absorbed +in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby, +continued, ‘’E generally goes down there when ‘e’s got ‘is skinful, +beggin’ your pardon, sir, an’ they do say that the more lush +in-he-briated ‘e is, the more fish ‘e catches. They call ‘im the Looney +Fishmonger in the Comp’ny, sir.’ + +Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated. + +‘It’s a filthy amusement,’ sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to +Revere: ‘Are you really worried about Dormer?’ + +‘A little. You see he’s never mad enough to send to hospital, or drunk +enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, brooding and +sulking as he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and the +only time I took him out shooting he all but shot me by accident.’ + +‘I fish,’ said Bobby with a wry face. ‘I hire a country-boat and go down +the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with me +if you can spare us both.’ + +‘You blazing young fool!’ said Revere, but his heart was full of much +more pleasant words. + +Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, dropped +down the river on Thursday morning the Private at the bow, the Subaltern +at the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the Subaltern, who respected +the reserve of the Private. + +After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said ‘Beg y’ +pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh’m Canal?’ + +‘No,’ said Bobby Wick. ‘Come and have some tiffin.’ + +They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke forth, +speaking to himself, + +‘Hi was on the Durh’m Canal, jes’ such a night, come next week twelve +month, a-trailin’ of my toes in the water.’ He smoked and said no more +till bedtime. + +The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river-reaches to purple, gold, +and opal; and it was as though the lumbering dhoni crept across the +splendours of a new heaven. + +Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glory +below and around. + +‘Well damn my eyes!’ said Private Dormer in an awed whisper. ‘This ‘ere +is like a bloomin’ gallantry-show!’ For the rest of the day he was dumb, +but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the cleaning of big fish. + +The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling with +speech since noon. As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, he +found tongue. + +‘Beg y’ pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘but would you would you min’ shakin’ +‘ands with me, sir?’ + +‘Of course not,’ said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returned +to barracks and Bobby to mess. + +‘He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,’ said Bobby. ‘My +aunt, but he’s a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean +them muchly-fish with ‘is thumbs”?’ + +‘Anyhow,’ said Revere three weeks later, ‘he’s doing his best to keep +his things clean.’ + +When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill +leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months. + +‘As good a boy as I want,’ said Revere the admiring skipper. + +‘The best of the batch,’ said the Adjutant to the Colonel. ‘Keep back +that young skrim-shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.’ + +So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of gorgeous +raiment. + +‘Son of Wick old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,’ said +the aged men. + +‘What a nice boy!’ said the matrons and the maids. + +‘First-class place, Simla. Oh, ripping!’ said Bobby Wick, and ordered +new white cord breeches on the strength of it. + +‘We’re in a bad way,’ wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two months. +‘Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten +with it two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells drinking to +keep off fever and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the +outside. There’s rather more sickness in the out-villages than I care +for, but then I’m so blistered with prickly-heat that I’m ready to hang +myself. What’s the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Not +serious, I hope? You’re over-young to hang millstones round your neck, +and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double-quick time if you +attempt it.’ + +It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a +much-more-to-be-respected Commandant. The sickness in the out-villages +spread, the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came the news that +the Tail Twisters must go into camp. The message flashed to the Hill +stations. ‘Cholera Leave stopped Officers recalled.’ Alas for the +white gloves in the neatly-soldered boxes, the rides and the dances and +picnics that were to be, the loves half spoken, and the debts unpaid! +Without demur and without question, fast as tonga could fly or pony +gallop, back to their Regiments and their Batteries, as though they were +hastening to their weddings, fled the subalterns. + +Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodge +where he had But only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said, or +how many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morning +saw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the +last waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due neither to wine +nor waltzing in his brain. + +‘Good man!’ shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the mist. +‘Whar you raise dat tonga? I’m coming with you. Ow! But I’ve a head and +a half. I didn’t sit out all night. They say the Battery’s awful bad,’ +and he hummed dolorously, + + Leave the what at the what’s-its-name, + Leave the flock without shelter, + Leave the corpse uninterred, + Leave the bride at the altar! + +‘My faith! It’ll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. +Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachwan!’ + +On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing the +latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby +learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters. + +‘They went into camp,’ said an elderly Major recalled from the +whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, ‘they went into +camp with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred and ten fever +cases only, and the balance looking like so many ghosts with sore eyes. +A Madras Regiment could have walked through ‘em.’ + +‘But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!’ said Bobby. + +‘Then you’d better make them as fit as bedamned when you rejoin,’ said +the Major brutally. + +Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed window-pane as the +train lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the +Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her contingent with +all speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie Road staggered into +Pathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their strength; while from +cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up the last straggler of the +little army that was to fight a fight in which was neither medal nor +honour for the winning, against an enemy none other than ‘the sickness +that destroyeth in the noonday.’ + +And as each man reported himself, he said: ‘This is a bad business,’ +and went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in the +cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them company. + +Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters’ temporary +mess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy’s neck for the joy of +seeing that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. + +‘Keep’ em amused and interested,’ said Revere. ‘They went on the drink, +poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh, +it’s good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a never mind.’ + +Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary mess +dinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over the +condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as to +insinuate that the presence of the officers could do no earthly good, +and that the best thing would be to send the entire Regiment into +hospital and ‘let the doctors look after them.’ Porkiss was demoralised +with fear, nor was his peace of mind restored when Revere said coldly: +‘Oh! The sooner you go out the better, if that’s your way of thinking. +Any public school could send us fifty good men in your place, but it +takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble, +to make a Regiment. ‘S’pose you’re the person we go into camp for, eh?’ + +Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which a +drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted this +world for another where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for the +weaknesses of the flesh. The Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily +across the Sergeants’ Mess tent when the news was announced. + +‘There goes the worst of them,’ he said. ‘It’ll take the best, and then, +please God, it’ll stop.’ The Sergeants were silent till one said: ‘It +couldn’t be him!’ and all knew of whom Travis was thinking. + +Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Company, rallying, +rebuking, mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing the +faint-hearted; haling the sound into the watery sunlight when there +was a break in the weather, and bidding them be of good cheer for +their trouble was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun pony round +the outskirts of the camp, and heading back men who, with the innate +perversity of British soldiers, were always wandering into infected +villages, or drinking deeply from rain-flooded marshes; comforting the +panic-stricken with rude speech, and more than once tending the dying +who had no friends the men without ‘townies’; organising, with banjos +and burnt cork, Sing-songs which should allow the talent of the +Regiment full play; and generally, as he explained, ‘playing the giddy +garden-goat all round.’ + +‘You’re worth half-a-dozen of us, Bobby,’ said Revere in a moment of +enthusiasm. ‘How the devil do you keep it up?’ + +Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the breast-pocket of +his coat he might have seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters which +perhaps accounted for the power that possessed the boy. A letter came +to Bobby every other day. The spelling was not above reproach, but the +sentiments must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby’s eyes +softened marvellously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstraction +for a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work. + +By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and the +Tail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was +a mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimental +chaplain that Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospital +tents than the Reverend John Emery. + +‘The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?’ said the +Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with a +hardness that did not cover his bitter grief. + +‘A little, sir,’ said Bobby. + +‘Shouldn’t go there too often if I were you. They say it’s not +contagious, but there’s no use in running unnecessary risks. We can’t +afford to have you down, y’know.’ + +Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner +plashed his way out to the camp with the mail-bags, for the rain was +falling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent, +and, the programme for the next week’s Sing-song being satisfactorily +disposed of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiled +over the paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level, +Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to +letter-writing. + +‘Beg y’ pardon, sir,’ said a voice at the tent door; ‘but Dormer’s +‘orrid bad, sir, an’ they’ve taken him orf, sir.’ + +‘Damn Private Dormer and you too!’ said Bobby Wick, running the blotter +over the half-finished letter. ‘Tell him I’ll come in the morning.’ + +‘’E’s awful bad, sir,’ said the voice hesitatingly. There was an +undecided squelching of heavy boots. + +‘Well?’ said Bobby impatiently. + +‘Excusin’ ‘imself before ‘and for takin’ the liberty, ‘e says it would be +a comfort for to assist ‘im, sir, if--’ + +‘Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I’m ready. +What blasted nuisances you are! That’s brandy. Drink some; you want it. +Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.’ + +Strengthened by a four-finger ‘nip’ which he swallowed without a wink, +the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and very +disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent. + +Private Dormer was certainly ‘’orrid bad.’ He had all but reached the +stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. + +‘What’s this, Dormer?’ said Bobby, bending over the man. ‘You’re not +going out this time. You’ve got to come fishing with me once or twice +more yet.’ + +The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, ‘Beg y’ pardon, +sir, disturbin’ of you now, but would you min’ ‘oldin’ my ‘and, sir?’ + +Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on his +own like a vice, forcing a lady’s ring which was on the little finger +deep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping +from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the hand +did not relax, nor did the expression of the drawn face change. Bobby +with infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with the left hand, his right +arm was numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a night of pain. + +Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a +sick man’s cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit for +publication. + +‘Have you been here all night, you young ass?’ said the Doctor. + +‘There or thereabouts,’ said Bobby ruefully. ‘He’s frozen on to me.’ + +Dormer’s mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The +clinging hand opened, and Bobby’s arm fell useless at his side. + +‘He’ll do,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘It must have been a toss-up all +through the night. ‘Think you’re to be congratulated on this case.’ + +‘Oh, bosh!’ said Bobby. ‘I thought the man had gone out long ago only +only I didn’t care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, there’s a good +chap. What a grip the brute has! I’m chilled to the marrow!’ He passed +out of the tent shivering. + +Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strong +waters. Four days later he sat on the side of his cot and said to the +patients mildly: ‘I’d ‘a’ liken to ‘a’ spoken to ‘im so I should.’ + +But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter he had the most +persistent correspondent of any man in camp and was even then about to +write that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outside +would be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man’s +hand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affection +he dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustrated +programme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a little +proud. He also intended to write on many other matters which do not +concern us, and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish +headache which made him dull and unresponsive at mess. + +‘You are overdoing it, Bobby,’ said his skipper. ‘Might give the rest +of us credit of doing a little work. You go on as if you were the whole +Mess rolled into one. Take it easy.’ + +‘I will,’ said Bobby. ‘I’m feeling done up, somehow.’ Revere looked at +him anxiously and said nothing. + +There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp that night, and a +rumour that brought men out of their cots to the tent doors, a paddling +of the naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a galloping horse. + +‘Wot’s up?’ asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the answer +‘Wick, ‘e’s down.’ + +They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. ‘Any one but Bobby and I +shouldn’t have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.’ + +‘Not going out this journey,’ gasped Bobby, as he was lifted from +the doolie. ‘Not going out this journey.’ Then with an air of supreme +conviction ‘I can’t, you see.’ + +‘Not if I can do anything!’ said the Surgeon-Major, who had hastened +over from the mess where he had been dining. + +He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with Death for the life +of Bobby Wick. Their work was interrupted by a hairy apparition in a +bluegray dressing-gown who stared in horror at the bed and cried ‘Oh, my +Gawd! It can’t be ‘im!’ until an indignant Hospital Orderly whisked him +away. + +If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby would +have been saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, and the +Surgeon-Major’s brow uncreased. ‘We’ll save him yet,’ he said; and the +Surgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful +heart, went out upon the word and pranced joyously in the mud. + +‘Not going out this journey,’ whispered Bobby Wick gallantly, at the end +of the third day. + +‘Bravo!’ said the Surgeon-Major. ‘That’s the way to look at it, Bobby.’ + +As evening fell a gray shade gathered round Bobby’s mouth, and he turned +his face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned. + +‘I’m awfully tired,’ said Bobby, very faintly. ‘What’s the use of +bothering me with medicine? I don’t want it. Let me alone.’ + +The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away on +the easy tide of Death. + +‘It’s no good,’ said the Surgeon-Major. ‘He doesn’t want to live. He’s +meeting it, poor child.’ And he blew his nose. + +Half a mile away the regimental band was playing the overture to the +Sing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The +clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby’s ears. + + Is there a single joy or pain, + That I should never kno-ow? + You do not love me, ‘tis in vain, + Bid me good-bye and go! + +An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy’s face, and he +tried to shake his head. + +The Surgeon-Major bent down ‘What is it, Bobby?’ ‘Not that waltz,’ +muttered Bobby. ‘That’s our own our very ownest own. Mummy dear.’ + +With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next +morning. + +Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into +Bobby’s tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white +head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of +his life. Bobby’s little store of papers lay in confusion on the table, +and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: ‘So you +see, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you +care for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.’ + +Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out his eyes were +redder than ever. + +Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not +unfamiliar tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been +tenderly treated. + +‘Ho!’ said Private Conklin. ‘There’s another bloomin’ orf’cer da ed.’ + +The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of +sparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deep +disfavour. + +‘You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf’cer? Bloomin’ orf’cer? +I’ll learn you to misname the likes of ‘im. Hangel! Bloomin’ Hangel! +That’s wot’e is!’ + +And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the +punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot. + + + + +IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE + + + Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier’s life for me! Shout, boys, shout! for it + makes you jolly and free. + --The Ramrod Corps. + +PEOPLE who have seen, say that one of the quaintest spectacles of +human frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls’ school. It starts +without warning, generally on a hot afternoon among the elder pupils. A +girl giggles till the giggle gets beyond control. Then she throws up her +head, and cries, “Honk, honk, honk,” like a wild goose, and tears mix +with the laughter. If the mistress be wise she will rap out something +severe at this point and check matters. If she be tender-hearted, and send +for a drink of water, the chances are largely in favor of another girl +laughing at the afflicted one and herself collapsing. Thus the trouble +spreads, and may end in half of what answers to the Lower Sixth of +a boys’ school rocking and whooping together. Given a week of warm +weather, two stately promenades per diem, a heavy mutton and rice meal +in the middle of the day, a certain amount of nagging from the teachers, +and a few other things, some amazing effects develop. At least this is +what folk say who have had experience. + +Now, the Mother Superior of a Convent and the Colonel of a British +Infantry Regiment would be justly shocked at any comparison being made +between their respective charges. But it is a fact that, under certain +circumstances, Thomas in bulk can be worked up into ditthering, rippling +hysteria. He does not weep, but he shows his trouble unmistakably, and +the consequences get into the newspapers, and all the good people +who hardly know a Martini from a Snider say: “Take away the brute’s +ammunition!” + +Thomas isn’t a brute, and his business, which is to look after the +virtuous people, demands that he shall have his ammunition to his hand. +He doesn’t wear silk stockings, and he really ought to be supplied with +a new Adjective to help him to express his opinions; but, for all that, +he is a great man. If you call him “the heroic defender of the national +honor” one day, and “a brutal and licentious soldiery” the next, you +naturally bewilder him, and he looks upon you with suspicion. There is +nobody to speak for Thomas except people who have theories to work off +on him; and nobody understands Thomas except Thomas, and he does not +always know what is the matter with himself. + +That is the prologue. This is the story: + +Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to Miss Jhansi M’Kenna, +whose history is well known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had his +Colonel’s permission, and, being popular with the men, every arrangement +had been made to give the wedding what Private Ortheris called “eeklar.” + It fell in the heart of the hot weather, and, after the wedding, +Slane was going up to the Hills with the Bride. None the less, Slane’s +grievance was that the affair would be only a hired-carriage wedding, +and he felt that the “eeklar” of that was meagre. Miss M’Kenna did +not care so much. The Sergeant’s wife was helping her to make her +wedding-dress, and she was very busy. Slane was, just then, the only +moderately contented man in barracks. All the rest were more or less +miserable. + +And they had so much to make them happy, too. All their work was over +at eight in the morning, and for the rest of the day they could lie on +their backs and smoke Canteen-plug and swear at the punkah-coolies. They +enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and then threw +themselves down on their cots and sweated and slept till it was cool +enough to go out with their “towny,” whose vocabulary contained less +than six hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose views on every +conceivable question they had heard many times before. + +There was the Canteen, of course, and there was the Temperance Room with +the second-hand papers in it; but a man of any profession cannot read +for eight hours a day in a temperature of 96 degrees or 98 degrees in +the shade, running up sometimes to 103 degrees at midnight. Very few +men, even though they get a pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and hide +it under their cots, can continue drinking for six hours a day. One man +tried, but he died, and nearly the whole regiment went to his funeral +because it gave them something to do. It was too early for the +excitement of fever or cholera. The men could only wait and wait and +wait, and watch the shadow of the barrack creeping across the blinding +white dust. That was a gay life. + +They lounged about cantonments-it was too hot for any sort of game, +and almost too hot for vice-and fuddled themselves in the evening, +and filled themselves to distension with the healthy nitrogenous food +provided for them, and the more they stoked the less exercise they took +and more explosive they grew. Then tempers began to wear away, and men +fell a-brooding over insults real or imaginary, for they had nothing +else to think of. The tone of the repartees changed, and instead of +saying light-heartedly: “I’ll knock your silly face in,” men grew +laboriously polite and hinted that the cantonments were not big enough +for themselves and their enemy, and that there would be more space for +one of the two in another place. + +It may have been the Devil who arranged the thing, but the fact of the +case is that Losson had for a long time been worrying Simmons in an +aimless way. It gave him occupation. The two had their cots side by +side, and would sometimes spend a long afternoon swearing at each other; +but Simmons was afraid of Losson and dared not challenge him to a fight. +He thought over the words in the hot still nights, and half the hate he +felt toward Losson be vented on the wretched punkahcoolie. + +Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put it into a little cage, +and lowered the cage into the cool darkness of a well, and sat on the +well-curb, shouting bad language down to the parrot. He taught it to +say: “Simmons, ye so-oor,” which means swine, and several other things +entirely unfit for publication. He was a big gross man, and he shook +like a jelly when the parrot had the sentence correctly. Simmons, +however, shook with rage, for all the room were laughing at him--the +parrot was such a disreputable puff of green feathers and it looked so +human when it chattered. Losson used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on +the side of the cot, and ask the parrot what it thought of Simmons. The +parrot would answer: “Simmons, ye so-oor.” “Good boy,” Losson used to +say, scratching the parrot’s head; “ye ‘ear that, Sim?” And Simmons +used to turn over on his stomach and make answer: “I ‘ear. Take ‘eed you +don’t ‘ear something one of these days.” + +In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind +rage came upon Simmonr and held him till he trembled all over, while he +thought in how many different ways he would slay Losson. Sometimes he +would picture himself trampling the life out of the man, with heavy +ammunition-boots, and at others smashing in his face with the butt, and +at others jumping on his shoulders and dragging the head back till the +neckbone cracked. Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered, and he +would reach out for another sup of the beer in the pannikin. + +But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with him +longest was one connected with the great roll of fat under Losson’s +right ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, and thereafter +it was always before his eyes. It was a fascinating roll of fat. A man +could get his hand upon it and tear away one side of the neck; or he +could place the muzzle of a rifle on it and blow away all the head in +a flash. Losson had no right to be sleek and contented and well-to-do, +when he, Simmons, was the butt of the room, Some day, perhaps, he would +show those who laughed at the “Simmons, ye so-oor” joke, that he was as +good as the rest, and held a man’s life in the crook of his forefinger. +When Losson snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than ever. Why +should Losson be able to sleep when Simmons had to stay awake hour after +hour, tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull liver pain gnawing +into his right side and his head throbbing and aching after Canteen? He +thought over this for many nights, and the world became unprofitable to +him. He even blunted his naturally fine appetite with beer and tobacco; +and all the while the parrot talked at and made a mock of him. + +The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than before. +A Sergeant’s wife died of heat--apoplexy in the night, and the rumor ran +abroad that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly, hoping that it would +spread and send them into camp. But that was a false alarm. + +It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the deep +double verandas for “Last Posts,” when Simmons went to the box at the +foot of his bed, took out his pipe, and slammed the lid down with a +bang that echoed through the deserted barrack like the crack of a rifle. +Ordinarily speaking, the men would have taken no notice; but their +nerves were fretted to fiddle-strings. They jumped up, and three or four +clattered into the barrack-room only to find Simmons kneeling by his +box. + +“Owl It’s you, is it?” they said and laughed foolishly. “We thought +‘twas”-- + +Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his fellows, what +would not the reality do? + +“You thought it was--did you? And what makes you think?” he said, lashing +himself into madness as he went on; “to Hell with your thinking, ye +dirty spies.” + +“Simmons, ye so-oor,” chuckled the parrot in the veranda, sleepily, +recognizing a well-known voice. Now that was absolutely all. + +The tension snapped. Simmons fell back on the arm-rack +deliberately,--the men were at the far end of the room,--and took out +his rifle and packet of ammunition. “Don’t go playing the goat, Sim!” + said Losson. “Put it down,” but there was a quaver in his voice. Another +man stooped, slipped his boot and hurled it at Simmon’s head. The prompt +answer was a shot which, fired at random, found its billet in Losson’s +throat. Losson fell forward without a word, and the others scattered. + +“You thought it was!” yelled Simmons. “You’re drivin’ me to it! I tell +you you’re drivin’ me to it! Get up, Losson, an’ don’t lie shammin’ +there-you an’ your blasted parrit that druv me to it!” + +But there was an unaffected reality about Losson’s pose that showed +Simmons what he had done. The men were still clamoring on the veranda. +Simmons appropriated two more packets of ammunition and ran into the +moonlight, muttering: “I’ll make a night of it. Thirty roun’s, an’ the +last for myself. Take you that, you dogs!” + +He dropped on one knee and fired into the brown of the men on the +veranda, but the bullet flew high, and landed in the brickwork with a +vicious phant that made some of the younger ones turn pale. It is, as +musketry theorists observe, one thing to fire and another to be fired +at. + +Then the instinct of the chase flared up. The news spread from barrack +to barrack, and the men doubled out intent on the capture of Simmons, +the wild beast, who was heading for the Cavalry parade-ground, stopping +now and again to send back a shot and a Lurse in the direction of his +pursuers. + +“I’ll learn you to spy on me!” he shouted; “I’ll learn you to give me +dorg’s names! Come on the ‘ole lot O’ you! Colonel John Anthony Deever, +C.B.!”--he turned toward the Infantry Mess and shook his rifle--“you +think yourself the devil of a man--but I tell ‘jou that if you Put your +ugly old carcass outside O’ that door, I’ll make you the poorest-lookin’ +man in the army. Come out, Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B.! Come out +and see me practiss on the rainge. I’m the crack shot of the ‘ole +bloomin’ battalion.” In proof of which statement Simmons fired at the +lighted windows of the mess-house. + +“Private Simmons, E Comp’ny, on the Cavalry p’rade-ground, Sir, with +thirty rounds,” said a Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. “Shootin’ +right and lef’, Sir. Shot Private Losson. What’s to be done, Sir?” + +Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B., sallied out, only to be saluted by a +spurt of dust at his feet. + +“Pull up!” said the Second in Command; “I don’t want my step in that +way, Colonel. He’s as dangerous as a mad dog.” + +“Shoot him like one, then,” said the Colonel, bitterly, “if he won’t +take his chance. My regiment, too! If it had been the Towheads I could +have understood.” + +Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the edge +of the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come on. The +regiment was not anxious to comply, for there is small honor in being +shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane, rifle in band, threw +himself down on the ground, and wormed his way toward the well. + +“Don’t shoot,” said he to the men round him; “like as not you’ll hit me. +I’ll catch the beggar, livin’.” + +Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noise of trap-wheels could +be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne Commanding the Horse Battery, +was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his +usual custom--that is to say, as fast as the horse could go. + +“A orf’cer! A blooming spangled orf’cer,” shrieked Simmons; “I’ll make a +scarecrow of that orf’cer!” The trap stopped. + +“What’s this?” demanded the Major of Gunners. “You there, drop your +rifle.” + +“Why, it’s Jerry Blazes! I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. +Pass frien’, an’ all’s well!” + +But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous +murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, +without knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for +Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each +time the Battery went out. + +He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and +knocking him down. + +“Don’t make me do it, Sir,” said Simmons; “I ain’t got nothing agin you. +Ah! you would?”--the Major broke into a run--“Take that then!” + +The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood +over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired +way: hut here was a helpless body to his hand. Should be slip in another +cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white +face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of +the parade-ground: “He’s killed Jerry Blazes!” But in the shelter of the +well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. “I’ll +blow yer ‘andsome ‘ead off, Jerry Blazes,” said Simmons, reflectively. +“Six an’ three is nine an one is ten, an’ that leaves me another +nineteen, an’ one for myself.” He tugged at the string of the second +packet of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank +into the moonlight. + +“I see you!” said Simmons. “Come a bit furder on an’ I’ll do for you.” + +“I’m comm’,” said Corporal Slane, briefly; “you’ve done a bad day’s +work, Sim. Come out ‘ere an’ come back with me.” + +“Come to,”--laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. +“Not before I’ve settled you an’ Jerry Blazes.” + +The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade-ground, +a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men in the distance +shouted: “Shoot ‘im! Shoot ‘im, Slane!” + +“You move ‘and or foot, Slane,” said Simmons, “an’ I’ll kick Jerry +Blazes’ ‘ead in, and shoot you after.” + +“I ain’t movin’,” said the Corporal, raising his head; “you daren’t ‘it +a man on ‘is legs. Let go O’ Jerry Blazes an’ come out O’ that with your +fistes. Come an’ ‘it me. You daren’t, you bloomin’ dog-shooter!” + +“I dare.” + +“You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin’, Sheeny butcher, you lie. See +there!” Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril of his +life. “Come on, now!” + +The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the Corporal in +his white clothes offered a perfect mark. + +“Don’t misname me,” shouted Simmons, firing as he spoke. The shot +missed, and the shooter, blind with rage, threw his rifle down and +rushed at Slane from the protection of the well. Within striking +distance, he kicked savagely at Slane’s stomach, but the weedy Corporal +knew something of Simmons’s weakness, and knew, too, the deadly guard +for that kick. Bowing forward and drawing up his right leg till the heel +of the right foot was set some three inches above the inside of the left +knee-cap, he met the blow standing on one leg--exactly as Gonds stand +when they meditate--and ready for the fall that would follow. There was +an oath, the Corporal fell over his own left as shinbone met shinbone, +and the Private collapsed, his right leg broken an inch above the ankle. + +“‘Pity you don’t know that guard, Sim,” said Slane, spitting out the +dust as he rose. Then raising his voice--“Come an’ take him orf. +I’ve bruk ‘is leg.” This was not strictly true, for the Private had +accomplished his own downfall, since it is the special merit of +that leg-guard that the harder the kick the greater the kicker’s +discomfiture. + +Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him with ostentatious +anxiety, while Simmons, weeping with pain, was carried away. “‘Ope you +ain’t ‘urt badly, Sir,” said Slane. The Major had fainted, and there was +an ugly, ragged hole through the top of his arm. Slane knelt down +and murmured. “S’elp me, I believe ‘e’s dead. Well, if that ain’t my +blooming luck all over!” + +But the Major was destined to lead his Battery afield for many a long +day with unshaken nerve. He was removed, and nursed and petted into +convalescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom of capturing +Simmons, and blowing him from a gun. They idolized their Major, and his +reappearance on parade brought about a scene nowhere provided for in the +Army Regulations. + +Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane’s share. The Gunners would +have made him drunk thrice a day for at least a fortnight. Even the +Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his coolness, and the +local paper called him a hero. These things did not puff him up. When +the Major offered him money and thanks, the virtuous Corporal took the +one and put aside the other. But he had a request to make and prefaced +it with many a “Beg y’pardon, Sir.” Could the Major see his way to +letting the Slane M’Kenna wedding be adorned by the presence of four +Battery horses to pull a hired barouche? The Major could, and so could +the Battery. Excessively so. It was a gorgeous wedding. + +* * * * * + +“Wot did I do it for?” said Corporal Slane. “For the ‘orses O’ course. +Jhansi ain’t a beauty to look at, but I wasn’t goin’ to ‘ave a hired +turn-out. Jerry Blazes? If I ‘adn’t ‘a’ wanted something, Sim might ha’ +blowed Jerry Blazes’ blooming ‘ead into Hirish stew for aught I’d ‘a’ +cared.” + +And they hanged Private Simmons-hanged him as high as Haman in hollow +square of the regiment; and the Colonel said it was Drink; and the +Chaplain was sure it was the Devil; and Simmons fancied it was both, +but he didn’t know, and only hoped his fate would be a warning to +his companions; and half a dozen “intelligent publicists” wrote six +beautiful leading articles on “‘The Prevalence of Crime in the Army.” + +But not a soul thought of comparing the “bloody-minded Simmons” to the +squawking, gaping schoolgirl with which this story opens. + + + + +THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. + + + “Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field + ring with their importunate chink while thousands of great cattle, + reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and + are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are + the only inhabitants of the field-that, of course, they are many in + number or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, + meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the + hour.”--Burke: “Reflections on the Revolution in France.” + +THEY were sitting in the veranda of “the splendid palace of an Indian +Pro-Consul”; surrounded by all the glory and mystery of the immemorial +East. In plain English it was a one-storied, ten-roomed, whitewashed, +mud-roofed bungalow, set in a dry garden of dusty tamarisk trees and +divided from the road by a low mud wall. The green parrots screamed +overhead as they flew in battalions to the river for their morning +drink. Beyond the wall, clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and +goats of the city were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white +light of the winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and +improved nothing, from the whining Peisian-wheel by the lawn-tennis +court to the long perspective of level road and the blue, domed tombs of +Mohammedan saints just visible above the trees. + +“A Happy New Year,” said Orde to his guest. “It’s the first you’ve ever +spent out of England, isn’t it?” + +“Yes. ‘Happy New Year,” said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. “What a +divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown cold fog hanging +over London now!” And he rubbed his hands. + +It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his +schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The one +had quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of the great +Indian Government; the other more blessed with goods, had been whirled +into a similar position in the English scheme. Three successive +elections had not affected Pagett’s position with a loyal constituency, +and he had grown insensibly to regard himself in some sort as a pillar +of the Empire, whose real worth would be known later on. After a few +years of conscientious attendance at many divisions, after newspaper +battles innumerable and the publication of interminable correspondence, +and more hasty oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think +upon, it occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in +Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger lyre +and address himself to the problems of Imperial administration with a +firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general invitation extended to him +by Orde some years before, Pagett had taken ship to Karachi, and only +over-night had been received with joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of +Amara. They had sat late, discussing the changes and chances of twenty +years, recalling the names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the +living, as is the custom of men meeting after intervals of action. + +Next morning they smoked the after breakfast pipe in the veranda, still +regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey frock-coat and +garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried +sun-hat carefully and wonderfully made. Orde in a shooting coat, riding +breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax helmet. He +had ridden some miles in the early morning to inspect a doubtful river +dam. The men’s faces differed as much as their attire. Orde’s worn and +wrinkled around the eyes, and grizzled at the temples, was the harder +and more square of the two, and it was with something like envy that the +owner looked at the comfortable outlines of Pagett’s blandly receptive +countenance, the clear skin, the untroubled eye, and the mobile, +clean-shaved lips. + +“And this is India!” said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long and +intently at the grey feathering of the tamarisks. + +“One portion of India only. It’s very much like this for 300 miles +in every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little--I +wouldn’t ask the old question before--what d’you think of the country?” + +“‘Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired +several pounds of your country coming up from Karachi. The air is heavy +with it, and for miles and miles along that distressful eternity of rail +there’s no horizon to show where air and earth separate.” + +“Yes. It isn’t easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent +passage out, hadn’t you?” + +“Very good on the whole. Your Anglo-Indian may be unsympathetic about +one’s political views; but he has reduced ship life to a science.” + +“The Anglo-Indian is a political orphan, and if he’s wise he won’t be +in a hurry to be adopted by your party grandmothers. But how were your +companions, unsympathetic?” + +“Well, there was a man called Dawlishe, a judge somewhere in this +country it seems, and a capital partner at whist by the way, and when I +wanted to talk to him about the progress of India in a political sense +(Orde hid a grin, which might or might not have been sympathetic), the +National Congress movement, and other things in which, as a Member of +Parliament, I’m of course interested, he shifted the subject, and when I +once cornered him, he looked me calmly in the eye, and said: ‘That’s all +Tommy rot. Come and have a game at Bull.’ You may laugh; but that isn’t +the way to treat a great and important question; and, knowing who I was. +well. I thought it rather rude, don’t you know; and yet Dawlishe is a +thoroughly good fellow.” + +“Yes; he’s a friend of mine, and one of the straightest men I know. I +suppose, like many Anglo-Indians, he felt it was hopeless to give you +any just idea of any Indian question without the documents before you, +and in this case the documents you want are the country and the people.” + +“Precisely. That was why I came straight to you, bringing an open mind +to bear on things. I’m anxious to know what popular feeling in India +is really like y’know, now that it has wakened into political life. +The National Congress, in spite of Dawlishe, must have caused great +excitement among the masses?” + +“On the contrary, nothing could be more tranquil than the state of +popular feeling; and as to excitement, the people would as soon be +excited over the ‘Rule of Three’ as over the Congress.” + +“Excuse me, Orde, but do you think you are a fair judge? Isn’t the +official Anglo-Indian naturally jealous of any external influences +that might move the masses, and so much opposed to liberal ideas, truly +liberal ideas, that he can scarcely be expected to regard a popular +movement with fairness?” + +“What did Dawlishe say about Tommy Rot? Think a moment, old man. You +and I were brought up together; taught by the same tutors, read the same +books, lived the same life, and new languages, and work among new races; +while you, more fortunate, remain at home. Why should I change my mind +our mind-because I change my sky? Why should I and the few hundred +Englishmen in my service become unreasonable, prejudiced fossils, while +you and your newer friends alone remain bright and open-minded? You +surely don’t fancy civilians are members of a Primrose League?” + +“Of course not, but the mere position of an English official gives him +a point of view which cannot but bias his mind on this question.” Pagett +moved his knee up and down a little uneasily as he spoke. + +“That sounds plausible enough, but, like more plausible notions on +Indian matters, I believe it’s a mistake. You’ll find when you come to +consult the unofficial Briton that our fault, as a class--I speak of the +civilian now-is rather to magnify the progress that has been made toward +liberal institutions. It is of English origin, such as it is, and the +stress of our work since the Mutiny--only thirty years ago--has been in +that direction. No, I think you will get no fairer or more dispassionate +view of the Congress business than such men as I can give you. But I may +as well say at once that those who know most of India, from the inside, +are inclined to wonder at the noise our scarcely begun experiment makes +in England.” + +“But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself a +new thing.” + +“There’s nothing new under the sun When Europe was a jungle half Asia +flocked to the canonical conferences of Buddhism; and for centuries the +people have gathered at Pun, Hurdwar, Trimbak, and Benares in immense +numbers. A great meeting, what you call a mass meeting, is really one +of the oldest and most popular of Indian institutions In the case of +the Congress meetings, the only notable fact is that the priests of the +altar are British, not Buddhist, Jam or Brahmanical, and that the whole +thing is a British contrivance kept alive by the efforts of Messrs. +Hume, Eardley, Norton, and Digby.” + +“You mean to say, then, it s not a spontaneous movement?” + +“What movement was ever spontaneous in any true sense of the word? This +seems to be more factitious than usual. You seem to know a great deal +about it; try it by the touchstone of subscriptions, a coarse but fairly +trustworthy criterion, and there is scarcely the color of money in it. +The delegates write from England that they are out of pocket for +working expenses, railway fares, and stationery--the mere pasteboard +and scaffolding of their show. It is, in fact, collapsing from mere +financial inanition.” + +“But you cannot deny that the people of India, who are, perhaps, too +poor to subscribe, are mentally and morally moved by the agitation,” + Pagett insisted. + +“That is precisely what I do deny. The native side of the movement is +the work of a limited class, a microscopic minority, as Lord Dufferin +described it, when compared with the people proper, but still a very +interesting class, seeing that it is of our own creation. It is composed +almost entirely of those of the literary or clerkly castes who have +received an English education.” + +“Surely that s a very important class. Its members must be the ordained +leaders of popular thought.” + +“Anywhere else they might be leaders, but they have no social weight in +this topsy-turvy land, and though they have been employed in clerical +work for generations they have no practical knowledge of affairs. A +ship’s clerk is a useful person, but he is scarcely the captain; and an +orderly-room writer, however smart he may be, is not the colonel. You +see, the writer class in India has never till now aspired to anything +like command. It wasn’t allowed to. The Indian gentleman, for thousands +of years past, has resembled Victor Hugo’s noble: + + ‘Un vrai sire + Chatelain + Laisse ecrire + Le vilain. + Sa main digne + Quand il signe + Egratigne + Le velin. + +And the little egralignures he most likes to make have been scored +pretty deeply by the sword.” + +“But this is childish and medheval nonsense!” + +“Precisely; and from your, or rather our, point of view the pen is +mightier than the sword. In this country it’s otherwise. The fault +lies in our Indian balances, not yet adjusted to civilized weights and +measures.” + +“Well, at all events, this literary class represent the natural +aspirations and wishes of the people at large, though it may not exactly +lead them, and, in spite of all you say, Orde, I defy you to find +a really sound English Radical who would not sympathize with those +aspirations.” + +Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when a well +appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and Orde rose saying: + +“Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so diligently, come +to talk about accounts, I suppose.” + +As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying with +the trained effusion born of much practice: + +“But this is also my friend, my old and valued friend Edwards. I’m +delighted to see you. I knew you were in India, but not exactly where.” + +“Then it isn’t accounts, Mr. Edwards,” said Orde, cheerily. + +“Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works were +closed for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see him.” + +“A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde, was a +leading member of our Radical Club at Switebton when I was beginning +political life, and I owe much to his exertions. There’s no pleasure +like meeting an old friend, except, perhaps, making a new one. I +suppose, Mr. Edwards, you stick to the good old cause?” + +“Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There’s precious +little one can find to say against the Government, which was the main of +our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the sort o’ people +a man who respects himself would like to be mixed up with. There are no +politics, in a manner of speaking, in India. It’s all work.” + +“Surely you are mistaken, my good friend. Why I have come all the way +from England just to see the working of this great National movement.” + +“I don’t know where you’re going to find the nation as moves to begin +with, and then you’ll be hard put to it to find what they are moving +about. It’s like this, sir,” said Edwards, who had not quite relished +being called “my good friend.” “They haven’t got any grievance--nothing +to hit with, don’t you see, sir; and then there’s not much to hit +against, because the Government is more like a kind of general +Providence, directing an old--established state of things, than that +at home, where there’s something new thrown down for us to fight about +every three months.” + +“You are probably, in your workshops, full of English mechanics, out of +the way of learning what the masses think.” + +“I don’t know so much about that. There are four of us English foremen, +and between seven and eight hundred native fitters, smiths, carpenters, +painters, and such like.” + +“And they are full of the Congress, of course?” + +“Never hear a word of it from year’s end to year’s end, and I speak the +talk too. But I wanted to ask how things are going on at home--old Tyler +and Brown and the rest?” + +“We will speak of them presently, but your account of the indifference +of your men surprises me almost as much as your own. I fear you are a +backslider from the good old doctrine, Ed wards.” Pagett spoke as one +who mourned the death of a near relative. + +“Not a bit, Sir, but I should be if I took up with a parcel of baboos, +pleaders, and schoolboys, as never did a day’s work in their lives, and +couldn’t if they tried. And if you was to poll us English railway +men, mechanics, tradespeople, and the like of that all up and down the +country from Peshawur to Calcutta, you would find us mostly in a tale +together. And yet you know we’re the same English you pay some respect +to at home at ‘lection time, and we have the pull o’ knowing something +about it.” + +“This is very curious, but you will let me come and see you, and perhaps +you will kindly show me the railway works, and we will talk things over +at leisure. And about all old friends and old times,” added Pagett, +detecting with quick insight a look of disappointment in the mechanic’s +face. + +Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove off. + +“It’s very disappointing,” said the Member to Orde, who, while his +friend discoursed with Edwards, had been looking over a bundle of +sketches drawn on grey paper in purple ink, brought to him by a +Chuprassee. + +“Don’t let it trouble you, old chap,” ‘said Orde, sympathetically. “Look +here a moment, here are some sketches by the man who made the carved +wood screen you admired so much in the dining-room, and wanted a copy +of, and the artist himself is here too.” + +“A native?” said Pagett. + +“Of course,” was the reply, “Bishen Siagh is his name, and he has two +brothers to help him. When there is an important job to do, the three go +‘ato partnership, but they spend most of their time and all their money +in litigation over an inheritance, and I’m afraid they are getting +involved, Thoroughbred Sikhs of the old rock, obstinate, touchy, +bigoted, and cunning, but good men for all that. Here is Bishen +Singn--shall we ask him about the Congress?” + +But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had never +heard of it, and he listened with a puzzled face and obviously feigned +interest to Orde’s account of its aims and objects, finally shaking his +vast white turban with great significance when he learned that it was +promoted by certain pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives. +He began with labored respect to explain how he was a poor man with no +concern in such matters, which were all under the control of God, but +presently broke out of Urdu into familiar Punjabi, the mere sound of +which had a rustic smack of village smoke-reek and plough-tail, as +he denounced the wearers of white coats, the jugglers with words who +filched his field from him, the men whose backs were never bowed in +honest work; and poured ironical scorn on the Bengali. He and one of +his brothers had seen Calcutta, and being at work there had Bengali +carpenters given to them as assistants. + +“Those carpenters!” said Bishen Singh. “Black apes were more efficient +workmates, and as for the Bengali babu-tchick!” The guttural click +needed no interpretation, but Orde translated the rest, while Pagett +gazed with in.. terest at the wood-carver. + +“He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali,” said +the M.P. + +“Yes, it’s very sad that for ages outside Bengal there should be so +bitter a prejudice. Pride of race, which also means race-hatred, is +the plague and curse of India and it spreads far,” pointed with his +riding-whip to the large map of India on the veranda wall. + +“See! I begin with the North,” said he. “There’s the Afghan, and, as +a highlander, he despises all the dwellers in Hindoostan-with the +exception of the Sikh, whom he hates as cordially as the Sikh hates him. +The Hindu loathes Sikh and Afghan, and the Rajput--that’s a little lower +down across this yellow blot of desert--has a strong objection, to put +it mildly, to the Maratha who, by the way, poisonously hates the Afghan. +Let’s go North a minute. The Sindhi hates everybody I’ve mentioned. Very +good, we’ll take less warlike races. The cultivator of Northern India +domineers over the man in the next province, and the Behari of the +Northwest ridicules the Bengali. They are all at one on that point. +I’m giving you merely the roughest possible outlines of the facts, of +course.” + +Bishen Singh, his clean cut nostrils still quivering, watched the large +sweep of the whip as it traveled from the frontier, through Sindh, the +Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the Jumna. + +“Hate--eternal and inextinguishable hate,” concluded Orde, flicking the +lash of the whip across the large map from East to West as he sat down. +“Remember Canning’s advice to Lord Granville, ‘Never write or speak of +Indian things without looking at a map.’” + +Pagett opened his eyes, Orde resumed. “And the race-hatred is only a +part of it. What’s really the matter with Bisben Singh is class-hatred, +which, unfortunately, is even more intense and more widely spread. +That’s one of the little drawbacks of caste, which some of your recent +English writers find an impeccable system.” + +The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his craft, +and his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved wooden +doorway for Pagett, which he promised should be splendidly executed and +despatched to England in six months. It is an irrelevant detail, but in +spite of Orde’s reminders, fourteen months elapsed before the work was +finished. Business over, Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his +leave, and at last joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated +breath and whispering humbleness, said he had a petition to make. +Orde’s face suddenly lost all trace of expression. “Speak on, Bishen +Singh,” said he, and the carver in a whining tone explained that his +case against his brothers was fixed for hearing before a native judge +and--here he dropped his voice still lower till he was summarily stopped +by Orde, who sternly pointed to the gate with an emphatic Begone! + +Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed +respectfully to the friends and departed. + +Pagett looked inquiry; Orde with complete recovery of his usual +urbanity, replied: “It’s nothing, only the old story, he wants his case +to be tried by an English judge-they all do that-but when he began to +hint that the other side were in improper relations with the native +judge I had to shut him up. Gunga Ram, the man he wanted to make +insinuations about, may not be very bright; but he’s as honest as +day-light on the bench. But that’s just what one can’t get a native to +believe.” + +“Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases tried +by English judges?” + +“Why, certainly.” + +Pagett drew a long breath. “I didn’t know that before.” At this point a +phaeton entered the compound, and Orde rose with “Confound it, there’s +old Rasul Ah Khan come to pay one of his tiresome duty calls. I’m afraid +we shall never get through our little Congress discussion.” + +Pagett was an almost silent spectator of the grave formalities of +a visit paid by a punctilious old Mahommedan gentleman to an Indian +official; and was much impressed by the distinction of manner and fine +appearance of the Mohammedan landholder. When the exchange of polite +banalities came to a pause, he expressed a wish to learn the courtly +visitor’s opinion of the National Congress. + +Orde reluctantly interpreted, and with a smile which even Mohammedan +politeness could not save from bitter scorn, Rasul Ah Khan intimated +that he knew nothing about it and cared still less. It was a kind of +talk encouraged by the Government for some mysterious purpose of its +own, and for his own part he wondered and held his peace. + +Pagett was far from satisfied with this, and wished to have the old +gentleman’s opinion on the propriety of managing all Indian affairs on +the basis of an elective system. + +Orde did his best to explain, but it was plain the visitor was bored +and bewildered. Frankly, he didn’t think much of committees; they had +a Municipal Committee at Lahore and had elected a menial servant, an +orderly, as a member. He had been informed of this on good authority, +and after that, committees had ceased to interest him. But all was +according to the rule of Government, and, please God, it was all for the +best. + +“What an old fossil it is!” cried Pagett, as Orde returned from seeing +his guest to the door; “just like some old blue-blooded hidalgo of +Spain. What does he really think of the Congress after all, and of the +elective system?” + +“Hates it all like poison. When you are sure of a majority, election is +a fine system; but you can scarcely expect the Mahommedans, the most +masterful and powerful minority in the country, to contemplate their own +extinction with joy. The worst of it is that he and his co-religionists, +who are many, and the landed proprietors, also, of Hindu race, are +frightened and put out by this election business and by the importance +we have bestowed on lawyers, pleaders, writers, and the like, who have, +up to now, been in abject submission to them. They say little, hut +after all they are the most important fagots in the great bundle of +communities, and all the glib bunkum in the world would not pay for +their estrangement. They have controlled the land.” + +“But I am assured that experience of local self-government in your +municipalities has been most satisfactory, and when once the principle +is accepted in your centres, don’t you know, it is bound to spread, and +these important--ah’m people of yours would learn it like the rest. +I see no difficulty at all,” and the smooth lips closed with the +complacent snap habitual to Pagett, M.P., the “man of cheerful +yesterdays and confident to-morrows.” + +Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. + +“The privilege of election has been most reluctantly withdrawn from +scores of municipalities, others have had to be summarily suppressed, +and, outside the Presidency towns, the actual work done has been badly +performed. This is of less moment, perhaps-it only sends up the +local death-rates-than the fact that the public interest in municipal +elections, never very strong, has waned, and is waning, in spite of +careful nursing on the part of Government servants.” + +“Can you explain this lack of interest?” said Pagett, putting aside the +rest of Orde’s remarks. + +“You may find a ward of the key in the fact that only one in every +thousand af our population can spell. Then they are infinitely more +interested in religion and caste questions than in any sort of politics. +When the business of mere existence is over, their minds are occupied by +a series of interests, pleasures, rituals, superstitions, and the like, +based on centuries of tradition and usage. You, perhaps, find it hard to +conceive of people absolutely devoid of curiosity, to whom the book, the +daily paper, and the printed speech are unknown, and you would describe +their life as blank. That’s a profound mistake. You are in another +land, another century, down on the bed-rock of society, where the family +merely, and not the community, is all-important. The average Oriental +cannot be brought to look beyond his clan. His life, too, is naore +complete and self-sufficing, and less sordid and low-thoughted than you +might imagine. It is bovine and slow in some respects, but it is never +empty. You and I are inclined to put the cart before the horse, and to +forget that it is the man that is elemental, not the book. + + ‘The corn and the cattle are all my care, + And the rest is the will of God.’ + +Why should such folk look up from their immemorially appointed round +of duty and interests to meddle with the unknown and fuss with +voting-papers. How would you, atop of all your interests care to conduct +even one-tenth of your life according to the manners and customs of the +Papuans, let’s say? That’s what it comes to.” + +“But if they won’t take the trouble to vote, why do you anticipate that +Mohammedans, proprietors, and the rest would be crushed by majorities of +them?” + +Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. + +“Because, though the landholders would not move a finger on any purely +political question, they could be raised in dangerous excitement by +religious hatreds. Already the first note of this has been sounded by +the people who are trying to get up an agitation on the cow-killing +question, and every year there is trouble over the Mohammedan Muharrum +processions. + +“But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?” + +“The Government of Her Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, in which, if +the Congress promoters are to be believed, the people have an implicit +trust; for the Congress circular, specially prepared for rustic +comprehension, says the movement is ‘for the remission of tax, +the advancement of Hindustan, and the strengthening of the British +Government.’ This paper is headed in large letters-- + +‘MAY THE PROSPERITY OF THE EMPIRE OF INDIA ENDURE.’” + +“Really!” said Pagett, “that shows some cleverness. But there are things +better worth imitation in our English methods of--er--political statement +than this sort of amiable fraud.” + +“Anyhow,” resumed Orde, “you perceive that not a word is said about +elections and the elective principle, and the reticence of the Congress +promoters here shows they are wise in their generation.” + +“But the elective principle must triumph in the end, and the little +difficulties you seem to anticipate would give way on the introduction +of a well-balanced scheme, capable of indefinite extension.” + +“But is it possible to devise a scheme which, always assuming that +the people took any interest in it, without enormous expense, ruinous +dislocation of the administation and danger to the public peace, can +satisfy the aspirations of Mr. Hume and his following, and yet safeguard +the interests of the Mahommedans, the landed and wealthy classes, the +Conservative Hindus, the Eurasians, Parsees, Sikhs, Rajputs, native +Christians, domiciled Europeans and others, who are each important and +powerful in their way?” + +Pagett’s attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a group of +cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. + +“Here are the twelve Apostles, by Jove--come straight out of Raffaele’s +cartoons,” said the M.P., with the fresh appreciation of a newcomer. + +Orde, loth to be interrupted, turned impatiently toward the villagers, +and their leader, handing his long staff to one of his companions, +advanced to the house. + +“It is old Jelbo, the Lumherdar, or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a +very’ intelligent man for a villager.” + +The Jat farmer had removed his shoes and stood smiling on the edge of +the veranda. His strongly marked features glowed with russet bronze, and +his bright eyes gleamed under deeply set brows, contracted by lifelong +exposure to sunshine. His beard and moustache streaked with grey swept +from bold cliffs of brow and cheek in the large sweeps one sees drawn +by Michael Angelo, and strands of long black hair mingled with the +irregularly piled wreaths and folds of his turban. The drapery of stout +blue cotton cloth thrown over his broad shoulders and girt round his +narrow loins, hung from his tall form in broadly sculptured folds, +and he would have made a superb model for an artist in search of a +patriarch. + +Orde greeted him cordially, and after a polite pause the countryman +started off with a long story told with impressive earnestness. Orde +listened and smiled, interrupting the speaker at ‘times to argue and +reason with him in a tone which Pagett could hear was kindly, and +finally checking the flux of words was about to dismiss him, when Pagett +suggested that he should be asked about the National Congress. + +But Jelloc had never heard of it. He was a poor man and such things, by +the favor of his Honor, did not concern him. + +“What’s the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in +earnest?” asked Pagett, when he had left. + +“Nothing much. He wants the blood of the people in the next village, who +have had smallpox and cattle plague pretty badly, and by the help of +a wizard, a currier, and several pigs have passed it on to his own +village. ‘Wants to know if they can’t be run in for this awful crime. +It seems they made a dreadful charivari at the village boundary, threw a +quantity of spell-bearing objects over the border, a buffalo’s skull and +other things; then branded a chamur--what you would call a currier--on +his hinder parts and drove him and a number of pigs over into Jelbo’s +village. Jelbo says he can bring evidence to prove that the wizard +directing these proceedings, who is a Sansi, has been guilty of theft, +arson, cattle-killing, perjury and murder, but would prefer to have him +punished for bewitching them and inflicting small-pox.” + +“And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?” + +“Lunatic I the old fellow is as sane as you or I; and he has some ground +of complaint against those Sansis. I asked if he would like a native +superintendent of police with some men to make inquiries, but he +objected on the grounds the police were rather worse than smallpox and +criminal tribes put together.” + +“Criminal tribes--er--I don’t quite understand,” said Paget. + +“We have in India many tribes of people who in the slack anti-British +days became robbers, in various kind, and preyed on the people. They are +being restrained and reclaimed little by little, and in time will become +useful citizens, but they still cherish hereditary traditions of +crime, and are a difficult lot to deal with. By the way what; about the +political rights of these folk under your schemes? The country people +call them vermin, but I sup-pose they would be electors with the rest.” + +“Nonsense--special provision would be made for them in a well-considered +electoral scheme, and they would doubtless be treated with fitting +severity,” said Pagett, with a magisterial air. + +“Severity, yes--but whether it would be fitting is doubtful. Even those +poor devils have rights, and, after all, they only practice what they +have been taught.” + +“But criminals, Orde!” + +“Yes, criminals with codes and rituals of crime, gods and godlings of +crime, and a hundred songs and sayings in praise of it. Puzzling, isn’t +it?” + +“It’s simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are there many +of them?” + +“Not more than about sixty thousand in this province, for many of the +tribes broadly described as criminal are really vagabond and criminal +only on occasion, while others are being settled and reclaimed. They are +of great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the golden, glorious +Aryan past of Max Muller, Birdwood and the rest of your spindrift +philosophers.” + +An orderly brought a card to Orde who took it with a movement of +irritation at the interruption, and banded it to Pagett; a large card +with a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in schoolboy copper +plate, Mr. Dma Nath. “Give salaam,” said the civilian, and there +entered in haste a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat of grey +homespun, tight trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small black velvet +cap. His thin cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered restlessly, for the +young man was evidently nervous and uncomfortable, though striving to +assume a free and easy air. + +“Your honor may perhaps remember me,” he said in English, and Orde +scanned him keenly. + +“I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah district I +think, when I was in charge there?” + +“Yes, Sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honor gave me a +prize when I was first in the Middle School examination five years ago. +Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now second year’s +student in the Mission College.” + +“Of course: you are Kedar Nath’s son--the boy who said he liked +geography better than play or sugar cakes, and I didn’t believe you. How +is your father getting on?” + +“He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are +depressed, and he also is down on his luck.” + +“You learn English idiom at the Mission College, it seems.” + +“Yes, sir, they are the best idioms, and my father ordered me to ask +your honor to say a word for him to the present incumbent of your +honor’s shoes, the latchet of which he is not worthy to open, and who +knows not Joseph; for things are different at Sher shah now, and my +father wants promotion.” + +“Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him.” + +At this point a telegram was handed to Orde, who, after glancing at it, +said he must leave his young friend whom he introduced to Pagett, “a +member of the English House of Commons who wishes to learn about India.” + +Orde bad scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: + +“Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress movement?” + +“Sir, it is the greatest movement of modern times, and one in which all +educated men like us must join. All our students are for the Congress.” + +“Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?” said Pagett, +quick to use his recent instruction. + +“These are some mere exceptions to the universal rule.” + +“But the people outside the College, the working classes, the +agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance.” + +“My mother,” said the young man, with a visible effort to bring +himself to pronounce the word, “has no ideas, and my father is not +agriculturist, nor working class; he is of the Kayeth caste; but he had +not the advantage of a collegiate education, and he does not know +much of the Congress. It is a movement for the educated young-man” + -connecting adjective and noun in a sort of vocal hyphen. + +“Ah, yes,” said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, “and what +are the benefits you expect to gain by it?” + +“Oh, sir, everything. England owes its greatness to Parliamentary +institutions, and we should at once gain the same high position in +scale of nations. Sir, we wish to have the sciences, the arts, the +manufactures, the industrial factories, with steam engines, and other +motive powers and public meetings, and debates. Already we have a +debating club in connection with the college, and elect a Mr. Speaker. +Sir, the progress must come. You also are a Member of Parliament and +worship the great Lord Ripon,” said the youth, breathlessly, and his +black eyes flashed as he finished his commaless sentences. + +“Well,” said Pagett, drily, “it has not yet occurred to me to worship +his Lordship, although I believe he is a very worthy man, and I am not +sure that England owes quite all the things you name to the House of +Commons. You see, my young friend, the growth of a nation like ours +is slow, subject to many influences, and if you have read your history +aright”--“Sir. I know it all--all! Norman Conquest, Magna Charta, +Runnymede, Reformation, Tudors, Stuarts, Mr. Milton and Mr. Burke, and +I have read something of Mr. Herbert Spencer and Gibbon’s ‘Decline and +Fall,’ Reynolds’ Mysteries of the Court,’” and Pagett felt like one who +had pulled the string of a shower-bath unawares, and hastened to stop +the torrent with a question as to what particular grievances of the +people of India the attention of an elected assembly should be first +directed. But young Mr. Dma Nath was slow to particularize. There were +many, very many demanding consideration. Mr. Pagett would like to hear +of one or two typical examples. The Repeal of the Arms Act was at last +named, and the student learned for the first time that a license was +necessary before an Englishman could carry a gun in England. Then +natives of India ought to be allowed to become Volunteer Riflemen if +they chose, and the absolute equality of the Oriental with his European +fellow-subject in civil status should be proclaimed on principle, and +the Indian Army should be considerably reduced. The student was not, +however, prepared with answers to Mr. Pagett’s mildest questions on +these points, and he returned to vague generalities, leaving the M.P. so +much impressed with the crudity of his views that he was glad on Orde’s +return to say good-bye to his ‘very interesting’ young friend. + +“What do you think of young India?” asked Orde. + +“Curious, very curious-and callow.” + +“And yet,” the civilian replied, “one can scarcely help sympathizing +with him for his mere youth’s sake. The young orators of the Oxford +Union arrived at the same conclusions and showed doubtless just the +same enthusiasm. If there were any political analogy between India and +England, if the thousand races of this Empire were one, if there were +any chance even of their learning to speak one language, if, in short, +India were a Utopia of the debating-room, and not a real land, this +kind of talk might be worth listening to, but it is all based on false +analogy and ignorance of the facts.” + +“But he is a native and knows the facts.” + +“He is a sort of English schoolboy, but married three years, and the +father of two weaklings, and knows less than most English schoolboys. +You saw all he is and knows, and such ideas as he has acquired are +directly hostile to the most cherished convictions of the vast majority +of the people.” + +“But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission college? +Is he a Christian?” + +“He meant just what he said, and he is not a Christian, nor ever will +he be. Good people in America, Scotland and England, most of whom would +never dream of collegiate education for their own sons, are pinching +themselves to bestow it in pure waste on Indian youths. Their scheme +is an oblique, subterranean attack on heathenism; the theory being that +with the jam of secular education, leading to a University degree, the +pill of moral or religious instruction may he coaxed down the heathen +gullet.” + +“But does it succeed; do they make converts?” + +“They make no converts, for the subtle Oriental swallows the jam and +rejects the pill; but the mere example of the sober, righteous, and +godly lives of the principals and professors who are most excellent and +devoted men, must have a certain moral value. Yet, as Lord Lansdowne +pointed out the other day, the market is dangerously overstocked +with graduates of our Universities who look for employment in the +administration. An immense number are employed, but year by year the +college mills grind out increasing lists of youths foredoomed to +failure and disappointment, and meanwhile, trade, manufactures, and the +industrial arts are neglected, and in fact regarded with contempt by our +new literary mandarins in posse.” + +“But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and factories,” said +Pagett. + +“Yes, he would like to direct such concerns. He wants to begin at the +top, for manual labor is held to be discreditable, and he would never +defile his hands by the apprenticeship which the architects, engineers, +and manufacturers of England cheerfully undergo; and he would be aghast +to learn that the leading names of industrial enterprise in England +belonged a generation or two since, or now belong, to men who wrought +with their own hands. And, though he talks glibly of manufacturers, he +refuses to see that the Indian manufacturer of the future will be the +despised workman of the present. It was proposed, for example, a few +weeks ago, that a certain municipality in this province should establish +an elementary technical school for the sons of workmen. The stress of +the opposition to the plan came from a pleader who owed all he had to a +college education bestowed on him gratis by Government and missions. +You would have fancied some fine old crusted Tory squire of the last +generation was speaking. ‘These people,’ he said, ‘want no education, +for they learn their trades from their fathers, and to teach a workman’s +son the elements of mathematics and physical science would give him +ideas above his business. They must be kept in their place, and it was +idle to imagine that there was any science in wood or iron work.’ And he +carried his point. But the Indian workman will rise in the social scale +in spite of the new literary caste.” + +“In England we have scarcely begun to realize that there is an +industrial class in this country, yet, I suppose, the example of men, +like Edwards for instance, must tell,” said Pagett, thoughtfully. + +“That you shouldn’t know much about it is natural enough, for there are +but few sources of information. India in this, as in other respects, is +like a badly kept ledger-not written up to date. And men like Edwards +are, in reality, missionaries, who by precept and example are teaching +more lessons than they know. Only a few, however, of their crowds of +subordinates seem to care to try to emulate them, and aim at individual +advancement; the rest drop into the ancient Indian caste groove.” + +“How do you mean?” asked he, “Well, it is found that the new railway and +factory workmen, the fitter, the smith, the engine-driver, and the rest +are already forming separate hereditary castes. You may notice this down +at Jamalpur in Bengal, one of the oldest railway centres; and at other +places, and in other industries, they are following the same inexorable +Indian law.” + +“Which means?” queried Pagett. + +“It means that the rooted habit of the people is to gather in small +self-contained, self-sufficing family groups with no thought or care for +any interests but their own-a habit which is scarcely compatible with +the right acceptation of the elective principle.” + +“Yet you must admit, Orde, that though our young friend was not able to +expound the faith that is in him, your Indian army is too big.” + +“Not nearly big enough for its main purpose. And, as a side issue, there +are certain powerful minorities of fighting folk whose interests an +Asiatic Government is bound to consider. Arms is as much a means of +livelihood as civil employ under Government and law. And it would be +a heavy strain on British bayonets to hold down Sikhs, Jats, Bilochis, +Rohillas, Rajputs, Bhils, Dogras, Pahtans, and Gurkbas to abide by the +decisions of a numerical majority opposed to their interests. Leave the +‘numerical majority’ to itself without the British bayonets-a flock of +sheep might as reasonably hope to manage a troop of collies.” + +“This complaint about excessive growth of the army is akin to another +contention of the Congress party. They protest against the malversation +of the whole of the moneys raised by additional taxes as a Famine +Insurance Fund to other purposes. You must be aware that this special +Famine Fund has all been spent on frontier roads and defences and +strategic railway schemes as a protection against Russia.” + +“But there was never a special famine fund raised by special taxation +and put by as in a box. No sane administrator would dream of such +a thing. In a time of prosperity a finance minister, rejoicing in +a margin, proposed to annually apply a million and a half to the +construction of railways and canals for the protection of districts +liable to scarcity, and to the reduction of the annual loans for public +works. But times were not always prosperous, and the finance minister +had to choose whether he would bang up the insurance scheme for a year +or impose fresh taxation. When a farmer hasn’t got the little surplus +he hoped to have for buying a new wagon and draining a low-lying field +corner, you don’t accuse him of malversation, if he spends what he has +on the necessary work of the rest of his farm.” + +A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his +brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. + +“Hellin Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on +Tuesday: we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab Bokbar team.” + +Orde explained that he had to go out into the District, and while the +visitor complained that though good men wouldn’t play, duffers were +always keen, and that his side would probably be beaten, Pagett rose to +look at his mount, a red, lathered Biloch mare, with a curious lyre-like +incurving of the ears. “Quite a little thoroughbred in all other +respects,” said the M.P., and Orde presented Mr. Reginald Burke, Manager +of the Siad and Sialkote Bank to his friend. + +“Yes, she’s as good as they make ‘em, and she’s all the female I possess +and spoiled in consequence, aren’t you, old girl?” said Burke, patting +the mare’s glossy neck as she backed and plunged. + +“Mr. Pagett,” said Orde, “has been asking me about the Congress. What is +your opinion?” Burke turned to the M. P. with a frank smile. + +“Well, if it’s all the same to you, sir, I should say, Damn the +Congress, but then I’m no politician, but only a business man.” + +“You find it a tiresome subject?” + +“Yes, it’s all that, and worse than that, for this kind of agitation is +anything but wholesome for the country.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“It would be a long job to explain, and Sara here won’t stand, but you +know how sensitive capital is, and how timid investors are. All this +sort of rot is likely to frighten them, and we can’t afford to frighten +them. The passengers aboard an Ocean steamer don’t feel reassured when +the ship’s way is stopped, and they hear the workmen’s hammers tinkering +at the engines down below. The old Ark’s going on all right as she is, +and only wants quiet and room to move. Them’s my sentiments, and those +of some other people who have to do with money and business.” + +“Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it is.” + +“Why, no! The Indian Government is much too timid with its money-like +an old maiden aunt of mine-always in a funk about her investments. They +don’t spend half enough on railways for instance, and they are slow in +a general way, and ought to be made to sit up in all that concerns +the encouragement of private enterprise, and coaxing out into use the +millions of capital that lie dormant in the country.” + +The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently anxious to +be off, so the men wished him good-bye. + +“Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and Government in +a breath?” asked Pagett, with an amused smile. + +“Just now he is Reggie Burke, keener on polo than on anything else, but +if you go to the Sind and Sialkote Bank to-morrow you would find Mr. +Reginald Burke a very capable man of business, known and liked by an +immense constituency North and South of this.” + +“Do you think he is right about the Government’s want of enterprise?” + +“I should hesitate to say. Better consult the merchants and chambers +of commerce in Cawnpore, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta. But though these +bodies would like, as Reggie puts it, to make Government sit up, it is +an elementary consideration in governing a country like India, which +must be administered for the benefit of the people at large, that the +counsels of those who resort to it for the sake of making money should +be judiciously weighed and not allowed to overpower the rest. They are +welcome guests here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best +to restrain their influence. Thus the rights of plantation laborers, +factory operatives, and the like, have been protected, and the +capitalist, eager to get on, has not always regarded Government action +with favor. It is quite conceivable that under an elective system the +commercial communities of the great towns might find means to secure +majorities on labor questions and on financial matters.” + +“They would act at least with intelligence and consideration.” + +“Intelligence, yes; but as to consideration, who at the present moment +most bitterly resents the tender solicitude of Lancashire for the +welfare and protection of the Indian factory operative? English and +native capitalists running cotton mills and factories.” + +“But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely +disinterested?” + +“It is no business of mine to say. I merely indicate an example of how +a powerful commercial interest might hamper a Government intent in the +first place on the larger interests of humanity.” + +Orde broke off to listen a moment. “There’s Dr. Lathrop talking to my +wife in the drawing-room,” said he. + +“Surely not; that’s a lady’s voice, and if my ears don’t deceive me, an +American.” + +“Exactly, Dr. Eva McCreery Lathrop, chief of the new Women’s Hospital +here, and a very good fellow forbye. Good-morning, Doctor,” he said, as +a graceful figure came out on the veranda, “you seem to be in trouble. I +hope Mrs. Orde was able to help you.” + +“Your wife is real kind and good, I always come to her when I’m in a fix +but I fear it’s more than comforting I want.” + +“You work too hard and wear yourself out,” said Orde, kindly. “Let me +introduce my friend, Mr. Pagett, just fresh from home, and anxious to +learn his India. You could tell him something of that more important +half of which a mere man knows so little.” + +“Perhaps I could if I’d any heart to do it, but I’m in trouble, I’ve +lost a case, a case that was doing well, through nothing in the world +but inattention on the part of a nurse I had begun to trust. And when I +spoke only a small piece of my mind she collapsed in a whining heap on +the floor. It is hopeless.” + +The men were silent, for the blue eyes of the lady doctor were dim. +Recovering herself she looked up with a smile, half sad, half humorous, +“And I am in a whining heap, too; but what phase of Indian life are you +particularly interested in, sir?” + +“Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the +possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people.” + +“Wouldn’t it be as much to the purpose to bestow point-lace collars +on them? They need many things more urgently than votes. Why it’s like +giving a bread-pill for a broken leg.” + +“Er-I don’t quite follow,” said Pagett, uneasily. + +“Well, what’s the matter with this country is not in the least +political, but an all round entanglement of physical, social, and moral +evils and corruptions, all more or less due to the unnatural treatment +of women. You can’t gather figs from thistles, and so long as the system +of infant marriage, the prohibition of the remarriage of widows, +the lifelong imprisonment of wives and mothers in a worse than penal +confinement, and the withholding from them of any kind of education +or treatment as rational beings continues, the country can’t advance a +step. Half of it is morally dead, and worse than dead, and that’s just +the half from which we have a right to look for the best impulses. It’s +right here where the trouble is, and not in any political considerations +whatsoever.” + +“But do they marry so early?” said Pagett, vaguely. + +“The average age is seven, but thousands are married still earlier. One +result is that girls of twelve and thirteen have to bear the burden +of wifehood and motherhood, and, as might be expected, the rate of +mortality both for mothers and children is terrible. Pauperism, +domestic unhappiness, and a low state of health are only a few of the +consequences of this. Then, when, as frequently happens, the boy-husband +dies prematurely, his widow is condemned to worse than death. She +may not re-marry, must live a secluded and despised life, a life so +unnatural that she sometimes prefers suicide; more often she goes +astray. You don’t know in England what such words as ‘infant-marriage, +baby-wife, girl-mother, and virgin-widow’ mean; but they mean +unspeakable horrors here.” + +“Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it their +business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones,” said +Pagett. + +“Very surely they will do no such thing,” said the lady doctor, +emphatically. “I wish I could make you understand. Why, even of the +funds devoted to the Marchioness of Dufferin’s organization for medical +aid to the women of India, it was said in print and in speech, that they +would be better spent on more college scholarships for men. And in +all the advanced parties’ talk-God forgive them--and in all their +programmes, they carefully avoid all such subjects. They will talk about +the protection of the cow, for that’s an ancient superstition--they +can all understand that; but the protection of the women is a new and +dangerous idea.” She turned to Pagett impulsively: + +“You are a member of the English Parliament. Can you do nothing? The +foundations of their life are rotten-utterly and bestially rotten. +I could tell your wife things that I couldn’t tell you. I know the +life--the inner life that belongs to the native, and I know nothing +else; and believe me you might as well try to grow golden-rod in a +mushroom-pit as to make anything of a people that are born and reared as +these--these things’re. The men talk of their rights and privileges. I +have seen the women that bear these very men, and again-may God forgive +the men!” + +Pagett’s eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose +tempestuously. + +“I must be off to lecture,” said she, “and I’m sorry that I can’t +show you my hospitals; but you had better believe, sir, that it’s more +necessary for India than all the elections in creation.” + +“That’s a woman with a mission, and no mistake,” said Pagett, after a +pause. + +“Yes; she believes in her work, and so do I,” said Orde. “I’ve a notion +that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work done +for India in this generation was wrought by Lady Dufferin in drawing +attention-what work that was, by the way, even with her husband’s great +name to back it to the needs of women here. In effect, native habits and +beliefs are an organized conspiracy against the laws of health and happy +life--but there is some dawning of hope now.” + +“How d’ you account for the general indifference, then?” + +“I suppose it’s due in part to their fatalism and their utter +indifference to all human suffering. How much do you imagine the great +province of the Pun-jab with over twenty million people and half a score +rich towns has contributed to the maintenance of civil dispensaries last +year? About seven thousand rupees.” + +“That’s seven hundred pounds,” said Pagett, quickly. + +“I wish it was,” replied Orde; “but anyway, it’s an absurdly inadequate +sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental character.” + +Pagett was silent for a long time. The question of direct and personal +pain did not lie within his researches. He preferred to discuss the +weightier matters of the law, and contented himself with murmuring: +“They’ll do better later on.” Then, with a rush, returning to his first +thought: + +“But, my dear Orde, if it’s merely a class movement of a local and +temporary character, how d’ you account for Bradlaugh, who is at least a +man of sense taking it up?” + +“I know nothing of the champion of the New Brahmins but what I see in +the papers. I suppose there is something tempting in being hailed by a +large assemblage as the representative of the aspirations of two hundred +and fifty millions of people. Such a man looks ‘through all the roaring +and the wreaths,’ and does not reflect that it is a false perspective, +which, as a matter of fact, hides the real complex and manifold India +from his gaze. He can scarcely be expected to distinguish between the +ambitions of a new oligarchy and the real wants of the people of whom he +knows nothing. But it’s strange that a professed Radical should come to +be the chosen advocate of a movement which has for its aim the revival +of an ancient tyranny. Shows how even Radicalism can fall into academic +grooves and miss the essential truths of its own creed. Believe me, +Pagett, to deal with India you want first-hand knowledge and experience. +I wish he would come and live here for a couple of years or so.” + +“Is not this rather an ad hominem style of argument?” + +“Can’t help it in a case like this. Indeed, I am not sure you ought not +to go further and weigh the whole character and quality and upbringing +of the man. You must admit that the monumental complacency with which he +trotted out his ingenious little Constitution for India showed a strange +want of imagination and the sense of humor.” + +“No, I don’t quite admit it,” said Pagett. + +“Well, you know him and I don’t, but that’s how it strikes a stranger.” + He turned on his heel and paced the veranda thoughtfully. “And, after +all, the burden of the actual, daily unromantic toil falls on the +shoulders of the men out here, and not on his own. He enjoys all the +privileges of recommendation without responsibility, and we-well, +perhaps, when you’ve seen a little more of India you’ll understand. To +begin with, our death rate’s five times higher than yours-I speak now +for the brutal bureaucrat--and we work on the refuse of worked-out +cities and exhausted civilizations, among the bones of the dead.” + +Pagett laughed. “That’s an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde.” + +“Is it? Let’s see,” said the Deputy Commissioner of Amara, striding into +the sunshine toward a half-naked gardener potting roses. He took the +man’s hoe, and went to a rain-scarped bank at the bottom of the garden. + +“Come here, Pagett,” he said, and cut at the sun-baked soil. After +three strokes there rolled from under the blade of the hoe the half of a +clanking skeleton that settled at Pagett’s feet in an unseemly jumble of +bones. The M.P. drew back. + +“Our houses are built on cemeteries,” said Orde. “There are scores of +thousands of graves within ten miles.” + +Pagett was contemplating the skull with the awed fascination of a man +who has but little to do with the dead. “India’s a very curious place,” + said he, after a pause. + +“Ah? You’ll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch,” said +Orde. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE DEODARS *** + +***** This file should be named 2828-0.txt or 2828-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/2/2828/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2828-0.zip b/2828-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0155713 --- /dev/null +++ b/2828-0.zip diff --git a/2828-h.zip b/2828-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b585672 --- /dev/null +++ b/2828-h.zip diff --git a/2828-h/2828-h.htm b/2828-h/2828-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed49867 --- /dev/null +++ b/2828-h/2828-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6630 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Under the Deodars + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Release Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #2828] +Last Updated: October 7, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE DEODARS *** + + +Produced by and Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + UNDER THE DEODARS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Rudyard Kipling + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>UNDER THE DEODARS</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> AT THE PIT’S MOUTH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A WAYSIDE COMEDY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE HILL OF ILLUSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A SECOND-RATE WOMAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ONLY A SUBALTERN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + UNDER THE DEODARS + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the pleasant orchard-closes + ‘God bless all our gains,’ say we; + But ‘May God bless all our losses,’ + Better suits with our degree. + The Lost Bower. +</pre> + <p> + This is the history of a failure; but the woman who failed said that it + might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the + younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction, + being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will listen to it. None the + less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should begin, + that is to say at Simla, where all things begin and many come to an evil + end. + </p> + <p> + The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not + retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever woman’s mistake + is outside the regular course of Nature and Providence; since all good + people know that a woman is the only infallible thing in this world, + except Government Paper of the ‘79 issue, bearing interest at four and a + half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days of + rehearsing the leading part of The Fallen Angel, at the New Gaiety Theatre + where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought about an + unhingement of spirits which, again, might have led to eccentricities. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee came to ‘The Foundry’ to tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, her one + bosom friend, for she was in no sense ‘a woman’s woman.’ And it was a + woman’s tiffin, the door shut to all the world; and they both talked + chiffons, which is French for Mysteries. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve enjoyed an interval of sanity,’ Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after + tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little + writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe’s bedroom. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear girl, what has he done?’ said Mrs. Mallowe sweetly. It is + noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other ‘dear girl,’ just + as commissioners of twenty-eight years’ standing address their equals in + the Civil List as ‘my boy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should be + always credited to me? Am I an Apache?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, dear, but somebody’s scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door. + Soaking rather.’ + </p> + <p> + This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding all + across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady laughed. + </p> + <p> + ‘For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The Mussuck. + Hsh! Don’t laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the duff came some + one really ought to teach them to make puddings at Tyrconnel The Mussuck + was at liberty to attend to me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Sweet soul! I know his appetite,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘Did he, oh did he, + begin his wooing?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a + Pillar of the Empire. I didn’t laugh.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lucy, I don’t believe you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, The + Mussuck dilated.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think I can see him doing it,’ said Mrs. Mallowe pensively, scratching + her fox-terrier’s ears. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. “Strict + supervision, and play them off one against the other,” said The Mussuck, + shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. “That, Mrs. Hauksbee, + is the secret of our Government.”’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. ‘And what did you say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: “So I have + observed in my dealings with you.” The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is + coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘“Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That, Mrs. + Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.” And I daresay if we could get + to The Mussuck’s heart, we should find that he considers himself a man of + the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won’t have + you call him names. He amuses me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of + sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog is + too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, thanks. Polly, I’m wearied of this life. It’s hollow.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only exchanging half-a-dozen attaches in red for one in black, and if I + fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever struck + you, dear, that I’m getting old?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thanks for your courtesy. I’ll return it. Ye-es, we are both not exactly + how shall I put it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What we have been. “I feel it in my bones,” as Mrs. Crossley says. Polly, + I’ve wasted my life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘As how?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Be a Power then. You’ve wits enough for anything and beauty!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. ‘Polly, if you + heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you’re a + woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in + Asia, and he’ll tell you anything and everything you please.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power not a gas-power. Polly, + I’m going to start a salon.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. + ‘Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you talk sensibly?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn’t + explain away afterwards.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Going to make a mistake,’ went on Mrs. Mallowe composedly. ‘It is + impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the + point.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in + Simla?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Myself and yourself,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment’s hesitation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many clever + men?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh er hundreds,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government. + Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so who + shouldn’t. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of + conversation he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife in the + old days are taken from him by this this kitchen-sink of a Government. + That’s the case with every man up here who is at work. I don’t suppose a + Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang; and + all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But there are scores—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know what you’re going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I admit + it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who’d be + delightful if he had the military man’s knowledge of the world and style, + and the military man who’d be adorable if he had the Civilian’s culture.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Detestable word! Have Civilians culchaw? I never studied the breed + deeply.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t make fun of Jack’s Service. Yes. They’re like the teapoys in the + Lakka Bazar good material but not polished. They can’t help themselves, + poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked + about the world for fifteen years.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And a military man?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species are + horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I would not!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely. + </p> + <p> + ‘I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them. I’d put their own colonels + and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I’d give them to the + Topsham Girl to play with.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Topsham Girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the + salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, + what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one + accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti’s a + “Scandal Point” by lamplight.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s a certain amount of wisdom in that view.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons + ought to have taught you that you can’t focus anything in India; and a + salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your + roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of dirt + on the hillsides here one day and blown down the road the next. We have + lost the art of talking at least our men have. We have no cohesion.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘George Eliot in the flesh,’ interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee wickedly. + </p> + <p> + ‘And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no + influence. Come into the verandah and look at the Mall!’ + </p> + <p> + The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was + abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. + </p> + <p> + ‘How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There’s The Mussuck head of + goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like a + costermonger. There’s Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir Dugald + Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of + Departments, and all powerful.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And all my fervent admirers,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. ‘Sir Henry + Haughton raves about me. But go on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they’re just a + mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon + won’t weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, dear. + And these creatures won’t talk administrative “shop” in a crowd your salon + because they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. + They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the + women—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can’t talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of their + last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the + subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views admirably, + if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and provided + plenty of kala juggahs.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a salon! + But who made you so awfully clever?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps I’ve tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have + preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You needn’t go on. “Is Vanity.” Polly, I thank you. These vermin’ Mrs. + Hauksbee waved her hand from the verandah to two men in the crowd below + who had raised their hats to her ‘these vermin shall not rejoice in a new + Scandal Point or an extra Peliti’s. I will abandon the notion of a salon. + It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do + something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I’m + tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to + the blandishments of The Mussuck.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make your + bow yet?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee’s mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. ‘I think I see myself + doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: “Mrs. Hauksbee! Positively her + last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!” No more dances; no + more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals with supper to follow; + no more sparring with one’s dearest, dearest friend; no more fencing with + an inconvenient man who hasn’t wit enough to clothe what he’s pleased to + call his sentiments in passable speech; no more parading of The Mussuck + while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla, spreading horrible stories about + me! No more of anything that is thoroughly wearying, abominable, and + detestable, but, all the same, makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it + all! Don’t interrupt, Polly, I’m inspired. A mauve and white striped + “cloud” round my excellent shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the + Gaiety, and both horses sold. Delightful vision! A comfortable arm-chair, + situated in three different draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, + sensible shoes for all the couples to stumble over as they go into the + verandah! Then at supper. Can’t you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone + away. Reluctant subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby, they + really ought to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly, sent back + by the hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging + at a glove two sizes too large for him I hate a man who wears gloves like + overcoats and trying to look as if he’d thought of it from the first. “May + I ah-have the pleasure ‘f takin’ you ‘nt’ supper?” Then I get up with a + hungry smile. Just like this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lucy, how can you be so absurd?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you + know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for my + ‘rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve and + white “cloud” over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, + venerable feet, and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib’s gharri. Then + home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out by the + visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down below there.’ + She pointed through the pines toward the Cemetery, and continued with + vigorous dramatic gesture, + </p> + <p> + ‘Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight + a pair, Polly, with red flannel or list, is it? that they put into the + tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lucy, for Heaven’s sake, don’t go waving your arms about in that idiotic + manner! Recollect every one can see you from the Mall.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let them see! They’ll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! + There’s The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!’ + </p> + <p> + She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite grace. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ she continued, ‘he’ll be chaffed about that at the Club in the + delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell + me all about it softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy is + too good to live, Polly. I’ve serious thoughts of recommending him to + throw up his commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of + mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never again,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, + ‘shall you tiffin here! “Lucindy your behaviour is scand’lus.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All your fault,’ retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, ‘for suggesting such a thing as + my abdication. No! jamais! nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, talk + scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any woman I + choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to shame + before all Simla, and it’s dust and ashes in my mouth while I’m doing it!’ + </p> + <p> + She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm + round her waist. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummaging for her handkerchief. + ‘I’ve been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the + afternoon. You’d be tired yourself. It’s only because I’m tired.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie down, + but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve been through that too, dear,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I remember,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. ‘In ‘84, + wasn’t it? You went out a great deal less next season.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion. + </p> + <p> + ‘I became an Influence,’ said she. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good gracious, child, you didn’t join the Theosophists and kiss Buddha’s + big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they cast me out + for a sceptic without a chance of improving my poor little mind, too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I didn’t Theosophilander. Jack says—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I made a lasting impression.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So have I for four months. But that didn’t console me in the least. I + hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me + what you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe told. + </p> + <p> + ‘And you mean to say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And his last promotion was due to you?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe nodded. + </p> + <p> + ‘And you warned him against the Topsham Girl?’ + </p> + <p> + Another nod. + </p> + <p> + ‘And told him of Sir Dugald Delane’s private memo about him?’ + </p> + <p> + A third nod. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am proud + of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be successful. Yes, I + will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything else + that a man values. The rest depends upon himself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not in the least. I’m concentrated, that’s all. You diffuse yourself, + dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can’t you choose a prettier word?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain + nothing by it. Not even amusement.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, + unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You’ll find it + the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be done + you needn’t look like that because I’ve done it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. + I’ll get such a man and say to him, “Now, understand that there must be no + flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and + counsels, and all will yet be well.” Is that the idea?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘More or less,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. ‘But be + sure he understands.’ + </p> + <p> + II + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dribble-dribble trickle-trickle + What a lot of raw dust! + My dollie’s had an accident + And out came all the sawdust! + + Nursery Rhyme. +</pre> + <p> + So Mrs. Hauksbee, in ‘The Foundry’ which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at the + feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference was + the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. + </p> + <p> + ‘I warn you,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her suggestion, + ‘that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman even the + Topsham Girl can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him + when caught.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My child,’ was the answer, ‘I’ve been a female St. Simon Stylites looking + down upon men for these these years past. Ask The Mussuck whether I can + manage them.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, ‘I’ll go to him and say to him in manner + most ironical.’ Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly + sober. ‘I wonder whether I’ve done well in advising that amusement? Lucy’s + a clever woman, but a thought too careless.’ + </p> + <p> + A week later the two met at a Monday Pop. ‘Well?’ said Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve caught him!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee: her eyes were dancing with + merriment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is it, mad woman? I’m sorry I ever spoke to you about it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You can + see his face now. Look!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don’t believe + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I’ll + tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman’s voice always reminds me of an + Underground train coming into Earl’s Court with the brakes on. Now listen. + It is really Otis Yeere.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So I see, but does it follow that he is your property!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the very + next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delanes’ burra-khana. I liked his + eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we went for a ride + together, and to-day he’s tied to my ‘richshaw-wheels hand and foot. + You’ll see when the concert’s over. He doesn’t know I’m here yet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank goodness you haven’t chosen a boy. What are you going to do with + him, assuming that you’ve got him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Assuming, indeed! Does a woman do I ever make a mistake in that sort of + thing? First’ Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on her + little gloved fingers ‘First, my dear, I shall dress him properly. At + present his raiment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress-shirt like a + crumpled sheet of the Pioneer. Secondly, after I have made him + presentable, I shall form his manners his morals are above reproach.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the + shortness of your acquaintance.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his interest + in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self. If the woman + listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she flatters the + animal’s vanity, he ends by adoring her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In some cases.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. Thirdly, + and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as you said, be + his guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall become a success as great + a success as your friend. I always wondered how that man got on. Did The + Mussuck come to you with the Civil List and, dropping on one knee no, two + knees, a la Gibbon hand it to you and say, “Adorable angel, choose your + friend’s appointment”?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralised + you. One doesn’t do that sort of thing on the Civil Side.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No disrespect meant to Jack’s Service, my dear. I only asked for + information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall work in my + prey.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Go your own way since you must. But I’m sorry that I was weak enough to + suggest the amusement.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘“I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-fin-ite extent,”’ + quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased + with Mrs. Tarkass’s last, long-drawn war-whoop. + </p> + <p> + Her bitterest enemies and she had many could hardly accuse Mrs. Hauksbee + of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering ‘dumb’ + characters, foredoomed through life to be nobody’s property. Ten years in + Her Majesty’s Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most part, in + undesirable Districts, had given him little to be proud of, and nothing to + bring confidence. Old enough to have lost the first fine careless rapture + that showers on the immature ‘Stunt imaginary Commissionerships and Stars, + and sends him into the collar with coltish earnestness and abandon; too + young to be yet able to look back upon the progress he had made, and thank + Providence that under the conditions of the day he had come even so far, + he stood upon the dead-centre of his career. And when a man stands still + he feels the slightest impulse from without. Fortune had ruled that Otis + Yeere should be, for the first part of his service, one of the rank and + file who are ground up in the wheels of the Administration; losing heart + and soul, and mind and strength, in the process. Until steam replaces + manual power in the working of the Empire, there must always be this + percentage must always be the men who are used up, expended, in the mere + mechanical routine. For these promotion is far off and the mill-grind of + every day very instant. The Secretariats know them only by name; they are + not the picked men of the Districts with Divisions and Collectorates + awaiting them. They are simply the rank and file the food for fever + sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the honour of being the + plinth on which the State rests. The older ones have lost their + aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with a sigh. Both learn + to endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve years in the rank and + file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the wits of the + most keen. + </p> + <p> + Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few months; drifting, in the + hope of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over he + would return to his swampy, sour-green, under-manned Bengal district; to + the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the + steaming, sweltering Station, the ill-kempt City, and the undisguised + insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life was + cheap, however. The soil spawned humanity, as it bred frogs in the Rains, + and the gap of the sickness of one season was filled to overflowing by the + fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful to lay down his work + for a little while and escape from the seething, whining, weakly hive, + impotent to help itself, but strong in its power to cripple, thwart, and + annoy the sunkeneyed man who, by official irony, was said to be ‘in + charge’ of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. + But I didn’t know that there were men-dowds, too.’ + </p> + <p> + Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes wore + rather the mark of the ages. It will be seen that his friendship with Mrs. + Hauksbee had made great strides. + </p> + <p> + As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is + talking about himself. From Otis Yeere’s lips Mrs. Hauksbee, before long, + learned everything that she wished to know about the subject of her + experiment: learned what manner of life he had led in what she vaguely + called ‘those awful cholera districts’; learned, too, but this knowledge + came later, what manner of life he had purposed to lead and what dreams he + had dreamed in the year of grace ‘77, before the reality had knocked the + heart out of him. Very pleasant are the shady bridle-paths round Prospect + Hill for the telling of such confidences. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not yet,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Maliowe. ‘Not yet. I must wait until + the man is properly dressed, at least. Great heavens, is it possible that + he doesn’t know what an honour it is to be taken up by Me!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. + </p> + <p> + ‘Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!’ murmured Mrs. Mallowe, with her sweetest + smile, to Otis. ‘Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis growling + because you’ve monopolised the nicest woman in Simla. They’ll tear you to + pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe rattled downhill, having satisfied herself, by a glance + through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. + </p> + <p> + The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this + bewildering whirl of Simla had monopolised the nicest woman in it, and the + Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity. He had + never looked upon his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter for + general interest. + </p> + <p> + The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no account. It + was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said + spitefully, ‘Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it. + Hasn’t any kind friend told you that she’s the most dangerous woman in + Simla?’ + </p> + <p> + Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh, when would his new clothes be + ready? He descended into the Mall to inquire; and Mrs. Hauksbee, coming + over the Church Ridge in her ‘rickshaw, looked down upon him approvingly. + ‘He’s learning to carry himself as if he were a man, instead of a piece of + furniture, and,’ she screwed up her eyes to see the better through the + sunlight ‘he is a man when he holds himself like that. O blessed Conceit, + what should we be without you?’ + </p> + <p> + With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis Yeere + discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into a gentle + perspiration could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though + rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for the first time in nine years + proud of himself, and contented with his life, satisfied with his new + clothes, and rejoicing in the friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. + </p> + <p> + ‘Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,’ she said in confidence to Mrs. + Mallowe. ‘I believe they must use Civilians to plough the fields with in + Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very beginning haven’t I? + But you’ll admit, won’t you, dear, that he is immensely improved since I + took him in hand. Only give me a little more time and he won’t know + himself.’ + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of his + own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in + reference to nothing, ‘And who has been making you a Member of Council, + lately? You carry the side of half-a-dozen of ‘em.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I I’m awf’ly sorry. I didn’t mean it, you know,’ said Yeere + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’ll be no holding you,’ continued the old stager grimly. ‘Climb + down, Otis climb down, and get all that beastly affectation knocked out of + you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn’t support it.’ + </p> + <p> + Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon her + as his Mother Confessor. + </p> + <p> + ‘And you apologised!’ she said. ‘Oh, shame! I hate a man who apologises. + Never apologise for what your friend called “side.” Never! It’s a man’s + business to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger. + Now, you bad boy, listen to me.’ + </p> + <p> + Simply and straightforwardly, as the ‘rickshaw loitered round Jakko, Mrs. + Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, illustrating + it with living pictures encountered during their Sunday afternoon stroll. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good gracious!’ she ended with the personal argument, ‘you’ll apologise + next for being my attache—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never!’ said Otis Yeere. ‘That’s another thing altogether. I shall always + be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s coming?’ thought Mrs. Hauksbee. + </p> + <p> + ‘Proud of that,’ said Otis. + </p> + <p> + ‘Safe for the present,’ she said to herself. + </p> + <p> + ‘But I’m afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshurun, you know. When he + waxed fat, then he kicked. It’s the having no worry on one’s mind and the + Hill air, I suppose.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hill air, indeed!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to herself. ‘He’d have been hiding + in the Club till the last day of his leave, if I hadn’t discovered him.’ + And aloud, + </p> + <p> + ‘Why shouldn’t you be? You have every right to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I! Why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, hundreds of things. I’m not going to waste this lovely afternoon by + explaining; but I know you have. What was that heap of manuscript you + showed me about the grammar of the aboriginal what’s their names?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Gullals. A piece of nonsense. I’ve far too much work to do to bother over + Gullals now. You should see my District. Come down with your husband some + day and I’ll show you round. Such a lovely place in the Rains! A sheet of + water with the railway-embankment and the snakes sticking out, and, in the + summer, green flies and green squash. The people would die of fear if you + shook a dogwhip at ‘em. But they know you’re forbidden to do that, so they + conspire to make your life a burden to you. My District’s worked by some + man at Darjiling, on the strength of a native pleader’s false reports. Oh, + it’s a heavenly place!’ + </p> + <p> + Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I must. How’m I to get out of it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren’t so many people on the + road I’d like to box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask! Look! There is + young Hexarly with six years’ service and half your talents. He asked for + what he wanted, and he got it. See, down by the Convent! There’s + McArthurson, who has come to his present position by asking sheer, + downright asking after he had pushed himself out of the rank and file. One + man is as good as another in your service believe me. I’ve seen Simla for + more seasons than I care to think about. Do you suppose men are chosen for + appointments because of their special fitness beforehand? You have all + passed a high test what do you call it? in the beginning, and, except for + the few who have gone altogether to the bad, you can all work hard. Asking + does the rest. Call it cheek, call it insolence, call it anything you + like, but ask! Men argue yes, I know what men say that a man, by the mere + audacity of his request, must have some good in him. A weak man doesn’t + say: “Give me this and that.” He whines: “Why haven’t I been given this + and that?” If you were in the Army, I should say learn to spin plates or + play a tambourine with your toes. As it is ask! You belong to a Service + that ought to be able to command the Channel Fleet, or set a leg at twenty + minutes’ notice, and yet you hesitate over asking to escape from a squashy + green district where you admit you are not master. Drop the Bengal + Government altogether. Even Darjiling is a little out-of-the-way hole. I + was there once, and the rents were extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the + Government of India to take you over. Try to get on the Frontier, where + every man has a grand chance if he can trust himself. Go somewhere! Do + something! You have twice the wits and three times the presence of the men + up here, and, and’ Mrs. Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued ‘and in + any way you look at it, you ought to. You who could go so far!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected + eloquence. ‘I haven’t such a good opinion of myself.’ + </p> + <p> + It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid her + hand lightly upon the ungloved paw that rested on the turned-back + ‘rickshaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said tenderly, + almost too tenderly, ‘I believe in you if you mistrust yourself. Is that + enough, my friend?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is enough,’ answered Otis very solemnly. + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had dreamed + eight years ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through + golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee’s violet eyes. + </p> + <p> + Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life the only existence in + this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among men + and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and Gymkhana, that Otis + Yeere, the man with the newly-lit light of self-confidence in his eyes, + had ‘done something decent’ in the wilds whence he came. He had brought an + erring Municipality to reason, appropriated the funds on his own + responsibility, and saved the lives of hundreds. He knew more about the + Gullals than any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aboriginal + tribes; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the + aboriginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals were till + The Mussuck, who had been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself + upon picking people’s brains, explained they were a tribe of ferocious + hillmen, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friendship even the Great Indian + Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis + Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his MS. notes of six years’ standing on + these same Gullals. He had told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the + fever their negligence had bred, crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, + and savagely angry at the desolation in his charge, he had once damned the + collective eyes of his ‘intelligent local board’ for a set of haramzadas. + Which act of ‘brutal and tyrannous oppression’ won him a Reprimand Royal + from the Bengal Government; but in the anecdote as amended for Northern + consumption we find no record of this. Hence we are forced to conclude + that Mrs. Hauksbee edited his reminiscences before sowing them in idle + ears, ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or evil. And Otis Yeere + bore himself as befitted the hero of many tales. + </p> + <p> + ‘You can talk to me when you don’t fall into a brown study. Talk now, and + talk your brightest and best,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. + </p> + <p> + Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has the counsel of a woman of or + above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can meet + both sexes on equal ground an advantage never intended by Providence, who + fashioned Man on one day and Woman on another, in sign that neither should + know more than a very little of the other’s life. Such a man goes far, or, + the counsel being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world seeks the + reason. + </p> + <p> + Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee, who, again, had all Mrs. Mallowe’s wisdom at + her disposal, proud of himself and, in the end, believing in himself + because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready for any fortune that + might befall, certain that it would be good. He would fight for his own + hand, and intended that this second struggle should lead to better issue + than the first helpless surrender of the bewildered ‘Stunt. + </p> + <p> + What might have happened it is impossible to say. This lamentable thing + befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would spend + the next season in Darjiling. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you certain of that?’ said Otis Yeere. + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite. We’re writing about a house now.’ + </p> + <p> + Otis Yeere ‘stopped dead,’ as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the + relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + ‘He has behaved,’ she said angrily, ‘just like Captain Kerrington’s pony + only Otis is a donkey at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet and + refused to go on another step. Polly, my man’s going to disappoint me. + What shall I do?’ + </p> + <p> + As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this occasion + she opened her eyes to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have managed cleverly so far,’ she said. ‘Speak to him, and ask him + what he means.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will at to-night’s dance.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No o, not at a dance,’ said Mrs. Mallowe cautiously. ‘Men are never + themselves quite at dances. Better wait till to-morrow morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense. If he’s going to ‘vert in this insane way there isn’t a day to + lose. Are you going? No? Then sit up for me, there’s a dear. I shan’t stay + longer than supper under any circumstances.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and earnestly into + the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! oh! oh! The man’s an idiot! A raving, positive idiot! I’m sorry I + ever saw him!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe’s house, at midnight, almost in + tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘What in the world has happened?’ said Mrs. Mallowe, but her eyes showed + that she had guessed an answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Happened! Everything has happened! He was there. I went to him and said, + “Now, what does this nonsense mean?” Don’t laugh, dear, I can’t bear it. + But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a square, and I sat it out + with him and wanted an explanation, and he said Oh! I haven’t patience + with such idiots! You know what I said about going to Darjiling next year? + It doesn’t matter to me where I go. I’d have changed the Station and lost + the rent to have saved this. He said, in so many words, that he wasn’t + going to try to work up any more, because because he would be shifted into + a province away from Darjiling, and his own District, where these + creatures are, is within a day’s journey.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah hh!’ said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully tracked + an obscure word through a large dictionary. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you ever hear of anything so mad so absurd? And he had the ball at + his feet. He had only to kick it! I would have made him anything! Anything + in the wide world. He could have gone to the world’s end. I would have + helped him. I made him, didn’t I, Polly? Didn’t I create that man? Doesn’t + he owe everything to me? And to reward me, just when everything was nicely + arranged, by this lunacy that spoilt everything!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very few men understand your devotion thoroughly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Polly, don’t laugh at me! I give men up from this hour. I could have + killed him then and there. What right had this man this Thing I had picked + out of his filthy paddy—fields to make love to me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He did that, did he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He did. I don’t remember half he said, I was so angry. Oh, but such a + funny thing happened! I can’t help laughing at it now, though I felt + nearly ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed I’m afraid we must + have made an awful noise in our kala juggah. Protect my character, dear, + if it’s all over Simla by to-morrow and then he bobbed forward in the + middle of this insanity I firmly believe the man’s demented and kissed + me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Morals above reproach,’ purred Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + ‘So they were so they are! It was the most absurd kiss. I don’t believe + he’d ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw my head back, and it + was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the chin here.’ Mrs. + Hauksbee tapped her masculine little chin with her fan. ‘Then, of course, + I was furiously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, and I was + sorry I’d ever met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily then I + couldn’t be very angry. Then I came away straight to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Was this before or after supper?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! before oceans before. Isn’t it perfectly disgusting?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me think. I withhold judgment till tomorrow. Morning brings counsel.’ + </p> + <p> + But morning brought only a servant with a dainty bouquet of Annandale + roses for Mrs. Hauksbee to wear at the dance at Viceregal Lodge that + night. + </p> + <p> + ‘He doesn’t seem to be very penitent,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘What’s the + billet-doux in the centre?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly-folded note, another accomplishment that + she had taught Otis, read it, and groaned tragically. + </p> + <p> + ‘Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry! Is it his own, do you think? + Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No. It’s a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and in view of the facts of the + case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart, + Pass! There’s a world full of men; + And women as fair as thou art + Must do such things now and then. + Thou only hast stepped unaware + Malice not one can impute; + And why should a heart have been there, + In the way of a fair woman’s foot? +</pre> + <p> + ‘I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee angrily, her eyes filling + with tears; ‘there was no malice at all. Oh, it’s too vexatious!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve misunderstood the compliment,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘He clears you + completely and ahem I should think by this, that he has cleared completely + too. My experience of men is that when they begin to quote poetry they are + going to flit. Like swans singing before they die, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do I? Is it so terrible? If he’s hurt your vanity, I should say that + you’ve done a certain amount of damage to his heart.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you can never tell about a man!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT THE PIT’S MOUTH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Men say it was a stolen tide + The Lord that sent it He knows all, + But in mine ear will aye abide + The message that the bells let fall— + And awesome bells they were to me, + That in the dark rang, ‘Enderby.’ + —Jean Ingelow +</pre> + <p> + Once upon a time there was a Man and his Wife and a Tertium Quid. + </p> + <p> + All three were unwise, but the Wife was the unwisest. The Man should have + looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, who, + again, should have married a wife of his own, after clean and open + flirtations, to which nobody can possibly object, round Jakko or + Observatory Hill. When you see a young man with his pony in a white lather + and his hat on the back of his head, flying downhill at fifteen miles an + hour to meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet him, you + naturally approve of that young man, and wish him Staff appointments, and + take an interest in his welfare, and, as the proper time comes, give them + sugar-tongs or side-saddles according to your means and generosity. + </p> + <p> + The Tertium Quid flew downhill on horseback, but it was to meet the Man’s + Wife; and when he flew uphill it was for the same end. The Man was in the + Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend on dresses and + four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive luxuries of that kind. He + worked very hard, and sent her a letter or a post-card daily. She also + wrote to him daily, and said that she was longing for him to come up to + Simla. The Tertium Quid used to lean over her shoulder and laugh as she + wrote the notes. Then the two would ride to the Post-office together. + </p> + <p> + Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are peculiar; nor is any man + who has not spent at least ten seasons there qualified to pass judgment on + circumstantial evidence, which is the most untrustworthy in the Courts. + For these reasons, and for others which need not appear, I decline to + state positively whether there was anything irretrievably wrong in the + relations between the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid. If there was, and + hereon you must form your own opinion, it was the Man’s Wife’s fault. She + was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an air of soft and fluffy + innocence. But she was deadlily learned and evil-instructed; and, now and + again, when the mask dropped, men saw this, shuddered and almost drew + back. Men are occasionally particular, and the least particular men are + always the most exacting. + </p> + <p> + Simla is eccentric in its fashion of treating friendships. Certain + attachments which have set and crystallised through half-a-dozen seasons + acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are revered as such. + Again, certain attachments equally old, and, to all appearance, equally + venerable, never seem to win any recognised official status; while a + chance-sprung acquaintance, not two months born, steps into the place + which by right belongs to the senior. There is no law reducible to print + which regulates these affairs. + </p> + <p> + Some people have a gift which secures them infinite toleration, and others + have not. The Man’s Wife had not. If she looked over the garden wall, for + instance, women taxed her with stealing their husbands. She complained + pathetically that she was not allowed to choose her own friends. When she + put up her big white muff to her lips, and gazed over it and under her + eyebrows at you as she said this thing, you felt that she had been + infamously misjudged, and that all the other women’s instincts were all + wrong; which was absurd. She was not allowed to own the Tertium Quid in + peace; and was so strangely constructed that she would not have enjoyed + peace had she been so permitted. She preferred some semblance of intrigue + to cloak even her most commonplace actions. + </p> + <p> + After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then Summer + Hill, then Observatory Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly up and down the + Cart Road as far as the Tara Devi gap in the dusk, she said to the Tertium + Quid, ‘Frank, people say we are too much together, and people are so + horrid.’ + </p> + <p> + The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid people were + unworthy of the consideration of nice people. + </p> + <p> + ‘But they have done more than talk they have written written to my hubby + I’m sure of it,’ said the Man’s Wife, and she pulled a letter from her + husband out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the Tertium Quid. + </p> + <p> + It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in the + Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight + hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It said + that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdom of allowing her name to + be so generally coupled with the Tertium Quid’s; that she was too much of + a child to understand the dangers of that sort of thing; that he, her + husband, was the last man in the world to interfere jealously with her + little amusements and interests, but that it would be better were she to + drop the Tertium Quid quietly and for her husband’s sake. The letter was + sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it amused the Tertium + Quid considerably. He and She laughed over it, so that you, fifty yards + away, could see their shoulders shaking while the horses slouched along + side by side. + </p> + <p> + Their conversation was not worth reporting. The upshot of it was that, + next day, no one saw the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid together. They + had both gone down to the Cemetery, which, as a rule, is only visited + officially by the inhabitants of Simla. + </p> + <p> + A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, and the + coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of the most + depressing things on this earth, particularly when the procession passes + under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe Hotel, where the sun is + shut out, and all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together as + they go down the valleys. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally folk tend the graves, but we in India shift and are + transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead have no + friend only acquaintances who are far too busy amusing themselves up the + hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a Cemetery as a + rendezvous is distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply, + ‘Let people talk. We’ll go down the Mall.’ A woman is made differently, + especially if she be such a woman as the Man’s Wife. She and the Tertium + Quid enjoyed each other’s society among the graves of men and women whom + they had known and danced with aforetime. + </p> + <p> + They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit on the grass a little to the + left of the lower end, where there is a dip in the ground, and where the + occupied graves stop short and the ready-made ones are not ready. Each + well-regulated Indian Cemetery keeps half-a-dozen graves permanently open + for contingencies and incidental wear and tear. In the Hills these are + more usually baby’s size, because children who come up weakened and sick + from the Plains often succumb to the effects of the Rains in the Hills or + get pneumonia from their ayahs taking them through damp pine-woods after + the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the man’s size is more in + request; these arrangements varying with the climate and population. + </p> + <p> + One day when the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the + Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a + full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was + sick. They said that they did not know; but it was an order that they + should dig a Sahib’s grave. + </p> + <p> + ‘Work away,’ said the Tertium Quid, ‘and let’s see how it’s done.’ + </p> + <p> + The coolies worked away, and the Man’s Wife and the Tertium Quid watched + and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was being deepened. Then + a coolie, taking the earth in baskets as it was thrown up, jumped over the + grave. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s queer,’ said the Tertium Quid. ‘Where’s my ulster?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s queer?’ said the Man’s Wife. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over my + grave.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do you look at the thing, then?’ said the Man’s Wife. ‘Let us go.’ + </p> + <p> + The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared without + answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble down, ‘It is nasty + and cold: horribly cold. I don’t think I shall come to the Cemetery any + more. I don’t think grave-digging is cheerful.’ + </p> + <p> + The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also + arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra + Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a + garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go + too. + </p> + <p> + Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid’s horse tried to bolt + uphill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to strain a back + sinew. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall have to take the mare to-morrow,’ said the Tertium Quid, ‘and she + will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.’ + </p> + <p> + They made their arrangements to meet in the Cemetery, after allowing all + the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it rained heavily, + and, next day, when the Tertium Quid came to the trysting-place, he saw + that the new grave had a foot of water in it, the ground being a tough and + sour clay. + </p> + <p> + ‘Jove! That looks beastly,’ said the Tertium Quid. ‘Fancy being boarded up + and dropped into that well!’ + </p> + <p> + They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle and + picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the sun shining + divinely. The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the + Himalayan-Thibet road; but in spite of its name it is not much more than + six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below may be + anything between one and two thousand feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now we’re going to Thibet,’ said the Man’s Wife merrily, as the horses + drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. + </p> + <p> + ‘Into Thibet,’ said the Tertium Quid, ‘ever so far from people who say + horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you to the end + of the world!’ + </p> + <p> + A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went + wide to avoid him forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare should + go. + </p> + <p> + ‘To the world’s end,’ said the Man’s Wife, and looked unspeakable things + over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. + </p> + <p> + He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it were on + his face, and changed to a nervous grin the sort of grin men wear when + they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be sinking by + the stern, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to realise what + was happening. The rain of the night before had rotted the drop-side of + the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and it was giving way under her. ‘What are you + doing?’ said the Man’s Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no answer. He grinned + nervously and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped with her forefeet on + the road, and the struggle began. The Man’s Wife screamed, ‘Oh, Frank, get + off!’ + </p> + <p> + But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle his face blue and white and + he looked into the Man’s Wife’s eyes. Then the Man’s Wife clutched at the + mare’s head and caught her by the nose instead of the bridle. The brute + threw up her head and went down with a scream, the Tertium Quid upon her, + and the nervous grin still set on his face. + </p> + <p> + The Man’s Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose earth + falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man and horse going + down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank to leave his mare + and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He was underneath the mare, nine + hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn. + </p> + <p> + As the revellers came back from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of the + evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily mad horse, + swinging round the corners, with her eyes and her mouth open, and her head + like the head of a Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the risk of his + life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on the bank to + explain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she was sent home in + a lady’s ‘rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her hands picking at her + riding-gloves. + </p> + <p> + She was in bed through the following three days, which were rainy; so she + missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered into + eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to which he had first + objected. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WAYSIDE COMEDY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore + the misery of man is great upon him. + —Eccles. viii. 6. +</pre> + <p> + Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kashima into a + prison; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are now lying + there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Government of India + may be moved to scatter the European population to the four winds. + </p> + <p> + Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rocktipped circle of the Dosehri + hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die and + the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists from the + jhils cover the place as with water, and in Winter the frosts nip + everything young and tender to earth-level. There is but one view in + Kashima a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plough-land, running up to + the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills. + </p> + <p> + There are no amusements, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigers + have been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and the + snipe only come once a year. Narkarra one hundred and forty-three miles by + road is the nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never goes to + Narkarra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stays within + the circle of the Dosehri hills. + </p> + <p> + All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but all + Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain. + </p> + <p> + Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. They are + the English population of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen, who is + of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the most important + of all. + </p> + <p> + You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws weaken in + a small and hidden community where there is no public opinion. When a man + is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk of falling into + evil ways. This risk is multiplied by every addition to the population up + to twelve the Jury-number. After that, fear and consequent restraint + begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely jerky. + </p> + <p> + There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was a + charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and she charmed every one. + In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is so perverse, + she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had she been + plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to Kashima. But + she was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour of a lake just + before the light of the sun touches it. No man who had seen those eyes + could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was to look upon. The + eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was ‘not bad-looking, but + spoilt by pretending to be so grave.’ And yet her gravity was natural. It + was not her habit to smile. She merely went through life, looking at those + who passed; and the women objected while the men fell down and worshipped. + </p> + <p> + She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima; but + Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in to + afternoon tea at least three times a week. ‘When there are only two women + in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,’ says Major + Vansuythen. + </p> + <p> + Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-away + places where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had discovered that + Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and you dare not blame + them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other Place, and + the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no concern in the + matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard, heavy + man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They had all Kashima + and each other for their very, very own; and Kashima was the Garden of + Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his wanderings he would slap + Kurrell between the shoulders and call him ‘old fellow,’ and the three + would dine together. Kashima was happy then when the judgment of God + seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the railway that ran down to the + sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to Kashima, and with him + came his wife. + </p> + <p> + The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island. When + a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore to make him + welcome. Kashima assembled at the masonry platform close to the Narkarra + Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony was reckoned a + formal call, and made them free of the Station, its rights and privileges. + When the Vansuythens settled down they gave a tiny house-warming to all + Kashima; and that made Kashima free of their house, according to the + immemorial usage of the Station. + </p> + <p> + Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the Narkarra Road + was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pastures of + Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from the + Dosehri hills and covered everything. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the Rains Boulte’s manner towards his wife changed and + became demonstratively affectionate. They had been married twelve years, + and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her husband with the hate + of a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, in + the teeth of this kindness, has done him a great wrong. Moreover, she had + her own trouble to fight with her watch to keep over her own property, + Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills and many + other things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs. Boulte that + her man among men, her Ted for she called him Ted in the old days when + Boulte was out of earshot was slipping the links of the allegiance. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,’ Mrs. Boulte said to herself; and + when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of the + over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fortunate as + Love because there is nothing to weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. + Boulte had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because she was not + certain; and her nature led her to be very certain before she took steps + in any direction. That is why she behaved as she did. + </p> + <p> + Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the door-posts + of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte was putting some + flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civilisation even in Kashima. + </p> + <p> + ‘Little woman,’ said Boulte quietly, ‘do you care for me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Immensely,’ said she, with a laugh. ‘Can you ask it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I’m serious,’ said Boulte. ‘Do you care for me?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. ‘Do you want an + honest answer?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye-es, I’ve asked for it.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very distinctly, + that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. When Samson broke the + pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to be compared to the + deliberate pulling down of a woman’s homestead about her own ears. There + was no wise female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, the singularly cautious + wife, to hold her hand. She struck at Boulte’s heart, because her own was + sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out with the long strain of + watching alone through the Rains. There was no plan or purpose in her + speaking. The sentences made themselves; and Boulte listened, leaning + against the door-post with his hands in his pockets. When all was over, + and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her nose before breaking out into + tears, he laughed and stared straight in front of him at the Dosehri + hills. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that all?’ he said. ‘Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What are you going to do?’ said the woman, between her sobs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell, or send you Home, or apply + for leave to get a divorce? It’s two days’ treck into Narkarra.’ He + laughed again and went on: ‘I’ll tell you what you can do. You can ask + Kurrell to dinner tomorrow no, on Thursday, that will allow you time to + pack and you can bolt with him. I give you my word I won’t follow.’ + </p> + <p> + He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till + the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking. She + had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house down; but + it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand her husband, and she + was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulness struck her, and she + was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying, ‘I have gone mad and told + everything. My husband says that I am free to elope with you. Get a dek + for Thursday, and we will fly after dinner.’ There was a cold-bloodedness + about that procedure which did not appeal to her. So she sat still in her + own house and thought. + </p> + <p> + At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn and haggard, + and the woman was touched at his distress. As the evening wore on she + muttered some expression of sorrow, something approaching to contrition. + Boulte came out of a brown study and said, ‘Oh, that! I wasn’t thinking + about that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to the elopement?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Mrs. Boulte. ‘Good God, is that all?’ + </p> + <p> + But Boulte was not listening and her sentence ended in a gulp. + </p> + <p> + The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not + appear, and the new lift that she, in the five minutes’ madness of the + previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed + to be no nearer. + </p> + <p> + Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the + verandah, and went out. The morning wore through, and at mid-day the + tension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished + her crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone. + Perhaps the Vansuythen Woman would talk to her; and, since talking opens + the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in her company. + She was the only other woman in the Station. + </p> + <p> + In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in upon + every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and walked + across to the Vansuythens’ house to borrow last week’s Queen. The two + compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossed through + the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from the back. As she + passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that cloaked + the drawing-room door, her husband’s voice, saying, + </p> + <p> + ‘But on my Honour! On my Soul and Honour, I tell you she doesn’t care for + me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then if Vansuythen + hadn’t been with you. If it is for her sake that you’ll have nothing to + say to me, you can make your mind easy. It’s Kurrell.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ said Mrs. Vansuythen, with a hysterical little laugh. ‘Kurrell! + Oh, it can’t be! You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhaps you + you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can’t be as + wrong as you say.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man’s pleading, and + was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. + </p> + <p> + ‘There must be some mistake,’ she insisted, ‘and it can be all put right + again.’ + </p> + <p> + Boulte laughed grimly. + </p> + <p> + ‘It can’t be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the least + the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He said he had + not. He swore he had not,’ said Mrs. Vansuythen. + </p> + <p> + The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a little + thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood up with a + gasp. + </p> + <p> + ‘What was that you said?’ asked Mrs. Boulte. ‘Never mind that man. What + did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the trouble + of her questioner. + </p> + <p> + ‘He said I can’t remember exactly what he said but I understood him to say + that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn’t it rather a strange question?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you tell me what he said?’ repeated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger will + fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was only an + ordinarily good woman. She began in a sort of desperation: ‘Well, he said + that the never cared for you at all, and, of course, there was not the + least reason why he should have, and and that was all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell forward + fainting. + </p> + <p> + ‘What did I tell you?’ said Boulte, as though the conversation had been + unbroken. ‘You can see for yourself. She cares for him.’ The light began + to break into his dull mind, and he went on, ‘And what was he saying to + you?’ + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned + protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you brute!’ she cried. ‘Are all men like this? Help me to get her + into my room and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be quiet, + and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell. Lift her + up carefully, and now go! Go away!’ + </p> + <p> + Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen’s bedroom, and departed + before the storm of that lady’s wrath and disgust, impenitent and burning + with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuythen would do + Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, who caught himself + considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she discovered that the + man she loved had forsworn her. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the road + and pulled up with a cheery ‘Good-mornin’. ‘Been mashing Mrs. Vansuythen + as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What will Mrs. + Boulte say?’ + </p> + <p> + Boulte raised his head and said slowly, ‘Oh, you liar!’ Kurrell’s face + changed. ‘What’s that?’ he asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing much,’ said Boulte. ‘Has my wife told you that you two are free + to go off whenever you please? She has been good enough to explain the + situation to me. You’ve been a true friend to me, Kurrell old man haven’t + you?’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence about + being willing to give ‘satisfaction.’ But his interest in the woman was + dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her for her + amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken off the + thing gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled with Boulte’s voice + recalled him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I’m + pretty sure you’d get none from killing me.’ + </p> + <p> + Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, + Boulte added, + </p> + <p> + ‘Seems rather a pity that you haven’t the decency to keep to the woman, + now you’ve got her. You’ve been a true friend to her too, haven’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you mean?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: ‘My wife came over + to Mrs. Vansuythen’s just now; and it seems you’d been telling Mrs. + Vansuythen that you’d never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, as usual. + What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her? Try to speak the + truth for once in a way.’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another + question: ‘Go on. What happened?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Emma fainted,’ said Boulte simply. ‘But, look here, what had you been + saying to Mrs. Vansuythen?’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc of his + plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whose eyes he + was humiliated and shown dishonourable. + </p> + <p> + ‘Said to her? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I said + pretty much what you’ve said, unless I’m a good deal mistaken.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I spoke the truth,’ said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell. + ‘Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No! I suppose not. You’re only her husband, y’know. And what did Mrs. + Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet?’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think that matters,’ Boulte replied; ‘and it doesn’t concern + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But it does! I tell you it does’ began Kurrell shamelessly. + </p> + <p> + The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte’s lips. Kurrell was + silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed laughed long and loudly, + rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound the mirthless mirth of + these men on the long white line of the Narkarra Road. There were no + strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity within the + Dosehri hills had driven half the European population mad. The laughter + ended abruptly, and Kurrell was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, what are you going to do?’ + </p> + <p> + Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. ‘Nothing,’ said he quietly; + ‘what’s the use? It’s too ghastly for anything. We must let the old life + go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can’t go on calling + you names for ever. Besides which, I don’t feel that I’m much better. We + can’t get out of this place. What is there to do?’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. The injured + husband took up the wondrous tale. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don’t care what + you do.’ + </p> + <p> + He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrell did + not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat in his + saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by the roadside. + </p> + <p> + The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was driving + home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stop, please,’ said Mrs. Boulte, ‘I want to speak to Ted.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting her + hand upon the splashboard of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.’ + </p> + <p> + There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man’s eyes were + fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte saw the look. + </p> + <p> + ‘Speak to him!’ she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. ‘Oh, speak + to him! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him. Tell + him you hate him!’ + </p> + <p> + She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went + forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped the + reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy explanations. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve nothing to do with it,’ she began coldly; but Mrs. Boulte’s sobs + overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. ‘I don’t know what I + am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don’t know what I can call you. I think + you’ve you’ve behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terribly + against the table.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t anything,’ said Mrs. Boulte feebly. ‘That + doesn’t matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don’t care for him. Oh, + Ted, won’t you believe her?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were that you were fond of + her once upon a time,’ went on Mrs. Vansuythen. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well!’ said Kurrell brutally. ‘It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had better + be fond of her own husband first.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stop!’ said Mrs. Vansuythen. ‘Hear me first. I don’t care I don’t want to + know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you to know that I + hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I’ll never, never speak to + you again. Oh, I don’t dare to say what I think of you, you man!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I want to speak to Ted,’ moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart rattled on, + and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath against + Mrs. Boulte. + </p> + <p> + He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, and, she + being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte’s presence, learned for + the second time her opinion of himself and his actions. + </p> + <p> + In the evenings it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform on + the Narkarra Road, to drink tea and discuss the trivialities of the day. + Major Vansuythen and his wife found themselves alone at the + gathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; and the + cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife’s remarkably reasonable suggestion + that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upon driving round to + the two bungalows and unearthing the population. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sitting in the twilight!’ said he, with great indignation, to the + Boultes. ‘That’ll never do! Hang it all, we’re one family here! You must + come out, and so must Kurrell. I’ll make him bring his banjo.’ + </p> + <p> + So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion over + guilty consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down to the banjo; + and the Major embraced the company in one expansive grin. As he grinned, + Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked at all Kashima. + Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would never know anything. He was + to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage was the Dosehri hills. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,’ said the Major + truthfully. ‘Pass me that banjo.’ + </p> + <p> + And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima + went to dinner. + </p> + <p> + That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima the life that Mrs. + Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since he insists upon + keeping up a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break her vow + of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity preserve + the semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably to keep alight + the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte’s bosom, as it awakens the + same passions in his wife’s heart. Mrs. Boulte hates Mrs. Vansuythen + because she has taken Ted from her, and, in some curious fashion, hates + her because Mrs. Vansuythen and here the wife’s eyes see far more clearly + than the husband’s detests Ted. And Ted that gallant captain and + honourable man knows now that it is possible to hate a woman once loved, + to the verge of wishing to silence her for ever with blows. Above all, is + he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her ways. + </p> + <p> + Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boulte has + put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re a blackguard,’ he says to Kurrell, ‘and I’ve lost any self-respect + I may ever have had; but when you’re with me, I can feel certain that you + are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emma miserable.’ + </p> + <p> + Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they are + away for three days together, and then the Major insists upon his wife + going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. Vansuythen has + repeatedly declared that she prefers her husband’s company to any in the + world. From the way in which she clings to him, she would certainly seem + to be speaking the truth. + </p> + <p> + But of course, as the Major says, ‘in a little Station we must all be + friendly.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HILL OF ILLUSION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What rendered vain their deep desire? + A God, a God their severance ruled, + And bade between their shores to be + The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. + —Matthew Arnold. +</pre> + <p> + He. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear. They forget I’m fresh from + the Plains. + </p> + <p> + She. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, they are + an untrained crew. Where do we go? + </p> + <p> + He. As usual to the world’s end. No, Jakko. + </p> + <p> + She. Have your pony led after you, then. It’s a long round. + </p> + <p> + He. And for the last time, thank Heaven! + </p> + <p> + She. Do you mean that still? I didn’t dare to write to you about it all + these months. + </p> + <p> + He. Mean it! I’ve been shaping my affairs to that end since Autumn. What + makes you speak as though it had occurred to you for the first time? + </p> + <p> + She. I? Oh! I don’t know. I’ve had long enough to think, too. + </p> + <p> + He. And you’ve changed your mind? + </p> + <p> + She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are your + arrangements? + </p> + <p> + He. Ours, Sweetheart, please. + </p> + <p> + She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your + forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water? + </p> + <p> + He. It’ll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are simple + enough. Tonga in the early morning reach Kalka at twelve Umballa at seven + down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and then the steamer of the 21st + for Rome. That’s my idea. The Continent and Sweden a ten-week honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + She. Ssh! Don’t talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how long + have we two been insane? + </p> + <p> + He. Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours exactly, but + I’ll think. + </p> + <p> + She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the + Blessington Road? + </p> + <p> + He. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me + everything that you’ve been doing and saying and thinking. + </p> + <p> + She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I’ve hardly + been out at all. + </p> + <p> + He. That was wrong of you. You haven’t been moping? + </p> + <p> + She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I’m disinclined for amusement? + </p> + <p> + He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? + </p> + <p> + She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I’m known here, the + wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don’t like + that. + </p> + <p> + He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. + </p> + <p> + She. You think so? + </p> + <p> + He. I’m sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to carry + us away. Ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + She. And the fun of the situation comes in where, my Lancelot? + </p> + <p> + He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. + </p> + <p> + She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women. Now I was + thinking of the scandal. + </p> + <p> + He. Don’t think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. + </p> + <p> + She. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla telegraphed over + India, and talked of at the dinners and when He goes out they will stare + at Him to see how he takes it. And we shall be dead, Guy dear dead and + cast into the outer darkness where there is— + </p> + <p> + He. Love at least. Isn’t that enough? + </p> + <p> + She. I have said so. + </p> + <p> + He. And you think so still? + </p> + <p> + She. What do you think? + </p> + <p> + He. What have I done? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons it + outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off my life’s work. I + pay my price. + </p> + <p> + She. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it. Am + I? + </p> + <p> + He. My Divinity what else? + </p> + <p> + She. A very ordinary woman, I’m afraid, but so far, respectable. How d’you + do, Mrs. Middle-ditch? Your husband? I think he’s riding down to Annandale + with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn’t it divine after the rain? Guy, how long + am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till the 17th? + </p> + <p> + He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of bringing her into the + discussion? You were saying? + </p> + <p> + She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged? + </p> + <p> + He. Yes. Once. + </p> + <p> + She. What was it for? + </p> + <p> + He. Murder, of course. + </p> + <p> + She. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt before + the drop fell. + </p> + <p> + He. I don’t think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this + evening! You’re shivering. Put on your cape, dear. + </p> + <p> + She. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and I + thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies’ Mile! Let’s turn back. + </p> + <p> + He. What’s the good? There’s a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means it’s + foggy all down the Mall. We’ll go on. It’ll blow away before we get to the + Convent, perhaps. ‘Jove! It is chilly. + </p> + <p> + She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you think + of my cape? + </p> + <p> + He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman’s dress when he is desperately + and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like everything else of + yours it’s perfect. Where did you get it from? + </p> + <p> + She. He gave it me, on Wednesday our wedding-day, you know. + </p> + <p> + He. The Deuce He did! He’s growing generous in his old age. D’you like all + that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don’t. + </p> + <p> + She. Don’t you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Kind Sir, o’ your courtesy, + As you go by the town, Sir, + ‘Pray you o’ your love for me, + Buy me a russet gown, Sir. +</pre> + <p> + He. I won’t say: ‘Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.’ Only wait a + little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and everything + else. + </p> + <p> + She. And when the frocks wear out you’ll get me new ones and everything + else? + </p> + <p> + He. Assuredly. + </p> + <p> + She. I wonder! + </p> + <p> + He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn’t spend two days and two nights in the + train to hear you wonder. I thought we’d settled all that at Shaifazehat. + </p> + <p> + She. (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That was + ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the + Amirtollah kutcha road. I don’t believe that could crumble till the Day of + Judgment. + </p> + <p> + He. You think so? What is the mood now? + </p> + <p> + She. I can’t tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly. + </p> + <p> + He. ‘Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanies and get out. What’s the + matter with you this evening, dear? + </p> + <p> + She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I’m boring you I can + go home. Here’s Captain Congleton coming, I daresay he’ll be willing to + escort me. + </p> + <p> + He. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton. + </p> + <p> + She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It jars + a little, and you might swear at me. + </p> + <p> + He. My angel! I didn’t know what I was saying; and you changed so quickly + that I couldn’t follow. I’ll apologise in dust and ashes. + </p> + <p> + She. There’ll be enough of those later on Good-night, Captain Congleton. + Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you next + week? No! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I said. + If you’ve made a mistake, I certainly don’t intend to suffer for it. You + must alter your programme. + </p> + <p> + He. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this + season? + </p> + <p> + She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances + very nicely. + </p> + <p> + He. And sit out with him, I suppose? + </p> + <p> + She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in + future? + </p> + <p> + He. What does he talk to you about? + </p> + <p> + She. What do men talk about when they sit out? + </p> + <p> + He. Ugh! Don’t! Well, now I’m up, you must dispense with the fascinating + Congleton for a while. I don’t like him. + </p> + <p> + She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said? + </p> + <p> + He ‘Can’t say that I do exactly. I’m not in the best of tempers. + </p> + <p> + She So I see, and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your ‘eternal + constancy,’ ‘unalterable trust,’ and ‘reverent devotion’? I remember those + phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a man’s name. + </p> + <p> + He. A good deal more than that. + </p> + <p> + She. Well, speak to him about a dance perhaps the last dance that I shall + ever dance in my life before I, before I go away; and you at once distrust + and insult me. + </p> + <p> + He. I never said a word. + </p> + <p> + She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our + stock to start the new life on? + </p> + <p> + He. No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. On my word and honour, I + didn’t. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass. + </p> + <p> + She. This once yes and a second time, and again and again, all through the + years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot, + and, you know too much. + </p> + <p> + He. How do you mean? + </p> + <p> + She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust + between us. + </p> + <p> + He. In Heaven’s name, why not? + </p> + <p> + She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. + </p> + <p> + He. I don’t follow. + </p> + <p> + She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man Never + mind. Guy, have you ever made love to a girl a good girl? + </p> + <p> + He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago in the Dark Ages, before I ever + met you, dear. + </p> + <p> + She. Tell me what you said to her. + </p> + <p> + He. What does a man say to a girl? I’ve forgotten. + </p> + <p> + She. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground + she walks on, and that he’ll love and honour and protect her till her + dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one + girl who was not protected. + </p> + <p> + He. Well, and then? + </p> + <p> + She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and trust + and honour yes, honour that was enough when she was only a mere wife if if + the other life she chooses to lead is to be made even bearable. Do you + understand? + </p> + <p> + He. Even bearable! It’ll be Paradise. + </p> + <p> + She. Ah! Can you give me all I’ve asked for not now, nor a few months + later, but when you begin to think of what you might have done if you had + kept your own appointment and your caste here when you begin to look upon + me as a drag and a burden? I shall want it most then, Guy, for there will + be no one in the wide world but you. + </p> + <p> + He. You’re a little over-tired to-night, Sweetheart, and you’re taking a + stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in the Courts, + the road is clear to— + </p> + <p> + She. ‘The holy state of matrimony!’ Ha! ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + He. Ssh! Don’t laugh in that horrible way! + </p> + <p> + She. I I c-c-c-can’t help it! Isn’t it too absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, + stop me quick or I shall l-l-laugh till we get to the Church. + </p> + <p> + He. For goodness sake, stop! Don’t make an exhibition of yourself. What is + the matter with you? + </p> + <p> + She. N-nothing. I’m better now. + </p> + <p> + He. That’s all right. One moment, dear. There’s a little wisp of hair got + loose from behind your right ear and it’s straggling over your cheek. So! + </p> + <p> + She. Thank’oo. I’m ‘fraid my hat’s on one side, too. + </p> + <p> + He. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? They’re big + enough to kill a man with. + </p> + <p> + She. Oh! don’t kill me, though. You’re sticking it into my head! Let me do + it. You men are so clumsy. + </p> + <p> + He. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us in this sort of work? + </p> + <p> + She. Guy, what is my name? + </p> + <p> + He. Eh! I don’t follow. + </p> + <p> + She. Here’s my card-case. Can you read? + </p> + <p> + He. Yes. Well? + </p> + <p> + She. Well, that answers your question. You know the other’s man’s name. Am + I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any one + else? + </p> + <p> + He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only + joking. There! Lucky there’s no one on the road. They’d be scandalised. + </p> + <p> + She. They’ll be more scandalised before the end. + </p> + <p> + He. Do-on’t! I don’t like you to talk in that way. + </p> + <p> + She. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and accept it? + Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty woman! Swear + I don’t! Give me your word of honour, my honourable friend, that I’m not + like Mrs. Buzgago. That’s the way she stands, with her hands clasped at + the back of her head. D’you like that? + </p> + <p> + He. Don’t be affected. + </p> + <p> + She. I’m not. I’m Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pendant une anne’ toute entiere + Le regiment n’a pas r’paru. + Au Ministere de la Guerre + On le r’porta comme perdu. + On se r’noncait—retrouver sa trace, + Quand un matin subitement, + On le vit reparaetre sur la place, + L’Colonel toujours en avant. +</pre> + <p> + That’s the way she rolls her r’s. Am I like her? + </p> + <p> + He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of that + kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It isn’t + a drawing-room song. It isn’t proper. + </p> + <p> + She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and + in another month she’ll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she + isn’t as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women and + had no scruples about What is it Keene says? ‘Wearing a corpse’s hair and + being false to the bread they eat.’ + </p> + <p> + He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very + bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods + tell me, and I’ll try to understand the last one. + </p> + <p> + She. Moods, Guy! I haven’t any. I’m sixteen years old and you’re just + twenty, and you’ve been waiting for two hours outside the school in the + cold. And now I’ve met you, and now we’re walking home together. Does that + suit you, My Imperial Majesty? + </p> + <p> + He. No. We aren’t children. Why can’t you be rational? + </p> + <p> + She. He asks me that when I’m going to commit suicide for his sake, and, + and I don’t want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever + told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I + married? He’s married now. Can’t you imagine the pleasure that the news of + the elopement will give him? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be + pleased with your performances? + </p> + <p> + He. One or two. One can’t make omelets without breaking eggs. + </p> + <p> + She (slowly). I don’t see the necessity + </p> + <p> + He. Hah! What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + She. Shall I speak the truth? + </p> + <p> + He Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. + </p> + <p> + She. Guy, I’m afraid. + </p> + <p> + He I thought we’d settled all that. What of? + </p> + <p> + She. Of you. + </p> + <p> + He. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too bad! + </p> + <p> + She. Of you. + </p> + <p> + He. And what now? + </p> + <p> + She. What do you think of me? + </p> + <p> + He. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? + </p> + <p> + She. I daren’t risk it. I’m afraid. If I could only cheat + </p> + <p> + He. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That’s the one point on which I have any + notion of Honour. I won’t eat his salt and steal too. I’ll loot openly or + not at all. + </p> + <p> + She. I never meant anything else. + </p> + <p> + He. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come? + </p> + <p> + She. It’s not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. + </p> + <p> + He. Please explain. + </p> + <p> + She. It can’t last, Guy. It can’t last. You’ll get angry, and then you’ll + swear, and then you’ll get jealous, and then you’ll mistrust me you do now + and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And I what shall I + do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out no better than any + one. And you’ll know that. Oh, Guy, can’t you see? + </p> + <p> + He I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. + </p> + <p> + She. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you do + when I am only your property stolen property? It can’t be, Guy. It can’t + be! I thought it could, but it can’t. You’ll get tired of me. + </p> + <p> + He I tell you I shall not. Won’t anything make you understand that? + </p> + <p> + She. There, can’t you see? If you speak to me like that now, you’ll call + me horrible names later, if I don’t do everything as you like. And if you + were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go? where should I go? I can’t trust + you. Oh! I can’t trust you! + </p> + <p> + He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I’ve ample reason. + </p> + <p> + She. Please don’t, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. + </p> + <p> + He. It isn’t exactly pleasant for me. + </p> + <p> + She. I can’t help it. I wish I were dead! I can’t trust you, and I don’t + trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten! + </p> + <p> + He. Too late now. I don’t understand you I won’t and I can’t trust myself + to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow? + </p> + <p> + She. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my ‘rickshaw + here and meet Him at Peliti’s. You ride. + </p> + <p> + He. I’ll go on to Peliti’s too. I think I want a drink. My world’s knocked + about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling in + the Old Library? + </p> + <p> + She. They’re rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can’t + you hear Mrs. Buzgago’s voice? She has a solo. It’s quite a new idea. + Listen! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con molt. exp.). + </p> + <p> + See-saw! Margery Daw! + </p> + <p> + Sold her bed to lie upon straw. + </p> + <p> + Wasn’t she a silly slut + </p> + <p> + To sell her bed and lie upon dirt? + </p> + <p> + Captain Congleton, I’m going to alter that to ‘flirt.’ It sounds better. + </p> + <p> + He. No, I’ve changed my mind about the drink. Good-night, little lady. I + shall see you to-morrow? + </p> + <p> + She. Ye es. Good-night, Guy. Don’t be angry with me. + </p> + <p> + He. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good-night and God bless you! + </p> + <p> + (Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I’d give something to discover whether + there’s another man at the back of all this. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SECOND-RATE WOMAN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Est fuga, volvitur rota, + On we drift: where looms the dim port? + One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota: + Something is gained if one caught but the import, + Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + —Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. +</pre> + <p> + ‘Dressed! Don’t tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood in + the middle of the room while her ayah no, her husband it must have been a + man threw her clothes at her. She then did her hair with her fingers, and + rubbed her bonnet in the flue under the bed. I know she did, as well as if + I had assisted at the orgy. Who is she?’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t!’ said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. ‘You make my head ache. I am miserable + to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for I am. Did + you bring anything from Peliti’s?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have answered + them. Who and what is the creature? There were at least half-a-dozen men + round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep in their midst.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Delville,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, “‘Shady” Delville, to distinguish her from + Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I believe, + and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if you are so + interested.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught my attention + for a minute, and I wondered at the attraction that a dowd has for a + certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out of her clothes until I + looked at her eyes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hooks and eyes, surely,’ drawled Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick + stood a crowd of men a positive crowd!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps they also expected.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Polly, don’t be Rabelaisian!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and turned her + attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house at + Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis Yeere, + which has been already recorded. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and looked down upon the Mall, her + forehead puckered with thought. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hah!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. ‘Indeed!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily. + </p> + <p> + ‘That dowd and The Dancing Master to whom I object.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate + and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should + imagine that this animal how terrible her bonnet looks from above! is + specially clingsome.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never + could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his + life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O-oh! I think I’ve met that sort of man before. And isn’t he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to be + killed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What happened then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He posed as the horror of horrors a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the + femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough but the other thing!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide in + me. How is it they come to you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect me + from men with confidences!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And yet you encourage them?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. I + know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is of the most old + possible.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, + whereas women’s confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When they go mad and babble of the Unutter-abilities after a week’s + acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a great deal more + of men than of our own sex.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say + we are trying to hide something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These + chocolates pall upon me, and I haven’t eaten more than a dozen. I think I + shall go to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then you’ll get fat, dear. If you took more exercise and a more + intelligent interest in your neighbours you would—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You’re a darling in many ways, and I + like you you are not a woman’s woman but why do you trouble yourself about + mere human beings?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, + men and women are the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, + lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd I am interested in The Dancing + Master I am interested in the Hawley Boy and I am interested in you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I’m making a good thing out of him. + When he is slightly more reformed, and has passed his Higher Standard, or + whatever the authorities think fit to exact from him, I shall select a + pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and’ here she waved her hands + airily “‘whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together let no man put asunder.” + That’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious detrimental in + Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do with + me, Dispenser of the Destinies of the Universe?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin in + hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not know,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘what I shall do with you, + dear. It’s obviously impossible to marry you to some one else your husband + would object and the experiment might not be successful after all. I think + I shall begin by preventing you from what is it? “sleeping on ale-house + benches and snoring in the sun.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t! I don’t like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the Library + and bring me new books.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘While you sleep? No! If you don’t come with me I shall spread your newest + frock on my ‘rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I am doing, I + shall say that I am going to Phelps’s to get it let out. I shall take care + that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there’s a good girl.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the Library, + where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nick-name of + The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs. Mallowe was awake and eloquent. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is the Creature!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing + out a slug in the road. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, Mr. + Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?’ answered The Dancing Master. ‘I + understood I fancied I’m so sorry How very unfortunate!’ + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. + </p> + <p> + ‘For the practised equivocator you said he was,’ murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, + ‘he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a walk + with The Dowd to tea with us? Elective affinities, I suppose both grubby. + Polly, I’d never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I forgive every woman everything,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘He will be a + sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville’s voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, + and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe + noticed over the top of a magazine. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now what is there in her?’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘Do you see what I meant + about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner than + be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, but Oh!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She doesn’t know how to use them! On my honour, she does not. Look! Oh + look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman’s a fool.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hsh! She’ll hear you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All the women in Simla are fools. She’ll think I mean some one else. Now + she’s going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The + Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they’ll ever dance + together?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait and see. I don’t envy her the conversation of The Dancing Master + loathly man! His wife ought to be up here before long?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know anything about him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred in + the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul, told me + that he repented his bargain and sent her to her as often as possible a + person who has lived in the Doon since the memory of man and goes to + Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with her at present. So + he says.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Babies?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for + it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is generally in + the wake of some girl, disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute May + Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell you. + Don’t you know that type of man?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not intimately, thank goodness! As a general rule, when a man begins to + abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer + him according to his folly; and we part with a coolness between us. I + laugh.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m different. I’ve no sense of humour.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care to + think about. A well-educated sense of humour will save a woman when + Religion, Training, and Home influences fail; and we may all need + salvation sometimes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humour?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Her dress betrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplement under her + left arm have any notion of the fitness of things much less their folly? + If she discards The Dancing Master after having once seen him dance, I may + respect her. Otherwise—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You saw the + woman at Peliti’s half an hour later you saw her walking with The Dancing + Master an hour later you met her here at the Library.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Still with The Dancing Master, remember.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that + should you imagine—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that The + Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable in + every way and she in every other. If I know the man as you have described + him, he holds his wife in slavery at present.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is twenty years younger than he.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and lied + he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made for lies he will be + rewarded according to his merits.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wonder what those really are,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, was + humming softly: ‘What shall he have who killed the Deer?’ She was a lady + of unfettered speech. + </p> + <p> + One month later she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. Delville. + Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and there + was a great peace in the land. + </p> + <p> + ‘I should go as I was,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘It would be a delicate + compliment to her style.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. + </p> + <p> + ‘Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put on + this robe, after all the others, to show her what a morning-wrapper ought + to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall go in the dove-coloured + sweet emblem of youth and innocence and shall put on my new gloves.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know that + dove-colour spots with the rain.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one + cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her + habit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Just Heavens! When did she do that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yesterday riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the back of + Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, + she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. I felt + almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? He + stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, + he said, “There’s something very taking about that face.” I rebuked him on + the spot. I don’t approve of boys being taken by faces.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Other than your own. I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if the Hawley + Boy immediately went to call.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and his wife + when she comes up. I’m rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the Delville + woman together.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly + flushed. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley Boy, as + he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble over + literally stumble over in her poky, dark little drawing-room is, of + course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then emerged + as though she had been tipped out of the dirtyclothes-basket. You know my + way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, crrrrushingly + Superior! ‘Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of nothing ‘dropped my + eyes on the carpet and “really didn’t know” ‘played with my cardcase and + “supposed so.” The Hawley Boy giggled like a girl, and I had to freeze him + with scowls between the sentences.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And she?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey the + impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the very least. It + was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose, she grunted + just like a buffalo in the water too lazy to move.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you certain?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else or her garments + were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a quarter of an + hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her surroundings were + like, while she stuck out her tongue.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lu cy!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well I’ll withdraw the tongue, though I’m sure if she didn’t do it when I + was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she lay in + a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the grunts were + meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I can’t swear to + it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are incorrigible, simply.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honour, don’t put the only + available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my lap before + Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn’t you? Do you suppose that + she communicates her views on life and love to The Dancing Master in a set + of modulated “Grmphs”?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of him. + He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a + suspiciously familiar way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be uncharitable. Any sin but that I’ll forgive.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He + entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and I + came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to lecture + him severely for going there. And that’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now for Pity’s sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master + alone. They never did you any harm.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half Simla, and + then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of God not that I wish + to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka dhurzie way He + attires those lilies of the field this Person draws the eyes of men and + some of them nice men? It’s almost enough to make one discard clothing. I + told the Hawley Boy so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And what did that sweet youth do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a distressed + cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and I shall be + calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few original + reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn’t a single + woman in the land who understands me when I am what’s the word?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tete-fele suggested Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + ‘Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are + exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says,—’ Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the + horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. + Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. + </p> + <p> + ‘“God gie us a guid conceit of oorselves,”’ said Mrs. Hauksbee piously, + returning to her natural speech. ‘Now, in any other woman that would have + been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I expect + complications.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Woman of one idea,’ said Mrs. Mallowe shortly; ‘all complications are as + old as the hills! I have lived through or near all all All!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. I + am old who was young if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big + sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze but never, no never, have + I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this business out + to the bitter end.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am going to sleep,’ said Mrs. Mallowe calmly. ‘I never interfere with + men or women unless I am compelled,’ and she retired with dignity to her + own room. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee’s curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. Bent + came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported + above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband’s side. + </p> + <p> + ‘Behold!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. ‘That is the + last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, whoever he + may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit the same + hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy do you know the Waddy? + who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the male Bent, for + which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she will eventually go + to Heaven.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be irreverent,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, ‘I like Mrs. Bent’s face.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am discussing the Waddy,’ returned Mrs. Hauksbee loftily. ‘The Waddy + will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed yes! everything + that she can, from hairpins to babies’ bottles. Such, my dear, is life in + a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about The + Dancing Master and The Dowd.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into + people’s back-bedrooms.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Anybody can look into their front drawingrooms; and remember whatever I + do, and whatever I look, I never talk as the Waddy will. Let us hope that + The Dancing Master’s greasy smile and manner of the pedagogue will soften + the heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should think + that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But what reason has she for being angry?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go? + “If in his life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face and you’ll + believe them all.” I am prepared to credit any evil of The Dancing Master, + because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly dressed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to believe + the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure of + sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with me.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing + for a dance. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am too tired to go,’ pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee left her + in peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of emphatic knocking + at her door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be very angry, dear,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘My idiot of an ayah has + gone home, and, as I hope to sleep to-night, there isn’t a soul in the + place to unlace me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, this is too bad!’ said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cant help it. I’m a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not sleep in + my stays. And such news too! Oh, do unlace me, there’s a darling! The Dowd + The Dancing Master I and the Hawley Boy You know the North verandah?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How can I do anything if you spin round like this?’ protested Mrs. + Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you + know you’ve lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the Hawley Boy + to a kala juggah.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did he want much taking?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in + the next one talking to him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Which? How? Explain.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You know what I mean The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear every + word, and we listened shamelessly ‘specially the Hawley Boy. Polly, I + quite love that woman!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘One moment. Ah h! Blessed relief. I’ve been looking forward to taking + them off for the last half-hour which is ominous at my time of life. But, + as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd drawl worse than ever. She + drops her final g’s like a barmaid or a blue-blooded Aide-de-Camp. “Look + he-ere, you’re gettin’ too fond o’ me,” she said, and The Dancing Master + owned it was so in language that nearly made me ill. The Dowd reflected + for a while. Then we heard her say, “Look he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you + such an aw-ful liar?” I nearly exploded while The Dancing Master denied + the charge. It seems that he never told her he was a married man.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I said he wouldn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And she had taken this to heart, on personal grounds, I suppose. She + drawled along for five minutes, reproaching him with his perfidy, and grew + quite motherly. “Now you’ve got a nice little wife of your own you have,” + she said. “She’s ten times too good for a fat old man like you, and, look + he-ere, you never told me a word about her, and I’ve been thinkin’ about + it a good deal, and I think you’re a liar.” Wasn’t that delicious? The + Dancing Master maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy suggested that he + should burst in and beat him. His voice runs up into an impassioned squeak + when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an extraordinary woman. She explained + that had he been a bachelor she might not have objected to his devotion; + but since he was a married man and the father of a very nice baby, she + considered him a hypocrite, and this she repeated twice. She wound up her + drawl with: “An’ I’m tellin’ you this because your wife is angry with me, + an’ I hate quarrellin’ with any other woman, an’ I like your wife. You + know how you have behaved for the last six weeks. You shouldn’t have done + it, indeed you shouldn’t. You’re too old an’ too fat.” Can’t you imagine + how The Dancing Master would wince at that! “Now go away,” she said. “I + don’t want to tell you what I think of you, because I think you are not + nice. I’ll stay he-ere till the next dance begins.” Did you think that the + creature had so much in her?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What + happened?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Dancing Master attempted blandishment, reproof, jocularity, and the + style of the Lord High Warden, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley Boy to + make him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of each sentence and, in the + end, he went away swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel. He + looked more objectionable than ever. I laughed. I love that woman in spite + of her clothes. And now I’m going to bed. What do you think of it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shan’t begin to think till the morning,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, yawning. + ‘Perhaps she spoke the truth. They do fly into it by accident sometimes.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee’s account of her eavesdropping was an ornate one, but + truthful in the main. For reasons best known to herself, Mrs. ‘Shady’ + Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from limb, casting him + away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes from him + permanently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased in that he + had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to understand that he + had, during her absence in the Doon, been the victim of unceasing + persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often + and with such eloquence that he ended in believing it, while his wife + marvelled at the manners and customs of ‘some women.’ When the situation + showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on hand to wake the + smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent’s bosom and to contribute + generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel. Mr. Bent’s life was not a + happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy’s story were true, he was, argued his wife, + untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own statement was true, his + charms of manner and conversation were so great that he needed constant + surveillance. And he received it, till he repented genuinely of his + marriage and neglected his personal appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the + hotel was unchanged. She removed her chair some six paces towards the head + of the table, and occasionally in the twilight ventured on timid overtures + of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were repulsed. + </p> + <p> + ‘She does it for my sake,’ hinted the virtuous Bent. + </p> + <p> + ‘A dangerous and designing woman,’ purred Mrs. Waddy. + </p> + <p> + Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! + </p> + <p> + ‘Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of nothing in the world except small-pox, Diphtheria kills, but it + doesn’t disfigure. Why do you ask?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside down in + consequence. The Waddy has “set her five young on the rail” and fled. The + Dancing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miserable little + woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought to be done. She wanted to put + it into a mustard bath for croup!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where did you learn all this?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The manager of the hotel is + abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abusing the manager. They are a + feckless couple.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well. What’s on your mind?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This; and I know it’s a grave thing to ask. + </p> + <p> + Would you seriously object to my bringing the child over here, with its + mother?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On the most strict understanding that we see nothing of the Dancing + Master.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you’re an angel. The woman + really is at her wits’ end.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you know nothing about her, careless, and would hold her up to public + scorn if it gave you a minute’s amusement. Therefore you risk your life + for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, I’m not the angel. I shall keep to my + rooms and avoid her. But do as you please only tell me why you do it.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee’s eyes softened; she looked out of the window and back into + Mrs. Mallowe’s face. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee simply. + </p> + <p> + ‘You dear!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Polly! and for aught you knew you might have taken my fringe off. Never + do that again without warning. Now we’ll get the rooms ready. I don’t + suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for a month.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.’ + </p> + <p> + Much to Mrs. Bent’s surprise she and the baby were brought over to the + house almost before she knew where she was. Bent was devoutly and + undisguisedly thankful, for he was afraid of the infection, and also hoped + that a few weeks in the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead to + explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown her jealousy to the winds in her fear + for her child’s life. + </p> + <p> + ‘We can give you good milk,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to her, ‘and our house is + much nearer to the Doctor’s than the hotel, and you won’t feel as though + you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy? She + seemed to be a particular friend of yours.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They’ve all left me,’ said Mrs. Bent bitterly. ‘Mrs. Waddy went first. + She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, + and I am sure it wasn’t my fault that little Dora—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How nice!’ cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘The Waddy is an infectious disease + herself “more quickly caught than the plague and the taker runs presently + mad.” I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three years ago. Now see, + you won’t give us the least trouble, and I’ve ornamented all the house + with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells comforting, doesn’t it? Remember + I’m always in call, and my ayah’s at your service when yours goes to her + meals, and and if you cry I’ll never forgive you.’ + </p> + <p> + Dora Bent occupied her mother’s unprofitable attention through the day and + the night. The Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and the + house reeked with the smell of the Condy’s Fluid, chlorine-water, and + carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms she considered + that she had made sufficient concessions in the cause of humanity and Mrs. + Hauksbee was more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in the sick-room than + the half-distraught mother. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know nothing of illness,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. ‘Only tell + me what to do, and I’ll do it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as little + to do with the nursing as you possibly can,’ said the Doctor; ‘I’d turn + her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she’d die of + anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the ayahs, + remember.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive hollows + under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent clung to + her with more than childlike faith. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know you’ll make Dora well, won’t you?’ she said at least twenty times + a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly, ‘Of course + I will.’ + </p> + <p> + But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the house. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,’ he said; ‘I’ll come + over between three and four in the morning to-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good gracious!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘He never told me what the turn would + be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I have only this foolish + mother-woman to fall back upon.’ + </p> + <p> + The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dozed in a chair by the + fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it till + she was aware of Mrs. Bent’s anxious eyes staring into her own. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wake up! Wake up! Do something!’ cried Mrs. Bent piteously. ‘Dora’s + choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was + fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairingly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She won’t stay still! I can’t hold + her. Why didn’t the Doctor say this was coming?’ screamed Mrs. Bent. + ‘Won’t you help me? She’s dying!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I I’ve never seen a child die before!’ stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, + and then let none blame her weakness after the strain of long watching she + broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs on the + threshold snored peacefully. + </p> + <p> + There was a rattle of ‘rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening + door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. + Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the room. Mrs. Hauksbee, + her hands to her ears, and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was + quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and murmuring, ‘Thank God, I + never bore a child! Oh! thank God, I never bore a child!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the + shoulders, and said quietly, ‘Get me some caustic. Be quick.’ + </p> + <p> + The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by + the side of the child and was opening its mouth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you’re killing her!’ cried Mrs. Bent. ‘Where’s the Doctor? Leave her + alone!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the + child. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you do as you + are told? The acid-bottle, if you don’t know what I mean,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face + still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs staggered sleepily + into the room, yawning: ‘Doctor Sahib come.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville turned her head. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re only just in time,’ she said. ‘It was chokin’ her when I came, an’ + I’ve burnt it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages after the + last steaming. It was the general weakness I feared,’ said the Doctor half + to himself, and he whispered as he looked, ‘You’ve done what I should have + been afraid to do without consultation.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She was dyin’,’ said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. ‘Can you do + anythin’? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it all over?’ she gasped. ‘I’m useless I’m worse than useless! What + are you doing here?’ + </p> + <p> + She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realising for the first time + who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove and + smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was at the dance, an’ the Doctor was tellin’ me about your baby bein’ + so ill. So I came away early, an’ your door was open, an’ I I lost my boy + this way six months ago, an’ I’ve been tryin’ to forget it ever since, an’ + I I I am very sorry for intrudin’ an’ anythin’ that has happened.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor’s eye with a lamp as he stooped over + Dora. + </p> + <p> + ‘Take it away,’ said the Doctor. ‘I think the child will do, thanks to + you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you’ he was + addressing himself to Mrs. Delville ‘I had not the faintest reason to + expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one of you + help me, please?’ + </p> + <p> + He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself into + Mrs. Delville’s arms, where she was weeping bitterly, and Mrs. Bent was + unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while from the tangle came the sound + of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good gracious! I’ve spoilt all your beautiful roses!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, + lifting her head from the lump of crushed gum and calico atrocities on + Mrs. Delville’s shoulder and hurrying to the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, mopping + her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. + </p> + <p> + ‘I always said she was more than a woman,’ sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee + hysterically, ‘and that proves it!’ + </p> + <p> + Six weeks later Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. + Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to reproach + herself for her collapse in an hour of need, and was even beginning to + direct the affairs of the world as before. + </p> + <p> + ‘So nobody died, and everything went off as it should, and I kissed The + Dowd, Polly. I feel so old. Does it show in my face?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Kisses don’t as a rule, do they? Of course you know what the result of + The Dowd’s providential arrival has been.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They ought to build her a statue only no sculptor dare copy those + skirts.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. ‘She has found another reward. The + Dancing Master has been smirking through Simla, giving every one to + understand that she came because of her undying love for him for him to + save his child, and all Simla naturally believes this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But Mrs. Bent—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won’t speak to The Dowd + now. Isn’t The Dancing Master an angel?’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bed-time. The doors of + the two rooms stood open. + </p> + <p> + ‘Polly,’ said a voice from the darkness, ‘what did that + American-heiress-globe-trotter girl say last season when she was tipped + out of her ‘rickshaw turning a corner? Some absurd adjective that made the + man who picked her up explode.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Paltry,”’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘Through her nose like this “Ha-ow + pahltry!”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Exactly,’ said the voice. ‘Ha-ow pahltry it all is!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Which?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and The Dancing Master, I + whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder + what the motive was all the motives.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Um!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you think?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t ask me. Go to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ONLY A SUBALTERN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + .... Not only to enforce by command, but to encourage by + example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady endurance + of the difficulties and privations inseparable from Military Service. + —Bengal Army Regulations. +</pre> + <p> + They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was a gentleman + before he was gazetted, so, when the Empress announced that + ‘Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick’ was posted as Second Lieutenant to the + Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an officer and a + gentleman, which is an enviable thing; and there was joy in the house of + Wick where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees and + offered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievements. + </p> + <p> + Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority over three + millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great works for + the good of the land, and doing his best to make two blades of grass grow + where there was but one before. Of course, nobody knew anything about this + in the little English village where he was just ‘old Mr. Wick,’ and had + forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order of the Star of India. + </p> + <p> + He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: ‘Well done, my boy!’ + </p> + <p> + There followed, while the uniform was being prepared, an interval of pure + delight, during which Bobby took brevet-rank as a ‘man’ at the + women-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village, and, I + daresay, had his joining-time been extended, would have fallen in love + with several girls at once. Little country villages at Home are very full + of nice girls, because all the young men come out to India to make their + fortunes. + </p> + <p> + ‘India,’ said Papa Wick, ‘is the place. I’ve had thirty years of it and, + begad, I’d like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters you’ll + be among friends, if every one hasn’t forgotten Wick of Chota-Buldana, and + a lot of people will be kind to you for our sakes. The mother will tell + you more about outfit than I can; but remember this. Stick to your + Regiment, Bobby stick to your Regiment. You’ll see men all round you going + into the Staff Corps, and doing every possible sort of duty but + regimental, and you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as you keep + within your allowance, and I haven’t stinted you there, stick to the Line, + the whole Line, and nothing but the Line. Be careful how you back another + young fool’s bill, and if you fall in love with a woman twenty years older + than yourself, don’t tell me about it, that’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + With these counsels, and many others equally valuable, did Papa Wick + fortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers’ + Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by the Regulations, and + the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and the + battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the slums of Longport, while + the drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the faces of the Queen’s + Officers. + </p> + <p> + Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and shaky + detachment to manuvre in ship, and the comfort of fifty scornful females + to attend to, had no time to feel home-sick till the Malabar reached + mid-Channel, when he doubled his emotions with a little guard-visiting and + a great many other matters. + </p> + <p> + The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who knew them + least said that they were eaten up with ‘side.’ But their reserve and + their internal arrangements generally were merely protective diplomacy. + Some five years before, the Colonel commanding had looked into the + fourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and juicy subalterns who had all + applied to enter the Staff Corps, and had asked them why the three stars + should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed nursery for + double-dashed bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rode + qualified mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. He was + a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures [with the + half-butt as an engine of public opinion] till the rumour went abroad that + young men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to the Staff Corps had + many and varied trials to endure. However, a regiment had just as much + right to its own secrets as a woman. + </p> + <p> + When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his’ place among the Tail + Twisters, it was gently but firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment was + his father and his mother and his indissolubly wedded wife, and that there + was no crime under the canopy of heaven blacker than that of bringing + shame on the Regiment, which was the best-shooting, best-drilled, + best-set-up, bravest, most illustrious, and in all respects most desirable + Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas. He was taught the legends + of the Mess Plate, from the great grinning Golden Gods that had come out + of the Summer Palace in Pekin to the silver-mounted markhor-horn + snuff-mull presented by the last C.O. [he who spake to the seven + subalterns]. And every one of those legends told him of battles fought at + long odds, without fear as without support; of hospitality catholic as an + Arab’s; of friendships deep as the sea and steady as the fighting-line; of + honour won by hard roads for honour’s sake; and of instant and + unquestioning devotion to the Regiment the Regiment that claims the lives + of all and lives for ever. + </p> + <p> + More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the Regimental + colours, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer’s hat on the end of + a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship them, because British + subalterns are not constructed in that manner. Indeed, he condemned them + for their weight at the very moment that they were filling with awe and + other more noble sentiments. + </p> + <p> + But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail Twisters in + review order at the breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-men and + sick, the Regiment was one thousand and eighty strong, and Bobby belonged + to them; for was he not a Subaltern of the Line the whole Line, and + nothing but the Line as the tramp of two thousand one hundred and sixty + sturdy ammunition boots attested? He would not have changed places with + Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud to a + chorus of ‘Strong right! Strong left!’ or Hogan-Yale of the White Hussars, + leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the price of horseshoes + thrown in; or ‘Tick’ Boileau, trying to live up to his fierce blue and + gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretched to a gallop in + the wake of the long, lollopping Walers of the White Hussars. + </p> + <p> + They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little thrill run + down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the empty + cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the roar of the + volleys; for he knew that he should live to hear that sound in action. The + review ended in a glorious chase across the plain batteries thundering + after cavalry to the huge disgust of the White Hussars, and the Tyneside + Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the lean lathy Singhs panted + with exhaustion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long before noon, but his + enthusiasm was merely focused not diminished. + </p> + <p> + He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his ‘skipper,’ that is to say, + the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art and + mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession of + Arms. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you haven’t a taste that way,’ said Revere between his puffs of his + cheroot, ‘you’ll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember, Bobby, + ‘t isn’t the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, that hauls a + Regiment through Hell and out on the other side. It’s the man who knows + how to handle men goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dormer, for instance,’ said Bobby, ‘I think he comes under the head of + fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn’t a fool yet, but + he’s a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his socks + before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes into a + corner and growls.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How do you know?’ said Bobby admiringly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because a Company commander has to know these things because, if he does + not know, he may have crime ay, murder brewing under his very nose and yet + not see that it’s there. Dormer is being badgered out of his mind big as + he is and he hasn’t intellect enough to resent it. He’s taken to quiet + boozing, and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the drink, or takes + to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull him out of himself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What measures? ‘Man can’t run round coddling his men for ever.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You’ve + got to—’ + </p> + <p> + Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby reflected for a + while as Revere looked through the Company forms. + </p> + <p> + ‘Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?’ Bobby asked with the air of one + continuing an interrupted conversation. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, sir. Does ‘is dooty like a hortomato,’ said the Sergeant, who + delighted in long words. ‘A dirty soldier and ‘e’s under full stoppages + for new kit. It’s covered with scales, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Scales? What scales?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Fish-scales, sir. ‘E’s always pokin’ in the mud by the river an’ + a-cleanin’ them muchly-fish with ‘is thumbs.’ Revere was still absorbed in + the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby, + continued, ‘’E generally goes down there when ‘e’s got ‘is skinful, + beggin’ your pardon, sir, an’ they do say that the more lush in-he-briated + ‘e is, the more fish ‘e catches. They call ‘im the Looney Fishmonger in + the Comp’ny, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a filthy amusement,’ sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to Revere: + ‘Are you really worried about Dormer?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A little. You see he’s never mad enough to send to hospital, or drunk + enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, brooding and sulking + as he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and the only time + I took him out shooting he all but shot me by accident.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I fish,’ said Bobby with a wry face. ‘I hire a country-boat and go down + the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with me if + you can spare us both.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You blazing young fool!’ said Revere, but his heart was full of much more + pleasant words. + </p> + <p> + Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, dropped down + the river on Thursday morning the Private at the bow, the Subaltern at the + helm. The Private glared uneasily at the Subaltern, who respected the + reserve of the Private. + </p> + <p> + After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said ‘Beg y’ + pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh’m Canal?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Bobby Wick. ‘Come and have some tiffin.’ + </p> + <p> + They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke forth, + speaking to himself, + </p> + <p> + ‘Hi was on the Durh’m Canal, jes’ such a night, come next week twelve + month, a-trailin’ of my toes in the water.’ He smoked and said no more + till bedtime. + </p> + <p> + The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river-reaches to purple, gold, + and opal; and it was as though the lumbering dhoni crept across the + splendours of a new heaven. + </p> + <p> + Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glory + below and around. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well damn my eyes!’ said Private Dormer in an awed whisper. ‘This ‘ere is + like a bloomin’ gallantry-show!’ For the rest of the day he was dumb, but + achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the cleaning of big fish. + </p> + <p> + The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling with + speech since noon. As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, he + found tongue. + </p> + <p> + ‘Beg y’ pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘but would you would you min’ shakin’ ‘ands + with me, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course not,’ said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returned to + barracks and Bobby to mess. + </p> + <p> + ‘He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,’ said Bobby. ‘My + aunt, but he’s a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean them + muchly-fish with ‘is thumbs”?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Anyhow,’ said Revere three weeks later, ‘he’s doing his best to keep his + things clean.’ + </p> + <p> + When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill leave, + and to his surprise and delight secured three months. + </p> + <p> + ‘As good a boy as I want,’ said Revere the admiring skipper. + </p> + <p> + ‘The best of the batch,’ said the Adjutant to the Colonel. ‘Keep back that + young skrim-shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.’ + </p> + <p> + So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of gorgeous + raiment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Son of Wick old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,’ said the + aged men. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a nice boy!’ said the matrons and the maids. + </p> + <p> + ‘First-class place, Simla. Oh, ripping!’ said Bobby Wick, and ordered new + white cord breeches on the strength of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re in a bad way,’ wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two months. + ‘Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten with + it two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells drinking to keep off + fever and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the outside. + There’s rather more sickness in the out-villages than I care for, but then + I’m so blistered with prickly-heat that I’m ready to hang myself. What’s + the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Not serious, I hope? + You’re over-young to hang millstones round your neck, and the Colonel will + turf you out of that in double-quick time if you attempt it.’ + </p> + <p> + It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a + much-more-to-be-respected Commandant. The sickness in the out-villages + spread, the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came the news that the + Tail Twisters must go into camp. The message flashed to the Hill stations. + ‘Cholera Leave stopped Officers recalled.’ Alas for the white gloves in + the neatly-soldered boxes, the rides and the dances and picnics that were + to be, the loves half spoken, and the debts unpaid! Without demur and + without question, fast as tonga could fly or pony gallop, back to their + Regiments and their Batteries, as though they were hastening to their + weddings, fled the subalterns. + </p> + <p> + Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodge + where he had But only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said, or how + many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morning saw + Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the last + waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due neither to wine nor + waltzing in his brain. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good man!’ shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the mist. ‘Whar + you raise dat tonga? I’m coming with you. Ow! But I’ve a head and a half. + I didn’t sit out all night. They say the Battery’s awful bad,’ and he + hummed dolorously, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Leave the what at the what’s-its-name, + Leave the flock without shelter, + Leave the corpse uninterred, + Leave the bride at the altar! +</pre> + <p> + ‘My faith! It’ll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. + Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachwan!’ + </p> + <p> + On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing the + latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby + learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters. + </p> + <p> + ‘They went into camp,’ said an elderly Major recalled from the + whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, ‘they went into + camp with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred and ten fever + cases only, and the balance looking like so many ghosts with sore eyes. A + Madras Regiment could have walked through ‘em.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!’ said Bobby. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then you’d better make them as fit as bedamned when you rejoin,’ said the + Major brutally. + </p> + <p> + Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed window-pane as the + train lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the + Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her contingent with all + speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie Road staggered into + Pathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their strength; while from cloudy + Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up the last straggler of the little + army that was to fight a fight in which was neither medal nor honour for + the winning, against an enemy none other than ‘the sickness that + destroyeth in the noonday.’ + </p> + <p> + And as each man reported himself, he said: ‘This is a bad business,’ and + went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in the + cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them company. + </p> + <p> + Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters’ temporary + mess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy’s neck for the joy of seeing + that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. + </p> + <p> + ‘Keep’ em amused and interested,’ said Revere. ‘They went on the drink, + poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh, + it’s good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a never mind.’ + </p> + <p> + Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary mess dinner, + and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over the condition + of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as to insinuate that + the presence of the officers could do no earthly good, and that the best + thing would be to send the entire Regiment into hospital and ‘let the + doctors look after them.’ Porkiss was demoralised with fear, nor was his + peace of mind restored when Revere said coldly: ‘Oh! The sooner you go out + the better, if that’s your way of thinking. Any public school could send + us fifty good men in your place, but it takes time, time, Porkiss, and + money, and a certain amount of trouble, to make a Regiment. ‘S’pose you’re + the person we go into camp for, eh?’ + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which a + drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted this + world for another where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for the + weaknesses of the flesh. The Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily + across the Sergeants’ Mess tent when the news was announced. + </p> + <p> + ‘There goes the worst of them,’ he said. ‘It’ll take the best, and then, + please God, it’ll stop.’ The Sergeants were silent till one said: ‘It + couldn’t be him!’ and all knew of whom Travis was thinking. + </p> + <p> + Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Company, rallying, rebuking, + mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing the faint-hearted; + haling the sound into the watery sunlight when there was a break in the + weather, and bidding them be of good cheer for their trouble was nearly at + an end; scuttling on his dun pony round the outskirts of the camp, and + heading back men who, with the innate perversity of British soldiers, were + always wandering into infected villages, or drinking deeply from + rain-flooded marshes; comforting the panic-stricken with rude speech, and + more than once tending the dying who had no friends the men without + ‘townies’; organising, with banjos and burnt cork, Sing-songs which should + allow the talent of the Regiment full play; and generally, as he + explained, ‘playing the giddy garden-goat all round.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re worth half-a-dozen of us, Bobby,’ said Revere in a moment of + enthusiasm. ‘How the devil do you keep it up?’ + </p> + <p> + Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the breast-pocket of his + coat he might have seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters which + perhaps accounted for the power that possessed the boy. A letter came to + Bobby every other day. The spelling was not above reproach, but the + sentiments must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby’s eyes + softened marvellously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstraction + for a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work. + </p> + <p> + By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and the Tail + Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was a mystery + to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimental chaplain that + Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospital tents than the + Reverend John Emery. + </p> + <p> + ‘The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?’ said the + Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with a + hardness that did not cover his bitter grief. + </p> + <p> + ‘A little, sir,’ said Bobby. + </p> + <p> + ‘Shouldn’t go there too often if I were you. They say it’s not contagious, + but there’s no use in running unnecessary risks. We can’t afford to have + you down, y’know.’ + </p> + <p> + Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner + plashed his way out to the camp with the mail-bags, for the rain was + falling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent, + and, the programme for the next week’s Sing-song being satisfactorily + disposed of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiled + over the paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level, + Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to + letter-writing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Beg y’ pardon, sir,’ said a voice at the tent door; ‘but Dormer’s ‘orrid + bad, sir, an’ they’ve taken him orf, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Damn Private Dormer and you too!’ said Bobby Wick, running the blotter + over the half-finished letter. ‘Tell him I’ll come in the morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’E’s awful bad, sir,’ said the voice hesitatingly. There was an undecided + squelching of heavy boots. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well?’ said Bobby impatiently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Excusin’ ‘imself before ‘and for takin’ the liberty, ‘e says it would be + a comfort for to assist ‘im, sir, if—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I’m ready. + What blasted nuisances you are! That’s brandy. Drink some; you want it. + Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.’ + </p> + <p> + Strengthened by a four-finger ‘nip’ which he swallowed without a wink, the + Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and very + disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent. + </p> + <p> + Private Dormer was certainly ‘’orrid bad.’ He had all but reached the + stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s this, Dormer?’ said Bobby, bending over the man. ‘You’re not going + out this time. You’ve got to come fishing with me once or twice more yet.’ + </p> + <p> + The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, ‘Beg y’ pardon, + sir, disturbin’ of you now, but would you min’ ‘oldin’ my ‘and, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on his own + like a vice, forcing a lady’s ring which was on the little finger deep + into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping from the + hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the hand did not + relax, nor did the expression of the drawn face change. Bobby with + infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with the left hand, his right arm was + numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a night of pain. + </p> + <p> + Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a sick + man’s cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit for + publication. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you been here all night, you young ass?’ said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + ‘There or thereabouts,’ said Bobby ruefully. ‘He’s frozen on to me.’ + </p> + <p> + Dormer’s mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The + clinging hand opened, and Bobby’s arm fell useless at his side. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’ll do,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘It must have been a toss-up all + through the night. ‘Think you’re to be congratulated on this case.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, bosh!’ said Bobby. ‘I thought the man had gone out long ago only only + I didn’t care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, there’s a good chap. + What a grip the brute has! I’m chilled to the marrow!’ He passed out of + the tent shivering. + </p> + <p> + Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strong + waters. Four days later he sat on the side of his cot and said to the + patients mildly: ‘I’d ‘a’ liken to ‘a’ spoken to ‘im so I should.’ + </p> + <p> + But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter he had the most + persistent correspondent of any man in camp and was even then about to + write that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outside + would be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man’s + hand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affection + he dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustrated + programme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a little proud. + He also intended to write on many other matters which do not concern us, + and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish headache + which made him dull and unresponsive at mess. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are overdoing it, Bobby,’ said his skipper. ‘Might give the rest of + us credit of doing a little work. You go on as if you were the whole Mess + rolled into one. Take it easy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will,’ said Bobby. ‘I’m feeling done up, somehow.’ Revere looked at him + anxiously and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp that night, and a rumour + that brought men out of their cots to the tent doors, a paddling of the + naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a galloping horse. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wot’s up?’ asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the answer + ‘Wick, ‘e’s down.’ + </p> + <p> + They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. ‘Any one but Bobby and I + shouldn’t have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not going out this journey,’ gasped Bobby, as he was lifted from the + doolie. ‘Not going out this journey.’ Then with an air of supreme + conviction ‘I can’t, you see.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not if I can do anything!’ said the Surgeon-Major, who had hastened over + from the mess where he had been dining. + </p> + <p> + He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with Death for the life of + Bobby Wick. Their work was interrupted by a hairy apparition in a bluegray + dressing-gown who stared in horror at the bed and cried ‘Oh, my Gawd! It + can’t be ‘im!’ until an indignant Hospital Orderly whisked him away. + </p> + <p> + If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby would have + been saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, and the + Surgeon-Major’s brow uncreased. ‘We’ll save him yet,’ he said; and the + Surgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful + heart, went out upon the word and pranced joyously in the mud. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not going out this journey,’ whispered Bobby Wick gallantly, at the end + of the third day. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bravo!’ said the Surgeon-Major. ‘That’s the way to look at it, Bobby.’ + </p> + <p> + As evening fell a gray shade gathered round Bobby’s mouth, and he turned + his face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m awfully tired,’ said Bobby, very faintly. ‘What’s the use of + bothering me with medicine? I don’t want it. Let me alone.’ + </p> + <p> + The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away on + the easy tide of Death. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no good,’ said the Surgeon-Major. ‘He doesn’t want to live. He’s + meeting it, poor child.’ And he blew his nose. + </p> + <p> + Half a mile away the regimental band was playing the overture to the + Sing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The + clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby’s ears. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Is there a single joy or pain, + That I should never kno-ow? + You do not love me, ‘tis in vain, + Bid me good-bye and go! +</pre> + <p> + An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy’s face, and he tried + to shake his head. + </p> + <p> + The Surgeon-Major bent down ‘What is it, Bobby?’ ‘Not that waltz,’ + muttered Bobby. ‘That’s our own our very ownest own. Mummy dear.’ + </p> + <p> + With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next + morning. + </p> + <p> + Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into + Bobby’s tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white + head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of his + life. Bobby’s little store of papers lay in confusion on the table, and + among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: ‘So you see, + darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you care for + me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.’ + </p> + <p> + Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out his eyes were + redder than ever. + </p> + <p> + Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not + unfamiliar tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been + tenderly treated. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ho!’ said Private Conklin. ‘There’s another bloomin’ orf’cer da ed.’ + </p> + <p> + The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of + sparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deep + disfavour. + </p> + <p> + ‘You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf’cer? Bloomin’ orf’cer? + I’ll learn you to misname the likes of ‘im. Hangel! Bloomin’ Hangel! + That’s wot’e is!’ + </p> + <p> + And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the + punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier’s life for me! Shout, boys, shout! for it + makes you jolly and free. + —The Ramrod Corps. +</pre> + <p> + PEOPLE who have seen, say that one of the quaintest spectacles of human + frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls’ school. It starts without + warning, generally on a hot afternoon among the elder pupils. A girl + giggles till the giggle gets beyond control. Then she throws up her head, + and cries, “Honk, honk, honk,” like a wild goose, and tears mix with the + laughter. If the mistress be wise she will rap out something severe at + this point and check matters. If she be tender-hearted, and send for a + drink of water, the chances are largely in favor of another girl laughing + at the afflicted one and herself collapsing. Thus the trouble spreads, and + may end in half of what answers to the Lower Sixth of a boys’ school + rocking and whooping together. Given a week of warm weather, two stately + promenades per diem, a heavy mutton and rice meal in the middle of the + day, a certain amount of nagging from the teachers, and a few other + things, some amazing effects develop. At least this is what folk say who + have had experience. + </p> + <p> + Now, the Mother Superior of a Convent and the Colonel of a British + Infantry Regiment would be justly shocked at any comparison being made + between their respective charges. But it is a fact that, under certain + circumstances, Thomas in bulk can be worked up into ditthering, rippling + hysteria. He does not weep, but he shows his trouble unmistakably, and the + consequences get into the newspapers, and all the good people who hardly + know a Martini from a Snider say: “Take away the brute’s ammunition!” + </p> + <p> + Thomas isn’t a brute, and his business, which is to look after the + virtuous people, demands that he shall have his ammunition to his hand. He + doesn’t wear silk stockings, and he really ought to be supplied with a new + Adjective to help him to express his opinions; but, for all that, he is a + great man. If you call him “the heroic defender of the national honor” one + day, and “a brutal and licentious soldiery” the next, you naturally + bewilder him, and he looks upon you with suspicion. There is nobody to + speak for Thomas except people who have theories to work off on him; and + nobody understands Thomas except Thomas, and he does not always know what + is the matter with himself. + </p> + <p> + That is the prologue. This is the story: + </p> + <p> + Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to Miss Jhansi M’Kenna, whose + history is well known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had his Colonel’s + permission, and, being popular with the men, every arrangement had been + made to give the wedding what Private Ortheris called “eeklar.” It fell in + the heart of the hot weather, and, after the wedding, Slane was going up + to the Hills with the Bride. None the less, Slane’s grievance was that the + affair would be only a hired-carriage wedding, and he felt that the + “eeklar” of that was meagre. Miss M’Kenna did not care so much. The + Sergeant’s wife was helping her to make her wedding-dress, and she was + very busy. Slane was, just then, the only moderately contented man in + barracks. All the rest were more or less miserable. + </p> + <p> + And they had so much to make them happy, too. All their work was over at + eight in the morning, and for the rest of the day they could lie on their + backs and smoke Canteen-plug and swear at the punkah-coolies. They enjoyed + a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and then threw + themselves down on their cots and sweated and slept till it was cool + enough to go out with their “towny,” whose vocabulary contained less than + six hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose views on every conceivable + question they had heard many times before. + </p> + <p> + There was the Canteen, of course, and there was the Temperance Room with + the second-hand papers in it; but a man of any profession cannot read for + eight hours a day in a temperature of 96 degrees or 98 degrees in the + shade, running up sometimes to 103 degrees at midnight. Very few men, even + though they get a pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and hide it under + their cots, can continue drinking for six hours a day. One man tried, but + he died, and nearly the whole regiment went to his funeral because it gave + them something to do. It was too early for the excitement of fever or + cholera. The men could only wait and wait and wait, and watch the shadow + of the barrack creeping across the blinding white dust. That was a gay + life. + </p> + <p> + They lounged about cantonments-it was too hot for any sort of game, and + almost too hot for vice-and fuddled themselves in the evening, and filled + themselves to distension with the healthy nitrogenous food provided for + them, and the more they stoked the less exercise they took and more + explosive they grew. Then tempers began to wear away, and men fell + a-brooding over insults real or imaginary, for they had nothing else to + think of. The tone of the repartees changed, and instead of saying + light-heartedly: “I’ll knock your silly face in,” men grew laboriously + polite and hinted that the cantonments were not big enough for themselves + and their enemy, and that there would be more space for one of the two in + another place. + </p> + <p> + It may have been the Devil who arranged the thing, but the fact of the + case is that Losson had for a long time been worrying Simmons in an + aimless way. It gave him occupation. The two had their cots side by side, + and would sometimes spend a long afternoon swearing at each other; but + Simmons was afraid of Losson and dared not challenge him to a fight. He + thought over the words in the hot still nights, and half the hate he felt + toward Losson be vented on the wretched punkahcoolie. + </p> + <p> + Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put it into a little cage, and + lowered the cage into the cool darkness of a well, and sat on the + well-curb, shouting bad language down to the parrot. He taught it to say: + “Simmons, ye so-oor,” which means swine, and several other things entirely + unfit for publication. He was a big gross man, and he shook like a jelly + when the parrot had the sentence correctly. Simmons, however, shook with + rage, for all the room were laughing at him—the parrot was such a + disreputable puff of green feathers and it looked so human when it + chattered. Losson used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on the side of the + cot, and ask the parrot what it thought of Simmons. The parrot would + answer: “Simmons, ye so-oor.” “Good boy,” Losson used to say, scratching + the parrot’s head; “ye ‘ear that, Sim?” And Simmons used to turn over on + his stomach and make answer: “I ‘ear. Take ‘eed you don’t ‘ear something + one of these days.” + </p> + <p> + In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind + rage came upon Simmonr and held him till he trembled all over, while he + thought in how many different ways he would slay Losson. Sometimes he + would picture himself trampling the life out of the man, with heavy + ammunition-boots, and at others smashing in his face with the butt, and at + others jumping on his shoulders and dragging the head back till the + neckbone cracked. Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered, and he would + reach out for another sup of the beer in the pannikin. + </p> + <p> + But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with him longest + was one connected with the great roll of fat under Losson’s right ear. He + noticed it first on a moonlight night, and thereafter it was always before + his eyes. It was a fascinating roll of fat. A man could get his hand upon + it and tear away one side of the neck; or he could place the muzzle of a + rifle on it and blow away all the head in a flash. Losson had no right to + be sleek and contented and well-to-do, when he, Simmons, was the butt of + the room, Some day, perhaps, he would show those who laughed at the + “Simmons, ye so-oor” joke, that he was as good as the rest, and held a + man’s life in the crook of his forefinger. When Losson snored, Simmons + hated him more bitterly than ever. Why should Losson be able to sleep when + Simmons had to stay awake hour after hour, tossing and turning on the + tapes, with the dull liver pain gnawing into his right side and his head + throbbing and aching after Canteen? He thought over this for many nights, + and the world became unprofitable to him. He even blunted his naturally + fine appetite with beer and tobacco; and all the while the parrot talked + at and made a mock of him. + </p> + <p> + The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than before. A + Sergeant’s wife died of heat—apoplexy in the night, and the rumor + ran abroad that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly, hoping that it would + spread and send them into camp. But that was a false alarm. + </p> + <p> + It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the deep + double verandas for “Last Posts,” when Simmons went to the box at the foot + of his bed, took out his pipe, and slammed the lid down with a bang that + echoed through the deserted barrack like the crack of a rifle. Ordinarily + speaking, the men would have taken no notice; but their nerves were + fretted to fiddle-strings. They jumped up, and three or four clattered + into the barrack-room only to find Simmons kneeling by his box. + </p> + <p> + “Owl It’s you, is it?” they said and laughed foolishly. “We thought ‘twas”— + </p> + <p> + Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his fellows, what would + not the reality do? + </p> + <p> + “You thought it was—did you? And what makes you think?” he said, + lashing himself into madness as he went on; “to Hell with your thinking, + ye dirty spies.” + </p> + <p> + “Simmons, ye so-oor,” chuckled the parrot in the veranda, sleepily, + recognizing a well-known voice. Now that was absolutely all. + </p> + <p> + The tension snapped. Simmons fell back on the arm-rack deliberately,—the + men were at the far end of the room,—and took out his rifle and + packet of ammunition. “Don’t go playing the goat, Sim!” said Losson. “Put + it down,” but there was a quaver in his voice. Another man stooped, + slipped his boot and hurled it at Simmon’s head. The prompt answer was a + shot which, fired at random, found its billet in Losson’s throat. Losson + fell forward without a word, and the others scattered. + </p> + <p> + “You thought it was!” yelled Simmons. “You’re drivin’ me to it! I tell you + you’re drivin’ me to it! Get up, Losson, an’ don’t lie shammin’ there-you + an’ your blasted parrit that druv me to it!” + </p> + <p> + But there was an unaffected reality about Losson’s pose that showed + Simmons what he had done. The men were still clamoring on the veranda. + Simmons appropriated two more packets of ammunition and ran into the + moonlight, muttering: “I’ll make a night of it. Thirty roun’s, an’ the + last for myself. Take you that, you dogs!” + </p> + <p> + He dropped on one knee and fired into the brown of the men on the veranda, + but the bullet flew high, and landed in the brickwork with a vicious phant + that made some of the younger ones turn pale. It is, as musketry theorists + observe, one thing to fire and another to be fired at. + </p> + <p> + Then the instinct of the chase flared up. The news spread from barrack to + barrack, and the men doubled out intent on the capture of Simmons, the + wild beast, who was heading for the Cavalry parade-ground, stopping now + and again to send back a shot and a Lurse in the direction of his + pursuers. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll learn you to spy on me!” he shouted; “I’ll learn you to give me + dorg’s names! Come on the ‘ole lot O’ you! Colonel John Anthony Deever, + C.B.!”—he turned toward the Infantry Mess and shook his rifle—“you + think yourself the devil of a man—but I tell ‘jou that if you Put + your ugly old carcass outside O’ that door, I’ll make you the + poorest-lookin’ man in the army. Come out, Colonel John Anthony Deever, + C.B.! Come out and see me practiss on the rainge. I’m the crack shot of + the ‘ole bloomin’ battalion.” In proof of which statement Simmons fired at + the lighted windows of the mess-house. + </p> + <p> + “Private Simmons, E Comp’ny, on the Cavalry p’rade-ground, Sir, with + thirty rounds,” said a Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. “Shootin’ + right and lef’, Sir. Shot Private Losson. What’s to be done, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B., sallied out, only to be saluted by a + spurt of dust at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Pull up!” said the Second in Command; “I don’t want my step in that way, + Colonel. He’s as dangerous as a mad dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Shoot him like one, then,” said the Colonel, bitterly, “if he won’t take + his chance. My regiment, too! If it had been the Towheads I could have + understood.” + </p> + <p> + Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the edge of + the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come on. The regiment + was not anxious to comply, for there is small honor in being shot by a + fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane, rifle in band, threw himself down on + the ground, and wormed his way toward the well. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shoot,” said he to the men round him; “like as not you’ll hit me. + I’ll catch the beggar, livin’.” + </p> + <p> + Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noise of trap-wheels could be + heard across the plain. Major Oldyne Commanding the Horse Battery, was + coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his usual + custom—that is to say, as fast as the horse could go. + </p> + <p> + “A orf’cer! A blooming spangled orf’cer,” shrieked Simmons; “I’ll make a + scarecrow of that orf’cer!” The trap stopped. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this?” demanded the Major of Gunners. “You there, drop your + rifle.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s Jerry Blazes! I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. + Pass frien’, an’ all’s well!” + </p> + <p> + But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous + murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, without + knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for Jerry Blazes, + it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each time the + Battery went out. + </p> + <p> + He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and knocking + him down. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t make me do it, Sir,” said Simmons; “I ain’t got nothing agin you. + Ah! you would?”—the Major broke into a run—“Take that then!” + </p> + <p> + The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood + over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired + way: hut here was a helpless body to his hand. Should be slip in another + cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white + face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of the + parade-ground: “He’s killed Jerry Blazes!” But in the shelter of the + well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. “I’ll + blow yer ‘andsome ‘ead off, Jerry Blazes,” said Simmons, reflectively. + “Six an’ three is nine an one is ten, an’ that leaves me another nineteen, + an’ one for myself.” He tugged at the string of the second packet of + ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank into the + moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “I see you!” said Simmons. “Come a bit furder on an’ I’ll do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m comm’,” said Corporal Slane, briefly; “you’ve done a bad day’s work, + Sim. Come out ‘ere an’ come back with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to,”—laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. + “Not before I’ve settled you an’ Jerry Blazes.” + </p> + <p> + The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade-ground, a + rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men in the distance shouted: + “Shoot ‘im! Shoot ‘im, Slane!” + </p> + <p> + “You move ‘and or foot, Slane,” said Simmons, “an’ I’ll kick Jerry Blazes’ + ‘ead in, and shoot you after.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain’t movin’,” said the Corporal, raising his head; “you daren’t ‘it a + man on ‘is legs. Let go O’ Jerry Blazes an’ come out O’ that with your + fistes. Come an’ ‘it me. You daren’t, you bloomin’ dog-shooter!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin’, Sheeny butcher, you lie. See + there!” Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril of his + life. “Come on, now!” + </p> + <p> + The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the Corporal in his + white clothes offered a perfect mark. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t misname me,” shouted Simmons, firing as he spoke. The shot missed, + and the shooter, blind with rage, threw his rifle down and rushed at Slane + from the protection of the well. Within striking distance, he kicked + savagely at Slane’s stomach, but the weedy Corporal knew something of + Simmons’s weakness, and knew, too, the deadly guard for that kick. Bowing + forward and drawing up his right leg till the heel of the right foot was + set some three inches above the inside of the left knee-cap, he met the + blow standing on one leg—exactly as Gonds stand when they meditate—and + ready for the fall that would follow. There was an oath, the Corporal fell + over his own left as shinbone met shinbone, and the Private collapsed, his + right leg broken an inch above the ankle. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pity you don’t know that guard, Sim,” said Slane, spitting out the dust + as he rose. Then raising his voice—“Come an’ take him orf. I’ve bruk + ‘is leg.” This was not strictly true, for the Private had accomplished his + own downfall, since it is the special merit of that leg-guard that the + harder the kick the greater the kicker’s discomfiture. + </p> + <p> + Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him with ostentatious anxiety, + while Simmons, weeping with pain, was carried away. “‘Ope you ain’t ‘urt + badly, Sir,” said Slane. The Major had fainted, and there was an ugly, + ragged hole through the top of his arm. Slane knelt down and murmured. + “S’elp me, I believe ‘e’s dead. Well, if that ain’t my blooming luck all + over!” + </p> + <p> + But the Major was destined to lead his Battery afield for many a long day + with unshaken nerve. He was removed, and nursed and petted into + convalescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom of capturing + Simmons, and blowing him from a gun. They idolized their Major, and his + reappearance on parade brought about a scene nowhere provided for in the + Army Regulations. + </p> + <p> + Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane’s share. The Gunners would + have made him drunk thrice a day for at least a fortnight. Even the + Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his coolness, and the + local paper called him a hero. These things did not puff him up. When the + Major offered him money and thanks, the virtuous Corporal took the one and + put aside the other. But he had a request to make and prefaced it with + many a “Beg y’pardon, Sir.” Could the Major see his way to letting the + Slane M’Kenna wedding be adorned by the presence of four Battery horses to + pull a hired barouche? The Major could, and so could the Battery. + Excessively so. It was a gorgeous wedding. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Wot did I do it for?” said Corporal Slane. “For the ‘orses O’ course. + Jhansi ain’t a beauty to look at, but I wasn’t goin’ to ‘ave a hired + turn-out. Jerry Blazes? If I ‘adn’t ‘a’ wanted something, Sim might ha’ + blowed Jerry Blazes’ blooming ‘ead into Hirish stew for aught I’d ‘a’ + cared.” + </p> + <p> + And they hanged Private Simmons-hanged him as high as Haman in hollow + square of the regiment; and the Colonel said it was Drink; and the + Chaplain was sure it was the Devil; and Simmons fancied it was both, but + he didn’t know, and only hoped his fate would be a warning to his + companions; and half a dozen “intelligent publicists” wrote six beautiful + leading articles on “‘The Prevalence of Crime in the Army.” + </p> + <p> + But not a soul thought of comparing the “bloody-minded Simmons” to the + squawking, gaping schoolgirl with which this story opens. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field + ring with their importunate chink while thousands of great cattle, + reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and + are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are + the only inhabitants of the field-that, of course, they are many in + number or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, + meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the + hour.” —Burke: “Reflections on the Revolution in France.” + </pre> + <p> + THEY were sitting in the veranda of “the splendid palace of an Indian + Pro-Consul”; surrounded by all the glory and mystery of the immemorial + East. In plain English it was a one-storied, ten-roomed, whitewashed, + mud-roofed bungalow, set in a dry garden of dusty tamarisk trees and + divided from the road by a low mud wall. The green parrots screamed + overhead as they flew in battalions to the river for their morning drink. + Beyond the wall, clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and goats of + the city were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white light of the + winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and improved + nothing, from the whining Peisian-wheel by the lawn-tennis court to the + long perspective of level road and the blue, domed tombs of Mohammedan + saints just visible above the trees. + </p> + <p> + “A Happy New Year,” said Orde to his guest. “It’s the first you’ve ever + spent out of England, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. ‘Happy New Year,” said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. “What a + divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown cold fog hanging + over London now!” And he rubbed his hands. + </p> + <p> + It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his schoolmate, + and their paths in the world had divided early. The one had quitted + college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of the great Indian + Government; the other more blessed with goods, had been whirled into a + similar position in the English scheme. Three successive elections had not + affected Pagett’s position with a loyal constituency, and he had grown + insensibly to regard himself in some sort as a pillar of the Empire, whose + real worth would be known later on. After a few years of conscientious + attendance at many divisions, after newspaper battles innumerable and the + publication of interminable correspondence, and more hasty oratory than in + his calmer moments he cared to think upon, it occurred to him, as it had + occurred to many of his fellows in Parliament, that a tour to India would + enable him to sweep a larger lyre and address himself to the problems of + Imperial administration with a firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a + general invitation extended to him by Orde some years before, Pagett had + taken ship to Karachi, and only over-night had been received with joy by + the Deputy-Commissioner of Amara. They had sat late, discussing the + changes and chances of twenty years, recalling the names of the dead, and + weighing the futures of the living, as is the custom of men meeting after + intervals of action. + </p> + <p> + Next morning they smoked the after breakfast pipe in the veranda, still + regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey frock-coat and + garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried sun-hat + carefully and wonderfully made. Orde in a shooting coat, riding breeches, + brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax helmet. He had ridden + some miles in the early morning to inspect a doubtful river dam. The men’s + faces differed as much as their attire. Orde’s worn and wrinkled around + the eyes, and grizzled at the temples, was the harder and more square of + the two, and it was with something like envy that the owner looked at the + comfortable outlines of Pagett’s blandly receptive countenance, the clear + skin, the untroubled eye, and the mobile, clean-shaved lips. + </p> + <p> + “And this is India!” said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long and + intently at the grey feathering of the tamarisks. + </p> + <p> + “One portion of India only. It’s very much like this for 300 miles in + every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little—I + wouldn’t ask the old question before—what d’you think of the + country?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired + several pounds of your country coming up from Karachi. The air is heavy + with it, and for miles and miles along that distressful eternity of rail + there’s no horizon to show where air and earth separate.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It isn’t easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent + passage out, hadn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Very good on the whole. Your Anglo-Indian may be unsympathetic about + one’s political views; but he has reduced ship life to a science.” + </p> + <p> + “The Anglo-Indian is a political orphan, and if he’s wise he won’t be in a + hurry to be adopted by your party grandmothers. But how were your + companions, unsympathetic?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there was a man called Dawlishe, a judge somewhere in this country + it seems, and a capital partner at whist by the way, and when I wanted to + talk to him about the progress of India in a political sense (Orde hid a + grin, which might or might not have been sympathetic), the National + Congress movement, and other things in which, as a Member of Parliament, + I’m of course interested, he shifted the subject, and when I once cornered + him, he looked me calmly in the eye, and said: ‘That’s all Tommy rot. Come + and have a game at Bull.’ You may laugh; but that isn’t the way to treat a + great and important question; and, knowing who I was. well. I thought it + rather rude, don’t you know; and yet Dawlishe is a thoroughly good + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he’s a friend of mine, and one of the straightest men I know. I + suppose, like many Anglo-Indians, he felt it was hopeless to give you any + just idea of any Indian question without the documents before you, and in + this case the documents you want are the country and the people.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. That was why I came straight to you, bringing an open mind to + bear on things. I’m anxious to know what popular feeling in India is + really like y’know, now that it has wakened into political life. The + National Congress, in spite of Dawlishe, must have caused great excitement + among the masses?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, nothing could be more tranquil than the state of popular + feeling; and as to excitement, the people would as soon be excited over + the ‘Rule of Three’ as over the Congress.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Orde, but do you think you are a fair judge? Isn’t the + official Anglo-Indian naturally jealous of any external influences that + might move the masses, and so much opposed to liberal ideas, truly liberal + ideas, that he can scarcely be expected to regard a popular movement with + fairness?” + </p> + <p> + “What did Dawlishe say about Tommy Rot? Think a moment, old man. You and I + were brought up together; taught by the same tutors, read the same books, + lived the same life, and new languages, and work among new races; while + you, more fortunate, remain at home. Why should I change my mind our + mind-because I change my sky? Why should I and the few hundred Englishmen + in my service become unreasonable, prejudiced fossils, while you and your + newer friends alone remain bright and open-minded? You surely don’t fancy + civilians are members of a Primrose League?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, but the mere position of an English official gives him a + point of view which cannot but bias his mind on this question.” Pagett + moved his knee up and down a little uneasily as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “That sounds plausible enough, but, like more plausible notions on Indian + matters, I believe it’s a mistake. You’ll find when you come to consult + the unofficial Briton that our fault, as a class—I speak of the + civilian now-is rather to magnify the progress that has been made toward + liberal institutions. It is of English origin, such as it is, and the + stress of our work since the Mutiny—only thirty years ago—has + been in that direction. No, I think you will get no fairer or more + dispassionate view of the Congress business than such men as I can give + you. But I may as well say at once that those who know most of India, from + the inside, are inclined to wonder at the noise our scarcely begun + experiment makes in England.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself a + new thing.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing new under the sun When Europe was a jungle half Asia + flocked to the canonical conferences of Buddhism; and for centuries the + people have gathered at Pun, Hurdwar, Trimbak, and Benares in immense + numbers. A great meeting, what you call a mass meeting, is really one of + the oldest and most popular of Indian institutions In the case of the + Congress meetings, the only notable fact is that the priests of the altar + are British, not Buddhist, Jam or Brahmanical, and that the whole thing is + a British contrivance kept alive by the efforts of Messrs. Hume, Eardley, + Norton, and Digby.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to say, then, it s not a spontaneous movement?” + </p> + <p> + “What movement was ever spontaneous in any true sense of the word? This + seems to be more factitious than usual. You seem to know a great deal + about it; try it by the touchstone of subscriptions, a coarse but fairly + trustworthy criterion, and there is scarcely the color of money in it. The + delegates write from England that they are out of pocket for working + expenses, railway fares, and stationery—the mere pasteboard and + scaffolding of their show. It is, in fact, collapsing from mere financial + inanition.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot deny that the people of India, who are, perhaps, too poor + to subscribe, are mentally and morally moved by the agitation,” Pagett + insisted. + </p> + <p> + “That is precisely what I do deny. The native side of the movement is the + work of a limited class, a microscopic minority, as Lord Dufferin + described it, when compared with the people proper, but still a very + interesting class, seeing that it is of our own creation. It is composed + almost entirely of those of the literary or clerkly castes who have + received an English education.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely that s a very important class. Its members must be the ordained + leaders of popular thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere else they might be leaders, but they have no social weight in + this topsy-turvy land, and though they have been employed in clerical work + for generations they have no practical knowledge of affairs. A ship’s + clerk is a useful person, but he is scarcely the captain; and an + orderly-room writer, however smart he may be, is not the colonel. You see, + the writer class in India has never till now aspired to anything like + command. It wasn’t allowed to. The Indian gentleman, for thousands of + years past, has resembled Victor Hugo’s noble: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Un vrai sire + Chatelain + Laisse ecrire + Le vilain. + Sa main digne + Quand il signe + Egratigne + Le velin. +</pre> + <p> + And the little egralignures he most likes to make have been scored pretty + deeply by the sword.” + </p> + <p> + “But this is childish and medheval nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely; and from your, or rather our, point of view the pen is + mightier than the sword. In this country it’s otherwise. The fault lies in + our Indian balances, not yet adjusted to civilized weights and measures.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, at all events, this literary class represent the natural + aspirations and wishes of the people at large, though it may not exactly + lead them, and, in spite of all you say, Orde, I defy you to find a really + sound English Radical who would not sympathize with those aspirations.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when a well + appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and Orde rose saying: + </p> + <p> + “Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so diligently, come to + talk about accounts, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying with the + trained effusion born of much practice: + </p> + <p> + “But this is also my friend, my old and valued friend Edwards. I’m + delighted to see you. I knew you were in India, but not exactly where.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it isn’t accounts, Mr. Edwards,” said Orde, cheerily. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works were closed + for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see him.” + </p> + <p> + “A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde, was a leading + member of our Radical Club at Switebton when I was beginning political + life, and I owe much to his exertions. There’s no pleasure like meeting an + old friend, except, perhaps, making a new one. I suppose, Mr. Edwards, you + stick to the good old cause?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There’s precious + little one can find to say against the Government, which was the main of + our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the sort o’ people a + man who respects himself would like to be mixed up with. There are no + politics, in a manner of speaking, in India. It’s all work.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you are mistaken, my good friend. Why I have come all the way from + England just to see the working of this great National movement.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where you’re going to find the nation as moves to begin + with, and then you’ll be hard put to it to find what they are moving + about. It’s like this, sir,” said Edwards, who had not quite relished + being called “my good friend.” “They haven’t got any grievance—nothing + to hit with, don’t you see, sir; and then there’s not much to hit against, + because the Government is more like a kind of general Providence, + directing an old—established state of things, than that at home, + where there’s something new thrown down for us to fight about every three + months.” + </p> + <p> + “You are probably, in your workshops, full of English mechanics, out of + the way of learning what the masses think.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know so much about that. There are four of us English foremen, + and between seven and eight hundred native fitters, smiths, carpenters, + painters, and such like.” + </p> + <p> + “And they are full of the Congress, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Never hear a word of it from year’s end to year’s end, and I speak the + talk too. But I wanted to ask how things are going on at home—old + Tyler and Brown and the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “We will speak of them presently, but your account of the indifference of + your men surprises me almost as much as your own. I fear you are a + backslider from the good old doctrine, Ed wards.” Pagett spoke as one who + mourned the death of a near relative. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit, Sir, but I should be if I took up with a parcel of baboos, + pleaders, and schoolboys, as never did a day’s work in their lives, and + couldn’t if they tried. And if you was to poll us English railway men, + mechanics, tradespeople, and the like of that all up and down the country + from Peshawur to Calcutta, you would find us mostly in a tale together. + And yet you know we’re the same English you pay some respect to at home at + ‘lection time, and we have the pull o’ knowing something about it.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very curious, but you will let me come and see you, and perhaps + you will kindly show me the railway works, and we will talk things over at + leisure. And about all old friends and old times,” added Pagett, detecting + with quick insight a look of disappointment in the mechanic’s face. + </p> + <p> + Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove off. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very disappointing,” said the Member to Orde, who, while his friend + discoursed with Edwards, had been looking over a bundle of sketches drawn + on grey paper in purple ink, brought to him by a Chuprassee. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let it trouble you, old chap,” ‘said Orde, sympathetically. “Look + here a moment, here are some sketches by the man who made the carved wood + screen you admired so much in the dining-room, and wanted a copy of, and + the artist himself is here too.” + </p> + <p> + “A native?” said Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” was the reply, “Bishen Siagh is his name, and he has two + brothers to help him. When there is an important job to do, the three go + ‘ato partnership, but they spend most of their time and all their money in + litigation over an inheritance, and I’m afraid they are getting involved, + Thoroughbred Sikhs of the old rock, obstinate, touchy, bigoted, and + cunning, but good men for all that. Here is Bishen Singn—shall we + ask him about the Congress?” + </p> + <p> + But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had never heard + of it, and he listened with a puzzled face and obviously feigned interest + to Orde’s account of its aims and objects, finally shaking his vast white + turban with great significance when he learned that it was promoted by + certain pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives. He began with + labored respect to explain how he was a poor man with no concern in such + matters, which were all under the control of God, but presently broke out + of Urdu into familiar Punjabi, the mere sound of which had a rustic smack + of village smoke-reek and plough-tail, as he denounced the wearers of + white coats, the jugglers with words who filched his field from him, the + men whose backs were never bowed in honest work; and poured ironical scorn + on the Bengali. He and one of his brothers had seen Calcutta, and being at + work there had Bengali carpenters given to them as assistants. + </p> + <p> + “Those carpenters!” said Bishen Singh. “Black apes were more efficient + workmates, and as for the Bengali babu-tchick!” The guttural click needed + no interpretation, but Orde translated the rest, while Pagett gazed with + in.. terest at the wood-carver. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali,” said + the M.P. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s very sad that for ages outside Bengal there should be so bitter + a prejudice. Pride of race, which also means race-hatred, is the plague + and curse of India and it spreads far,” pointed with his riding-whip to + the large map of India on the veranda wall. + </p> + <p> + “See! I begin with the North,” said he. “There’s the Afghan, and, as a + highlander, he despises all the dwellers in Hindoostan-with the exception + of the Sikh, whom he hates as cordially as the Sikh hates him. The Hindu + loathes Sikh and Afghan, and the Rajput—that’s a little lower down + across this yellow blot of desert—has a strong objection, to put it + mildly, to the Maratha who, by the way, poisonously hates the Afghan. + Let’s go North a minute. The Sindhi hates everybody I’ve mentioned. Very + good, we’ll take less warlike races. The cultivator of Northern India + domineers over the man in the next province, and the Behari of the + Northwest ridicules the Bengali. They are all at one on that point. I’m + giving you merely the roughest possible outlines of the facts, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Bishen Singh, his clean cut nostrils still quivering, watched the large + sweep of the whip as it traveled from the frontier, through Sindh, the + Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the Jumna. + </p> + <p> + “Hate—eternal and inextinguishable hate,” concluded Orde, flicking + the lash of the whip across the large map from East to West as he sat + down. “Remember Canning’s advice to Lord Granville, ‘Never write or speak + of Indian things without looking at a map.’” + </p> + <p> + Pagett opened his eyes, Orde resumed. “And the race-hatred is only a part + of it. What’s really the matter with Bisben Singh is class-hatred, which, + unfortunately, is even more intense and more widely spread. That’s one of + the little drawbacks of caste, which some of your recent English writers + find an impeccable system.” + </p> + <p> + The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his craft, and + his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved wooden doorway for + Pagett, which he promised should be splendidly executed and despatched to + England in six months. It is an irrelevant detail, but in spite of Orde’s + reminders, fourteen months elapsed before the work was finished. Business + over, Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his leave, and at last + joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated breath and whispering + humbleness, said he had a petition to make. Orde’s face suddenly lost all + trace of expression. “Speak on, Bishen Singh,” said he, and the carver in + a whining tone explained that his case against his brothers was fixed for + hearing before a native judge and—here he dropped his voice still + lower till he was summarily stopped by Orde, who sternly pointed to the + gate with an emphatic Begone! + </p> + <p> + Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed + respectfully to the friends and departed. + </p> + <p> + Pagett looked inquiry; Orde with complete recovery of his usual urbanity, + replied: “It’s nothing, only the old story, he wants his case to be tried + by an English judge-they all do that-but when he began to hint that the + other side were in improper relations with the native judge I had to shut + him up. Gunga Ram, the man he wanted to make insinuations about, may not + be very bright; but he’s as honest as day-light on the bench. But that’s + just what one can’t get a native to believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases tried + by English judges?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett drew a long breath. “I didn’t know that before.” At this point a + phaeton entered the compound, and Orde rose with “Confound it, there’s old + Rasul Ah Khan come to pay one of his tiresome duty calls. I’m afraid we + shall never get through our little Congress discussion.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett was an almost silent spectator of the grave formalities of a visit + paid by a punctilious old Mahommedan gentleman to an Indian official; and + was much impressed by the distinction of manner and fine appearance of the + Mohammedan landholder. When the exchange of polite banalities came to a + pause, he expressed a wish to learn the courtly visitor’s opinion of the + National Congress. + </p> + <p> + Orde reluctantly interpreted, and with a smile which even Mohammedan + politeness could not save from bitter scorn, Rasul Ah Khan intimated that + he knew nothing about it and cared still less. It was a kind of talk + encouraged by the Government for some mysterious purpose of its own, and + for his own part he wondered and held his peace. + </p> + <p> + Pagett was far from satisfied with this, and wished to have the old + gentleman’s opinion on the propriety of managing all Indian affairs on the + basis of an elective system. + </p> + <p> + Orde did his best to explain, but it was plain the visitor was bored and + bewildered. Frankly, he didn’t think much of committees; they had a + Municipal Committee at Lahore and had elected a menial servant, an + orderly, as a member. He had been informed of this on good authority, and + after that, committees had ceased to interest him. But all was according + to the rule of Government, and, please God, it was all for the best. + </p> + <p> + “What an old fossil it is!” cried Pagett, as Orde returned from seeing his + guest to the door; “just like some old blue-blooded hidalgo of Spain. What + does he really think of the Congress after all, and of the elective + system?” + </p> + <p> + “Hates it all like poison. When you are sure of a majority, election is a + fine system; but you can scarcely expect the Mahommedans, the most + masterful and powerful minority in the country, to contemplate their own + extinction with joy. The worst of it is that he and his co-religionists, + who are many, and the landed proprietors, also, of Hindu race, are + frightened and put out by this election business and by the importance we + have bestowed on lawyers, pleaders, writers, and the like, who have, up to + now, been in abject submission to them. They say little, hut after all + they are the most important fagots in the great bundle of communities, and + all the glib bunkum in the world would not pay for their estrangement. + They have controlled the land.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am assured that experience of local self-government in your + municipalities has been most satisfactory, and when once the principle is + accepted in your centres, don’t you know, it is bound to spread, and these + important—ah’m people of yours would learn it like the rest. I see + no difficulty at all,” and the smooth lips closed with the complacent snap + habitual to Pagett, M.P., the “man of cheerful yesterdays and confident + to-morrows.” + </p> + <p> + Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. + </p> + <p> + “The privilege of election has been most reluctantly withdrawn from scores + of municipalities, others have had to be summarily suppressed, and, + outside the Presidency towns, the actual work done has been badly + performed. This is of less moment, perhaps-it only sends up the local + death-rates-than the fact that the public interest in municipal elections, + never very strong, has waned, and is waning, in spite of careful nursing + on the part of Government servants.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you explain this lack of interest?” said Pagett, putting aside the + rest of Orde’s remarks. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“You may find a ward of the key in the fact that only one in every +thousand af our population can spell. Then they are infinitely more +interested in religion and caste questions than in any sort of politics. +When the business of mere existence is over, their minds are occupied by +a series of interests, pleasures, rituals, superstitions, and the like, +based on centuries of tradition and usage. You, perhaps, find it hard to +conceive of people absolutely devoid of curiosity, to whom the book, the +daily paper, and the printed speech are unknown, and you would describe +their life as blank. That’s a profound mistake. You are in another +land, another century, down on the bed-rock of society, where the family +merely, and not the community, is all-important. The average Oriental +cannot be brought to look beyond his clan. His life, too, is naore +complete and self-sufficing, and less sordid and low-thoughted than you +might imagine. It is bovine and slow in some respects, but it is never +empty. You and I are inclined to put the cart before the horse, and to +forget that it is the man that is elemental, not the book. + + ‘The corn and the cattle are all my care, + And the rest is the will of God.’ +</pre> + <p> + Why should such folk look up from their immemorially appointed round of + duty and interests to meddle with the unknown and fuss with voting-papers. + How would you, atop of all your interests care to conduct even one-tenth + of your life according to the manners and customs of the Papuans, let’s + say? That’s what it comes to.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they won’t take the trouble to vote, why do you anticipate that + Mohammedans, proprietors, and the rest would be crushed by majorities of + them?” + </p> + <p> + Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Because, though the landholders would not move a finger on any purely + political question, they could be raised in dangerous excitement by + religious hatreds. Already the first note of this has been sounded by the + people who are trying to get up an agitation on the cow-killing question, + and every year there is trouble over the Mohammedan Muharrum processions. + </p> + <p> + “But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?” + </p> + <p> + “The Government of Her Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, in which, if + the Congress promoters are to be believed, the people have an implicit + trust; for the Congress circular, specially prepared for rustic + comprehension, says the movement is ‘for the remission of tax, the + advancement of Hindustan, and the strengthening of the British + Government.’ This paper is headed in large letters— + </p> + <p> + ‘MAY THE PROSPERITY OF THE EMPIRE OF INDIA ENDURE.’” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” said Pagett, “that shows some cleverness. But there are things + better worth imitation in our English methods of—er—political + statement than this sort of amiable fraud.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” resumed Orde, “you perceive that not a word is said about + elections and the elective principle, and the reticence of the Congress + promoters here shows they are wise in their generation.” + </p> + <p> + “But the elective principle must triumph in the end, and the little + difficulties you seem to anticipate would give way on the introduction of + a well-balanced scheme, capable of indefinite extension.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it possible to devise a scheme which, always assuming that the + people took any interest in it, without enormous expense, ruinous + dislocation of the administation and danger to the public peace, can + satisfy the aspirations of Mr. Hume and his following, and yet safeguard + the interests of the Mahommedans, the landed and wealthy classes, the + Conservative Hindus, the Eurasians, Parsees, Sikhs, Rajputs, native + Christians, domiciled Europeans and others, who are each important and + powerful in their way?” + </p> + <p> + Pagett’s attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a group of + cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Here are the twelve Apostles, by Jove—come straight out of + Raffaele’s cartoons,” said the M.P., with the fresh appreciation of a + newcomer. + </p> + <p> + Orde, loth to be interrupted, turned impatiently toward the villagers, and + their leader, handing his long staff to one of his companions, advanced to + the house. + </p> + <p> + “It is old Jelbo, the Lumherdar, or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a very’ + intelligent man for a villager.” + </p> + <p> + The Jat farmer had removed his shoes and stood smiling on the edge of the + veranda. His strongly marked features glowed with russet bronze, and his + bright eyes gleamed under deeply set brows, contracted by lifelong + exposure to sunshine. His beard and moustache streaked with grey swept + from bold cliffs of brow and cheek in the large sweeps one sees drawn by + Michael Angelo, and strands of long black hair mingled with the + irregularly piled wreaths and folds of his turban. The drapery of stout + blue cotton cloth thrown over his broad shoulders and girt round his + narrow loins, hung from his tall form in broadly sculptured folds, and he + would have made a superb model for an artist in search of a patriarch. + </p> + <p> + Orde greeted him cordially, and after a polite pause the countryman + started off with a long story told with impressive earnestness. Orde + listened and smiled, interrupting the speaker at ‘times to argue and + reason with him in a tone which Pagett could hear was kindly, and finally + checking the flux of words was about to dismiss him, when Pagett suggested + that he should be asked about the National Congress. + </p> + <p> + But Jelloc had never heard of it. He was a poor man and such things, by + the favor of his Honor, did not concern him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in + earnest?” asked Pagett, when he had left. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much. He wants the blood of the people in the next village, who + have had smallpox and cattle plague pretty badly, and by the help of a + wizard, a currier, and several pigs have passed it on to his own village. + ‘Wants to know if they can’t be run in for this awful crime. It seems they + made a dreadful charivari at the village boundary, threw a quantity of + spell-bearing objects over the border, a buffalo’s skull and other things; + then branded a chamur—what you would call a currier—on his + hinder parts and drove him and a number of pigs over into Jelbo’s village. + Jelbo says he can bring evidence to prove that the wizard directing these + proceedings, who is a Sansi, has been guilty of theft, arson, + cattle-killing, perjury and murder, but would prefer to have him punished + for bewitching them and inflicting small-pox.” + </p> + <p> + “And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?” + </p> + <p> + “Lunatic I the old fellow is as sane as you or I; and he has some ground + of complaint against those Sansis. I asked if he would like a native + superintendent of police with some men to make inquiries, but he objected + on the grounds the police were rather worse than smallpox and criminal + tribes put together.” + </p> + <p> + “Criminal tribes—er—I don’t quite understand,” said Paget. + </p> + <p> + “We have in India many tribes of people who in the slack anti-British days + became robbers, in various kind, and preyed on the people. They are being + restrained and reclaimed little by little, and in time will become useful + citizens, but they still cherish hereditary traditions of crime, and are a + difficult lot to deal with. By the way what; about the political rights of + these folk under your schemes? The country people call them vermin, but I + sup-pose they would be electors with the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense—special provision would be made for them in a + well-considered electoral scheme, and they would doubtless be treated with + fitting severity,” said Pagett, with a magisterial air. + </p> + <p> + “Severity, yes—but whether it would be fitting is doubtful. Even + those poor devils have rights, and, after all, they only practice what + they have been taught.” + </p> + <p> + “But criminals, Orde!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, criminals with codes and rituals of crime, gods and godlings of + crime, and a hundred songs and sayings in praise of it. Puzzling, isn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are there many + of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than about sixty thousand in this province, for many of the + tribes broadly described as criminal are really vagabond and criminal only + on occasion, while others are being settled and reclaimed. They are of + great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the golden, glorious Aryan past + of Max Muller, Birdwood and the rest of your spindrift philosophers.” + </p> + <p> + An orderly brought a card to Orde who took it with a movement of + irritation at the interruption, and banded it to Pagett; a large card with + a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in schoolboy copper plate, + Mr. Dma Nath. “Give salaam,” said the civilian, and there entered in haste + a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat of grey homespun, tight + trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small black velvet cap. His thin + cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered restlessly, for the young man was + evidently nervous and uncomfortable, though striving to assume a free and + easy air. + </p> + <p> + “Your honor may perhaps remember me,” he said in English, and Orde scanned + him keenly. + </p> + <p> + “I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah district I think, + when I was in charge there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honor gave me a prize + when I was first in the Middle School examination five years ago. Since + then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now second year’s student in + the Mission College.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course: you are Kedar Nath’s son—the boy who said he liked + geography better than play or sugar cakes, and I didn’t believe you. How + is your father getting on?” + </p> + <p> + “He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are depressed, + and he also is down on his luck.” + </p> + <p> + “You learn English idiom at the Mission College, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, they are the best idioms, and my father ordered me to ask your + honor to say a word for him to the present incumbent of your honor’s + shoes, the latchet of which he is not worthy to open, and who knows not + Joseph; for things are different at Sher shah now, and my father wants + promotion.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him.” + </p> + <p> + At this point a telegram was handed to Orde, who, after glancing at it, + said he must leave his young friend whom he introduced to Pagett, “a + member of the English House of Commons who wishes to learn about India.” + </p> + <p> + Orde bad scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress movement?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, it is the greatest movement of modern times, and one in which all + educated men like us must join. All our students are for the Congress.” + </p> + <p> + “Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?” said Pagett, + quick to use his recent instruction. + </p> + <p> + “These are some mere exceptions to the universal rule.” + </p> + <p> + “But the people outside the College, the working classes, the + agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother,” said the young man, with a visible effort to bring himself to + pronounce the word, “has no ideas, and my father is not agriculturist, nor + working class; he is of the Kayeth caste; but he had not the advantage of + a collegiate education, and he does not know much of the Congress. It is a + movement for the educated young-man” -connecting adjective and noun in a + sort of vocal hyphen. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes,” said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, “and what + are the benefits you expect to gain by it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir, everything. England owes its greatness to Parliamentary + institutions, and we should at once gain the same high position in scale + of nations. Sir, we wish to have the sciences, the arts, the manufactures, + the industrial factories, with steam engines, and other motive powers and + public meetings, and debates. Already we have a debating club in + connection with the college, and elect a Mr. Speaker. Sir, the progress + must come. You also are a Member of Parliament and worship the great Lord + Ripon,” said the youth, breathlessly, and his black eyes flashed as he + finished his commaless sentences. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Pagett, drily, “it has not yet occurred to me to worship his + Lordship, although I believe he is a very worthy man, and I am not sure + that England owes quite all the things you name to the House of Commons. + You see, my young friend, the growth of a nation like ours is slow, + subject to many influences, and if you have read your history aright”—“Sir. + I know it all—all! Norman Conquest, Magna Charta, Runnymede, + Reformation, Tudors, Stuarts, Mr. Milton and Mr. Burke, and I have read + something of Mr. Herbert Spencer and Gibbon’s ‘Decline and Fall,’ + Reynolds’ Mysteries of the Court,’” and Pagett felt like one who had + pulled the string of a shower-bath unawares, and hastened to stop the + torrent with a question as to what particular grievances of the people of + India the attention of an elected assembly should be first directed. But + young Mr. Dma Nath was slow to particularize. There were many, very many + demanding consideration. Mr. Pagett would like to hear of one or two + typical examples. The Repeal of the Arms Act was at last named, and the + student learned for the first time that a license was necessary before an + Englishman could carry a gun in England. Then natives of India ought to be + allowed to become Volunteer Riflemen if they chose, and the absolute + equality of the Oriental with his European fellow-subject in civil status + should be proclaimed on principle, and the Indian Army should be + considerably reduced. The student was not, however, prepared with answers + to Mr. Pagett’s mildest questions on these points, and he returned to + vague generalities, leaving the M.P. so much impressed with the crudity of + his views that he was glad on Orde’s return to say good-bye to his ‘very + interesting’ young friend. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of young India?” asked Orde. + </p> + <p> + “Curious, very curious-and callow.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” the civilian replied, “one can scarcely help sympathizing with + him for his mere youth’s sake. The young orators of the Oxford Union + arrived at the same conclusions and showed doubtless just the same + enthusiasm. If there were any political analogy between India and England, + if the thousand races of this Empire were one, if there were any chance + even of their learning to speak one language, if, in short, India were a + Utopia of the debating-room, and not a real land, this kind of talk might + be worth listening to, but it is all based on false analogy and ignorance + of the facts.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is a native and knows the facts.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a sort of English schoolboy, but married three years, and the + father of two weaklings, and knows less than most English schoolboys. You + saw all he is and knows, and such ideas as he has acquired are directly + hostile to the most cherished convictions of the vast majority of the + people.” + </p> + <p> + “But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission college? Is + he a Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “He meant just what he said, and he is not a Christian, nor ever will he + be. Good people in America, Scotland and England, most of whom would never + dream of collegiate education for their own sons, are pinching themselves + to bestow it in pure waste on Indian youths. Their scheme is an oblique, + subterranean attack on heathenism; the theory being that with the jam of + secular education, leading to a University degree, the pill of moral or + religious instruction may he coaxed down the heathen gullet.” + </p> + <p> + “But does it succeed; do they make converts?” + </p> + <p> + “They make no converts, for the subtle Oriental swallows the jam and + rejects the pill; but the mere example of the sober, righteous, and godly + lives of the principals and professors who are most excellent and devoted + men, must have a certain moral value. Yet, as Lord Lansdowne pointed out + the other day, the market is dangerously overstocked with graduates of our + Universities who look for employment in the administration. An immense + number are employed, but year by year the college mills grind out + increasing lists of youths foredoomed to failure and disappointment, and + meanwhile, trade, manufactures, and the industrial arts are neglected, and + in fact regarded with contempt by our new literary mandarins in posse.” + </p> + <p> + “But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and factories,” said + Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he would like to direct such concerns. He wants to begin at the top, + for manual labor is held to be discreditable, and he would never defile + his hands by the apprenticeship which the architects, engineers, and + manufacturers of England cheerfully undergo; and he would be aghast to + learn that the leading names of industrial enterprise in England belonged + a generation or two since, or now belong, to men who wrought with their + own hands. And, though he talks glibly of manufacturers, he refuses to see + that the Indian manufacturer of the future will be the despised workman of + the present. It was proposed, for example, a few weeks ago, that a certain + municipality in this province should establish an elementary technical + school for the sons of workmen. The stress of the opposition to the plan + came from a pleader who owed all he had to a college education bestowed on + him gratis by Government and missions. You would have fancied some fine + old crusted Tory squire of the last generation was speaking. ‘These + people,’ he said, ‘want no education, for they learn their trades from + their fathers, and to teach a workman’s son the elements of mathematics + and physical science would give him ideas above his business. They must be + kept in their place, and it was idle to imagine that there was any science + in wood or iron work.’ And he carried his point. But the Indian workman + will rise in the social scale in spite of the new literary caste.” + </p> + <p> + “In England we have scarcely begun to realize that there is an industrial + class in this country, yet, I suppose, the example of men, like Edwards + for instance, must tell,” said Pagett, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “That you shouldn’t know much about it is natural enough, for there are + but few sources of information. India in this, as in other respects, is + like a badly kept ledger-not written up to date. And men like Edwards are, + in reality, missionaries, who by precept and example are teaching more + lessons than they know. Only a few, however, of their crowds of + subordinates seem to care to try to emulate them, and aim at individual + advancement; the rest drop into the ancient Indian caste groove.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked he, “Well, it is found that the new railway and + factory workmen, the fitter, the smith, the engine-driver, and the rest + are already forming separate hereditary castes. You may notice this down + at Jamalpur in Bengal, one of the oldest railway centres; and at other + places, and in other industries, they are following the same inexorable + Indian law.” + </p> + <p> + “Which means?” queried Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “It means that the rooted habit of the people is to gather in small + self-contained, self-sufficing family groups with no thought or care for + any interests but their own-a habit which is scarcely compatible with the + right acceptation of the elective principle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you must admit, Orde, that though our young friend was not able to + expound the faith that is in him, your Indian army is too big.” + </p> + <p> + “Not nearly big enough for its main purpose. And, as a side issue, there + are certain powerful minorities of fighting folk whose interests an + Asiatic Government is bound to consider. Arms is as much a means of + livelihood as civil employ under Government and law. And it would be a + heavy strain on British bayonets to hold down Sikhs, Jats, Bilochis, + Rohillas, Rajputs, Bhils, Dogras, Pahtans, and Gurkbas to abide by the + decisions of a numerical majority opposed to their interests. Leave the + ‘numerical majority’ to itself without the British bayonets-a flock of + sheep might as reasonably hope to manage a troop of collies.” + </p> + <p> + “This complaint about excessive growth of the army is akin to another + contention of the Congress party. They protest against the malversation of + the whole of the moneys raised by additional taxes as a Famine Insurance + Fund to other purposes. You must be aware that this special Famine Fund + has all been spent on frontier roads and defences and strategic railway + schemes as a protection against Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “But there was never a special famine fund raised by special taxation and + put by as in a box. No sane administrator would dream of such a thing. In + a time of prosperity a finance minister, rejoicing in a margin, proposed + to annually apply a million and a half to the construction of railways and + canals for the protection of districts liable to scarcity, and to the + reduction of the annual loans for public works. But times were not always + prosperous, and the finance minister had to choose whether he would bang + up the insurance scheme for a year or impose fresh taxation. When a farmer + hasn’t got the little surplus he hoped to have for buying a new wagon and + draining a low-lying field corner, you don’t accuse him of malversation, + if he spends what he has on the necessary work of the rest of his farm.” + </p> + <p> + A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his + brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Hellin Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on Tuesday: + we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab Bokbar team.” + </p> + <p> + Orde explained that he had to go out into the District, and while the + visitor complained that though good men wouldn’t play, duffers were always + keen, and that his side would probably be beaten, Pagett rose to look at + his mount, a red, lathered Biloch mare, with a curious lyre-like incurving + of the ears. “Quite a little thoroughbred in all other respects,” said the + M.P., and Orde presented Mr. Reginald Burke, Manager of the Siad and + Sialkote Bank to his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she’s as good as they make ‘em, and she’s all the female I possess + and spoiled in consequence, aren’t you, old girl?” said Burke, patting the + mare’s glossy neck as she backed and plunged. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Pagett,” said Orde, “has been asking me about the Congress. What is + your opinion?” Burke turned to the M. P. with a frank smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it’s all the same to you, sir, I should say, Damn the Congress, + but then I’m no politician, but only a business man.” + </p> + <p> + “You find it a tiresome subject?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s all that, and worse than that, for this kind of agitation is + anything but wholesome for the country.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a long job to explain, and Sara here won’t stand, but you + know how sensitive capital is, and how timid investors are. All this sort + of rot is likely to frighten them, and we can’t afford to frighten them. + The passengers aboard an Ocean steamer don’t feel reassured when the + ship’s way is stopped, and they hear the workmen’s hammers tinkering at + the engines down below. The old Ark’s going on all right as she is, and + only wants quiet and room to move. Them’s my sentiments, and those of some + other people who have to do with money and business.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no! The Indian Government is much too timid with its money-like an + old maiden aunt of mine-always in a funk about her investments. They don’t + spend half enough on railways for instance, and they are slow in a general + way, and ought to be made to sit up in all that concerns the encouragement + of private enterprise, and coaxing out into use the millions of capital + that lie dormant in the country.” + </p> + <p> + The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently anxious to + be off, so the men wished him good-bye. + </p> + <p> + “Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and Government in a + breath?” asked Pagett, with an amused smile. + </p> + <p> + “Just now he is Reggie Burke, keener on polo than on anything else, but if + you go to the Sind and Sialkote Bank to-morrow you would find Mr. Reginald + Burke a very capable man of business, known and liked by an immense + constituency North and South of this.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he is right about the Government’s want of enterprise?” + </p> + <p> + “I should hesitate to say. Better consult the merchants and chambers of + commerce in Cawnpore, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta. But though these + bodies would like, as Reggie puts it, to make Government sit up, it is an + elementary consideration in governing a country like India, which must be + administered for the benefit of the people at large, that the counsels of + those who resort to it for the sake of making money should be judiciously + weighed and not allowed to overpower the rest. They are welcome guests + here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best to restrain their + influence. Thus the rights of plantation laborers, factory operatives, and + the like, have been protected, and the capitalist, eager to get on, has + not always regarded Government action with favor. It is quite conceivable + that under an elective system the commercial communities of the great + towns might find means to secure majorities on labor questions and on + financial matters.” + </p> + <p> + “They would act at least with intelligence and consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Intelligence, yes; but as to consideration, who at the present moment + most bitterly resents the tender solicitude of Lancashire for the welfare + and protection of the Indian factory operative? English and native + capitalists running cotton mills and factories.” + </p> + <p> + “But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely + disinterested?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no business of mine to say. I merely indicate an example of how a + powerful commercial interest might hamper a Government intent in the first + place on the larger interests of humanity.” + </p> + <p> + Orde broke off to listen a moment. “There’s Dr. Lathrop talking to my wife + in the drawing-room,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Surely not; that’s a lady’s voice, and if my ears don’t deceive me, an + American.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, Dr. Eva McCreery Lathrop, chief of the new Women’s Hospital + here, and a very good fellow forbye. Good-morning, Doctor,” he said, as a + graceful figure came out on the veranda, “you seem to be in trouble. I + hope Mrs. Orde was able to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wife is real kind and good, I always come to her when I’m in a fix + but I fear it’s more than comforting I want.” + </p> + <p> + “You work too hard and wear yourself out,” said Orde, kindly. “Let me + introduce my friend, Mr. Pagett, just fresh from home, and anxious to + learn his India. You could tell him something of that more important half + of which a mere man knows so little.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I could if I’d any heart to do it, but I’m in trouble, I’ve lost + a case, a case that was doing well, through nothing in the world but + inattention on the part of a nurse I had begun to trust. And when I spoke + only a small piece of my mind she collapsed in a whining heap on the + floor. It is hopeless.” + </p> + <p> + The men were silent, for the blue eyes of the lady doctor were dim. + Recovering herself she looked up with a smile, half sad, half humorous, + “And I am in a whining heap, too; but what phase of Indian life are you + particularly interested in, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the + possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t it be as much to the purpose to bestow point-lace collars on + them? They need many things more urgently than votes. Why it’s like giving + a bread-pill for a broken leg.” + </p> + <p> + “Er-I don’t quite follow,” said Pagett, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what’s the matter with this country is not in the least political, + but an all round entanglement of physical, social, and moral evils and + corruptions, all more or less due to the unnatural treatment of women. You + can’t gather figs from thistles, and so long as the system of infant + marriage, the prohibition of the remarriage of widows, the lifelong + imprisonment of wives and mothers in a worse than penal confinement, and + the withholding from them of any kind of education or treatment as + rational beings continues, the country can’t advance a step. Half of it is + morally dead, and worse than dead, and that’s just the half from which we + have a right to look for the best impulses. It’s right here where the + trouble is, and not in any political considerations whatsoever.” + </p> + <p> + “But do they marry so early?” said Pagett, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “The average age is seven, but thousands are married still earlier. One + result is that girls of twelve and thirteen have to bear the burden of + wifehood and motherhood, and, as might be expected, the rate of mortality + both for mothers and children is terrible. Pauperism, domestic + unhappiness, and a low state of health are only a few of the consequences + of this. Then, when, as frequently happens, the boy-husband dies + prematurely, his widow is condemned to worse than death. She may not + re-marry, must live a secluded and despised life, a life so unnatural that + she sometimes prefers suicide; more often she goes astray. You don’t know + in England what such words as ‘infant-marriage, baby-wife, girl-mother, + and virgin-widow’ mean; but they mean unspeakable horrors here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it their + business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones,” said + Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “Very surely they will do no such thing,” said the lady doctor, + emphatically. “I wish I could make you understand. Why, even of the funds + devoted to the Marchioness of Dufferin’s organization for medical aid to + the women of India, it was said in print and in speech, that they would be + better spent on more college scholarships for men. And in all the advanced + parties’ talk-God forgive them—and in all their programmes, they + carefully avoid all such subjects. They will talk about the protection of + the cow, for that’s an ancient superstition—they can all understand + that; but the protection of the women is a new and dangerous idea.” She + turned to Pagett impulsively: + </p> + <p> + “You are a member of the English Parliament. Can you do nothing? The + foundations of their life are rotten-utterly and bestially rotten. I could + tell your wife things that I couldn’t tell you. I know the life—the + inner life that belongs to the native, and I know nothing else; and + believe me you might as well try to grow golden-rod in a mushroom-pit as + to make anything of a people that are born and reared as these—these + things’re. The men talk of their rights and privileges. I have seen the + women that bear these very men, and again-may God forgive the men!” + </p> + <p> + Pagett’s eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose tempestuously. + </p> + <p> + “I must be off to lecture,” said she, “and I’m sorry that I can’t show you + my hospitals; but you had better believe, sir, that it’s more necessary + for India than all the elections in creation.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a woman with a mission, and no mistake,” said Pagett, after a + pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; she believes in her work, and so do I,” said Orde. “I’ve a notion + that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work done for India + in this generation was wrought by Lady Dufferin in drawing attention-what + work that was, by the way, even with her husband’s great name to back it + to the needs of women here. In effect, native habits and beliefs are an + organized conspiracy against the laws of health and happy life—but + there is some dawning of hope now.” + </p> + <p> + “How d’ you account for the general indifference, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s due in part to their fatalism and their utter indifference + to all human suffering. How much do you imagine the great province of the + Pun-jab with over twenty million people and half a score rich towns has + contributed to the maintenance of civil dispensaries last year? About + seven thousand rupees.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s seven hundred pounds,” said Pagett, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I wish it was,” replied Orde; “but anyway, it’s an absurdly inadequate + sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental character.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett was silent for a long time. The question of direct and personal + pain did not lie within his researches. He preferred to discuss the + weightier matters of the law, and contented himself with murmuring: + “They’ll do better later on.” Then, with a rush, returning to his first + thought: + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Orde, if it’s merely a class movement of a local and + temporary character, how d’ you account for Bradlaugh, who is at least a + man of sense taking it up?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of the champion of the New Brahmins but what I see in the + papers. I suppose there is something tempting in being hailed by a large + assemblage as the representative of the aspirations of two hundred and + fifty millions of people. Such a man looks ‘through all the roaring and + the wreaths,’ and does not reflect that it is a false perspective, which, + as a matter of fact, hides the real complex and manifold India from his + gaze. He can scarcely be expected to distinguish between the ambitions of + a new oligarchy and the real wants of the people of whom he knows nothing. + But it’s strange that a professed Radical should come to be the chosen + advocate of a movement which has for its aim the revival of an ancient + tyranny. Shows how even Radicalism can fall into academic grooves and miss + the essential truths of its own creed. Believe me, Pagett, to deal with + India you want first-hand knowledge and experience. I wish he would come + and live here for a couple of years or so.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not this rather an ad hominem style of argument?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t help it in a case like this. Indeed, I am not sure you ought not to + go further and weigh the whole character and quality and upbringing of the + man. You must admit that the monumental complacency with which he trotted + out his ingenious little Constitution for India showed a strange want of + imagination and the sense of humor.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t quite admit it,” said Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know him and I don’t, but that’s how it strikes a stranger.” He + turned on his heel and paced the veranda thoughtfully. “And, after all, + the burden of the actual, daily unromantic toil falls on the shoulders of + the men out here, and not on his own. He enjoys all the privileges of + recommendation without responsibility, and we-well, perhaps, when you’ve + seen a little more of India you’ll understand. To begin with, our death + rate’s five times higher than yours-I speak now for the brutal bureaucrat—and + we work on the refuse of worked-out cities and exhausted civilizations, + among the bones of the dead.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett laughed. “That’s an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? Let’s see,” said the Deputy Commissioner of Amara, striding into + the sunshine toward a half-naked gardener potting roses. He took the man’s + hoe, and went to a rain-scarped bank at the bottom of the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Pagett,” he said, and cut at the sun-baked soil. After three + strokes there rolled from under the blade of the hoe the half of a + clanking skeleton that settled at Pagett’s feet in an unseemly jumble of + bones. The M.P. drew back. + </p> + <p> + “Our houses are built on cemeteries,” said Orde. “There are scores of + thousands of graves within ten miles.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett was contemplating the skull with the awed fascination of a man who + has but little to do with the dead. “India’s a very curious place,” said + he, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Ah? You’ll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch,” said + Orde. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE DEODARS *** + +***** This file should be named 2828-h.htm or 2828-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/2/2828/ + +Produced by and Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Under the Deodars + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Posting Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #2828] +Release Date: September, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE DEODARS *** + + + + + + + + + + +UNDER THE DEODARS + +By Rudyard Kipling + + + + +Contents + + The Education of Otis Yeere + At the Pit's Mouth + A Wayside Comedy + The Hill of Illusion + A Second-rate Woman + Only a Subaltern + In the Matter of a Private + The Enlightenments of Pagett. M. P. + + + + +UNDER THE DEODARS + + + + +THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE + + +I + + In the pleasant orchard-closes + 'God bless all our gains,' say we; + But 'May God bless all our losses,' + Better suits with our degree. + The Lost Bower. + +This is the history of a failure; but the woman who failed said that it +might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the +younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction, +being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will listen to it. None +the less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should +begin, that is to say at Simla, where all things begin and many come to +an evil end. + +The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not +retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever woman's mistake +is outside the regular course of Nature and Providence; since all good +people know that a woman is the only infallible thing in this world, +except Government Paper of the '79 issue, bearing interest at four and +a half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days +of rehearsing the leading part of The Fallen Angel, at the New Gaiety +Theatre where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought +about an unhingement of spirits which, again, might have led to +eccentricities. + +Mrs. Hauksbee came to 'The Foundry' to tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, her one +bosom friend, for she was in no sense 'a woman's woman.' And it was a +woman's tiffin, the door shut to all the world; and they both talked +chiffons, which is French for Mysteries. + +'I've enjoyed an interval of sanity,' Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after +tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little +writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe's bedroom. + +'My dear girl, what has he done?' said Mrs. Mallowe sweetly. It is +noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other 'dear girl,' +just as commissioners of twenty-eight years' standing address their +equals in the Civil List as 'my boy.' + +'There's no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should be +always credited to me? Am I an Apache?' + +'No, dear, but somebody's scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door. +Soaking rather.' + +This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding +all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady +laughed. + +'For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The +Mussuck. Hsh! Don't laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the +duff came some one really ought to teach them to make puddings at +Tyrconnel The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.' + +'Sweet soul! I know his appetite,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'Did he, oh did +he, begin his wooing?' + +'By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a +Pillar of the Empire. I didn't laugh.' + +'Lucy, I don't believe you.' + +'Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, +The Mussuck dilated.' + +'I think I can see him doing it,' said Mrs. Mallowe pensively, +scratching her fox-terrier's ears. + +'I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. "Strict +supervision, and play them off one against the other," said The Mussuck, +shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. "That, Mrs. +Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government."' + +Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. 'And what did you say?' + +'Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: "So I have +observed in my dealings with you." The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is +coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.' + +'"Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That, +Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government." And I daresay if we +could get to The Mussuck's heart, we should find that he considers +himself a man of the world.' + +'As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won't have +you call him names. He amuses me.' + +'He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of +sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog +is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?' + +'No, thanks. Polly, I'm wearied of this life. It's hollow.' + +'Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.' + +'Only exchanging half-a-dozen attaches in red for one in black, and if I +fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever struck +you, dear, that I'm getting old?' + +'Thanks for your courtesy. I'll return it. Ye-es, we are both not +exactly how shall I put it?' + +'What we have been. "I feel it in my bones," as Mrs. Crossley says. +Polly, I've wasted my life.' + +'As how?' + +'Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.' + +'Be a Power then. You've wits enough for anything and beauty!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. 'Polly, if you +heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you're a +woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.' + +'Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in +Asia, and he'll tell you anything and everything you please.' + +'Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power not a gas-power. +Polly, I'm going to start a salon.' + +Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. +'Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,' she said. + +'Will you talk sensibly?' + +'I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.' + +'I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn't +explain away afterwards.' + +'Going to make a mistake,' went on Mrs. Mallowe composedly. 'It is +impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the +point.' + +'Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.' + +'Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in +Simla?' + +'Myself and yourself,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment's +hesitation. + +'Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many +clever men?' + +'Oh er hundreds,' said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely. + +'What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government. +Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so +who shouldn't. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of +conversation he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife in the +old days are taken from him by this this kitchen-sink of a Government. +That's the case with every man up here who is at work. I don't suppose +a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang; +and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.' + +'But there are scores--' + +'I know what you're going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I +admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who'd +be delightful if he had the military man's knowledge of the world and +style, and the military man who'd be adorable if he had the Civilian's +culture.' + +'Detestable word! Have Civilians culchaw? I never studied the breed +deeply.' + +'Don't make fun of Jack's Service. Yes. They're like the teapoys in the +Lakka Bazar good material but not polished. They can't help themselves, +poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked +about the world for fifteen years.' + +'And a military man?' + +'When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species +are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon.' + +'I would not!' said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely. + +'I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them. I'd put their own +colonels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I'd give them +to the Topsham Girl to play with.' + +'The Topsham Girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the +salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, +what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one +accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti's a +"Scandal Point" by lamplight.' + +'There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.' + +'There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons +ought to have taught you that you can't focus anything in India; and +a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your +roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of +dirt on the hillsides here one day and blown down the road the next. We +have lost the art of talking at least our men have. We have no cohesion.' + +'George Eliot in the flesh,' interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee wickedly. + +'And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no +influence. Come into the verandah and look at the Mall!' + +The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was +abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. + +'How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck head of +goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like +a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir +Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of +Departments, and all powerful.' + +'And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. 'Sir Henry +Haughton raves about me. But go on.' + +'One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just +a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon +won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, +dear. And these creatures won't talk administrative "shop" in a crowd +your salon because they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks +overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever +knew, and the women--' + +'Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of +their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.' + +'You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the +subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views +admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and +provided plenty of kala juggahs.' + +'Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a +salon! But who made you so awfully clever?' + +'Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have +preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof.' + +'You needn't go on. "Is Vanity." Polly, I thank you. These vermin' Mrs. +Hauksbee waved her hand from the verandah to two men in the crowd below +who had raised their hats to her 'these vermin shall not rejoice in a +new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the notion of a +salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do +something.' + +'Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar.' + +'Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I'm +tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to +the blandishments of The Mussuck.' + +'Yes that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make +your bow yet?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. 'I think I see +myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: "Mrs. Hauksbee! +Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!" No +more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals with +supper to follow; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest friend; +no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough to clothe +what he's pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more +parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla, +spreading horrible stories about me! No more of anything that is +thoroughly wearying, abominable, and detestable, but, all the same, +makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt, Polly, +I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped "cloud" round my excellent +shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. +Delightful vision! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in three different +draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for +all the couples to stumble over as they go into the verandah! Then at +supper. Can't you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. Reluctant +subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby, they really ought +to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly, sent back by the +hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at +a glove two sizes too large for him I hate a man who wears gloves like +overcoats and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the first. +"May I ah-have the pleasure 'f takin' you 'nt' supper?" Then I get up +with a hungry smile. Just like this.' + +'Lucy, how can you be so absurd?' + +'And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you +know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for +my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve +and white "cloud" over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, +venerable feet, and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib's gharri. +Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out +by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down below +there.' She pointed through the pines toward the Cemetery, and continued +with vigorous dramatic gesture, + +'Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! +Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel or list, is it? that they +put into the tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of +them.' + +'Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that +idiotic manner! Recollect every one can see you from the Mall.' + +'Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! +There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!' + +She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite +grace. + +'Now,' she continued, 'he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the +delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell +me all about it softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy +is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of recommending him to +throw up his commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of +mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child!' + +'Never again,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, +'shall you tiffin here! "Lucindy your behaviour is scand'lus."' + +'All your fault,' retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, 'for suggesting such a thing +as my abdication. No! jamais! nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, +talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any +woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to +shame before all Simla, and it's dust and ashes in my mouth while I'm +doing it!' + +She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm +round her waist. + +'I'm not!' said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummaging for her handkerchief. +'I've been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the +afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only because I'm tired.' + +Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie +down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk. + +'I've been through that too, dear,' she said. + +'I remember,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. 'In '84, +wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season.' + +Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion. + +'I became an Influence,' said she. + +'Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss +Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they +cast me out for a sceptic without a chance of improving my poor little +mind, too.' + +'No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says--' + +'Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do?' + +'I made a lasting impression.' + +'So have I for four months. But that didn't console me in the least. I +hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me +what you mean?' + +Mrs. Mallowe told. + +'And you mean to say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?' + +'Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.' + +'And his last promotion was due to you?' + +Mrs. Mallowe nodded. + +'And you warned him against the Topsham Girl?' + +Another nod. + +'And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private memo about him?' + +A third nod. + +'Why?' + +'What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am +proud of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be successful. +Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything +else that a man values. The rest depends upon himself.' + +'Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.' + +'Not in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all. You diffuse yourself, +dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team.' + +'Can't you choose a prettier word?' + +'Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain +nothing by it. Not even amusement.' + +'And you?' + +'Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, +unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You'll find +it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be +done you needn't look like that because I've done it.' + +'There's an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. +I'll get such a man and say to him, "Now, understand that there must be +no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and +counsels, and all will yet be well." Is that the idea?' + +'More or less,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. 'But be +sure he understands.' + + +II + + Dribble-dribble trickle-trickle + What a lot of raw dust! + My dollie's had an accident + And out came all the sawdust! + + Nursery Rhyme. + +So Mrs. Hauksbee, in 'The Foundry' which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at +the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference +was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. + +'I warn you,' said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her suggestion, +'that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman even the +Topsham Girl can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him +when caught.' + +'My child,' was the answer, 'I've been a female St. Simon Stylites +looking down upon men for these these years past. Ask The Mussuck +whether I can manage them.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, 'I'll go to him and say to him in manner +most ironical.' Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly +sober. 'I wonder whether I've done well in advising that amusement? +Lucy's a clever woman, but a thought too careless.' + +A week later the two met at a Monday Pop. 'Well?' said Mrs. Mallowe. + +'I've caught him!' said Mrs. Hauksbee: her eyes were dancing with +merriment. + +'Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it.' + +'Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You +can see his face now. Look!' + +'Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don't +believe you.' + +'Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I'll +tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman's voice always reminds me of +an Underground train coming into Earl's Court with the brakes on. Now +listen. It is really Otis Yeere.' + +'So I see, but does it follow that he is your property!' + +'He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the +very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delanes' burra-khana. I +liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we +went for a ride together, and to-day he's tied to my 'richshaw-wheels +hand and foot. You'll see when the concert's over. He doesn't know I'm +here yet.' + +'Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What are you going to do with +him, assuming that you've got him?' + +'Assuming, indeed! Does a woman do I ever make a mistake in that sort of +thing? First' Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on her +little gloved fingers 'First, my dear, I shall dress him properly. At +present his raiment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress-shirt like +a crumpled sheet of the Pioneer. Secondly, after I have made him +presentable, I shall form his manners his morals are above reproach.' + +'You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the +shortness of your acquaintance.' + +'Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his +interest in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self. +If the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she +flatters the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her.' + +'In some cases.' + +'Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. +Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as +you said, be his guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall become a +success as great a success as your friend. I always wondered how +that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you with the Civil List and, +dropping on one knee no, two knees, a la Gibbon hand it to you and say, +"Adorable angel, choose your friend's appointment"?' + +'Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralised +you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil Side.' + +'No disrespect meant to Jack's Service, my dear. I only asked for +information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall work in +my prey.' + +'Go your own way since you must. But I'm sorry that I was weak enough to +suggest the amusement.' + +'"I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-fin-ite extent,"' +quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased +with Mrs. Tarkass's last, long-drawn war-whoop. + +Her bitterest enemies and she had many could hardly accuse Mrs. Hauksbee +of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering 'dumb' +characters, foredoomed through life to be nobody's property. Ten years +in Her Majesty's Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most part, in +undesirable Districts, had given him little to be proud of, and nothing +to bring confidence. Old enough to have lost the first fine careless +rapture that showers on the immature 'Stunt imaginary Commissionerships +and Stars, and sends him into the collar with coltish earnestness and +abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the progress he had +made, and thank Providence that under the conditions of the day he had +come even so far, he stood upon the dead-centre of his career. And when +a man stands still he feels the slightest impulse from without. Fortune +had ruled that Otis Yeere should be, for the first part of his service, +one of the rank and file who are ground up in the wheels of the +Administration; losing heart and soul, and mind and strength, in the +process. Until steam replaces manual power in the working of the Empire, +there must always be this percentage must always be the men who are used +up, expended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these promotion is far +off and the mill-grind of every day very instant. The Secretariats know +them only by name; they are not the picked men of the Districts with +Divisions and Collectorates awaiting them. They are simply the rank and +file the food for fever sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the +honour of being the plinth on which the State rests. The older ones +have lost their aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with +a sigh. Both learn to endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve +years in the rank and file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest +and dull the wits of the most keen. + +Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few months; drifting, in the +hope of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over +he would return to his swampy, sour-green, under-manned Bengal district; +to the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the +steaming, sweltering Station, the ill-kempt City, and the undisguised +insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life +was cheap, however. The soil spawned humanity, as it bred frogs in +the Rains, and the gap of the sickness of one season was filled to +overflowing by the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful +to lay down his work for a little while and escape from the seething, +whining, weakly hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its power +to cripple, thwart, and annoy the sunkeneyed man who, by official irony, +was said to be 'in charge' of it. + +'I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. +But I didn't know that there were men-dowds, too.' + +Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes +wore rather the mark of the ages. It will be seen that his friendship +with Mrs. Hauksbee had made great strides. + +As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is +talking about himself. From Otis Yeere's lips Mrs. Hauksbee, before +long, learned everything that she wished to know about the subject +of her experiment: learned what manner of life he had led in what she +vaguely called 'those awful cholera districts'; learned, too, but this +knowledge came later, what manner of life he had purposed to lead and +what dreams he had dreamed in the year of grace '77, before the +reality had knocked the heart out of him. Very pleasant are the shady +bridle-paths round Prospect Hill for the telling of such confidences. + +'Not yet,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Maliowe. 'Not yet. I must wait +until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great heavens, is it +possible that he doesn't know what an honour it is to be taken up by +Me!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. + +'Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!' murmured Mrs. Mallowe, with her sweetest +smile, to Otis. 'Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis growling +because you've monopolised the nicest woman in Simla. They'll tear you +to pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere.' + +Mrs. Mallowe rattled downhill, having satisfied herself, by a glance +through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. + +The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this +bewildering whirl of Simla had monopolised the nicest woman in it, and +the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity. +He had never looked upon his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter +for general interest. + +The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no account. +It was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said +spitefully, 'Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it. +Hasn't any kind friend told you that she's the most dangerous woman in +Simla?' + +Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh, when would his new clothes be +ready? He descended into the Mall to inquire; and Mrs. Hauksbee, +coming over the Church Ridge in her 'rickshaw, looked down upon him +approvingly. 'He's learning to carry himself as if he were a man, +instead of a piece of furniture, and,' she screwed up her eyes to see +the better through the sunlight 'he is a man when he holds himself like +that. O blessed Conceit, what should we be without you?' + +With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis Yeere +discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into a gentle +perspiration could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though +rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for the first time in nine years +proud of himself, and contented with his life, satisfied with his new +clothes, and rejoicing in the friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. + +'Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,' she said in confidence to Mrs. +Mallowe. 'I believe they must use Civilians to plough the fields with in +Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very beginning haven't I? +But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is immensely improved since +I took him in hand. Only give me a little more time and he won't know +himself.' + +Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of +his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in +reference to nothing, 'And who has been making you a Member of Council, +lately? You carry the side of half-a-dozen of 'em.' + +'I I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know,' said Yeere +apologetically. + +'There'll be no holding you,' continued the old stager grimly. 'Climb +down, Otis climb down, and get all that beastly affectation knocked out +of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't support it.' + +Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon +her as his Mother Confessor. + +'And you apologised!' she said. 'Oh, shame! I hate a man who apologises. +Never apologise for what your friend called "side." Never! It's a man's +business to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger. +Now, you bad boy, listen to me.' + +Simply and straightforwardly, as the 'rickshaw loitered round Jakko, +Mrs. Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, +illustrating it with living pictures encountered during their Sunday +afternoon stroll. + +'Good gracious!' she ended with the personal argument, 'you'll apologise +next for being my attache--' + +'Never!' said Otis Yeere. 'That's another thing altogether. I shall +always be.' + +'What's coming?' thought Mrs. Hauksbee. + +'Proud of that,' said Otis. + +'Safe for the present,' she said to herself. + +'But I'm afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshurun, you know. When +he waxed fat, then he kicked. It's the having no worry on one's mind and +the Hill air, I suppose.' + +'Hill air, indeed!' said Mrs. Hauksbee to herself. 'He'd have been +hiding in the Club till the last day of his leave, if I hadn't +discovered him.' And aloud, + +'Why shouldn't you be? You have every right to.' + +'I! Why?' + +'Oh, hundreds of things. I'm not going to waste this lovely afternoon +by explaining; but I know you have. What was that heap of manuscript you +showed me about the grammar of the aboriginal what's their names?' + +'Gullals. A piece of nonsense. I've far too much work to do to bother +over Gullals now. You should see my District. Come down with your +husband some day and I'll show you round. Such a lovely place in the +Rains! A sheet of water with the railway-embankment and the snakes +sticking out, and, in the summer, green flies and green squash. The +people would die of fear if you shook a dogwhip at 'em. But they know +you're forbidden to do that, so they conspire to make your life a burden +to you. My District's worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength +of a native pleader's false reports. Oh, it's a heavenly place!' + +Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. + +'There's not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do +you?' + +'Because I must. How'm I to get out of it?' + +'How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren't so many people on +the road I'd like to box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask! Look! There +is young Hexarly with six years' service and half your talents. He asked +for what he wanted, and he got it. See, down by the Convent! There's +McArthurson, who has come to his present position by asking sheer, +downright asking after he had pushed himself out of the rank and file. +One man is as good as another in your service believe me. I've seen +Simla for more seasons than I care to think about. Do you suppose men +are chosen for appointments because of their special fitness beforehand? +You have all passed a high test what do you call it? in the beginning, +and, except for the few who have gone altogether to the bad, you can all +work hard. Asking does the rest. Call it cheek, call it insolence, call +it anything you like, but ask! Men argue yes, I know what men say that a +man, by the mere audacity of his request, must have some good in him. A +weak man doesn't say: "Give me this and that." He whines: "Why haven't +I been given this and that?" If you were in the Army, I should say learn +to spin plates or play a tambourine with your toes. As it is ask! You +belong to a Service that ought to be able to command the Channel Fleet, +or set a leg at twenty minutes' notice, and yet you hesitate over asking +to escape from a squashy green district where you admit you are not +master. Drop the Bengal Government altogether. Even Darjiling is +a little out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the rents were +extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the Government of India to take you +over. Try to get on the Frontier, where every man has a grand chance +if he can trust himself. Go somewhere! Do something! You have twice the +wits and three times the presence of the men up here, and, and' Mrs. +Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued 'and in any way you look at +it, you ought to. You who could go so far!' + +'I don't know,' said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected +eloquence. 'I haven't such a good opinion of myself.' + +It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid +her hand lightly upon the ungloved paw that rested on the turned-back +'rickshaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said tenderly, +almost too tenderly, 'I believe in you if you mistrust yourself. Is that +enough, my friend?' + +'It is enough,' answered Otis very solemnly. + +He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had dreamed +eight years ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through +golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee's violet eyes. + +Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life the only existence +in this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among +men and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and Gymkhana, that +Otis Yeere, the man with the newly-lit light of self-confidence in his +eyes, had 'done something decent' in the wilds whence he came. He had +brought an erring Municipality to reason, appropriated the funds on his +own responsibility, and saved the lives of hundreds. He knew more about +the Gullals than any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aboriginal +tribes; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the +aboriginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals were till +The Mussuck, who had been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself +upon picking people's brains, explained they were a tribe of ferocious +hillmen, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friendship even the Great Indian +Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis +Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his MS. notes of six years' standing on +these same Gullals. He had told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the +fever their negligence had bred, crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, +and savagely angry at the desolation in his charge, he had once damned +the collective eyes of his 'intelligent local board' for a set of +haramzadas. Which act of 'brutal and tyrannous oppression' won him +a Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government; but in the anecdote as +amended for Northern consumption we find no record of this. Hence we are +forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee edited his reminiscences before +sowing them in idle ears, ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or +evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as befitted the hero of many tales. + +'You can talk to me when you don't fall into a brown study. Talk now, +and talk your brightest and best,' said Mrs. Hauksbee. + +Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has the counsel of a woman of or +above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can meet +both sexes on equal ground an advantage never intended by Providence, +who fashioned Man on one day and Woman on another, in sign that neither +should know more than a very little of the other's life. Such a man goes +far, or, the counsel being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world +seeks the reason. + +Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee, who, again, had all Mrs. Mallowe's wisdom +at her disposal, proud of himself and, in the end, believing in himself +because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready for any fortune that +might befall, certain that it would be good. He would fight for his own +hand, and intended that this second struggle should lead to better issue +than the first helpless surrender of the bewildered 'Stunt. + +What might have happened it is impossible to say. This lamentable thing +befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would +spend the next season in Darjiling. + +'Are you certain of that?' said Otis Yeere. + +'Quite. We're writing about a house now.' + +Otis Yeere 'stopped dead,' as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the +relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. + +'He has behaved,' she said angrily, 'just like Captain Kerrington's pony +only Otis is a donkey at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet and +refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's going to disappoint me. +What shall I do?' + +As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this +occasion she opened her eyes to the utmost. + +'You have managed cleverly so far,'she said. 'Speak to him, and ask him +what he means.' + +'I will at to-night's dance.' + +'No o, not at a dance,' said Mrs. Mallowe cautiously. 'Men are never +themselves quite at dances. Better wait till to-morrow morning.' + +'Nonsense. If he's going to 'vert in this insane way there isn't a day +to lose. Are you going? No? Then sit up for me, there's a dear. I shan't +stay longer than supper under any circumstances.' + +Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and earnestly into +the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. + +'Oh! oh! oh! The man's an idiot! A raving, positive idiot! I'm sorry I +ever saw him!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's house, at midnight, almost in +tears. + +'What in the world has happened?' said Mrs. Mallowe, but her eyes showed +that she had guessed an answer. + +'Happened! Everything has happened! He was there. I went to him and +said, "Now, what does this nonsense mean?" Don't laugh, dear, I can't +bear it. But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a square, and I +sat it out with him and wanted an explanation, and he said Oh! I haven't +patience with such idiots! You know what I said about going to Darjiling +next year? It doesn't matter to me where I go. I'd have changed the +Station and lost the rent to have saved this. He said, in so many words, +that he wasn't going to try to work up any more, because because he +would be shifted into a province away from Darjiling, and his own +District, where these creatures are, is within a day's journey.' + +'Ah hh!' said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully +tracked an obscure word through a large dictionary. + +'Did you ever hear of anything so mad so absurd? And he had the ball +at his feet. He had only to kick it! I would have made him anything! +Anything in the wide world. He could have gone to the world's end. I +would have helped him. I made him, didn't I, Polly? Didn't I create +that man? Doesn't he owe everything to me? And to reward me, just when +everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that spoilt everything!' + +'Very few men understand your devotion thoroughly.' + +'Oh, Polly, don't laugh at me! I give men up from this hour. I could +have killed him then and there. What right had this man this Thing I had +picked out of his filthy paddy--fields to make love to me?' + +'He did that, did he?' + +'He did. I don't remember half he said, I was so angry. Oh, but such +a funny thing happened! I can't help laughing at it now, though I felt +nearly ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed I'm afraid we must +have made an awful noise in our kala juggah. Protect my character, dear, +if it's all over Simla by to-morrow and then he bobbed forward in the +middle of this insanity I firmly believe the man's demented and kissed +me.' + +'Morals above reproach,' purred Mrs. Mallowe. + +'So they were so they are! It was the most absurd kiss. I don't believe +he'd ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw my head back, and +it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the chin here.' +Mrs. Hauksbee tapped her masculine little chin with her fan. 'Then, of +course, I was furiously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, +and I was sorry I'd ever met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily +then I couldn't be very angry. Then I came away straight to you.' + +'Was this before or after supper?' + +'Oh! before oceans before. Isn't it perfectly disgusting?' + +'Let me think. I withhold judgment till tomorrow. Morning brings +counsel.' + +But morning brought only a servant with a dainty bouquet of Annandale +roses for Mrs. Hauksbee to wear at the dance at Viceregal Lodge that +night. + +'He doesn't seem to be very penitent,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'What's the +billet-doux in the centre?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly-folded note, another accomplishment that +she had taught Otis, read it, and groaned tragically. + +'Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry! Is it his own, do you think? +Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot!' + +'No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and in view of the facts of +the case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen + + Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart, + Pass! There's a world full of men; + And women as fair as thou art + Must do such things now and then. + Thou only hast stepped unaware + Malice not one can impute; + And why should a heart have been there, + In the way of a fair woman's foot? + +'I didn't I didn't I didn't!' said Mrs. Hauksbee angrily, her +eyes filling with tears; 'there was no malice at all. Oh, it's too +vexatious!' + +'You've misunderstood the compliment,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'He clears +you completely and ahem I should think by this, that he has cleared +completely too. My experience of men is that when they begin to quote +poetry they are going to flit. Like swans singing before they die, you +know.' + +'Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.' + +'Do I? Is it so terrible? If he's hurt your vanity, I should say that +you've done a certain amount of damage to his heart.' + +'Oh, you can never tell about a man!' said Mrs. Hauksbee. + + + + +AT THE PIT'S MOUTH + + + Men say it was a stolen tide + The Lord that sent it He knows all, + But in mine ear will aye abide + The message that the bells let fall-- + And awesome bells they were to me, + That in the dark rang, 'Enderby.' + --Jean Ingelow + +Once upon a time there was a Man and his Wife and a Tertium Quid. + +All three were unwise, but the Wife was the unwisest. The Man should +have looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, +who, again, should have married a wife of his own, after clean and +open flirtations, to which nobody can possibly object, round Jakko or +Observatory Hill. When you see a young man with his pony in a white +lather and his hat on the back of his head, flying downhill at fifteen +miles an hour to meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet +him, you naturally approve of that young man, and wish him Staff +appointments, and take an interest in his welfare, and, as the proper +time comes, give them sugar-tongs or side-saddles according to your +means and generosity. + +The Tertium Quid flew downhill on horseback, but it was to meet the +Man's Wife; and when he flew uphill it was for the same end. The Man +was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend on dresses and +four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive luxuries of that kind. He +worked very hard, and sent her a letter or a post-card daily. She also +wrote to him daily, and said that she was longing for him to come up to +Simla. The Tertium Quid used to lean over her shoulder and laugh as she +wrote the notes. Then the two would ride to the Post-office together. + +Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are peculiar; nor is +any man who has not spent at least ten seasons there qualified to pass +judgment on circumstantial evidence, which is the most untrustworthy in +the Courts. For these reasons, and for others which need not appear, +I decline to state positively whether there was anything irretrievably +wrong in the relations between the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid. If +there was, and hereon you must form your own opinion, it was the Man's +Wife's fault. She was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an +air of soft and fluffy innocence. But she was deadlily learned and +evil-instructed; and, now and again, when the mask dropped, men saw +this, shuddered and almost drew back. Men are occasionally particular, +and the least particular men are always the most exacting. + +Simla is eccentric in its fashion of treating friendships. Certain +attachments which have set and crystallised through half-a-dozen seasons +acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are revered as +such. Again, certain attachments equally old, and, to all appearance, +equally venerable, never seem to win any recognised official status; +while a chance-sprung acquaintance, not two months born, steps into the +place which by right belongs to the senior. There is no law reducible to +print which regulates these affairs. + +Some people have a gift which secures them infinite toleration, and +others have not. The Man's Wife had not. If she looked over the garden +wall, for instance, women taxed her with stealing their husbands. She +complained pathetically that she was not allowed to choose her own +friends. When she put up her big white muff to her lips, and gazed over +it and under her eyebrows at you as she said this thing, you felt +that she had been infamously misjudged, and that all the other women's +instincts were all wrong; which was absurd. She was not allowed to own +the Tertium Quid in peace; and was so strangely constructed that she +would not have enjoyed peace had she been so permitted. She preferred +some semblance of intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace actions. + +After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then Summer +Hill, then Observatory Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly up and down +the Cart Road as far as the Tara Devi gap in the dusk, she said to the +Tertium Quid, 'Frank, people say we are too much together, and people +are so horrid.' + +The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid people +were unworthy of the consideration of nice people. + +'But they have done more than talk they have written written to my hubby +I'm sure of it,' said the Man's Wife, and she pulled a letter from her +husband out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the Tertium Quid. + +It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in the +Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight +hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It said +that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdom of allowing her name +to be so generally coupled with the Tertium Quid's; that she was too +much of a child to understand the dangers of that sort of thing; that +he, her husband, was the last man in the world to interfere jealously +with her little amusements and interests, but that it would be better +were she to drop the Tertium Quid quietly and for her husband's sake. +The letter was sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it +amused the Tertium Quid considerably. He and She laughed over it, so +that you, fifty yards away, could see their shoulders shaking while the +horses slouched along side by side. + +Their conversation was not worth reporting. The upshot of it was that, +next day, no one saw the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid together. They +had both gone down to the Cemetery, which, as a rule, is only visited +officially by the inhabitants of Simla. + +A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, and the +coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of the most +depressing things on this earth, particularly when the procession passes +under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe Hotel, where the sun is +shut out, and all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together as +they go down the valleys. + +Occasionally folk tend the graves, but we in India shift and are +transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead have +no friend only acquaintances who are far too busy amusing themselves up +the hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a Cemetery as a +rendezvous is distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply, +'Let people talk. We'll go down the Mall.' A woman is made differently, +especially if she be such a woman as the Man's Wife. She and the Tertium +Quid enjoyed each other's society among the graves of men and women whom +they had known and danced with aforetime. + +They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit on the grass a little to +the left of the lower end, where there is a dip in the ground, and where +the occupied graves stop short and the ready-made ones are not +ready. Each well-regulated Indian Cemetery keeps half-a-dozen graves +permanently open for contingencies and incidental wear and tear. In the +Hills these are more usually baby's size, because children who come up +weakened and sick from the Plains often succumb to the effects of the +Rains in the Hills or get pneumonia from their ayahs taking them through +damp pine-woods after the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the +man's size is more in request; these arrangements varying with the +climate and population. + +One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the +Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a +full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was +sick. They said that they did not know; but it was an order that they +should dig a Sahib's grave. + +'Work away,' said the Tertium Quid, 'and let's see how it's done.' + +The coolies worked away, and the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid watched +and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was being deepened. +Then a coolie, taking the earth in baskets as it was thrown up, jumped +over the grave. + +'That's queer,' said the Tertium Quid. 'Where's my ulster?' + +'What's queer?' said the Man's Wife. + +'I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over my +grave.' + +'Why do you look at the thing, then?' said the Man's Wife. 'Let us go.' + +The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared without +answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble down, 'It +is nasty and cold: horribly cold. I don't think I shall come to the +Cemetery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful.' + +The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also +arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra +Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a +garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go +too. + +Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid's horse tried to bolt +uphill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to strain a back +sinew. + +'I shall have to take the mare to-morrow,' said the Tertium Quid, 'and +she will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.' + +They made their arrangements to meet in the Cemetery, after allowing +all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it +rained heavily, and, next day, when the Tertium Quid came to the +trysting-place, he saw that the new grave had a foot of water in it, the +ground being a tough and sour clay. + +'Jove! That looks beastly,' said the Tertium Quid. 'Fancy being boarded +up and dropped into that well!' + +They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle and +picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the sun shining +divinely. The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the +Himalayan-Thibet road; but in spite of its name it is not much more than +six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below may be +anything between one and two thousand feet. + +'Now we're going to Thibet,' said the Man's Wife merrily, as the horses +drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. + +'Into Thibet,' said the Tertium Quid, 'ever so far from people who say +horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you to the end +of the world!' + +A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went +wide to avoid him forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare +should go. + +'To the world's end,' said the Man's Wife, and looked unspeakable things +over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. + +He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it were +on his face, and changed to a nervous grin the sort of grin men wear +when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be +sinking by the stern, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to +realise what was happening. The rain of the night before had rotted the +drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and it was giving way under +her. 'What are you doing?' said the Man's Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no +answer. He grinned nervously and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped +with her forefeet on the road, and the struggle began. The Man's Wife +screamed, 'Oh, Frank, get off!' + +But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle his face blue and white and +he looked into the Man's Wife's eyes. Then the Man's Wife clutched at +the mare's head and caught her by the nose instead of the bridle. The +brute threw up her head and went down with a scream, the Tertium Quid +upon her, and the nervous grin still set on his face. + +The Man's Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose earth +falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man and horse going +down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank to leave his +mare and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He was underneath the mare, +nine hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn. + +As the revellers came back from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of the +evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily mad +horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes and her mouth open, and +her head like the head of a Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the risk +of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on the +bank to explain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she was +sent home in a lady's 'rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her hands +picking at her riding-gloves. + +She was in bed through the following three days, which were rainy; so +she missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered +into eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to which he had +first objected. + + + + +A WAYSIDE COMEDY + + + Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore + the misery of man is great upon him. + --Eccles. viii. 6. + +Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kashima into +a prison; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are now +lying there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Government +of India may be moved to scatter the European population to the four +winds. + +Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rocktipped circle of the Dosehri +hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die and +the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists from +the jhils cover the place as with water, and in Winter the frosts nip +everything young and tender to earth-level. There is but one view in +Kashima a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plough-land, running up +to the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills. + +There are no amusements, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigers +have been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and the +snipe only come once a year. Narkarra one hundred and forty-three miles +by road is the nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never goes to +Narkarra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stays +within the circle of the Dosehri hills. + +All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but all +Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain. + +Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. They +are the English population of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen, +who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the most +important of all. + +You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws weaken +in a small and hidden community where there is no public opinion. When +a man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk of +falling into evil ways. This risk is multiplied by every addition to the +population up to twelve the Jury-number. After that, fear and consequent +restraint begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely jerky. + +There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was a +charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and she charmed every +one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is so +perverse, she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had +she been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to +Kashima. But she was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour +of a lake just before the light of the sun touches it. No man who had +seen those eyes could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was +to look upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was 'not +bad-looking, but spoilt by pretending to be so grave.' And yet her +gravity was natural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely went +through life, looking at those who passed; and the women objected while +the men fell down and worshipped. + +She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima; but +Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in +to afternoon tea at least three times a week. 'When there are only two +women in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,' +says Major Vansuythen. + +Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-away +places where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had discovered +that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and you dare +not blame them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other +Place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no +concern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was +a hard, heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They +had all Kashima and each other for their very, very own; and Kashima +was the Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his +wanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call him 'old +fellow,' and the three would dine together. Kashima was happy then when +the judgment of God seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the railway +that ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to +Kashima, and with him came his wife. + +The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island. +When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore to +make him welcome. Kashima assembled at the masonry platform close to +the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony was +reckoned a formal call, and made them free of the Station, its rights +and privileges. When the Vansuythens settled down they gave a tiny +house-warming to all Kashima; and that made Kashima free of their house, +according to the immemorial usage of the Station. + +Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the Narkarra +Road was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pastures +of Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from the +Dosehri hills and covered everything. + +At the end of the Rains Boulte's manner towards his wife changed and +became demonstratively affectionate. They had been married twelve years, +and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her husband with the hate +of a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, in +the teeth of this kindness, has done him a great wrong. Moreover, +she had her own trouble to fight with her watch to keep over her own +property, Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills +and many other things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs. +Boulte that her man among men, her Ted for she called him Ted in the +old days when Boulte was out of earshot was slipping the links of the +allegiance. + +'The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,' Mrs. Boulte said to herself; +and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of the +over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fortunate as +Love because there is nothing to weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. +Boulte had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because she was not +certain; and her nature led her to be very certain before she took steps +in any direction. That is why she behaved as she did. + +Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the +door-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte was +putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civilisation +even in Kashima. + +'Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, 'do you care for me?' + +'Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. 'Can you ask it?' + +'But I'm serious,' said Boulte. 'Do you care for me?' + +Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. 'Do you want +an honest answer?' + +'Ye-es, I've asked for it.' + +Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very +distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. When +Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to +be compared to the deliberate pulling down of a woman's homestead about +her own ears. There was no wise female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, +the singularly cautious wife, to hold her hand. She struck at Boulte's +heart, because her own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out +with the long strain of watching alone through the Rains. There was +no plan or purpose in her speaking. The sentences made themselves; and +Boulte listened, leaning against the door-post with his hands in his +pockets. When all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her +nose before breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in +front of him at the Dosehri hills. + +'Is that all?' he said. 'Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.' + +'What are you going to do?' said the woman, between her sobs. + +'Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell, or send you Home, or +apply for leave to get a divorce? It's two days' treck into Narkarra.' He +laughed again and went on: 'I'll tell you what you can do. You can ask +Kurrell to dinner tomorrow no, on Thursday, that will allow you time to +pack and you can bolt with him. I give you my word I won't follow.' + +He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till +the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking. +She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house +down; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand her +husband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulness +struck her, and she was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying, 'I have +gone mad and told everything. My husband says that I am free to elope +with you. Get a dek for Thursday, and we will fly after dinner.' There +was a cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not appeal to her. +So she sat still in her own house and thought. + +At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn and +haggard, and the woman was touched at his distress. As the evening wore +on she muttered some expression of sorrow, something approaching to +contrition. Boulte came out of a brown study and said, 'Oh, that! I +wasn't thinking about that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to the +elopement?' + +'I haven't seen him,' said Mrs. Boulte. 'Good God, is that all?' + +But Boulte was not listening and her sentence ended in a gulp. + +The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not +appear, and the new lift that she, in the five minutes' madness of the +previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed +to be no nearer. + +Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the +verandah, and went out. The morning wore through, and at mid-day the +tension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished +her crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone. +Perhaps the Vansuythen Woman would talk to her; and, since talking +opens the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in her +company. She was the only other woman in the Station. + +In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in +upon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and +walked across to the Vansuythens' house to borrow last week's Queen. The +two compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossed +through the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from the back. +As she passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that +cloaked the drawing-room door, her husband's voice, saying, + +'But on my Honour! On my Soul and Honour, I tell you she doesn't +care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then if +Vansuythen hadn't been with you. If it is for her sake that you'll have +nothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's Kurrell.' + +'What?' said Mrs. Vansuythen, with a hysterical little laugh. 'Kurrell! +Oh, it can't be! You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhaps +you you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can't +be as wrong as you say.' + +Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and +was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. + +'There must be some mistake,' she insisted, 'and it can be all put right +again.' + +Boulte laughed grimly. + +'It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the +least the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He +said he had not. He swore he had not,' said Mrs. Vansuythen. + +The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a +little thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood +up with a gasp. + +'What was that you said?' asked Mrs. Boulte. 'Never mind that man. What +did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?' + +Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the +trouble of her questioner. + +'He said I can't remember exactly what he said but I understood him +to say that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange +question?' + +'Will you tell me what he said?' repeated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger will +fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was only +an ordinarily good woman. She began in a sort of desperation: 'Well, he +said that the never cared for you at all, and, of course, there was not +the least reason why he should have, and and that was all.' + +'You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?' + +'Yes,' said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly. + +Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell +forward fainting. + +'What did I tell you?' said Boulte, as though the conversation had been +unbroken. 'You can see for yourself. She cares for him.' The light began +to break into his dull mind, and he went on, 'And what was he saying +to you?' + +But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned +protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. + +'Oh, you brute!' she cried. 'Are all men like this? Help me to get her +into my room and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be +quiet, and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell. +Lift her up carefully, and now go! Go away!' + +Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bedroom, and departed +before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent and +burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuythen +would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, who +caught himself considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she +discovered that the man she loved had forsworn her. + +In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the +road and pulled up with a cheery 'Good-mornin'. 'Been mashing Mrs. +Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What +will Mrs. Boulte say?' + +Boulte raised his head and said slowly, 'Oh, you liar!' Kurrell's face +changed. 'What's that?' he asked quickly. + +'Nothing much,' said Boulte. 'Has my wife told you that you two are free +to go off whenever you please? She has been good enough to explain +the situation to me. You've been a true friend to me, Kurrell old man +haven't you?' + +Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence about +being willing to give 'satisfaction.' But his interest in the woman was +dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her for +her amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken off +the thing gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled with Boulte's +voice recalled him. + +'I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'm +pretty sure you'd get none from killing me.' + +Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, +Boulte added, + +'Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep to the woman, +now you've got her. You've been a true friend to her too, haven't you?' + +Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him. + +'What do you mean?' he said. + +Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: 'My wife came +over to Mrs. Vansuythen's just now; and it seems you'd been telling +Mrs. Vansuythen that you'd never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, as +usual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her? Try to +speak the truth for once in a way.' + +Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another +question: 'Go on. What happened?' + +'Emma fainted,' said Boulte simply. 'But, look here, what had you been +saying to Mrs. Vansuythen?' + +Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc of +his plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whose +eyes he was humiliated and shown dishonourable. + +'Said to her? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I said +pretty much what you've said, unless I'm a good deal mistaken.' + +'I spoke the truth,' said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell. +'Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.' + +'No! I suppose not. You're only her husband, y'know. And what did Mrs. +Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet?' + +Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. + +'I don't think that matters,' Boulte replied; 'and it doesn't concern +you.' + +'But it does! I tell you it does' began Kurrell shamelessly. + +The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte's lips. Kurrell +was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed laughed long and +loudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound the mirthless +mirth of these men on the long white line of the Narkarra Road. There +were no strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity +within the Dosehri hills had driven half the European population mad. +The laughter ended abruptly, and Kurrell was the first to speak. + +'Well, what are you going to do?' + +Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. 'Nothing,' said he quietly; +'what's the use? It's too ghastly for anything. We must let the old life +go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't go on calling +you names for ever. Besides which, I don't feel that I'm much better. We +can't get out of this place. What is there to do?' + +Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. The +injured husband took up the wondrous tale. + +'Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don't care what +you do.' + +He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrell +did not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat in +his saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by the roadside. + +The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was driving +home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead. + +'Stop, please,' said Mrs. Boulte, 'I want to speak to Ted.' + +Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting her +hand upon the splashboard of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke. + +'I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.' + +There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man's eyes were +fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte saw the +look. + +'Speak to him!' she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. 'Oh, +speak to him! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him. +Tell him you hate him!' + +She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went +forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped +the reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy explanations. + +'I've nothing to do with it,' she began coldly; but Mrs. Boulte's sobs +overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. 'I don't know what +I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. I think +you've you've behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terribly +against the table.' + +'It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,' said Mrs. Boulte feebly. 'That +doesn't matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for him. +Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?' + +'Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were that you were fond of +her once upon a time,' went on Mrs. Vansuythen. + +'Well!' said Kurrell brutally. 'It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had +better be fond of her own husband first.' + +'Stop!' said Mrs. Vansuythen. 'Hear me first. I don't care I don't want +to know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you to know that +I hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I'll never, never speak +to you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you man!' + +'I want to speak to Ted,' moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart rattled +on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath +against Mrs. Boulte. + +He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, +and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte's presence, +learned for the second time her opinion of himself and his actions. + +In the evenings it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform +on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea and discuss the trivialities of +the day. Major Vansuythen and his wife found themselves alone at the +gathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; and +the cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's remarkably reasonable +suggestion that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upon +driving round to the two bungalows and unearthing the population. + +'Sitting in the twilight!' said he, with great indignation, to the +Boultes. 'That'll never do! Hang it all, we're one family here! You must +come out, and so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo.' + +So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion over +guilty consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down to the +banjo; and the Major embraced the company in one expansive grin. As he +grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked at +all Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would never know +anything. He was to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage was +the Dosehri hills. + +'You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,' said the Major +truthfully. 'Pass me that banjo.' + +And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima +went to dinner. + +That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima the life that Mrs. +Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. + +Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since he insists upon +keeping up a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break her +vow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity +preserve the semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably to +keep alight the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte's bosom, as +it awakens the same passions in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates +Mrs. Vansuythen because she has taken Ted from her, and, in some curious +fashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuythen and here the wife's eyes see +far more clearly than the husband's detests Ted. And Ted that gallant +captain and honourable man knows now that it is possible to hate a woman +once loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her for ever with blows. +Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her +ways. + +Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boulte +has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. + +'You're a blackguard,' he says to Kurrell, 'and I've lost any +self-respect I may ever have had; but when you're with me, I can +feel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emma +miserable.' + +Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they are +away for three days together, and then the Major insists upon his +wife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. Vansuythen has +repeatedly declared that she prefers her husband's company to any in the +world. From the way in which she clings to him, she would certainly seem +to be speaking the truth. + +But of course, as the Major says, 'in a little Station we must all be +friendly.' + + + + +THE HILL OF ILLUSION + + + What rendered vain their deep desire? + A God, a God their severance ruled, + And bade between their shores to be + The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. + --Matthew Arnold. + +He. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm fresh +from the Plains. + +She. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, they +are an untrained crew. Where do we go? + +He. As usual to the world's end. No, Jakko. + +She. Have your pony led after you, then. It's a long round. + +He. And for the last time, thank Heaven! + +She. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about it all +these months. + +He. Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs to that end since Autumn. What +makes you speak as though it had occurred to you for the first time? + +She. I? Oh! I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too. + +He. And you've changed your mind? + +She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are +your arrangements? + +He. Ours, Sweetheart, please. + +She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your +forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water? + +He. It'll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are simple +enough. Tonga in the early morning reach Kalka at twelve Umballa at +seven down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and then the steamer of +the 21st for Rome. That's my idea. The Continent and Sweden a ten-week +honeymoon. + +She. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how +long have we two been insane? + +He. Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours exactly, but +I'll think. + +She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the +Blessington Road? + +He. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me +everything that you've been doing and saying and thinking. + +She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've hardly +been out at all. + +He. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping? + +She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for amusement? + +He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? + +She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I'm known here, +the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don't +like that. + +He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. + +She. You think so? + +He. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to +carry us away. Ha! ha! + +She. And the fun of the situation comes in where, my Lancelot? + +He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. + +She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women. Now I was +thinking of the scandal. + +He. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. + +She. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla telegraphed +over India, and talked of at the dinners and when He goes out they will +stare at Him to see how he takes it. And we shall be dead, Guy dear dead +and cast into the outer darkness where there is-- + +He. Love at least. Isn't that enough? + +She. I have said so. + +He. And you think so still? + +She. What do you think? + +He. What have I done? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons it +outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off my life's work. +I pay my price. + +She. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it. +Am I? + +He. My Divinity what else? + +She. A very ordinary woman, I'm afraid, but so far, respectable. How +d'you do, Mrs. Middle-ditch? Your husband? I think he's riding down to +Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it divine after the rain? +Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till the +17th? + +He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of bringing her into the +discussion? You were saying? + +She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged? + +He. Yes. Once. + +She. What was it for? + +He. Murder, of course. + +She. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt +before the drop fell. + +He. I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this +evening! You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear. + +She. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and I +thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies' Mile! Let's turn back. + +He. What's the good? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means +it's foggy all down the Mall. We'll go on. It'll blow away before we get +to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is chilly. + +She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you +think of my cape? + +He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is +desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like +everything else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it from? + +She. He gave it me, on Wednesday our wedding-day, you know. + +He. The Deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age. D'you like +all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don't. + +She. Don't you? + + Kind Sir, o' your courtesy, + As you go by the town, Sir, + 'Pray you o' your love for me, + Buy me a russet gown, Sir. + +He. I won't say: 'Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.' Only wait +a little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and +everything else. + +She. And when the frocks wear out you'll get me new ones and everything +else? + +He. Assuredly. + +She. I wonder! + +He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two days and two nights in +the train to hear you wonder. I thought we'd settled all that at +Shaifazehat. + +She. (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That +was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the +Amirtollah kutcha road. I don't believe that could crumble till the Day +of Judgment. + +He. You think so? What is the mood now? + +She. I can't tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly. + +He. 'Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanies and get out. What's the +matter with you this evening, dear? + +She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I'm boring you I +can go home. Here's Captain Congleton coming, I daresay he'll be willing +to escort me. + +He. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton. + +She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It +jars a little, and you might swear at me. + +He. My angel! I didn't know what I was saying; and you changed so +quickly that I couldn't follow. I'll apologise in dust and ashes. + +She. There'll be enough of those later on Good-night, Captain Congleton. +Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you +next week? No! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I +said. If you've made a mistake, I certainly don't intend to suffer for +it. You must alter your programme. + +He. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this +season? + +She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances +very nicely. + +He. And sit out with him, I suppose? + +She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in +future? + +He. What does he talk to you about? + +She. What do men talk about when they sit out? + +He. Ugh! Don't! Well, now I'm up, you must dispense with the fascinating +Congleton for a while. I don't like him. + +She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said? + +He 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers. + +She So I see, and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your +'eternal constancy,' 'unalterable trust,' and 'reverent devotion'? I +remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a +man's name. + +He. A good deal more than that. + +She. Well, speak to him about a dance perhaps the last dance that I +shall ever dance in my life before I, before I go away; and you at once +distrust and insult me. + +He. I never said a word. + +She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our +stock to start the new life on? + +He. No, of course not. I didn't mean that. On my word and honour, I +didn't. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass. + +She. This once yes and a second time, and again and again, all through +the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my +Lancelot, and, you know too much. + +He. How do you mean? + +She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust +between us. + +He. In Heaven's name, why not? + +She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. + +He. I don't follow. + +She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man Never +mind. Guy, have you ever made love to a girl a good girl? + +He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago in the Dark Ages, before I ever +met you, dear. + +She. Tell me what you said to her. + +He. What does a man say to a girl? I've forgotten. + +She. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground +she walks on, and that he'll love and honour and protect her till her +dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one +girl who was not protected. + +He. Well, and then? + +She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and +trust and honour yes, honour that was enough when she was only a +mere wife if if the other life she chooses to lead is to be made even +bearable. Do you understand? + +He. Even bearable! It'll be Paradise. + +She. Ah! Can you give me all I've asked for not now, nor a few months +later, but when you begin to think of what you might have done if you +had kept your own appointment and your caste here when you begin to +look upon me as a drag and a burden? I shall want it most then, Guy, for +there will be no one in the wide world but you. + +He. You're a little over-tired to-night, Sweetheart, and you're taking a +stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in the Courts, +the road is clear to-- + +She. 'The holy state of matrimony!' Ha! ha! ha! + +He. Ssh! Don't laugh in that horrible way! + +She. I I c-c-c-can't help it! Isn't it too absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, +stop me quick or I shall l-l-laugh till we get to the Church. + +He. For goodness sake, stop! Don't make an exhibition of yourself. What +is the matter with you? + +She. N-nothing. I'm better now. + +He. That's all right. One moment, dear. There's a little wisp of hair +got loose from behind your right ear and it's straggling over your +cheek. So! + +She. Thank'oo. I'm 'fraid my hat's on one side, too. + +He. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? They're big +enough to kill a man with. + +She. Oh! don't kill me, though. You're sticking it into my head! Let me +do it. You men are so clumsy. + +He. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us in this sort of +work? + +She. Guy, what is my name? + +He. Eh! I don't follow. + +She. Here's my card-case. Can you read? + +He. Yes. Well? + +She. Well, that answers your question. You know the other's man's name. +Am I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any +one else? + +He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only +joking. There! Lucky there's no one on the road. They'd be scandalised. + +She. They'll be more scandalised before the end. + +He. Do-on't! I don't like you to talk in that way. + +She. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and accept +it? Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty woman! +Swear I don't! Give me your word of honour, my honourable friend, that +I'm not like Mrs. Buzgago. That's the way she stands, with her hands +clasped at the back of her head. D'you like that? + +He. Don't be affected. + +She. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! + + Pendant une anne' toute entiere + Le regiment n'a pas r'paru. + Au Ministere de la Guerre + On le r'porta comme perdu. + On se r'noncait--retrouver sa trace, + Quand un matin subitement, + On le vit reparaetre sur la place, + L'Colonel toujours en avant. + +That's the way she rolls her r's. Am I like her? + +He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of +that kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It +isn't a drawing-room song. It isn't proper. + +She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and +in another month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she +isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women +and had no scruples about What is it Keene says? 'Wearing a corpse's +hair and being false to the bread they eat.' + +He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very +bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods +tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one. + +She. Moods, Guy! I haven't any. I'm sixteen years old and you're just +twenty, and you've been waiting for two hours outside the school in the +cold. And now I've met you, and now we're walking home together. Does +that suit you, My Imperial Majesty? + +He. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational? + +She. He asks me that when I'm going to commit suicide for his sake, and, +and I don't want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever +told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I +married? He's married now. Can't you imagine the pleasure that the news +of the elopement will give him? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be +pleased with your performances? + +He. One or two. One can't make omelets without breaking eggs. + +She (slowly). I don't see the necessity + +He. Hah! What do you mean? + +She. Shall I speak the truth? + +He Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. + +She. Guy, I'm afraid. + +He I thought we'd settled all that. What of? + +She. Of you. + +He. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too bad! + +She. Of you. + +He. And what now? + +She. What do you think of me? + +He. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? + +She. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat + +He. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That's the one point on which I have any +notion of Honour. I won't eat his salt and steal too. I'll loot openly +or not at all. + +She. I never meant anything else. + +He. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come? + +She. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. + +He. Please explain. + +She. It can't last, Guy. It can't last. You'll get angry, and then +you'll swear, and then you'll get jealous, and then you'll mistrust me +you do now and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And +I what shall I do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out no +better than any one. And you'll know that. Oh, Guy, can't you see? + +He I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. + +She. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you +do when I am only your property stolen property? It can't be, Guy. It +can't be! I thought it could, but it can't. You'll get tired of me. + +He I tell you I shall not. Won't anything make you understand that? + +She. There, can't you see? If you speak to me like that now, you'll call +me horrible names later, if I don't do everything as you like. And if +you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go? where should I go? I can't +trust you. Oh! I can't trust you! + +He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I've ample reason. + +She. Please don't, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. + +He. It isn't exactly pleasant for me. + +She. I can't help it. I wish I were dead! I can't trust you, and I don't +trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten! + +He. Too late now. I don't understand you I won't and I can't trust +myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow? + +She. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my 'rickshaw +here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride. + +He. I'll go on to Peliti's too. I think I want a drink. My world's +knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes +howling in the Old Library? + +She. They're rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can't +you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea. +Listen! + +Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con molt. exp.). + +See-saw! Margery Daw! + +Sold her bed to lie upon straw. + +Wasn't she a silly slut + +To sell her bed and lie upon dirt? + +Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to 'flirt.' It sounds better. + +He. No, I've changed my mind about the drink. Good-night, little lady. I +shall see you to-morrow? + +She. Ye es. Good-night, Guy. Don't be angry with me. + +He. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good-night and God bless +you! + +(Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I'd give something to discover +whether there's another man at the back of all this. + + + + +A SECOND-RATE WOMAN + + + Est fuga, volvitur rota, + On we drift: where looms the dim port? + One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota: + Something is gained if one caught but the import, + Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + --Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + +'Dressed! Don't tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood +in the middle of the room while her ayah no, her husband it must have +been a man threw her clothes at her. She then did her hair with her +fingers, and rubbed her bonnet in the flue under the bed. I know she +did, as well as if I had assisted at the orgy. Who is she?' said Mrs. +Hauksbee. + +'Don't!' said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. 'You make my head ache. I am +miserable to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for +I am. Did you bring anything from Peliti's?' + +'Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have +answered them. Who and what is the creature? There were at least +half-a-dozen men round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep in +their midst.' + +'Delville,' said Mrs. Mallowe, "'Shady" Delville, to distinguish her +from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I +believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if you are +so interested.' + +'What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught my +attention for a minute, and I wondered at the attraction that a dowd has +for a certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out of her clothes +until I looked at her eyes.' + +'Hooks and eyes, surely,' drawled Mrs. Mallowe. + +'Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick +stood a crowd of men a positive crowd!' + +'Perhaps they also expected.' + +'Polly, don't be Rabelaisian!' + +Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and turned her +attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house +at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis +Yeere, which has been already recorded. + +Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and looked down upon the Mall, +her forehead puckered with thought. + +'Hah!' said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. 'Indeed!' + +'What is it?' said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily. + +'That dowd and The Dancing Master to whom I object.' + +'Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate +and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.' + +'Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should +imagine that this animal how terrible her bonnet looks from above! is +specially clingsome.' + +'She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never +could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his +life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.' + +'O-oh! I think I've met that sort of man before. And isn't he?' + +'No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to be +killed.' + +'What happened then?' + +'He posed as the horror of horrors a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the +femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough but the other thing!' + +'And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide +in me. How is it they come to you?' + +'For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect +me from men with confidences!' + +'And yet you encourage them?' + +'What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. +I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is of the most +old possible.' + +'Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, +whereas women's confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except--' + +'When they go mad and babble of the Unutter-abilities after a week's +acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a great deal more +of men than of our own sex.' + +'And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say +we are trying to hide something.' + +'They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These +chocolates pall upon me, and I haven't eaten more than a dozen. I think +I shall go to sleep.' + +'Then you'll get fat, dear. If you took more exercise and a more +intelligent interest in your neighbours you would--' + +'Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You're a darling in many ways, and +I like you you are not a woman's woman but why do you trouble yourself +about mere human beings?' + +'Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, +men and women are the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, +lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd I am interested in The Dancing +Master I am interested in the Hawley Boy and I am interested in you.' + +'Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.' + +'Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I'm making a good thing out +of him. When he is slightly more reformed, and has passed his Higher +Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit to exact from him, I +shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and' here she +waved her hands airily "'whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together let no +man put asunder." That's all.' + +'And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious detrimental +in Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do +with me, Dispenser of the Destinies of the Universe?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin +in hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. + +'I do not know,' she said, shaking her head, 'what I shall do with +you, dear. It's obviously impossible to marry you to some one else your +husband would object and the experiment might not be successful after +all. I think I shall begin by preventing you from what is it? "sleeping +on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun."' + +'Don't! I don't like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the +Library and bring me new books.' + +'While you sleep? No! If you don't come with me I shall spread your +newest frock on my 'rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I am +doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps's to get it let out. I +shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there's +a good girl.' + +Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the Library, +where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nick-name of +The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs. Mallowe was awake and eloquent. + +'That is the Creature!' said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing +out a slug in the road. + +'No,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, +Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.' + +'Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?' answered The Dancing Master. +'I understood I fancied I'm so sorry How very unfortunate!' + +But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. + +'For the practised equivocator you said he was,' murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, +'he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a +walk with The Dowd to tea with us? Elective affinities, I suppose both +grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls.' + +'I forgive every woman everything,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'He will be a +sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!' + +Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, +and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe +noticed over the top of a magazine. + +'Now what is there in her?' said Mrs. Hauksbee. 'Do you see what I meant +about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner +than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, but Oh!' + +'What is it?' + +'She doesn't know how to use them! On my honour, she does not. Look! Oh +look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman's a fool.' + +'Hsh! She'll hear you.' + +'All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one else. +Now she's going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The +Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they'll ever dance +together?' + +'Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation of The Dancing Master +loathly man! His wife ought to be up here before long?' + +'Do you know anything about him?' + +'Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred +in the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul, told +me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her as often as possible +a person who has lived in the Doon since the memory of man and goes to +Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with her at present. So +he says.' + +'Babies?' + +'One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for +it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.' + +'That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is generally +in the wake of some girl, disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute +May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.' + +'No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.' + +'Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?' + +'Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell +you. Don't you know that type of man?' + +'Not intimately, thank goodness! As a general rule, when a man begins to +abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer +him according to his folly; and we part with a coolness between us. I +laugh.' + +'I'm different. I've no sense of humour.' + +'Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care +to think about. A well-educated sense of humour will save a woman +when Religion, Training, and Home influences fail; and we may all need +salvation sometimes.' + +'Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humour?' + +'Her dress betrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplement under +her left arm have any notion of the fitness of things much less their +folly? If she discards The Dancing Master after having once seen him +dance, I may respect her. Otherwise--' + +'But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You saw +the woman at Peliti's half an hour later you saw her walking with The +Dancing Master an hour later you met her here at the Library.' + +'Still with The Dancing Master, remember.' + +'Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that +should you imagine--' + +'I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that The +Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable +in every way and she in every other. If I know the man as you have +described him, he holds his wife in slavery at present.' + +'She is twenty years younger than he.' + +'Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and lied +he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made for lies he will +be rewarded according to his merits.' + +'I wonder what those really are,' said Mrs. Mallowe. + +But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, was +humming softly: 'What shall he have who killed the Deer?' She was a lady +of unfettered speech. + +One month later she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. +Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, +and there was a great peace in the land. + +'I should go as I was,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'It would be a delicate +compliment to her style.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. + +'Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put +on this robe, after all the others, to show her what a morning-wrapper +ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall go in the +dove-coloured sweet emblem of youth and innocence and shall put on my +new gloves.' + +'If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know that +dove-colour spots with the rain.' + +'I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one +cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her +habit.' + +'Just Heavens! When did she do that?' + +'Yesterday riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the back of +Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, +she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. I felt +almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her.' + +'The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?' + +'Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? +He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the +elastic, he said, "There's something very taking about that face." I +rebuked him on the spot. I don't approve of boys being taken by faces.' + +'Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the +Hawley Boy immediately went to call.' + +'I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and his +wife when she comes up. I'm rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the +Delville woman together.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly +flushed. + +'There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley Boy, +as he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble over +literally stumble over in her poky, dark little drawing-room is, of +course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then +emerged as though she had been tipped out of the dirtyclothes-basket. +You know my way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, +crrrrushingly Superior! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of +nothing 'dropped my eyes on the carpet and "really didn't know" 'played +with my cardcase and "supposed so." The Hawley Boy giggled like a girl, +and I had to freeze him with scowls between the sentences.' + +'And she?' + +'She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey the +impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the very least. +It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose, she +grunted just like a buffalo in the water too lazy to move.' + +'Are you certain?' + +'Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else or her +garments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a +quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her +surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.' + +'Lu cy!' + +'Well I'll withdraw the tongue, though I'm sure if she didn't do it when +I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she +lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the +grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I +can't swear to it.' + +'You are incorrigible, simply.' + +'I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honour, don't put the +only available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my +lap before Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn't you? Do you +suppose that she communicates her views on life and love to The Dancing +Master in a set of modulated "Grmphs"?' + +'You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.' + +'He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of +him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a +suspiciously familiar way.' + +'Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive.' + +'Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He +entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and +I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to +lecture him severely for going there. And that's all.' + +'Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master +alone. They never did you any harm.' + +'No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half Simla, +and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of God not that +I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka dhurzie way +He attires those lilies of the field this Person draws the eyes of +men and some of them nice men? It's almost enough to make one discard +clothing. I told the Hawley Boy so.' + +'And what did that sweet youth do?' + +'Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a +distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and +I shall be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few +original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn't +a single woman in the land who understands me when I am what's the +word?' + +'Tete-fele suggested Mrs. Mallowe. + +'Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are +exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says,--' Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the +horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. +Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. + +'"God gie us a guid conceit of oorselves,"' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously, +returning to her natural speech. 'Now, in any other woman that would +have been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I +expect complications.' + +'Woman of one idea,' said Mrs. Mallowe shortly; 'all complications are +as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all all All!' + +'And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. +I am old who was young if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big +sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze but never, no never, +have I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this +business out to the bitter end.' + +'I am going to sleep,' said Mrs. Mallowe calmly. 'I never interfere with +men or women unless I am compelled,' and she retired with dignity to her +own room. + +Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. Bent +came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported +above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side. + +'Behold!' said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. 'That is +the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, +whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit +the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy do you know +the Waddy? who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the +male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she +will eventually go to Heaven.' + +'Don't be irreverent,' said Mrs. Mallowe, 'I like Mrs. Bent's face.' + +'I am discussing the Waddy,' returned Mrs. Hauksbee loftily. 'The Waddy +will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed yes! everything +that she can, from hairpins to babies' bottles. Such, my dear, is life +in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about +The Dancing Master and The Dowd.' + +'Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into +people's back-bedrooms.' + +'Anybody can look into their front drawingrooms; and remember whatever +I do, and whatever I look, I never talk as the Waddy will. Let us hope +that The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner of the pedagogue will +soften the heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should +think that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion.' + +'But what reason has she for being angry?' + +'What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go? +"If in his life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face and you'll +believe them all." I am prepared to credit any evil of The Dancing +Master, because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly +dressed.' + +'That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to believe +the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.' + +'Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure +of sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with +me.' + +Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. + +The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was +dressing for a dance. + +'I am too tired to go,' pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee left +her in peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of emphatic +knocking at her door. + +'Don't be very angry, dear,' said Mrs. Hauksbee. 'My idiot of an ayah +has gone home, and, as I hope to sleep to-night, there isn't a soul in +the place to unlace me.' + +'Oh, this is too bad!' said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. + +'Cant help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not sleep +in my stays. And such news too! Oh, do unlace me, there's a darling! +The Dowd The Dancing Master I and the Hawley Boy You know the North +verandah?' + +'How can I do anything if you spin round like this?' protested Mrs. +Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. + +'Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you +know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the Hawley +Boy to a kala juggah.' + +'Did he want much taking?' + +'Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in +the next one talking to him.' + +'Which? How? Explain.' + +'You know what I mean The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear +every word, and we listened shamelessly 'specially the Hawley Boy. +Polly, I quite love that woman!' + +'This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?' + +'One moment. Ah h! Blessed relief. I've been looking forward to taking +them off for the last half-hour which is ominous at my time of life. +But, as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd drawl worse +than ever. She drops her final g's like a barmaid or a blue-blooded +Aide-de-Camp. "Look he-ere, you're gettin' too fond o' me," she said, +and The Dancing Master owned it was so in language that nearly made +me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. Then we heard her say, "Look +he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you such an aw-ful liar?" I nearly exploded +while The Dancing Master denied the charge. It seems that he never told +her he was a married man.' + +'I said he wouldn't.' + +'And she had taken this to heart, on personal grounds, I suppose. She +drawled along for five minutes, reproaching him with his perfidy, and +grew quite motherly. "Now you've got a nice little wife of your own you +have," she said. "She's ten times too good for a fat old man like you, +and, look he-ere, you never told me a word about her, and I've been +thinkin' about it a good deal, and I think you're a liar." Wasn't that +delicious? The Dancing Master maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy +suggested that he should burst in and beat him. His voice runs up +into an impassioned squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an +extraordinary woman. She explained that had he been a bachelor she might +not have objected to his devotion; but since he was a married man and +the father of a very nice baby, she considered him a hypocrite, and this +she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with: "An' I'm tellin' you +this because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate quarrellin' with any +other woman, an' I like your wife. You know how you have behaved for the +last six weeks. You shouldn't have done it, indeed you shouldn't. You're +too old an' too fat." Can't you imagine how The Dancing Master would +wince at that! "Now go away," she said. "I don't want to tell you what +I think of you, because I think you are not nice. I'll stay he-ere till +the next dance begins." Did you think that the creature had so much in +her?' + +'I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What +happened?' + +'The Dancing Master attempted blandishment, reproof, jocularity, and the +style of the Lord High Warden, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley Boy +to make him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of each sentence and, in +the end, he went away swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel. +He looked more objectionable than ever. I laughed. I love that woman +in spite of her clothes. And now I'm going to bed. What do you think of +it?' + +'I shan't begin to think till the morning,' said Mrs. Mallowe, +yawning. 'Perhaps she spoke the truth. They do fly into it by accident +sometimes.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee's account of her eavesdropping was an ornate one, but +truthful in the main. For reasons best known to herself, Mrs. 'Shady' +Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from limb, casting +him away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes +from him permanently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased +in that he had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to +understand that he had, during her absence in the Doon, been the victim +of unceasing persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the +tale so often and with such eloquence that he ended in believing it, +while his wife marvelled at the manners and customs of 'some women.' +When the situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on +hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent's bosom +and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel. Mr. +Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy's story were true, +he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own +statement was true, his charms of manner and conversation were so +great that he needed constant surveillance. And he received it, till +he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal +appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel was unchanged. She removed +her chair some six paces towards the head of the table, and occasionally +in the twilight ventured on timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, +which were repulsed. + +'She does it for my sake,' hinted the virtuous Bent. + +'A dangerous and designing woman,' purred Mrs. Waddy. + +Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! + +'Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?' + +'Of nothing in the world except small-pox, Diphtheria kills, but it +doesn't disfigure. Why do you ask?' + +'Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside down in +consequence. The Waddy has "set her five young on the rail" and fled. +The Dancing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miserable +little woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought to be done. She +wanted to put it into a mustard bath for croup!' + +'Where did you learn all this?' + +'Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The manager of the hotel +is abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abusing the manager. They are a +feckless couple.' + +'Well. What's on your mind?' + +'This; and I know it's a grave thing to ask. + +Would you seriously object to my bringing the child over here, with its +mother?' + +'On the most strict understanding that we see nothing of the Dancing +Master.' + +'He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you're an angel. The +woman really is at her wits' end.' + +'And you know nothing about her, careless, and would hold her up to +public scorn if it gave you a minute's amusement. Therefore you risk +your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, I'm not the angel. I shall +keep to my rooms and avoid her. But do as you please only tell me why +you do it.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee's eyes softened; she looked out of the window and back +into Mrs. Mallowe's face. + +'I don't know,' said Mrs. Hauksbee simply. + +'You dear!' + +'Polly! and for aught you knew you might have taken my fringe off. Never +do that again without warning. Now we'll get the rooms ready. I don't +suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for a month.' + +'And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.' + +Much to Mrs. Bent's surprise she and the baby were brought over to +the house almost before she knew where she was. Bent was devoutly and +undisguisedly thankful, for he was afraid of the infection, and also +hoped that a few weeks in the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead +to explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown her jealousy to the winds in her +fear for her child's life. + +'We can give you good milk,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to her, 'and our house +is much nearer to the Doctor's than the hotel, and you won't feel as +though you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy? +She seemed to be a particular friend of yours.' + +'They've all left me,' said Mrs. Bent bitterly. 'Mrs. Waddy went first. +She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, +and I am sure it wasn't my fault that little Dora--' + +'How nice!' cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. 'The Waddy is an infectious disease +herself "more quickly caught than the plague and the taker runs +presently mad." I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three years +ago. Now see, you won't give us the least trouble, and I've ornamented +all the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells comforting, +doesn't it? Remember I'm always in call, and my ayah's at your service +when yours goes to her meals, and and if you cry I'll never forgive +you.' + +Dora Bent occupied her mother's unprofitable attention through the day +and the night. The Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and +the house reeked with the smell of the Condy's Fluid, chlorine-water, +and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms she +considered that she had made sufficient concessions in the cause of +humanity and Mrs. Hauksbee was more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in +the sick-room than the half-distraught mother. + +'I know nothing of illness,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. 'Only +tell me what to do, and I'll do it.' + +'Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as +little to do with the nursing as you possibly can,' said the Doctor; +'I'd turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd +die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the +ayahs, remember.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive +hollows under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent +clung to her with more than childlike faith. + +'I know you'll make Dora well, won't you?' she said at least twenty +times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly, +'Of course I will.' + +But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the +house. + +'There's some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,' he said; 'I'll +come over between three and four in the morning to-morrow.' + +'Good gracious!' said Mrs. Hauksbee. 'He never told me what the turn +would be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I have only this +foolish mother-woman to fall back upon.' + +The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dozed in a chair by the +fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it +till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's anxious eyes staring into her own. + +'Wake up! Wake up! Do something!' cried Mrs. Bent piteously. 'Dora's +choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was +fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairingly. + +'Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She won't stay still! I can't hold +her. Why didn't the Doctor say this was coming?' screamed Mrs. Bent. +'Won't you help me? She's dying!' + +'I I've never seen a child die before!' stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, +and then let none blame her weakness after the strain of long watching +she broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs on the +threshold snored peacefully. + +There was a rattle of 'rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening +door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. +Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the room. Mrs. Hauksbee, +her hands to her ears, and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was +quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and murmuring, 'Thank God, +I never bore a child! Oh! thank God, I never bore a child!' + +Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the +shoulders, and said quietly, 'Get me some caustic. Be quick.' + +The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by +the side of the child and was opening its mouth. + +'Oh, you're killing her!' cried Mrs. Bent. 'Where's the Doctor? Leave +her alone!' + +Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the +child. + +'Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you do as you +are told? The acid-bottle, if you don't know what I mean,' she said. + +A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face +still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs staggered sleepily +into the room, yawning: 'Doctor Sahib come.' + +Mrs. Delville turned her head. + +'You're only just in time,' she said. 'It was chokin' her when I came, +an' I've burnt it.' + +'There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages after the +last steaming. It was the general weakness I feared,' said the Doctor +half to himself, and he whispered as he looked, 'You've done what I +should have been afraid to do without consultation.' + +'She was dyin',' said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. 'Can you do +anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. + +'Is it all over?' she gasped. 'I'm useless I'm worse than useless! What +are you doing here?' + +She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realising for the first time +who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. + +Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove and +smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. + +'I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was tellin' me about your baby bein' +so ill. So I came away early, an' your door was open, an' I I lost my +boy this way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it ever +since, an' I I I am very sorry for intrudin' an' anythin' that has +happened.' + +Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he stooped +over Dora. + +'Take it away,' said the Doctor. 'I think the child will do, thanks to +you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you' he +was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville 'I had not the faintest reason +to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one +of you help me, please?' + +He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself +into Mrs. Delville's arms, where she was weeping bitterly, and Mrs. Bent +was unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while from the tangle came the +sound of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. + +'Good gracious! I've spoilt all your beautiful roses!' said Mrs. +Hauksbee, lifting her head from the lump of crushed gum and calico +atrocities on Mrs. Delville's shoulder and hurrying to the Doctor. + +Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, mopping +her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. + +'I always said she was more than a woman,' sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee +hysterically, 'and that proves it!' + +Six weeks later Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. +Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to +reproach herself for her collapse in an hour of need, and was even +beginning to direct the affairs of the world as before. + +'So nobody died, and everything went off as it should, and I kissed The +Dowd, Polly. I feel so old. Does it show in my face?' + +'Kisses don't as a rule, do they? Of course you know what the result of +The Dowd's providential arrival has been.' + +'They ought to build her a statue only no sculptor dare copy those +skirts.' + +'Ah!' said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. 'She has found another reward. The +Dancing Master has been smirking through Simla, giving every one to +understand that she came because of her undying love for him for him to +save his child, and all Simla naturally believes this.' + +'But Mrs. Bent--' + +'Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to The +Dowd now. Isn't The Dancing Master an angel?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bed-time. The doors of +the two rooms stood open. + +'Polly,' said a voice from the darkness, 'what did that +American-heiress-globe-trotter girl say last season when she was tipped +out of her 'rickshaw turning a corner? Some absurd adjective that made +the man who picked her up explode.' + +"'Paltry,"' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'Through her nose like this "Ha-ow +pahltry!"' + +'Exactly,' said the voice. 'Ha-ow pahltry it all is!' + +'Which?' + +'Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and The Dancing Master, I +whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder +what the motive was all the motives.' + +'Um!' + +'What do you think?' + +'Don't ask me. Go to sleep.' + + + + +ONLY A SUBALTERN + + + .... Not only to enforce by command, but to encourage by + example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady endurance + of the difficulties and privations inseparable from Military Service. + --Bengal Army Regulations. + +They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was a +gentleman before he was gazetted, so, when the Empress announced that +'Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick' was posted as Second Lieutenant to +the Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an officer and a +gentleman, which is an enviable thing; and there was joy in the house of +Wick where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees and +offered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievements. + +Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority over +three millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great +works for the good of the land, and doing his best to make two blades +of grass grow where there was but one before. Of course, nobody knew +anything about this in the little English village where he was just 'old +Mr. Wick,' and had forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order of the +Star of India. + +He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: 'Well done, my boy!' + +There followed, while the uniform was being prepared, an interval of +pure delight, during which Bobby took brevet-rank as a 'man' at the +women-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village, and, I +daresay, had his joining-time been extended, would have fallen in love +with several girls at once. Little country villages at Home are very +full of nice girls, because all the young men come out to India to make +their fortunes. + +'India,' said Papa Wick, 'is the place. I've had thirty years of it and, +begad, I'd like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters you'll +be among friends, if every one hasn't forgotten Wick of Chota-Buldana, +and a lot of people will be kind to you for our sakes. The mother will +tell you more about outfit than I can; but remember this. Stick to your +Regiment, Bobby stick to your Regiment. You'll see men all round you +going into the Staff Corps, and doing every possible sort of duty but +regimental, and you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as you +keep within your allowance, and I haven't stinted you there, stick to +the Line, the whole Line, and nothing but the Line. Be careful how you +back another young fool's bill, and if you fall in love with a woman +twenty years older than yourself, don't tell me about it, that's all.' + +With these counsels, and many others equally valuable, did Papa Wick +fortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers' +Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by the Regulations, +and the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and +the battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the slums of Longport, +while the drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the faces of the +Queen's Officers. + +Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and shaky +detachment to manuvre in ship, and the comfort of fifty scornful females +to attend to, had no time to feel home-sick till the Malabar reached +mid-Channel, when he doubled his emotions with a little guard-visiting +and a great many other matters. + +The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who knew them +least said that they were eaten up with 'side.' But their reserve and +their internal arrangements generally were merely protective diplomacy. +Some five years before, the Colonel commanding had looked into the +fourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and juicy subalterns who had all +applied to enter the Staff Corps, and had asked them why the three +stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed nursery for +double-dashed bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rode +qualified mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. He +was a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures +[with the half-butt as an engine of public opinion] till the rumour +went abroad that young men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to the +Staff Corps had many and varied trials to endure. However, a regiment +had just as much right to its own secrets as a woman. + +When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his' place among the Tail +Twisters, it was gently but firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment +was his father and his mother and his indissolubly wedded wife, and +that there was no crime under the canopy of heaven blacker than that +of bringing shame on the Regiment, which was the best-shooting, +best-drilled, best-set-up, bravest, most illustrious, and in all +respects most desirable Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas. +He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate, from the great grinning +Golden Gods that had come out of the Summer Palace in Pekin to the +silver-mounted markhor-horn snuff-mull presented by the last C.O. [he +who spake to the seven subalterns]. And every one of those legends told +him of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; of +hospitality catholic as an Arab's; of friendships deep as the sea and +steady as the fighting-line; of honour won by hard roads for honour's +sake; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the Regiment the +Regiment that claims the lives of all and lives for ever. + +More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the Regimental +colours, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer's hat on the end +of a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship them, because British +subalterns are not constructed in that manner. Indeed, he condemned them +for their weight at the very moment that they were filling with awe and +other more noble sentiments. + +But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail Twisters +in review order at the breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-men +and sick, the Regiment was one thousand and eighty strong, and Bobby +belonged to them; for was he not a Subaltern of the Line the whole Line, +and nothing but the Line as the tramp of two thousand one hundred and +sixty sturdy ammunition boots attested? He would not have changed places +with Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud +to a chorus of 'Strong right! Strong left!' or Hogan-Yale of the White +Hussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the price of +horseshoes thrown in; or 'Tick' Boileau, trying to live up to his fierce +blue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretched +to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping Walers of the White +Hussars. + +They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little thrill +run down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the empty +cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the roar of the +volleys; for he knew that he should live to hear that sound in action. +The review ended in a glorious chase across the plain batteries +thundering after cavalry to the huge disgust of the White Hussars, and +the Tyneside Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the lean lathy +Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long before +noon, but his enthusiasm was merely focused not diminished. + +He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his 'skipper,' that is to say, +the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art and +mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession of +Arms. + +'If you haven't a taste that way,' said Revere between his puffs of +his cheroot, 'you'll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember, +Bobby, 't isn't the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, that +hauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the other side. It's the man +who knows how to handle men goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.' + +'Dormer, for instance,' said Bobby, 'I think he comes under the head of +fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.' + +'That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool yet, +but he's a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his +socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes +into a corner and growls.' + +'How do you know?' said Bobby admiringly. + +'Because a Company commander has to know these things because, if he +does not know, he may have crime ay, murder brewing under his very nose +and yet not see that it's there. Dormer is being badgered out of his +mind big as he is and he hasn't intellect enough to resent it. He's +taken to quiet boozing, and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the +drink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull him +out of himself.' + +'What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men for ever.' + +'No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You've +got to--' + +Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby reflected for a +while as Revere looked through the Company forms. + +'Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?' Bobby asked with the air of one +continuing an interrupted conversation. + +'No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,' said the Sergeant, who +delighted in long words. 'A dirty soldier and 'e's under full stoppages +for new kit. It's covered with scales, sir.' + +'Scales? What scales?' + +'Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an' +a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs.' Revere was still absorbed +in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby, +continued, ''E generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful, +beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say that the more lush +in-he-briated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They call 'im the Looney +Fishmonger in the Comp'ny, sir.' + +Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated. + +'It's a filthy amusement,' sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to +Revere: 'Are you really worried about Dormer?' + +'A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to hospital, or drunk +enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, brooding and +sulking as he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and the +only time I took him out shooting he all but shot me by accident.' + +'I fish,' said Bobby with a wry face. 'I hire a country-boat and go down +the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with me +if you can spare us both.' + +'You blazing young fool!' said Revere, but his heart was full of much +more pleasant words. + +Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, dropped +down the river on Thursday morning the Private at the bow, the Subaltern +at the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the Subaltern, who respected +the reserve of the Private. + +After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said 'Beg y' +pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal?' + +'No,' said Bobby Wick. 'Come and have some tiffin.' + +They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke forth, +speaking to himself, + +'Hi was on the Durh'm Canal, jes' such a night, come next week twelve +month, a-trailin' of my toes in the water.' He smoked and said no more +till bedtime. + +The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river-reaches to purple, gold, +and opal; and it was as though the lumbering dhoni crept across the +splendours of a new heaven. + +Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glory +below and around. + +'Well damn my eyes!' said Private Dormer in an awed whisper. 'This 'ere +is like a bloomin' gallantry-show!' For the rest of the day he was dumb, +but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the cleaning of big fish. + +The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling with +speech since noon. As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, he +found tongue. + +'Beg y' pardon, sir,' he said, 'but would you would you min' shakin' +'ands with me, sir?' + +'Of course not,' said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returned +to barracks and Bobby to mess. + +'He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,' said Bobby. 'My +aunt, but he's a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean +them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs"?' + +'Anyhow,' said Revere three weeks later, 'he's doing his best to keep +his things clean.' + +When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill +leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months. + +'As good a boy as I want,' said Revere the admiring skipper. + +'The best of the batch,' said the Adjutant to the Colonel. 'Keep back +that young skrim-shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.' + +So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of gorgeous +raiment. + +'Son of Wick old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,' said +the aged men. + +'What a nice boy!' said the matrons and the maids. + +'First-class place, Simla. Oh, ripping!' said Bobby Wick, and ordered +new white cord breeches on the strength of it. + +'We're in a bad way,' wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two months. +'Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten +with it two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells drinking to +keep off fever and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the +outside. There's rather more sickness in the out-villages than I care +for, but then I'm so blistered with prickly-heat that I'm ready to hang +myself. What's the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Not +serious, I hope? You're over-young to hang millstones round your neck, +and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double-quick time if you +attempt it.' + +It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a +much-more-to-be-respected Commandant. The sickness in the out-villages +spread, the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came the news that +the Tail Twisters must go into camp. The message flashed to the Hill +stations. 'Cholera Leave stopped Officers recalled.' Alas for the +white gloves in the neatly-soldered boxes, the rides and the dances and +picnics that were to be, the loves half spoken, and the debts unpaid! +Without demur and without question, fast as tonga could fly or pony +gallop, back to their Regiments and their Batteries, as though they were +hastening to their weddings, fled the subalterns. + +Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodge +where he had But only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said, or +how many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morning +saw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the +last waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due neither to wine +nor waltzing in his brain. + +'Good man!' shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the mist. +'Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow! But I've a head and +a half. I didn't sit out all night. They say the Battery's awful bad,' +and he hummed dolorously, + + Leave the what at the what's-its-name, + Leave the flock without shelter, + Leave the corpse uninterred, + Leave the bride at the altar! + +'My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. +Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachwan!' + +On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing the +latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby +learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters. + +'They went into camp,' said an elderly Major recalled from the +whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, 'they went into +camp with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred and ten fever +cases only, and the balance looking like so many ghosts with sore eyes. +A Madras Regiment could have walked through 'em.' + +'But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!' said Bobby. + +'Then you'd better make them as fit as bedamned when you rejoin,' said +the Major brutally. + +Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed window-pane as the +train lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the +Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her contingent with +all speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie Road staggered into +Pathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their strength; while from +cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up the last straggler of the +little army that was to fight a fight in which was neither medal nor +honour for the winning, against an enemy none other than 'the sickness +that destroyeth in the noonday.' + +And as each man reported himself, he said: 'This is a bad business,' +and went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in the +cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them company. + +Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters' temporary +mess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy's neck for the joy of +seeing that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. + +'Keep' em amused and interested,' said Revere. 'They went on the drink, +poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh, +it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a never mind.' + +Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary mess +dinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over the +condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as to +insinuate that the presence of the officers could do no earthly good, +and that the best thing would be to send the entire Regiment into +hospital and 'let the doctors look after them.' Porkiss was demoralised +with fear, nor was his peace of mind restored when Revere said coldly: +'Oh! The sooner you go out the better, if that's your way of thinking. +Any public school could send us fifty good men in your place, but it +takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble, +to make a Regiment. 'S'pose you're the person we go into camp for, eh?' + +Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which a +drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted this +world for another where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for the +weaknesses of the flesh. The Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily +across the Sergeants' Mess tent when the news was announced. + +'There goes the worst of them,' he said. 'It'll take the best, and then, +please God, it'll stop.' The Sergeants were silent till one said: 'It +couldn't be him!' and all knew of whom Travis was thinking. + +Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Company, rallying, +rebuking, mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing the +faint-hearted; haling the sound into the watery sunlight when there +was a break in the weather, and bidding them be of good cheer for +their trouble was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun pony round +the outskirts of the camp, and heading back men who, with the innate +perversity of British soldiers, were always wandering into infected +villages, or drinking deeply from rain-flooded marshes; comforting the +panic-stricken with rude speech, and more than once tending the dying +who had no friends the men without 'townies'; organising, with banjos +and burnt cork, Sing-songs which should allow the talent of the +Regiment full play; and generally, as he explained, 'playing the giddy +garden-goat all round.' + +'You're worth half-a-dozen of us, Bobby,' said Revere in a moment of +enthusiasm. 'How the devil do you keep it up?' + +Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the breast-pocket of +his coat he might have seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters which +perhaps accounted for the power that possessed the boy. A letter came +to Bobby every other day. The spelling was not above reproach, but the +sentiments must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby's eyes +softened marvellously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstraction +for a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work. + +By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and the +Tail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was +a mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimental +chaplain that Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospital +tents than the Reverend John Emery. + +'The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?' said the +Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with a +hardness that did not cover his bitter grief. + +'A little, sir,' said Bobby. + +'Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They say it's not +contagious, but there's no use in running unnecessary risks. We can't +afford to have you down, y'know.' + +Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner +plashed his way out to the camp with the mail-bags, for the rain was +falling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent, +and, the programme for the next week's Sing-song being satisfactorily +disposed of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiled +over the paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level, +Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to +letter-writing. + +'Beg y' pardon, sir,' said a voice at the tent door; 'but Dormer's +'orrid bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir.' + +'Damn Private Dormer and you too!' said Bobby Wick, running the blotter +over the half-finished letter. 'Tell him I'll come in the morning.' + +''E's awful bad, sir,' said the voice hesitatingly. There was an +undecided squelching of heavy boots. + +'Well?' said Bobby impatiently. + +'Excusin' 'imself before 'and for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be +a comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if--' + +'Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I'm ready. +What blasted nuisances you are! That's brandy. Drink some; you want it. +Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.' + +Strengthened by a four-finger 'nip' which he swallowed without a wink, +the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and very +disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent. + +Private Dormer was certainly ''orrid bad.' He had all but reached the +stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. + +'What's this, Dormer?' said Bobby, bending over the man. 'You're not +going out this time. You've got to come fishing with me once or twice +more yet.' + +The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, 'Beg y' pardon, +sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min' 'oldin' my 'and, sir?' + +Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on his +own like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little finger +deep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping +from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the hand +did not relax, nor did the expression of the drawn face change. Bobby +with infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with the left hand, his right +arm was numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a night of pain. + +Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a +sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit for +publication. + +'Have you been here all night, you young ass?' said the Doctor. + +'There or thereabouts,' said Bobby ruefully. 'He's frozen on to me.' + +Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The +clinging hand opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side. + +'He'll do,' said the Doctor quietly. 'It must have been a toss-up all +through the night. 'Think you're to be congratulated on this case.' + +'Oh, bosh!' said Bobby. 'I thought the man had gone out long ago only +only I didn't care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, there's a good +chap. What a grip the brute has! I'm chilled to the marrow!' He passed +out of the tent shivering. + +Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strong +waters. Four days later he sat on the side of his cot and said to the +patients mildly: 'I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im so I should.' + +But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter he had the most +persistent correspondent of any man in camp and was even then about to +write that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outside +would be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man's +hand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affection +he dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustrated +programme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a little +proud. He also intended to write on many other matters which do not +concern us, and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish +headache which made him dull and unresponsive at mess. + +'You are overdoing it, Bobby,' said his skipper. 'Might give the rest +of us credit of doing a little work. You go on as if you were the whole +Mess rolled into one. Take it easy.' + +'I will,' said Bobby. 'I'm feeling done up, somehow.' Revere looked at +him anxiously and said nothing. + +There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp that night, and a +rumour that brought men out of their cots to the tent doors, a paddling +of the naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a galloping horse. + +'Wot's up?' asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the answer +'Wick, 'e's down.' + +They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. 'Any one but Bobby and I +shouldn't have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.' + +'Not going out this journey,' gasped Bobby, as he was lifted from +the doolie. 'Not going out this journey.' Then with an air of supreme +conviction 'I can't, you see.' + +'Not if I can do anything!' said the Surgeon-Major, who had hastened +over from the mess where he had been dining. + +He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with Death for the life +of Bobby Wick. Their work was interrupted by a hairy apparition in a +bluegray dressing-gown who stared in horror at the bed and cried 'Oh, my +Gawd! It can't be 'im!' until an indignant Hospital Orderly whisked him +away. + +If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby would +have been saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, and the +Surgeon-Major's brow uncreased. 'We'll save him yet,' he said; and the +Surgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful +heart, went out upon the word and pranced joyously in the mud. + +'Not going out this journey,' whispered Bobby Wick gallantly, at the end +of the third day. + +'Bravo!' said the Surgeon-Major. 'That's the way to look at it, Bobby.' + +As evening fell a gray shade gathered round Bobby's mouth, and he turned +his face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned. + +'I'm awfully tired,' said Bobby, very faintly. 'What's the use of +bothering me with medicine? I don't want it. Let me alone.' + +The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away on +the easy tide of Death. + +'It's no good,' said the Surgeon-Major. 'He doesn't want to live. He's +meeting it, poor child.' And he blew his nose. + +Half a mile away the regimental band was playing the overture to the +Sing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The +clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears. + + Is there a single joy or pain, + That I should never kno-ow? + You do not love me, 'tis in vain, + Bid me good-bye and go! + +An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he +tried to shake his head. + +The Surgeon-Major bent down 'What is it, Bobby?' 'Not that waltz,' +muttered Bobby. 'That's our own our very ownest own. Mummy dear.' + +With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next +morning. + +Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into +Bobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white +head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of +his life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in confusion on the table, +and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: 'So you +see, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you +care for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.' + +Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out his eyes were +redder than ever. + +Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not +unfamiliar tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been +tenderly treated. + +'Ho!' said Private Conklin. 'There's another bloomin' orf'cer da ed.' + +The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of +sparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deep +disfavour. + +'You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? Bloomin' orf'cer? +I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin' Hangel! +That's wot'e is!' + +And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the +punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot. + + + + +IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE + + + Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier's life for me! Shout, boys, shout! for it + makes you jolly and free. + --The Ramrod Corps. + +PEOPLE who have seen, say that one of the quaintest spectacles of +human frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls' school. It starts +without warning, generally on a hot afternoon among the elder pupils. A +girl giggles till the giggle gets beyond control. Then she throws up her +head, and cries, "Honk, honk, honk," like a wild goose, and tears mix +with the laughter. If the mistress be wise she will rap out something +severe at this point and check matters. If she be tender-hearted, and send +for a drink of water, the chances are largely in favor of another girl +laughing at the afflicted one and herself collapsing. Thus the trouble +spreads, and may end in half of what answers to the Lower Sixth of +a boys' school rocking and whooping together. Given a week of warm +weather, two stately promenades per diem, a heavy mutton and rice meal +in the middle of the day, a certain amount of nagging from the teachers, +and a few other things, some amazing effects develop. At least this is +what folk say who have had experience. + +Now, the Mother Superior of a Convent and the Colonel of a British +Infantry Regiment would be justly shocked at any comparison being made +between their respective charges. But it is a fact that, under certain +circumstances, Thomas in bulk can be worked up into ditthering, rippling +hysteria. He does not weep, but he shows his trouble unmistakably, and +the consequences get into the newspapers, and all the good people +who hardly know a Martini from a Snider say: "Take away the brute's +ammunition!" + +Thomas isn't a brute, and his business, which is to look after the +virtuous people, demands that he shall have his ammunition to his hand. +He doesn't wear silk stockings, and he really ought to be supplied with +a new Adjective to help him to express his opinions; but, for all that, +he is a great man. If you call him "the heroic defender of the national +honor" one day, and "a brutal and licentious soldiery" the next, you +naturally bewilder him, and he looks upon you with suspicion. There is +nobody to speak for Thomas except people who have theories to work off +on him; and nobody understands Thomas except Thomas, and he does not +always know what is the matter with himself. + +That is the prologue. This is the story: + +Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to Miss Jhansi M'Kenna, +whose history is well known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had his +Colonel's permission, and, being popular with the men, every arrangement +had been made to give the wedding what Private Ortheris called "eeklar." +It fell in the heart of the hot weather, and, after the wedding, +Slane was going up to the Hills with the Bride. None the less, Slane's +grievance was that the affair would be only a hired-carriage wedding, +and he felt that the "eeklar" of that was meagre. Miss M'Kenna did +not care so much. The Sergeant's wife was helping her to make her +wedding-dress, and she was very busy. Slane was, just then, the only +moderately contented man in barracks. All the rest were more or less +miserable. + +And they had so much to make them happy, too. All their work was over +at eight in the morning, and for the rest of the day they could lie on +their backs and smoke Canteen-plug and swear at the punkah-coolies. They +enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and then threw +themselves down on their cots and sweated and slept till it was cool +enough to go out with their "towny," whose vocabulary contained less +than six hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose views on every +conceivable question they had heard many times before. + +There was the Canteen, of course, and there was the Temperance Room with +the second-hand papers in it; but a man of any profession cannot read +for eight hours a day in a temperature of 96 degrees or 98 degrees in +the shade, running up sometimes to 103 degrees at midnight. Very few +men, even though they get a pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and hide +it under their cots, can continue drinking for six hours a day. One man +tried, but he died, and nearly the whole regiment went to his funeral +because it gave them something to do. It was too early for the +excitement of fever or cholera. The men could only wait and wait and +wait, and watch the shadow of the barrack creeping across the blinding +white dust. That was a gay life. + +They lounged about cantonments-it was too hot for any sort of game, +and almost too hot for vice-and fuddled themselves in the evening, +and filled themselves to distension with the healthy nitrogenous food +provided for them, and the more they stoked the less exercise they took +and more explosive they grew. Then tempers began to wear away, and men +fell a-brooding over insults real or imaginary, for they had nothing +else to think of. The tone of the repartees changed, and instead of +saying light-heartedly: "I'll knock your silly face in," men grew +laboriously polite and hinted that the cantonments were not big enough +for themselves and their enemy, and that there would be more space for +one of the two in another place. + +It may have been the Devil who arranged the thing, but the fact of the +case is that Losson had for a long time been worrying Simmons in an +aimless way. It gave him occupation. The two had their cots side by +side, and would sometimes spend a long afternoon swearing at each other; +but Simmons was afraid of Losson and dared not challenge him to a fight. +He thought over the words in the hot still nights, and half the hate he +felt toward Losson be vented on the wretched punkahcoolie. + +Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put it into a little cage, +and lowered the cage into the cool darkness of a well, and sat on the +well-curb, shouting bad language down to the parrot. He taught it to +say: "Simmons, ye so-oor," which means swine, and several other things +entirely unfit for publication. He was a big gross man, and he shook +like a jelly when the parrot had the sentence correctly. Simmons, +however, shook with rage, for all the room were laughing at him--the +parrot was such a disreputable puff of green feathers and it looked so +human when it chattered. Losson used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on +the side of the cot, and ask the parrot what it thought of Simmons. The +parrot would answer: "Simmons, ye so-oor." "Good boy," Losson used to +say, scratching the parrot's head; "ye 'ear that, Sim?" And Simmons +used to turn over on his stomach and make answer: "I 'ear. Take 'eed you +don't 'ear something one of these days." + +In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind +rage came upon Simmonr and held him till he trembled all over, while he +thought in how many different ways he would slay Losson. Sometimes he +would picture himself trampling the life out of the man, with heavy +ammunition-boots, and at others smashing in his face with the butt, and +at others jumping on his shoulders and dragging the head back till the +neckbone cracked. Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered, and he +would reach out for another sup of the beer in the pannikin. + +But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with him +longest was one connected with the great roll of fat under Losson's +right ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, and thereafter +it was always before his eyes. It was a fascinating roll of fat. A man +could get his hand upon it and tear away one side of the neck; or he +could place the muzzle of a rifle on it and blow away all the head in +a flash. Losson had no right to be sleek and contented and well-to-do, +when he, Simmons, was the butt of the room, Some day, perhaps, he would +show those who laughed at the "Simmons, ye so-oor" joke, that he was as +good as the rest, and held a man's life in the crook of his forefinger. +When Losson snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than ever. Why +should Losson be able to sleep when Simmons had to stay awake hour after +hour, tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull liver pain gnawing +into his right side and his head throbbing and aching after Canteen? He +thought over this for many nights, and the world became unprofitable to +him. He even blunted his naturally fine appetite with beer and tobacco; +and all the while the parrot talked at and made a mock of him. + +The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than before. +A Sergeant's wife died of heat--apoplexy in the night, and the rumor ran +abroad that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly, hoping that it would +spread and send them into camp. But that was a false alarm. + +It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the deep +double verandas for "Last Posts," when Simmons went to the box at the +foot of his bed, took out his pipe, and slammed the lid down with a +bang that echoed through the deserted barrack like the crack of a rifle. +Ordinarily speaking, the men would have taken no notice; but their +nerves were fretted to fiddle-strings. They jumped up, and three or four +clattered into the barrack-room only to find Simmons kneeling by his +box. + +"Owl It's you, is it?" they said and laughed foolishly. "We thought +'twas"-- + +Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his fellows, what +would not the reality do? + +"You thought it was--did you? And what makes you think?" he said, lashing +himself into madness as he went on; "to Hell with your thinking, ye +dirty spies." + +"Simmons, ye so-oor," chuckled the parrot in the veranda, sleepily, +recognizing a well-known voice. Now that was absolutely all. + +The tension snapped. Simmons fell back on the arm-rack +deliberately,--the men were at the far end of the room,--and took out +his rifle and packet of ammunition. "Don't go playing the goat, Sim!" +said Losson. "Put it down," but there was a quaver in his voice. Another +man stooped, slipped his boot and hurled it at Simmon's head. The prompt +answer was a shot which, fired at random, found its billet in Losson's +throat. Losson fell forward without a word, and the others scattered. + +"You thought it was!" yelled Simmons. "You're drivin' me to it! I tell +you you're drivin' me to it! Get up, Losson, an' don't lie shammin' +there-you an' your blasted parrit that druv me to it!" + +But there was an unaffected reality about Losson's pose that showed +Simmons what he had done. The men were still clamoring on the veranda. +Simmons appropriated two more packets of ammunition and ran into the +moonlight, muttering: "I'll make a night of it. Thirty roun's, an' the +last for myself. Take you that, you dogs!" + +He dropped on one knee and fired into the brown of the men on the +veranda, but the bullet flew high, and landed in the brickwork with a +vicious phant that made some of the younger ones turn pale. It is, as +musketry theorists observe, one thing to fire and another to be fired +at. + +Then the instinct of the chase flared up. The news spread from barrack +to barrack, and the men doubled out intent on the capture of Simmons, +the wild beast, who was heading for the Cavalry parade-ground, stopping +now and again to send back a shot and a Lurse in the direction of his +pursuers. + +"I'll learn you to spy on me!" he shouted; "I'll learn you to give me +dorg's names! Come on the 'ole lot O' you! Colonel John Anthony Deever, +C.B.!"--he turned toward the Infantry Mess and shook his rifle--"you +think yourself the devil of a man--but I tell 'jou that if you Put your +ugly old carcass outside O' that door, I'll make you the poorest-lookin' +man in the army. Come out, Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B.! Come out +and see me practiss on the rainge. I'm the crack shot of the 'ole +bloomin' battalion." In proof of which statement Simmons fired at the +lighted windows of the mess-house. + +"Private Simmons, E Comp'ny, on the Cavalry p'rade-ground, Sir, with +thirty rounds," said a Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. "Shootin' +right and lef', Sir. Shot Private Losson. What's to be done, Sir?" + +Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B., sallied out, only to be saluted by a +spurt of dust at his feet. + +"Pull up!" said the Second in Command; "I don't want my step in that +way, Colonel. He's as dangerous as a mad dog." + +"Shoot him like one, then," said the Colonel, bitterly, "if he won't +take his chance. My regiment, too! If it had been the Towheads I could +have understood." + +Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the edge +of the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come on. The +regiment was not anxious to comply, for there is small honor in being +shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane, rifle in band, threw +himself down on the ground, and wormed his way toward the well. + +"Don't shoot," said he to the men round him; "like as not you'll hit me. +I'll catch the beggar, livin'." + +Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noise of trap-wheels could +be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne Commanding the Horse Battery, +was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his +usual custom--that is to say, as fast as the horse could go. + +"A orf'cer! A blooming spangled orf'cer," shrieked Simmons; "I'll make a +scarecrow of that orf'cer!" The trap stopped. + +"What's this?" demanded the Major of Gunners. "You there, drop your +rifle." + +"Why, it's Jerry Blazes! I ain't got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. +Pass frien', an' all's well!" + +But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous +murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, +without knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for +Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each +time the Battery went out. + +He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and +knocking him down. + +"Don't make me do it, Sir," said Simmons; "I ain't got nothing agin you. +Ah! you would?"--the Major broke into a run--"Take that then!" + +The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood +over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired +way: hut here was a helpless body to his hand. Should be slip in another +cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white +face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of +the parade-ground: "He's killed Jerry Blazes!" But in the shelter of the +well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. "I'll +blow yer 'andsome 'ead off, Jerry Blazes," said Simmons, reflectively. +"Six an' three is nine an one is ten, an' that leaves me another +nineteen, an' one for myself." He tugged at the string of the second +packet of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank +into the moonlight. + +"I see you!" said Simmons. "Come a bit furder on an' I'll do for you." + +"I'm comm'," said Corporal Slane, briefly; "you've done a bad day's +work, Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me." + +"Come to,"--laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. +"Not before I've settled you an' Jerry Blazes." + +The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade-ground, +a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men in the distance +shouted: "Shoot 'im! Shoot 'im, Slane!" + +"You move 'and or foot, Slane," said Simmons, "an' I'll kick Jerry +Blazes' 'ead in, and shoot you after." + +"I ain't movin'," said the Corporal, raising his head; "you daren't 'it +a man on 'is legs. Let go O' Jerry Blazes an' come out O' that with your +fistes. Come an' 'it me. You daren't, you bloomin' dog-shooter!" + +"I dare." + +"You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin', Sheeny butcher, you lie. See +there!" Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril of his +life. "Come on, now!" + +The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the Corporal in +his white clothes offered a perfect mark. + +"Don't misname me," shouted Simmons, firing as he spoke. The shot +missed, and the shooter, blind with rage, threw his rifle down and +rushed at Slane from the protection of the well. Within striking +distance, he kicked savagely at Slane's stomach, but the weedy Corporal +knew something of Simmons's weakness, and knew, too, the deadly guard +for that kick. Bowing forward and drawing up his right leg till the heel +of the right foot was set some three inches above the inside of the left +knee-cap, he met the blow standing on one leg--exactly as Gonds stand +when they meditate--and ready for the fall that would follow. There was +an oath, the Corporal fell over his own left as shinbone met shinbone, +and the Private collapsed, his right leg broken an inch above the ankle. + +"'Pity you don't know that guard, Sim," said Slane, spitting out the +dust as he rose. Then raising his voice--"Come an' take him orf. +I've bruk 'is leg." This was not strictly true, for the Private had +accomplished his own downfall, since it is the special merit of +that leg-guard that the harder the kick the greater the kicker's +discomfiture. + +Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him with ostentatious +anxiety, while Simmons, weeping with pain, was carried away. "'Ope you +ain't 'urt badly, Sir," said Slane. The Major had fainted, and there was +an ugly, ragged hole through the top of his arm. Slane knelt down +and murmured. "S'elp me, I believe 'e's dead. Well, if that ain't my +blooming luck all over!" + +But the Major was destined to lead his Battery afield for many a long +day with unshaken nerve. He was removed, and nursed and petted into +convalescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom of capturing +Simmons, and blowing him from a gun. They idolized their Major, and his +reappearance on parade brought about a scene nowhere provided for in the +Army Regulations. + +Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane's share. The Gunners would +have made him drunk thrice a day for at least a fortnight. Even the +Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his coolness, and the +local paper called him a hero. These things did not puff him up. When +the Major offered him money and thanks, the virtuous Corporal took the +one and put aside the other. But he had a request to make and prefaced +it with many a "Beg y'pardon, Sir." Could the Major see his way to +letting the Slane M'Kenna wedding be adorned by the presence of four +Battery horses to pull a hired barouche? The Major could, and so could +the Battery. Excessively so. It was a gorgeous wedding. + +* * * * * + +"Wot did I do it for?" said Corporal Slane. "For the 'orses O' course. +Jhansi ain't a beauty to look at, but I wasn't goin' to 'ave a hired +turn-out. Jerry Blazes? If I 'adn't 'a' wanted something, Sim might ha' +blowed Jerry Blazes' blooming 'ead into Hirish stew for aught I'd 'a' +cared." + +And they hanged Private Simmons-hanged him as high as Haman in hollow +square of the regiment; and the Colonel said it was Drink; and the +Chaplain was sure it was the Devil; and Simmons fancied it was both, +but he didn't know, and only hoped his fate would be a warning to +his companions; and half a dozen "intelligent publicists" wrote six +beautiful leading articles on "'The Prevalence of Crime in the Army." + +But not a soul thought of comparing the "bloody-minded Simmons" to the +squawking, gaping schoolgirl with which this story opens. + + + + +THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. + + + "Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field + ring with their importunate chink while thousands of great cattle, + reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and + are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are + the only inhabitants of the field-that, of course, they are many in + number or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, + meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the + hour."-Burke: "Reflections on the Revolution in France." + +THEY were sitting in the veranda of "the splendid palace of an Indian +Pro-Consul"; surrounded by all the glory and mystery of the immemorial +East. In plain English it was a one-storied, ten-roomed, whitewashed, +mud-roofed bungalow, set in a dry garden of dusty tamarisk trees and +divided from the road by a low mud wall. The green parrots screamed +overhead as they flew in battalions to the river for their morning +drink. Beyond the wall, clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and +goats of the city were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white +light of the winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and +improved nothing, from the whining Peisian-wheel by the lawn-tennis +court to the long perspective of level road and the blue, domed tombs of +Mohammedan saints just visible above the trees. + +"A Happy New Year," said Orde to his guest. "It's the first you've ever +spent out of England, isn't it?" + +"Yes. 'Happy New Year," said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. "What a +divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown cold fog hanging +over London now!" And he rubbed his hands. + +It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his +schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The one +had quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of the great +Indian Government; the other more blessed with goods, had been whirled +into a similar position in the English scheme. Three successive +elections had not affected Pagett's position with a loyal constituency, +and he had grown insensibly to regard himself in some sort as a pillar +of the Empire, whose real worth would be known later on. After a few +years of conscientious attendance at many divisions, after newspaper +battles innumerable and the publication of interminable correspondence, +and more hasty oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think +upon, it occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in +Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger lyre +and address himself to the problems of Imperial administration with a +firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general invitation extended to him +by Orde some years before, Pagett had taken ship to Karachi, and only +over-night had been received with joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of +Amara. They had sat late, discussing the changes and chances of twenty +years, recalling the names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the +living, as is the custom of men meeting after intervals of action. + +Next morning they smoked the after breakfast pipe in the veranda, still +regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey frock-coat and +garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried +sun-hat carefully and wonderfully made. Orde in a shooting coat, riding +breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax helmet. He +had ridden some miles in the early morning to inspect a doubtful river +dam. The men's faces differed as much as their attire. Orde's worn and +wrinkled around the eyes, and grizzled at the temples, was the harder +and more square of the two, and it was with something like envy that the +owner looked at the comfortable outlines of Pagett's blandly receptive +countenance, the clear skin, the untroubled eye, and the mobile, +clean-shaved lips. + +"And this is India!" said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long and +intently at the grey feathering of the tamarisks. + +"One portion of India only. It's very much like this for 300 miles +in every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little--I +wouldn't ask the old question before--what d'you think of the country?" + +"'Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired +several pounds of your country coming up from Karachi. The air is heavy +with it, and for miles and miles along that distressful eternity of rail +there's no horizon to show where air and earth separate." + +"Yes. It isn't easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent +passage out, hadn't you?" + +"Very good on the whole. Your Anglo-Indian may be unsympathetic about +one's political views; but he has reduced ship life to a science." + +"The Anglo-Indian is a political orphan, and if he's wise he won't be +in a hurry to be adopted by your party grandmothers. But how were your +companions, unsympathetic?" + +"Well, there was a man called Dawlishe, a judge somewhere in this +country it seems, and a capital partner at whist by the way, and when I +wanted to talk to him about the progress of India in a political sense +(Orde hid a grin, which might or might not have been sympathetic), the +National Congress movement, and other things in which, as a Member of +Parliament, I'm of course interested, he shifted the subject, and when I +once cornered him, he looked me calmly in the eye, and said: 'That's all +Tommy rot. Come and have a game at Bull.' You may laugh; but that isn't +the way to treat a great and important question; and, knowing who I was. +well. I thought it rather rude, don't you know; and yet Dawlishe is a +thoroughly good fellow." + +"Yes; he's a friend of mine, and one of the straightest men I know. I +suppose, like many Anglo-Indians, he felt it was hopeless to give you +any just idea of any Indian question without the documents before you, +and in this case the documents you want are the country and the people." + +"Precisely. That was why I came straight to you, bringing an open mind +to bear on things. I'm anxious to know what popular feeling in India +is really like y'know, now that it has wakened into political life. +The National Congress, in spite of Dawlishe, must have caused great +excitement among the masses?" + +"On the contrary, nothing could be more tranquil than the state of +popular feeling; and as to excitement, the people would as soon be +excited over the 'Rule of Three' as over the Congress." + +"Excuse me, Orde, but do you think you are a fair judge? Isn't the +official Anglo-Indian naturally jealous of any external influences +that might move the masses, and so much opposed to liberal ideas, truly +liberal ideas, that he can scarcely be expected to regard a popular +movement with fairness?" + +"What did Dawlishe say about Tommy Rot? Think a moment, old man. You +and I were brought up together; taught by the same tutors, read the same +books, lived the same life, and new languages, and work among new races; +while you, more fortunate, remain at home. Why should I change my mind +our mind-because I change my sky? Why should I and the few hundred +Englishmen in my service become unreasonable, prejudiced fossils, while +you and your newer friends alone remain bright and open-minded? You +surely don't fancy civilians are members of a Primrose League?" + +"Of course not, but the mere position of an English official gives him +a point of view which cannot but bias his mind on this question." Pagett +moved his knee up and down a little uneasily as he spoke. + +"That sounds plausible enough, but, like more plausible notions on +Indian matters, I believe it's a mistake. You'll find when you come to +consult the unofficial Briton that our fault, as a class--I speak of the +civilian now-is rather to magnify the progress that has been made toward +liberal institutions. It is of English origin, such as it is, and the +stress of our work since the Mutiny--only thirty years ago--has been in +that direction. No, I think you will get no fairer or more dispassionate +view of the Congress business than such men as I can give you. But I may +as well say at once that those who know most of India, from the inside, +are inclined to wonder at the noise our scarcely begun experiment makes +in England." + +"But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself a +new thing." + +"There's nothing new under the sun When Europe was a jungle half Asia +flocked to the canonical conferences of Buddhism; and for centuries the +people have gathered at Pun, Hurdwar, Trimbak, and Benares in immense +numbers. A great meeting, what you call a mass meeting, is really one +of the oldest and most popular of Indian institutions In the case of +the Congress meetings, the only notable fact is that the priests of the +altar are British, not Buddhist, Jam or Brahmanical, and that the whole +thing is a British contrivance kept alive by the efforts of Messrs. +Hume, Eardley, Norton, and Digby." + +"You mean to say, then, it s not a spontaneous movement?" + +"What movement was ever spontaneous in any true sense of the word? This +seems to be more factitious than usual. You seem to know a great deal +about it; try it by the touchstone of subscriptions, a coarse but fairly +trustworthy criterion, and there is scarcely the color of money in it. +The delegates write from England that they are out of pocket for +working expenses, railway fares, and stationery--the mere pasteboard +and scaffolding of their show. It is, in fact, collapsing from mere +financial inanition." + +"But you cannot deny that the people of India, who are, perhaps, too +poor to subscribe, are mentally and morally moved by the agitation," +Pagett insisted. + +"That is precisely what I do deny. The native side of the movement is +the work of a limited class, a microscopic minority, as Lord Dufferin +described it, when compared with the people proper, but still a very +interesting class, seeing that it is of our own creation. It is composed +almost entirely of those of the literary or clerkly castes who have +received an English education." + +"Surely that s a very important class. Its members must be the ordained +leaders of popular thought." + +"Anywhere else they might be leaders, but they have no social weight in +this topsy-turvy land, and though they have been employed in clerical +work for generations they have no practical knowledge of affairs. A +ship's clerk is a useful person, but he is scarcely the captain; and an +orderly-room writer, however smart he may be, is not the colonel. You +see, the writer class in India has never till now aspired to anything +like command. It wasn't allowed to. The Indian gentleman, for thousands +of years past, has resembled Victor Hugo's noble: + + 'Un vrai sire + Chatelain + Laisse ecrire + Le vilain. + Sa main digne + Quand il signe + Egratigne + Le velin. + +And the little egralignures he most likes to make have been scored +pretty deeply by the sword." + +"But this is childish and medheval nonsense!" + +"Precisely; and from your, or rather our, point of view the pen is +mightier than the sword. In this country it's otherwise. The fault +lies in our Indian balances, not yet adjusted to civilized weights and +measures." + +"Well, at all events, this literary class represent the natural +aspirations and wishes of the people at large, though it may not exactly +lead them, and, in spite of all you say, Orde, I defy you to find +a really sound English Radical who would not sympathize with those +aspirations." + +Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when a well +appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and Orde rose saying: + +"Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so diligently, come +to talk about accounts, I suppose." + +As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying with +the trained effusion born of much practice: + +"But this is also my friend, my old and valued friend Edwards. I'm +delighted to see you. I knew you were in India, but not exactly where." + +"Then it isn't accounts, Mr. Edwards," said Orde, cheerily. + +"Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works were +closed for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see him." + +"A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde, was a +leading member of our Radical Club at Switebton when I was beginning +political life, and I owe much to his exertions. There's no pleasure +like meeting an old friend, except, perhaps, making a new one. I +suppose, Mr. Edwards, you stick to the good old cause?" + +"Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There's precious +little one can find to say against the Government, which was the main of +our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the sort o' people +a man who respects himself would like to be mixed up with. There are no +politics, in a manner of speaking, in India. It's all work." + +"Surely you are mistaken, my good friend. Why I have come all the way +from England just to see the working of this great National movement." + +"I don't know where you're going to find the nation as moves to begin +with, and then you'll be hard put to it to find what they are moving +about. It's like this, sir," said Edwards, who had not quite relished +being called "my good friend." "They haven't got any grievance--nothing +to hit with, don't you see, sir; and then there's not much to hit +against, because the Government is more like a kind of general +Providence, directing an old--established state of things, than that +at home, where there's something new thrown down for us to fight about +every three months." + +"You are probably, in your workshops, full of English mechanics, out of +the way of learning what the masses think." + +"I don't know so much about that. There are four of us English foremen, +and between seven and eight hundred native fitters, smiths, carpenters, +painters, and such like." + +"And they are full of the Congress, of course?" + +"Never hear a word of it from year's end to year's end, and I speak the +talk too. But I wanted to ask how things are going on at home--old Tyler +and Brown and the rest?" + +"We will speak of them presently, but your account of the indifference +of your men surprises me almost as much as your own. I fear you are a +backslider from the good old doctrine, Ed wards." Pagett spoke as one +who mourned the death of a near relative. + +"Not a bit, Sir, but I should be if I took up with a parcel of baboos, +pleaders, and schoolboys, as never did a day's work in their lives, and +couldn't if they tried. And if you was to poll us English railway +men, mechanics, tradespeople, and the like of that all up and down the +country from Peshawur to Calcutta, you would find us mostly in a tale +together. And yet you know we're the same English you pay some respect +to at home at 'lection time, and we have the pull o' knowing something +about it." + +"This is very curious, but you will let me come and see you, and perhaps +you will kindly show me the railway works, and we will talk things over +at leisure. And about all old friends and old times," added Pagett, +detecting with quick insight a look of disappointment in the mechanic's +face. + +Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove off. + +"It's very disappointing," said the Member to Orde, who, while his +friend discoursed with Edwards, had been looking over a bundle of +sketches drawn on grey paper in purple ink, brought to him by a +Chuprassee. + +"Don't let it trouble you, old chap," 'said Orde, sympathetically. "Look +here a moment, here are some sketches by the man who made the carved +wood screen you admired so much in the dining-room, and wanted a copy +of, and the artist himself is here too." + +"A native?" said Pagett. + +"Of course," was the reply, "Bishen Siagh is his name, and he has two +brothers to help him. When there is an important job to do, the three go +'ato partnership, but they spend most of their time and all their money +in litigation over an inheritance, and I'm afraid they are getting +involved, Thoroughbred Sikhs of the old rock, obstinate, touchy, +bigoted, and cunning, but good men for all that. Here is Bishen +Singn--shall we ask him about the Congress?" + +But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had never +heard of it, and he listened with a puzzled face and obviously feigned +interest to Orde's account of its aims and objects, finally shaking his +vast white turban with great significance when he learned that it was +promoted by certain pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives. +He began with labored respect to explain how he was a poor man with no +concern in such matters, which were all under the control of God, but +presently broke out of Urdu into familiar Punjabi, the mere sound of +which had a rustic smack of village smoke-reek and plough-tail, as +he denounced the wearers of white coats, the jugglers with words who +filched his field from him, the men whose backs were never bowed in +honest work; and poured ironical scorn on the Bengali. He and one of +his brothers had seen Calcutta, and being at work there had Bengali +carpenters given to them as assistants. + +"Those carpenters!" said Bishen Singh. "Black apes were more efficient +workmates, and as for the Bengali babu-tchick!" The guttural click +needed no interpretation, but Orde translated the rest, while Pagett +gazed with in.. terest at the wood-carver. + +"He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali," said +the M.P. + +"Yes, it's very sad that for ages outside Bengal there should be so +bitter a prejudice. Pride of race, which also means race-hatred, is +the plague and curse of India and it spreads far," pointed with his +riding-whip to the large map of India on the veranda wall. + +"See! I begin with the North," said he. "There's the Afghan, and, as +a highlander, he despises all the dwellers in Hindoostan-with the +exception of the Sikh, whom he hates as cordially as the Sikh hates him. +The Hindu loathes Sikh and Afghan, and the Rajput--that's a little lower +down across this yellow blot of desert--has a strong objection, to put +it mildly, to the Maratha who, by the way, poisonously hates the Afghan. +Let's go North a minute. The Sindhi hates everybody I've mentioned. Very +good, we'll take less warlike races. The cultivator of Northern India +domineers over the man in the next province, and the Behari of the +Northwest ridicules the Bengali. They are all at one on that point. +I'm giving you merely the roughest possible outlines of the facts, of +course." + +Bishen Singh, his clean cut nostrils still quivering, watched the large +sweep of the whip as it traveled from the frontier, through Sindh, the +Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the Jumna. + +"Hate--eternal and inextinguishable hate," concluded Orde, flicking the +lash of the whip across the large map from East to West as he sat down. +"Remember Canning's advice to Lord Granville, 'Never write or speak of +Indian things without looking at a map.'" + +Pagett opened his eyes, Orde resumed. "And the race-hatred is only a +part of it. What's really the matter with Bisben Singh is class-hatred, +which, unfortunately, is even more intense and more widely spread. +That's one of the little drawbacks of caste, which some of your recent +English writers find an impeccable system." + +The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his craft, +and his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved wooden +doorway for Pagett, which he promised should be splendidly executed and +despatched to England in six months. It is an irrelevant detail, but in +spite of Orde's reminders, fourteen months elapsed before the work was +finished. Business over, Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his +leave, and at last joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated +breath and whispering humbleness, said he had a petition to make. +Orde's face suddenly lost all trace of expression. "Speak on, Bishen +Singh," said he, and the carver in a whining tone explained that his +case against his brothers was fixed for hearing before a native judge +and--here he dropped his voice still lower till he was summarily stopped +by Orde, who sternly pointed to the gate with an emphatic Begone! + +Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed +respectfully to the friends and departed. + +Pagett looked inquiry; Orde with complete recovery of his usual +urbanity, replied: "It's nothing, only the old story, he wants his case +to be tried by an English judge-they all do that-but when he began to +hint that the other side were in improper relations with the native +judge I had to shut him up. Gunga Ram, the man he wanted to make +insinuations about, may not be very bright; but he's as honest as +day-light on the bench. But that's just what one can't get a native to +believe." + +"Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases tried +by English judges?" + +"Why, certainly." + +Pagett drew a long breath. "I didn't know that before." At this point a +phaeton entered the compound, and Orde rose with "Confound it, there's +old Rasul Ah Khan come to pay one of his tiresome duty calls. I'm afraid +we shall never get through our little Congress discussion." + +Pagett was an almost silent spectator of the grave formalities of +a visit paid by a punctilious old Mahommedan gentleman to an Indian +official; and was much impressed by the distinction of manner and fine +appearance of the Mohammedan landholder. When the exchange of polite +banalities came to a pause, he expressed a wish to learn the courtly +visitor's opinion of the National Congress. + +Orde reluctantly interpreted, and with a smile which even Mohammedan +politeness could not save from bitter scorn, Rasul Ah Khan intimated +that he knew nothing about it and cared still less. It was a kind of +talk encouraged by the Government for some mysterious purpose of its +own, and for his own part he wondered and held his peace. + +Pagett was far from satisfied with this, and wished to have the old +gentleman's opinion on the propriety of managing all Indian affairs on +the basis of an elective system. + +Orde did his best to explain, but it was plain the visitor was bored +and bewildered. Frankly, he didn't think much of committees; they had +a Municipal Committee at Lahore and had elected a menial servant, an +orderly, as a member. He had been informed of this on good authority, +and after that, committees had ceased to interest him. But all was +according to the rule of Government, and, please God, it was all for the +best. + +"What an old fossil it is!" cried Pagett, as Orde returned from seeing +his guest to the door; "just like some old blue-blooded hidalgo of +Spain. What does he really think of the Congress after all, and of the +elective system?" + +"Hates it all like poison. When you are sure of a majority, election is +a fine system; but you can scarcely expect the Mahommedans, the most +masterful and powerful minority in the country, to contemplate their own +extinction with joy. The worst of it is that he and his co-religionists, +who are many, and the landed proprietors, also, of Hindu race, are +frightened and put out by this election business and by the importance +we have bestowed on lawyers, pleaders, writers, and the like, who have, +up to now, been in abject submission to them. They say little, hut +after all they are the most important fagots in the great bundle of +communities, and all the glib bunkum in the world would not pay for +their estrangement. They have controlled the land." + +"But I am assured that experience of local self-government in your +municipalities has been most satisfactory, and when once the principle +is accepted in your centres, don't you know, it is bound to spread, and +these important--ah'm people of yours would learn it like the rest. +I see no difficulty at all," and the smooth lips closed with the +complacent snap habitual to Pagett, M.P., the "man of cheerful +yesterdays and confident to-morrows." + +Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. + +"The privilege of election has been most reluctantly withdrawn from +scores of municipalities, others have had to be summarily suppressed, +and, outside the Presidency towns, the actual work done has been badly +performed. This is of less moment, perhaps-it only sends up the +local death-rates-than the fact that the public interest in municipal +elections, never very strong, has waned, and is waning, in spite of +careful nursing on the part of Government servants." + +"Can you explain this lack of interest?" said Pagett, putting aside the +rest of Orde's remarks. + +"You may find a ward of the key in the fact that only one in every +thousand af our population can spell. Then they are infinitely more +interested in religion and caste questions than in any sort of politics. +When the business of mere existence is over, their minds are occupied by +a series of interests, pleasures, rituals, superstitions, and the like, +based on centuries of tradition and usage. You, perhaps, find it hard to +conceive of people absolutely devoid of curiosity, to whom the book, the +daily paper, and the printed speech are unknown, and you would describe +their life as blank. That's a profound mistake. You are in another +land, another century, down on the bed-rock of society, where the family +merely, and not the community, is all-important. The average Oriental +cannot be brought to look beyond his clan. His life, too, is naore +complete and self-sufficing, and less sordid and low-thoughted than you +might imagine. It is bovine and slow in some respects, but it is never +empty. You and I are inclined to put the cart before the horse, and to +forget that it is the man that is elemental, not the book. + + 'The corn and the cattle are all my care, + And the rest is the will of God.' + +Why should such folk look up from their immemorially appointed round +of duty and interests to meddle with the unknown and fuss with +voting-papers. How would you, atop of all your interests care to conduct +even one-tenth of your life according to the manners and customs of the +Papuans, let's say? That's what it comes to." + +"But if they won't take the trouble to vote, why do you anticipate that +Mohammedans, proprietors, and the rest would be crushed by majorities of +them?" + +Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. + +"Because, though the landholders would not move a finger on any purely +political question, they could be raised in dangerous excitement by +religious hatreds. Already the first note of this has been sounded by +the people who are trying to get up an agitation on the cow-killing +question, and every year there is trouble over the Mohammedan Muharrum +processions. + +"But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?" + +"The Government of Her Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, in which, if +the Congress promoters are to be believed, the people have an implicit +trust; for the Congress circular, specially prepared for rustic +comprehension, says the movement is 'for the remission of tax, +the advancement of Hindustan, and the strengthening of the British +Government.' This paper is headed in large letters-- + +'MAY THE PROSPERITY OF THE EMPIRE OF INDIA ENDURE.'" + +"Really!" said Pagett, "that shows some cleverness. But there are things +better worth imitation in our English methods of--er--political statement +than this sort of amiable fraud." + +"Anyhow," resumed Orde, "you perceive that not a word is said about +elections and the elective principle, and the reticence of the Congress +promoters here shows they are wise in their generation." + +"But the elective principle must triumph in the end, and the little +difficulties you seem to anticipate would give way on the introduction +of a well-balanced scheme, capable of indefinite extension." + +"But is it possible to devise a scheme which, always assuming that +the people took any interest in it, without enormous expense, ruinous +dislocation of the administation and danger to the public peace, can +satisfy the aspirations of Mr. Hume and his following, and yet safeguard +the interests of the Mahommedans, the landed and wealthy classes, the +Conservative Hindus, the Eurasians, Parsees, Sikhs, Rajputs, native +Christians, domiciled Europeans and others, who are each important and +powerful in their way?" + +Pagett's attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a group of +cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. + +"Here are the twelve Apostles, by Jove--come straight out of Raffaele's +cartoons," said the M.P., with the fresh appreciation of a newcomer. + +Orde, loth to be interrupted, turned impatiently toward the villagers, +and their leader, handing his long staff to one of his companions, +advanced to the house. + +"It is old Jelbo, the Lumherdar, or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a +very' intelligent man for a villager." + +The Jat farmer had removed his shoes and stood smiling on the edge of +the veranda. His strongly marked features glowed with russet bronze, and +his bright eyes gleamed under deeply set brows, contracted by lifelong +exposure to sunshine. His beard and moustache streaked with grey swept +from bold cliffs of brow and cheek in the large sweeps one sees drawn +by Michael Angelo, and strands of long black hair mingled with the +irregularly piled wreaths and folds of his turban. The drapery of stout +blue cotton cloth thrown over his broad shoulders and girt round his +narrow loins, hung from his tall form in broadly sculptured folds, +and he would have made a superb model for an artist in search of a +patriarch. + +Orde greeted him cordially, and after a polite pause the countryman +started off with a long story told with impressive earnestness. Orde +listened and smiled, interrupting the speaker at 'times to argue and +reason with him in a tone which Pagett could hear was kindly, and +finally checking the flux of words was about to dismiss him, when Pagett +suggested that he should be asked about the National Congress. + +But Jelloc had never heard of it. He was a poor man and such things, by +the favor of his Honor, did not concern him. + +"What's the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in +earnest?" asked Pagett, when he had left. + +"Nothing much. He wants the blood of the people in the next village, who +have had smallpox and cattle plague pretty badly, and by the help of +a wizard, a currier, and several pigs have passed it on to his own +village. 'Wants to know if they can't be run in for this awful crime. +It seems they made a dreadful charivari at the village boundary, threw a +quantity of spell-bearing objects over the border, a buffalo's skull and +other things; then branded a chamur--what you would call a currier--on +his hinder parts and drove him and a number of pigs over into Jelbo's +village. Jelbo says he can bring evidence to prove that the wizard +directing these proceedings, who is a Sansi, has been guilty of theft, +arson, cattle-killing, perjury and murder, but would prefer to have him +punished for bewitching them and inflicting small-pox." + +"And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?" + +"Lunatic I the old fellow is as sane as you or I; and he has some ground +of complaint against those Sansis. I asked if he would like a native +superintendent of police with some men to make inquiries, but he +objected on the grounds the police were rather worse than smallpox and +criminal tribes put together." + +"Criminal tribes--er--I don't quite understand," said Paget. + +"We have in India many tribes of people who in the slack anti-British +days became robbers, in various kind, and preyed on the people. They are +being restrained and reclaimed little by little, and in time will become +useful citizens, but they still cherish hereditary traditions of +crime, and are a difficult lot to deal with. By the way what; about the +political rights of these folk under your schemes? The country people +call them vermin, but I sup-pose they would be electors with the rest." + +"Nonsense--special provision would be made for them in a well-considered +electoral scheme, and they would doubtless be treated with fitting +severity," said Pagett, with a magisterial air. + +"Severity, yes--but whether it would be fitting is doubtful. Even those +poor devils have rights, and, after all, they only practice what they +have been taught." + +"But criminals, Orde!" + +"Yes, criminals with codes and rituals of crime, gods and godlings of +crime, and a hundred songs and sayings in praise of it. Puzzling, isn't +it?" + +"It's simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are there many +of them?" + +"Not more than about sixty thousand in this province, for many of the +tribes broadly described as criminal are really vagabond and criminal +only on occasion, while others are being settled and reclaimed. They are +of great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the golden, glorious +Aryan past of Max Muller, Birdwood and the rest of your spindrift +philosophers." + +An orderly brought a card to Orde who took it with a movement of +irritation at the interruption, and banded it to Pagett; a large card +with a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in schoolboy copper +plate, Mr. Dma Nath. "Give salaam," said the civilian, and there +entered in haste a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat of grey +homespun, tight trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small black velvet +cap. His thin cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered restlessly, for the +young man was evidently nervous and uncomfortable, though striving to +assume a free and easy air. + +"Your honor may perhaps remember me," he said in English, and Orde +scanned him keenly. + +"I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah district I +think, when I was in charge there?" + +"Yes, Sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honor gave me a +prize when I was first in the Middle School examination five years ago. +Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now second year's +student in the Mission College." + +"Of course: you are Kedar Nath's son--the boy who said he liked +geography better than play or sugar cakes, and I didn't believe you. How +is your father getting on?" + +"He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are +depressed, and he also is down on his luck." + +"You learn English idiom at the Mission College, it seems." + +"Yes, sir, they are the best idioms, and my father ordered me to ask +your honor to say a word for him to the present incumbent of your +honor's shoes, the latchet of which he is not worthy to open, and who +knows not Joseph; for things are different at Sher shah now, and my +father wants promotion." + +"Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him." + +At this point a telegram was handed to Orde, who, after glancing at it, +said he must leave his young friend whom he introduced to Pagett, "a +member of the English House of Commons who wishes to learn about India." + +Orde bad scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: + +"Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress movement?" + +"Sir, it is the greatest movement of modern times, and one in which all +educated men like us must join. All our students are for the Congress." + +"Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?" said Pagett, +quick to use his recent instruction. + +"These are some mere exceptions to the universal rule." + +"But the people outside the College, the working classes, the +agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance." + +"My mother," said the young man, with a visible effort to bring +himself to pronounce the word, "has no ideas, and my father is not +agriculturist, nor working class; he is of the Kayeth caste; but he had +not the advantage of a collegiate education, and he does not know +much of the Congress. It is a movement for the educated young-man" +-connecting adjective and noun in a sort of vocal hyphen. + +"Ah, yes," said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, "and what +are the benefits you expect to gain by it?" + +"Oh, sir, everything. England owes its greatness to Parliamentary +institutions, and we should at once gain the same high position in +scale of nations. Sir, we wish to have the sciences, the arts, the +manufactures, the industrial factories, with steam engines, and other +motive powers and public meetings, and debates. Already we have a +debating club in connection with the college, and elect a Mr. Speaker. +Sir, the progress must come. You also are a Member of Parliament and +worship the great Lord Ripon," said the youth, breathlessly, and his +black eyes flashed as he finished his commaless sentences. + +"Well," said Pagett, drily, "it has not yet occurred to me to worship +his Lordship, although I believe he is a very worthy man, and I am not +sure that England owes quite all the things you name to the House of +Commons. You see, my young friend, the growth of a nation like ours +is slow, subject to many influences, and if you have read your history +aright"--"Sir. I know it all--all! Norman Conquest, Magna Charta, +Runnymede, Reformation, Tudors, Stuarts, Mr. Milton and Mr. Burke, and +I have read something of Mr. Herbert Spencer and Gibbon's 'Decline and +Fall,' Reynolds' Mysteries of the Court,'" and Pagett felt like one who +had pulled the string of a shower-bath unawares, and hastened to stop +the torrent with a question as to what particular grievances of the +people of India the attention of an elected assembly should be first +directed. But young Mr. Dma Nath was slow to particularize. There were +many, very many demanding consideration. Mr. Pagett would like to hear +of one or two typical examples. The Repeal of the Arms Act was at last +named, and the student learned for the first time that a license was +necessary before an Englishman could carry a gun in England. Then +natives of India ought to be allowed to become Volunteer Riflemen if +they chose, and the absolute equality of the Oriental with his European +fellow-subject in civil status should be proclaimed on principle, and +the Indian Army should be considerably reduced. The student was not, +however, prepared with answers to Mr. Pagett's mildest questions on +these points, and he returned to vague generalities, leaving the M.P. so +much impressed with the crudity of his views that he was glad on Orde's +return to say good-bye to his 'very interesting' young friend. + +"What do you think of young India?" asked Orde. + +"Curious, very curious-and callow." + +"And yet," the civilian replied, "one can scarcely help sympathizing +with him for his mere youth's sake. The young orators of the Oxford +Union arrived at the same conclusions and showed doubtless just the +same enthusiasm. If there were any political analogy between India and +England, if the thousand races of this Empire were one, if there were +any chance even of their learning to speak one language, if, in short, +India were a Utopia of the debating-room, and not a real land, this +kind of talk might be worth listening to, but it is all based on false +analogy and ignorance of the facts." + +"But he is a native and knows the facts." + +"He is a sort of English schoolboy, but married three years, and the +father of two weaklings, and knows less than most English schoolboys. +You saw all he is and knows, and such ideas as he has acquired are +directly hostile to the most cherished convictions of the vast majority +of the people." + +"But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission college? +Is he a Christian?" + +"He meant just what he said, and he is not a Christian, nor ever will +he be. Good people in America, Scotland and England, most of whom would +never dream of collegiate education for their own sons, are pinching +themselves to bestow it in pure waste on Indian youths. Their scheme +is an oblique, subterranean attack on heathenism; the theory being that +with the jam of secular education, leading to a University degree, the +pill of moral or religious instruction may he coaxed down the heathen +gullet." + +"But does it succeed; do they make converts?" + +"They make no converts, for the subtle Oriental swallows the jam and +rejects the pill; but the mere example of the sober, righteous, and +godly lives of the principals and professors who are most excellent and +devoted men, must have a certain moral value. Yet, as Lord Lansdowne +pointed out the other day, the market is dangerously overstocked +with graduates of our Universities who look for employment in the +administration. An immense number are employed, but year by year the +college mills grind out increasing lists of youths foredoomed to +failure and disappointment, and meanwhile, trade, manufactures, and the +industrial arts are neglected, and in fact regarded with contempt by our +new literary mandarins in posse." + +"But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and factories," said +Pagett. + +"Yes, he would like to direct such concerns. He wants to begin at the +top, for manual labor is held to be discreditable, and he would never +defile his hands by the apprenticeship which the architects, engineers, +and manufacturers of England cheerfully undergo; and he would be aghast +to learn that the leading names of industrial enterprise in England +belonged a generation or two since, or now belong, to men who wrought +with their own hands. And, though he talks glibly of manufacturers, he +refuses to see that the Indian manufacturer of the future will be the +despised workman of the present. It was proposed, for example, a few +weeks ago, that a certain municipality in this province should establish +an elementary technical school for the sons of workmen. The stress of +the opposition to the plan came from a pleader who owed all he had to a +college education bestowed on him gratis by Government and missions. +You would have fancied some fine old crusted Tory squire of the last +generation was speaking. 'These people,' he said, 'want no education, +for they learn their trades from their fathers, and to teach a workman's +son the elements of mathematics and physical science would give him +ideas above his business. They must be kept in their place, and it was +idle to imagine that there was any science in wood or iron work.' And he +carried his point. But the Indian workman will rise in the social scale +in spite of the new literary caste." + +"In England we have scarcely begun to realize that there is an +industrial class in this country, yet, I suppose, the example of men, +like Edwards for instance, must tell," said Pagett, thoughtfully. + +"That you shouldn't know much about it is natural enough, for there are +but few sources of information. India in this, as in other respects, is +like a badly kept ledger-not written up to date. And men like Edwards +are, in reality, missionaries, who by precept and example are teaching +more lessons than they know. Only a few, however, of their crowds of +subordinates seem to care to try to emulate them, and aim at individual +advancement; the rest drop into the ancient Indian caste groove." + +"How do you mean?" asked he, "Well, it is found that the new railway and +factory workmen, the fitter, the smith, the engine-driver, and the rest +are already forming separate hereditary castes. You may notice this down +at Jamalpur in Bengal, one of the oldest railway centres; and at other +places, and in other industries, they are following the same inexorable +Indian law." + +"Which means?" queried Pagett. + +"It means that the rooted habit of the people is to gather in small +self-contained, self-sufficing family groups with no thought or care for +any interests but their own-a habit which is scarcely compatible with +the right acceptation of the elective principle." + +"Yet you must admit, Orde, that though our young friend was not able to +expound the faith that is in him, your Indian army is too big." + +"Not nearly big enough for its main purpose. And, as a side issue, there +are certain powerful minorities of fighting folk whose interests an +Asiatic Government is bound to consider. Arms is as much a means of +livelihood as civil employ under Government and law. And it would be +a heavy strain on British bayonets to hold down Sikhs, Jats, Bilochis, +Rohillas, Rajputs, Bhils, Dogras, Pahtans, and Gurkbas to abide by the +decisions of a numerical majority opposed to their interests. Leave the +'numerical majority' to itself without the British bayonets-a flock of +sheep might as reasonably hope to manage a troop of collies." + +"This complaint about excessive growth of the army is akin to another +contention of the Congress party. They protest against the malversation +of the whole of the moneys raised by additional taxes as a Famine +Insurance Fund to other purposes. You must be aware that this special +Famine Fund has all been spent on frontier roads and defences and +strategic railway schemes as a protection against Russia." + +"But there was never a special famine fund raised by special taxation +and put by as in a box. No sane administrator would dream of such +a thing. In a time of prosperity a finance minister, rejoicing in +a margin, proposed to annually apply a million and a half to the +construction of railways and canals for the protection of districts +liable to scarcity, and to the reduction of the annual loans for public +works. But times were not always prosperous, and the finance minister +had to choose whether he would bang up the insurance scheme for a year +or impose fresh taxation. When a farmer hasn't got the little surplus +he hoped to have for buying a new wagon and draining a low-lying field +corner, you don't accuse him of malversation, if he spends what he has +on the necessary work of the rest of his farm." + +A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his +brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. + +"Hellin Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on +Tuesday: we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab Bokbar team." + +Orde explained that he had to go out into the District, and while the +visitor complained that though good men wouldn't play, duffers were +always keen, and that his side would probably be beaten, Pagett rose to +look at his mount, a red, lathered Biloch mare, with a curious lyre-like +incurving of the ears. "Quite a little thoroughbred in all other +respects," said the M.P., and Orde presented Mr. Reginald Burke, Manager +of the Siad and Sialkote Bank to his friend. + +"Yes, she's as good as they make 'em, and she's all the female I possess +and spoiled in consequence, aren't you, old girl?" said Burke, patting +the mare's glossy neck as she backed and plunged. + +"Mr. Pagett," said Orde, "has been asking me about the Congress. What is +your opinion?" Burke turned to the M. P. with a frank smile. + +"Well, if it's all the same to you, sir, I should say, Damn the +Congress, but then I'm no politician, but only a business man." + +"You find it a tiresome subject?" + +"Yes, it's all that, and worse than that, for this kind of agitation is +anything but wholesome for the country." + +"How do you mean?" + +"It would be a long job to explain, and Sara here won't stand, but you +know how sensitive capital is, and how timid investors are. All this +sort of rot is likely to frighten them, and we can't afford to frighten +them. The passengers aboard an Ocean steamer don't feel reassured when +the ship's way is stopped, and they hear the workmen's hammers tinkering +at the engines down below. The old Ark's going on all right as she is, +and only wants quiet and room to move. Them's my sentiments, and those +of some other people who have to do with money and business." + +"Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it is." + +"Why, no! The Indian Government is much too timid with its money-like +an old maiden aunt of mine-always in a funk about her investments. They +don't spend half enough on railways for instance, and they are slow in +a general way, and ought to be made to sit up in all that concerns +the encouragement of private enterprise, and coaxing out into use the +millions of capital that lie dormant in the country." + +The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently anxious to +be off, so the men wished him good-bye. + +"Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and Government in +a breath?" asked Pagett, with an amused smile. + +"Just now he is Reggie Burke, keener on polo than on anything else, but +if you go to the Sind and Sialkote Bank to-morrow you would find Mr. +Reginald Burke a very capable man of business, known and liked by an +immense constituency North and South of this." + +"Do you think he is right about the Government's want of enterprise?" + +"I should hesitate to say. Better consult the merchants and chambers +of commerce in Cawnpore, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta. But though these +bodies would like, as Reggie puts it, to make Government sit up, it is +an elementary consideration in governing a country like India, which +must be administered for the benefit of the people at large, that the +counsels of those who resort to it for the sake of making money should +be judiciously weighed and not allowed to overpower the rest. They are +welcome guests here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best +to restrain their influence. Thus the rights of plantation laborers, +factory operatives, and the like, have been protected, and the +capitalist, eager to get on, has not always regarded Government action +with favor. It is quite conceivable that under an elective system the +commercial communities of the great towns might find means to secure +majorities on labor questions and on financial matters." + +"They would act at least with intelligence and consideration." + +"Intelligence, yes; but as to consideration, who at the present moment +most bitterly resents the tender solicitude of Lancashire for the +welfare and protection of the Indian factory operative? English and +native capitalists running cotton mills and factories." + +"But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely +disinterested?" + +"It is no business of mine to say. I merely indicate an example of how +a powerful commercial interest might hamper a Government intent in the +first place on the larger interests of humanity." + +Orde broke off to listen a moment. "There's Dr. Lathrop talking to my +wife in the drawing-room," said he. + +"Surely not; that's a lady's voice, and if my ears don't deceive me, an +American." + +"Exactly, Dr. Eva McCreery Lathrop, chief of the new Women's Hospital +here, and a very good fellow forbye. Good-morning, Doctor," he said, as +a graceful figure came out on the veranda, "you seem to be in trouble. I +hope Mrs. Orde was able to help you." + +"Your wife is real kind and good, I always come to her when I'm in a fix +but I fear it's more than comforting I want." + +"You work too hard and wear yourself out," said Orde, kindly. "Let me +introduce my friend, Mr. Pagett, just fresh from home, and anxious to +learn his India. You could tell him something of that more important +half of which a mere man knows so little." + +"Perhaps I could if I'd any heart to do it, but I'm in trouble, I've +lost a case, a case that was doing well, through nothing in the world +but inattention on the part of a nurse I had begun to trust. And when I +spoke only a small piece of my mind she collapsed in a whining heap on +the floor. It is hopeless." + +The men were silent, for the blue eyes of the lady doctor were dim. +Recovering herself she looked up with a smile, half sad, half humorous, +"And I am in a whining heap, too; but what phase of Indian life are you +particularly interested in, sir?" + +"Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the +possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people." + +"Wouldn't it be as much to the purpose to bestow point-lace collars +on them? They need many things more urgently than votes. Why it's like +giving a bread-pill for a broken leg." + +"Er-I don't quite follow," said Pagett, uneasily. + +"Well, what's the matter with this country is not in the least +political, but an all round entanglement of physical, social, and moral +evils and corruptions, all more or less due to the unnatural treatment +of women. You can't gather figs from thistles, and so long as the system +of infant marriage, the prohibition of the remarriage of widows, +the lifelong imprisonment of wives and mothers in a worse than penal +confinement, and the withholding from them of any kind of education +or treatment as rational beings continues, the country can't advance a +step. Half of it is morally dead, and worse than dead, and that's just +the half from which we have a right to look for the best impulses. It's +right here where the trouble is, and not in any political considerations +whatsoever." + +"But do they marry so early?" said Pagett, vaguely. + +"The average age is seven, but thousands are married still earlier. One +result is that girls of twelve and thirteen have to bear the burden +of wifehood and motherhood, and, as might be expected, the rate of +mortality both for mothers and children is terrible. Pauperism, +domestic unhappiness, and a low state of health are only a few of the +consequences of this. Then, when, as frequently happens, the boy-husband +dies prematurely, his widow is condemned to worse than death. She +may not re-marry, must live a secluded and despised life, a life so +unnatural that she sometimes prefers suicide; more often she goes +astray. You don't know in England what such words as 'infant-marriage, +baby-wife, girl-mother, and virgin-widow' mean; but they mean +unspeakable horrors here." + +"Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it their +business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones," said +Pagett. + +"Very surely they will do no such thing," said the lady doctor, +emphatically. "I wish I could make you understand. Why, even of the +funds devoted to the Marchioness of Dufferin's organization for medical +aid to the women of India, it was said in print and in speech, that they +would be better spent on more college scholarships for men. And in +all the advanced parties' talk-God forgive them--and in all their +programmes, they carefully avoid all such subjects. They will talk about +the protection of the cow, for that's an ancient superstition--they +can all understand that; but the protection of the women is a new and +dangerous idea." She turned to Pagett impulsively: + +"You are a member of the English Parliament. Can you do nothing? The +foundations of their life are rotten-utterly and bestially rotten. +I could tell your wife things that I couldn't tell you. I know the +life--the inner life that belongs to the native, and I know nothing +else; and believe me you might as well try to grow golden-rod in a +mushroom-pit as to make anything of a people that are born and reared as +these--these things're. The men talk of their rights and privileges. I +have seen the women that bear these very men, and again-may God forgive +the men!" + +Pagett's eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose +tempestuously. + +"I must be off to lecture," said she, "and I'm sorry that I can't +show you my hospitals; but you had better believe, sir, that it's more +necessary for India than all the elections in creation." + +"That's a woman with a mission, and no mistake," said Pagett, after a +pause. + +"Yes; she believes in her work, and so do I," said Orde. "I've a notion +that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work done +for India in this generation was wrought by Lady Dufferin in drawing +attention-what work that was, by the way, even with her husband's great +name to back it to the needs of women here. In effect, native habits and +beliefs are an organized conspiracy against the laws of health and happy +life--but there is some dawning of hope now." + +"How d' you account for the general indifference, then?" + +"I suppose it's due in part to their fatalism and their utter +indifference to all human suffering. How much do you imagine the great +province of the Pun-jab with over twenty million people and half a score +rich towns has contributed to the maintenance of civil dispensaries last +year? About seven thousand rupees." + +"That's seven hundred pounds," said Pagett, quickly. + +"I wish it was," replied Orde; "but anyway, it's an absurdly inadequate +sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental character." + +Pagett was silent for a long time. The question of direct and personal +pain did not lie within his researches. He preferred to discuss the +weightier matters of the law, and contented himself with murmuring: +"They'll do better later on." Then, with a rush, returning to his first +thought: + +"But, my dear Orde, if it's merely a class movement of a local and +temporary character, how d' you account for Bradlaugh, who is at least a +man of sense taking it up?" + +"I know nothing of the champion of the New Brahmins but what I see in +the papers. I suppose there is something tempting in being hailed by a +large assemblage as the representative of the aspirations of two hundred +and fifty millions of people. Such a man looks 'through all the roaring +and the wreaths,' and does not reflect that it is a false perspective, +which, as a matter of fact, hides the real complex and manifold India +from his gaze. He can scarcely be expected to distinguish between the +ambitions of a new oligarchy and the real wants of the people of whom he +knows nothing. But it's strange that a professed Radical should come to +be the chosen advocate of a movement which has for its aim the revival +of an ancient tyranny. Shows how even Radicalism can fall into academic +grooves and miss the essential truths of its own creed. Believe me, +Pagett, to deal with India you want first-hand knowledge and experience. +I wish he would come and live here for a couple of years or so." + +"Is not this rather an ad hominem style of argument?" + +"Can't help it in a case like this. Indeed, I am not sure you ought not +to go further and weigh the whole character and quality and upbringing +of the man. You must admit that the monumental complacency with which he +trotted out his ingenious little Constitution for India showed a strange +want of imagination and the sense of humor." + +"No, I don't quite admit it," said Pagett. + +"Well, you know him and I don't, but that's how it strikes a stranger." +He turned on his heel and paced the veranda thoughtfully. "And, after +all, the burden of the actual, daily unromantic toil falls on the +shoulders of the men out here, and not on his own. He enjoys all the +privileges of recommendation without responsibility, and we-well, +perhaps, when you've seen a little more of India you'll understand. To +begin with, our death rate's five times higher than yours-I speak now +for the brutal bureaucrat--and we work on the refuse of worked-out +cities and exhausted civilizations, among the bones of the dead." + +Pagett laughed. "That's an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde." + +"Is it? Let's see," said the Deputy Commissioner of Amara, striding into +the sunshine toward a half-naked gardener potting roses. He took the +man's hoe, and went to a rain-scarped bank at the bottom of the garden. + +"Come here, Pagett," he said, and cut at the sun-baked soil. After +three strokes there rolled from under the blade of the hoe the half of a +clanking skeleton that settled at Pagett's feet in an unseemly jumble of +bones. The M.P. drew back. + +"Our houses are built on cemeteries," said Orde. "There are scores of +thousands of graves within ten miles." + +Pagett was contemplating the skull with the awed fascination of a man +who has but little to do with the dead. "India's a very curious place," +said he, after a pause. + +"Ah? You'll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch," said +Orde. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE DEODARS *** + +***** This file should be named 2828.txt or 2828.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/2/2828/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Under the Deodars + +by Rudyard Kipling + + + + +Contents + +The Education of Otis Yeere +At the Pit's Mouth +A Wayside Comedy +The Hill of Illusion +A Second-rate Woman +Only a Subaltern +In the Matter of a Private +The Enlightenments of Pagett. M. P. + + + + +Under the Deodars + +The Education of Otis Yeere + +I + +In the pleasant orchard-closes + 'God bless all our gains,' say we; +But 'May God bless all our losses,' + Better suits with our degree. + The Lost Bower. + +This is the history of a failure; but the woman who failed said that +it might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the +younger generation. The younger generation does not want +instruction, being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will listen +to it. None the less, here begins the story where every right-minded +story should begin, that is to say at Simla, where all things begin +and many come to an evil end. + +The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder +and not retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever +woman's mistake is outside the regular course of Nature and +Providence; since all good people know that a woman is the only +infallible thing in this world, except Government Paper of the '79 +issue, bearing interest at four and a half per cent. Yet, we have to +remember that six consecutive days of rehearsing the leading part +of The Fallen Angel, at the New Gaiety Theatre where the plaster +is not yet properly dry, might have brought about an unhingement +of spirits which, again, might have led to eccentricities. + +Mrs. Hauksbee came to 'The Foundry' to tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, +her one bosom friend, for she was in no sense 'a woman's woman.' +And it was a woman's tiffin, the door shut to all the world; and +they both talked chiffons, which is French for Mysteries. + +'I've enjoyed an interval of sanity,' Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after +tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little +writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe's bedroom. + +'My dear girl, what has he done?' said Mrs. Mallowe sweetly. It is +noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other 'dear girl,' just +as commissioners of twenty-eight years' standing address their +equals in the Civil List as 'my boy.' + +'There's no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should +be always credited to me? Am I an Apache?' + +'No, dear, but somebody's scalp is generally drying at your +wigwam-door. Soaking rather.' + +This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of +riding all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That +lady laughed. + +'For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The +Mussuck. Hsh! Don't laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. +When the duff came some one really ought to teach them to make +puddings at Tyrconnel The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.' + +'Sweet soul! I know his appetite,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'Did he, oh +did he, begin his wooing?' + +'By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his +importance as a Pillar of the Empire. I didn't laugh.' + +'Lucy, I don't believe you.' + +'Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was +saying, The Mussuck dilated.' + +'I think I can see him doing it,' said Mrs. Mallowe pensively, +scratching her fox-terrier's ears. + +'I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. ''Strict +supervision, and play them off one against the other," said The +Mussuck, shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. +''That, Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government." ' + +Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. 'And what did you say?' + +'Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: ''So I have +observed in my dealings with you." The Mussuck swelled with +pride. He is coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is +coming too.' + +' ''Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That, +Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government." And I daresay if +we could get to The Mussuck's heart, we should find that he +considers himself a man of the world.' + +'As he is of the other two things. I like The + +Mussuck, and I won't have you call him names. He amuses me.' + +'He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of +sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That +dog is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?' + +'No, thanks. Polly, I'm wearied of this life. It's hollow.' + +'Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.' + +'Only exchanging half-a-dozen attachs in red for one in black, and +if I fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it +ever struck you, dear, that I'm getting old?' + +'Thanks for your courtesy. I'll return it. Ye-es, we are both not +exactly how shall I put it?' + +'What we have been. ''I feel it in my bones," as Mrs. Crossley says. +Polly, I've wasted my life.' + +'As how?' + +'Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.' + +'Be a Power then. You've wits enough for anything and beauty!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. 'Polly, if +you heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that +you're a woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.' + +'Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest +man in Asia, and he'll tell you anything and everything you please.' + +'Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power not a +gas-power. Polly, I'm going to start a salon.' + +Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her +hand. 'Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,' she said. + +'Will you talk sensibly?' + +'I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.' + +'I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn't +explain away afterwards.' + +'Going to make a mistake,' went on Mrs. Mallowe composedly. 'It +is impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more +to the point.' + +'Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.' + +'Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there +in Simla?' + +'Myself and yourself,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment's +hesitation. + +'Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how +many clever men?' + +'Oh er hundreds,' said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely. + +'What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the +Government. Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever +man, though I say so who shouldn't. Government has eaten him up. +All his ideas and powers of conversation he really used to be a +good talker, even to his wife in the old days are taken from him by +this this kitchen-sink of a Government. That's the case with every +man up here who is at work. I don't suppose a Russian convict +under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang; and all our +men-folk here are gilded convicts.' + +'But there are scores ' + +'I know what you're going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I +admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian +who'd be delightful if he had the military man's knowledge of the +world and style, and the military man who'd be adorable if he had +the Civilian's culture.' + +'Detestable word! Have Civilians culchaw? I never studied the +breed deeply.' + +'Don't make fun of Jack's Service. Yes. They're like the teapoys in +the Lakka Bazar good material but not polished. They can't help +themselves, poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after +he has knocked about the world for fifteen years.' + +'And a military man?' + +'When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both +species are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon.' + +'I would not!' said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely. + +'I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them. I'd put their own +colonels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I'd give +them to the Topsham Girl to play with.' + +'The Topsham Girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to +the salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women +together, what would you do with them? Make them talk? They +would all with one accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become +a glorified Peliti's a ''Scandal Point" by lamplight.' + +'There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.' + +'There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla +seasons ought to have taught you that you can't focus anything in +India; and a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two +seasons your roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are +only little bits of dirt on the hillsides here one day and blown down +the khud the next. We have lost the art of talking at least our men +have. We have no cohesion ' + +'George Eliot in the flesh,' interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee wickedly. + +'And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have +no influence. Come into the verandah and look at the Mall!' + +The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla +was abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. + +'How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck +head of goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he +does eat like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General +Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. +Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments, and all powerful.' + +'And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. 'Sir +Henry Haughton raves about me. But go on.' + +'One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're +just a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians +say? Your salon won't weld the Departments together and make +you mistress of India, dear. And these creatures won't talk +administrative ''shop" in a crowd your salon because they are so +afraid of the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. They have +forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the +women ' + +'Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of +their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.' + +'You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the +subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views +admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country +and provided plenty of kala juggahs.' + +'Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a +salon! But who made you so awfully clever?' + +'Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I +have preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion +thereof ' + +'You needn't go on. ''Is Vanity." Polly, I thank you. These vermin' +Mrs. Hauksbee waved her hand from the verandah to two men in +the crowd below who had raised their hats to her 'these vermin +shall not rejoice in a new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will +abandon the notion of a salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But +what shall I do? I must do something.' + +'Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar ' + +'Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. +I'm tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at +Seepee to the blandishments of The Mussuck.' + +'Yes that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to +make your bow yet?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. 'I think I +see myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: ''Mrs. +Hauksbee! Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to +give notice!" No more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; +no more theatricals with supper to follow; no more sparring with +one's dearest, dearest friend; no more fencing with an inconvenient +man who hasn't wit enough to clothe what he's pleased to call his +sentiments in passable speech; no more parading of The Mussuck +while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla, spreading horrible stories +about me! No more of anything that is thoroughly wearying, +abominable, and detestable, but, all the same, makes life worth the +having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt, Polly, I'm inspired. A +mauve and white striped ''cloud" round my excellent shoulders, a +seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. Delightful +vision! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in three different +draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all +the couples to stumble over as they go into the verandah! Then at +supper. Can't you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. +Reluctant subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby, +they really ought to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly, +sent back by the hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across +the room, tugging at a glove two sizes too large for him I hate a +man who wears gloves like overcoats and trying to look as if he'd +thought of it from the first. ''May I ah-have the pleasure 'f takin' +you 'nt' supper?" Then I get up with a hungry smile. Just like this.' + +'Lucy, how can you be so absurd?' + +'And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, +you know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will +look for my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always +with that mauve and white ''cloud" over my head, while the wet +soaks into my dear, old, venerable feet, and Tom swears and +shouts for the mem-sahib's gharri. Then home to bed at half-past +eleven! Truly excellent life helped out by the visits of the Padri, +just fresh from burying somebody down below there.' She pointed +through the pines toward the Cemetery, and continued with +vigorous dramatic gesture + +'Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! +Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel or list, is it? that they put +into the tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of +them.' + +'Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that +idiotic manner! Recollect every one can see you from the Mall.' + +'Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. +Look! There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!' + +She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite +grace. + +'Now,' she continued, 'he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the +delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy +will tell me all about it softening the details for fear of shocking +me. That boy is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of +recommending him to throw up his commission and go into the +Church. In his present frame of mind he would obey me. Happy, +happy child!' + +'Never again,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of +indignation, 'shall you tiffin here! ''Lucindy your behaviour is +scand'lus." ' + +'All your fault,' retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, 'for suggesting such a +thing as my abdication. No! jamais! nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, +frivol, talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate +captives of any woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better +woman than I puts me to shame before all Simla, and it's dust and +ashes in my mouth while I'm doing it!' + +She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put +an arm round her waist. + +'I'm not!' said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummaging for her +handkerchief. 'I've been dining out the last ten nights, and +rehearsing in the afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only +because I'm tired.' + +Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to +lie down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the +talk. + +'I've been through that too, dear,' she said. + +'I remember,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. 'In +'84, wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season.' + +Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion. + +'I became an Influence,' said she. + +'Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss +Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they +cast me out for a sceptic without a chance of improving my poor +little mind, too.' + +'No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says ' + +'Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did +you do?' + +'I made a lasting impression.' + +'So have I for four months. But that didn't console me in the least. I +hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and +tell me what you mean?' + +Mrs. Mallowe told. + +'And you mean to say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?' + +'Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.' + +'And his last promotion was due to you?' + +Mrs. Mallowe nodded. + +'And you warned him against the Topsham Girl?' + +Another nod. + +'And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private memo about him?' + +A third nod. + +'Why?' + +'What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I +am proud of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be +successful. Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to +Knighthood, and everything else that a man values. The rest +depends upon himself.' + +'Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.' + +'Not in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all. You diffuse yourself, +dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team ' + +'Can't you choose a prettier word?' + +'Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you +gain nothing by it. Not even amusement.' + +'And you?' + +'Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, +unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You'll +find it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. +It can be done you needn't look like that because I've done it.' + +'There's an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. +I'll get such a man and say to him, ''Now, understand that there +must be no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my +instruction and counsels, and all will yet be well." Is that the idea?' + +'More or less,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. +'But be sure he understands.' + +II + +Dribble-dribble trickle-trickle + + What a lot of raw dust! + +My dollie's had an accident + + And out came all the sawdust! + + Nursery Rhyme. + +So Mrs. Hauksbee, in 'The Foundry' which overlooks Simla Mall, +sat at the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of +the Conference was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so +plumed herself. + +'I warn you,' said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her +suggestion, 'that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any +woman even the Topsham Girl can catch a man, but very, very few +know how to manage him when caught.' + +'My child,' was the answer, 'I've been a female St. Simon Stylites +looking down upon men for these these years past. Ask The +Mussuck whether I can manage them.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, 'I'll go to him and say to him in +manner most ironical.' Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she +grew suddenly sober. 'I wonder whether I've done well in advising +that amusement? Lucy's a clever woman, but a thought too +careless.' + +A week later the two met at a Monday Pop. 'Well?' said Mrs. +Mallowe. + +'I've caught him!' said Mrs. Hauksbee: her eyes were dancing with +merriment. + +'Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it.' + +'Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. +You can see his face now. Look!' + +'Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don't +believe you.' + +'Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; +and I'll tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman's voice always +reminds me of an Underground train coming into Earl's Court with +the brakes on. Now listen. It is really Otis Yeere.' + +'So I see, but does it follow that he is your property!' + +'He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the +very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delanes' burra-khana. I +liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day +we went for a ride together, and to-day he's tied to my +'richshaw-wheels hand and foot. You'll see when the concert's +over. He doesn't know I'm here yet.' + +'Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What are you going to +do with him, assuming that you've got him?' + +'Assuming, indeed! Does a woman do I ever make a mistake in +that sort of thing? First' Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items +ostentatiously on her little gloved fingers 'First, my dear, I shall +dress him properly. At present his raiment is a disgrace, and he +wears a dress-shirt like a crumpled sheet of the Pioneer. Secondly, +after I have made him presentable, I shall form his manners his +morals are above reproach.' + +'You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering +the shortness of your acquaintance.' + +'Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his +interest in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self. If +the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she +flatters the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her.' + +'In some cases.' + +'Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. +Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as +you said, be his guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall +become a success as great a success as your friend. I always +wondered how that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you +with the Civil List and, dropping on one knee no, two knees, la +Gibbon hand it to you and say, ''Adorable angel, choose your +friend's appointment"?' + +'Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have +demoralised you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil +Side.' + +'No disrespect meant to Jack's Service, my dear. I only asked for +information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall +work in my prey.' + +'Go your own way since you must. But I'm sorry that I was weak +enough to suggest the amusement.' + +' ''I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-fin-ite extent," ' +quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the +conversation ceased with Mrs. Tarkass's last, long-drawn +war-whoop. + +Her bitterest enemies and she had many could hardly accuse Mrs. +Hauksbee of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those +wandering 'dumb' characters, foredoomed through life to be +nobody's property. Ten years in Her Majesty's Bengal Civil +Service, spent, for the most part, in undesirable Districts, had +given him little to be proud of, and nothing to bring confidence. +Old enough to have lost the first fine careless rapture that showers +on the immature 'Stunt imaginary Commissionerships and Stars, +and sends him into the collar with coltish earnestness and +abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the progress +he had made, and thank Providence that under the conditions of +the day he had come even so far, he stood upon the dead-centre of +his career. And when a man stands still he feels the slightest +impulse from without. Fortune had ruled that Otis Yeere should +be, for the first part of his service, one of the rank and file who are +ground up in the wheels of the Administration; losing heart and +soul, and mind and strength, in the process. Until steam replaces +manual power in the working of the Empire, there must always be +this percentage must always be the men who are used up, +expended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these promotion is +far off and the mill-grind of every day very instant. The +Secretariats know them only by name; they are not the picked men +of the Districts with Divisions and Collectorates awaiting them. +They are simply the rank and file the food for fever sharing with +the ryot and the plough-bullock the honour of being the plinth on +which the State rests. The older ones have lost their aspirations; +the younger are putting theirs aside with a sigh. Both learn to +endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve years in the rank +and file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the +wits of the most keen. + +Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few months; drifting, in +the hope of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave +was over he would return to his swampy, sour-green, +under-manned Bengal district; to the native Assistant, the native +Doctor, the native Magistrate, the steaming, sweltering Station, the +ill-kempt City, and the undisguised insolence of the Municipality +that babbled away the lives of men. Life was cheap, however. The +soil spawned humanity, as it bred frogs in the Rains, and the gap of +the sickness of one season was filled to overflowing by the +fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful to lay down +his work for a little while and escape from the seething, whining, +weakly hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its power to +cripple, thwart, and annoy the sunkeneyed man who, by official +irony, was said to be 'in charge' of it. + +'I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here +sometimes. But I didn't know that there were men-dowds, too.' + +Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes +wore rather the mark of the ages. It will be seen that his friendship +with Mrs. Hauksbee had made great strides. + +As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is +talking about himself. From Otis Yeere's lips Mrs. Hauksbee, +before long, learned everything that she wished to know about the +subject of her experiment: learned what manner of life he had led +in what she vaguely called 'those awful cholera districts'; learned, +too, but this knowledge came later, what manner of life he had +purposed to lead and what dreams he had dreamed in the year of +grace '77, before the reality had knocked the heart out of him. Very +pleasant are the shady bridle-paths round Prospect Hill for the +telling of such confidences. + +'Not yet,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Maliowe. 'Not yet. I must +wait until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great heavens, is it +possible that he doesn't know what an honour it is to be taken up +by Me!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. + +'Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!' murmured Mrs. Mallowe, with her +sweetest smile, to Otis. 'Oh you men, you men! Here are our +Punjabis growling because you've monopolised the nicest woman +in Simla. They'll tear you to pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. +Yeere.' + +Mrs. Mallowe rattled downhill, having satisfied herself, by a +glance through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her +words. + +The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this +bewildering whirl of Simla had monopolised the nicest woman in +it, and the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild +glow of vanity. He had never looked upon his acquaintance with +Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter for general interest. + +The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no +account. It was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the +Club said spitefully, 'Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are +going it. Hasn't any kind friend told you that she's the most +dangerous woman in Simla?' + +Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh, when would his new +clothes be ready? He descended into the Mall to inquire; and Mrs. +Hauksbee, coming over the Church Ridge in her 'rickshaw, looked +down upon him approvingly. 'He's learning to carry himself as if he +were a man, instead of a piece of furniture, and,' she screwed up +her eyes to see the better through the sunlight 'he is a man when he +holds himself like that. O blessed Conceit, what should we be +without you?' + +With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis +Yeere discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into +a gentle perspiration could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. +Hauksbee, as though rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for +the first time in nine years proud of himself, and contented with +his life, satisfied with his new clothes, and rejoicing in the +friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. + +'Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,' she said in confidence to +Mrs. Mallowe. 'I believe they must use Civilians to plough the +fields with in Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very +beginning haven't I? But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is +immensely improved since I took him in hand. Only give me a +little more time and he won't know himself.' + +Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. +One of his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked +Yeere, in reference to nothing, 'And who has been making you a +Member of Council, lately? You carry the side of half-a-dozen of +'em.' + +'I I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know,' said Yeere +apologetically. + +'There'll be no holding you,' continued the old stager grimly. +'Climb down, Otis climb down, and get all that beastly affectation +knocked out of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't +support it.' + +Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to +look upon her as his Mother Confessor. + +'And you apologised!' she said. 'Oh, shame! I hate a man who +apologises. Never apologise for what your friend called ''side." +Never! It's a man's business to be insolent and overbearing until he +meets with a stronger. Now, you bad boy, listen to me.' + +Simply and straightforwardly, as the 'rickshaw loitered round +Jakko, Mrs. Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of +Conceit, illustrating it with living pictures encountered during their +Sunday afternoon stroll. + +'Good gracious!' she ended with the personal argument, 'you'll +apologise next for being my attach!' + +'Never!' said Otis Yeere. 'That's another thing altogether. I shall +always be ' + +'What's coming?' thought Mrs. Hauksbee. + +'Proud of that,' said Otis. + +'Safe for the present,' she said to herself. + +'But I'm afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshurun, you know. +When he waxed fat, then he kicked. It's the having no worry on +one's mind and the Hill air, I suppose.' + +'Hill air, indeed!' said Mrs. Hauksbee to herself. 'He'd have been +hiding in the Club till the last day of his leave, if I hadn't +discovered him.' And aloud + +'Why shouldn't you be? You have every right to.' + +'I! Why?' + +'Oh, hundreds of things. I'm not going to waste this lovely +afternoon by explaining; but I know you have. What was that heap +of manuscript you showed me about the grammar of the aboriginal +what's their names?' + +'Gullals. A piece of nonsense. I've far too much work to do to +bother over Gullals now. You should see my District. Come down +with your husband some day and I'll show you round. Such a +lovely place in the Rains! A sheet of water with the +railway-embankment and the snakes sticking out, and, in the +summer, green flies and green squash. The people would die of +fear if you shook a dogwhip at 'em. But they know you're forbidden +to do that, so they conspire to make your life a burden to you. My +District's worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength of a +native pleader's false reports. Oh, it's a heavenly place!' + +Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. + +'There's not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do +you?' + +'Because I must. How'm I to get out of it?' + +'How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren't so many people +on the road I'd like to box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask! Look! +There is young Hexarly with six years' service and half your +talents. He asked for what he wanted, and he got it. See, down by +the Convent! There's McArthurson, who has come to his present +position by asking sheer, downright asking after he had pushed +himself out of the rank and file. One man is as good as another in +your service believe me. I've seen Simla for more seasons than I +care to think about. Do you suppose men are chosen for +appointments because of their special fitness beforehand? You +have all passed a high test what do you call it? in the beginning, +and, except for the few who have gone altogether to the bad, you +can all work hard. Asking does the rest. Call it cheek, call it +insolence, call it anything you like, but ask! Men argue yes, I know +what men say that a man, by the mere audacity of his request, must +have some good in him. A weak man doesn't say: ''Give me this +and that." He whines: ''Why haven't I been given this and that?" If +you were in the Army, I should say learn to spin plates or play a +tambourine with your toes. As it is ask! You belong to a Service +that ought to be able to command the Channel Fleet, or set a leg at +twenty minutes' notice, and yet you hesitate over asking to escape +from a squashy green district where you admit you are not master. +Drop the Bengal Government altogether. Even Darjiling is a little +out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the rents were +extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the Government of India to take +you over. Try to get on the Frontier, where every man has a grand +chance if he can trust himself. Go somewhere! Do something! You +have twice the wits and three times the presence of the men up +here, and, and' Mrs. Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued +'and in any way you look at it, you ought to. You who could go so +far!' + +'I don't know,' said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected +eloquence. 'I haven't such a good opinion of myself.' + +It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid +her hand lightly upon the ungloved paw that rested on the +turned-back 'rickshaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face, +said tenderly, almost too tenderly, 'I believe in you if you mistrust +yourself. Is that enough, my friend?' + +'It is enough,' answered Otis very solemnly. + +He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had +dreamed eight years ago, but through them all ran, as +sheet-lightning through golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee's +violet eyes. + +Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life the only +existence in this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went +abroad among men and women, in the pauses between dance, play, +and Gymkhana, that Otis Yeere, the man with the newly-lit light of +self-confidence in his eyes, had 'done something decent' in the +wilds whence he came. He had brought an erring Municipality to +reason, appropriated the funds on his own responsibility, and saved +the lives of hundreds. He knew more about the Gullals than any +living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aboriginal tribes; was, in +spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the aboriginal +Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals were till The +Mussuck, who had been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided +himself upon picking people's brains, explained they were a tribe +of ferocious hillmen, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friendship +even the Great Indian Empire would find it worth her while to +secure. Now we know that Otis Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee +his MS. notes of six years' standing on these same Gullals. He had +told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the fever their negligence +had bred, crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, and savagely angry +at the desolation in his charge, he had once damned the collective +eyes of his 'intelligent local board' for a set of haramzadas. Which +act of 'brutal and tyrannous oppression' won him a Reprimand +Royal from the Bengal Government; but in the anecdote as +amended for Northern consumption we find no record of this. +Hence we are forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee edited his +reminiscences before sowing them in idle ears, ready, as she well +knew, to exaggerate good or evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as +befitted the hero of many tales. + +'You can talk to me when you don't fall into a brown study. Talk +now, and talk your brightest and best,' said Mrs. Hauksbee. + +Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has the counsel of a +woman of or above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his +head, he can meet both sexes on equal ground an advantage never +intended by Providence, who fashioned Man on one day and +Woman on another, in sign that neither should know more than a +very little of the other's life. Such a man goes far, or, the counsel +being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world seeks the +reason. + +Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee, who, again, had all Mrs. Mallowe's +wisdom at her disposal, proud of himself and, in the end, believing +in himself because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready for +any fortune that might befall, certain that it would be good. He +would fight for his own hand, and intended that this second +struggle should lead to better issue than the first helpless surrender +of the bewildered 'Stunt. + +What might have happened it is impossible to say. This lamentable +thing befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she +would spend the next season in Darjiling. + +'Are you certain of that?' said Otis Yeere. + +'Quite. We're writing about a house now.' + +Otis Yeere 'stopped dead,' as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing +the relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. + +'He has behaved,' she said angrily, 'just like Captain Kerrington's +pony only Otis is a donkey at the last Gymkhana. Planted his +forefeet and refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's going +to disappoint me. What shall I do?' + +As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this +occasion she opened her eyes to the utmost. + +'You have managed cleverly so far,'she said. 'Speak to him, and ask +him what he means.' + +'I will at to-night's dance.' + +'No o, not at a dance,' said Mrs. Mallowe cautiously. 'Men are +never themselves quite at dances. Better wait till to-morrow +morning.' + +'Nonsense. If he's going to 'vert in this insane way there isn't a day +to lose. Are you going? No? Then sit up for me, there's a dear. I +shan't stay longer than supper under any circumstances.' + +Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and +earnestly into the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. + +'Oh! oh! oh! The man's an idiot! A raving, positive idiot! I'm sorry I +ever saw him!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's house, at midnight, +almost in tears. + +'What in the world has happened?' said Mrs. Mallowe, but her eyes +showed that she had guessed an answer. + +'Happened! Everything has happened! He was there. I went to him +and said, ''Now, what does this nonsense mean?" Don't laugh, dear, +I can't bear it. But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a +square, and I sat it out with him and wanted an explanation, and he +said Oh! I haven't patience with such idiots! You know what I said +about going to Darjiling next year? It doesn't matter to me where I +go. I'd have changed the Station and lost the rent to have saved +this. He said, in so many words, that he wasn't going to try to work +up any more, because because he would be shifted into a province +away from Darjiling, and his own District, where these creatures +are,is within a day's journey ' + +'Ah hh!' said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully +tracked an obscure word through a large dictionary. + +'Did you ever hear of anything so mad so absurd? And he had the +ball at his feet. He had only to kick it! I would have made him +anything! Anything in the wide world. He could have gone to the +world's end. I would have helped him. I made him, didn't I, Polly? +Didn't I create that man? Doesn't he owe everything to me? And to +reward me, just when everything was nicely arranged, by this +lunacy that spoilt everything!' + +'Very few men understand your devotion thoroughly.' + +'Oh, Polly, don't laugh at me! I give men up from this hour. I could +have killed him then and there. What right had this man this Thing +I had picked out of his filthy paddy - fields to make love to me?' + +'He did that, did he?' + +'He did. I don't remember half he said, I was so angry. Oh, but such +a funny thing happened! I can't help laughing at it now, though I +felt nearly ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed I'm +afraid we must have made an awful noise in our kala juggah. +Protect my character, dear, if it's all over Simla by to-morrow and +then he bobbed forward in the middle of this insanity I firmly +believe the man's demented and kissed me.' + +'Morals above reproach,' purred Mrs. Mallowe. + +'So they were so they are! It was the most absurd kiss. I don't +believe he'd ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw my +head back, and it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end +of the chin here.' Mrs. Hauksbee tapped her masculine little chin +with her fan. 'Then, of course, I was furiously angry, and told him +that he was no gentleman, and I was sorry I'd ever met him, and so +on. He was crushed so easily then I couldn't be very angry. Then I +came away straight to you.' + +'Was this before or after supper?' + +'Oh! before oceans before. Isn't it perfectly disgusting?' + +'Let me think. I withhold judgment till tomorrow. Morning brings +counsel.' + +But morning brought only a servant with a dainty bouquet of +Annandale roses for Mrs. Hauksbee to wear at the dance at +Viceregal Lodge that night. + +'He doesn't seem to be very penitent,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'What's +the billet-doux in the centre?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly-folded note, another +accomplishment that she had taught Otis, read it, and groaned +tragically. + +'Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry! Is it his own, do you +think? Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot!' + +'No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and in view of the facts +of the case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen + +Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart, + + Pass! There's a world full of men; + +And women as fair as thou art + + Must do such things now and then. + +Thou only hast stepped unaware + + Malice not one can impute; + +And why should a heart have been there, + + In the way of a fair woman's foot? + +'I didn't I didn't I didn't!' said Mrs. Hauksbee angrily, her eyes +filling with tears; 'there was no malice at all. Oh, it's too +vexatious!' + +'You've misunderstood the compliment,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'He +clears you completely and ahem I should think by this, that he has +cleared completely too. My experience of men is that when they +begin to quote poetry they are going to flit. Like swans singing +before they die, you know.' + +'Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.' + +'Do I? Is it so terrible? If he's hurt your vanity, I should say that +you've done a certain amount of damage to his heart.' + +'Oh, you can never tell about a man!' said Mrs. Hauksbee. + +At the Pit's Mouth + +Men say it was a stolen tide + The Lord that sent it He knows all, +But in mine ear will aye abide + The message that the bells let fall- +And awesome bells they were to me, +That in the dark rang, 'Enderby.' + --Jean Ingelow + +Once upon a time there was a Man and his Wife and a Tertium +Quid. + +All three were unwise, but the Wife was the unwisest. The Man +should have looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the +Tertium Quid, who, again, should have married a wife of his own, +after clean and open flirtations, to which nobody can possibly +object, round Jakko or Observatory Hill. When you see a young +man with his pony in a white lather and his hat on the back of his +head, flying downhill at fifteen miles an hour to meet a girl who +will be properly surprised to meet him, you naturally approve of +that young man, and wish him Staff appointments, and take an +interest in his welfare, and, as the proper time comes, give them +sugar-tongs or side-saddles according to your means and +generosity. + +The Tertium Quid flew downhill on horseback, but it was to meet +the Man's Wife; and when he flew uphill it was for the same end. +The Man was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend +on dresses and four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive +luxuries of that kind. He worked very hard, and sent her a letter or +a post-card daily. She also wrote to him daily, and said that she +was longing for him to come up to Simla. The Tertium Quid used +to lean over her shoulder and laugh as she wrote the notes. Then +the two would ride to the Post-office together. + +Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are peculiar; nor is +any man who has not spent at least ten seasons there qualified to +pass judgment on circumstantial evidence, which is the most +untrustworthy in the Courts. For these reasons, and for others +which need not appear, I decline to state positively whether there +was anything irretrievably wrong in the relations between the +Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid. If there was, and hereon you +must form your own opinion, it was the Man's Wife's fault. She +was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an air of soft and +fluffy innocence. But she was deadlily learned and evil-instructed; +and, now and again, when the mask dropped, men saw this, +shuddered and almost drew back. Men are occasionally particular, +and the least particular men are always the most exacting. + +Simla is eccentric in its fashion of treating friendships. Certain +attachments which have set and crystallised through half-a-dozen +seasons acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are +revered as such. Again, certain attachments equally old, and, to all +appearance, equally venerable, never seem to win any recognised +official status; while a chance-sprung acquaintance, not two +months born, steps into the place which by right belongs to the +senior. There is no law reducible to print which regulates these +affairs. + +Some people have a gift which secures them infinite toleration, +and others have not. The Man's Wife had not. If she looked over +the garden wall, for instance, women taxed her with stealing their +husbands. She complained pathetically that she was not allowed to +choose her own friends. When she put up her big white muff to her +lips, and gazed over it and under her eyebrows at you as she said +this thing, you felt that she had been infamously misjudged, and +that all the other women's instincts were all wrong; which was +absurd. She was not allowed to own the Tertium Quid in peace; +and was so strangely constructed that she would not have enjoyed +peace had she been so permitted. She preferred some semblance of +intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace actions. + +After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then +Summer Hill, then Observatory Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly +up and down the Cart Road as far as the Tara Devi gap in the dusk, +she said to the Tertium Quid, 'Frank, people say we are too much +together, and people are so horrid.' + +The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid +people were unworthy of the consideration of nice people. + +'But they have done more than talk they have written written to my +hubby I'm sure of it,' said the Man's Wife, and she pulled a letter +from her husband out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the +Tertium Quid. + +It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in +the Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife +eight hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It +said that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdom of +allowing her name to be so generally coupled with the Tertium +Quid's; that she was too much of a child to understand the dangers +of that sort of thing; that he, her husband, was the last man in the +world to interfere jealously with her little amusements and +interests, but that it would be better were she to drop the Tertium +Quid quietly and for her husband's sake. The letter was sweetened +with many pretty little pet names, and it amused the Tertium Quid +considerably. He and She laughed over it, so that you, fifty yards +away, could see their shoulders shaking while the horses slouched +along side by side. + +Their conversation was not worth reporting. The upshot of it was +that, next day, no one saw the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid +together. They had both gone down to the Cemetery, which, as a +rule, is only visited officially by the inhabitants of Simla. + +A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, +and the coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of +the most depressing things on this earth, particularly when the +procession passes under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe +Hotel, where the sun is shut out, and all the hill streams are +wailing and weeping together as they go down the valleys. + +Occasionally folk tend the graves, but we in India shift and are +transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead +have no friend only acquaintances who are far too busy amusing +themselves up the hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a +Cemetery as a rendezvous is distinctly a feminine one. A man +would have said simply, 'Let people talk. We'll go down the Mall.' +A woman is made differently, especially if she be such a woman as +the Man's Wife. She and the Tertium Quid enjoyed each other's +society among the graves of men and women whom they had +known and danced with aforetime. + +They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit on the grass a little to +the left of the lower end, where there is a dip in the ground, and +where the occupied graves stop short and the ready-made ones are +not ready. Each well-regulated Indian Cemetery keeps +half-a-dozen graves permanently open for contingencies and +incidental wear and tear. In the Hills these are more usually baby's +size, because children who come up weakened and sick from the +Plains often succumb to the effects of the Rains in the Hills or get +pneumonia from their ayahs taking them through damp +pine-woods after the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the +man's size is more in request; these arrangements varying with the +climate and population. + +One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just +arrived in the Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. +They had marked out a full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked +them whether any Sahib was sick. They said that they did not +know; but it was an order that they should dig a Sahib's grave. + +'Work away,' said the Tertium Quid, 'and let's see how it's done.' + +The coolies worked away, and the Man's Wife and the Tertium +Quid watched and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was +being deepened. Then a coolie, taking the earth in baskets as it was +thrown up, jumped over the grave. + +'That's queer,' said the Tertium Quid. 'Where's my ulster?' + +'What's queer?' said the Man's Wife. + +'I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over +my grave.' + +'Why do you look at the thing, then?' said the Man's Wife. 'Let us +go.' + +The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared +without answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble +down, 'It is nasty and cold: horribly cold. I don't think I shall come +to the Cemetery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful.' + +The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They +also arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through +the Mashobra Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world +was going to a garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people +of Mashobra would go too. + +Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid's horse tried to +bolt uphill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to +strain a back sinew. + +'I shall have to take the mare to-morrow,' said the Tertium Quid, +'and she will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.' + +They made their arrangements to meet in the Cemetery, after +allowing all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That +night it rained heavily, and, next day, when the Tertium Quid came +to the trysting-place, he saw that the new grave had a foot of water +in it, the ground being a tough and sour clay. + +''Jove! That looks beastly,' said the Tertium Quid. 'Fancy being +boarded up and dropped into that well!' + +They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle +and picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the +sun shining divinely. The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is +officially styled the Himalayan-Thibet road; but in spite of its +name it is not much more than six feet wide in most places, and +the drop into the valley below may be anything between one and +two thousand feet. + +'Now we're going to Thibet,' said the Man's Wife merrily, as the +horses drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. + +'Into Thibet,' said the Tertium Quid, 'ever so far from people who +say horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you to +the end of the world!' + +A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare +went wide to avoid him forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible +mare should go. + +'To the world's end,' said the Man's Wife, and looked unspeakable +things over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. + +He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it +were on his face, and changed to a nervous grin the sort of grin +men wear when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare +seemed to be sinking by the stern, and her nostrils cracked while +she was trying to realise what was happening. The rain of the night +before had rotted the drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and +it was giving way under her. 'What are you doing?' said the Man's +Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no answer. He grinned nervously +and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped with her forefeet on +the road, and the struggle began. The Man's Wife screamed, 'Oh, +Frank, get off!' + +But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle his face blue and +white and he looked into the Man's Wife's eyes. Then the Man's +Wife clutched at the mare's head and caught her by the nose +instead of the bridle. The brute threw up her head and went down +with a scream, the Tertium Quid upon her, and the nervous grin +still set on his face. + +The Man's Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose +earth falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man and +horse going down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on +Frank to leave his mare and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He +was underneath the mare, nine hundred feet below, spoiling a +patch of Indian corn. + +As the revellers came back from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of +the evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a +temporarily mad horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes +and her mouth open, and her head like the head of a Medusa. She +was stopped by a man at the risk of his life, and taken out of the +saddle, a limp heap, and put on the bank to explain herself. This +wasted twenty minutes, and then she was sent home in a lady's +'rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her hands picking at her +riding-gloves. + +She was in bed through the following three days, which were +rainy; so she missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, +who was lowered into eighteen inches of water, instead of the +twelve to which he had first objected. + +A Wayside Comedy + +Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore +the misery of man is great upon him. +--Eccles. viii. 6. + +Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of +Kashima into a prison; and, because there is no help for the poor +souls who are now lying there in torment, I write this story, +praying that the Government of India may be moved to scatter the +European population to the four winds. + +Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rocktipped circle of the +Dosehri hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the +roses die and the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the +white mists from the jhils cover the place as with water, and in +Winter the frosts nip everything young and tender to earth-level. +There is but one view in Kashima a stretch of perfectly flat pasture +and plough-land, running up to the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri +hills. + +There are no amusements, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the +tigers have been long since hunted from their lairs in the +rock-caves, and the snipe only come once a year. Narkarra one +hundred and forty-three miles by road is the nearest station to +Kashima. But Kashima never goes to Narkarra, where there are at +least twelve English people. It stays within the circle of the +Dosehri hills. + +All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; +but all Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their +pain. + +Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. +They are the English population of Kashima, if we except Major +Vansuythen, who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. +Vansuythen, who is the most important of all. + +You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws +weaken in a small and hidden community where there is no public +opinion. When a man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a +certain risk of falling into evil ways. This risk is multiplied by +every addition to the population up to twelve the Jury-number. +After that, fear and consequent restraint begin, and human action +becomes less grotesquely jerky. + +There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. +She was a charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and +she charmed every one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of +this, since Fate is so perverse, she cared only for one man, and he +was Major Vansuythen. Had she been plain or stupid, this matter +would have been intelligible to Kashima. But she was a fair +woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour of a lake just before +the light of the sun touches it. No man who had seen those eyes +could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was to look +upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was 'not +bad-looking, but spoilt by pretending to be so grave.' And yet her +gravity was natural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely went +through life, looking at those who passed; and the women objected +while the men fell down and worshipped. + +She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to +Kashima; but Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. +Boulte does not drop in to afternoon tea at least three times a +week. 'When there are only two women in one Station, they ought +to see a great deal of each other,' says Major Vansuythen. + +Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those +far-away places where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had +discovered that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for +him and you dare not blame them. Kashima was as out of the +world as Heaven or the Other Place, and the Dosehri hills kept +their secret well. Boulte had no concern in the matter. He was in +camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard, heavy man, and +neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They had all Kashima +and each other for their very, very own; and Kashima was the +Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his +wanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call +him 'old fellow,' and the three would dine together. Kashima was +happy then when the judgment of God seemed almost as distant as +Narkarra or the railway that ran down to the sea. But the +Government sent Major Vansuythen to Kashima, and with him +came his wife. + +The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert +island. When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to +the shore to make him welcome. Kashima assembled at the +masonry platform close to the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for +the Vansuythens. That ceremony was reckoned a formal call, and +made them free of the Station, its rights and privileges. When the +Vansuythens settled down they gave a tiny house-warming to all +Kashima; and that made Kashima free of their house, according to +the immemorial usage of the Station. + +Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the +Narkarra Road was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the +cup-like pastures of Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The +clouds dropped down from the Dosehri hills and covered +everything. + +At the end of the Rains Boulte's manner towards his wife changed +and became demonstratively affectionate. They had been married +twelve years, and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her +husband with the hate of a woman who has met with nothing but +kindness from her mate, and, in the teeth of this kindness, has done +him a great wrong. Moreover, she had her own trouble to fight +with her watch to keep over her own property, Kurrell. For two +months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills and many other +things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs. Boulte that +her man among men, her Ted for she called him Ted in the old +days when Boulte was out of earshot was slipping the links of the +allegiance. + +'The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,' Mrs. Boulte said to +herself; and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the +face of the over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in +Kashima is as fortunate as Love because there is nothing to +weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. Boulte had never breathed +her suspicion to Kurrell because she was not certain; and her +nature led her to be very certain before she took steps in any +direction. That is why she behaved as she did. + +Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the +door-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. +Boulte was putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of +civilisation even in Kashima. + +'Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, 'do you care for me?' + +'Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. 'Can you ask it?' + +'But I'm serious,' said Boulte. 'Do you care for me?' + +Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. 'Do +you want an honest answer?' + +'Ye-es, I've asked for it.' + +Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very +distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. +When Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and +one not to be compared to the deliberate pulling down of a +woman's homestead about her own ears. There was no wise female +friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, the singularly cautious wife, to hold +her hand. She struck at Boulte's heart, because her own was sick +with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out with the long strain of +watching alone through the Rains. There was no plan or purpose in +her speaking. The sentences made themselves; and Boulte listened, +leaning against the door-post with his hands in his pockets. When +all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her nose +before breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in +front of him at the Dosehri hills. + +'Is that all?' he said. 'Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.' + +'What are you going to do?' said the woman, between her sobs. + +'Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell, or send you Home, +or apply for leave to get a divorce? It's two days' dk into +Narkarra.' He laughed again and went on: 'I'll tell you what you can +do. You can ask Kurrell to dinner tomorrow no, on Thursday, that +will allow you time to pack and you can bolt with him. I give you +my word I won't follow.' + +He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte +sat till the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and +thinking. She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to +pull the house down; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not +understand her husband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her +useless truthfulness struck her, and she was ashamed to write to +Kurrell, saying, 'I have gone mad and told everything. My husband +says that I am free to elope with you. Get a dk for Thursday, and +we will fly after dinner.' There was a cold-bloodedness about that +procedure which did not appeal to her. So she sat still in her own +house and thought. + +At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn +and haggard, and the woman was touched at his distress. As the +evening wore on she muttered some expression of sorrow, +something approaching to contrition. Boulte came out of a brown +study and said, 'Oh, that! I wasn't thinking about that. By the way, +what does Kurrell say to the elopement?' + +'I haven't seen him,' said Mrs. Boulte. 'Good God, is that all?' + +But Boulte was not listening and her sentence ended in a gulp. + +The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did +not appear, and the new lift that she, in the five minutes' madness +of the previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the +old, seemed to be no nearer. + +Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in +the verandah, and went out. The morning wore through, and at +mid-day the tension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not +cry. She had finished her crying in the night, and now she did not +want to be left alone. Perhaps the Vansuythen Woman would talk +to her; and, since talking opens the heart, perhaps there might be +some comfort to be found in her company. She was the only other +woman in the Station. + +In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop +in upon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai +hat, and walked across to the Vansuythens' house to borrow last +week's Queen. The two compounds touched, and instead of going +up the drive, she crossed through the gap in the cactus-hedge, +entering the house from the back. As she passed through the +dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that cloaked the +drawing-room door, her husband's voice, saying + +'But on my Honour! On my Soul and Honour, I tell you she doesn't +care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then +if Vansuythen hadn't been with you. If it is for her sake that you'll +have nothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's +Kurrell ' + +'What?' said Mrs. Vansuythen, with a hysterical little laugh. +'Kurrell! Oh, it can't be! You two must have made some horrible +mistake. Perhaps you you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or +something. Things can't be as wrong as you say.' + +Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's +pleading, and was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. + +'There must be some mistake,' she insisted, 'and it can be all put +right again.' + +Boulte laughed grimly. + +'It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the +least the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He +said he had not. He swore he had not,' said Mrs. Vansuythen. + +The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a +little thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen +stood up with a gasp. + +'What was that you said?' asked Mrs. Boulte. 'Never mind that +man. What did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did +he say to you?' + +Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the +trouble of her questioner. + +'He said I can't remember exactly what he said but I understood +him to say that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange +question?' + +'Will you tell me what he said?' repeated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger +will fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen +was only an ordinarily good woman. She began in a sort of +desperation: 'Well, he said that the never cared for you at all, and, +of course, there was not the least reason why he should have, and +and that was all.' + +'You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?' + +'Yes,' said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly. + +Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell +forward fainting. + +'What did I tell you?' said Boulte, as though the conversation had +been unbroken. 'You can see for yourself. She cares for him.' The +light began to break into his dull mind, and he went on ' And he +what was he saying to you?' + +But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or +impassioned protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. + +'Oh, you brute!' she cried. 'Are all men like this? Help me to get her +into my room and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be +quiet, and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain +Kurrell. Lift her up carefully, and now go! Go away!' + +Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bedroom, and +departed before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, +impenitent and burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making +love to Mrs. Vansuythen would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as +he had done Boulte, who caught himself considering whether Mrs. +Vansuythen would faint if she discovered that the man she loved +had forsworn her. + +In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along +the road and pulled up with a cheery 'Good - mornin'. 'Been +mashing Mrs. Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, +married man, that. What will Mrs. Boulte say?' + +Boulte raised his head and said slowly, 'Oh, you liar!' Kurrell's face +changed. 'What's that?' he asked quickly. + +'Nothing much,' said Boulte. 'Has my wife told you that you two +are free to go off whenever you please? She has been good enough +to explain the situation to me. You've been a true friend to me, +Kurrell old man haven't you?' + +Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence +about being willing to give 'satisfaction.' But his interest in the +woman was dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was +abusing her for her amazing indiscretion. It would have been so +easy to have broken off the thing gently and by degrees, and now +he was saddled with Boulte's voice recalled him. + +'I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'm +pretty sure you'd get none from killing me.' + +Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his +wrongs, Boulte added + +''Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep to the +woman, now you've got her. You've been a true friend to her too, +haven't you?' + +Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond +him. + +'What do you mean?' he said. + +Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: 'My wife +came over to Mrs. Vansuythen's just now; and it seems you'd been +telling Mrs. Vansuythen that you'd never cared for Emma. I +suppose you lied, as usual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with +you, or you with her? Try to speak the truth for once in a way.' + +Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by +another question: 'Go on. What happened?' + +'Emma fainted,' said Boulte simply. 'But, look here, what had you +been saying to Mrs. Vansuythen?' + +Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made +havoc of his plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the +man in whose eyes he was humiliated and shown dishonourable. + +'Said to her? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I +said pretty much what you've said, unless I'm a good deal +mistaken.' + +'I spoke the truth,' said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell. +'Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.' + +'No! I suppose not. You're only her husband, y'know. And what did +Mrs. Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at +her feet?' + +Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. + +'I don't think that matters,' Boulte replied; 'and it doesn't concern +you.' + +'But it does! I tell you it does' began Kurrell shamelessly. + +The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte's lips. +Kurrell was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed laughed +long and loudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound +the mirthless mirth of these men on the long white line of the +Narkarra Road. There were no strangers in Kashima, or they might +have thought that captivity within the Dosehri hills had driven half +the European population mad. The laughter ended abruptly, and +Kurrell was the first to speak. + +'Well, what are you going to do?' + +Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. 'Nothing,' said he +quietly; 'what's the use? It's too ghastly for anything. We must let +the old life go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't +go on calling you names for ever. Besides which, I don't feel that +I'm much better. We can't get out of this place. What is there to +do?' + +Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. +The injured husband took up the wondrous tale. + +'Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don't +care what you do.' + +He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. +Kurrell did not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. +Vansuythen. He sat in his saddle and thought, while his pony +grazed by the roadside. + +The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was +driving home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her +forehead. + +'Stop, please,' said Mrs. Boulte, 'I want to speak to Ted.' + +Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, +putting her hand upon the splashboard of the dog-cart, Kurrell +spoke. + +'I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.' + +There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man's eyes +were fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte +saw the look. + +'Speak to him!' she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. 'Oh, +speak to him! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you +hate him. Tell him you hate him!' + +She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went +forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and +dropped the reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy +explanations. + +'I've nothing to do with it,' she began coldly; but Mrs. Boulte's sobs +overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. 'I don't know +what I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. +I think you've you've behaved abominably, and she has cut her +forehead terribly against the table.' + +'It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,' said Mrs. Boulte feebly. 'That +doesn't matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for +him. Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?' + +'Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were that you were +fond of her once upon a time,' went on Mrs. Vansuythen. + +'Well!' said Kurrell brutally. 'It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had +better be fond of her own husband first.' + +'Stop!' said Mrs. Vansuythen. 'Hear me first. I don't care I don't +want to know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you +to know that I hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I'll +never, never speak to you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I +think of you, you man!' + +'I want to speak to Ted,' moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart +rattled on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling +with wrath against Mrs. Boulte. + +He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own +house, and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. +Boulte's presence, learned for the second time her opinion of +himself and his actions. + +In the evenings it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the +platform on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea and discuss the +trivialities of the day. Major Vansuythen and his wife found +themselves alone at the gathering-place for almost the first time in +their remembrance; and the cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's +remarkably reasonable suggestion that the rest of the Station might +be sick, insisted upon driving round to the two bungalows and +unearthing the population. + +'Sitting in the twilight!' said he, with great indignation, to the +Boultes. 'That'll never do! Hang it all, we're one family here! You +must come out, and so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo.' + +So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion +over guilty consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down +to the banjo; and the Major embraced the company in one +expansive grin. As he grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for +an instant and looked at all Kashima. Her meaning was clear. +Major Vansuythen would never know anything. He was to be the +outsider in that happy family whose cage was the Dosehri hills. + +'You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,' said the Major +truthfully. 'Pass me that banjo.' + +And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all +Kashima went to dinner. + +That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima the life that +Mrs. Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. + +Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since he insists +upon keeping up a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled +to break her vow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which +must of necessity preserve the semblance of politeness and +interest, serves admirably to keep alight the flame of jealousy and +dull hatred in Boulte's bosom, as it awakens the same passions in +his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates Mrs. Vansuythen because she +has taken Ted from her, and, in some curious fashion, hates her +because Mrs. Vansuythen and here the wife's eyes see far more +clearly than the husband's detests Ted. And Ted that gallant +captain and honourable man knows now that it is possible to hate a +woman once loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her for ever +with blows. Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see +the error of her ways. + +Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. +Boulte has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. + +'You're a blackguard,' he says to Kurrell, 'and I've lost any +self-respect I may ever have had; but when you're with me, I can +feel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making +Emma miserable.' + +Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes +they are away for three days together, and then the Major insists +upon his wife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. +Vansuythen has repeatedly declared that she prefers her husband's +company to any in the world. From the way in which she clings to +him, she would certainly seem to be speaking the truth. + +But of course, as the Major says, 'in a little Station we must all be +friendly.' + + +The Hill of Illusion + +What rendered vain their deep desire? +A God, a God their severance ruled, +And bade between their shores to be +The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. + --Matthew Arnold. + +He. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm +fresh from the Plains. + +She. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, +they are an untrained crew. Where do we go? + +He. As usual to the world's end. No, Jakko. + +She. Have your pony led after you, then. It's a long round. + +He. And for the last time, thank Heaven! + +She. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about it +all these months. + +He. Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs to that end since +Autumn. What makes you speak as though it had occurred to you +for the first time? + +She. I? Oh! I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too. + +He. And you've changed your mind? + +She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. +What are your arrangements? + +He. Ours, Sweetheart, please. + +She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has +marked your forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in +water? + +He. It'll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are +simple enough. Tonga in the early morning reach Kalka at twelve +Umballa at seven down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and +then the steamer of the 21st for Rome. That's my idea. The +Continent and Sweden a ten-week honeymoon. + +She. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how +long have we two been insane? + +He. Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours +exactly, but I'll think. + +She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two +on the Blessington Road? + +He. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What do they matter to us? +Tell me everything that you've been doing and saying and thinking. + +She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've hardly +been out at all. + +He. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping? + +She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for +amusement? + +He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? + +She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I'm known +here, the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. +I don't like that. + +He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. + +She. You think so? + +He. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to +carry us away. Ha! ha! + +She. And the fun of the situation comes in where, my Lancelot? + +He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. + +She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women. +Now I was thinking of the scandal. + +He. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. + +She. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla +telegraphed over India, and talked of at the dinners and when He +goes out they will stare at Him to see how he takes it. And we shall +be dead, Guy dear dead and cast into the outer darkness where +there is + +He. Love at least. Isn't that enough? + +She. I have said so. + +He. And you think so still? + +She. What do you think? + +He. What have I done? It means equal ruin to me, as the world +reckons it outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off +my life's work. I pay my price. + +She. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to +pay it. Am I? + +He. My Divinity what else? + +She. A very ordinary woman, I'm afraid, but so far, respectable. +How d'you do, Mrs. Middle-ditch? Your husband? I think he's +riding down to Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it divine +after the rain? Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. +Middleditch? Till the 17th? + +He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of bringing her into the +discussion? You were saying? + +She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged? + +He. Yes. Once. + +She. What was it for? + +He. Murder, of course. + +She. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt +before the drop fell. + +He. I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is +this evening! You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear. + +She. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and +I thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies' Mile! Let's turn +back. + +He. What's the good? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that +means it's foggy all down the Mall. We'll go on. It'll blow away +before we get to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is chilly. + +She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you +think of my cape? + +He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is +desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like +everything else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it from? + +She. He gave it me, on Wednesday our wedding-day, you know. + +He. The Deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age. +D'you like all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don't. + +She. Don't you? + +Kind Sir, o' your courtesy, + As you go by the town, Sir, +'Pray you o' your love for me, + Buy me a russet gown, Sir. + +He. I won't say: 'Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.' Only wait a +little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and +everything else. + +She. And when the frocks wear out you'll get me new ones and +everything else? + +He. Assuredly. + +She. I wonder! + +He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two days and two nights +in the train to hear you wonder. I thought we'd settled all that at +Shaifazehat. + +She. (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That +was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except +the Amirtollah kutcha road. I don't believe that could crumble till +the Day of Judgment. + +He. You think so? What is the mood now? + +She. I can't tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly. + +He. 'Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanies and get out. What's +the matter with you this evening, dear? + +She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I'm +boring you I can go home. Here's Captain Congleton coming, I +daresay he'll be willing to escort me. + +He. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton. + +She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? +It jars a little, and you might swear at me. + +He. My angel! I didn't know what I was saying; and you changed +so quickly that I couldn't follow. I'll apologise in dust and ashes. + +She. There'll be enough of those later on Good-night, Captain +Congleton. Going to the singing - quadrilles already? What dances +am I giving you next week? No! You must have written them down +wrong. Five and Seven, I said. If you've made a mistake, I certainly +don't intend to suffer for it. You must alter your programme. + +He. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much +this season? + +She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He +dances very nicely. + +He. And sit out with him, I suppose? + +She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the +chandelier in future? + +He. What does he talk to you about? + +She. What do men talk about when they sit out? + +He. Ugh! Don't! Well, now I'm up, you must dispense with the +fascinating Congleton for a while. I don't like him. + +She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said? + +He 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers. + +She So I see, and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your +'eternal constancy,' 'unalterable trust,' and 'reverent devotion'? I +remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I +mention a man's name + +He. A good deal more than that. + +She. Well, speak to him about a dance perhaps the last dance that I +shall ever dance in my life before I, before I go away; and you at +once distrust and insult me. + +He. I never said a word. + +She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence +to be our stock to start the new life on? + +He. No, of course not. I didn't mean that. On my word and honour, +I didn't. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass. + +She. This once yes and a second time, and again and again, all +through the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too +much, my Lancelot, and, you know too much. + +He. How do you mean? + +She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust +between us. + +He. In Heaven's name, why not? + +She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. + +He. I don't follow. + +She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man +Never mind. Guy, have you ever made love to a girl a good girl? + +He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago in the Dark Ages, before +I ever met you, dear. + +She. Tell me what you said to her. + +He. What does a man say to a girl? I've forgotten. + +She. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the +ground she walks on, and that he'll love and honour and protect her +till her dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I +speak of one girl who was not protected. + +He. Well, and then? + +She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love +and trust and honour yes, honour that was enough when she was +only a mere wife if if the other life she chooses to lead is to be +made even bearable. Do you understand? + +He. Even bearable! It'll be Paradise. + +She. Ah! Can you give me all I've asked for not now, nor a few +months later, but when you begin to think of what you might have +done if you had kept your own appointment and your caste here +when you begin to look upon me as a drag and a burden? I shall +want it most then, Guy, for there will be no one in the wide world +but you. + +He. You're a little over-tired to-night, Sweetheart, and you're +taking a stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in +the Courts, the road is clear to + +She. 'The holy state of matrimony!' Ha! ha! ha! + +He. Ssh! Don't laugh in that horrible way! + +She. I I c-c-c-can't help it! Isn't it too absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, +stop me quick or I shall l-l-laugh till we get to the Church. + +He. For goodness sake, stop! Don't make an exhibition of yourself. +What is the matter with you? + +She. N-nothing. I'm better now. + +He. That's all right. One moment, dear. There's a little wisp of hair +got loose from behind your right ear and it's straggling over your +cheek. So! + +She. Thank'oo. I'm 'fraid my hat's on one side, too. + +He. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? +They're big enough to kill a man with. + +She. Oh! don't kill me, though. You're sticking it into my head! Let +me do it. You men are so clumsy. + +He. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us in this sort +of work? + +She. Guy, what is my name? + +He. Eh! I don't follow. + +She. Here's my card-case. Can you read? + +He. Yes. Well? + +She. Well, that answers your question. You know the other's man's +name. Am I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if +there is any one else? + +He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was +only joking. There! Lucky there's no one on the road. They'd be +scandalised. + +She. They'll be more scandalised before the end. + +He. Do-on't! I don't like you to talk in that way. + +She. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and +accept it? Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a +naughty woman! Swear I don't! Give me your word of honour, my +honourable friend, that I'm not like Mrs. Buzgago. That's the way +she stands, with her hands clasped at the back of her head. D'you +like that? + +He. Don't be affected. + +She. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! + +Pendant une anne' toute entire + +Le rgiment n'a pas r'paru. + +Au Ministre de la Guerre + +On le r'porta comme perdu. + +On se r'noncait rtrouver sa trace, + +Quand un matin subitement, + +On le vit r'paratre sur la place, + +L'Colonel toujours en avant. + +That's the way she rolls her r's. Am I like her? + +He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff +of that kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du +Colonel? It isn't a drawing-room song. It isn't proper. + +She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and +proper, and in another month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, +and thank God she isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish +I was like some women and had no scruples about What is it +Keene says? 'Wearing a corpse's hair and being false to the bread +they eat.' + +He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very +bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all +your moods tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one. + +She. Moods, Guy! I haven't any. I'm sixteen years old and you're +just twenty, and you've been waiting for two hours outside the +school in the cold. And now I've met you, and now we're walking +home together. Does that suit you, My Imperial Majesty? + +He. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational? + +She. He asks me that when I'm going to commit suicide for his +sake, and, and I don't want to be French and rave about my mother, +but have I ever told you that I have a mother, and a brother who +was my pet before I married? He's married now. Can't you imagine +the pleasure that the news of the elopement will give him? Have +you any people at Home, Guy, to be pleased with your +performances? + +He. One or two. One can't make omelets without breaking eggs. + +She (slowly). I don't see the necessity + +He. Hah! What do you mean? + +She. Shall I speak the truth? + +He Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. + +She. Guy, I'm afraid. + +He I thought we'd settled all that. What of? + +She. Of you. + +He. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is toobad! + +She. Of you. + +He. And what now? + +She. What do you think of me? + +He. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? + +She. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat + +He. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That's the one point on which I +have any notion of Honour. I won't eat his salt and steal too. I'll +loot openly or not at all. + +She. I never meant anything else. + +He. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to +come? + +She. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. + +He. Please explain. + +She. It can't last, Guy. It can't last. You'll get angry, and then you'll +swear, and then you'll get jealous, and then you'll mistrust me you +do now and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And +I what shall I do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out +no better than any one. And you'll know that. Oh, Guy, can't you +see? + +He I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. + +She. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What +will you do when I am only your property stolen property? It can't +be, Guy. It can't be! I thought it could, but it can't. You'll get tired +of me. + +He I tell you I shall not. Won't anything make you understand that? + +She. There, can't you see? If you speak to me like that now, you'll +call me horrible names later, if I don't do everything as you like. +And if you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go? where +should I go? I can't trust you. Oh! I can't trust you! + +He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I've ample reason. + +She. Please don't, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. + +He. It isn't exactly pleasant for me. + +She. I can't help it. I wish I were dead! I can't trust you, and I don't +trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten! + +He. Too late now. I don't understand you I won't and I can't trust +myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow? + +She. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my +'rickshaw here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride. + +He. I'll go on to Peliti's too. I think I want a drink. My world's +knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those +brutes howling in the Old Library? + +She. They're rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. +Can't you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a +new idea. Listen! + +Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con molt. exp.). + +See-saw! Margery Daw! + +Sold her bed to lie upon straw. + +Wasn't she a silly slut + +To sell her bed and lie upon dirt? + +Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to 'flirt.' It sounds better. + +He. No, I've changed my mind about the drink. Good-night, little +lady. I shall see you to-morrow? + +She. Ye es. Good-night, Guy. Don't be angry with me. + +He. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good-night and God +bless you! + +(Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I'd give something to discover +whether there's another man at the back of all this. + +A Second-Rate Woman + +Est fuga, volvitur rota, + On we drift: where looms the dim port? +One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota: + Something is gained if one caught but the import, +Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + --Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + +'Dressed! Don't tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She +stood in the middle of the room while her ayah no, her husband it +must have been a man threw her clothes at her. She then did her +hair with her fingers, and rubbed her bonnet in the flue under the +bed. I know she did, as well as if I had assisted at the orgy. Who is +she?' said Mrs. Hauksbee. + +'Don't!' said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. 'You make my head ache. I'am +miserable to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with +chocolates, for I am Did you bring anything from Peliti's?' + +'Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have +answered them. Who and what is the creature? There were at least +half-a-dozen men round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep +in their midst.' + +'Delville,' said Mrs. Mallowe, '''Shady" Delville, to distinguish her +from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I +believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if +you are so interested.' + +'What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught +my attention for a minute, and I wondered at the attraction that a +dowd has for a certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out +of her clothes until I looked at her eyes.' + +'Hooks and eyes, surely,' drawled Mrs. Mallowe. + +'Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this +hayrick stood a crowd of men a positive crowd!' + +'Perhaps they also expected ' + +'Polly, don't be Rabelaisian!' + +Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and +turned her attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared +the same house at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after +the matter of Otis Yeere, which has been already recorded. + +Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and looked down upon +the Mall, her forehead puckered with thought. + +'Hah!' said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. 'Indeed!' + +'What is it?' said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily. + +'That dowd and The Dancing Master to whom I object.' + +'Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of +reprobate and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of +mine.' + +'Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and +I should imagine that this animal how terrible her bonnet looks +from above! is specially clingsome.' + +'She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I +never could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated +aim of his life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.' + +'O-oh! I think I've met that sort of man before. And isn't he?' + +'No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought +to be killed.' + +'What happened then?' + +'He posed as the horror of horrors a misunderstood man. Heaven +knows the femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough but +the other thing!' + +'And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom +confide in me. How is it they come to you?' + +'For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. +Protect me from men with confidences!' + +'And yet you encourage them?' + +'What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am +sympathetic. I know I always profess astonishment even when the +plot is of the most old possible.' + +'Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to +talk, whereas women's confidences are full of reservations and +fibs, except ' + +'When they go mad and babble of the Unutter-abilities after a +week's acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a +great deal more of men than of our own sex.' + +'And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They +say we are trying to hide something.' + +'They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These +chocolates pall upon me, and I haven't eaten more than a dozen. I +think I shall go to sleep.' + +'Then you'll get fat, dear. If you took more exercise and a more +intelligent interest in your neighbours you would ' + +'Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You're a darling in many +ways, and I like you you are not a woman's woman but why do you +trouble yourself about mere human beings?' + +'Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly +dull, men and women are the most fascinating things in the whole +wide world, lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd I am interested +in The Dancing Master I am interested in the Hawley Boy and I am +interested in you.' + +'Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.' + +'Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I'm making a good thing out +of him. When he is slightly more reformed, and has passed his +Higher Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit to exact from +him, I shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and' here +she waved her hands airily '''whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined +together let no man put asunder." That's all.' + +'And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious +detrimental in Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma +Holt, what will you do with me, Dispenser of the Destinies of the +Universe?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, +chin in hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. + +'I do not know,' she said, shaking her head, 'what I shall do with +you, dear. It's obviously impossible to marry you to some one else +your husband would object and the experiment might not be +successful after all. I think I shall begin by preventing you from +what is it? ''sleeping on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun."' + +'Don't! I don't like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the +Library and bring me new books.' + +'While you sleep? No! If you don't come with me I shall spread +your newest frock on my 'rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks +me what I am doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps's to get it +let out. I shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your +things on, there's a good girl.' + +Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the +Library, where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by +the nick-name of The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs. Mallowe +was awake and eloquent. + +'That is the Creature!' said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one +pointing out a slug in the road. + +'No,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'The man is the Creature. Ugh! +Good-evening, Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this +evening.' + +'Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?' answered The Dancing +Master. 'I understood I fancied I'm so sorry How very +unfortunate!' + +But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. + +'For the practised equivocator you said he was,' murmured Mrs. +Hauksbee, 'he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he +have preferred a walk with The Dowd to tea with us? Elective +affinities, I suppose both grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that +woman as long as the world rolls.' + +'I forgive every woman everything,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'He will be +a sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!' + +Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less +lovely, and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these things +Mrs. Mallowe noticed over the top of a magazine. + +'Now what is there in her?' said Mrs. Hauksbee. 'Do you see what I +meant about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish +sooner than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, +but Oh!' + +'What is it?' + +'She doesn't know how to use them! On my honour, she does not. +Look! Oh look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The +woman's a fool.' + +'Hsh! She'll hear you.' + +'All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one +else. Now she's going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple +she and The Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you +suppose they'll ever dance together?' + +'Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation of The Dancing +Master loathly man! His wife ought to be up here before long?' + +'Do you know anything about him?' + +'Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl +bred in the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous +soul, told me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her as +often as possible a person who has lived in the Doon since the +memory of man and goes to Mussoorie when other people go +Home. The wife is with her at present. So he says.' + +'Babies?' + +'One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him +for it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.' + +'That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is +generally in the wake of some girl, disappointing the Eligibles. He +will persecute May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.' + +'No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.' + +'Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?' + +'Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell +you. Don't you know that type of man?' + +'Not intimately, thank goodness! As a general rule, when a man +begins to abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me +wherewith to answer him according to his folly; and we part with a +coolness between us. I laugh.' + +'I'm different. I've no sense of humour.' + +'Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I +care to think about. A well-educated sense of humour will save a +woman when Religion, Training, and Home influences fail; and +we may all need salvation sometimes.' + +'Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humour?' + +'Her dress bewrays her. How can a Thing who wears her +supplment under her left arm have any notion of the fitness of +things much less their folly? If she discards The Dancing Master +after having once seen him dance, I may respect her. Otherwise ' + +'But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You +saw the woman at Peliti's half an hour later you saw her walking +with The Dancing Master an hour later you met her here at the +Library.' + +'Still with The Dancing Master, remember.' + +'Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of +that should you imagine ' + +'I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that +The Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is +objectionable in every way and she in every other. If I know the +man as you have described him, he holds his wife in slavery at +present.' + +'She is twenty years younger than he.' + +'Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered +and lied he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made +for lies he will be rewarded according to his merits.' + +'I wonder what those really are,' said Mrs. Mallowe. + +But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, +was humming softly: 'What shall he have who killed the Deer?' She +was a lady of unfettered speech. + +One month later she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. +Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning +wrappers, and there was a great peace in the land. + +'I should go as I was,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'It would be a delicate +compliment to her style.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. + +'Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I +should put on this robe, after all the others, to show her what a +morning-wrapper ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall +go in the dove-coloured sweet emblem of youth and innocence and +shall put on my new gloves.' + +'If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know +that dove-colour spots with the rain.' + +'I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one +cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker +into her habit.' + +'Just Heavens! When did she do that?' + +'Yesterday riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the back +of Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the +effect, she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her +chin. I felt almost too well content to take the trouble to despise +her.' + +'The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?' + +'Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? +He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen +the elastic, he said, ''There's something very taking about that +face." I rebuked him on the spot. I don't approve of boys being +taken by faces.' + +'Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the +Hawley Boy immediately went to call.' + +'I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and +his wife when she comes up. I'm rather curious to see Mrs. Bent +and the Delville woman together.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned +slightly flushed. + +'There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley +Boy, as he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I +stumble over literally stumble over in her poky, dark little +drawing-room is, of course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting +ten minutes, and then emerged as though she had been tipped out +of the dirtyclothes-basket. You know my way, dear, when I am at +all put out. I was Superior, crrrrushingly Superior! 'Lifted my eyes +to Heaven, and had heard of nothing 'dropped my eyes on the +carpet and ''really didn't know" 'played with my cardcase and +''supposed so." The Hawley Boy giggled like a girl, and I had to +freeze him with scowls between the sentences.' + +'And she?' + +'She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey +the impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the +very least. It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. +When I rose, she grunted just like a buffalo in the water too lazy to +move.' + +'Are you certain? ' + +'Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else or her +garments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a +quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her +surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.' + +'Lu cy!' + +'Well I'll withdraw the tongue, though I'm sure if she didn't do it +when I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any +rate, she lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I +believe the grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so +indistinctly that I can't swear to it.' + +'You are incorrigible, simply.' + +'I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honour, don't put +the only available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam +in my lap before Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn't +you? Do you suppose that she communicates her views on life and +love to The Dancing Master in a set of modulated ''Grmphs"?' + +'You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.' + +'He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the +sight of him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened +dog-kennel in a suspiciously familiar way.' + +'Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive.' + +'Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He +entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy +and I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty +to lecture him severely for going there. And that's all.' + +'Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing +Master alone. They never did you any harm.' + +'No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half +Simla, and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of +God not that I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know +the tikka dhurzie way He attires those lilies of the field this Person +draws the eyes of men and some of them nice men? It's almost +enough to make one discard clothing. I told the Hawley Boy so.' + +'And what did that sweet youth do?' + +'Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a +distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, +and I shall be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla +with a few original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet +self, there isn't a single woman in the land who understands me +when I am what's the word?' + +'Tte-fle,' suggested Mrs. Mallowe. + +'Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are +exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says ' Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the +horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. +Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. + +'''God gie us a guid conceit of oorselves,"' said Mrs. Hauksbee +piously, returning to her natural speech. 'Now, in any other woman +that would have been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see +Mrs. Bent. I expect complications.' + +'Woman of one idea,' said Mrs. Mallowe shortly; 'all complications +are as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all all All!' + +'And yet do not understand that men and women never behave +twice alike. I am old who was young if ever I put my head in your +lap, you dear, big sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze +but never, no never, have I lost my interest in men and women. +Polly, I shall see this business out to the bitter end.' + +'I am going to sleep,' said Mrs. Mallowe calmly. 'I never interfere +with men or women unless I am compelled,' and she retired with +dignity to her own room. + +Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. +Bent came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully +reported above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side + +'Behold!' said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. 'That +is the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, +whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles +inhabit the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy +do you know the Waddy? who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy +also abominates the male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not +weigh too heavily, she will eventually go to Heaven.' + +'Don't be irreverent,' said Mrs. Mallowe, 'I like Mrs. Bent's face.' + +'I am discussing the Waddy,' returned Mrs. Hauksbee loftily. 'The +Waddy will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed yes! +everything that she can, from hairpins to babies' bottles. Such, my +dear, is life in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts +and fictions about The Dancing Master and The Dowd.' + +'Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into +people's back-bedrooms.' + +'Anybody can look into their front drawingrooms; and remember +whatever I do, and whatever I look, I never talk as the Waddy will. +Let us hope that The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner of +the pedagogue will soften the heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths +speak truth, I should think that little Mrs. Bent could get very +angry on occasion.' + +'But what reason has she for being angry?' + +'What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How +does it go? ''If in his life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face +and you'll believe them all." I am prepared to credit any evil of The +Dancing Master, because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so +disgustingly badly dressed ' + +'That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to +believe the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.' + +'Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless +expenditure of sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the +Waddy believes with me.' + +Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. + +The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee +was dressing for a dance. + +'I am too tired to go,' pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee +left her in peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of +emphatic knocking at her door. + +'Don't be very angry, dear,' said Mrs. Hauksbee. 'My idiot of an +ayah has gone home, and, as I hope to sleep to-night, there isn't a +soul in the place to unlace me.' + +'Oh, this is too bad!' said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. + +''Cant help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not +sleep in my stays. And such news too! Oh, do unlace me, there's a +darling! The Dowd The Dancing Master I and the Hawley Boy +You know the North verandah?' + +'How can I do anything if you spin round like this?' protested Mrs. +Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. + +'Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do +you know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the +Hawley Boy to a kala juggah.' + +'Did he want much taking?' + +'Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she +was in the next one talking to him.' + +'Which? How? Explain.' + +'You know what I mean The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We +could hear every word, and we listened shamelessly 'specially the +Hawley Boy. Polly, I quite love that woman!' + +'This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?' + +'One moment. Ah h! Blessed relief. I've been looking forward to +taking them off for the last half-hour which is ominous at my time +of life. But, as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd +drawl worse than ever. She drops her final g's like a barmaid or a +blue-blooded Aide-de-Camp. ''Look he-ere, you're gettin' too fond +o' me," she said, and The Dancing Master owned it was so in +language that nearly made me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. +Then we heard her say, ''Look he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you +such an aw-ful liar?" I nearly exploded while The Dancing Master +denied the charge. It seems that he never told her he was a married +man.' + +'I said he wouldn't.' + +'And she had taken this to heart, on personal grounds, I suppose. +She drawled along for five minutes, reproaching him with his +perfidy, and grew quite motherly. ''Now you've got a nice little +wife of your own you have," she said. ''She's ten times too good for +a fat old man like you, and, look he-ere, you never told me a word +about her, and I've been thinkin' about it a good deal, and I think +you're a liar." Wasn't that delicious? The Dancing Master +maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy suggested that he should +burst in and beat him. His voice runs up into an impassioned +squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an extraordinary +woman. She explained that had he been a bachelor she might not +have objected to his devotion; but since he was a married man and +the father of a very nice baby, she considered him a hypocrite, and +this she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with: ''An' I'm +tellin' you this because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate +quarrellin' with any other woman, an' I like your wife. You know +how you have behaved for the last six weeks. You shouldn't have +done it, indeed you shouldn't. You're too old an' too fat." Can't you +imagine how The Dancing Master would wince at that! ''Now go +away," she said. ''I don't want to tell you what I think of you, +because I think you are not nice. I'll stay he-ere till the next dance +begins." Did you think that the creature had so much in her?' + +'I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What +happened?' + +'The Dancing Master attempted blandishment, reproof, jocularity, +and the style of the Lord High Warden, and I had almost to pinch +the Hawley Boy to make him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of +each sentence and, in the end, he went away swearing to himself, +quite like a man in a novel. He looked more objectionable than +ever. I laughed. I love that woman in spite of her clothes. And now +I'm going to bed. What do you think of it?' + +'I shan't begin to think till the morning,' said Mrs. Mallowe, +yawning. 'Perhaps she spoke the truth. They do fly into it by +accident sometimes.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee's account of her eavesdropping was an ornate one, +but truthful in the main. For reasons best known to herself, Mrs. +'Shady' Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from +limb, casting him away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew +the light of her eyes from him permanently. Being a man of +resource, and anything but pleased in that he had been called both +old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to understand that he had, during +her absence in the Doon, been the victim of unceasing persecution +at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often and with +such eloquence that he ended in believing it, while his wife +marvelled at the manners and customs of 'some women.' When the +situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on +hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent's +bosom and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the +hotel. Mr. Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy's +story were true, he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last +degree. If his own statement was true, his charms of manner and +conversation were so great that he needed constant surveillance. +And he received it, till he repented genuinely of his marriage and +neglected his personal appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel +was unchanged. She removed her chair some six paces towards the +head of the table, and occasionally in the twilight ventured on +timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were repulsed. + +'She does it for my sake,' hinted the virtuous Bent. + +'A dangerous and designing woman,' purred Mrs. Waddy. + +Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! + +'Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?' + +'Of nothing in the world except small-pox, Diphtheria kills, but it +doesn't disfigure. Why do you ask?' + +'Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside +down in consequence. The Waddy has ''set her five young on the +rail" and fled. The Dancing Master fears for his precious throat, +and that miserable little woman, his wife, has no notion of what +ought to be done. She wanted to put it into a mustard bath for +croup!' + +'Where did you learn all this?' + +'Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The manager of the +hotel is abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abusing the manager. +They are a feckless couple.' + +'Well. What's on your mind?' + +'This; and I know it's a grave thing to ask. + +Would you seriously object to my bringing the child over here, +with its mother?' + +'On the most strict understanding that we see nothing of the +Dancing Master.' + +'He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you're an angel. The +woman really is at her wits' end.' + +'And you know nothing about her, careless, and would hold her up +to public scorn if it gave you a minute's amusement. Therefore you +risk your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, I'm not the angel. I +shall keep to my rooms and avoid her. But do as you please only +tell me why you do it.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee's eyes softened; she looked out of the window and +back into Mrs. Mallowe's face. + +'I don't know,' said Mrs. Hauksbee simply. + +'You dear!' + +'Polly! and for aught you knew you might have taken my fringe off. +Never do that again without warning. Now we'll get the rooms +ready. I don't suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for +a month.' + +'And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.' + +Much to Mrs. Bent's surprise she and the baby were brought over +to the house almost before she knew where she was. Bent was +devoutly and undisguisedly thankful, for he was afraid of the +infection, and also hoped that a few weeks in the hotel alone with +Mrs. Delville might lead to explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown +her jealousy to the winds in her fear for her child's life. + +'We can give you good milk,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to her, 'and our +house is much nearer to the Doctor's than the hotel, and you won't +feel as though you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear +Mrs. Waddy? She seemed to be a particular friend of yours.' + +'They've all left me,' said Mrs. Bent bitterly. 'Mrs. Waddy went +first. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing +diseases there, and I am sure it wasn't my fault that little Dora ' + +'How nice!' cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. 'The Waddy is an infectious +disease herself ''more quickly caught than the plague and the taker +runs presently mad." I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three +years ago. Now see, you won't give us the least trouble, and I've +ornamented all the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells +comforting, doesn't it? Remember I'm always in call, and my +ayah's at your service when yours goes to her meals, and and if you +cry I'll never forgive you.' + +Dora Bent occupied her mother's unprofitable attention through the +day and the night. The Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four +hours, and the house reeked with the smell of the Condy's Fluid, +chlorine-water, and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to +her own rooms she considered that she had made sufficient +concessions in the cause of humanity and Mrs. Hauksbee was +more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in the sick-room than the +half-distraught mother. + +'I know nothing of illness,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. 'Only +tell me what to do, and I'll do it.' + +'Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as +little to do with the nursing as you possibly can,' said the Doctor; +'I'd turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd +die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and +the ayahs, remember.' + +Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive +hollows under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. +Bent clung to her with more than childlike faith. + +'I know you'll make Dora well, won't you?' she said at least twenty +times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered +valiantly, 'Of course I will.' + +But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in +the house. + +'There's some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,' he said; 'I'll +come over between three and four in the morning to-morrow.' + +'Good gracious!' said Mrs. Hauksbee. 'He never told me what the +turn would be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I +have only this foolish mother-woman to fall back upon.' + +The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dozed in a +chair by the fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and +she dreamed of it till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's anxious eyes +staring into her own. + +'Wake up! Wake up! Do something!' cried Mrs. Bent piteously. +'Dora's choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child +was fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands +despairingly. + +'Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She won't stay still! I can't +hold her. Why didn't the Doctor say this was coming?' screamed +Mrs. Bent. 'Won't you help me? She's dying!' + +'I I've never seen a child die before!' stammered Mrs. Hauksbee +feebly, and then let none blame her weakness after the strain of +long watching she broke down, and covered her face with her +hands. The ayahs on the threshold snored peacefully. + +There was a rattle of 'rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an +opening door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered +to find Mrs. Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the +room. Mrs. Hauksbee, her hands to her ears, and her face buried in +the chintz of a chair, was quivering with pain at each cry from the +bed, and murmuring, 'Thank God, I never bore a child! Oh! thank +God, I never bore a child!' + +Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by +the shoulders, and said quietly, 'Get me some caustic. Be quick.' + +The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown +herself down by the side of the child and was opening its mouth. + +'Oh, you're killing her!' cried Mrs. Bent. 'Where's the Doctor? +Leave her alone!' + +Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with +the child. + +'Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you +do as you are told? The acid-bottle, if you don't know what I mean,' +she said. + +A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, +her face still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs +staggered sleepily into the room, yawning: 'Doctor Sahib come.' + +Mrs. Delville turned her head. + +'You're only just in time,' she said. 'It was chokin' her when I came, +an' I've burnt it.' + +'There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages +after the last steaming. It was the general weakness I feared,' said +the Doctor half to himself, and he whispered as he looked, 'You've +done what I should have been afraid to do without consultation.' + +'She was dyin',' said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. 'Can you do +anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!' + +Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. + +'Is it all over?' she gasped. 'I'm useless I'm worse than useless! +What are you doing here?' + +She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realising for the first +time who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. + +Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove +and smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. + +'I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was tellin' me about your baby +bein' so ill. So I came away early, an' your door was open, an' I I +lost my boy this way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it +ever since, an' I I I am very sorry for intrudin' an' anythin' that has +happened.' + +Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he +stooped over Dora. + +'Take it away,' said the Doctor. 'I think the child will do, thanks to +you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you' +he was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville 'I had not the faintest +reason to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a +mushroom. Will one of you help me, please?' + +He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown +herself into Mrs. Delville's arms, where she was weeping bitterly, +and Mrs. Bent was unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while +from the tangle came the sound of many sobs and much +promiscuous kissing. + +'Good gracious! I've spoilt all your beautiful roses!' said Mrs. +Hauksbee, lifting her head from the lump of crushed gum and +calico atrocities on Mrs. Delville's shoulder and hurrying to the +Doctor. + +Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, +mopping her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. + +'I always said she was more than a woman,' sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee +hysterically, 'and that proves it!' + +Six weeks later Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. +Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased +to reproach herself for her collapse in an hour of need, and was +even beginning to direct the affairs of the world as before. + +'So nobody died, and everything went off as it should, and I kissed +The Dowd, Polly. I feel so old. Does it show in my face?' + +'Kisses don't as a rule, do they? Of course you know what the result +of The Dowd's providential arrival has been.' + +'They ought to build her a statue only no sculptor dare copy those +skirts.' + +'Ah!' said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. 'She has found another reward. +The Dancing Master has been smirking through Simla, giving +every one to understand that she came because of her undying love +for him for him to save his child, and all Simla naturally believes +this.' + +'But Mrs. Bent ' + +'Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to +The Dowd now. Isn't The Dancing Master an angel?' + +Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bed-time. The +doors of the two rooms stood open. + +'Polly,' said a voice from the darkness, 'what did that +American-heiress-globe-trotter girl say last season when she was +tipped out of her 'rickshaw turning a corner? Some absurd +adjective that made the man who picked her up explode.' + +'''Paltry,"' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'Through her nose like this ''Ha-ow +pahltry!"' + +'Exactly,' said the voice. 'Ha-ow pahltry it all is!' + +'Which?' + +'Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and The Dancing +Master, I whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the +clouds. I wonder what the motive was all the motives.' + +'Um!' + +'What do you think?' + +'Don't ask me. Go to sleep.' + +Only a Subaltern + +. . . . Not only to enforce by command, but to encourage by +example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady endurance +of the difficulties and privations inseparable from Military Service. +--Bengal Army Regulations. + +They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was +a gentleman before he was gazetted, so, when the Empress +announced that 'Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick' was posted +as Second Lieutenant to the Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab +Bokhar, he became an officer and a gentleman, which is an +enviable thing; and there was joy in the house of Wick where +Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees and +offered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievements. + +Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority +over three millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, +building great works for the good of the land, and doing his best to +make two blades of grass grow where there was but one before. Of +course, nobody knew anything about this in the little English +village where he was just 'old Mr. Wick,' and had forgotten that he +was a Companion of the Order of the Star of India. + +He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: 'Well done, my boy!' + +There followed, while the uniform was being prepared, an interval +of pure delight, during which Bobby took brevet-rank as a 'man' at +the women-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village, +and, I daresay, had his joining-time been extended, would have +fallen in love with several girls at once. Little country villages at +Home are very full of nice girls, because all the young men come +out to India to make their fortunes. + +'India,' said Papa Wick, 'is the place. I've had thirty years of it and, +begad, I'd like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters +you'll be among friends, if every one hasn't forgotten Wick of +Chota-Buldana, and a lot of people will be kind to you for our +sakes. The mother will tell you more about outfit than I can; but +remember this. Stick to your Regiment, Bobby stick to your +Regiment. You'll see men all round you going into the Staff Corps, +and doing every possible sort of duty but regimental, and you may +be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as you keep within your +allowance, and I haven't stinted you there, stick to the Line, the +whole Line, and nothing but the Line. Be careful how you back +another young fool's bill, and if you fall in love with a woman +twenty years older than yourself, don't tell me about it, that's all.' + +With these counsels, and many others equally valuable, did Papa +Wick fortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when +the Officers' Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by +the Regulations, and the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the +drafts for India, and the battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even +to the slums of Longport, while the drabs of Fratton came down +and scratched the faces of the Queen's Officers. + +Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and +shaky detachment to man uvre inship, and the comfort of fifty +scornful females to attend to, had no time to feel home-sick till the +Malabar reached mid-Channel, when he doubled his emotions with +a little guard-visiting and a great many other matters. + +The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who +knew them least said that they were eaten up with 'side.' But their +reserve and their internal arrangements generally were merely +protective diplomacy. Some five years before, the Colonel +commanding had looked into the fourteen fearless eyes of seven +plump and juicy subalterns who had all applied to enter the Staff +Corps, and had asked them why the three stars should he, a colonel +of the Line, command a dashed nursery for double-dashed +bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rode qualified +mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. He was +a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures +[with the half-butt as an engine of public opinion] till the rumour +went abroad that young men who used the Tail Twisters as a +crutch to the Staff Corps had many and varied trials to endure. +However, a regiment had just as much right to its own secrets as a +woman. + +When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his' place among the +Tail Twisters, it was gently but firmly borne in upon him that the +Regiment was his father and his mother and his indissolubly +wedded wife, and that there was no crime under the canopy of +heaven blacker than that of bringing shame on the Regiment, +which was the best-shooting, best-drilled, best-set-up, bravest, +most illustrious, and in all respects most desirable Regiment +within the compass of the Seven Seas. He was taught the legends +of the Mess Plate, from the great grinning Golden Gods that had +come out of the Summer Palace in Pekin to the silver-mounted +markhor-horn snuff-mull presented by the last C.O. [he who spake +to the seven subalterns]. And every one of those legends told him +of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; of +hospitality catholic as an Arab's; of friendships deep as the sea and +steady as the fighting-line; of honour won by hard roads for +honour's sake; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the +Regiment the Regiment that claims the lives of all and lives for +ever. + +More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the +Regimental colours, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer's +hat on the end of a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship +them, because British subalterns are not constructed in that +manner. Indeed, he condemned them for their weight at the very +moment that they were filling with awe and other more noble +sentiments. + +But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail +Twisters in review order at the breaking of a November day. +Allowing for duty-men and sick, the Regiment was one thousand +and eighty strong, and Bobby belonged to them; for was he not a +Subaltern of the Line the whole Line, and nothing but the Line as +the tramp of two thousand one hundred and sixty sturdy +ammunition boots attested? He would not have changed places +with Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud +to a chorus of 'Strong right! Strong left!' or Hogan-Yale of the +White Hussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the +price of horseshoes thrown in; or 'Tick' Boileau, trying to live up to +his fierce blue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal +Cavalry stretched to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping +Walers of the White Hussars. + +They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little +thrill run down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of +the empty cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the +roar of the volleys; for he knew that he should live to hear that +sound in action. The review ended in a glorious chase across the +plain batteries thundering after cavalry to the huge disgust of the +White Hussars, and the Tyneside Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh +Regiment, till the lean lathy Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby +was dusty and dripping long before noon, but his enthusiasm was +merely focused not diminished. + +He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his 'skipper,' that is to say, +the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art +and mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the +Profession of Arms. + +'If you haven't a taste that way,' said Revere between his puffs of +his cheroot, 'you'll never be able to get the hang of it, but +remember, Bobby, 't isn't the best drill, though drill is nearly +everything, that hauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the +other side. It's the man who knows how to handle men goat-men, +swine-men, dog-men, and so on.' + +'Dormer, for instance,' said Bobby, 'I think he comes under the +head of fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.' + +'That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool +yet, but he's a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes +fun of his socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds +pure brute, goes into a corner and growls.' + +'How do you know?' said Bobby admiringly. + +'Because a Company commander has to know these things +because, if he does not know, he may have crime ay, murder +brewing under his very nose and yet not see that it's there. Dormer +is being badgered out of his mind big as he is and he hasn't +intellect enough to resent it. He's taken to quiet boozing, and, +Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the drink, or takes to +moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull him out of +himself.' + +'What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men for ever.' + +'No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not +wanted. You've got to ' + +Here the Colour-Sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby +reflected for a while as Revere looked through the Company +forms. + +'Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?' Bobby asked with the air of +one continuing an interrupted conversation. + +'No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,' said the Sergeant, who +delighted in long words. 'A dirty soldier and 'e's under full +stoppages for new kit. It's covered with scales, sir.' + +'Scales? What scales?' + +'Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an' +a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs.' Revere was still +absorbed in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was +sternly fond of Bobby, continued ' 'E generally goes down there +when 'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say +that the more lush in-he-briated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They +call 'im the Looney Fishmonger in the Comp'ny, sir.' + +Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated. + +'It's a filthy amusement,' sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to +Revere: 'Are you really worried about Dormer?' + +'A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to hospital, or +drunk enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, +brooding and sulking as he does. He resents any interest being +shown in him, and the only time I took him out shooting he all but +shot me by accident.' + +'I fish,' said Bobby with a wry face. 'I hire a country-boat and go +down the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer +goes with me if you can spare us both.' + +'You blazing young fool!' said Revere, but his heart was full of +much more pleasant words. + +Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, +dropped down the river on Thursday morning the Private at the +bow, the Subaltern at the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the +Subaltern, who respected the reserve of the Private. + +After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said 'Beg y' +pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal?' + +'No,' said Bobby Wick. 'Come and have some tiffin.' + +They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke +forth, speaking to himself + +'Hi was on the Durh'm Canal, jes' such a night, come next week +twelve month, a-trailin' of my toes in the water.' He smoked and +said no more till bedtime. + +The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river-reaches to purple, +gold, and opal; and it was as though the lumbering dhoni crept +across the splendours of a new heaven. + +Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the +glory below and around. + +'Well damn my eyes!' said Private Dormer in an awed whisper. +'This 'ere is like a bloomin' gallantry-show!' For the rest of the day +he was dumb, but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the +cleaning of big fish. + +The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been +struggling with speech since noon. As the lines and luggage were +being disembarked, he found tongue. + +'Beg y' pardon, sir,' he said, 'but would you would you min' shakin' +'ands with me, sir?' + +'Of course not,' said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer +returned to barracks and Bobby to mess. + +'He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,' said Bobby. 'My +aunt, but he's a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean +''them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs"?' + +'Anyhow,' said Revere three weeks later, 'he's doing his best to +keep his things clean.' + +When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for +Hill leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months. + +'As good a boy as I want,' said Revere the admiring skipper. + +'The best of the batch,' said the Adjutant to the Colonel. 'Keep back +that young skrim-shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit +up.' + +So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of +gorgeous raiment. + +''Son of Wick old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, +dear,' said the aged men. + +'What a nice boy!' said the matrons and the maids. + +'First-class place, Simla. Oh, ri ipping!' said Bobby Wick, and +ordered new white cord breeches on the strength of it. + +'We're in a bad way,' wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two +months. 'Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is +fairly rotten with it two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in +cells drinking to keep off fever and the Companies on parade +fifteen file strong at the outside. There's rather more sickness in +the out-villages than I care for, but then I'm so blistered with +prickly-heat that I'm ready to hang myself. What's the yarn about +your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Not serious, I hope? +You're over-young to hang millstones round your neck, and the +Colonel will turf you out of that in double-quick time if you +attempt it.' + +It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a +much-more-to-be-respected Commandant. The sickness in the +out-villages spread, the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then +came the news that the Tail Twisters must go into camp. The +message flashed to the Hill stations. 'Cholera Leave stopped +Officers recalled.' Alas for the white gloves in the neatly-soldered +boxes, the rides and the dances and picnics that were to be, the +loves half spoken, and the debts unpaid! Without demur and +without question, fast as tonga could fly or pony gallop, back to +their Regiments and their Batteries, as though they were hastening +to their weddings, fled the subalterns. + +Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal +Lodge where he had But only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby +had said, or how many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. +Six in the morning saw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the +drenching rain, the whirl of the last waltz still in his ears, and an +intoxication due neither to wine nor waltzing in his brain. + +'Good man!' shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the +mist. 'Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow! But I've +a head and a half. I didn't sit out all night. They say the Battery's +awful bad,' and he hummed dolorously + +Leave the what at the what's-its-name, + +Leave the flock without shelter, + +Leave the corpse uninterred, + +Leave the bride at the altar! + +'My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this +journey. Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachwan!' + +On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers +discussing the latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was +here that Bobby learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters. + +'They went into camp,' said an elderly Major recalled from the +whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, 'they went +into camp with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred +and ten fever cases only, and the balance looking like so many +ghosts with sore eyes. A Madras Regiment could have walked +through 'em.' + +'But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!' said Bobby. + +'Then you'd better make them as fit as bedamned when you rejoin,' +said the Major brutally. + +Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed window-pane +as the train lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the +health of the Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her +contingent with all speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie +Road staggered into Pathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their +strength; while from cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up +the last straggler of the little army that was to fight a fight in which +was neither medal nor honour for the winning, against an enemy +none other than 'the sickness that destroyeth in the noonday.' + +And as each man reported himself, he said: 'This is a bad business,' +and went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery +in the cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them +company. + +Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters' +temporary mess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy's neck +for the joy of seeing that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. + +'Keep' em amused and interested,' said Revere. 'They went on the +drink, poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no +improvement. Oh, it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a +never mind.' + +Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary +mess dinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly +weeping over the condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far +forgot himself as to insinuate that the presence of the officers +could do no earthly good, and that the best thing would be to send +the entire Regiment into hospital and 'let the doctors look after +them.' Porkiss was demoralised with fear, nor was his peace of +mind restored when Revere said coldly: 'Oh! The sooner you go +out the better, if that's your way of thinking. Any public school +could send us fifty good men in your place, but it takes time, time, +Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble, to make a +Regiment. 'S'pose you're the person we go into camp for, eh?' + +Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear +which a drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, +quitted this world for another where, men do fondly hope, +allowances are made for the weaknesses of the flesh. The +Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily across the Sergeants' +Mess tent when the news was announced. + +'There goes the worst of them,' he said. 'It'll take the best, and then, +please God, it'll stop.' The Sergeants were silent till one said: 'It +couldn't be him!' and all knew of whom Travis was thinking. + +Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Company, rallying, +rebuking, mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing +the faint-hearted; haling the sound into the watery sunlight when +there was a break in the weather, and bidding them be of good +cheer for their trouble was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun +pony round the outskirts of the camp, and heading back men who, +with the innate perversity of British soldiers, were always +wandering into infected villages, or drinking deeply from +rain-flooded marshes; comforting the panic-stricken with rude +speech, and more than once tending the dying who had no friends +the men without 'townies'; organising, with banjos and burnt cork, +Sing-songs which should allow the talent of the Regiment full +play; and generally, as he explained, 'playing the giddy garden-goat +all round.' + +'You're worth half-a-dozen of us, Bobby,' said Revere in a moment +of enthusiasm. 'How the devil do you keep it up?' + +Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the +breast-pocket of his coat he might have seen there a sheaf of +badly-written letters which perhaps accounted for the power that +possessed the boy. A letter came to Bobby every other day. The +spelling was not above reproach, but the sentiments must have +been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby's eyes softened +marvellously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstraction for +a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work. + +By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and +the Tail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds +indeed, was a mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from +the regimental chaplain that Bobby was considerably more in +request in the hospital tents than the Reverend John Emery. + +'The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?' said +the Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get +well with a hardness that did not cover his bitter grief. + +'A little, sir,' said Bobby. + +''Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They say it's not +contagious, but there's no use in running unnecessary risks. We +can't afford to have you down, y'know.' + +Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner +plashed his way out to the camp with the mail-bags, for the rain +was falling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his +tent, and, the programme for the next week's Sing-song being +satisfactorily disposed of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the +unhandy pen toiled over the paper, and where sentiment rose to +more than normal tide-level, Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and +breathed heavily. He was not used to letter-writing. + +'Beg y' pardon, sir,' said a voice at the tent door; 'but Dormer's +'orrid bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir.' + +'Damn Private Dormer and you too!' said Bobby Wick, running the +blotter over the half-finished letter. 'Tell him I'll come in the +morning.' + +''E's awful bad, sir,' said the voice hesitatingly. There was an +undecided squelching of heavy boots. + +'Well?' said Bobby impatiently. + +'Excusin' 'imself before'and for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be +a comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if ' + +'Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I'm +ready. What blasted nuisances you are! That's brandy. Drink some; +you want it. Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.' + +Strengthened by a four-finger 'nip' which he swallowed without a +wink, the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, +and very disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent. + +Private Dormer was certainly ''orrid bad.' He had all but reached +the stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. + +'What's this, Dormer?' said Bobby, bending over the man. 'You're +not going out this time. You've got to come fishing with me once +or twice more yet.' + +The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, 'Beg y' +pardon, sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min" oldin' my' +and, sir?' + +Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on +his own like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little +finger deep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water +dripping from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the +grasp of the hand did not relax, nor did the expression of the drawn +face change. Bobby with infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with +the left hand, his right arm was numbed to the elbow, and resigned +himself to a night of pain. + +Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a +sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit +for publication. + +'Have you been here all night, you young ass?' said the Doctor. + +'There or thereabouts,' said Bobby ruefully. 'He's frozen on to me.' + +Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. +The clinging hand opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side. + +'He'll do,' said the Doctor quietly. 'It must have been a toss-up all +through the night. 'Think you're to be congratulated on this case.' + +'Oh, bosh!' said Bobby. 'I thought the man had gone out long ago +only only I didn't care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, +there's a good chap. What a grip the brute has! I'm chilled to the +marrow!' He passed out of the tent shivering. + +Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by +strong waters. Four days later he sat on the side of his cot and said +to the patients mildly: 'I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im so I should.' + +But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter he had the +most persistent correspondent of any man in camp and was even +then about to write that the sickness had abated, and in another +week at the outside would be gone. He did not intend to say that +the chill of a sick man's hand seemed to have struck into the heart +whose capacities for affection he dwelt on at such length. He did +intend to enclose the illustrated programme of the forthcoming +Sing-song whereof he was not a little proud. He also intended to +write on many other matters which do not concern us, and +doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish headache +which made him dull and unresponsive at mess. + +'You are overdoing it, Bobby,' said his skipper. ''Might give the rest +of us credit of doing a little work. You go on as if you were the +whole Mess rolled into one. Take it easy.' + +'I will,' said Bobby. 'I'm feeling done up. somehow.' Revere looked +at him anxiously and said nothing. + +There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp that night, and a +rumour that brought men out of their cots to the tent doors, a +paddling of the naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a +galloping horse. + +'Wot's up?' asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the +answer 'Wick, 'e's down.' + +They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. 'Any one but +Bobby and I shouldn't have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.' + +'Not going out this journey,' gasped Bobby, as he was lifted from +the doolie. 'Not going out this journey.' Then with an air of +supreme conviction 'I can't, you see.' + +'Not if I can do anything!' said the Surgeon-Major, who had +hastened over from the mess where he had been dining. + +He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with Death for the +life of Bobby Wick. Their work was interrupted by a hairy +apparition in a bluegray dressing-gown who stared in horror at the +bed and cried 'Oh, my Gawd! It can't be 'im!' until an indignant +Hospital Orderly whisked him away. + +If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby +would have been saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, +and the Surgeon-Major's brow uncreased. 'We'll save him yet,' he +said; and the Surgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain, +had a very youthful heart, went out upon the word and pranced +joyously in the mud. + +'Not going out this journey,' whispered Bobby Wick gallantly, at +the end of the third day. + +'Bravo!' said the Surgeon-Major. 'That's the way to look at it, +Bobby.' + +As evening fell a gray shade gathered round Bobby's mouth, and he +turned his face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major +frowned. + +'I'm awfully tired,' said Bobby, very faintly. 'What's the use of +bothering me with medicine? I don't want it. Let me alone.' + +The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift +away on the easy tide of Death. + +'It's no good,' said the Surgeon-Major. 'He doesn't want to live. He's +meeting it, poor child.' And he blew his nose. + +Half a mile away the regimental band was playing the overture to +the Sing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of +danger. The clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached +Bobby's ears. + +Is there a single joy or pain, + +That I should never kno ow? + +You do not love me, 'tis in vain, + +Bid me good-bye and go! + +An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he +tried to shake his head. + +The Surgeon-Major bent down 'What is it, Bobby?' 'Not that waltz,' +muttered Bobby. 'That's our own our very ownest own. Mummy +dear.' + +With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early +next morning. + +Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into +Bobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the +white head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the +keenest sorrow of his life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in +confusion on the table, and among them a half-finished letter. The +last sentence ran: 'So you see, darling, there is really no fear, +because as long as I know you care for me and I care for you, +nothing can touch me.' + +Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out his eyes +were redder than ever. + +Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not +unfamiliar tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should +have been tenderly treated. + +'Ho!' said Private Conklin. 'There's another bloomin' orf'cer da ed.' + +The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a +smithyful of sparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was +regarding him with deep disfavour. + +'You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? Bloomin' +orf'cer? I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin' +Hangel! That's wot'e is!' + +And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the +punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his +cot. + +In the Matter of a Private + +Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier's life for me! Shout, boys, shout! for it +makes you jolly and free. + --The Ramrod Corps. + +PEOPLE who have seen, say that one of the quaintest spectacles of +human frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls' school. It starts +without warning, generally on a hot afternoon among the +elder pupils. A girl giggles till the giggle gets beyond control. +Then she throws up her head, and cries, "Honk, honk, honk," like a +wild goose, and tears mix with the laughter. If the n,istres. be wise +she will rap out something severc at this point O check matters. If +she be tender-hearted, and send for a drink of water, the chances +are largely in favor of another girl laughing at the afflicted one and +herself collapsing. Thus Lhe trouble spreads, and may end in half +of what answers to the Lower Sixth of a boys' school rocking and +whooping together. Given a week of warm weather, two stately +promenades per diem, a heavy mutton and rice meal in the middle +of the day, a certain amount of nagging from the teachers, and a +few other things, some amazing effects develop. At least this is +what folk say who have had experience. + +Now, the Mother Superior of a Convent and the Colonel of a +British Infantry Regiment would be justly shocked at any +comparison being made between their respective charges. But it is +a fact that, under certain circumstances, Thomas in bulk can be +worked up into ditthering, rippling hysteria. He does not weep, but +he shows his trouble unmistakably, and the consequences get into +the newspapers, and all the good people who hardly know a +Martini from a Snider say: "Take away the brute's ammunition!" + +Thomas isn't a brute, and his business, which is to look after the +virtuous people, nemands that he shall have his am-munition to his +hand. He doesn't wear silk stockings, and he really ought to he +supplied with a new Adjective to help him to express his opinions; +but, for all that, he is a great man. If you call him "the heroic +defender of the national honor" one day, and "a brutal and +licentious soldiery" the next, you naturally bewilder him, and he +looks upon you with suspicion. There is nobody to speak for +Thomas except people who have theories to work off on him; and +nobody understands Thomas except Thomas, and he does not +always know what is the matter with himself. + +That is the prologue. This is the story: + +Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to Miss Jhansi +M'Kenna, whose history is well known in the regiment and +elsewhere. He had his Colonel's permission, and, being popular +with the men, every arrangement had been made to give the +wedding what Private Ortheris called "eeklar." It fell in the heart +of the hot weather, and, after the wedding, Slane was going up to +the Hills with the Bride. None the less, Slane's grievance was that +the affair would he only a hired-carriage wedding, and he felt that +the "eeklar" of that was meagre. Miss M'Kenna did not care so +much. The Sergeant's wife was helping her to make her +wedding-dress, and she was very busy. Slane was, just then, the +only moderately contented man in barracks. All the rest were more +or less miserable. + +And they had so much to make them happy, too. All their work +was over at eight in the morning, and for the rest of the day they +could lie on their backs and smoke Canteen-plug and swear at the +punkab-coolies. They enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle +of the day, and then threw themselves down on their cots and +sweated and slept till it was cool enough to go out with their +"towny," whose vocabulary contained less than six hundred words, +and the Adjective, and whose views on every conceivable question +they had heard many times before. + +There was the Canteen, of course, and there was the Temperance +Room with the second-hand papers in it; but a man of any +profession cannot read for eight hours a day in a temperature of 96 +degrees or 98 degrees in the shade, running up sometimes to 103 +degrees at midnight. Very few men, even though they get a +pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and hide it under their cots, can +continue drinkmg for six hours a day. One man tried, but he died, +and nearly the whole regiment went to his funeral because it gave +them something to do. It was too early for the excitement of fever +or cholera. The men could only wait and wait and wait, and watch +the shadow of the barrack creeping across the blinding white dust. +That was a gay life. + +They lounged about cantonments-it was too hot for any sort of +game, and almost too hot for vice-and fuddled themselves in the +evening, and filled themselves to distension with the healthy +nitrogenous food provided for them, and the more they stoked the +less exercise they took and more explosive they grew. Then +tempers began to wear away, and men fell a-brooding over insults +real or imaginary, for they had nothing else to think of. The tone +of the repartees changed, and instead of saying light-heartedly: "I'll +knock your silly face in," men grew laboriously p0lite and hinted +that the cantonments were not big enough for themselves and their +enemy, and that there would he more space for one of the two in +another place. + +It may have been the Devil who arranged the thing, but the fact of +the case is that Losson had for a long time been worrying Simmons +in an aimless way. It gave him occupation. The two had their cots +side by side, and would sometimes spend a long afternoon +swearing at each other; but Simmons was afraid of Losson and +dared not challenge him to a fight. He thought over the words in +the hot still nights, and half the hate he felt toward Losson be +vented on the wretched punkahcoolie. + +Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put it into a little cage, +and lowered the cage into the cool darkness of a well, and sat on +the well-curb, shouting bad language down to the parrot. He taught +it to say: "Simmons, ye so-oor," which means swine, and several +other things entirely unfit for publication. He was a big gross man, +and he shook like a jelly when the parrot had the sentence +correctly. Simmons, however, shook with rage, for all the room +were laughing at him--the parrot was such a disreputable puff of +green feathers and it looked so human when it chattered. Losson +used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on the side of the cot, and ask the +parrot what it thought of Simmons. The parrot would answer: +"Simmons, ye so-oor." "Good boy," Losson used to say, scratching +the parrot's head; "ye 'ear that, Sim?" And Simmons used to turn +over on his stomach and make answer: "I 'ear. Take 'eed you don't +'ear something one of these days." + +In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind +rage came upon Simmonr and held him till he trembled all over, +while he thought in how many different ways he would slay +Losson. Sometimes he would picture himself trampling the life +out of the man, with heavy ammunition-boots, and at others +smashing in his face with the butt, and at others jumping on his +shoulders and dragging the head back till the neckbone cracked. +Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered, and he would reach +out for another sup of the beer in the pannikin. + +But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with +him longest was one connected with the great roll of fat under +Losson's right ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, and +thereafter it was always before his eyes. It was a fascinating roll of +fat. A man could get his hand upon it and tear away one side of the +neck; or he could place the muzzle of a rifle on it and blow away +all the head in a flash. Losson had no right to be sleek and +contented and well-to-do, when he, Simmons, was the butt of the +room, Some day, perhaps, he would show those who laughed at the +"Simmons, ye so-oor" joke, that he was as good as the rest, and +held a man's life in the crook of his forefinger. When Losson +snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than ever. Why should +Losson be able to sleep when Simmons had to stay awake hour +after hour, tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull liver pain +gnawing into his right side and his head throbbing and aching after +Canteen? He thought over this for many nights, and the world +became unprofitable to him. He even blunted his naturally fine +appetite with beer and tobacco; and all the while the parrot talked +at and made a mock of him. + +The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than +before. A Sergeant's wife died of heat--apoplexy in the night, and +the rumor ran abroad that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly, +hoping that it would spread and send them into camp. But that +was a false alarm. + +It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the +deep double verandas for "Last Posts," when Simmons went to the +box at the foot of his bed, took aut his pipe, and slammed the lid +down with a bang that echoed through the deserted barrack like the +crack of a rifle. Ordinarily speaking, the men would have taken no +notice; but their nerves were fretted to fiddle-strings. They jumped +up, and three or four clattered into the barrack-room only to find +Simmons kneeling by his box. + +"Owl It's you, is it?" they said and laughed foolishly. "We +thought 'twas"-- + +Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his fellows, +what would not the reality do? + +"You thought it was--did you? And what makes you think?" he +said, iashmg himself into madness as he went on; "to Hell with +your thinking, ye dirty spies." + +"Simmons, ye so-oor," chuckled the parrot in the veranda, sleepily, +recognizing a well-known voice. Now that was absolutely all. + +The tension snapped. Simmons fell back on the arm-rack +deliberately,--the men were at the far end of the room,--and took +out his rifle and packet of ammunition. "Don't go playing the goat, +Sim!" said Losson. "Put it down," but there was a quaver in his +voice. Another man stooped, slipped his boot and hurled it at +Simmon's head. The prompt answer was a shot which, fired at +random, found its billet in Losson's throat. Losson fell forward +without a word, and the others scattered. + +"You thought it was!" yelled Simmons. "You're drivin' me to it! I +tell you you're drivin' me to it! Get up, Losson, an' don't lie +shammin' there-you an' your blasted parrit that druv me to it!" + +But there was an unaffected reality about Losson's pose that +showed Simmons what he had done. The men were still clamoring +n the veranda. Simmons appropriated two more packets of +ammunition and ran into the moonlight, muttering: "I'll make a +night of it. Thirty roun's, an' the last for myself. Take you that, you +dogs!" + +He dropped on one knee and fired into the brown of the men on +the veranda, but the bullet flew high, and landed in the brickwork +with a vicious phant that made some of the younger ones turn pale. +It is, as musketry theorists observe, one thing to fire and another to +be fired at. + +Then the instinct of the chase flared up. The news spread from +barrack to barrack, and the men doubled out intent on the capture +of Simmons, the wild beast, who was heading for the Cavalry +parade-ground, stopping now and again to send back a shot and a +Lurse in the direction of his pursuers. + +"I'll learn you to spy on me!" he shouted; "I'll learn you to give me +dorg's names! Come on the 'ole lot O' you! Colonel John Anthony +Deever, C.B.!"-he turned toward the Infantry Mess and shook his +rifle-"you think yourself the devil of a man-but I tell 'jou that if you +Put your ugly old carcass outside O' that door, I'll make you the +poorest-lookin' man in the army. Come out, Colonel John +Anthony Deever, C.B.! Come out and see me practiss on the +rainge. I'm the crack shot of the 'ole bloomin' battalion." In proof +of which statement Simmons fired at the lighted windows of the +mess-house. + +"Private Simmons, E Comp'ny, on the Cavalry p'rade-ground, Sir, +with thirty rounds," said a Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. +"Shootin' right and lef', Sir. Shot Private Losson What's to be +done, Sir?" + +Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B., sallied out, only to be saluted +by s spurt of dust at his feet. + +"Pull up!" said the Second in Command; "I don't want my step in +that way, Colonel. He's as dangerous as a mad dog." + +"Shoot him like one, then," said the Colonel, bitterly, "if he won't +take his chance, My regiment, too! If it had been the Towheads I +could have under stood." + +Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the +edge of the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come +on. The regiment was not anxious to comply, for there is small +honor in being shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane, rifle +in band, threw himself down on the ground, and wormed his way +toward the well. + +"Don't shoot," said he to the men round him; "like as not you'll hit +me. I'll catch the beggar, livin'." + +Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noise of trap-wheels +could be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne Commanding the +Horse Battery, was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; +was driving after his usual custom--that is to say, as fast as the +horse could go. + +"A orf'cer! A blooming spangled orf'cer," shrieked Simmons; "I'll +make a scarecrow of that orf'cer!" The trap stopped. + +"What's this?" demanded the Major of Gunners. "You there, drop +your rifle." + +"Why, it's Jerry Blazes! I ain't got no quarrel with you, Jerry +Blazes. Pass frien', an' all's well!" + +But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a +dangerous murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long +and fervently, without knowledge of fear, and they were surely +the best judges, for Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his +possible to kill a man each time the Battery went out. + +He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, +and knocking him down. + +"Don't make me do it, Sir," said Simmons; "I ain't got nothing agin +you. Ah! you would?"--the Major broke into a run--"Take that +then!" + +The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and +Simmons stood over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing +Losson in the desired way: hut here was a helpless body to his +hand. Should be slip in another cartridge, and blow off the head, +or with the butt smash in the white face? He stopped to consider, +and a cry went up from the far side of the parade-ground: "He's +killed Jerry Blazes!" But in the shelter of the well-pillars Simmons +was safe except when he stepped out to fire. "I'll blow yer +'andsome 'ead off, Jerry Blazes," said Simmons, reflectively. "Six +an' three is nine an one is ten, an' that leaves me another nineteen, +an' one for myself." He tugged at the string of the second packet +of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a +bank into the moonlight. + +"I see you!" said Simmons. "Come a bit furder on an' I'll do for +you." + +"I'm comm'," said Corporal Slane, briefly; "you've done a bad day's +work, Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me." + +"Come to,"-laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his +thumb. "Not before I've settled you an' Jerry Blazes." + +The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the +parade-ground, a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men +in the distance shouted: "Shoot 'im! Shoot 'im, Slane !" + +"You move 'and or foot, Slane," said Simmons, "an' I'll kick Jerry +Blazes' 'ead in, and shoot you after." + +"I ain't movin'," said the Corporal, raising his head; "you daren't 'it +a man on 'is legs. Let go O' Jerry Blazes an' come out O' that with +your fistes. Come an' 'it me. You daren't, you bloomin' +dog-shooter!" + +"I dare." + +"You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin', Sheeny butcher, you lie. +See there!" Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril +of his life. "Come on, now!" + +The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the +Corporal in his white clothes offered a perfect mark. + +"Don't misname me," shouted Simmons, firing as he spoke. The +shot missed, and the shooter, blind with rage, threw his rifle down +and rushed at Slane from the protection of the well. Within +striking distance, he kicked savagely at Slane's stomach, but the +weedy Corporal knew something of Simmons's weakness, and +knew, too, the deadly guard for that kick. Bowing forward and +drawing up his right leg till the heel of the right foot was set some +three inches above the inside of the left knee-cap, he met the blow +standing on one leg--exactly as Gonds stand when they +meditate--and ready for the fall that would follow. There was an +oath, the Corporal fell over his own left as shinbone met shinbone, +and the Private collapsed, his right leg broken an inch above the +ankle. + +"'Pity you don't know that guard, Sim," said Slane, spitting out the +dust as he rose. Then raising his voice-- "Come an' take him orf. +I've bruk 'is leg." This was not strictly true, for the Private had +accomplished his own downfall, since it is the special merit of that +leg-guard that the harder the kick the greater the kicker's +discomfiture. + +Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him with ostentatious +anxiety, while Simmons, weeping with pain, was carried away. " +'Ope you ain't 'urt badly, Sir," said Slane. The Major had fainted, +and there was an ugly, ragged hole through the top of his arm. +Slane knelt down and murmured. "S'elp me, I believe 'e's dead. +Well, if that ain't my blooming luck all over!" + +But the Major was destined to lead his Battery afield for many a +long day with unshaken nerve. He was removed, and nursed and +petted into convalescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom +of capturing Simmons, and blowing him from a gun. They idolized +their Major, and his reappearance on parade brought about a scene +nowhere provided for in the Army Regulations. + +Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane's share. The Gunners +would have made him drunk thrice a day for at least a fortnight. +Even the Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his +coolness, and the local paper called him a hero. These things did +not puff him up. When the Major offered him money and thanks, +the virtuous Corporal took the one and put aside the other. But he +had a request to make and prefaced it with many a "Beg y'pardon, +Sir." Could the Major see his way to letting the Slane M'Kenna +wedding be adorned by the presence of four Battery horses to pull +a hired barouche? The Major could, and so could the Battery. +Excessively so. It was a gorgeous wedding. + +* * * * * * + +"Wot did I do it for?" said Corporal Slane. "For the 'orses O' +course. Jhansi ain't a beauty to look at, but I wasn't goin' to 'ave a +hired turn-out. Jerry Blazes? If I 'adn't 'a' wanted something, Sim +might ha' blowed Jerry Blazes' blooming 'ead into Hirish stew for +aught I'd 'a' cared." + +And they hanged Private Simmons-hanged him as high as Haman +in hollow square of the regiment; and the Colonel said it was +Drink; and the Chaplain was sure it was the Devil; and Simmons +fancied it was both, but he didn't know, and only hoped his fate +would be a warning to his companions; and half a dozen +"intelligent publicists" wrote six beautiful leading articles on +"'The Prevalence of Crime in the Army." + +But not a soul thought of comparing the "bloody-minded +Simmons" to the squawking, gaping schoolgirl with which this +story opens. + +The Enlightenments of Pagett, M.P. + +"Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field +ring with their importunate chink while thousands of great cattle, +reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and +are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are +the only inhabitants of the field-that, of course, they are many in +number or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, +meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the +hour."-Burke: "Reflections on the Revolution in France." + +THEY were sitting in the veranda of "the splendid palace of an +Indian Pro-Consul"; surrounded by all the glory and mystery of the +immemorial East. In plain English it was a one-storied, +ten-roomed, whitewashed, mud-roofed bungalow, set in a dry +garden of dusty tamarisk trees and divided from the road by a low +mud wall. The green parrots screamed overhead as they flew in +battalions to the river for their morning drink. Beyond the wall, +clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and goats of the city +were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white light of the +winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and +improved nothing, from the whining Peisian-wheel by the +lawn-tennis court to the long perspective of level road and the +blue, domed tombs of Mohammedan saints just visible above the +trees. + +"A Happy New Year," said Orde to his guest. "It's the first you've +ever spent out of England, isn't it?" + +"Yes. 'Happy New Year," said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. +"What a divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown +cold fog hanging over London now!" And he rubbed his hands. + +It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his +schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The +one had quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of +the great Indian Government; the other more blessed with goods, +had been whirled into a similar position in the English scheme. +Three successive elections had not affected Pagett's position with a +loyal constituency, and he had grown insensibly to regard himself +in some sort as a pillar of the Empire, whose real worth would be +known later on. After a few years of conscientious attendance at +many divisions, after newspaper battles innumerable and the +publication of interminable correspondence, and more hasty +oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think upon, it +occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in +Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger +lyre and address himself to the problems of Imperial +administration with a firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general +invitation extended to him by Orde some years before, Pagett had +taken ship to Karachi, and only over-night had been received with +joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of Amara. They had sat late, +discussing the changes and chances of twenty years, recalling the +names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the living, as is the +custom of men meeting after intervals of action. + +Next morning they smoked the after breakfast pipe in the veranda, +still regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey +frock-coat and garments much too thin for the time of the year, +and a puggried sun-hat carefully and wonderfully made. Orde in a +shooting coat, riding breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs, +and a battered flax helmet. He had ridden some miles in the early +morning to inspect a doubtful river dam. The men's faces differed +as much as their attire. Orde's worn and wrinkled around the eyes, +and grizzled at the temples, was the harder and more square of the +two, and it was with something like envy that the owner looked at +the comfortable outlines of Pagett's blandly receptive countenance, +the clear skin, the untroubled eye, and the mobile, clean-shaved +lips. + +"And this is India!" said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long +and intently at the grey feathering of tbe tamarisks. + +"One portion of India only. It's very much like this for 300 miles in +every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little--I +wouldn't ask the old question before--what d'you think of the +country?" + +'Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired +several pounds of your country coming up from Karachi. The air is +heavy with it, and for miles and miles along that distressful +eternity of rail there's no horizon to show where air and earth +separate." + +"Yes. It isn't easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent +passage out, hadn't you?" + +"Very good on the whole. Your Anglo-Indian may be +unsympathetic about one's political views; but he has reduced ship +life to a science." + +"The Anglo-Indian is a political orphan, and if he's wise he won't +be in a hurry to be adopted by your party grandmothers. But how +were your companions, unsympathetic?" + +"Well, there was a man called Dawlishe, a judge somewhere in +this country it seems, and a capital partner at whist by the way, and +when I wanted to talk to him about the progress of India in a +political sense (Orde hid a grin, which might or might not have +been sympathetic), the National Congress movement, and other +things in which, as a Member of Parliament, I'm of course +interested, he shifted the subject, and when I once cornered him, +he looked me calmly in the eye, and said: 'That's all Tommy rot. +Come and have a game at Bull.' You may laugh; but that isn't the +way to treat a great and important question; and, knowing who I +was. well. I thought it rather rude, don't you know; and yet +Dawlishe is a thoroughly good fellow." + +"Yes; he's a friend of mine, and one of the straightest men I know. +I suppose, like many Anglo-Indians, he felt it was hopeless to give +you any just idea of any Indian question without the documents +before you, and in this case the documents you want are the +country and the people." + +"Precisely. That was why I came straight to you, bringing an open +mind to bear on things. I'm anxious to know what popular feeling +in India is really like y'know, now that it has wakened into political +life. The National Congress, in spite of Dawlishe, must have +caused great excitement among the masses?" + +"On the contrary, nothing could be more tranquil than the state of +popular feeling; and as to excitement, the people would as soon be +excited over the 'Rule of Three' as over the Congress." + +"Excuse me, Orde, but do you think you are a fair judge? Isn't the +official Anglo-Indian naturally jealous of any external influences +that might move the masses, and so much opposed to liberal ideas, +truly liberal ideas, that he can scarcely be expected to regard a +popular movement with fairness?" + +"What did Dawlishe say about Tommy Rot? Think a moment, +old man. You and I were brought up together; taught by the same +tutors, read the same books, lived the same life, and new +languages, and work among new races; while you, more fortunate, +remain at home. Why should I change my mind our mind-because +I change my sky? Why should I and the few hundred Englishmen +in my service become unreasonable, prejudiced fossils, while you +and your newer friends alone remain bright and open-minded? +You surely don't fancy civilians are members of a Primrose +League?" + +"Of course not, but the mere position of an English official gives +him a point of view which cannot but bias his mind on this +question." Pagett moved his knee up and down a little uneasily as +he spoke. + +"That sounds plausible enough, but, like more plausible notions on +Indian matters, I believe it's a mistake. You'll find when you come +to consult the unofficial Briton that our fault, as a class--I speak of +the civilian now-is rather to magnify the progress that has been +made toward liberal institutions. It is of English origin, such as it +is, and the stress of our work since the Mutiny--only thirty years +ago--has been in that direction. No, I think you will get no fairer or +more dispassionate view of the Congress business than such men +as I can give you. But I may as well say at once that those who +know most of India, from the inside, are inclined to wonder at the +noise our scarcely begun experiment makes in England." + +"But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself +a new thing." + +"There's nothing new under the sun When Europe was a jungle +half Asia flocked to the canonical conferences of Buddhism; and +for centuries the people have gathered at Pun, Hurdwar, Trimbak, +and Benares in immense numbers. A great meeting, what you call +a mass meeting, is really one of the oldest and most popular of +Indian institutions In the case of the Congress meetings, the only +notable fact is that the priests of the altar are British, not Buddhist, +Jam or Brahmanical, and that the whole thing is a British +contrivance kept alive by the efforts of Messrs. Hume, Eardley, +Norton, and Digby." + +"You mean to say, then, it s not a spontaneous movement?" + +"What movement was ever spontaneous in any true sense of the +word? This seems to be more factitious than usual. You seem to +know a great deal about it; try it by the touchstone of +subscriptions, a coarse but fairly trustworthy criterion, and there is +scarcely the color of money in it. The delegates write from +England that they are out of pocket for working expenses, railway +fares, and stationery--the mere pasteboard and scaffolding of their +show. It is, in fact, collapsing from mere financial inanition." + +"But you cannot deny that the people of India, who are, perhaps, +too poor to subscribe, are mentally and morally moved by the +agitation," Pagett insisted. + +"That is precisely what I do deny. The native side of the movement +is the work of a limited class, a microscopic minority, as Lord +Dufferin described it, when compared with the people proper, but +still a very interesting class, seeing that it is of our own creation. It +is composed almost entirely of those of the literary or clerkly +castes who have received an English education." + +"Surely that s a very important class. Its members must be the +ordained leaders of popular thought." + +"Anywhere else they might he leaders, but they have no social +weight in this topsy-turvy land, and though they have been +employed in clerical work for generations they have no prac. tical +knowledge of affairs. A ship's clerk is a useful person, but he it +scarcely the captain; and an orderly-room writer, however smart he +may be, is not the colonel. You see, the writer class in India has +never till now aspired to anything like command. It wasn t allowed +to. The Indian gentleman, for thousands of years past, has +resembled Victor Hugo's noble: + +'Un vrai sire +Chatelain +Laisse ecrire +Le vilain. +Sa main digne +Quand il signe +Egratigne +Le velin. + +And the little egralignures he most likes to make have been scored +pretty deeply by the sword." + +"But this is childish and medheval nonsense!" + +"Precisely; and from your, or rather our, point of view the pen is +mightier than the sword. In this country it's otherwise. The fault +lies in our Indian balances, not yet adjusted to civilized weights +and measures." + +"Well, at all events, this literary class represent the natural +aspirations and wishes of the people at large, though it may not +exactly lead them, and, in spite of all you say, Orde, I defy you to +find a really sound English Radical who would not sympathize +with those aspirations." + +Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when +a well appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and +Orde rose saying: + +"Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so diligently, +come to talk about accounts, I suppose." + +As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying +with the trained effusion born of much practice: + +"But this is also my friend, my old and valued friend Edwards. I'm +delighted to see you. I knew you were in India, but not exactly +where." + +"Then it isn't accounts, Mr. Edwards," said Orde, cheerily. + +"Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works +were closed for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see +him." + +"A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde, +was a leading member of our Radical Club at Switebton when I +was beginning political life, and I owe much to his exertions. +There's no pleasure like meeting an old friend, except, perhaps, +making a new one. I suppose, Mr. Edwards, you stick to the good +old cause?" + +"Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There's precious +little one can find to say against the Government, which was the +main of our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the +sort o' people a man who respects himself would like to be mixed +up with. There are no politics, in a manner of speaking, in India. +It's all work." + +"Surely you are mistaken, my good friend. Why I have come all +the way from England just to see the working of this great National +movement." + +"I don't know where you're going to find the nation as moves to +begin with, and then you'll be hard put to it to find what they are +moving about. It's like this, sir," said Edwards, who had not quite +relished being called "my good friend." "They haven't got any +grievance--nothing to hit with, don't you see, sir; and then there's +not much to hit against, because the Government is more like a +kind of general Providence, directing an old--established state of +things, than that at home, where there's something new thrown +down for us to fight about every three months." + +"You are probably, in your workshops, full of Eng'ish mechanics, +out of the way of learning what the masses think." + +"I don't know so much about that. There are four of us English +foremen, and between seven and eight hundred native fitters, +smiths, carpenters, painters, and such like." + +"And they are full of the Congress, of course?" + +"Never hear a word of it from year's end to year's end, and I speak +the talk too. But I wanted to ask how things are going on at +home--old Tyler and Brown and the rest?" + +"We will speak of them presently, but your account of the +indifference of your men surprises me almost as much as your +own. I fear you are a backslider from the good old doctrine, Ed +wards." Pagett spoke as one who mourned the death of a near +relative. + +"Not a bit, Sir, but I should be if I took up with a parcel of baboos, +pleaders, and schoolboys, as never did a day's work in their lives, +and couldn't if they tried. And if you was to poll us English railway +men, mechanics, tradespeople, and the like of that all up and down +the country from Peshawur to Calcutta, you would find us mostly +in a tale together. And yet you know we're the same English you +pay some respect to at home at 'lection time, and we have the pull +o' knowing something about it." + +"This is very curious, but you will let me come and see you, and +perhaps you will kindly show me the railway works, and we will +talk things over at leisure. And about all old friends and old +times," added Pagett, detecting with quick insight a look of +disappointment in the mechanic's face. + +Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove +off. + +"It's very disappointing," said the +Member to Orde, who, while his friend discoursed with Edwards, +had been looking over a bundle of sketches drawn on grey paper in +purple ink, brought to him by a Chuprassee. + +"Don't let it trouble you, old chap," 'said Orde, sympathetically. +"Look here a moment, here are some sketches by the man who +made the carved wood screen you admired so much in the +dining-room, and wanted a copy of, and the artist himself is here +too." + +"A native?" said Pagett. + +"Of course," was the reply, "Bishen Siagh is his name, and he has +two brothers to help him. When there is an important job to do, +the three go 'ato partnership, but they spend most of their time and +all their money in litigation over an inheritance, and I'm afraid they +are getting involved, Thoroughbred Sikhs of the old rock, +obstinate, touchy, bigoted, and cunning, but good men for all that. +Here is Bishen +Singn -shall we ask him about the Congress?" + +But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had +never heard of it, and he listened with a puzzled face and +obviously feigned interest to Orde's account of its aims and +objects, finally shaking his vast white turban with great +significance when he learned that it was promoted by certam +pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives. He began with +labored respect to explain how he was a poor man with no concern +in such matters, which were all under the control of God, but +presently broke out of Urdu into familiar Punjabi, the mere sound +of which had a rustic smack of village smoke-reek and plough-tail, +as he denounced the wearers of white coats, the jugglers with +words who filched his field from him, the men whose backs were +never bowed in honest work; and poured ironical scorn on the +Bengali. He and one of his brothers had seen Calcutta, and being +at work there had Bengali carpenters given to them as assistants. + +"Those carpenters!" said Bishen Singh. "Black apes were more +efficient workmates, and as for the Bengali babu-tchick!" The +guttural click needed no interpretation, but Orde translated the +rest, while Pagett gazed with in.. terest at the wood-carver. + +"He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali," +said the +M.P. + +"Yes, it's very sad that for ages outside Bengal there should he so +bitter a prejudice. Pride of race, which also means race-hatred, is +the plague and curse of India and it spreads far," pointed with his +riding-whip to the large map of India on the veranda wall. + +"See! I begin with the North," said he. "There's the Afghan, and, as +a highlander, he despises all the dwellers in Hindoostan-with the +exception of the Sikh, whom he hates as cordially as the Sikh hates +him. The Hindu loathes Sikh and Afghan, and the Rajput--that's a +little lower down across this yellow blot of desert--has a strong +objection, to put it mildly, to the Maratha who, by the way, +poisonously hates the Afghan. Let's go North a minute. The Sindhi +hates everybody I've mentioned. Very good, we'll take less warlike +races. The cultivator of Northern India domineers over the man in +the next province, and the Behari of the Northwest ridicules the +Bengali. They are all at one on that point. I'm giving you merely +the roughest possible outlines of the facts, of course." + +Bishen Singh, his clean cut nostrils still quivering, watched the +large sweep of the whip as it traveled from the frontier, through +Sindh, the Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the +Jumna + +"Hate--eternal and inextinguishable hate," concluded Orde, +flicking the lash of the whip across the large map from East to +West as he sat down. "Remember Canning's advice to Lord +Granville, 'Never write or speak of Indian things without looking at +a map.'" + +Pagett opened his eyes, Orde resumed. "And the race-hatred is +only a part of it. What's really the matter with Bisben Singh is +class-hatred, which, unfortunately, is even more intense and +more widely spread. That's one of the little drawbacks of caste, +which some of your recent English writers find an impeccable +system." + +The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his +craft, and his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved +wooden doorway for Pagett, which he promised should be +splendidly executed and despatched to England in six months. It is +an irrelevant detail, but in spite of Orde's reminders, fourteen +months elapsed before the work was finished. Business over, +Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his leave, and at last +joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated breath and +whispering hum. bleness, said he had a petition to make. Orde's +face suddenly lost all trace of expression. "Speak on, Bishen +Singh," said he, and the carver in a whining tone explained that his +case against his brothers was fixed for hearing b& fore a native +judge and-here he dropped his voice still lower tid he was +summarily stopped by Orde, who sternly pointed to the gate with +an emphatic Begone! + +Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed +respectfully to the friends and departed. + +Pagett looked inquiry; Orde with complete recovery of his usual +urbanity, replied: "It's nothing, only the old story, he wants his +case to be tried by an English judge-they all do that-but when he +began to hint that the other side were in improper relations with +the native judge I had to shut him up. Gunga Ram, the man he +wanted to make insinuations about, may not be very bright; but +he's as honest as day-light on the bench. But that's just what one +can't get a native to believe." + +"Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases +tried by English judges?" + +'Why, certainly." + +Pagett drew a long breath. "I didn't know that before." At this +point a phaeton entered the compound, and Orde rose with +"Confound it, there's old Rasul Ah Khan come to pay one of his +tiresome duty calls. I'm afraid we shall never get through our little +Congress discussion." + +Pagett was an aimost silent spectator of the grave formalities of a +visit paid by a punctilious old Mahommedan gentleman to an +Indian official; and was much impressed by the distinction of +manner and fine appearance of the Mohammedan landholder. +When the exhange of polite banalities came to a pause, he +expressed a wish to learn the courtly visitor's opinion of the +National Congress. + +Orde reluctantly interpreted, and with a smile which even +Mohammedan politeness could not save from bitter scorn, Rasul +Ah Khan intimated that he knew nothing about it and cared still +less. It was a kind of talk encouraged by the Government for some +mysterious purpose of its own, and for his own part he wondered +and held his peace. + +Pagett was far from satisfied with this, and wished to have the old +gentleman's opinion on the propriety of managing all Indian affairs +on the basis of an elective system. + +Orde did his best to explain, but it was plain the visitor was bored +and bewildered. Frankly, he didn't think much of committees; they +had a Municipal Committee at Lahore and had elected a menial +servant, an orderly, as a member. He had been informed of this on +good authority, and after that, committees had ceased to interest +him. But all was according to the rule of Government, and, please +God, it was all for the best. + +"What an old fossil it is!" cried Pagett, as Orde returned from +seeing his guest to the door; "just like some old blue-blooded +hidalgo of Spain. What does he really think of the Congress after +all, and of the elective system?" + +"Hates it all like poison. When you are sure of a majority, election +is a fine system; but you can scarcely expect the Mahommedans, +the mast mas terful and powerful minority in the country, to +contemplate their own extinction with joy. The worst of it is that +he and his co-religionists, who are many, and the landed +proprietors, also, of Hindu race, are frightened and put out by this +electiop business and by the importance we have bestowed on +lawyers, pleaders, writers, and the like, who have, up to now, been +in abject submission to them. They say little, hut after all they are +the most important fagots in the great bundle of communities, and +all the glib bunkum in the world would not pay for their +estrangement. They have controlled the land." + +"But I am assured that experience of local self-government in your +municipalities has been most satisfactory, and when once the +principle is accepted in your centres, don't you know, it is bound to +spread, and these important--ah'm people of yours would learn it +like the rest. I see no difficulty at all," and the smooth lips closed +with the complacent snap habitual to Pagett, M.P., the "man of +cheerful yesterdays and confident to-morrows." + +Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. + +"The privilege of election has been most reluctantly withdrawn +from scores of municipalities, others have had to be summarily +suppressed, and, outside the Presidency towns, the actual work +done has been badly performed. This is of less moment, perhaps-it +only sends up the local death-rates-than the fact that the public +interest in municipal elections, never very strong, has waned, and +is waning, in spite of careful nursing on the part of Government +servants." + +"Can you explain this lack of interest?" said Pagett, putting aside +the rest of Orde's remarks. + +"You may find a ward of the key in the fact that only one in every +thousand af our population can spell. Then they are infinitely +more interested in religion and caste questions than in any sort of +politics. When the business of mere existence is over, their minds +are occupied by a series of interests, pleasures, rituals, +superstitions, and the like, based on centuries of tradition and +usage. You, perhaps, find it hard to conceive of people absolutely +devoid of curiosity, to whom the book, the daily paper, and the +printed speech are unknown, and you would describe their life as +blank. That's a profound mistake. You are in another land, another +century, down on the bed-rock of society, where the family merely, +and not the community, is all-important. The average Oriental +cannot be brought to look beyond his clan. His life, too, is naore +complete and self-sufficing, and +less sordid and low-thoughted than you might imagine. It is +bovine and slow in some respects, but it is never empty. You and I +are inclined to put the cart before the horse, and to forget that it is +the man that is elemental, not the book. + + +'The corn and the cattle are all my care, And the rest is the will of +God.' + +Why should such folk look up from their immemorially appointed +round of duty and interests to meddle with the unknown and fuss +with voting-papers. How would you, atop of all your interests care +to conduct even one-tenth of your life according to the manners +and customs of the Papuans, let's say? That's what it comes to." + +"But if they won't take the trouble to vote, why do you anticipate +that Mohammedans, proprietors, and the rest would be crushed by +majorities of them?" + +Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. + +"Because, though the landholders would not move a finger on any +purely political question, they could be raised in dangerous +excitement by religious hatreds. Already the first note of this has +been sounded by the people who are trying to get up an agitation +on the cow-killing question, and every year there is trouble over +the Mohammedan Muharrum processions. + +"But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?" + +"The Government of Hcr Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, in +which, if the Congress promoters are to be believed, the people +have an implicit trust; for the Congress circular, specially prepared +for rustic comprehension, says the movement is 'for the remission +of tax, the advancement of Hindnstan, and the strengthening of the +British Govemment.' This paper is headed in large letters- + +'MAV THE PROSPEEITY OF THE EMPIRE OF INDIA +ENDURE."' + +"Really!" said Pagett, "that shows some cleverness. But there are +things better worth imi'ation in our English methods of-er-political +statement than this sort of amiable fraud." + +"Anyhow," resumed Orde, "you perceive that not a word is said +about elections and the elective principle, and the reticence of the +Congress promoters here shows they are wise in their generation." + +"But the elective principle must triumph in the end, and the little +difficulties you seem to anticipate would give way on the +introduction of a well-balanced scheme, capable of indefinite +extension." + +"But is it possible to devise a scheme which, always assuming that +the people took any interest in it, without enormous expense, +ruinous dislocation of the administ:ation and danger to the public +peace, can satisfy the aspirations of Mr. Hume and his following, +and yet safeguard the interests of the Mahommedans, the landed +and wealthy classes, the Conservative Hindus, the Eurasians, +Parsees, Sikhs, Rajputs, native Christians, domiciled Europeans +and others, who are each important and powerful in their way?" + +Pagett's attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a +group of cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. + +"Here are the twelve Apostles, hy +Jove -come straight out of Raffaele's cartoons," said the M.P., with +the fresh appreciation of a newcomer. + +Orde, loth to be interrupted, turned impatiently toward the +villagers, and their leader, handing his long staff to one of his +companions, advanced to the house. + +"It is old Jelbo, the Lumherdar, or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a +very' intelligent man for a villager." + +The Jat farmer had removed his shoes and stood smiling on the +edge of the veranda. His strongly marked features glowed with +russet bronze, and his bright eyes gleamed under deeply set brows, +contracted by lifelong exposure to sunshine. His beard and +moustache streaked with grey swept from bold cliffs of brow and +cheek in the large sweeps one sees drawn by Michael Angelo, and +strands of long black hair mingled with the irregularly piled +wreaths and folds of his turban. The drapery of stout blue cotton +cloth thrown over his broad shoulders and girt round his narrow +loins, hung from his tall form in broadly sculptured folds, and he +would have made a superb model for an artist in search of a +patriarch. + +Orde greeted him cordially, and after a polite pause the +countryman started off with a long story told with impressive +earnestness. Orde listened and smiled, interrupting the speaker +at 'times to argue and reason with him in a tone which Pagett could +hear was kindly, and finally checking the flux of words was about +to dismiss him, when Pagett suggested that he should be asked +about the National Congress. + +But Jelloc had never heard of it. He was a poor man and such +things, by the favor of his Honor, did not concern him. + +"What's the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in +earnest?" asked Pagett, when he had left. + +"Nothing much. He wants the blood of the people in the next +village, who have had smallpox and cattle plague pretty badly, and +by the help of a wizard, a currier, and several pigs have passed it +on to his own village. 'Wants to know if they can't be run in for +this awful crime. It seems they made a dreadful charivari at the +village boundary, threw a quantity of spell-bearing objects over the +border, a buffalo's skull and other things; then branded a +chamur-what you would call a currier-on his hinder parts and +drove him and a number of pigs over into JelIno's village. Jelbo +says he can bring evidence to prove that the wizard directing these +proceedings, who is a Sansi, has been guilty of theft, arson, +rattle-killing, perjury and murder, but would prefer to have him +punished for bewitching them and inflicting small-pox." + +"And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?" + +"Lunatic I the old fellow is as sane as you or I; and he has some +ground of complaint against those Sansis. I asked if he would +likc a native superintendent of police with some men to make +inquiries, but he objected on the grounds the police were rather +worse than smallpox and criminal tribes put together." + +"Criminal tribes-er-I don't quite understand," said Paget~ + +"We have in India many tribes of people who in the slack +anti-British days became robbers, in various kind. and preye~ on +the people. They are being restrained and reclaimed little by little, +and in time will become useful; citizens, but they still cherish +hereditary traditions of crime, and are a difficult lot to deal with. +By the way what; about the political rights of these folk under your +schemes? The country people call them vermin, but I sup-pose +they would be electors with the rest." + +"Nonsense-special provision would be made for them in a +well-considered electoral scheme, and they would doubtless be +treated with fitting severity," said Pagett, with a magisterial air. + +"Severity, yes-but whether it would be fitting is doubtful. Even +those poor devils have rights, and, after all, they only practice what +they have been taught." + +"But criminals, Ordel" + +"Yes, criminals with codes and rituals of crime, gods and +godlings of crime, and a hundred songs and sayings in praise of it. +Puzzling, isn't it?" + +"It's simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are +there many of them?" + +"Not more than about sixty thousand in this province, for many of +the trlbes broadly described as criminal are really vagabond and +crimlnal only on occasion, while others are being settled and +reclaimed. They are of great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the +golden, glorious Aryan past of Max Muller, Birdwood and the rest +of your spindrift philosophers." + +An orderly brought a card to Orde who took it with a movement of +irritation at the interruption, and banded it to Pagett; a large card +with a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in schoolboy +copper plate, Mr. Dma Nath. "Give salaam," said the civilian, and +there entered in haste a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat +of grey homespun, tight trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small +black velvet cap. His thin cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered +restlessly, for the young man was evidently nervous and +uncomfortable, though striving to assume a free and easy air. + +"Your honor may perhaps remember me," he said in Englisb, and +Orde scanned him keenly. + +"I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah +district I think, when I was in charge there?" + +"Yes, Sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honor gave me +a prize when I was first in the Middle School examination five +years ago. Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now +second year's student in the Mission College." + +"Of course: you are Kedar Nath's son +-the boy who said he liked geography better than play or sugar +cakes, and I didn't believe you. How is your father getting on?" + +"He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are +depressed, and be also is down on his luck." + +"You learn English idiom". at the Mission College, it seems." + +"Yes, sir, they are the best idioms, and my father ordered me to ask +your honor to say a word for him to the present incumbent of your +honor's shoes, the latchet of which he is not +worthy to open, and who knows not Joseph; for things are different +at Sher shah now, and my father wants promotion." + +"Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him." + +At this point a telegram was handed to Orde, who, after glancing at +it, said he must leave his young friend whom he introduced to +Pagett, "a member of the English House of Commons who wishes +to learn about India." + +Orde bad scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: + +"Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress +movement?" + +"Sir, it is the greatest movement of modern times, and one in +which all edvcated men like us must join. All our students are for +the Congress." + +"Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?" said +Pagett, quick to use his recent instruction. + +"These are some mere exceptions to the universal rule." + +"But the people outside the College, the working classes, the +agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance." + +"My mother," said the young man, with a visible effort to bring +himself to pronounce the word, "has no ideas, and my father is not +agriculturist, nor working class; he is of the Kayeth caste; but he +had not the advantage of a collegiate education, and he does not +know much of the Congress. It is a movement for the educated +young-man" +-connecting adjective and noun in a sort of vocal hyphen. + +"Ah, yes," said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, "and +what are the benefits you expect to gain by it?" + +"Oh, sir, everything. England owes its greatness to Parliamentary +institutions, and we should at once gain the same high position in +scale of nations. Sir, we wish to have the sciences, the arts, the +manufactures, the industrial factories, with steam engines, and +other motive powers and public meetings, and debates. Already we +have a debating club in connection with the college, and elect a +Mr. Speaker. Sir, the progress must come. You also are a Member +of Parliament and worship the great Lord Ripon," said the youth, +breathlessly, and his black eyes flashed as he finished his +commaless sentences. + +"Well," said Pagett, drily, "it has not vet occurred to me to worship +his Lord-ship, although I believe he is a very worthy man, and I am +not sure that England owes quite all the things you name to the +House of Commons. You see, my young friend, the growth of a +nation like ours is slow, subject to many influences, and if you +have read your history aright"-"Sir. I know it all-all! Norman +Conquest, Magna Charta, Runnymede, Reformation, Tudors, +Stuarts, Mr. Milton and Mr. Burke, and I have read something of +Mr. Herbert Spencer and Gibbon's 'Decline and Fall,' Reynolds' +Mysteries of the Court,' and Pagett felt like one who had pulled +the string of a shower-bath unawares, and hastened to stop the +torrent with a qtlestion as to what particular grievances of the +people of India the attention of an elected assembly should be first +directed. But young Mr. Dma Nath was slow to particularize. +There were many, very many demanding consideration. Mr. +Pagett would like to hear of one or two typical examples. +The Repeal of the Arms Act was at last named, and the student +learned for the first time that a license was necessary before an +Englishman could carry a gun in England. Then natives of India +ought to be allowed to become Volunteer Riflemen if they chose, +and the absolute equality of the Oriental with his European +fellow-subject in civil status should be proclaimed on principle, +and the Indian Army should be considerably reduced. The student +was not, however, prepared with answers to Mr. Pagett's mildest +questions on these points, and he returned to vague generalities, +leaving the M.P. so much impressed with the crudity of his views +that he was glad on Orde's return to say good-bye to his "very +interesting" young friend. + +"What do you think of young India?" asked Orde. + +"Curious, very curious-and callow." + +"And yet," the civilian replied, "one can scarcely help +sympathizing with him for his mere youth's sake. The young +orators of the Oxford Union arrived at the same conclusions and +showed doubtless just the same enthusiasm. If there were any +political analogy between India and England, if the thousand +races of this Empire were one, if there were any chance even of +their learning to speak one language, if, in short, India were a +Utopia of the debating-room, and not a real land, this kind of talk +might be worth listening to, but it is all based on false analogy and +ignorance of the facts." + +"But he is a native and knows the facts." + +"He is a sort of English schoolboy, but married three years, and the +father of two weaklings, and knows less than most English +schoolboys. You saw all he is and knows, and such ideas as he has +acquired are directly hostile to the most cherished convictions of +the vast majority of the people." + +"But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission +college? Is he a Christian?" + +"He meant just what he said, and he is not a Christian, nor ever +will he be. Good people in America, Scotland and England, most +of whom would never dream of collegiate education for their own +sons, are pinching themselves to bestow it in pure waste on Indian +youths. Their scheme is an oblique, subterranean attack on +heathenism; the theory being that with the jam of secular +education, leading to a University degree, the pill of moral or +religious instruction may he coaxed down the heathen gullet." + +"But does it succeed; do they make converts?" + +"They make no converts, for the subtle Oriental swallows the jam +and rejects the pill; but the mere example of the sober, righteous, +and godly lives of the principals and professors who are most +excellent and devoted men, must have a certain moral value. Yet, +as Lord Lansdowne pointed out the other day, the market is +dangerously overstocked with graduates of our Universities who +look for employment in the administration. An immense number +are employed, but year by year the college mills grind out +increasing lists of youths foredoomed to failure and +disappointment, and meanwhile, trade. manufactures. and the +industrial +arts are neglected, and in fact regarded with contempt by our new +literary mandarins in posse." + +"But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and +factories," said Pagett. + +"Yes, he would like to direct such concerns. He wants to begin at +the top, for manual labor is held to be discreditable, and he would +never defile his hands by the apprenticeship which the architects, +engineers, and manufacturers of England cheerfully undergo; and +he would be aghast to learn that the leading names of industrial +enterprise in England belonged a generation or two since, or now +belong, to men who wrought with their own hands. And, though he +talks glibly of manufacturers, he refuses to see that the Indian +manufacturer of the future will be the despised workman of the +present. It was proposed, for example, a few weeks ago, that a +certain municipality in this province should establish an +elementary technical school for the sons of workmen. The stress of +the opposition to the plan came from a pleader who owed all he +had to a college education bestowed on him gratis by Government +and missions. You would have fancied some fine old crusted Tory +squire of the last generation was speaking. 'These people,' he said, +'want no education, for they learn their trades from their fathers, +and to teach a workman's son the elements of mathematics and +physical science would give him ideas above his business. They +must be kept in their place, and it was idle to imagine that there +was any science in wood or iron work.' And he carried his point. +But the Indian workman will rise in the social scale in spite of the +new literary caste." + +"In England we have scarcely begun to realize that there is an +industrial class in this country, yet, I suppose, the example of men, +like Edwards for instance, must tell," said Pagett, thoughtfully. + +"That you shouldn't know much about it is natural enough, for +there are but few sources of information. India in this, as in other +respects, is like a badly kept ledger-not written up to date. And +men like Edwards are, in reality, missionaries, who by precept and +example are teaching more lessons than they know. Only a few, +however, of their crowds of subordinates seem to care to try to +emulate them, and aim at individual advancement; the rest drop +into the ancient Indian caste gr('ove." + +"How do you mean?" asked he, "Well, it is found that the new +railway and factory workmen, the fitter, the smith, the +engine-driver, and the rest are already forming separate hereditary +castes. You may notice this down at Jamalpur in Bengal, one of +the oldest railway centres; and at other places, and in other +industries, they are following the same inexorable Indian law." + +"Which means?" queried Pagett. + +"It means that the rooted habit of the people is to gather in small +self-contained, self-sufficing family groups with no thought or care +for any interests but their own-a habit which is scarcely compatible +with the right acceptation of the elective principle." + +"Yet you must admit, Orde, that though our young friend was not +able to expound tbe faith that is in him, your Indian army is too +big." + +"Not nearly big enough for its main purpose. And, as a side issue, +there are certain powerful minorities of fighting folk whose +interests an Asiatic Government is bound to consider. Arms is as +much a means of livelihood as civil employ under Government and +law. And it would be a heavy strain on British bayonets to hold +down Sikhs, Jats, Bilochis, Rohillas, Rajputs, Bhils, Dogras, +Pahtans, and Gurkbas to abide by the decisions of a numerical +majority opposed to their interests. Leave the 'numerical majority' +to itself without the British bayonets-a flock of sheep might as +reasonably hope to manage a troop of collies." + +"This complaint about excessive growth of the army is akin to +another contention of the Congress party. They protest against the +malversation of the whole of the moneys raised by additional taxes +as a Famine Insurance Fund to other purposes. You must be +aware that this special Famine Fund has all been spent on frontier +roads and defences and strategic railway schemes as a protection +against Russia." + +"But there was never a special famine fund raised by special +taxation and put by as in a box. No sane administrator would +dream of such a thing. In a time of prosperity a finance minister, +rejoicing in a margin, proposed to annually apply a million and a +half to the construction of railways and canals for the protection of +districts liable to scarcity, and to the reduction of the annual loans +for public works. But times were not always prosperous, and the +finance minister had to choose whether be would bang up the +insurance scheme for a year or impose fresh taxation. When a +farmer hasn't got the little surplus he hoped to have for buying a +new wagon and draining a low-lying field corner, you don't accuse +him of malversation, if he spends what he has on the necessary +work of the rest of his farm." + +A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, +but his brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. + +"HelIn, Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on +Tuesday: we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab +Bokbar team." + +Orde explained that he had to go out into the District, and while +the visitor complained that though good men wouldn't play, duffers +were always keen, and that his side would probalny be beaten, +Pagett rose to look at his mount, a red, lathered Biloch mare, with +a curious lyre-like incurving of the ears. "Quite a little +thoroughbred in all other respects," said the M.P., and Orde +presented Mr. Reginald Burke, Manager of the Siad and Sialkote +Bank to his friend. + +"Yes, she's as good as they make 'em, and she's all the female I +possess and spoiled in consequence, aren't you, old girl?" said +Burke, patting the mare's glossy neck as she backed and plunged. + +"Mr. Pagett," said Orde, "has been asking me about the Congress. +What is your opinion?" Burke turned to the M. P. with a frank +smile. + +"Well, if it's all the same to you, sir, I should say, Damn the +Congress, but then I'm no politician, but only a business man." + +"You find it a tiresome subject?" + +"Yes, it's all that, and worse than +that, for this kind of agitation is anything but wholesome for the +country." + +"How do you mean?" + +"It would be a long job to explain, and Sara here won't stand, but +you know how sensitive capital is, and how timid investors are. +All this sort of rot is likely to frighten them, and we can't afford to +frighten them. The passengers aboard an Ocean steamer don't feel +reassured when the ship's way is stopped, and they hear the +workmen's hammers tinkering at the engines down below. The old +Ark's going on all right as she is, and only wants quiet and room to +move. Them's my sentiments, and those of some other people who +have to do with money and business." + +"Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it +is." + +"Why, no! The Indian Government is much too timid with its +money-like an old maiden aunt of mine-always in a funk about her +investments. They don't spend half enough on railways for +instance, and they are slow in a general way, and ought to be made +to sit up in all that concerns the encouragement of private +enterprise, and coaxing out into use the millions of capital that lie +dormant in the country." + +The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently +anxious to be off, so the men wished him good-bye. + +"Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and +Government in a breath?" asked Pagett, with an amused smile. + +"Just now he is Reggie Burke, keener on polo than on anything +else, but if you go to the Sind and Sialkote Bank to-morrow you +would find Mr. Reginald Burke a very capable man of business, +known and liked by an immense constituency North and South of +this." + +"Do you think he is right about the Government's want of +enterpnse?" + +"I should hesitate to say. Better consult the merchants and +chambers of commerce in Cawnpore, Madras, Bombay, and +Calcutta. But though these bodies would like, as Reggie puts it, to +make Government sit up, it is an elementary consideration in +governing a country like India, which must be administered for the +benefit of the people at large, that the counsels of those who resort +to it for the sake of making money should be judiciously weighed +and not allowed to overpower the rest. They are welcome guests +here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best to restrain +their influence. Thus the rights of plantation laborers, factory +operatives, and the like, have been protected, and the capitalist, +eager to get on, has not always regarded Government action with +favor. It is quite conceivable that under an elective system the +commercial communities of the great towns might find means to +secure majorities on labor questions and on financial matters." + +"They would act at least with intelligence and consideration." + +"Intelligence, yes; but as to consideration, who at the present +moment most bitterly resents the tender solicitude of Lancashire +for the welfare and protection of the Indian factory operative? +English and native capitalists running cotton mills and factories." + +"But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely +disinterested?" + +"It is no business of mine to say. I merely indicate an example of +how a powerful commercial interest might hamper a +Government intent in the first place on the larger interests of +humanity." + +Orde broke off to listen a moment. "There's Dr. Lathrop talking to +my wife in the drawing-room," said he. + +"Surely not; that's a lady's voice, and if my ears don't deceive me, +an American." + +"Exactly, Dr. Eva McCreery Lathrop, chief of the new Women's +Hospital here, and a very good fellow forbye. Good-morning, +Doctor," he said, as a graceful figure came out on the veranda, +"you seem to be in trouble. I hope Mrs. Orde was able to help +you." + +"Your wife is real kind and good, ] always come to her when I'm in +a fix but I fear it's more than comforting I want." + +"You work too hard and wear yourself out," said Orde, kindly. +"Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Pagett, just fresh from home, and +anxious to learn his India. You could tell him something of that +more important half of which a mere man knows so little." + +"Perhaps I could if I'd any heart to do it, but I'm in trouble, I've lost +a case, a case that was doing well, through nothing in the world +but inattention on the part of a nurse I had begun to trust. And +when I spoke only a small piece of my mind she collapsed in a +whining heap on the floor. It is hopeless." + +The men were silent, for the blue eyes of the lady doctor were dim. +Recovering herself she looked up with a smile, half sad, half +humorous, "And I am in a whining heap, too; but what phase of +Indian life are you particularly interested in, sir?" + +"Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the +possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people." + +"Wouldn't it be as much to the purpose to bestow point-lace collars +on them? They need many things more urgently than votes. Why +it's like giving a bread-pill for a broken leg." + +"Er-I don't quite follow," said Pagett, uneasily. + +"Well, what's the matter with this country is not in the least +political, but an all round entanglement of physical, social, and +moral evils and corruptions, all more or less due to the unnatural +treatment of women. You can't gather figs from thistles, and so +long as the system of infant marriage, the prohibition of the +remarriage of widows, the lifelong imprisonment of wives and +mothers in a worse than penal confinement, and the withholding +from them of any kind of education or treatment as rational beings +continues, the country can't advance a step. Half of it is morally +dead, and worse than dead, and that's just the half from which we +have a right to look for the best impulses. It's right here where +the trouble is, and not in any political considerations whatsoever." + +"But do they marry so early?" said Pagett, vaguely. + +"The average age is seven, but thousands are married still earlier. +One result is that girls of twelve and thirteen have to bear the +burden of wifehood and motherhood, and, as might be expected, +the rate of mortality both for mothers and children is terrible. +Pauperism, domestic unhappiness, and a low state of health are +only a few of the consequences of this. Then, when, as frequently +happens, the boy-husband dies prematurely, his widow is +condemned to worse than death. She may not re-marry, must live +a secluded and despised life, a life so unnatural that she sometimes +prefers suicide; more often she goes astray. You don't know in +England what such words as 'infant-marriage, baby-wife, +girl-mother, and virgin-widow' mean; but they mean unspeakable +horrors here." + +"Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it +their business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones," +said Pagett. + +"Very surely they will do no such thing," said the lady doctor, +emphatically. "I wish I could make you understand. Why, even of +the funds devoted to the Marchioness of Dufferin's organization +for medical aid to the women of India, it was said in print and in +speech, that they would be better spent on more college +scholarships for men. And in all the advanced parties' talk-God +forgive them--and in all their programmes, they carefully avoid all +such subjects. They will talk about the protection of the cow, for +that's an ancient superstition--they can all understand that; but the +protection of the women is a new and dangerous idea." She turned +to Pagett impulsively: + +"You are a member of the English Parliament. Can you do +nothing? The foundations of their life are rotten-utterly and +bestially rotten. I could tell your wife things that I couldn't tell +you. I know the life--the inner life that belongs to the native, and I +know nothing else; and believe me you might as well try to grow +golden-rod in a mushroom-pit as to make anything of a people that +are born and reared as these --these things're. The men talk of +their rights and privileges. I have seen the women that bear these +very men, and again-may God forgive the men!" + +Pagett's eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose +tempestuously. + +"I must be off to lecture," said she, "and I'm sorry that I can't show +you my hospitals; but you had better believe, sir, that it's more +necessary for India than all the elections in creation." + +"That's a woman with a mission, and no mistake," said Pagett, after +a pause. + +"Yes; she believes in her work, and so do I," said Orde. "I've a +notion that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work +done for India in this generation was wrought by Lady Dufferin in +drawing attention-what work that was, by the way, even with her +husband's great name to back it to the needs of women here. In +effect, native habits and beliefs are an organized conspiracy +against the laws of health and happy life--but there is some +dawning of hope now." + +"How d' you account for the general indifferencc, then?" + +"I suppose it's due in part to their fatalism and their utter +indifference to all human suffering. How much do you imagine the +great province of the Pun-jab with over twenty million people and +half a score rich towns has contributed to the maintenance of civil +dispensaries last year? About seven thousand rupees." + +"That's seven hundred pounds," said Pagett, quickly. + +"I wish it was," replied Orde; "but anyway, it's an absurdly +inadequate sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental +character." + +Pagett was silent for a long time. The question of direct and +personal pain did not lie within his researches. He pre ferred to +discuss the weightier matters of the law, and contented himself +with murmuring: "They'll do better later on." Then, with a rush, +returning to his first thought: + +"But, my dear Orde, if it's merely a class movement of a local and +temporary character, how d' you account for Bradlaugh, who is at +least a man of sense taking it up?" + +"I know nothing of the champion of the New Brahmins but what I +see in the papers. I suppose there is something tempting in being +hailed by a large assemblage as the representative of the +aspirations of two hundred and fifty millions of people. Such a +man looks 'through all the roaring and the wreaths,' and does not +reflect that it is a false perspective, which, as a matter of fact, +hides the real complex and manifold India from his gaze. He can +scarcely be expected to distinguish between the ambitions of a new +oligarchy and the real wants of the people of whom he knows +nothing. But it's strange that a professed Radical should come to be +the chosen advocate of a movement which has for its aim the +revival of an ancient tyranny. Shows how even Radicalism can +fall into academic grooves and miss the essential truths of its own +creed. Believe me, Pagett, to deal with India you want first-hand +knowledge and experience. I wish he would come and live here +for a couple of years or so." + +"Is not this rather an ad hminem style of argument?" + +"Can't help it in a case like this. Indeed, I am not sure you ought +not to go further and weigh the whole character and quality and +upbringing of the man. You must admit that the monumental +complacency with which he trotted out his ingenious little +Constitution for India showed a strange want of imagination and +the sense of humor." + +"No, I don't quite admit it," said Pagett. + +"Well, you know him and I don't, but that's how it strikes a +stranger." He turned on his heel and paced the veranda +thoughtfully. "And, after all, the burden of the actual, daily +unromantic toil falls on the shoulders of the men out here, and not +on his own. He enjoys all the privileges of recommendation +without responsibility, and we-well, perhaps, when you've seen a +little more of India you'll understand. To begin with, our death +rate's five times higher than yours-I speak now for the brutal +bureaucrat--and we work on the refuse of worked-out cities and +exhausted civilizations, among the bones of the dead." + +Pagett laughed. "That's an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde." + +"Is it? Let's see," said the Deputy Commissioner of Amara, +striding into the sunshine toward a half-naked gardener potting +roses. He took the man's hoe, and went to a rain-scarped bank at +the bottom of the garden. + +"Come here, Pagett," he said, and cut at the sun-baked soil. After +three strokes there rolled from under the blade of the hoe the half +of a clanking skeleton that settled at Pagett's feet in an unseemly +jumble of bones. The M.P. drew back. + +"Our houses are built on cemeteries," said Orde. "There are scores +of thousands of graves within ten miles." + +Pagett was contemplating the skull with the awed fascination of a +man who has but little to do with the dead. "India's a very curious +place," said he, after a pause. + +"Ah? You'll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch," +said Orde. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling + diff --git a/old/undeo10.zip b/old/undeo10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..56fe170 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/undeo10.zip |