diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/undeo10.txt | 5662 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/undeo10.zip | bin | 0 -> 101959 bytes |
2 files changed, 5662 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/undeo10.txt b/old/undeo10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7870de6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/undeo10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5662 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling +#19 in our series by Rudyard Kipling + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + +*It must legally be the first thing seen when opening the book.* +In fact, our legal advisors said we can't even change margins. + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Title: Under the Deodars + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +September, 2001 [Etext #2828] +[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule] + +The Project Gutenberg Etext Under the Deodars, by Rudyard Kipling +*******This file should be named undeo10.txt or undeo10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, undeo11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, undeo10a.txt + +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. + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any +of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text +files per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly +from Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an +assortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few +more years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we +don't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person. + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> +hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org +if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if +it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . + +We would prefer to send you this information by email. + +****** + +To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser +to view http://promo.net/pg. This site lists Etexts by +author and by title, and includes information about how +to get involved with Project Gutenberg. You could also +download our past Newsletters, or subscribe here. This +is one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com, +for a more complete list of our various sites. + +To go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any +Web browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror +sites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed +at http://promo.net/pg). + +Mac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better. + +Example FTP session: + +ftp metalab.unc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext01, etc. +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + +*** + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** + +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +We are planning on making some changes in our donation structure +in 2000, so you might want to email me, hart@pobox.com beforehand. + + + + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! 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 attach‚s 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, ˆ 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' dƒk 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 dƒk 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 entiŠre + +Le r‚giment n'a pas r'paru. + +Au MinistŠre de la Guerre + +On le r'porta comme perdu. + +On se r'noncait … rtrouver sa trace, + +Quand un matin subitement, + +On le vit r'paraŒtre 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 +supplŠment 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?' + +'Tˆte-fˆl‚e,' 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 |