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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:20:00 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2876-0.txt b/2876-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4f3fbc --- /dev/null +++ b/2876-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9335 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Light that Failed, by Rudyard Kipling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Light that Failed + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Release Date: October, 2001 [eBook #2876] +[Most recently updated: February 1, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Reed, and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Light that Failed + +by Rudyard Kipling + + +Contents + + DEDICATION + PREFACE + CHAPTER I + CHAPTER II + CHAPTER III + CHAPTER IV + CHAPTER V + CHAPTER VI + CHAPTER VII + CHAPTER VIII + CHAPTER IX + CHAPTER X + CHAPTER XI + CHAPTER XII + CHAPTER XIII + CHAPTER XIV + CHAPTER XV + + + + +DEDICATION + + +If I were hanged on the highest hill, + _Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!_ +I know whose love would follow me still, + _Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!_ + +If I were drowned in the deepest sea, + _Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!_ +I know whose tears would come down to me, + _Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!_ + +If I were damned of body and soul, +I know whose prayers would make me whole, + _Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +This is the story of _The Light that Failed_ as it was originally +conceived by the writer. + +RUDYARD KIPLING + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +So we settled it all when the storm was done + As comf’y as comf’y could be; +And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, + Because I was only three; +And Teddy would run to the rainbow’s foot, + Because he was five and a man; +And that’s how it all began, my dears, + And that’s how it all began. + +—_Big Barn Stories_. + + +“What do you think she’d do if she caught us? We oughtn’t to have it, +you know,” said Maisie. + +“Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,” Dick answered, without +hesitation. “Have you got the cartridges?” + +“Yes; they’re in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire +cartridges go off of their own accord?” + +“Don’t know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry +them.” + +“I’m _not_ afraid.” Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket +and her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver. + +The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable +without pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick +had saved seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly +constructed Belgian revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown +to the syndicate for the purchase of a hundred cartridges. “You can +save better than I can, Dick,” she explained; “I like nice things to +eat, and it doesn’t matter to you. Besides, boys ought to do these +things.” + +Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the +purchase, which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers +did not lie in the scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by +the guardian who was incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a +mother to these two orphans. Dick had been under her care for six +years, during which time she had made her profit of the allowances +supposed to be expended on his clothes, and, partly through +thoughtlessness, partly through a natural desire to pain,—she was a +widow of some years anxious to marry again,—had made his days +burdensome on his young shoulders. + +Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then +hate. + +Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him +ridicule. The many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her +small house she devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick +Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in the main by her own intelligence +and a keen study of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. +At such times as she herself was not personally displeased with Dick, +she left him to understand that he had a heavy account to settle with +his Creator; wherefore Dick learned to loathe his God as intensely as +he loathed Mrs. Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for +the young. Since she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, when dread +of pain drove him to his first untruth, he naturally developed into a +liar, but an economical and self-contained one, never throwing away the +least unnecessary fib, and never hesitating at the blackest, were it +only plausible, that might make his life a little easier. The treatment +taught him at least the power of living alone,—a power that was of +service to him when he went to a public school and the boys laughed at +his clothes, which were poor in quality and much mended. In the +holidays he returned to the teachings of Mrs. Jennett, and, that the +chain of discipline might not be weakened by association with the +world, was generally beaten, on one account or another, before he had +been twelve hours under her roof. + +The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a +long-haired, gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who +moved about the house silently and for the first few weeks spoke only +to the goat that was her chiefest friend on earth and lived in the +back-garden. Mrs. Jennett objected to the goat on the grounds that he +was un-Christian,—which he certainly was. “Then,” said the atom, +choosing her words very deliberately, “I shall write to my +lawyer-peoples and tell them that you are a very bad woman. Amomma is +mine, mine, mine!” Mrs. Jennett made a movement to the hall, where +certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. The atom understood as +clearly as Dick what this meant. “I have been beaten before,” she said, +still in the same passionless voice; “I have been beaten worse than you +can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and +tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. I am not afraid of +you.” Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the atom, after a +pause to assure herself that all danger of war was past, went out, to +weep bitterly on Amomma’s neck. + +Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her +profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small +liberty of action left to him. She did not, however; and she +volunteered no friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long +before the holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in +common drove the children together, if it were only to play into each +other’s hands as they prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett’s use. When Dick +returned to school, Maisie whispered, “Now I shall be all alone to take +care of myself; but,” and she nodded her head bravely, “I can do it. +You promised to send Amomma a grass collar. Send it soon.” A week later +she asked for that collar by return of post, and was not pleased when +she learned that it took time to make. When at last Dick forwarded the +gift, she forgot to thank him for it. + +Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into +a lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not +for a moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the +average canings of a public school—Dick fell under punishment about +three times a month—filled him with contempt for her powers. “She +doesn’t hurt,” he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, “and +she is kinder to you after she has whacked me.” Dick shambled through +the days unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the +school learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit +them, cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than +once try to tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. “We +are both miserable as it is,” said she. “What is the use of trying to +make things worse? Let’s find things to do, and forget things.” + +The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the +muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and +pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out +nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, +touched by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was +late in the afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, +Amomma trotting patiently behind them. + +“Mf!” said Maisie, sniffing the air. “I wonder what makes the sea so +smelly? I don’t like it!” + +“You never like anything that isn’t made just for you,” said Dick +bluntly. “Give me the cartridges, and I’ll try first shot. How far does +one of these little revolvers carry?” + +“Oh, half a mile,” said Maisie, promptly. “At least it makes an awful +noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don’t like those jagged +stick-up things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.” + +“All right. I know how to load. I’ll fire at the breakwater out there.” + +He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of +mud to the right of the wood-wreathed piles. + +“Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it’s loaded all +round.” + +Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, +her hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. + +Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very +cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon +walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations +with his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went. + +“I think it hit the post,” she said, shading her eyes and looking out +across the sailless sea. + +“I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,” said Dick, with a +chuckle. “Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you’ll get it. Oh, +look at Amomma!—he’s eating the cartridges!” + +Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma +scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is +sacred to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, +Amomma had naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie +hurried up to assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale. + +“Yes, he’s eaten two.” + +“Horrid little beast! Then they’ll joggle about inside him and blow up, +and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?” + +Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could +not explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated +her from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off +in his face. Then she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees +beside him, crying, “Dick, you aren’t hurt, are you? I didn’t mean it.” + +“Of course you didn’t, said Dick, coming out of the smoke and wiping +his cheek. “But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings +awfully.” A neat little splash of gray lead on a stone showed where the +bullet had gone. Maisie began to whimper. + +“Don’t,” said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. “I’m not a +bit hurt.” + +“No, but I might have killed you,” protested Maisie, the corners of her +mouth drooping. “What should I have done then?” + +“Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.” Dick grinned at the thought; then, +softening, “Please don’t worry about it. Besides, we are wasting time. + +We’ve got to get back to tea. I’ll take the revolver for a bit.” + +Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick’s +indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol, +restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically +bombarded the breakwater. “Got it at last!” he exclaimed, as a lock of +weed flew from the wood. + +“Let me try,” said Maisie, imperiously. “I’m all right now.” + +They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook +itself to pieces, and Amomma the outcast—because he might blow up at +any moment—browsed in the background and wondered why stones were +thrown at him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool +which was commanded by the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat +down together before this new target. + +“Next holidays,” said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver +kicked wildly in his hand, “we’ll get another pistol,—central +fire,—that will carry farther.” + +“There won’t be any next holidays for me,” said Maisie. “I’m going +away.” + +“Where to?” + +“I don’t know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and I’ve got to +be educated somewhere,—in France, perhaps,—I don’t know where; but I +shall be glad to go away.” + +“I shan’t like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, Maisie, +is it really true you’re going? Then these holidays will be the last I +shall see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I wish——” + +The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking +grass-tufts and throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy +nodding all by itself to the illimitable levels of the mud-flats and +the milk-white sea beyond. + +“I wish,” she said, after a pause, “that I could see you again +sometime. + +You wish that, too?” + +“Yes, but it would have been better if—if—you had—shot straight over +there—down by the breakwater.” + +Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy who +only ten days before had decorated Amomma’s horns with cut-paper +ham-frills and turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public +ways! Then she dropped her eyes: this was not the boy. + +“Don’t be stupid,” she said reprovingly, and with swift instinct +attacked the side-issue. “How selfish you are! Just think what I should +have felt if that horrid thing had killed you! I’m quite miserable +enough already.” + +“Why? Because you’re going away from Mrs. Jennett?” + +“No.” + +“From me, then?” + +No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though +he did not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this +the more acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in +words. + +“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it is.” + +“Maisie, you must know. _I’m_ not supposing.” + +“Let’s go home,” said Maisie, weakly. + +But Dick was not minded to retreat. + +“I can’t say things,” he pleaded, “and I’m awfully sorry for teasing +you about Amomma the other day. It’s all different now, Maisie, can’t +you see? And you might have told me that you were going, instead of +leaving me to find out.” + +“You didn’t. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what’s the use of worrying?” + +“There isn’t any; but we’ve been together years and years, and I didn’t +know how much I cared.” + +“I don’t believe you ever did care.” + +“No, I didn’t; but I do,—I care awfully now, Maisie,” he +gulped,—“Maisie, darling, say you care too, please.” + +“I do, indeed I do; but it won’t be any use.” + +“Why?” + +“Because I am going away.” + +“Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say—will you?” A second +“darling’ came to his lips more easily than the first. There were few +endearments in Dick’s home or school life; he had to find them by +instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of +the revolver. + +“I promise,” she said solemnly; “but if I care there is no need for +promising.” + +“And do you care?” For the first time in the past few minutes their +eyes met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech.... + +“Oh, Dick, don’t! Please don’t! It was all right when we said +good-morning; but now it’s all different!” Amomma looked on from afar. + +He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen +kisses exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its +head approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since +it was the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world +that either had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and +every one of them glorious, so that they were lifted above the +consideration of any worlds at all, especially those in which tea is +necessary, and sat still, holding each other’s hands and saying not a +word. + +“You can’t forget now,” said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek +that stung more than gunpowder. + +“I shouldn’t have forgotten anyhow,” said Maisie, and they looked at +each other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour +ago to a wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began +to set, and a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. + +“We shall be awfully late for tea,” said Maisie. “Let’s go home.” + +“Let’s use the rest of the cartridges first,” said Dick; and he helped +Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,—a descent that she was +quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took +the grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, +and Dick blushed. + +“It’s very pretty,” he said. + +“Pooh!” said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She stood +close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired +over the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was +protecting Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across +the mud caught the last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red +disc. The light held Dick’s attention for a moment, and as he raised +his revolver there fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in +that he was standing by Maisie who had promised to care for him for an +indefinite length of time till such date as—— A gust of the growing +wind drove the girl’s long black hair across his face as she stood with +her hand on his shoulder calling Amomma “a little beast,” and for a +moment he was in the dark,—a darkness that stung. The bullet went +singing out to the empty sea. + +“Spoilt my aim,” said he, shaking his head. “There aren’t any more +cartridges; we shall have to run home.” But they did not run. They +walked very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of indifference to +them whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges in his +inside blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden +heritage and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their +years. + +“And I shall be——” quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he checked himself: “I +don’t know what I shall be. I don’t seem to be able to pass any exams, +but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. Ho! Ho!” + +“Be an artist, then,” said Maisie. “You’re always laughing at my trying +to draw; and it will do you good.” + +“I’ll never laugh at anything you do,” he answered. “I’ll be an artist, +and I’ll do things.” + +“Artists always want money, don’t they?” + +“I’ve got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My guardians +tell me I’m to have it when I come of age. That will be enough to begin +with.” + +“Ah, I’m rich,” said Maisie. “I’ve got three hundred a year all my own +when I’m twenty-one. That’s why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than she +is to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody that belonged to +me,—just a father or a mother.” + +“You belong to me,” said Dick, “for ever and ever.” + +“Yes, we belong—for ever. It’s very nice.” She squeezed his arm. The +kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could only +just see the profile of Maisie’s cheek with the long lashes veiling the +gray eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had +been boggling over for the last two hours. + +“And I—love you, Maisie,” he said, in a whisper that seemed to him to +ring across the world,—the world that he would to-morrow or the next +day set out to conquer. + +There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, +when Mrs. Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful +unpunctuality, and secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden +weapon. + +“I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,” said Dick, when the +powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, “but if you think you’re +going to lick me you’re wrong. You are never going to touch me again. + +Sit down and give me my tea. You can’t cheat us out of that, anyhow.” + +Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but +encouraged Dick with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that +evening. Mrs. Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence +and a descent into Tophet later, but Dick walked in Paradise and would +not hear. Only when he was going to bed Mrs. Jennett recovered and +asserted herself. He had bidden Maisie good-night with down-dropped +eyes and from a distance. + +“If you aren’t a gentleman you might try to behave like one,” said Mrs. + +Jennett, spitefully. “You’ve been quarrelling with Maisie again.” + +This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, +white to the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of +indifference, and was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room +red as fire. That night he dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the +world and brought it to Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she turned it +over with her foot, and, instead of saying “Thank you,” cried—“Where is +the grass collar you promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are!” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew, +When we went to Kandahar, ridin’ two an’ two, + Ridin’, ridin’, ridin’, two an’ two, + Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, +All the way to Kandahar, ridin’ two an’ two. + +—_Barrack-Room Ballad_. + + +“I’m not angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few +thousand of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn’t be in such +a hurry to get at their morning papers then. Can’t you imagine the +regulation householder—Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, +Paterfamilias, and all that lot—frizzling on hot gravel?” + +“With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man +here a needle? I’ve got a piece of sugar-sack.” + +“I’ll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both +my knees are worn through.” + +“Why not six square acres, while you’re about it? But lend me the +needle, and I’ll see what I can do with the selvage. I don’t think +there’s enough to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. +What are you doing with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?” + +“Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,” said Dick, +gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn +riding-breeches and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the +most obvious open space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of +the void developed itself. + +“Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for +that whale-boat.” + +A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into +exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of +the tattered breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel +shirt, went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the +sketch. + +Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted with +English soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their +clothes. A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, and +flour- and small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the +whale-boats had been compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental +carpenter was swearing aloud as he tried, on a wholly insufficient +allowance of white lead, to plaster up the sun-parched gaping seams of +the boat herself. + +“First the bloomin’ rudder snaps,” said he to the world in general; +“then the mast goes; an’ then, s’ “help me, when she can’t do nothin’ +else, she opens ’erself out like a cock-eyes Chinese lotus.” + +“Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,” said the tailor, +without looking up. “Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop +again.” + +There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it +raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half a +mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would +drive the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent +of Nile mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next +few miles would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass. The +desert ran down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black +hillocks, a camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose +touch of the slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks +past, and throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. +Rapid had followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, +till the rank and file had long since lost all count of direction and +very nearly of time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, +to do something, they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and +at the other end of it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a +town called Khartoum. There were columns of British troops in the +desert, or in one of the many deserts; there were yet more columns +waiting to embark on the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at +Assioot and Assuan; there were lies and rumours running over the face +of the hopeless land from Suakin to the Sixth Cataract, and men +supposed generally that there must be some one in authority to direct +the general scheme of the many movements. The duty of that particular +river-column was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the water, to avoid +trampling on the villagers’ crops when the gangs “tracked’ the boats +with lines thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep and food as was +possible, and, above all, to press on without delay in the teeth of the +churning Nile. + +With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the +newspapers, and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But +it was above all things necessary that England at breakfast should be +amused and thrilled and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or +half the British army went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign +was a picturesque one, and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and +again a “Special’ managed to get slain,—which was not altogether a +disadvantage to the paper that employed him,—and more often the +hand-to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of miraculous escapes which +were worth telegraphing home at eighteenpence the word. There were many +correspondents with many corps and columns,—from the veterans who had +followed on the heels of the cavalry that occupied Cairo in ’82, what +time Arabi Pasha called himself king, who had seen the first miserable +work round Suakin when the sentries were cut up nightly and the scrub +swarmed with spears, to youngsters jerked into the business at the end +of a telegraph-wire to take the places of their betters killed or +invalided. + +Among the seniors—those who knew every shift and change in the +perplexing postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest +Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk +a telegraph-clerk into amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of a +newly appointed staff-officer when press regulations became +burdensome—was the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed +Torpenhow. He represented the Central Southern Syndicate in the +campaign, as he had represented it in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. +The syndicate did not concern itself greatly with criticisms of attack +and the like. It supplied the masses, and all it demanded was +picturesqueness and abundance of detail; for there is more joy in +England over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of square to +rescue a comrade than over twenty generals slaving even to baldness at +the gross details of transport and commissariat. + +He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently +abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of +shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain. + +“What are you for?” said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent +is that of the commercial traveller on the road. + +“My own hand,” said the young man, without looking up. “Have you any +tobacco?” + +Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked +at it said, “What’s your business here?” + +“Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I’m supposed to be doing +something down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I’m in +charge of the condenser on one of the water-ships. I’ve forgotten +which.” + +“You’ve cheek enough to build a redoubt with,” said Torpenhow, and took +stock of the new acquaintance. “Do you always draw like that?” + +The young man produced more sketches. “Row on a Chinese pig-boat,” said +he, sententiously, showing them one after another.—“Chief mate dirked +by a comprador.—Junk ashore off Hakodate.—Somali muleteer being +flogged.—Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.—Slave-dhow being +chased round Tajurrah Bah.—Soldier lying dead in the moonlight outside +Suakin.—throat cut by Fuzzies.” + +“H’m!” said Torpenhow, “can’t say I care for Verestchagin-and-water +myself, but there’s no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are +you?” + +“No. I’m amusing myself here.” + +Torpenhow looked at the aching desolation of the place. “Faith, you’ve +queer notions of amusement. Got any money?” + +“Enough to go on with. Look here: do you want me to do war-work?” + +“_I_ don’t. My syndicate may, though. You can draw more than a little, +and I don’t suppose you care much what you get, do you?” + +“Not this time. I want my chance first.” + +Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. “Yes, you’re right +to take your first chance when you can get it.” + +He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled +across the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, “Got man +here, picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do +letterpress with sketches.” + +The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, “I knew the +chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they’ll have to sweat for +it if I come through this business alive!” + +In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that the +Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying +expenses for three months. “And, by the way, what’s your name?” said +Torpenhow. + +“Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?” + +“They’ve taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. You’d better +stick to me. I’m going up-country with a column, and I’ll do what I can +for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I’ll send ’em +along.” To himself he said, “That’s the best bargain the Central +southern has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.” + +So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and +arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New and +Honourable Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the +inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much +for it as Providence and their owners shall please. To these things are +added in time, if the brother be worthy, the power of glib speech that +neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, +the eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a +bullock, the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability to +all circumstances. But many die before they attain to this degree, and +the past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes +when they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the +multitude. + +Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter’s fancy chose to lead him, +and between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost +satisfied themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its +influence the two were drawn very closely together, for they ate from +the same dish, they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie +of all, their mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make +gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second +Cataract, and, while the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed +himself of some laboriously acquired exclusive information, forwarded +by a confiding correspondent of an opposition syndicate, made a careful +duplicate of the matter, and brought the result to Torpenhow, who said +that all was fair in love or war correspondence, and built an excellent +descriptive article from his rival’s riotous waste of words. It was +Torpenhow who—but the tale of their adventures, together and apart, +from Philae to the waste wilderness of Herawi and Muella, would fill +many books. They had been penned into a square side by side, in deadly +fear of being shot by over-excited soldiers; they had fought with +baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had jogged along in silence +under blinding sun on indefatigable little Egyptian horses; and they +had floundered on the shallows of the Nile when the whale-boat in which +they had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock and rip out half her +bottom-planks. + +Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were +bringing up the remainder of the column. + +“Yes,” said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his +over-long-neglected gear, “it has been a beautiful business.” + +“The patch or the campaign?” said Dick. “Don’t think much of either, +myself.” + +“You want the _Euryalus_ brought up above the Third Cataract, don’t +you? and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, _I’m_ quite satisfied with +my breeches.” He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the +manner of a clown. + +“It’s very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. +Government Bullock Train. That’s a sack from India.” + +“It’s my initials,—Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on +purpose. + +What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?” Torpenhow shaded +his eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. + +A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms +and accoutrements. + +““Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,”’ remarked Dick, calmly. + +“D’you remember the picture? It’s by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy +it. That scrub’s alive with enemy.” + +The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and +a hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the +column had wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. +As swiftly as a reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the +rock-strewn ridges and scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with +armed men. + +Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout +and gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long +story. The camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a +little breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The +men on the sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they +toiled up within shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank +and emptied of all save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab +orator ceased his outcries, and his friends howled. + +“They look like the Mahdi’s men,” said Torpenhow, elbowing himself into +the crush of the square; “but what thousands of ’em there are! The +tribes hereabout aren’t against us, I know.” + +“Then the Mahdi’s taken another town,” said Dick, “and set all these +yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.” + +“Our scouts should have told us of this. We’ve been trapped,” said a +subaltern. “Aren’t the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you +men!” + +There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting +against the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that +whoso was left outside when the fighting began would very probably die +in an extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound +camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the +square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll of +rising ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and +there was no novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and +stifling formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike +rush of the enemy, the same pressure on the weakest side, the few +minutes of hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, +broken only by the yells of those whom their handful of cavalry +attempted to pursue. They had become careless. The camel-guns spoke at +intervals, and the square slouched forward amid the protesting of the +camels. Then came the attack of three thousand men who had not learned +from books that it is impossible for troops in close order to attack +against breech-loading fire. + +A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, +but the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed +with the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there +is always much war, told them that the right flank of the square was +the weakest, for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled +them as they passed and opened for an instant lanes through their +midst, most like those quick-closing vistas in a Kentish hop-garden +seen when the train races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held +till the opportune moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No +civilised troops in the world could have endured the hell through which +they came, the living leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at +their heels, the wounded cursing and staggering forward, till they +fell—a torrent black as the sliding water above a mill-dam—full on the +right flank of the square. + +Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky +overhead went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated +ground and the tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing +interest, for men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these +things, counting mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen +pebble and branch. There was no semblance of any concerted fighting. +For aught the men knew, the enemy might be attempting all four sides of +the square at once. Their business was to destroy what lay in front of +them, to bayonet in the back those who passed over them, and, dying, to +drag down the slayer till he could be knocked on the head by some +avenging gun-butt. + +Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew +unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack +was repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest +side of the square. There was a rush from without, the short +_hough-hough_ of the stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by +thirty or forty others, dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right +flank of the square sucked in after them, and the other sides sent +help. The wounded, who knew that they had but a few hours more to live, +caught at the enemy’s feet and brought them down, or, staggering into a +discarded rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the +centre of the square. + +Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his +helmet, that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face +which forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that +Torpenhow had gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to “collar +low,” and was turning over and over with his captive, feeling for the +man’s eyes. The doctor jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a +helmetless soldier fired over Dick’s shoulder: the flying grains of +powder stung his cheek. It was to Torpenhow that Dick turned by +instinct. The representative of the Central Southern Syndicate had +shaken himself clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his thumb on his +trousers. The Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then +snatched up his spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting under +shelter of Dick’s revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped +limply. His upturned face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, +but cheers mingled with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were +flying. If the heart of the square were shambles, the ground beyond was +a butcher’s shop. Dick thrust his way forward between the maddened men. +The remnant of the enemy were retiring, as the few—the very few—English +cavalry rode down the laggards. + +Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast +aside in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again +the illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and +turned it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, “Ah, get +away, you brute!” Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the +desert. His eye was held by the red splash in the distance, and the +clamour about him seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like +the whisper of a level sea. There was the revolver and the red +light.... and the voice of some one scaring something away, exactly as +had fallen somewhere before,—a darkness that stung. He fired at random, +and the bullet went out across the desert as he muttered, “Spoilt my +aim. There aren’t any more cartridges. We shall have to run home.” He +put his hand to his head and brought it away covered with blood. + +“Old man, you’re cut rather badly,” said Torpenhow. “I owe you +something for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can’t be ill +here.” + +Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, +a black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and +shouted that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,—was dead,—was +dead,—that two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, +and that of all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was +dead,—was dead,—was dead! + +But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to +the restless Nile for Maisie,—and again Maisie! + +“Behold a phenomenon,” said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. “Here +is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman only. +And I’ve seen a good deal of delirium, too.—Dick, here’s some fizzy +drink.” + +“Thank you, Maisie,” said Dick. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +So he thinks he shall take to the sea again + For one more cruise with his buccaneers, +To singe the beard of the King of Spain, +And capture another Dean of Jaen + And sell him in Algiers.—_A Dutch Picture_.—Longfellow + + +The Soudan campaign and Dick’s broken head had been some months ended +and mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain +sum on account for work done, which work they were careful to assure +him was not altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter +into the Nile at Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a +warm farewell to Torpenhow at the station. + +“I am going to lie up for a while and rest,” said Torpenhow. “I don’t +know where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we +shall meet. Are you staying here on the off-chance of another row? +There will be none till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our +troops. Mark that. Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money’s +spent; and give me your address.” + +Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,—especially +Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in +all, but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the +vices in all the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the +heart of that sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long +above the Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and +women you have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters +more riotous than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and +boarded many ships, and saw very many friends,—gracious Englishwomen +with whom he had talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd’s +Hotel, hurrying war correspondents, skippers of the contract +troop-ships employed in the campaign, army officers by the score, and +others of less reputable trades. + +He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and +the advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong +excitement, at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and +elsewhere. For recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, +the blazing sands, the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals +where the English soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and +white and colour all that Providence sent him, and when that supply was +ended sought about for fresh material. It was a fascinating employment, +but it ran away with his money, and he had drawn in advance the hundred +and twenty pounds to which he was entitled yearly. “Now I shall have to +work and starve!” thought he, and was addressing himself to this new +fate when a mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, +which said, “Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.” + +A large smile overspread his face. “So soon! that’s a good hearing,” +said he to himself. “There will be an orgy to-night. I’ll stand or fall +by my luck. Faith, it’s time it came!” He deposited half of his funds +in the hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and +ordered himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was +shaking with drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically—“Monsieur needs a +chair, of course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses +himself strangely.” + +Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. “I +understand,” he quavered. “We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, +as I have been.” Dick nodded. “In the end,” said Binat, with gravity, +“Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.” And he +laughed. + +“You must come to the dance, too,” said Dick; “I shall want you.” + +“For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my +degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. Or +at least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.” The excellent Binat +began to kick and scream. + +“All things are for sale in Port Said,” said Madame. “If my husband +comes it will be so much more. Eh, “how you call—’alf a sovereign.” + +The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled +courtyard at the back of Madame Binat’s house. The lady herself, in +faded mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, +played the piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked +Zanzibari girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat +sat upon a chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl +of the dance and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink +that took the place of blood in his veins, and his face glistened. Dick +took him by the chin brutally and turned that face to the light. Madame +Binat looked over her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned +against the wall and sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps +began to smell, and the girls threw themselves panting on the +hard-beaten ground. Then he shut his book with a snap and moved away, +Binat plucking feebly at his elbow. “Show me,” he whimpered. “I too was +once an artist, even I!” Dick showed him the rough sketch. “Am I that?” +he screamed. “Will you take that away with you and show all the world +that it is I,—Binat?” He moaned and wept. + +“Monsieur has paid for all,” said Madame. “To the pleasure of seeing +Monsieur again.” + +The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the +nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. “If the luck holds, +it’s an omen; if I lose, I must stay here.” He placed his money +picturesquely about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. +The luck held. + +Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went +down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed +cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket +than he cared to think about. + +A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for +summer was in England. + +“It’s a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn’t the knack of altering much,” +Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. “Now, what must I +do?” + +The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless +streets and at the appalling rush of traffic. “Oh, you rabbit-hutches!” +said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached +residences. “Do you know what you’ve got to do later on? You have to +supply me with men-servants and maid-servants,”—here he smacked his +lips,—“and the peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I’ll find clothes +and boots, and presently I will return and trample on you.” He stepped +forward energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the +side. As he stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the +gutter. “All right,” he said. + +“That’s another nick in the score. I’ll jostle you later on.” + +Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with +the certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with +only fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the +Docks, and lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were +almost audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go +to bed at all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern +Syndicate for Torpenhow’s address, and got it, with the intimation that +there was still some money waiting for him. + +“How much?” said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. + +“Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to +you, of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle +accounts monthly.” + +“If I show that I want anything now, I’m lost,” he said to himself. +“All I need I’ll take later on.” Then, aloud, “It’s hardly worth while; +and I’m going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, +and I’ll see about it.” + +“But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your +connection with us?” + +Dick’s business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the +speaker keenly. “That man means something,” he said. “I’ll do no +business till I’ve seen Torpenhow. There’s a big deal coming.” So he +departed, making no promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And +that day was the seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with +awful distinctness, had thirty-one days in it! + +It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to +exist for twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to +begin the experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid +seven shillings a week for his lodging, which left him rather less than +a shilling a day for food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase was +of the materials of his craft; he had been without them too long. Half +a day’s investigations and comparison brought him to the conclusion +that sausages and mashed potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best +food. Now, sausages once or twice a week for breakfast are not +unpleasant. As lunch, even, with mashed potatoes, they become +monotonous. At dinner they are impertinent. At the end of three days +Dick loathed sausages, and, going forth, pawned his watch to revel on +sheep’s head, which is not as cheap as it looks, owing to the bones and +the gravy. Then he returned to sausages and mashed potatoes. Then he +confined himself entirely to mashed potatoes for a day, and was unhappy +because of pain in his inside. Then he pawned his waistcoat and his +tie, and thought regretfully of money thrown away in times past. There +are few things more edifying unto Art than the actual belly-pinch of +hunger, and Dick in his few walks abroad,—he did not care for exercise; +it raised desires that could not be satisfied—found himself dividing +mankind into two classes,—those who looked as if they might give him +something to eat, and those who looked otherwise. “I never knew what I +had to learn about the human face before,” he thought; and, as a reward +for his humility, Providence caused a cab-driver at a sausage-shop +where Dick fed that night to leave half eaten a great chunk of bread. +Dick took it,—would have fought all the world for its possession,—and +it cheered him. + +The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with +impatience, he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow’s +address and smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of +the chambers. Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his +room, to be received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs, as +Torpenhow dragged him to the light and spoke of twenty different things +in the same breath. + +“But you’re looking tucked up,” he concluded. + +“Got anything to eat?” said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. + +“I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?” + +“No, anything but sausages! Torp, I’ve been starving on that accursed +horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.” + +“Now, what lunacy has been your latest?” + +Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened +his coat; there was no waistcoat below. “I ran it fine, awfully fine, +but I’ve just scraped through.” + +“You haven’t much sense, but you’ve got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and +talk afterwards.” Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he +could gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked +as men smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco. + +“Ouf!” said he. “That’s heavenly! Well?” + +“Why in the world didn’t you come to me?” + +“Couldn’t; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of +superstition that this temporary starvation—that’s what it was, and it +hurt—would bring me luck later. It’s over and done with now, and none +of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What’s the exact +state of affairs as regards myself?” + +“You had my wire? You’ve caught on here. People like your work +immensely. I don’t know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh +touch and a new way of drawing things. And, because they’re chiefly +home-bred English, they say you have insight. You’re wanted by half a +dozen papers; you’re wanted to illustrate books.” + +Dick grunted scornfully. + +“You’re wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to the +dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment. + +Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?” + +“They’re a remarkably sensible people.” + +“They are subject to fits, if that’s what you mean; and you happen to +be the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what +they call Art. Just now you’re a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you +please. I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you +here, and I have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches +you gave me from time to time. Those coming after your work on the +Central Southern Syndicate appear to have done your business. You’re in +luck.” + +“Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about +the world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I’ll luck ’em later on. I +want a place to work first.” + +“Come here,” said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. “This place is a big +box room really, but it will do for you. There’s your skylight, or your +north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to +thrash about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?” + +“Good enough,” said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a +third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A +pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of +the place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three more +to Torpenhow’s room. The well of the staircase disappeared into +darkness, pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men +talking and doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom. + +“Do they give you a free hand here?” said Dick, cautiously. He was +Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty. + +“Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent +tenants for the most part here. ’Tisn’t a place I would recommend for a +Young Men’s Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these +rooms for you when I wired.” + +“You’re a great deal too kind, old man.” + +“You didn’t suppose you were going away from me, did you?” Torpenhow +put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and the two walked up and down the +room, henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent +communion. They heard rapping at Torpenhow’s door. “That’s some ruffian +come up for a drink,” said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. +There entered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged gentleman +in a satin-faced frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there +were deep pouches under the eyes. + +“Weak heart,” said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, “very weak +heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.” + +The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern +Syndicate and “one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr. +Heldar. I assure you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are +immensely indebted to you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won’t forget +that we were largely instrumental in bringing you before the public.” +He panted because of the seven flights of stairs. + +Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on +his cheek. + +“I shan’t forget,” said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him. + +“You’ve paid me so well that I couldn’t, you know. By the way, when I +am settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. +There must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.” + +“That is er—is what I came to speak about. I fear we can’t allow it +exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the +sketches are our property, of course.” + +“Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?” + +“Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to +assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name +and the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of +material service to you. Sketches such as yours——” + +“Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you +dared. You can’t mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they’re all +I’ve got in the world!” + +Torpenhow watched Dick’s face and whistled. + +Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock +in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of +his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught +aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for +which Dick had not the least reverence. The injustice of the +proceedings did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail +too often in other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of +right and wrong. + +But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, +and when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained +sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife. + +“Forgive me, sir, but you have no—no younger man who can arrange this +business with me?” + +“I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to——” + +“You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.” + +The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning +against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be +good enough to do things. + +“Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,” said Torpenhow, critically; +“but I’m afraid, I am very much afraid, you’ve struck the wrong man. Be +careful, Dick; remember, this isn’t the Soudan.” + +“Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your +name before the world——” + +This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant +years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The +memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed +to enjoy the fruit of those years. + +“I don’t know quite what to do with you,” began Dick, meditatively. “Of +course you’re a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your +case you’d probably die. I don’t want you dead on this floor, and, +besides, it’s unlucky just as one’s moving in. Don’t hit, sir; you’ll +only excite yourself.” + +He put one hand on the man’s forearm and ran the other down the plump +body beneath the coat. “My goodness!” said he to Torpenhow, “and this +gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have +the black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound +of wet dates, and _he_ was as tough as whipcord. This things’ soft all +over—like a woman.” + +There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by +a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to +breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a +soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches +underneath the eyes, and shook his head. “You were going to steal my +things,—mine, mine, mine!—you, who don’t know when you may die. Write a +note to your office,—you say you’re the head of it,—and order them to +give Torpenhow my sketches,—every one of them. Wait a minute: your +hand’s shaking. Now!” He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note was +written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick +walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice +as he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow +returned with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost +soothingly, “Now, I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry +me when I have settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for +assault, believe me, I’ll catch you and manhandle you, and you’ll die. +You haven’t very long to live, anyhow. Go! _Imshi, Vootsak_,—get out!” +The man departed, staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: “Phew! +what a lawless lot these people are! The first thing a poor orphan +meets is gang robbery, organised burglary! Think of the hideous +blackness of that man’s mind! Are my sketches all right, Torp?” + +“Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I _must_ say, Dick, +you’ve begun well.” + +“He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it +was everything to me. I don’t think he’ll bring an action. I gave him +some medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at +the little flurry it cost him. Now, let’s look at my things.” + +Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was +deep in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings +over and thought of the price at which they had been bought. + +The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw +Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. + +“I builded better than I knew, Torp,” he said, without stopping the +dance. + +“They’re good! They’re damned good! They’ll go like flame! I shall have +an exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man would have +cheated me out of it! Do you know that I’m sorry now that I didn’t +actually hit him?” + +“Go out,” said Torpenhow,—“go out and pray to be delivered from the sin +of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from +whatever place you’re staying in, and we’ll try to make this barn a +little more shipshape.” + +“And then—oh, then,” said Dick, still capering, “we will spoil the +Egyptians!” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, + When the smoke of the cooking hung gray: +He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn, + And he looked to his strength for his prey. + But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away. +And he turned from his meal in the villager’s close, +And he bayed to the moon as she rose. + +—_In Seonee_. + + +“Well, and how does success taste?” said Torpenhow, some three months +later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country. + +“Good,” said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the +studio. + +“I want more,—heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve of +these fat ones.” + +“Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.” + +Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep +on his chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, +and a lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose +from a wreck of oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, +belts, and regimental badges, and ended with a small bale of +second-hand uniforms and a stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet +on the dais showed that a military model had just gone away. The watery +autumn sunlight was falling, and shadows sat in the corners of the +studio. + +“Yes,” said Dick, deliberately, “I like the power; I like the fun; I +like the fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the people +who make the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they’re a queer +gang,—an amazingly queer gang!” + +“They have been good enough to you, at any rate. That tin-pot +exhibition of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers +called it the ‘Wild Work Show’?” + +“Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, +I believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone +artist. + +I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or +scratched them on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and +colour. Verily, they are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn’t the +word to describe ’em. I met a fellow the other day who told me that it +was impossible that shadows on white sand should be +blue,—ultramarine,—as they are. I found out, later, that the man had +been as far as Brighton beach; but he knew all about Art, confound him. +He gave me a lecture on it, and recommended me to go to school to learn +technique. I wonder what old Kami would have said to that.” + +“When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?” + +“I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal +magnetism. All he ever said was, ‘_Continuez, mes enfants_,’ and you +had to make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he +knew something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he +could never have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it +was good.” + +“Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?” said Torpenhow, with a +provoking drawl. + +Dick squirmed in his place. “Don’t! It makes me want to get out there +again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and +brick-red and sulphur—cockatoo-crest—sulphur—against brown, with a +nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a decorative +frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise sky.” He +began to walk up and down. “And yet, you know, if you try to give these +people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension and +according to the powers He has given you——” + +“Modest man! Go on.” + +“Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven’t even been to Algiers +will tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that +it isn’t Art. + +“’This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you’ve been +promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.” + +“I couldn’t help it,” said Dick, penitently. “You weren’t here, and it +was lonely these long evenings. A man can’t work for ever.” + +“A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.” + +“I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they +were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,—but they wouldn’t +draw. They gave me tea,—tea at five in the afternoon!—and talked about +Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. I’ve +heard more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than +in the whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for +some continental syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a +regular Christmas-tree of contraptions when he took the field in full +fig, with his water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, +gig-lamps, and the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with +’em and show us how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except +fudge his reports from the Nilghai. See?” + +“Dear old Nilghai! He’s in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up +here this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept +clear of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will +unsettle your mind.” + +“It won’t. It has taught me what Art—holy sacred Art—means.” + +“You’ve learnt something while I’ve been away. What is Art?” + +“Give ’em what they know, and when you’ve done it once do it again.” + +Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. “Here’s a sample +of real Art. It’s going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I +called it “His Last Shot.” It’s worked up from the little water-colour +I made outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful +rifleman, up here with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I +redrored him, and I made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled +scallawag, with his helmet at the back of his head, and the living fear +of death in his eye, and the blood oozing out of a cut over his +ankle-bone. He wasn’t pretty, but he was all soldier and very much +man.” + +“Once more, modest child!” + +Dick laughed. “Well, it’s only to you I’m talking. I did him just as +well as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then +the art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers +wouldn’t like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,—man being +naturally gentle when he’s fighting for his life. They wanted something +more restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, +but you might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my +“Last Shot” back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat +without a speck on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,—observe the +high light on the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,—rifles are +always clean on service,—because that is Art. + +I pipeclayed his helmet,—pipeclay is always used on active service, and +is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and +gave him an air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor’s +pattern-plate. Price, thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first +sketch, which was moderately decent.” + +“And do you suppose you’re going to give that thing out as your work?” + +“Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, +home-bred Art and _Dickenson’s Weekly_.” + +Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, +delivered from rolling clouds: “If you were only a mass of blathering +vanity, Dick, I wouldn’t mind,—I’d let you go to the deuce on your own +mahl-stick; but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find +that to vanity you add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a +twelve-year-old girl, then I bestir myself in your behalf. Thus!” + +The canvas ripped as Torpenhow’s booted foot shot through it, and the +terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. + +“If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue. + +You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take +liberties with his public, even though they be—which they ain’t—all you +say they are.” + +“But they don’t know any better. What can you expect from creatures +born and bred in this light?” Dick pointed to the yellow fog. “If they +want furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they +pay for it. + +They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.” + +“That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They +are the people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. +They are your masters. Don’t be deceived, Dickie, you aren’t strong +enough to trifle with them,—or with yourself, which is more important. + +Moreover,—Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn’t going anywhere,—unless +you take precious good care, you will fall under the damnation of the +check-book, and that’s worse than death. You will get drunk—you’re half +drunk already—on easily acquired money. For that money and your own +infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn out bad work. +You’ll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, Dickie, as I +love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut off +your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. That’s +settled. Now swear.” + +“Don’t know, said Dick. “I’ve been trying to make myself angry, but I +can’t, you’re so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on +_Dickenson’s Weekly_, I fancy.” + +“Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It’s slow +bleeding of power.” + +“It brings in the very desirable dollars,” said Dick, his hands in his +pockets. + +Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. “Why, I thought it was a +man!” said he. “It’s a child.” + +“No, it isn’t,” said Dick, wheeling quickly. “You’ve no notion what the +certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly. + +Nothing will pay me for some of my life’s joys; on that Chinese +pig-boat, for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, +because Ho-Wang wouldn’t allow us anything better, and it all tasted of +pig,—Chinese pig. I’ve worked for this, I’ve sweated and I’ve starved +for this, line on line and month after month. And now I’ve got it I am +going to make the most of it while it lasts. Let them pay—they’ve no +knowledge.” + +“What does Your Majesty please to want? You can’t smoke more than you +do; you won’t drink; you’re a gross feeder; and you dress in the dark, +by the look of you. You wouldn’t keep a horse the other day when I +suggested, because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you +cross the street you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to +suppose that theatres and all the live things you can buy thereabouts +mean Life. + +What earthly need have you for money?” + +“It’s there, bless its golden heart,” said Dick. “It’s there all the +time. + +Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack ’em with. I +haven’t yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I’m keeping my teeth +filed. + +Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide earth.” + +“With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? +You would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn’t go. I +don’t care to profit by the price of a man’s soul,—for that’s what it +would mean. + +Dick, it’s no use arguing. You’re a fool.” + +“Don’t see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got +credit for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, +when our old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking +those pigs as a parallel——” + +“Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you +always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren’t the +British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go out +for a walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the +Nilghai comes up this evening can I show him your diggings?” + +“Surely. You’ll be asking whether you must knock at my door, next.” And +Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly gathering +London fog. + +Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. +He was the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, +and his experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only +his ally, Keneu the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the +craft than he, and he always opened his conversation with the news that +there would be trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed +as he entered. + +“Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always +screeching. You’ve heard about Dick’s luck?” + +“Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn’t he? I hope you keep +him properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.” + +“He does. He’s beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his +reputation.” + +“Already! By Jove, he _has_ cheek! I don’t know about his reputation, +but he’ll come a cropper if he tries that sort of thing.” + +“So I told him. I don’t think he believes it.” + +“They never do when they first start off. What’s that wreck on the +ground there?” + +“Specimen of his latest impertinence.” Torpenhow thrust the torn edges +of the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the +Nilghai, who looked at it for a moment and whistled. + +“It’s a chromo,” said he,—“a chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What +possessed him to do it? And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note +that catches a public who think with their boots and read with their +elbows! The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost saves it; but he +mustn’t go on with this. Hasn’t he been praised and cockered up too +much? You know these people here have no sense of proportion. They’ll +call him a second Detaille and a third-hand Meissonier while his +fashion lasts. It’s windy diet for a colt.” + +“I don’t think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young +wolf a lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a +shin-bone. + +Dick’s soul is in the bank. He’s working for cash.” + +“Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn’t see that the +obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are +changed.” + +“How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.” + +“Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there’s any virtue in +print. He wants the whiplash.” + +“Lay it on with science, then. I’d flay him myself, but I like him too +much.” + +“I’ve no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a +woman at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.” + +“_Did_ he cut you out?” + +“You’ll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, what’s the +good? Leave him alone and he’ll come home, if he has any stuff in him, +dragging or wagging his tail behind him. There’s more in a week of life +than in a lively weekly. None the less I’ll slate him. I’ll slate him +ponderously in the _Cataclysm_.” + +“Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make +Dick wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across +him. + +He’s intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.” + +“Matter of temper,” said the Nilghai. “It’s the same with horses. Some +you wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and some you +wallop and they go out for a walk with their hands in their pockets.” + +“That’s exactly what Dick has done,” said Torpenhow. “Wait till he +comes back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating here. I’ll show +you some of his last and worst work in his studio.” + +Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood +of mind. He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of +the Thames through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by +thinking of Torpenhow’s advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the +study of the faces flocking past. Some had death written on their +features, and Dick marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and +coarse-built for the most part, were alight with love; others were +merely drawn and lined with work; but there was something, Dick knew, +to be made out of them all. The poor at least should suffer that he +might learn, and the rich should pay for the output of his learning. +Thus his credit in the world and his cash balance at the bank would be +increased. So much the better for him. He had suffered. Now he would +take toll of the ills of others. + +The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red +wafer, on the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of +the tide between the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low +tide. A girl hard pressed by her lover shouted shamelessly, “Ah, get +away, you beast!” and a shift of the same wind that had opened the fog +drove across Dick’s face the black smoke of a river-steamer at her +berth below the wall. He was blinded for the moment, then spun round +and found himself face to face with—Maisie. + +There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but +they had not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the +firmly modelled mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of +old, she wore a closely fitting gray dress. + +Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own +command, Dick, advancing, said “Halloo!” after the manner of +schoolboys, and Maisie answered, “Oh, Dick, is that you?” Then, against +his will, and before the brain newly released from considerations of +the cash balance had time to dictate to the nerves, every pulse of +Dick’s body throbbed furiously and his palate dried in his mouth. The +fog shut down again, and Maisie’s face was pearl-white through it. No +word was spoken, but Dick fell into step at her side, and the two paced +the Embankment together, keeping the step as perfectly as in their +afternoon excursions to the mud-flats. Then Dick, a little +hoarsely—“What has happened to Amomma?” + +“He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. +Isn’t it funny?” + +“Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?” + +“Ye—es. No. This. Where have you come from?” + +“Over there,” He pointed eastward through the fog. “And you?” + +“Oh, I’m in the north,—the black north, across all the Park. I am very +busy.” + +“What do you do?” + +“I paint a great deal. That’s all I have to do.” + +“Why, what’s happened? You had three hundred a year.” + +“I have that still. I am painting; that’s all.” + +“Are you alone, then?” + +“There’s a girl living with me. Don’t walk so fast, Dick; you’re out of +step.” + +“Then you noticed it too?” + +“Of course I did. You’re always out of step.” + +“So I am. I’m sorry. You went on with the painting?” + +“Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton’s +in_St. John’s Wood_, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,—I mean I +went to the National,—and now I’m working under Kami.” + +“But Kami is in Paris surely?” + +“No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in +the summer, and I live in London in the winter. I’m a householder.” + +“Do you sell much?” + +“Now and again, but not often. There is my “bus. I must take it or lose +half an hour. Good-bye, Dick.” + +“Good-bye, Maisie. Won’t you tell me where you live? I must see you +again; and perhaps I could help you. I—I paint a little myself.” + +“I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is no working light. I walk +from the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. +But of course I shall see you again.” She stepped into the omnibus and +was swallowed up by the fog. + +“Well—I—am—damned!” exclaimed Dick, and returned to the chambers. + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio +door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. + +“You’ll be more damned when I’m done with you,” said the Nilghai, +upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow’s shoulder and waving a sheaf +of half-dry manuscript. “Dick, it is of common report that you are +suffering from swelled head.” + +“Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little +Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.” + +“Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow +refuses from false delicacy. I’ve been overhauling the pot-boilers in +your studio. They are simply disgraceful.” + +“Oho! that’s it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you’re wrong. +You can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, +as a P. and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I’m going to +bed.” + +“H’m! h’m! h’m! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here’s +the peroration: “For work done without conviction, for power wasted on +trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate +purpose of winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven public——” +“That’s “His Last Shot,” second edition. Go on.” + +“——“public, there remains but one end,—the oblivion that is preceded by +toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. Heldar has +yet to prove himself out of danger.”’ + +“_Wow—wow—wow—wow—wow!_” said Dick, profanely. “It’s a clumsy ending +and vile journalese, but it’s quite true. And yet,”—he sprang to his +feet and snatched at the manuscript,—“you scarred, deboshed, battered +old gladiator! you’re sent out when a war begins, to minister to the +blind, brutal, British public’s bestial thirst for blood. They have no +arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You’re a fat +gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he’s seen. +You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an +affable actress, a devastating cyclone, or—mine own sweet self. And you +presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while +I’d caricature you in four papers!” + +The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. + +“As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small—so!” The +manuscript fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. “Go +home, Nilghai,” said Dick; “go home to your lonely little bed, and +leave me in peace. I am about to turn in till to-morrow.” + +“Why, it isn’t seven yet!” said Torpenhow, with amazement. + +“It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,” said Dick, backing to +the studio door. “I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan’t +want any dinner.” + +The door shut and was locked. + +“What can you do with a man like that?” said the Nilghai. + +“Leave him alone. He’s as mad as a hatter.” + +At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. “Is the Nilghai with +you still?” said a voice from within. “Then tell him he might have +condensed the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: “Only +the free are bond, and only the bond are free.” Tell him he’s an idiot, +Torp, and tell him I’m another.” + +“All right. Come out and have supper. You’re smoking on an empty +stomach.” + +There was no answer. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +“I have a thousand men,” said he, + “To wait upon my will, +And towers nine upon the Tyne, + And three upon the Till.” + +“And what care I for you men,” said she, + “Or towers from Tyne to Till, +Sith you must go with me,” she said, + “To wait upon my will?” + +_Sir Hoggie and the Fairies_ + + +Next morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco. + +“Well, madman, how d’you feel?” + +“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” + +“You had much better do some work.” + +“Maybe; but I’m in no hurry. I’ve made a discovery. Torp, there’s too +much Ego in my Cosmos.” + +“Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai’s?” + +“It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and +now I’m going to work.” + +He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, +cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, +rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went +out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day. + +“This is positively indecent,” said Torpenhow, “and the first time that +Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out that +he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally +valuable. + +That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going +out of evenings. I must look to this.” He rang for the bald-headed old +housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. + +“Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?” + +“Never laid ’is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly ’e +dined in; but ’e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up ’ere +after theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen +on the top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, +sir, droppin’ a walkin’-stick down five flights o’ stairs an’ then +goin’ down four abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the +mornin’, singin’, ‘Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin’,’—not once or +twice, but scores o’ times,—isn’t charity to the other tenants. What I +say is, ‘Do as you would be done by.’ That’s my motto.” + +“Of course! of course! I’m afraid the top floor isn’t the quietest in +the house.” + +“I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an’ he +laughed, an’ did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a +coloured print. It ’asn’t the ’igh shine of a photograph, but what I +say is, ‘Never look a gift-horse in the mouth.’ Mr. Heldar’s +dress-clothes ’aven’t been on him for weeks.” + +“Then it’s all right,” said Torpenhow to himself. “Orgies are healthy, +and Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making eyes +I’m not so certain,—Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums. +They’re contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason.” + +Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the +spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered +the day when he had decked Amomma’s horns with the ham-frills, and +Maisie, white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years +seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour +of them! Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, +sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward +race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie +sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before the +wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot +about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to +Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie +picking her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand +and her teeth firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the grass +between the mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The +pictures passed before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest. + +Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind +as it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that +there might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park +in the forenoon. + +“There’s a good working light now,” he said, watching his shadow +placidly. “Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there’s +Maisie.” + +She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no +mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still +Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed +between them, because there had been none in the old days. + +“What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?” said Dick, as one +who was entitled to ask. + +“Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then +I left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.” + +“I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?” + +“A fancy head that wouldn’t come right,—horrid thing!” + +“I don’t like working over scraped paint when I’m doing flesh. The +grain comes up woolly as the paint dries.” + +“Not if you scrape properly.” Maisie waved her hand to illustrate her +methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. + +“You’re as untidy as ever.” + +“That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.” + +“By Jove, yes! It’s worse than yours. I don’t think we’ve much altered +in anything. Let’s see, though.” He looked at Maisie critically. The +pale blue haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the +Park and made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque +above the black hair, and the resolute profile. + +“No, there’s nothing changed. How good it is! D’you remember when I +fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?” + +Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to +Dick. + +“Wait a minute,” said he. “That mouth is down at the corners a little. + +Who’s been worrying you, Maisie?” + +“No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try +hard enough, and Kami says——” + +“‘_Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants_.’ Kami +is depressing. I beg your pardon.” + +“Yes, that’s what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing +better and he’d let me exhibit this year.” + +“Not in this place, surely?” + +“Of course not. The Salon.” + +“You fly high.” + +“I’ve been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?” + +“I don’t exhibit. I sell.” + +“What is your line, then?” + +“Haven’t you heard?” Dick’s eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He +cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the +Marble Arch. “Come up Oxford Street a little and I’ll show you.” + +A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. + +“Some reproduction of my work inside,” he said, with suppressed +triumph. Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. “You +see the sort of things I paint. D’you like it?” + +Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into +action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd. + +“They’ve chucked the off lead-’orse’ said one to the other. “’E’s tore +up awful, but they’re makin’ good time with the others. That +lead-driver drives better nor you, Tom. See ’ow cunnin’ ’e’s nursin’ +’is ’orse.” + +“Number Three’ll be off the limber, next jolt,” was the answer. + +“No, ’e won’t. See ’ow ’is foot’s braced against the iron? ’E’s all +right.” + +Dick watched Maisie’s face and swelled with joy—fine, rank, vulgar +triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the +picture. + +That was something that she could understand. + +“And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!” she said at last, under her +breath. + +“Me,—all me!” said Dick, placidly. “Look at their faces. It hits ’em. +They don’t know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know. And +I know my work’s right.” + +“Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!” + +“Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you +think?” + +“I call it success. Tell me how you got it.” + +They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of +his own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a +woman. + +From the beginning he told the tale, the I—I—I’s flashing through the +records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie listened and +nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did not move her +a hair’s-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, “And that +gave me some notion of handling colour,” or light, or whatever it might +be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her breathless +across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his life +before. + +And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great +desire to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, “I +understand. Go on,”—to pick her up and carry her away with him, because +she was Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his +right, and a woman to be desired above all women. + +Then he checked himself abruptly. “And so I took all I wanted,” he +said, “and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.” + +Maisie’s tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of +patient toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken though +dealers laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even +sarcastic, and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a +few bright spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but +it wound up with the oft repeated wail, “And so you see, Dick, I had no +success, though I worked so hard.” + +Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not +hit the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that +had happened yesterday. + +“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll tell you something, if you’ll believe it.” +The words were shaping themselves of their own accord. “The whole +thing, lock, stock, and barrel, isn’t worth one big yellow sea-poppy +below Fort Keeling.” + +Maisie flushed a little. “It’s all very well for you to talk, but +you’ve had the success and I haven’t.” + +“Let me talk, then. I know you’ll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a +bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I’ve come back +again. It really is just the same. Can’t you see? You’re alone now and +I’m alone. + +What’s the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.” + +Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. + +“I understand,” she said slowly. “But I’ve got my work to do, and I +must do it.” + +“Do it with me, then, dear. I won’t interrupt.” + +“No, I couldn’t. It’s my work,—mine,—mine,—mine! I’ve been alone all my +life in myself, and I’m not going to belong to anybody except myself. I +remember things as well as you do, but that doesn’t count. We were +babies then, and we didn’t know what was before us. Dick, don’t be +selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year. Don’t take +it away from me.” + +“I beg your pardon, darling. It’s my fault for speaking stupidly. I +can’t expect you to throw up all your life just because I’m back. I’ll +go to my own place and wait a little.” + +“But, Dick, I don’t want you to—go—out of—my life, now you’ve just come +back.” + +“I’m at your orders; forgive me.” Dick devoured the troubled little +face with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not +conceive that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since +he loved her. + +“It’s wrong of me,” said Maisie, more slowly than before; “it’s wrong +and selfish; but, oh, I’ve been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now +I’ve seen you again,—it’s absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.” + +“Naturally. We belong.” + +“We don’t; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my +work that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing +things. You must.” + +“I do, I fancy, or else I don’t know myself. Then you won’t care to +lose sight of me altogether, and—you want me to help you in your work?” + +“Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That’s why I +feel so selfish. Can’t things stay as they are? I do want your help.” + +“You shall have it. But let’s consider. I must see your pics first, and +overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should +see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I’ll give you good +advice, and you shall paint according. Isn’t that it, Maisie?” + +Again there was triumph in Dick’s eye. + +“It’s too good of you,—much too good. Because you are consoling +yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want +to keep you. Don’t blame me later, please.” + +“I’m going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can do +no wrong. It isn’t your selfishness that impresses me. It’s your +audacity in proposing to make use of me.” + +“Pooh! You’re only Dick,—and a print-shop.” + +“Very good: that’s all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don’t you, that +I love you? I don’t want you to have any false notions about brothers +and sisters.” + +Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. + +“It’s absurd, but—I believe. I wish I could send you away before you +get angry with me. But—but the girl that lives with me is red-haired, +and an impressionist, and all our notions clash.” + +“So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from to-day we shall be +laughing at this together.” + +Maisie shook her head mournfully. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, and +it will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, +and tell me what you see.” + +They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering, +and it stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. +Dick brought all his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on +the eyes, mouth, and chin underneath the black velvet toque. + +“It’s the same Maisie, and it’s the same me,” he said. “We’ve both nice +little wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now +about the future. I must come and see your pictures some day,—I suppose +when the red-haired girl is on the premises.” + +“Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such +heaps of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I +must get back to work.” + +“Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,” said Dick. “Don’t take +my word for anything I’ve told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you.” + +Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she +was out of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, +“I’m a wretch,—a horrid, selfish wretch. But it’s Dick, and Dick will +understand.” + +No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible +force meets the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even +as Dick thought. He tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in +a few weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a better way of +thinking. Then he remembered much too distinctly her face and all that +was written on it. + +“If I know anything of heads,” he said, “there’s everything in that +face but love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that chin and +mouth won’t be won for nothing. But she’s right. She knows what she +wants, and she’s going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the people +in the wide world, to use me! But then she’s Maisie. There’s no getting +over that fact; and it’s good to see her again. This business must have +been simmering at the back of my head for years.... She’ll use me as I +used Binat at Port Said. + +She’s quite right. It will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every +Sunday,—like a young man courting a housemaid. She’s sure to come +around; and yet—that mouth isn’t a yielding mouth. I shall be wanting +to kiss her all the time, and I shall have to look at her pictures,—I +don’t even know what sort of work she does yet,—and I shall have to +talk about Art,—Woman’s Art! Therefore, particularly and perpetually, +damn all varieties of Art. It did me a good turn once, and now it’s in +my way. I’ll go home and do some Art.” + +Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The +figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. + +“She’s all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, who +probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. + +Maisie’s a bilious little body. They’ll eat like lone women,—meals at +all hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the students in Paris +used to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I shan’t be able +to help. + +Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.” + +Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full +of the austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the +same oar together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of +toil. This is a good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, +strife, recrimination, and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, +and is proof against any absence and evil conduct. + +Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. +He thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to +think of anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at +last was an outlet for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie +barbarically with jewelry,—a thick gold necklace round that little +neck, bracelets upon the rounded arms, and rings of price upon her +hands,—the cool, temperate, ringless hands that he had taken between +his own. It was an absurd thought, for Maisie would not even allow him +to put one ring on one finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings. +It would be better to sit with her quietly in the dusk, his arm around +her neck and her face on his shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. +Torpenhow’s boots creaked that night, and his strong voice jarred. +Dick’s brows contracted and he murmured an evil word because he had +taken all his success as a right and part payment for past discomfort, +and now he was checked in his stride by a woman who admitted all the +success and did not instantly care for him. + +“I say, old man,” said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain attempts +at conversation, “I haven’t put your back up by anything I’ve said +lately, have I?” + +“You! No. How could you?” + +“Liver out of order?” + +“The truly healthy man doesn’t know he has a liver. I’m only a bit +worried about things in general. I suppose it’s my soul.” + +“The truly healthy man doesn’t know he has a soul. What business have +you with luxuries of that kind?” + +“It came of itself. Who’s the man that says that we’re all islands +shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?” + +“He’s right, whoever he is,—except about the misunderstanding. I don’t +think we could misunderstand each other.” + +The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, +insinuatingly—“Dick, is it a woman?” + +“Be hanged if it’s anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you +begin to talk like that, I’ll hire a red-brick studio with white paint +trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among +three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I’ll mount all my pics in aniline-dye +plush plasters, and I’ll invite every woman who maunders over what her +guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive ’em, Torp,—in a +snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You’ll +like that?” + +“Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and +swearing. You’ve overdone it, just as he did. It’s no business of mine, +of course, but it’s comforting to think that somewhere under the stars +there’s saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it’ll come +from heaven or earth, I don’t know, but it’s bound to come and break +you up a little. You want hammering.” + +Dick shivered. “All right,” said he. “When this island is +disintegrated, it will call for you.” + +“I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. + +We’re talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +“And you may lead a thousand men, + Nor ever draw the rein, +But ere ye lead the Faery Queen + ’Twill burst your heart in twain.” + +He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar, + The bridle from his hand, +And he is bound by hand and foot + To the Queen o’ Faery-land. + +_Sir Hoggie and the Fairies_. + + +Some weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across the +Park to his studio. “This,” he said, “is evidently the thrashing that +Torp meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no +wrong; and she certainly has some notion of drawing.” + +He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,—always under the green +eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate at +sight,—and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after +Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy +house north of the Park, first to see Maisie’s pictures, and then to +criticise and advise upon them as he realised that they were +productions on which advice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, +and his love grew with each visit, he had been compelled to cram his +heart back from between his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie +several times and very much indeed. Sunday after Sunday, the head above +the heart had warned him that Maisie was not yet attainable, and that +it would be better to talk as connectedly as possible upon the +mysteries of the craft that was all in all to her. Therefore it was his +fate to endure weekly torture in the studio built out over the clammy +back garden of a frail stuffy little villa where nothing was ever in +its right place and nobody every called,—to endure and to watch Maisie +moving to and fro with the teacups. He abhorred tea, but, since it gave +him a little longer time in her presence, he drank it devoutly, and the +red-haired girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed him without speaking. +She was always watching him. + +Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him an +album that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,—the +briefest of hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying +exhibitions. Dick stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the +open page. “Oh, my love, my love,” he muttered, “do you value these +things? Chuck ’em into the waste-paper basket!” + +“Not till I get something better,” said Maisie, shutting the book. + +Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard +for the maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of +these coveted cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie +should sign. + +“That’s childish,” said Maisie, “and I didn’t think it of you. It must +be my work. Mine,—mine,—mine!” + +“Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers’ houses. You are +thoroughly good at that.” Dick was sick and savage. + +“Better things than medallions, Dick,” was the answer, in tones that +recalled a gray-eyed atom’s fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would +have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in. + +Next Sunday he laid at Maisie’s feet small gifts of pencils that could +almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, +and he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, +among other things, an exposition of the faith that was in him. + +Torpenhow’s hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with +which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. + +A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was +Maisie’s will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make +plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the +whys and wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing +a thing if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your +method. + +“I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,” said Dick, +despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would +not “look flesh,”—it was the same chin that she had scraped out with +the palette knife,—“but I find it almost impossible to teach you. +There’s a queer grim, Dutch touch about your painting that I like; but +I’ve a notion that you’re weak in drawing. You foreshorten as though +you never used the model, and you’ve caught Kami’s pasty way of dealing +with flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you don’t know it yourself, +you shirk hard work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line alone. +Line doesn’t allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches of +flashy, tricky stuff in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing +off,—as I know. That’s immoral. Do line-work for a little while, and +then I can tell more about your powers, as old Kami used to say.” + +Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. + +“I know,” said Dick. “You want to do your fancy heads with a bunch of +flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.” The red-haired +girl laughed a little. “You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep +in grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than you +can do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour’s a +gift,—put it aside and think no more about it,—but form you can be +drilled into. + +Now, all your fancy heads—and some of them are very good—will keep you +exactly where you are. With line you must go forward or backward, and +it will show up all your weaknesses.” + +“But other people——” began Maisie. + +“You mustn’t mind what other people do. If their souls were your soul, +it would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, +and it’s waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.” + +Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came +back into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly +as words, Was it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas +and counsel and join hands with Life and Love? + +Maisie assented to the new programme of schooling so adorably that Dick +could hardly restrain himself from picking her up then and there and +carrying her off to the nearest registrar’s office. It was the implicit +obedience to the spoken word and the blank indifference to the unspoken +desire that baffled and buffeted his soul. He held authority in that +house,—authority limited, indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in +seven, but very real while it lasted. Maisie had learned to appeal to +him on many subjects, from the proper packing of pictures to the +condition of a smoky chimney. The red-haired girl never consulted him +about anything. + +On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and +watched him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment +were irregular and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, +and biscuit, as he had suspected from the beginning. The girls were +supposed to market week and week about, but they lived, with the help +of a charwoman, as casually as the young ravens. Maisie spent most of +her income on models, and the other girl revelled in apparatus as +refined as her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, dear-bought from +the Docks, Dick warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation meant the +crippling of power to work, which was considerably worse than death. + +Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and +drank. When his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the +long winter twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic +authority and his coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky +drawing-room chimney stung Dick like a whip-lash. + +He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, +till one Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a +study of Dick’s head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, +and—quite as an afterthought—look at Maisie. He sat, because he could +not well refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all +the people in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his +own craft. He remembered Binat most distinctly,—that Binat who had once +been an artist and talked about degradation. + +It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented +the dumb waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement +of the man, in a spirit of bitter mockery. + +“I’ll buy it,” said Dick, promptly, “at your own price.” + +“My price is too high, but I dare say you’ll be as grateful if——” The +wet sketch, fluttered from the girl’s hand and fell into the ashes of +the studio stove. When she picked it up it was hopelessly smudged. + +“Oh, it’s all spoiled!” said Maisie. “And I never saw it. Was it like?” + +“Thank you,” said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he +removed himself swiftly. + +“How that man hates me!” said the girl. “And how he loves you, Maisie!” + +“What nonsense? I knew Dick’s very fond of me, but he had his work to +do, and I have mine.” + +“Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in +impressionism, after all. Maisie, can’t you see?” + +“See? See what?” + +“Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as +that man looks at you, I’d—I don’t know what I’d do. But he hates me. +Oh, how he hates me!” + +She was not altogether correct. Dick’s hatred was tempered with +gratitude for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only +the sense of shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park in +the fog. “There’ll be an explosion one of these days,” he said +wrathfully. “But it isn’t Maisie’s fault; she’s right, quite right, as +far as she knows, and I can’t blame her. This business has been going +on for three months nearly. + +Three months!—and it cost me ten years’ knocking about to get at the +notion, the merest raw notion, of my work. That’s true; but then I +didn’t have pins, drawing-pins, and palette-knives, stuck into me every +Sunday. + +Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very +bad time of it. No, she won’t. I’d be as big a fool about her as I am +now. I’ll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,—she’s +unwholesome,—and now I’ll pass on these present bad times to Torp.” + +Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the +sin of levity, and Dick had listened and replied not a word. In the +weeks between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung +himself savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least +know the full stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she +must not pay the least attention to any work outside her own, and +Maisie had obeyed him all too well. She took his counsels, but was not +interested in his pictures. + +“Your things smell of tobacco and blood,” she said once. “Can’t you do +anything except soldiers?” + +“I could do a head of you that would startle you,” thought Dick,—this +was before the red-haired girl had brought him under the +guillotine,—but he only said, “I am very sorry,” and harrowed +Torpenhow’s soul that evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, +insensibly and to a large extent against his own will, he ceased to +interest himself in his own work. + +For Maisie’s sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him +he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, +since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to do +anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. +Torpenhow was disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then +attacked him one Sunday evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after +three hours’ biting self-restraint in Maisie’s presence. There was +Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come +in to talk continental politics. + +“Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?” said the +Nilghai. + +“It isn’t worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool with a +woman.” + +“Isn’t that bad enough?” + +“No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a +while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the +staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you +had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.” + +“No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned +fellow.” + +“He’ll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can’t +storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick +brush. + +You’re fond of him?” + +“I’d take any punishment that’s in store for him if I could; but the +worst of it is, no man can save his brother.” + +“No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick +must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there’ll be +trouble in the Balkans in the spring.” + +“That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there +when it comes off?” + +Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. + +“Not good enough,” he said shortly. “I’m too comf’y where I am.” + +“Surely you aren’t taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?” said +the Nilghai. “Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,—the +public will know your touch and go on to something new,—and where will +you be then?” + +“Here, in England.” + +“When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I +shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will +be there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as +much as ever we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you +of seeing things that would make the reputation of three +Verestchagins.” + +“Um!” said Dick, pulling at his pipe. + +“You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at +your pictures? Just think how full an average man’s life is of his own +pursuits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look +up between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren’t +the least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or +notoriety, according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.” + +“I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.” + +“Be hanged if I do!” + +“_Be_ hanged, then; you probably will be,—for a spy, by excited Turks. +Heigh-ho! I’m weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.” Dick +dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. + +“That’s a bad sign,” said the Nilghai, in an undertone. + +Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to +burn, and put a pillow behind the head. “We can’t help; we can’t help,” +he said. “It’s a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I’m fond of it. +There’s the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the +square.” + +“Shouldn’t wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.” + +“I should. He’s a most businesslike madman.” + +Then Dick began to snore furiously. + +“Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, +and go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about +it.” + +“When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,” said the Nilghai, in +his beard, “I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural +history.” + +Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches +he was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he +wondered he had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He +would seek Maisie on a week-day,—would suggest an excursion, and would +take her by train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two +had trodden together ten years ago. + +“As a general rule,” he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in +the morning, “it isn’t safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind +one of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is +an exception to every rule that ever was. I’ll go to Maisie at once.” + +Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and +Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was +not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; +and it needed all his courage to explain his errand. + +“I know you’ve been working too hard,” he concluded, with an air of +authority. “If you do that, you’ll break down. You had much better +come.” + +“Where?” said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel +too long, and was very tired. + +“Anywhere you please. We’ll take a train to-morrow and see where it +stops. We’ll have lunch somewhere, and I’ll bring you back in the +evening.” + +“If there’s a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.” Maisie +balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. + +Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet +learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all. + +“You’ll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working +light. Overwork’s only murderous idleness. Don’t be unreasonable. I’ll +call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.” + +“But surely you are going to ask——” + +“No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as +much as I hate her. She won’t care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray +that we get sunshine.” + +Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. + +He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great +gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired +into himself to consider things. + +“I’m going out for the day to-morrow with Dick,” said Maisie to the +red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the +Edgware road. + +“He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed +while you’re away. It’s very dirty.” + +Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to +the little excitement, but not without misgivings. + +“There’s nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly, she thought, +but I’m sure he’ll be silly and worry me, and I’m sure I can’t tell him +anything he’d like to hear. If he’d only be sensible, I should like him +so much better.” + +Dick’s eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning +and saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the +hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, +were surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired +girl drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly. + +Maisie’s eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was +altogether unused to these demonstrations. “Mind my hat,” she said, +hurrying away, and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. + +“Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn’t like some more +breakfast? Put the cloak over you knees.” + +“I’m quite comf’y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop +singing like that. People will think we’re mad.” + +“Let ’em think,—if the exertion doesn’t kill them. They don’t know who +we are, and I’m sure I don’t care who they are. My faith, Maisie, +you’re looking lovely!” + +Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a +keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, the +creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a +pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout +committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring. + +“It will be lovely weather in the country,” said Dick. + +“But where are we going?” + +“Wait and see.” + +They stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half +the fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled +by the waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man +to the booking-office than to elbow one’s own way through the crowd. +Dick put her into a Pullman,—solely on account of the warmth there; and +she regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train +moved out into the country. + +“I wish I knew where we are going,” she repeated for the twentieth +time. + +The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of +the run, and Maisie was delighted. + +“Oh, Dick, you villain!” + +“Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven’t +been here since the old times, have you?” + +“No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was +ever there.” + +“Not quite. Look out a minute. There’s the windmill above the +potato-fields; they haven’t built villas there yet; d’you remember when +I shut you up in it?” + +“Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.” + +“She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was +burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a +trusting nature in those days.” + +They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with +many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie’s +cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear +skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the +evening would bring him a great reward. + +When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new +eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. +Jennett. + +“Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?” said Dick, with +mock terror. + +“I should make a face.” + +“Show, then,” said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. + +Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and +Dick laughed. + +““This is disgraceful,”’ said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett’s tone. + +““Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and +epistle for the next three Sundays. After all I’ve taught you, too, and +three helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick’s always leading you into +mischief. If you aren’t a gentleman, Dick, you might at least—“’ + +The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been +used. + +““Try to behave like one,”’ said Dick, promptly. “Quite right. Now +we’ll get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,—unless you’d rather +drive there?” + +“We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all +is!” + +They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and +the influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed a +confectioner’s shop much considered in the days when their joint +pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week. + +“Dick, have you any pennies?” said Maisie, half to herself. + +“Only three; and if you think you’re going to have two of ’em to buy +peppermints with, you’re wrong. She says peppermints aren’t ladylike.” + +Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie’s cheeks as +the blood boiled through Dick’s heart. After a large lunch they went +down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten +land that no builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The +winter breeze came in from the sea and sang about their ears. + +“Maisie,” said Dick, “your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the +tip. + +I’ll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.” + +She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the +ulster allowed, till she was out of breath. + +“We used to run miles,” she panted. “It’s absurd that we can’t run +now.” + +“Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished +to pull your hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the +top of your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were +meant to call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and——” + +“Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.” + +“No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.” + +“Why, it’s the same as ever!” said Maisie. + +Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and +shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a +travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess +and polite conversation. + +“It’s worse than anything I imagined,” said Torpenhow. + +“Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with +one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it’ll amuse him. You can whip +a young pup off feather, but you can’t whip a young man.” + +“It isn’t a woman. It’s one woman; and it’s a girl.” + +“Where’s your proof?” + +“He got up and went out at eight this morning,—got up in the middle of +the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he’s on service. + +Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the +fight began at El-Maghrib. It’s disgusting.” + +“It looks odd; but maybe he’s decided to buy a horse at last. He might +get up for that, mightn’t he?” + +“Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He’d have told us if there was a horse in +the wind. It’s a girl.” + +“Don’t be certain. Perhaps it’s only a married woman.” + +“Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven’t. Who gets up in the gray +dawn to call on another man’s wife? It’s a girl.” + +“Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there’s somebody else +in the world besides himself.” + +“She’ll spoil his hand. She’ll waste his time, and she’ll marry him, +and ruin his work for ever. He’ll be a respectable married man before +we can stop him, and—he’ll never go on the long trail again.” + +“All quite possible, but the earth won’t spin the other way when that +happens.... No! ho! I’d give something to see Dick “go wooing with the +boys.” Don’t worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can +only look on. Get the chessmen.” + +The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the +ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew +indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was +all one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut +savagely from time to time. + +The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her +door: “Beg y’ pardon, miss, but in cleanin’ of a floor there’s two, not +to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an’ mottled, an’ +disinfectink. + +Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though it would be +pre’aps jest as well if I was to come up ’ere an’ ask you what sort of +soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, +miss——” + +There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury +that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost +shouting— + +“Do you suppose _I_ care what you use? Any kind will do!—_any_ kind!” + +The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in +the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as +though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Roses red and roses white +Plucked I for my love’s delight. +She would none of all my posies,— +Bade me gather her blue roses. + +Half the world I wandered through, +Seeking where such flowers grew; +Half the world unto my quest +Answered but with laugh and jest. + +It may be beyond the grave +She shall find what she would have. +Mine was but an idle quest,— +Roses white and red are best!—_Blue Roses_. + + +The sea had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and the +Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white +beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered. + +“I don’t see the old breakwater,” said Maisie, under her breath. + +“Let’s be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don’t believe +they’ve mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come +and look.” + +They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook +sheltered from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder +cannon. + +“Now, if Ammoma were only here!” said Maisie. + +For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie’s hand and +called her by her name. + +She shook her head and looked out to sea. + +“Maisie, darling, doesn’t it make any difference?” + +“No!” between clenched teeth. “I’d—I’d tell you if it did; but it +doesn’t, Oh, Dick, please be sensible.” + +“Don’t you think that it ever will?” + +“No, I’m sure it won’t.” + +“Why?” + +Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke +hurriedly—“I know what you want perfectly well, but I can’t give it to +you, Dick. It isn’t my fault; indeed, it isn’t. If I felt that I could +care for any one——But I don’t feel that I care. I simply don’t +understand what the feeling means.” + +“Is that true, dear?” + +“You’ve been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you +back is by speaking the truth. I daren’t tell a fib. I despise myself +quite enough as it is.” + +“What in the world for?” + +“Because—because I take everything that you give me and I give you +nothing in return. It’s mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of +it it worries me.” + +“Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and +if I choose to do anything you aren’t to blame. You haven’t a single +thing to reproach yourself with, darling.” + +“Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.” + +“Then don’t talk about it.” + +“How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are +always talking about it; and when you aren’t you look it. You don’t +know how I despise myself sometimes.” + +“Great goodness!” said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. “Speak the +truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I—does this worrying +bore you?” + +“No. It does not.” + +“You’d tell me if it did?” + +“I should let you know, I think.” + +“Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a +man when he’s in love. He’s always a nuisance. You must have known +that?” + +Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was +forced to repeat it. + +“There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was +in the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.” + +“Did you listen?” + +“At first; and they couldn’t understand why I didn’t care. And they +used to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be +proud of the praise, and tell Kami, and—I shall never forget—once Kami +laughed at me.” + +“You don’t like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?” + +“I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless—unless they do bad +work. + +Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,—of +everything of mine that you’ve seen.” + +““Honest, honest, and honest over!”’ quoted Dick from a catchword of +long ago. “Tell me what Kami always says.” + +Maisie hesitated. “He—he says that there is feeling in them.” + +“How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for +two years. I know exactly what he says.” + +“It isn’t a fib.” + +“It’s worse; it’s a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one +side,—so,—‘_Il y a du sentiment, mais il n’y a pas de parti pris_.’” He +rolled the _r_ threateningly, as Kami used to do. + +“Yes, that is what he says; and I’m beginning to think that he is +right.” + +“Certainly he is.” Dick admitted that two people in the world could do +and say no wrong. Kami was the man. + +“And now you say the same thing. It’s so disheartening.” + +“I’m sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you +too much to pretend about your work. It’s strong, it’s patient +sometimes,—not always,—and sometimes there’s power in it, but there’s +no special reason why it should be done at all. At least, that’s how it +strikes me.” + +“There’s no special reason why anything in the world should ever be +done. You know that as well as I do. I only want success.” + +“You’re going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn’t Kami ever told you +so?” + +“Don’t quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work’s bad, +to begin with.” + +“I didn’t say that, and I don’t think it.” + +“It’s amateurish, then.” + +“That it most certainly is not. You’re a work-woman, darling, to your +boot-heels, and I respect you for that.” + +“You don’t laugh at me behind my back?” + +“No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this +cloak thing round you, or you’ll get chilled.” + +Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray +kangaroo fur to the outside. + +“This is delicious,” she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully along the +fur. + +“Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?” + +“Just because you try. Don’t you understand, darling? Good work has +nothing to do with—doesn’t belong to—the person who does it. It’s put +into him or her from outside.” + +“But how does that affect——” + +“Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be +masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of +anything.” + +“I understand that.” + +“Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit +down quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may +not do something that isn’t bad. A great deal depends on being master +of the bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to +think about success and the effect of our work—to play with one eye on +the gallery—we lose power and touch and everything else. At least +that’s how I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every +power you possess to your work, you’re fretting over something which +you can neither help no hinder by a minute. See?” + +“It’s so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. +Don’t you ever think about the gallery?” + +“Much too often; but I’m always punished for it by loss of power. It’s +as simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using +it for our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we’re the +weaker, we shall suffer.” + +“I don’t treat my work lightly. You know that it’s everything to me.” + +“Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes +for yourself to one for your work. It isn’t your fault, darling. I do +exactly the same thing, and know that I’m doing it. Most of the French +schools, and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their +own credit, and for the sake of their pride. I was told that all the +world was interested in my work, and everybody at Kami’s talked +turpentine, and I honestly believed that the world needed elevating and +influencing, and all manner of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I +actually believed that! When my little head was bursting with a notion +that I couldn’t handle because I hadn’t sufficient knowledge of my +craft, I used to run about wondering at my own magnificence and getting +ready to astonish the world.” + +“But surely one can do that sometimes?” + +“Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it’s done it’s +such a tiny thing, and the world’s so big, and all but a millionth part +of it doesn’t care. Maisie, come with me and I’ll show you something of +the size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,—that +goes on by itself,—but try to see what you are working for. I know such +little heavens that I could take you to,—islands tucked away under the +Line. + +You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as black +marble because it’s so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains day after +day and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea’s so lonely.” + +“Who is afraid?—you, or the sun?” + +“The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds +overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist +orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk. + +There’s a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver +of green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in +the rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; +and you order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock +with tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear +the bees hum and the water fall till you go to sleep.” + +“Can one work there?” + +“Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a +palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When they scuffle you heave a +ripe custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There +are hundreds of places. Come and see them.” + +“I don’t quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.” + +“What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, +with raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on +honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in +a gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and +streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, till +you find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the +market-place, and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and +spreads its tail against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. +Then a monkey—a little black monkey—walks through the main square to +get a drink from a tank forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to +the water’s edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should +fall in.” + +“Is that all true?” + +“I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change +till it’s just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A +little before sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild +boar, with all his family following, trots through the city gate, +churning the foam on his tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind +black stone god and watch that pig choose himself a palace for the +night and stump in wagging his tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and +the sands move, and you hear the desert outside the city singing, “Now +I lay me down to sleep,” and everything is dark till the moon rises. +Maisie, darling, come with me and see what the world is really like. +It’s very lovely, and it’s very horrible,—but I won’t let you see +anything horrid,—and it doesn’t care your life or mine for pictures or +anything else except doing its own work and making love. Come, and I’ll +show you how to brew sangaree, and sling a hammock, and—oh, thousands +of things, and you’ll see for yourself what colour means, and we’ll +find out together what love means, and then, maybe, we shall be allowed +to do some good work. Come away!” + +“Why?” said Maisie. + +“How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as +you can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You have +no business here; you don’t belong to this place; you’re half a +gipsy,—your face tells that; and I—even the smell of open water makes +me restless. Come across the sea and be happy!” + +He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking +down at the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, +before they knew, the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long +ruled lines of silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide was +turning over the mud-banks. The wind had dropped, and in the intense +stillness they could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass many yards +away. A faint beating, like that of a muffled drum, came out of the +moon-haze. + +“What’s that?” said Maisie, quickly. “It sounds like a heart beating. +Where is it?” + +Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could +not trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. +Maisie from her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of +fear. She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry +her with over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. +She was not prepared, however, for the change in his face as he +listened. + +“It’s a steamer,” he said,—“a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I can’t +make her out, but she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah!” as the +red of a rocket streaked the haze, “she’s standing in to signal before +she clears the Channel.” + +“Is it a wreck?” said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. + +Dick’s eyes were turned to the sea. “Wreck! What nonsense! She’s only +reporting herself. Red rocket forward—there’s a green light aft now, +and two red rockets from the bridge.” + +“What does that mean?” + +“It’s the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder +which steamer it is.” The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to +be talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight +broke the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer +working down Channel. “Four masts and three funnels—she’s in deep +draught, too. That must be the _Barralong_, or the _Bhutia_. No, the +_Bhutia_ has a clopper bow. It’s the _Barralong_, to Australia. She’ll +lift the Southern Cross in a week,—lucky old tub!—oh, lucky old tub!” + +He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better +view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the +screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he +returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. “Have you ever seen the +Southern Cross blazing right over your head?” he asked. “It’s superb!” + +“No,” she said shortly, “and I don’t want to. If you think it’s so +lovely, why don’t you go and see it yourself?” + +She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about +her throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray +kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest. + +“By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up there.” +The eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. “I’m +sorry,” he continued. “The Southern Cross isn’t worth looking at unless +someone helps you to see. That steamer’s out of hearing.” + +“Dick,” she said quietly, “suppose I were to come to you now,—be quiet +a minute,—just as I am, and caring for you just as much as I do.” + +“Not as a brother, though? You said you didn’t—in the Park.” + +“I never had a brother. Suppose I said, “Take me to those places, and +in time, perhaps, I might really care for you,” what would you do?” + +“Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I +wouldn’t; I’d let you walk. But you couldn’t do it, dear. And I +wouldn’t run the risk. You’re worth waiting for till you can come +without reservation.” + +“Do you honestly believe that?” + +“I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that +light?” + +“Ye—es. I feel so wicked about it.” + +“Wickeder than usual?” + +“You don’t know all I think. It’s almost too awful to tell.” + +“Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth—at least.” + +“It’s so ungrateful of me, but—but, though I know you care for me, and +I like to have you with me, I’d—I’d even sacrifice you, if that would +bring me what I want.” + +“My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn’t lead to +good work.” + +“You aren’t angry? Remember, I do despise myself.” + +“I’m not exactly flattered,—I had guessed as much before,—but I’m not +angry. I’m sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a littleness +like that behind you, years ago.” + +“You’ve no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked for so +long. It came to you without any trouble, and—and I don’t think it’s +fair.” + +“What can I do? I’d give ten years of my life to get you what you want. + +But I can’t help you; even I can’t help.” + +A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on—“And I know by what you +have just said that you’re on the wrong road to success. It isn’t got +at by sacrificing other people,—I’ve had that much knocked into me; you +must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for +yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at +the beginning, when you’re reaching out after a notion.” + +“How can you believe all that?” + +“There’s no question of belief or disbelief. That’s the law, and you +take it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can’t, and +then my work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, +four-fifths of everybody’s work must be bad. But the remnant is worth +the trouble for it’s own sake.” + +“Isn’t it nice to get credit even for bad work?” + +“It’s much too nice. But—— May I tell you something? It isn’t a pretty +tale, but you’re so like a man that I forget when I’m talking to you.” + +“Tell me.” + +“Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we had +been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; and we +hadn’t time to bury them.” + +“How ghastly!” + +“I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering +what people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught +me a good deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all +colours, and—I’d never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings +before. So I began to understand that men and women were only material +to work with, and that what they said or did was of no consequence. +See? Strictly speaking, you might just as well put your ear down to the +palette to catch what your colours are saying.” + +“Dick, that’s disgraceful!” + +“Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody +must be either a man or a woman.” + +“I’m glad you allow that much.” + +“In your case I don’t. You aren’t a woman. But ordinary people, Maisie, +must behave and work as such. That’s what makes me so savage.” He +hurled a pebble towards the sea as he spoke. “I know that it is outside +my business to care what people say; I can see that it spoils my output +if I listen to ’em; and yet, confound it all,”—another pebble flew +seaward,—“I can’t help purring when I’m rubbed the right way. Even when +I can see on a man’s forehead that he is lying his way through a clump +of pretty speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with +my hand.” + +“And when he doesn’t say pretty things?” + +“Then, belovedest,”—Dick grinned,—“I forget that I am the steward of +these gifts, and I want to make that man love and appreciate my work +with a thick stick. It’s too humiliating altogether; but I suppose even +if one were an angel and painted humans altogether from outside, one +would lose in touch what one gained in grip.” + +Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. + +“But you seem to think,” she said, “that everything nice spoils your +hand.” + +“I don’t think. It’s the law,—just the same as it was at Mrs. +Jennett’s. + +Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I’m glad you see so +clearly.” + +“I don’t like the view.” + +“Nor I. But—have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to face +it alone?” + +“I suppose I must.” + +“Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to +walk straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than +stumbling apart. Maisie, can’t you see reason?” + +“I don’t think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, +so we should never agree.” + +“How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a +cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I’d make him chew his own arrow-heads. + +Well?” + +“I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my +work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I’m not fit to speak to.” + +“You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. D’you +suppose that I don’t know the feeling of worry and bother and +can’t-get-at-ness? You’re lucky if you only have it four days out of +the seven. What difference would that make?” + +“A great deal—if you had it too.” + +“Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at +you. But there’s no use talking about it. If you can think in that way +you can’t care for me—yet.” + +The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples +broke on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. + +“Dick,” she said slowly, “I believe very much that you are better than +I am.” + +“This doesn’t seem to bear on the argument—but in what way?” + +“I don’t quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and +then you’re so patient. Yes, you’re better than I am.” + +Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man’s life. There +was nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted +the hem of the cloak to his lips. + +“Why,” said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, “can you see +things that I can’t? I don’t believe what you believe; but you’re +right, I believe.” + +“If I’ve seen anything, God knows I couldn’t have seen it but for you, +and I know that I couldn’t have said it except to you. You seemed to +make everything clear for a minute; but I don’t practice what I preach. +You would help me.... There are only us two in the world for all +purposes, and—and you like to have me with you?” + +“Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!” + +“Darling, I think I can.” + +“Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up +and down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?” + +“It’s some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?” + +“I don’t know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no +money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it +frightened me—oh, how it frightened me!” + +“I know that fear. It’s the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in the +night sometimes. You oughtn’t to know anything about it.” + +“How do _you_ know?” + +“Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?” + +“It’s in Consols.” + +“Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better +investment,—even if I should come to you,—don’t you listen. Never shift +the money for a minute, and never lend a penny of it,—even to the +red-haired girl.” + +“Don’t scold me so! I’m not likely to be foolish.” + +“The earth is full of men who’d sell their souls for three hundred a +year; and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a +ten-pound note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt. +Stick to your money, Maisie, for there’s nothing more ghastly in the +world than poverty in London. It’s scared me. By Jove, it put the fear +into _me!_ And one oughtn’t to be afraid of anything.” + +To each man is appointed his particular dread,—the terror that, if he +does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his +manhood. Dick’s experience of the sordid misery of want had entered +into the deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that +memory stood behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy +his wares. As the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green +water of a lake or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white +arm that could cut or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick +feared the poverty he had once tasted half in jest. His burden was +heavier than the burdens of his companions. + +Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. + +“You’ve plenty of pennies now,” she said soothingly. + +“I shall never have enough,” he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, +laughing, “I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.” + +“Why threepence?” + +“I carried a man’s bag once from Liverpool Street Station to +Blackfriar’s Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,—you needn’t laugh; indeed +it was,—and I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence; +and he hadn’t even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, +I shall never get that odd threepence out of the world.” + +This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the +sanctity of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in +applause, which, since all men desire it, must be of her right. She +hunted for her little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit. + +“There it is,” she said. “I’ll pay you, Dickie; and don’t worry any +more; it isn’t worth while. Are you paid?” + +“I am,” said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. +“I’m paid a thousand times, and we’ll close that account. It shall live +on my watch-chain; and you’re an angel, Maisie.” + +“I’m very cramped, and I’m feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the +cloak is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so +chilly.” + +A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick’s ulster. He, too, had +forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with +that laugh ended all serious discourse. + +They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to +look at the glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense +black shadows of the furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick +that Maisie could see colour even as he saw it,—could see the blue in +the white of the mist, the violet that is in gray palings, and all +things else as they are,—not of one hue, but a thousand. And the +moonlight came into Maisie’s soul, so that she, usually reserved, +chattered of herself and of the things she took interest in,—of Kami, +wisest of teachers, and of the girls in the studio,—of the Poles, who +will kill themselves with overwork if they are not checked; of the +French, who talk at great length of much more than they will ever +accomplish; of the slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot +understand that inclination does not imply power; of the Americans, +whose rasping voices in the hush of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn +nerves to breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indigestion; of +tempestuous Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who tell the girls +ghost-stories till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to +learn one thing, and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and +copy pictures for evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was +Maisie who spoke. He knew the old life. + +“It hasn’t changed much,” he said. “Do they still steal colours at +lunch-time?” + +“Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I’m good—I only +attract ultramarine; but there are students who’d attract flake-white.” + +“I’ve done it myself. You can’t help it when the palettes are hung up. + +Every colour is common property once it runs down,—even though you do +start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their +tubes.” + +“I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might +catch your success with them.” + +“I mustn’t say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, +which you’ve just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or +want of success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with—— No, +I won’t open that question again. It’s time to go back to town.” + +“I’m sorry, Dick, but——” + +“You’re much more interested in that than you are in me.” + +“I don’t know, I don’t think I am.” + +“What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you +want,—the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will +you promise to obey me?” + +“Of course.” + +“In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen to +be at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,” said Dick, at a +venture, for he knew with whom he was dealing.” + +“No, no,—only once, really.” + +“That’s bad enough. And you mustn’t take a cup of tea and a biscuit in +place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble.” + +“You’re making fun of me!” + +“I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, hasn’t +it dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here’s the whole earth in a +conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to the +skin, or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and +underfeeding, and I haven’t the mere right to look after you. Why, I +don’t even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when the +weather’s cold.” + +“Dick, you’re the most awful boy to talk to—really! How do you suppose +I managed when you were away?” + +“I wasn’t here, and I didn’t know. But now I’m back I’d give everything +I have for the right of telling you to come in out of the rain.” + +“Your success too?” + +This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. + +“As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you’re a trial, Maisie! You’ve been +cooped up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking +at you. + +There aren’t twelve hundred people in the world who understand +pictures. The others pretend and don’t care. Remember, I’ve seen twelve +hundred men dead in toadstool-beds. It’s only the voice of the tiniest +little fraction of people that makes success. The real world doesn’t +care a tinker’s—doesn’t care a bit. For aught you or I know, every man +in the world may be arguing with a Maisie of his own.” + +“Poor Maisie!” + +“Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he’s fighting for what’s +dearer than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did, +and if all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and +shouted hymns to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the +knowledge that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day +without an umbrella? Now we’ll go to the station.” + +“But you said on the beach——” persisted Maisie, with a certain fear. + +Dick groaned aloud: “Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I +have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I’ve learnt the law +that governs it; but I’ve some lingering sense of fun left,—though +you’ve nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn’t +everything to all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.” + +Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned +to London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an +eloquent harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a +horse,—such a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,—would stable it, +with a companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for +her health’s sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week. + +“That’s absurd,” said she. “It wouldn’t be proper.” + +“Now, who in all London to-night would have sufficient interest or +audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?” + +Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was +right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it. + +“You’re very nice sometimes, but you’re very foolish more times. I’m +not going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way +to-night. I’ll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me +something. You won’t think any more about that extra threepence, will +you? Remember, you’ve been paid; and I won’t allow you to be spiteful +and do bad work for a little thing like that. You can be so big that +you mustn’t be tiny.” + +This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to +put Maisie into her hansom. + +“Good-bye,” she said simply. “You’ll come on Sunday. It has been a +beautiful day, Dick. Why can’t it be like this always?” + +“Because love’s like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you +can’t stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good-night, +and, for my—for my sake, take care of yourself.” + +He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing +that he hoped for, but—surely this was worth many days—it had brought +him nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and the +prize well worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the +river. + +“And she understood at once,” he said, looking at the water. “She found +out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, how she +understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she +was!” He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. “I wonder if girls +guess at one-half a man’s life. They can’t, or—they wouldn’t marry us.” +He took her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the light of a +miracle and a pledge of the comprehension that, one day, would lead to +perfect happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, with none to +save her from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of +danger. + +Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the +heathen as he threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil +were to befal, let him bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, +since the threepenny piece was dearest to him of all his possessions. +It was a small coin in itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames +held it, and surely the Fates would be bribed for this once. + +The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie +for the moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to +his chambers with a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after +his first experience of an entire day spent in the society of a woman. +There was a stronger desire at his heart when there rose before him an +unsolicited vision of the _Barralong_ dipping deep and sailing free for +the Southern Cross. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +And these two, as I have told you, +Were the friends of Hiawatha, +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind. + +—_Hiawatha_. + + +Torpenhow was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the +Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was +reading through the first part, commenting scornfully the while. + +“It’s picturesque enough and it’s sketchy,” said he; “but as a serious +consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it’s not worth much.” + +“It’s off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, +thirty-nine slips altogether, aren’t there? That should make between +eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!” Torpenhow +shuffled the writing together and hummed— + +Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, +If I’d as much money as I could tell, +I never would cry, Young lambs to sell! + + +Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of +tempers with all the world. + +“Back at last?” said Torpenhow. + +“More or less. What have you been doing?” + +“Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind +you. Here’s Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven’t done a +line. It’s scandalous.” + +“The notions come and go, my children—they come and go like our +“baccy,” he answered, filling his pipe. “Moreover,” he stooped to +thrust a spill into the grate, “Apollo does not always stretch his—— +Oh, confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!” + +“This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,” +said the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow’s large and workmanlike bellows +to their nail on the wall. “We believe in cobblers’ wax. _La!_—where +you sit down.” + +“If you weren’t so big and fat,” said Dick, looking round for a weapon, +“I’d——” + +“No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time +you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How +d’you do? to Binkie. Look at him.” + +Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick’s knee, +and scratching at his boots. + +“Dear man!” said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the black +patch above his right eye. “Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai +turn you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.” He pitched him on the +Nilghai’s stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to +destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, +and panting he stuck out his tongue at the company. + +“The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp. + +I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters +were being taken down—just as if he hadn’t enough to eat in his own +proper house,” said Dick. + +“Binks, is that a true bill?” said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog +retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of +him that he really had no further interest in the discussion. + +“Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,” said +the Nilghai. “What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be +buying a horse.” + +“He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. +No, I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and +watch the pretty ships go by.” + +“Where did you go?” + +“Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place was +its name; I’ve forgotten; but it was only two hours’ run from London +and the ships went by.” + +“Did you see anything you knew?” + +“Only the _Barralong_ outwards to Australia, and an Odessa grain-boat +loaded down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt good.” + +“Wherefore put on one’s best trousers to see the _Barralong?_” said +Torpenhow, pointing. + +“Because I’ve nothing except these things and my painting duds. +Besides, I wanted to do honour to the sea.” + +“Did She make you feel restless?” asked the Nilghai, keenly. + +“Crazy. Don’t speak of it. I’m sorry I went.” + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied +himself among the former’s boots and trees. + +“These will do,” he said at last; “I can’t say I think much of your +taste in slippers, but the fit’s the thing.” He slipped his feet into a +pair of sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and +lay at length. + +“They’re my own pet pair,” Torpenhow said. “I was just going to put +them on myself.” + +“All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for +a minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.” + +“Good for you that Dick can’t wear your clothes, Torp. You two live +communistically,” said the Nilghai. + +“Dick never has anything that I can wear. He’s only useful to sponge +upon.” + +“Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?” +said Dick. “I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you +expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you——” + +Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. + +“Hid a sovereign yesterday! You’re no sort of financier. You lent me a +fiver about a month back. Do you remember?” Torpenhow said. + +“Yes, of course.” + +“Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at +the bottom of the tobacco?” + +“By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.” + +“You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some +“baccy and found it.” + +“What did you do with it?” + +“Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.” + +“You couldn’t feed the Nilghai under twice the money—not though you +gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner +or later. What is there to laugh at?” + +“You’re a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,” said the Nilghai, +still chuckling over the thought of the dinner. “Never mind. We had +both been working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we +spent, and as you’re only a loafer it didn’t matter.” + +“That’s pleasant—from the man who is bursting with my meat, too. I’ll +get that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre +now.” + +“Put our boots on,—and dress,—_and_ wash?” The Nilghai spoke very +lazily. + +“I withdraw the motion.” + +“Suppose, just for a change—as a startling variety, you know—we, that +is to say _we_, get our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our +work.” + +Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the +soft leather moccasins. + +“What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on +hand, I haven’t any model; if I had my model, I haven’t any spray, and +I never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and +twenty photographs of backgrounds, I couldn’t do anything to-night. I +don’t feel that way.” + +“Binkie-dog, he’s a lazy hog, isn’t he?” said the Nilghai. + +“Very good, I _will_ do some work,” said Dick, rising swiftly. “I’ll +fetch the Nungapunga Book, and we’ll add another picture to the Nilghai +Saga.” + +“Aren’t you worrying him a little too much?” asked the Nilghai, when +Dick had left the room. + +“Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me +savage to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to +do. You and I are arranged for——” + +“By Kismet and our own powers, more’s the pity. I have dreamed of a +good deal.” + +“So have I, but we know our limitations now. I’m dashed if I know what +Dick’s may be when he gives himself to his work. That’s what makes me +so keen about him.” + +“And when all’s said and done, you will be put aside—quite rightly—for +a female girl.” + +“I wonder... Where do you think he has been to-day?” + +“To the sea. Didn’t you see the look in his eyes when he talked about +her? He’s as restless as a swallow in autumn.” + +“Yes; but did he go alone?” + +“I don’t know, and I don’t care, but he has the beginnings of the +go-fever upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There’s no +mistaking the signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call +upon him now.” + +“It might be his salvation,” Torpenhow said. + +“Perhaps—if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.” + +Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew +well and did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of +moving incidents, experienced by himself or related to him by the +others, of all the four corners of the earth. But the wider range of +the Nilghai’s body and life attracted him most. When truth failed he +fell back on fiction of the wildest, and represented incidents in the +Nilghai’s career that were unseemly,—his marriages with many African +princesses, his shameless betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to +the Mahdi, his tattooment by skilled operators in Burmah, his interview +(and his fears) with the yellow headsman in the blood-stained +execution-ground of Canton, and finally, the passings of his spirit +into the bodies of whales, elephants, and toucans. Torpenhow from time +to time had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole was a curious +piece of art, because Dick decided, having regard to the name of the +book which being interpreted means “naked,” that it would be wrong to +draw the Nilghai with any clothes on, under any circumstances. +Consequently the last sketch, representing that much-enduring man +calling on the War Office to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, +was hardly delicate. He settled himself comfortably on Torpenhow’s +table and turned over the pages. + +“What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!” he said. +“There’s a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that’s more +than life-like. “The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the +Mahdieh”—that was founded on fact, eh?” + +“It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie +come into the Saga yet?” + +“No; the Binkie-boy hasn’t done anything except eat and kill cats. +Let’s see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced +decorative lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being +handed down to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you’ll exist in +rare and curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this +time? The domestic life of the Nilghai?” + +“Hasn’t got any.” + +“The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of +his wives in Trafalgar Square. That’s it. They came from the ends of +the earth to attend Nilghai’s wedding to an English bride. This shall +be an epic. It’s a sweet material to work with.” + +“It’s a scandalous waste of time,” said Torpenhow. + +“Don’t worry; it keeps one’s hand in—specially when you begin without +the pencil.” He set to work rapidly. “That’s Nelson’s Column. Presently +the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.” + +“Give him some clothes this time.” + +“Certainly—a veil and an orange-wreath, because he’s been married.” + +“Gad, that’s clever enough!” said Torpenhow over his shoulder, as Dick +brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat back +and labouring shoulder pressed against stone. + +“Just imagine,” Dick continued, “if we could publish a few of these +dear little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can +write, to give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.” + +“Well, you’ll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of that +kind. I know I can’t hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I give +the job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance——” + +“No-o—one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the dark of +the wall-paper—you only burble and call me names. That left shoulder’s +out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that. Where’s my +pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?” + +“I only gave him his riding-orders to—to lambast you on general +principles for not producing work that will last.” + +“Whereupon that young fool,”—Dick threw back his head and shut one eye +as he shifted the page under his hand,—“being left alone with an +ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and spilt them +both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for the +business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?” + +“How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand +away from the body as it does?” said Torpenhow, to whom Dick’s methods +were always new. + +“It just depends on where you put ’em. If Maclagan had known that much +about his business he might have done better.” + +“Why don’t you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, +then?” insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble +in hiring for Dick’s benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted +most of his waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and +ends of Art, which, he wrote, was one and indivisible. + +“Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of +wives. You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough ’em in +with the pencil—Medes, Parthians, Edomites.... Now, setting aside the +weakness and the wickedness and—and the fat-headedness of deliberately +trying to do work that will live, as they call it, I’m content with the +knowledge that I’ve done my best up to date, and I shan’t do anything +like it again for some hours at least—probably years. Most probably +never.” + +“What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?” said Torpenhow. + +“Anything you’ve sold?” said the Nilghai. + +“Oh no. It isn’t here and it isn’t sold. Better than that, it can’t be +sold, and I don’t think any one knows where it is. I’m sure I don’t.... +And yet more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe +the virtuous horror of the lions!” + +“You may as well explain,” said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head +from the paper. + +“The sea reminded me of it,” he said slowly. “I wish it hadn’t. It +weighs some few thousand tons—unless you cut it out with a cold +chisel.” + +“Don’t be an idiot. You can’t pose with us here,” said the Nilghai. + +“There’s no pose in the matter at all. It’s a fact. I was loafing from +Lima to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into a +cargo-boat and owned by a second-hand Italian firm. She was a crazy +basket. We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought +ourselves lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then we +used to stop and let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the +crack in the shaft was spreading.” + +“Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?” + +“I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I should +have been a steward, I think,” said Dick, with perfect gravity, +returning to the procession of angry wives. “I was the only other +passenger from Lima, and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and +cockroaches and scorpions.” + +“But what has this to do with the picture?” + +“Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower +decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, +and she was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port +holes—most annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I +hadn’t anything to do for weeks. The ship’s charts were in pieces and +our skipper daren’t run south for fear of catching a storm. So he did +his best to knock all the Society Islands out of the water one by one, +and I went into the lower deck, and did my picture on the port side as +far forward in her as I could go. There was some brown paint and some +green paint that they used for the boats, and some black paint for +ironwork, and that was all I had.” + +“The passengers must have thought you mad.” + +“There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of +my picture.” + +“What was she like?” said Torpenhow. + +“She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She +couldn’t read or write, and she didn’t want to, but she used to come +down and watch me paint, and the skipper didn’t like it, because he was +paying her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.” + +“I see. That must have been cheerful.” + +“It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn’t know whether +we should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and when +it was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints and +talk broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few +minutes to the lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. So, +you see, we could never tell when we might be caught, and I had a +splendid notion to work out in only three keys of colour.” + +“What was the notion?” + +“Two lines in Poe— + +Neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea, +Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee. + + +It came out of the sea—all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out in +green water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the +model for the devils and the angels both—sea-devils and sea-angels, and +the soul half drowned between them. It doesn’t sound much, but when +there was a good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and +creepy. It was seven by fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for +shifting light.” + +“Did the woman inspire you much?” said Torpenhow. + +“She and the sea between them—immensely. There was a heap of bad +drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten +for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for +all that it’s the best thing I’ve ever done; and now I suppose the +ship’s broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!” + +“What happened after all?” + +“It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, +but even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of +the demons scared them, I honestly believe.” + +“And the woman?” + +“She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself +before she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of +getting any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, +and the fear of death atop of everything else, O Lord!” He had ceased +to look at the sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across +the room. + +“Why don’t you try something of the same kind now?” said the Nilghai. + +“Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a +cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, +I may.” + +“You won’t find them here,” said the Nilghai. + +“No, I shall not.” Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. “This room’s +as hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.” + +He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London +below him. The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, +commanding a hundred chimneys—crooked cowls that looked like sitting +cats as they swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries +supported by iron stanchions and clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the +lights of Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square threw a +copper-coloured glare above the black roofs, and southward by all the +orderly lights of the Thames. A train rolled out across one of the +railway bridges, and its thunder drowned for a minute the dull roar of +the streets. The Nilghai looked at his watch and said shortly, “That’s +the Paris night-mail. You can book from here to St. Petersburg if you +choose.” + +Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across the +river. Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over +quietly to the piano and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as +possible, spread out upon the sofa with the air of one who is not to be +lightly disturbed. + +“Well,” said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, “have you never +seen this place before?” + +A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then +the boom of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick. + +“Good place to bank in—bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn’t it?” + +Dick’s chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general +not without fame, still looking out on the darkness—“‘My God, what a +city to loot!’” + +Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed +plaintively. + +“We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,” said Torpenhow. “Come in,” and +they withdrew their heads. “You’ll be buried in Kensal Green, Dick, one +of these days, if it isn’t closed by the time you want to go +there—buried within two feet of some one else, his wife and his +family.” + +“Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room +to stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.” Dick flung himself down on the sofa +and tweaked Binkie’s velvet ears, yawning heavily the while. + +“You’ll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,” Torpenhow said +to the Nilghai. “It’s never touched except by you.” + +“A piece of gross extravagance,” Dick grunted. “The Nilghai only comes +when I’m out.” + +“That’s because you’re always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.” + +“The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, +His writings are watered Dickens and water; +But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high +Makes even the Mahdieh glad to die!” + + +Dick quoted from Torpenhow’s letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. + +“How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?” + +The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many +Press-tents in far-off lands had known. + +“What shall I sing?” said he, turning in the chair. + +““Moll Roe in the Morning,”’ said Torpenhow, at a venture. + +“No,” said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old +chanty whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not a +pretty one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. +Without prelude he launched into that stately tune that calls together +and troubles the hearts of the gipsies of the sea— + +“Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, +Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.” + + +Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the +Barralong crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern +Cross. + +Then came the chorus— + +“We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors, +We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas, +Until we take soundings in the Channel of Old England +From Ushant to Scilly ’tis forty-five leagues.” + + +“Thirty-five-thirty-five,” said Dick, petulantly. “Don’t tamper with +Holy Writ. Go on, Nilghai.” + +“The first land we made it was called the Deadman,” + + +and they sang to the end very vigourously. + +“That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way—to +the Ushant light, for instance,” said the Nilghai. + +“Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,” said Torpenhow. “Give us +something else, Nilghai. You’re in fine fog-horn form tonight.” + +“Give us the “Ganges Pilot”; you sang that in the square the night +before El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are +alive to-night,” said Dick. + +Torpenhow considered for a minute. “By Jove! I believe only you and I. + +Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes—all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in Cairo, +carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the Nilghai.” + +“Umph! And yet the men here who’ve done their work in a well-warmed +studio all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I +charge too much for my pictures.” + +“They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,” +said the Nilghai. + +“I gambled with one to get at the other. Don’t preach. Go on with the +“Pilot.” Where in the world did you get that song?” + +“On a tombstone,” said the Nilghai. “On a tombstone in a distant land. +I made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.” + +“Oh, Vanity! Begin.” And the Nilghai began— + +“I have slipped my cable, messmates, I’m drifting down with the tide, +I have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride. +And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea +With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free. + +“Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge +Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge. +Cries Charnock, “Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two, +The tall pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!” + +“Young Joe (you’re nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? +Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?—Why, hark!” + + +They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open +sea about his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go. + +“The morning gun—Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me! +I ha’ sounded the Dutch High Admiral’s heart as my lead doth sound the +sea. +“Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, +Moore me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. +My blessing to Kate at Fairlight—Holwell, my thanks to you; +Steady! We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.” + + +“Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?” said Dick, +hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. + +“It depends on the man,” said Torpenhow. + +“The man who has been down to look at the sea,” said the Nilghai. + +“I didn’t know she was going to upset me in this fashion.” + +“That’s what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. It’s more +easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one’s life and +surroundings.” + +“But a woman can be——” began Dick, unguardedly. + +“A piece of one’s life,” continued Torpenhow. “No, she can’t. His face +darkened for a moment. “She says she wants to sympathise with you and +help you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must do +for himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the +dickens you haven’t been wasting your time with her.” + +“Don’t generalise,” said the Nilghai. “By the time you arrive at five +notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved +accordingly. + +Shouldn’t begin these things, my son.” + +“I shouldn’t have gone down to the sea,” said Dick, just a little +anxious to change the conversation. “And you shouldn’t have sung.” + +“The sea isn’t sending you five notes a day,” said the Nilghai. + +“No, but I’m fatally compromised. She’s an enduring old hag, and I’m +sorry I ever met her. Why wasn’t I born and bred and dead in a +three-pair back?” + +“Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn’t you +listen to her?” said Torpenhow. + +Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout +that shook the windows, in “The Men of the Sea,” that begins, as all +know, “The sea is a wicked old woman,” and after rading through eight +lines whose imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the +clacking of a capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars +where the men sweat and tramp in the shingle. + +“‘Ye that bore us, O restore us! +She is kinder than ye; +For the call is on our heart-strings!’ +Said The Men of the Sea.” + + +The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that +Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to +their wives. + +“‘Ye that love us, can ye move us? +She is dearer than ye; +And your sleep will be the sweeter,’ +Said The Men of the Sea.” + + +The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the +rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making +love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether +the next minute would put the Italian captain’s knife between his +shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors’ +diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything +in the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life +again,—to scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his +fellows; to take ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget +pictures; to talk to Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow +“Tina mixed the drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and see the +smoke roll outward, thin and thicken again till the shining black faces +came through, and in that hell every man was strictly responsible for +his own head, and his own alone, and struck with an unfettered arm. It +was impossible, utterly impossible, but— + +“‘Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, +She is older than ye, +And our graves will be the greener,’ +Said The Men of the Sea.” + + +“What _is_ there to hinder?” said Torpenhow, in the long hush that +followed the song. + +“You said a little time since that you wouldn’t come for a walk round +the world, Torp.” + +“That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for +travelling expenses. You’ve shot your bolt here and it has gone home. +Go away and do some work, and see some things.” + +“Get some of the fat off you; you’re disgracefully out of condition,” +said the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful +of Dick generally over the right ribs. “Soft as putty—pure tallow born +of over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.” + +“We’re all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field +you’ll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.” + +“Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. + +There’s always trouble in South America.” + +“Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only +difficulty is to know where I’m to stop. But I shall stay here, as I +told you before.” + +“Then you’ll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the +others,” said Torpenhow. “Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay +forfeit and go. You’ve money enough to travel as a king if you please.” + +“You’ve the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself +shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third +engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn’t very +warm in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I +shipped at all, which I’m not going to do. I shall compromise, and go +for a small trip to begin with.” + +“That’s something at any rate. Where will you go?” said Torpenhow. “It +would do you all the good in the world, old man.” + +The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick’s eye, and refrained from speech. + +“I shall go in the first place to Rathray’s stable, where I shall hire +one horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I +shall walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a +lather and make Rathray angry. I shall do that to-morrow, for the sake +of air and exercise.” + +“Bah!” Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the +cushion that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. + +“Air and exercise indeed,” said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on +Dick. + +“Let’s give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.” + +At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would +not open his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was +some trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; +and even when it was there he weakly tried to puff against the force of +the blast, and his cheeks blew up with a great explosion; and the enemy +becoming helpless with laughter he so beat them over the head with a +soft sofa cushion that that became unsewn and distributed its feathers, +and Binkie, interfering in Torpenhow’s interests, was bundled into the +half-empty bag and advised to scratch his way out, which he did after a +while, travelling rapidly up and down the floor in the shape of an +agitated green haggis, and when he came out looking for satisfaction, +the three pillars of his world were picking feathers out of their hair. + +“A prophet has no honour in his own country,” said Dick, ruefully, +dusting his knees. “This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.” + +“It was all for your own good,” said the Nilghai. “Nothing like air and +exercise.” + +“All for your good,” said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to +past clowning. “It would let you focus things at their proper worth and +prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it +would, old man. I shouldn’t have spoken if I hadn’t thought so. Only, +you make a joke of everything.” + +“Before God I do no such thing,” said Dick, quickly and earnestly. “You +don’t know me if you think that.” + +_I_ don’t think it,” said the Nilghai. + +“How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really +mean, dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save +ourselves from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can’t I +see, old man, how you’re always anxious about me, and try to advise me +to make my work better? Do you suppose I don’t think about that myself? +But you can’t help me—you can’t help me—not even you. I must play my +own hand alone in my own way.” + +“Hear, hear,” from the Nilghai. + +“What’s the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I’ve never drawn in the +Nungapunga Book?” Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little +astonished at the outburst. + +Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that +Dick had not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai’s life; when +that man, being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged +to the paper that employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery +grass in the rear of Bredow’s brigade on the day that the troopers +flung themselves at Caurobert’s artillery, and for aught they knew +twenty battalions in front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, +to give time to decide the fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their +remnant came back to Flavigay that cavalry can attack and crumple and +break unshaken infantry. Whenever he was inclined to think over a life +that might have been better, an income that might have been larger, and +a soul that might have been considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would +comfort himself with the thought, “I rode with Bredow’s brigade at +Vionville,” and take heart for any lesser battle the next day might +bring. + +“I know,” he said very gravely. “I was always glad that you left it +out.” + +“I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned +then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don’t know German. + +What is it? “Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of +itself.” I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.” + +“_Tempo ist richtung_. You’ve learned your lesson well,” said the +Nilghai. + +“He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.” + +“Maybe I’m as wrong as I can be—hideously wrong. I must find that out +for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren’t +turn my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more +than you know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that’s all. I must do +my own work and live my own life in my own way, because I’m responsible +for both. + +Only don’t think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and +sulphur, and I’ll make my own hell, thanks.” + +There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, “What +did the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South +Carolina?” + +“Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the +makings of a very fine prig in you, Dick,” said the Nilghai. + +“I’ve liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his +mouth.” Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. + +“You’re tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, +without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. +_Sic volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas_, and don’t sneeze in +my eye because I talk Latin. Good-night.” + +He went out of the room. + +“That’s distinctly one for you,” said the Nilghai. “I told you it was +hopeless to meddle with him. He’s not pleased.” + +“He’d swear at me if he weren’t. I can’t make it out. He has the +go-fever upon him and he won’t go. I only hope that he mayn’t have to +go some day when he doesn’t want to,” said Torpenhow. + + +In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself—and the +question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a +burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown +into the Thames. + +“It came of seeing the sea, and I’m a cur to think about it,” he +decided. + +“After all, the honeymoon will be that tour—with reservations; only... +only I didn’t realise that the sea was so strong. I didn’t feel it so +much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He’s +beginning again.” + +But it was only Herrick’s Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, +and before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not +altogether clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace. + +The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide +by Fort Keeling. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +“If I have taken the common clay + And wrought it cunningly +In the shape of a god that was digged a clod, + The greater honour to me.” + +“If thou hast taken the common clay, + And thy hands be not free +From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil + The greater shame to thee.”—_The Two Potters_. + + +He did no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another +Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the +red-haired girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than +desire in his mind. + +He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about +line-work. She had gone off at score filled with some absurd notion for +a “fancy head.” It cost Dick something to command his temper. + +“What’s the good of suggesting anything?” he said pointedly. + +“Ah, but this will be a picture,—a real picture; and I know that Kami +will let me send it to the Salon. You don’t mind, do you?” + +“I suppose not. But you won’t have time for the Salon.” + +Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. + +“We’re going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get +the idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami’s. + +Dick’s heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with +his queen who could do no wrong. “Just when I thought I had made some +headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It’s too maddening!” + +There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the +studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach. + +“I’m sorry,” he said, “and I think you make a mistake. But what’s the +idea of your new picture?” + +“I took it from a book.” + +“That’s bad, to begin with. Books aren’t the places for pictures. +And——” + +“It’s this,” said the red-haired girl behind him. “I was reading it to +Maisie the other day from _The City of Dreadful Night_. D’you know the +book?” + +“A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken +her fancy?” + +“The description of the Melancolia— + +“Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, +But all too impotent to lift the regal +Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. + + +And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) + +“The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams, +The household bunch of keys, the housewife’s gown, + Voluminous indented, and yet rigid + As though a shell of burnished metal frigid, +Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.” + + +There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick +winced. + +“But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of +Durer,” said he. “How does the poem run?— + +“Three centuries and threescore years ago, +With phantasies of his peculiar thought. + + +You might as well try to rewrite _Hamlet_. It will be a waste of time. + +“No, it won’t,” said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to +reassure herself. “And I mean to do it. Can’t you see what a beautiful +thing it would make?” + +“How in perdition can one do work when one hasn’t had the proper +training? Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the +thing through,—training and conviction; not rushing after the first +fancy.” Dick spoke between his teeth. + +“You don’t understand,” said Maisie. “I think I can do it.” + +Again the voice of the girl behind him— + +“Baffled and beaten back, she works on still; + Weary and sick of soul, she works the more. +Sustained by her indomitable will, + The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore, +And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour—— + + +I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.” + +“Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan’t, dear. The +notion in itself has fascinated me.—Of course you don’t care for fancy +heads, Dick. + +I don’t think you could do them. You like blood and bones.” + +“That’s a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn’t +merely a sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. +What d’you know about Melacolias?” Dick firmly believed that he was +even then tasting three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. + +“She was a woman,” said Maisie, “and she suffered a great deal,—till +she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I +painted her and sent her to the Salon.” + +The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. + +Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. + +“Never mind about the picture,” he said. “Are you really going back to +Kami’s for a month before your time?” + +“I must, if I want to get the picture done.” + +“And that’s all you want?” + +“Of course. Don’t be stupid, Dick.” + +“You haven’t the power. You have only the ideas—the ideas and the +little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten +years steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,—a month +before you need?” + +“I must do my work.” + +“Your work—bah!... No, I didn’t mean that. It’s all right, dear. Of +course you must do your work, and—I think I’ll say good-bye for this +week.” + +“Won’t you even stay for tea? “No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, +dear? There’s nothing more you particularly want me to do, and the +line-work doesn’t matter.” + +“I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only +one single picture’s a success, it draws attention to all the others. I +know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn’t +have been so rude about it.” + +“I’m sorry. We’ll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other +Sundays. + +There are four more—yes, one, two, three, four—before you go. Good-bye, +Maisie.” + +Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl +returned, a little white at the corners of her lips. + +“Dick’s gone off,” said Maisie. “Just when I wanted to talk about the +picture. Isn’t it selfish of him?” + +Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went +on reading _The City of Dreadful Night_. + +Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen +as his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and +when he found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his +rage, he sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for +the use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his +patient service; nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long +before he arrived at the proposition that the queen could do no wrong. + +“It’s a losing game,” he said. “I’m worth nothing when a whim of hers +is in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double the +stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn’t the power, or the +insight, or the training. Only the desire. She’s cursed with the curse +of Reuben. She won’t do line-work, because it means real work; and yet +she’s stronger than I am. I’ll make her understand that I can beat her +on her own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn’t care. She says I can only +do blood and bones. I don’t believe she has blood in her veins. All the +same I love her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her +inordinate vanity I will. I’ll do a Melancolia that shall be something +like a Melancolia—“the Melancolia that transcends all wit.” I’ll do it +at once, con—bless her.” + +He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he +could not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie’s +departure. He took very small interest in her rough studies for the +Melancolia when she showed them next week. The Sundays were racing +past, and the time was at hand when all the church bells in London +could not ring Maisie back to him. Once or twice he said something to +Binkie about “hermaphroditic futilities,” but the little dog received +so many confidences both from Torpenhow and Dick that he did not +trouble his tulip-ears to listen. + +Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover +night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, +and Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy +stripping the small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, +that she had not time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted a +day there fretting over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the +very last allow him one small kiss? He reflected that he might capture +her by the strong arm, as he had seem women captured in the Southern +Soudan, and lead her away; but Maisie would never be led. She would +turn her gray eyes upon him and say, “Dick, how selfish you are!” Then +his courage would fail him. It would be better, after all, to beg for +that kiss. + +Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the +night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray +cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green +eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and +went to Maisie’s side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags +were thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching +them. + +“You’ll have a rough passage to-night,” said Dick. “It’s blowing +outside. I suppose I may come over and see you if I’m good?” + +“You mustn’t. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I’ll send for +you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of +things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!—so +good to me!” + +“Thank you for that, dear. It hasn’t made any difference, has it?” + +“I can’t tell a fib. It hasn’t—in that way. But don’t think I’m not +grateful.” + +“Damn the gratitude!” said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. + +“What’s the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and +you’d ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you +were so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. + +Can’t you wait till that day comes?” + +“No, love. I want you unbroken—all to myself.” + +Maisie shook her head. “My poor Dick, what can I say!” + +“Don’t say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I’ll swear +I won’t take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you’re +grateful.” + +Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. + +It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it +was a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood +abashed and tingling from head to toe. + +“Good-bye, darling. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. Only—keep +well and do good work,—specially the Melancolia. I’m going to do one, +too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country +drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it’s worse in France. Write to me +if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the +whatever-you-call-um girl, and—can’t I have another kiss? No. You’re +quite right. Good-bye.” + +A shout told him that it was not seemly to charge up the mail-bag +incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he +followed her with his heart. + +“And there’s nothing—nothing in the wide world—to keep us apart except +her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I’ll get +Torp to write to the papers about it. She’s beginning to pitch +already.” + +Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping +cough at her elbow. The red-haired girl’s eyes were alight with cold +flame. + +“He kissed you!” she said. “How could you let him, when he wasn’t +anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, +let’s go to the ladies’ cabin. I’m sick,—deadly sick.” + +“We aren’t into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I’ll stay here. I +don’t like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved +one,—only one. + +But I didn’t think he’d frighten me so.” + +Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had +telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the +studio. + +He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow +entered, looking guilty. + +“H’sh!” said he. “Don’t make such a noise. I took it. Come into my +rooms, and I’ll show you why.” + +Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow’s sofa lay a girl +asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the +blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with +mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and +ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, +above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared +all things. + +“Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn’t bring this sort up +here. + +They steal things from the rooms.” + +“It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she +staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was +collapse. I couldn’t leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and +gave her your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast +asleep the minute she had finished.” + +“I know something of that complaint. She’s been living on sausages, I +suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for +presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at +the face! There isn’t an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,—slack, +fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It’s a typical head. D’you notice how +the skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and +cheek-bone?” + +“What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don’t hit a woman when she’s +down. Can’t we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. + +She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like +a wild beast. It was horrible.” + +“I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she +going to sleep for ever?” + +The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and +effrontery. + +“Feeling better?” said Torpenhow. + +“Yes. Thank you. There aren’t many gentlemen that are as kind as you +are. Thank you.” + +“When did you leave service?” said Dick, who had been watching the +scarred and chapped hands. + +“How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn’t +like it.” + +“And how do you like being your own mistress?” + +“Do I look as if I liked it?” + +“I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face +to the window?” + +The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,—so keenly that she +made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. + +“The eyes have it,” said Dick, walking up and down. “They are superb +eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. +This has been sent from heaven to make up for—what was taken away. Now +the weekly strain’s off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. + +Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.” + +“Gently, old man, gently. You’re scaring somebody out of her wits,” +said Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. + +“Don’t let him hit me! Oh, please don’t let him hit me! I’ve been hit +cruel to-day because I spoke to a man. Don’t let him look at me like +that! He’s reg’lar wicked, that one. Don’t let him look at me like +that, neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn’t nothing on when he looks at me +like that!” + +The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept +like a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, +and Torpenhow flung the door back. + +“There you are,” said Dick, soothingly. “My friend here can call for a +policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt +you.” + +The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to +laugh. + +“Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I’m +what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?” + +“They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.” + +“I dare say. I haven’t risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by +the Academicians. I want to draw your head.” + +“What for?” + +“Because it’s pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the +landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I’ll give you +three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there’s a +quid on account.” + +“For nothing? Oh, my!” The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and +with more foolish tears, “Ain’t neither o’ you two gentlemen afraid of +my bilking you?” + +“No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the +way, what’s your name?” + +“I’m Bessie,—Bessie—— It’s no use giving the rest. Bessie +Broke,—Stone-broke, if you like. What’s your names? But there,—no one +ever gives the real ones.” + +Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. + +“My name’s Heldar, and my friend’s called Torpenhow; and you must be +sure to come here. Where do you live?” + +“South-the-water,—one room,—five and sixpence a week. Aren’t you making +fun of me about that three quid?” + +“You’ll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you +needn’t wear that paint. It’s bad for the skin, and I have all the +colours you’ll be likely to need.” + +Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief. +The two men looked at each other. + +“You’re a man,” said Torpenhow. + +“I’m afraid I’ve been a fool. It isn’t our business to run about the +earth reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on +this landing.” + +“Perhaps she won’t come back.” + +“She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she +will, worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn’t a woman; she’s my +model; and be careful.” + +“The idea! She’s a dissolute little scarecrow,—a gutter-snippet and +nothing more.” + +“So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear. +That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won’t know her in a +week or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She’ll be +too happy and smiling for my purposes.” + +“But surely you’re not taking her out of charity?—to please me?” + +“I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She +has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me +with my Melancolia.” + +“Never heard a word about the lady before.” + +“What’s the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at +him in words? You ought to know what I’m thinking about. You’ve heard +me grunt lately?” + +“Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad “baccy to +wicked dealers. And I don’t think I’ve been much in your confidence for +some time.” + +“It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that it +meant the Melancolia.” Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, +keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, “_Now_ don’t you see +it? Bessie’s abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to +one or two details in the way of sorrow that have come under my +experience lately. Likewise some orange and black,—two keys of each. +But I can’t explain on an empty stomach.” + +“It sounds mad enough. You’d better stick to your soldiers, Dick, +instead of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.” + +“Think so?” Dick began to dance on his heels, singing— + +“They’re as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, + You ought to ’ear the way they laugh an’ joke; +They are tricky an’ they’re funny when they’ve got the ready money,— + Ow! but see ’em when they’re all stone-broke.” + + +Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter +of counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get +to work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear. + +The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and +overbold by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit +still, she grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio +with freedom and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and +the release from fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies +of her head in monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia +would not arrive. + +“What a mess you keep your things in!” said Bessie, some days later, +when she felt herself thoroughly at home. “I s’pose your clothes are +just as bad. + +Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.” + +“I buy things to wear, and wear ’em till they go to pieces. I don’t +know what Torpenhow does.” + +Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter’s room, and unearthed a bale +of disreputable socks. “Some of these I’ll mend now,” she said, “and +some I’ll take home. D’you know, I sit all day long at home doing +nothing, just like a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in the +house than if they was so many flies. I don’t have any unnecessary +words, but I put ’em down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me. +No; it’s quite nice these days. I lock my door, and they can only call +me names through the keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, +mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow wears his socks out both ends at once.” + +“Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks +mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, +and all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,” thought Dick; +and he looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had +transformed the girl, as Dick knew they would. + +“What are you looking at me like that for?” she said quickly. “Don’t. +You look reg’lar bad when you look that way. You don’t think much o’ +me, do you?” + +“That depends on how you behave.” + +Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a +sitting to bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much +preferred the studio and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in +her lap as an excuse for delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and +Bessie would be moved to tell strange and wonderful stories of her +past, and still stranger ones of her present improved circumstances. +She would make them tea as though she had a right to make it; and once +or twice on these occasions Dick caught Torpenhow’s eyes fixed on the +trim little figure, and because Bessie’s flittings about the room made +Dick ardently long for Maisie, he realised whither Torpenhow’s thoughts +were tending. And Bessie was exceedingly careful of the condition of +Torpenhow’s linen. She spoke very little to him, but sometimes they +talked together on the landing. + +“I was a great fool,” Dick said to himself. “I know what red firelight +looks like when a man’s tramping through a strange town; and ours is a +lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn’t feel +that sometimes. But I can’t order Bessie away. That’s the worst of +beginning things. One never knows where they stop.” + +One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, +Dick was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow’s room. He +jumped to his feet. “Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go +in.—Oh, bless you, Binkie!” The little terrier thrust Torpenhow’s door +open with his nose and came out to take possession of Dick’s chair. The +door swung wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie +in the half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was +kneeling by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee. + +“I know,—I know,” she said thickly. “’Tisn’t right o’ me to do this, +but I can’t help it; and you were so kind,—so kind; and you never took +any notice o’ me. And I’ve mended all your things so carefully,—I did. +Oh, please, ’tisn’t as if I was asking you to marry me. I wouldn’t +think of it. + +But you—couldn’t you take and live with me till Miss Right comes along? +I’m only Miss Wrong, I know, but I’d work my hands to the bare bone for +you. And I’m not ugly to look at. Say you will!” + +Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow’s voice in reply—“But look here. It’s +no use. I’m liable to be ordered off anywhere at a minute’s notice if a +war breaks out. At a minute’s notice—dear.” + +“What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. ’Tisn’t much +I’m asking, and—you don’t know how good I can cook.” She had put an arm +round his neck and was drawing his head down. + +“Until—I—go, then.” + +“Torp,” said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his +voice. + +“Come here a minute, old man. I’m in trouble’—“Heaven send he’ll listen +to me!” There was something very like an oath from Bessie’s lips. She +was afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the staircase in panic, but it +seemed an age before Torpenhow entered the studio. He went to the +mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a wounded +bull. + +“What the devil right have you to interfere?” he said, at last. + +“Who’s interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you +couldn’t be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you’re +all right now.” + +“I oughtn’t to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they +belonged to her. That’s what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of +hankering, doesn’t it?” said Torpenhow, piteously. + +“Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren’t in a condition to +discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what +you’re going to do?” + +“I don’t. I wish I did.” + +“You’re going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. +You’re going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the +ships go by. And you’re going at once. Isn’t it odd? I’ll take care of +Binkie, but out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds +the bank. Fly from him. Pack your things and go.” + +“I believe you’re right. Where shall I go?” + +“And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire +afterwards.” + +An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. + +“You’ll probably think of some place to go to while you’re moving,” +said Dick. “On to Euston, to begin with, and—oh yes—get drunk +to-night.” + +He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the +room very dark. + +“Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won’t you hate me +to-morrow!—Binkie, come here.” + +Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him +with a meditative foot. + +“I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That +showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to +perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will +go to a much worse place.” + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +What’s you that follows at my side?— + The foe that ye must fight, my lord.— +That hirples swift as I can ride?— + The shadow of the night, my lord.— +Then wheel my horse against the foe!— + He’s down and overpast, my lord. +Ye war against the sunset glow; + The darkness gathers fast, my lord. + +—_The Fight of Heriot’s Ford_. + + +“This is a cheerful life,” said Dick, some days later. “Torp’s away; +Bessie hates me; I can’t get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie’s +letters are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man +pains across the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take +some liver pills?” + +Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the +fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained +her enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only +sat for the sake of his money. “And Mr. Torpenhow’s ten times a better +man than you,” she concluded. + +“He is. That’s why he went away. _I_ should have stayed and made love +to you.” + +The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. “To me! I’d like to +catch you! If I wasn’t afraid o’ being hung I’d kill you. That’s what +I’d do. + +D’you believe me?” + +Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a +notion that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a +woman who talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment +there unrolled itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, +of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not +go. + +“This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. +We can’t have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; +also mutton-chop bones for little dogs.” + +The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he +said nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. + +“We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,” he +chirped. “Like a ship, my dear sir,—exactly like a ship. Sometimes the +hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the +rigging, and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the +brain-specialist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and +then we see an oculist. I should recommend you to see an oculist. A +little patching and repairing from time to time is all we want. An +oculist, by all means.” + +Dick sought an oculist,—the best in London. He was certain that the +local practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more +certain that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear +spectacles. + +“I’ve neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence +these spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever +could.” + +As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man +cannoned against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the +street. + +“That’s the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead as +Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn’t like.” + +Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him +hold his breath as he walked into the oculist’s waiting room, with the +heavy carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints +on the wall. He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches. + +Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by a +flaming red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to that +eye-doctor, and they needed large-type amusement. + +“That’s idolatrous bad Art,” he said, drawing the book towards himself. + +“From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.” He +opened in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in +red ink— + +The next good joy that Mary had, + It was the joy of three, +To see her good Son Jesus Christ + Making the blind to see; +Making the blind to see, good Lord, + And happy we may be. +Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost + To all eternity! + + +Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor was +bending above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the +gas-microscope in his eyes made him wince. The doctor’s hand touched +the scar of the sword-cut on Dick’s head, and Dick explained briefly +how he had come by it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the +doctor’s face, and the fear came upon him again. The doctor wrapped +himself in a mist of words. Dick caught allusions to “scar,” “frontal +bone,” “optic nerve,” “extreme caution,” and the “avoidance of mental +anxiety.” + +“Verdict?” he said faintly. “My business is painting, and I daren’t +waste time. What do you make of it?” + +Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. + +“Can you give me anything to drink?” + +Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners +often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his +hand. + +“As far as I can gather,” he said, coughing above the spirit, “you call +it decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What +is my time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?” + +“Perhaps one year.” + +“My God! And if I don’t take care of myself?” + +“I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of +injury inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and—exposure +to the strong light of the desert, did you say?—with excessive +application to fine work? I really could not say?” + +“I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will +let me, I’ll sit here for a minute, and then I’ll go. You have been +very good in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any +warning. + +Thanks.” + +Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. + +“We’ve got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. +We’ll go to the Park to think it out.” + +They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down +to think, because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold +fear at the pit of his stomach. + +“How could it have come without any warning? It’s as sudden as being +shot. It’s the living death, Binkie. We’re to be shut up in the dark in +one year if we’re careful, and we shan’t see anybody, and we shall +never have anything we want, not though we live to be a hundred!” +Binkie wagged his tail joyously. “Binkie, we must think. Let’s see how +it feels to be blind.” Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and +Catherine-wheels floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked across the +Park the scope of his vision was not contracted. He could see +perfectly, until a procession of slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across +his eyeballs. + +“Little dorglums, we aren’t at all well. Let’s go home. If only Torp +were back, now!” + +But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the +company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. + +Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He +argued, in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated +with a film of gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were +blindness, all the Torpenhows in the world could not save him. “I can’t +call him off his trip to sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull +through this business alone,” he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating +his moustache and wondering what the darkness of the night would be +like. Then came to his mind the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. +A soldier had been nearly hacked in two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. +For one instant the man felt no pain. Looking down, he saw that his +life-blood was going from him. The stupid bewilderment on his face was +so intensely comic that both Dick and Torpenhow, still panting and +unstrung from a fight for life, had roared with laughter, in which the +man seemed as if he would join, but, as his lips parted in a sheepish +grin, the agony of death came upon him, and he pitched grunting at +their feet. Dick laughed again, remembering the horror. It seemed so +exactly like his own case. + +“But I have a little more time allowed me,” he said. He paced up and +down the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet +of fear. It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged +him to go forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating +pin-dots before his eyes. + +“We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.” He talked aloud for the +sake of distraction. “This isn’t nice at all. What shall we do? We must +do something. Our time is short. I shouldn’t have believed that this +morning; but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the +light went out?” + +Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made +no suggestion. + +““Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were not +crime.... But at my back I always hear——“’ He wiped his forehead, which +was unpleasantly damp. “What can I do? What can I do? I haven’t any +notions left, and I can’t think connectedly, but I must do something, +or I shall go off my head.” + +The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to drag +forth long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to his +work by instinct, as a thing that could not fail. “You won’t do, and +you won’t do,” he said, at each inspection. “No more soldiers. I +couldn’t paint ’em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is +battle and murder for me.” + +The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight of +the blind had come upon him unaware. “Allah Almighty!” he cried +despairingly, “help me through the time of waiting, and I won’t whine +when my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light goes?” + +There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of +control over himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on +their steadiness; he could feel that his lips were quivering, and the +sweat was running down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward +by the desire to get to work at once and accomplish something, and +maddened by the refusal of his brain to do more than repeat the news +that he was about to go blind. “It’s a humiliating exhibition,” he +thought, “and I’m glad Torp isn’t here to see. The doctor said I was to +avoid mental worry. + +Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.” + +The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. + +Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, +understood that his trouble stood off from him—“Allah is good, Binkie. +Not quite so gentle as we could wish, but we’ll discuss that later. I +think I see my way to it now. All those studies of Bessie’s head were +nonsense, and they nearly brought your master into a scrape. I hold the +notion now as clear as crystal,—“the Melancolia that transcends all +wit.” There shall be Maisie in that head, because I shall never get +Maisie; and Bess, of course, because she knows all about Melancolia, +though she doesn’t know she knows; and there shall be some drawing in +it, and it shall all end up with a laugh. That’s for myself. Shall she +giggle or grin? No, she shall laugh right out of the canvas, and every +man and woman that ever had a sorrow of their own shall—what is it the +poem says?— + +“Understand the speech and feel a stir +Of fellowship in all disastrous fight. + + +“In all disastrous fight”? That’s better than painting the thing merely +to pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, +I’m going to hold you up by your tail. You’re an omen. Come here.” + +Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. + +“Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you’re a brave little dog, and +you don’t yelp when you’re hung up. It is an omen.” + +Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick +walking up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick +wrote a letter to Maisie full of the tenderest regard for her health, +but saying very little about his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to +be born. Not till morning did he remember that something might happen +to him in the future. + +He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean, +clear joy of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he +should consider himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at +the appointed time. He forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his +feet, but remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very little stirring, +into a tremendous rage, that he might watch the smouldering lights in +her eyes. + +He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think +of the doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his +notion, and the things of this world had no power upon him. + +“You’re pleased to-day,” said Bessie. + +Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard +for a drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died +down, he went to the sideboard again, and after some visits became +convinced that the eye-doctor was a liar, since he could still see +everything very clearly. + +He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that +whether she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed +next morning, but the sideboard and all upon it remained for his +comfort. + +Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes +and blurs till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the +Melancolia both on the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier +than ever. There was a delightful sense of irresponsibility upon him, +such as they feel who walking among their fellow-men know that the +death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, seeing that fear is but +waste of the little time left, are riotously happy. The days passed +without event. + +Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick +to come from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia +began to flame on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known +all the sorrow in the world and was laughing at it. It was true that +the corners of the studio draped themselves in gray film and retired +into the darkness, that the spots in his eyes and the pains across his +head were very troublesome, and that Maisie’s letters were hard to read +and harder still to answer. He could not tell her of his trouble, and +he could not laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia which was +always going to be finished. But the furious days of toil and the +nights of wild dreams made amends for all, and the sideboard was his +best friend on earth. + +Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick +stared at her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him +with disgust, saying very little. + +Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded +his return. “News! great news!” he wrote. “The Nilghai knows, and so +does the Keneu. We’re all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your +accoutrements.” + +Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever +sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. + +“Well,” said Dick, brutally, “you’re better as you are, instead of +making love to some drunken beast in the street.” He felt that he had +rescued Torpenhow from great temptation. + +“I don’t know if that’s any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a +studio. _You_ haven’t been sober for three weeks. You’ve been soaking +the whole time; and yet you pretend you’re better than me!” + +“What d’you mean?” said Dick. + +“Mean! You’ll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.” + +It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without +a sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, +and the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for +Dick. + +“Drinking like a fish,” Bessie whispered. “He’s been at it for nearly a +month.” She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. + +They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by +a drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,—unshaven, blue-white about the +nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows +nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. + +“Is this you?” said Torpenhow. + +“All that’s left of me. Sit down. Binkie’s quite well, and I’ve been +doing some good work.” He reeled where he stood. + +“You’ve done some of the worst work you’ve ever done in your life. Man +alive, you’re——” + +Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room +to find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a +friend is much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since +Torpenhow used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt +untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said to Dick, +who blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time the +culprit began to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite +sure that he had not in any way departed from virtue, and there were +reasons, too, of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain. + +He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he +could hardly see. + +“You are right,” he said. “But I am right, too. After you went away I +had some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a +gasogene—I mean a gas-engine—into my eye. That was very long ago. He +said, “Scar on the head,—sword-cut and optic nerve.” Make a note of +that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go blind, +and I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can see +best when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but I +must go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.” He +pointed to the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause. + +Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at +seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds—if indeed they were +misdeeds—that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for childish +vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his +wonderful picture. + +Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two +walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow’s hand on Dick’s shoulder. + +Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, who +was dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his +master again. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The lark will make her hymn to God, + The partridge call her brood, +While I forget the heath I trod, + The fields wherein I stood. +’Tis dule to know not night from morn, + But deeper dule to know +I can but hear the hunter’s horn + That once I used to blow. + +—_The Only Son_. + + +It was the third day after Torpenhow’s return, and his heart was heavy. + +“Do you mean to tell me that you can’t see to work without whiskey? +It’s generally the other way about.” + +“Can a drunkard swear on his honour?” said Dick. + +“Yes, if he has been as good a man as you.” + +“Then I give you my word of honour,” said Dick, speaking hurriedly +through parched lips. “Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You’ve +kept me sober for two days,—if I ever was drunk,—and I’ve done no work. + +Don’t keep me back any more. I don’t know when my eyes may give out. + +The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than +ever. I swear I can see all right when I’m—when I’m moderately screwed, +as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all—the stuff I +want, and the picture will be done. I can’t kill myself in three days. +It only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.” + +“If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and—the +other thing, whether the picture’s finished or not?” + +“I can’t. You don’t know what that picture means to me. But surely you +could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I +shouldn’t fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.” + +“Go on, then. I give you three days; but you’re nearly breaking my +heart.” + +Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow +devil of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. +The Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he +had hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that +he was “a drunken beast’; but the reproof did not move him. + +“You can’t understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we +shall lie back and think about what we’ve done. I’ll give you three +months’ pay when the picture’s finished, and next time I have any more +work in hand—but that doesn’t matter. Won’t three months’ pay make you +hate me less?” + +“No, it won’t! I hate you, and I’ll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow +won’t speak to me any more. He’s always looking at maps.” + +Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that +at the end of her passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a +kiss, and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a +little fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, +and their talk was of war in the near future, the hiring of transports, +and secret preparations among the dockyards. He did not wish to see +Dick till the picture was finished. + +“He’s doing first-class work,” he said to the Nilghai, “and it’s quite +out of his regular line. But, for the matter of that, so’s his infernal +soaking.” + +“Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again +we’ll carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor +Dick! I don’t envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.” + +“Yes, it will be a case of “God help the man who’s chained to our +Davie.” The worst is that we don’t know when it will happen, and I +believe the uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey +more than anything else.” + +“How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!” + +“He’s at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He’s dead. That’s poor +consolation now.” + +In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. + +“All finished!” he shouted. “I’ve done it! Come in! Isn’t she a beauty? +Isn’t she a darling? I’ve been down to hell to get her; but isn’t she +worth it?” + +Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,—a full-lipped, +hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had +intended she would. + +“Who taught you how to do it?” said Torpenhow. “The touch and notion +have nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What +eyes, and what insolence!” Unconsciously he threw back his head and +laughed with her. “She’s seen the game played out,—I don’t think she +had a good time of it,—and now she doesn’t care. Isn’t that the idea?” + +“Exactly.” + +“Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don’t belong to Bess.” + +“They’re—some one else’s. But isn’t it good? Isn’t it thundering good? +Wasn’t it worth the whiskey? I did it. Alone I did it, and it’s the +best I can do.” He drew his breath sharply, and whispered, “Just God! +what could I not do ten years hence, if I can do this now!—By the way, +what do you think of it, Bess?” + +The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had +taken no notice of her. + +“I think it’s just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,” she +answered, and turned away. + +“More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.—Dick, +there’s a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the +head that I don’t understand,” said Torpenhow. + +That’s trick-work,” said Dick, chuckling with delight at being +completely understood. “I couldn’t resist one little bit of sheer +swagger. It’s a French trick, and you wouldn’t understand; but it’s got +at by slewing round the head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening +of one side of the face from the angle of the chin to the top of the +left ear. That, and deepening the shadow under the lobe of the ear. It +was flagrant trick-work; but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled +to play with it,—Oh, you beauty!” + +“Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.” + +“So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,” said Dick, slapping +his thigh. “He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, +just when he’s feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back +his head and laugh,—as she is laughing. I’ve put the life of my heart +and the light of my eyes into her, and I don’t care what comes.... I’m +tired,—awfully tired. I think I’ll get to sleep. Take away the whiskey, +it has served its turn, and give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over +for luck. Cover the picture.” + +He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost +before he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow’s +hand. “Aren’t you never going to speak to me any more?” she said; but +Torpenhow was looking at Dick. + +“What a stock of vanity the man has! I’ll take him in hand to-morrow +and make much of him. He deserves it.—Eh! what was that, Bess?” + +“Nothing. I’ll put things tidy here a little, and then I’ll go. You +couldn’t give the that three months’ pay now, could you? He said you +were to.” + +Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully +tidied up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a +bottle of turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the +Melancolia viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took +a palette-knife and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. +In five minutes the picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. +She threw the paint-stained duster into the studio stove, stuck out her +tongue at the sleeper, and whispered, “Bilked!” as she turned to run +down the staircase. She would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had +at least done harm to the man who had come between her and her desire +and who used to make fun of her. Cashing the check was the very cream +of the jest to Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across the +Thames, to be swallowed up in the gray wilderness of South-the-Water. + +Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off to +bed. His eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. “Let’s have +another look at the picture,” he said, insistently as a child. + +“You—go—to—bed,” said Torpenhow. “You aren’t at all well, though you +mayn’t know it. You’re as jumpy as a cat.” + +“I reform to-morrow. Good-night.” + +As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the +picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: “Wiped out!—scraped +out and turped out! He’s on the verge of jumps as it is. That’s +Bess,—the little fiend! Only a woman could have done that!-with the ink +not dry on the check, too! Dick will be raving mad to-morrow. It was +all my fault for trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor Dick, the +Lord is hitting you very hard!” + +Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly +because the well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place +to crackling volcanoes of many-coloured fire. “Spout away,” he said +aloud. + +“I’ve done my work, and now you can do what you please.” He lay still, +staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his +veins, his brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be +considered, and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that +he was painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed +with millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood +embodied hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting +together in his honour, when something cracked inside his temples like +an overstrained bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was +alone in the thick night. + +“I’ll go to sleep. The room’s very dark. Let’s light a lamp and see how +the Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.” + +It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did +not know,—in the rattling accents of deadly fear. + +“He’s looked at the picture,” was his first thought, as he hurried into +the bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his +hands. + +“Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity’s sake, come to me!” + +“What’s the matter?” + +Dick clutched at his shoulder. “Matter! I’ve been lying here for hours +in the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don’t go away. I’m +all in the dark. In the dark, I tell you!” + +Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick’s eyes, but there was +no light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. +The grip of his fingers on Torpenhow’s shoulder made Torpenhow wince. + +“Don’t leave me. You wouldn’t leave me alone now, would you? I can’t +see. D’you understand? It’s black,—quite black,—and I feel as if I was +falling through it all.” + +“Steady does it.” Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock +him gently to and fro. + +“That’s good. Now don’t talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this +darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H’sh!” Dick +knit his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air +was chilling Torpenhow’s toes. + +“Can you stay like that a minute?” he said. “I’ll get my dressing-gown +and some slippers.” + +Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness +to clear away. “What a time you’ve been!” he cried, when Torpenhow +returned. “It’s as black as ever. What are you banging about in the +door-way?” + +“Long chair,—horse-blanket,—pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie down +now; you’ll be better in the morning.” + +“I shan’t!” The voice rose to a wail. “My God! I’m blind! I’m blind, +and the darkness will never go away.” He made as if to leap from the +bed, but Torpenhow’s arms were round him, and Torpenhow’s chin was on +his shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only +gasp, “Blind!” and wriggle feebly. + +“Steady, Dickie, steady!” said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip +tightened. “Bite on the bullet, old man, and don’t let them think +you’re afraid,” The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing +heavily. + +Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. + +“Let me go,” he panted. “You’re cracking my ribs. We-we mustn’t let +them think we’re afraid, must we,—all the powers of darkness and that +lot?” + +“Lie down. It’s all over now.” + +“Yes,” said Dick, obediently. “But would you mind letting me hold your +hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops through +the dark so.” + +Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick +clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow +withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the +forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of +death, to ease his departure. + +In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was adrift +on the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly—“It’s a +pity,—a great pity; but it’s helped, and it must be eaten, Master +George. Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, +putting aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious +notoriety—such as mine was—that the queen can do no wrong. Torp doesn’t +know that. I’ll tell him when we’re a little farther into the desert. + +What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They’ll +have that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you +so—there she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing +round. How good that looks! I’ll sketch it. No, I can’t. I’m afflicted +with ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it +extends up the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that’s a joke, Torp. +Laugh, you graven image, and stand clear of the hawser.... It’ll knock +you into the water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.” + +“Oh!” said Torpenhow. “This happened before. That night on the river.” + +“She’ll be sure to say it’s my fault if you get muddy, and you’re quite +near enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that’s not fair. Ah! I knew +you’d miss. + +Low and to the left, dear. But you’ve no conviction. Don’t be angry, +darling. I’d cut my hand off if it would give you anything more than +obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.” + +“Now we mustn’t listen. Here’s an island shouting across seas of +misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it’s shouting truth, I fancy,” +said Torpenhow. + +The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured +at length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being +enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss—only one kiss—before she went +away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she +would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness +that the queen could do no wrong. + +Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick’s life +that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the +past, and then a natural sleep. “What a strain he has been running +under, poor chap!” said Torpenhow. “Dick, of all men, handing himself +over like a dog! And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have +known that it was no use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon +that girl must be! Dick’s given her his life,—confound him!—and she’s +given him one kiss apparently.” + +“Torp,” said Dick, from the bed, “go out for a walk. You’ve been here +too long. I’ll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can’t dress myself. Oh, +it’s too absurd!” + +Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair in +the studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for the +darkness to lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick +adventured on a voyage round the walls. He hit his shins against the +stove, and this suggested to him that it would be better to crawl on +all fours, one hand in front of him. Torpenhow found him on the floor. + +“I’m trying to get the geography of my new possessions,” said he. +“D’you remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn’t +keep the odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give +me all the ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing +outside. They’re of no importance.” + +Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick +put it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might +not have read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would +never belong to him. + +“When she finds that I don’t write, she’ll stop writing. It’s better +so. I couldn’t be any use to her now,” Dick argued, and the tempter +suggested that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him +revolted. “I have fallen low enough already. I’m not going to beg for +pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.” He strove to put Maisie out +of his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for thinking, +and as the tides of his strength came back to him in the long +employless days of dead darkness, Dick’s soul was troubled to the core. +Another letter, and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, +and Dick sat by the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and +pictured her being won by another man, stronger than himself. His +imagination, the keener for the dark background it worked against, +spared him no single detail that might send him raging up and down the +studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in four places at +once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The +arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled +despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion that Dick confided to +his pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled +with intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable darkness. + +“Come out into the Park,” said Torpenhow. “You haven’t stirred out +since the beginning of things.” + +“What’s the use? There’s no movement in the dark; and, besides,”—he +paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,—“something will run over +me.” + +“Not if I’m with you. Proceed gingerly.” + +The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung +to Torpenhow’s arm. “Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!” +he said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. “Let’s curse God and +die.” + +“Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there +are the Guards!” + +Dick’s figure straightened. “Let’s get near ’em. Let’s go in and look. +Let’s get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.” + +“Mind the low railing. That’s all right!” Torpenhow kicked out a tuft +of grass with his heel. “Smell that,” he said. “Isn’t it good?” Dick +sniffed luxuriously. “Now pick up your feet and run.” They approached +as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being +unfixed made Dick’s nostrils quiver. + +“Let’s get nearer. They’re in column, aren’t they?” + +“Yes. How did you know?” + +“Felt it. Oh, my men!—my beautiful men!” He edged forward as though he +could see. “I could draw those chaps once. Who’ll draw ’em now?” + +“They’ll move off in a minute. Don’t jump when the band begins.” + +“Huh! I’m not a new charger. It’s the silences that hurt. Nearer, +Torp!—nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn’t I give to see ’em for a +minute!—one half-minute!” + +He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the +slings tighten across the bandsman’s chest as he heaved the big drum +from the ground. + +“Sticks crossed above his head,” whispered Torpenhow. + +“I know. _I_ know! Who should know if I don’t? H’sh!” + +The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the +crash of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his +face, heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches +on the belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall +refrain that made a perfect quickstep— + +He must be a man of decent height, + He must be a man of weight, +He must come home on a Saturday night + In a thoroughly sober state; +He must know how to love me, + And he must know how to kiss; +And if he’s enough to keep us both + I can’t refuse him bliss. + + +“What’s the matter?” said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick’s head fall when +the last of the regiment had departed. + +“Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,—that’s all. Torp, +take me back. Why did you bring me out?” + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +There were three friends that buried the fourth, + The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes +And they went south and east, and north,— + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies. + +There were three friends that spoke of the dead,— + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.— +“And would he were with us now,” they said, + “The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.” + +—_Ballad_. + + +The Nilghai was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to bed,—blind +men are ever under the orders of those who can see,—and since he had +returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was +alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, +Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only +burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a +Mrs. Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to handle and +re-handle three unopened letters from Maisie. + +The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow’s rooms. + +Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a +large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. + +“I was wrong about the Balkans,” said the Nilghai. “But I’m not wrong +about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan must +be done over again. The public doesn’t care, of course, but the +government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You +know that as well as I do.” + +“I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from +Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can’t go,” +said Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. +“Can you blame me?” + +The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat—“Don’t +blame you in the least. It’s uncommonly good of you, and all the rest +of it, but every man—even you, Torp—must consider his work. I know it +sounds brutal, but Dick’s out of the race,—down,—_gastados_, expended, +finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won’t starve, +and you can’t pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own +reputation.” + +“Dick’s was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.” + +“That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It’s all +ended now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can +command your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.” + +“Don’t tell me how tempting it is. I’ll stay here to look after Dick +for a while. He’s as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think +he likes to have me near him.” + +The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who +throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. +The constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin. + +“There remains a third fate,” said the Keneu, thoughtfully. “Consider +this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is—or rather was—an +able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of +audacity.” + +“Oho!” said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. “I begin to +see,—Torp, I’m sorry.” + +Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: “You were more sorry when he cut you out, +though.—Go on, Keneu.” + +“I’ve often thought, when I’ve seen men die out in the desert, that if +the news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport +were quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man’s +bedside.” + +“There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful +things are as they are,” said the Nilghai. + +“Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp’s three-cornered +ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.—What do you think +yourself, Torp?” + +“I know they aren’t. But what can I do?” + +“Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick’s friends here. +You’ve been most in his life.” + +“But I picked it up when he was off his head.” + +“The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who +is she?” + +Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent +who knows how to make a verbal _précis_ should tell it. The men +listened without interruption. + +“Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his +calf-love?” said the Keneu. “Is it possible?” + +“I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling +three letters from her when he thinks I’m not looking. What am I to +do?” + +“Speak to him,” said the Nilghai. + +“Oh yes! Write to her,—I don’t know her full name, remember,—and ask +her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were +sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the +bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl, +whoever she is. I honestly believe he’d try to kill you; and the +blindness has made him rather muscular.” + +“Torpenhow’s course is perfectly clear,” said the Keneu. “He will go to +Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,—single track +from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in ’70 because there was a +poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church +spire There’s a squadron of cavalry quartered there,—or ought to be. +Where this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp’s +business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain +the situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,—the more +especially because, to use Dick’s words, “there is nothing but her +damned obstinacy to keep them apart.”’ + +“And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between ’em. Dick +never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven’t the +shadow of an excuse for not going,” said the Nilghai. + +Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. “But it’s absurd and impossible. I +can’t drag her back by the hair.” + +“Our business—the business for which we draw our money—is to do absurd +and impossible things,—generally with no reason whatever except to +amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn’t matter. I +shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns. There +will be a batch of unbridled “specials” coming to town in a little +while, and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for +sending Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, +and’—here the Keneu dropped his measured speech—“we can’t have you tied +by the leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It’s your only chance of +getting away; and Dick will be grateful.” + +“He will,—worse luck! I can but go and try. I can’t conceive a woman in +her senses refusing Dick.” + +“Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh +woman into giving you dates. This won’t be a tithe as difficult. You +had better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I +will be in possession. It is an order. Obey.” + +“Dick,” said Torpenhow, next morning, “can I do anything for you?” + +“No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I’m blind?” + +“Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?” + +“No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.” + +“Poor chap!” said Torpenhow to himself. “I must have been sitting on +his nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.” Then, aloud, “Very well. +Since you’re so independent, I’m going off for four or five days. Say +good-bye at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has +my rooms.” + +Dick’s face fell. “You won’t be longer than a week at the outside? I +know I’m touched in the temper, but I can’t get on without you.” + +“Can’t you? You’ll have to do without me in a little time, and you’ll +be glad I’m gone.” + +Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things +might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet +Torpenhow’s constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know +what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie’s unopened +letters felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them +for himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him +some fresh ones to play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,—a piece +of red modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using +his hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, “Is +it like anything in the world?” he said drearily. “Take it away. I may +get the touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow +has gone?” + +The Nilghai knew nothing. “We’re staying in his rooms till he comes +back. Can we do anything for you?” + +“I’d like to be left alone, please. Don’t think I’m ungrateful; but I’m +best alone.” + +The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen +rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the +work he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had +departed from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the +completeness of his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body +cried for Maisie—Maisie who would understand. His mind pointed out that +Maisie, having her own work to do, would not care. His experience had +taught him that when money was exhausted women went away, and that when +a man was knocked out of the race the others trampled on him. “Then at +the least,” said Dick, in reply, “she could use me as I used Binat,—for +some sort of a study. I wouldn’t ask more than to be near her again, +even though I knew that another man was making love to her. Ugh! what a +dog I am!” + +A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully— + +“When we go—go—go away from here, + Our creditors will weep and they will wail, +Our absence much regretting when they find that they’ve been getting + Out of England by next Tuesday’s Indian mail.” + + +Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow’s door, and the +sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, “And see, you +good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle—firs’-class patent—eh, +how you say? Open himself inside out.” + +Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. “That’s Cassavetti, +come back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There’s a +row somewhere, and—I’m out of it!” + +The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. “That’s for my sake,” Dick said +bitterly. “The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn’t tell +me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War +Correspondents in London are there;—and I’m out of it.” + +He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow’s room. He +could feel that it was full of men. “Where’s the trouble?” said he. “In +the Balkans at last? Why didn’t some one tell me?” + +“We thought you wouldn’t be interested,” said the Nilghai, +shamefacedly. + +“It’s in the Soudan, as usual.” + +“You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan’t be a skeleton +at the feast.—Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as +ever.” + +Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the +talk swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, +discussing press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, +the capacities of generals,—these in language that would have horrified +a trusting public,—ranging, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the +top of their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the +Soudan at any moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in +readiness. The Keneu had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti +had stolen a perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered +forward, and was reading it out amid profane interruptions, and the +Keneu introduced to Dick some man unknown who would be employed as war +artist by the Central Southern Syndicate. “It’s his first outing,” said +the Keneu. “Give him some tips—about riding camels.” + +“Oh, those camels!” groaned Cassavetti. “I shall learn to ride him +again, and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know +your military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire +Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.” + +A roar of laughter interrupted him. + +“Sit down,” said the Nilghai. “The lists aren’t even made out in the +War Office.” + +“Will there be any force at Suakin?” said a voice. + +Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: “How many Egyptian +troops will they use?—God help the Fellaheen!—There’s a railway in +Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.—We shall have the +Suakin-Berber line built at last.—Canadian voyageurs are too careful. +Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.—Who commands the Desert +column?—No, they never blew up the big rock in the Ghineh bend. We +shall have to be hauled up, as usual.—Somebody tell me if there’s an +Indian contingent, or I’ll break everybody’s head.—Don’t tear the map +in two.—It’s a war of occupation, I tell you, to connect with the +African companies in the South.—There’s Guinea-worm in most of the +wells on that route.” Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace, bellowed +like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands. + +“But what becomes of Torpenhow?” said Dick, in the silence that +followed. + +“Torp’s in abeyance just now. He’s off love-making somewhere, I +suppose,” said the Nilghai. + +“He said he was going to stay at home,” said the Keneu. + +“Is he?” said Dick, with an oath. “He won’t. I’m not much good now, but +if you and the Nilghai hold him down I’ll engage to trample on him till +he sees reason. He’ll stay behind, indeed! He’s the best of you all. +There’ll be some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, +this time. + +But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.” + +“So do we all, Dickie,” said the Keneu. + +“And I most of all,” said the new artist of the Central Southern +Syndicate. + +“Could you tell me——” + +“I’ll give you one piece of advice,” Dick answered, moving towards the +door. “If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don’t +guard. + +Tell the man to go on cutting. You’ll find it cheapest in the end. +Thanks for letting me look in.” + +“There’s grit in Dick,” said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room +was emptied of all save the Keneu. + +“It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he +answered to it? Poor fellow! Let’s look at him,” said the Keneu. + +The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the +studio table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did +not change his position. + +“It hurts,” he moaned. “God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet, +y’know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I +see Torp before he goes?” + +“Oh, yes. You’ll see him,” said the Nilghai. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The sun went down an hour ago, + I wonder if I face towards home; +If I lost my way in the light of day + How shall I find it now night is come? + +—_Old Song_. + + +“Maisie, come to bed.” + +“It’s so hot I can’t sleep. Don’t worry.” + +Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on +the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne +and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the +clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers +were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung withered on +their stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves was +almost intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami’s studio +across the road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the +big bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that caught +Maisie’s eye and annoyed her. + +“Horrid thing! It should be all white,” she murmured. “And the gate +isn’t in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.” + +Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few +weeks had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the study +of a female head intended to represent the Melancolia and not finished +in time for the Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as +much two days before; fourthly,—but so completely fourthly that it was +hardly worth thinking about,—Dick, her property, had not written to her +for more than six weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, and +with her work, but she was exceedingly angry with Dick. + +She had written to him three times,—each time proposing a fresh +treatment of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these +communications. She had resolved to write no more. When she returned to +England in the autumn—for her pride’s sake she could not return +earlier—she would speak to him. She missed the Sunday afternoon +conferences more than she cared to admit. All that Kami said was, +“_Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez toujours_,” and he had been +repeating the wearisome counsel through the hot summer, exactly like a +cicada,—an old gray cicada in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and +a huge felt hat. But Dick had tramped masterfully up and down her +little studio north of the cool green London park, and had said things +ten times worse than _continuez_, before he snatched the brush out of +her hand and showed her where the error lay. His last letter, Maisie +remembered, contained some trivial advice about not sketching in the +sun or drinking water at wayside farmhouses; and he had said that not +once, but three times,—as if he did not know that Maisie could take +care of herself. + +But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of +voices in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the +little garrison in the town was talking to Kami’s cook. The moonlight +glittered on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his +hand lest it should clank inopportunely. The cook’s cap cast deep +shadows on her face, which was close to the conscript’s. He slid his +arm round her waist, and there followed the sound of a kiss. + +“Faugh!” said Maisie, stepping back. + +“What’s that?” said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily +outside her bed. + +“Only a conscript kissing the cook,” said Maisie. + +“They’ve gone away now.” She leaned out of the window again, and put a +shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very +small night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head +as one who knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should +turn his thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the +degradation of Suzanne and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded +its head and one leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil +scratching its ear. + +Dick could not, “because,” thought Maisie, “he is mine,—mine,—mine. He +said he was. I’m sure I don’t care what he does. It will only spoil his +work if he does; and it will spoil mine too.” + +The rose continued to nod in the futile way peculiar to flowers. There +was no earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, +except that he was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist +Maisie in her work. And her work was the preparation of pictures that +went sometimes to English provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the +scrap-book proved, and that were invariably rejected by the Salon when +Kami was plagued into allowing her to send them up. Her work in the +future, it seemed, would be the preparation of pictures on exactly +similar lines which would be rejected in exactly the same way——The +red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. “It’s too hot +to sleep,” she moaned; and the interruption jarred. + +Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the +little studio in England and Kami’s big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, +she would go to another master, who should force her into the success +that was her right, if patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a +right to anything. Dick had told her that he had worked ten years to +understand his craft. She had worked ten years, and ten years were +nothing. Dick had said that ten years were nothing,—but that was in +regard to herself only. He had said—this very man who could not find +time to write—that he would wait ten years for her, and that she was +bound to come back to him sooner or later. He had said this in the +absurd letter about sunstroke and diphtheria; and then he had stopped +writing. He was wandering up and down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. +She would like to lecture him now,—not in her nightgown, of course, but +properly dressed, severely and from a height. Yet if he was kissing +other girls he certainly would not care whether she lectured him or +not. He would laugh at her. Very good. + +She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., +etc. + +The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it +might be slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind +her. + +Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no +doubt whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began, +unwomanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he +loved her. And he kissed her,—kissed her on the cheek,—by a yellow +sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose in +the garden. Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they +loved her—just when she was busiest with her work. Then the boy came +back, and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her. +Then he had—— But there was no end to the things he had done. He had +given her his time and his powers. He had spoken to her of Art, +housekeeping, technique, teacups, the abuse of pickles as a +stimulant,—that was rude,—sable hair-brushes,—he had given her the best +in her stock,—she used them daily; he had given her advice that she +profited by, and now and again—a look. Such a look! The look of a +beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to his mistress’s feet. In +return she had given him nothing whatever, except—here she brushed her +mouth against the open-work sleeve of her nightgown—the privilege of +kissing her once. And on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not +enough, and more than enough? and if it was not, had he not cancelled +the debt by not writing and—probably kissing other girls? “Maisie, +you’ll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,” said the wearied voice of +her companion. “I can’t sleep a wink with you at the window.” + +Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting on +the meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had +nothing to do. The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the +skylight of the studio across the road in cold silver; she stared at it +intently and her thoughts began to slide one into the other. The shadow +of the big bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened again, and +faded out as the moon went down behind the pasture and a hare came +limping home across the road. Then the dawn-wind washed through the +upland grasses, and brought coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by +the drought-shrunk river. Maisie’s head fell forward on the +window-sill, and the tangle of black hair covered her arms. + +“Maisie, wake up. You’ll catch a chill.” + +“Yes, dear; yes, dear.” She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, +and as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, “I think—I +think.... + +But he ought to have written.” + +Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and +turpentine, and the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, +but a golden teacher if the pupil were only in sympathy with him. +Maisie was not in sympathy that day, and she waited impatiently for the +end of the work. She knew when it was coming; for Kami would gather his +black alpaca coat into a bunch behind him, and, with faded blue eyes +that saw neither pupils nor canvas, look back into the past to recall +the history of one Binat. “You have all done not so badly,” he would +say. “But you shall remember that it is not enough to have the method, +and the art, and the power, nor even that which is touch, but you shall +have also the conviction that nails the work to the wall. Of the so +many I taught,”—here the students would begin to unfix drawing-pins or +get their tubes together,—“the very so many that I have taught, the +best was Binat. All that comes of the study and the work and the +knowledge was to him even when he came. After he left me he should have +done all that could be done with the colour, the form, and the +knowledge. Only, he had not the conviction. So to-day I hear no more of +Binat,—the best of my pupils,—and that is long ago. So to-day, too, you +will be glad to hear no more of me. _Continuez, mesdemoiselles_, and, +above all, with conviction.” + +He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the +pupils dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to +make plans for the cool of the afternoon. + +Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to +grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter +to Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How +Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to +the hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to +discuss with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to +reduce the colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best +horse in the squadron for the journey to Kami’s studio, is a mystery +that only special correspondents can unravel. + +“I beg your pardon,” said he. “It seems an absurd question to ask, but +the fact is that I don’t know her by any other name: Is there any young +lady here that is called Maisie?” + +“I am Maisie,” was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. + +“I ought to introduce myself,” he said, as the horse capered in the +blinding white dust. “My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best +friend, and—and—the fact is that he has gone blind.” + +“Blind!” said Maisie, stupidly. “He can’t be blind.” + +“He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.” + +Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. “No! No! Not blind! +I won’t have him blind!” + +“Would you care to see for yourself?” said Torpenhow. + +“Now,—at once?” + +“Oh, no! The Paris train doesn’t go through this place till to-night. +There will be ample time.” + +“Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?” + +“Certainly not. Dick wouldn’t do that sort of thing. He’s sitting in +his studio, turning over some letters that he can’t read because he’s +blind.” + +There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head +and went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, +complaining of a headache. + +“Dick’s blind!” said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied +herself against a chair-back. “My Dick’s blind!” + +“What?” The girl was on the sofa no longer. + +“A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn’t written to me for +six weeks.” + +“Are you going to him?” + +“I must think.” + +“Think! _I_ should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his +eyes and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you +don’t go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! +Go to him at once. Go!” + +Torpenhow’s neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite +patience as Maisie’s appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. + +“I am coming,” said she, her eyes on the ground. + +“You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.” This was +an order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said +nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing +with this big man who took everything for granted and managed a +squealing horse with one hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, who +was weeping bitterly, and between tears, kisses,—very few of +those,—menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, the sultry +afternoon wore away. + +Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,—Dick +who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her +unopened letters. + +“But what will you do,” she said to her companion. + +“I? Oh, I shall stay here and—finish your Melancolia,” she said, +smiling pitifully. “Write to me afterwards.” + +That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad +Englishman, doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the +officers of the garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the +lines, and had then and there eloped, after the English custom, with +one of those more mad English girls who drew pictures down there under +the care of that good Monsieur Kami. + +“They are very droll,” said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight +by the studio wall. “She walked always with those big eyes that saw +nothing, and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my +sister, and gives me—see—ten francs!” + +The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided +himself on being a good soldier. + +Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; but +he was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment +entirely to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease +with which the matter had been accomplished. + +“The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick’s +showing,—when he was off his head,—she must have ordered him about very +thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.” + +Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes +shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an +order that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself +at last almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than +looking after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any +interest in her surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the +air that she, Maisie,—of all people,—was in disgrace. Therefore she +justified her conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow +came up to her on the steamer and without preface began to tell the +story of Dick’s blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at +length on the miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the +end, as though he had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to +smoke. Maisie was furious with him and with herself. + +She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for +breakfast, and—she was past any feeling of indignation now—was bidden +curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs while +Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she was +being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame. It +was all Dick’s fault for being so stupid as to go blind. + +Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick +was sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three +envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man +who gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped +behind her. + +Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. “Hullo, +Torp! Is that you? I’ve been so lonely.” + +His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed +herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, +and she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring +directly at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind. +Shutting her eyes in a railway-carriage to open them when she pleased +was child’s play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open. + +“Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.” Dick looked puzzled and +a little irritated at the silence. + +“No; it’s only me,” was the answer, in a strained little whisper. +Maisie could hardly move her lips. + +“H’m!” said Dick, composedly, without moving. “This is a new +phenomenon. Darkness I’m getting used to; but I object to hearing +voices.” + +Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie’s +heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began +to feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he +passed. Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his +knees to feel what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him +walking in the Park as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping +up and down her studio two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the +Channel steamer. The beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick +was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a +hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did +not know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as though he +had been shot. + +“It’s Maisie!” said he, with a dry sob. “What are you doing here?” + +“I came—I came—to see you, please.” + +Dick’s lips closed firmly. + +“Won’t you sit down, then? You see, I’ve had some bother with my eyes, +and——” + +“I know. I know. Why didn’t you tell me?” + +“I couldn’t write.” + +“You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.” + +“What has he to do with my affairs?” + +“He—he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see you.” + +“Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can’t. I +forgot.” + +“Oh, Dick, I’m so sorry! I’ve come to tell you, and—— Let me take you +back to your chair.” + +“Don’t! I’m not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to +tell you anything about it. I’m no good now. I’m down and done for. Let +me alone!” + +He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. + +Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed +by a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from +the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he +was, indeed, down and done for—masterful no longer but rather a little +abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up +to—only some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of +crying. She was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him—more sorry than +she had ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny +his words. + +So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had +honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she +was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love. + +“Well?” said Dick, his face steadily turned away. “I never meant to +worry you any more. What’s the matter?” + +He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as +unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had +dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands. + +“I can’t—I can’t!” she cried desperately. “Indeed, I can’t. It isn’t my +fault. + +I’m so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I’m so sorry.” + +Dick’s shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. + +Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have +failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of +making sacrifices. + +“I do despise myself—indeed I do. But I can’t. Oh, Dickie, you wouldn’t +ask me—would you?” wailed Maisie. + +She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick’s eyes +fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips +were trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out +eyes that Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place +some one that she could hardly recognise till he spoke. + +“Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be. + +What’s the use of worrying? For pity’s sake don’t cry like that; it +isn’t worth it.” + +“You don’t know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me—help me!” The +passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to +alarm the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her +head fell on his shoulder. + +“Hush, dear, hush! Don’t cry. You’re quite right, and you’ve nothing to +reproach yourself with—you never had. You’re only a little upset by the +journey, and I don’t suppose you’ve had any breakfast. What a brute +Torp was to bring you over.” + +“I wanted to come. I did indeed,” she protested. + +“Very well. And now you’ve come and seen, and I’m—immensely grateful. + +When you’re better you shall go away and get something to eat. What +sort of a passage did you have coming over?” + +Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad +that she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder +tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder +might be. + +She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most +unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room +between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart. + +“Are you better now?” he said. + +“Yes, but—don’t you hate me?” + +“I hate you? My God! I?” + +“Isn’t—isn’t there anything I could do for you, then? I’ll stay here in +England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you +sometimes.” + +“I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. +I don’t want to seem rude, but—don’t you think—perhaps you had almost +better go now.” + +He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain +continued much longer. + +“I don’t deserve anything else. I’ll go, Dick. Oh, I’m so miserable.” + +“Nonsense. You’ve nothing to worry about; I’d tell you if you had. Wait +a moment, dear. I’ve got something to give you first. I meant it for +you ever since this little trouble began. It’s my Melancolia; she was a +beauty when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you’re +poor you can sell her. She’s worth a few hundreds at any state of the +market.” He groped among his canvases. “She’s framed in black. Is this +a black frame that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think +of her?” + +He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the +eyes strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One +thing and one thing only could she do for him. + +“Well?” + +The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was +speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic +desire to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick’s sake—whatever +this mad blankness might mean—she must make no sign. Her voice choked +with hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck— + +“Oh, Dick, it _is_ good!” + +He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. “Won’t you +have it, then? I’ll send it over to your house if you will.” + +“I? Oh yes—thank you. Ha! ha!” If she did not fly at once the laughter +that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, choking +and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take refuge +in a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down in +the dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, +useless till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind +the sorrow, the shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath +of the red-haired girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never +feared her companion before. Not until she found herself saying, “Well, +he never asked me,” did she realise her scorn of herself. + +And that is the end of Maisie. + + +For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at +first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a +word of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had +brought upon him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. +Then his dark hour came and he was alone with himself and his desires +to get what help he could from the darkness. The queen could do no +wrong, but in following the right, so far as it served her work, she +had wounded her one subject more than his own brain would let him know. + +“It’s all I had and I’ve lost it,” he said, as soon as the misery +permitted clear thinking. “And Torp will think that he has been so +infernally clever that I shan’t have the heart to tell him. I must +think this out quietly.” + +“Hullo!” said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two +hours of thought. “I’m back. Are you feeling any better?” + +“Torp, I don’t know what to say. Come here.” Dick coughed huskily, +wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately. + +“What’s the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.” Torpenhow was +perfectly satisfied. + +They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow’s hand on Dick’s +shoulder, and Dick buried in his own thoughts. + +“How in the world did you find it all out?” said Dick, at last. + +“You shouldn’t go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It +was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you’d seen me rocketing +about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you’d +have laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven +other devils——” + +“I know—the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils the +other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? Who +d’you work for?” + +“Haven’t signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business +would turn out.” + +“Would you have stayed with me, then, if—things had gone wrong?” He put +his question cautiously. + +“Don’t ask me too much. I’m only a man.” + +“You’ve tried to be an angel very successfully.” + +“Oh ye—es!... Well, do you attend the function to-night? We shall be +half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war’s a +certainty.” + +“I don’t think I will, old man, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll stay +quiet here.” + +“And meditate? I don’t blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man +did.” + +That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured +in from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow’s room that they +might discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military +operations becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai +had bidden all the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. +Beeton, the housekeeper, declared that never before in his checkered +experience had he seen quite such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked +the chambers with shoutings and song; and the elder men were quite as +bad as the younger. For the chances of war were in front of them, and +all knew what those meant. + +Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the +landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. + +“When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. +Maisie’s quite right—poor little thing. I didn’t know she could cry +like that before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I’m sure he’d be +quite fool enough to stay at home and try to console me—if he knew. +Besides, it isn’t nice to own that you’ve been thrown over like a +broken chair. I must carry this business through alone—as usual. If +there isn’t a war, and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that’s +all. If there is a way I mustn’t interfere with another man’s chances. +Business is business, and I want to be alone—I want to be alone. What a +row they’re making!” + +Somebody hammered at the studio door. + +“Come out and frolic, Dickie,” said the Nilghai. + +“I should like to, but I can’t. I’m not feeling frolicsome.” + +“Then, I’ll tell the boys and they’ll drag you like a badger.” + +“Please not, old man. On my word, I’d sooner be left alone just now.” + +“Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. + +Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.” + +For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. + +“No, thanks, I’ve a headache already.” + +“Virtuous child. That’s the effect of emotion on the young. All my +congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your +welfare.” + +“Go to the devil—oh, send Binkie in here.” + +The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made +much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but +scarcely inside the studio he realised that this was no place for +tail-wagging, and settled himself on Dick’s lap till it was bedtime. +Then he went to bed with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and +rose in the morning with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow’s +more formal congratulations and a particular account of the last +night’s revels. + +“You aren’t looking very happy for a newly accepted man,” said +Torpenhow. + +“Never mind that—it’s my own affair, and I’m all right. Do you really +go?” + +“Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I +accepted on better terms than before.” + +“When do you start?” + +“The day after to-morrow—for Brindisi.” + +“Thank God.” Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. + +“Well, that’s not a pretty way of saying you’re glad to get rid of me. +But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.” + +“I didn’t mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before +you leave?” + +“That’s a slender amount for housekeeping, isn’t it?” + +“Oh, it’s only for—marriage expenses.” + +Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and +carefully put it away in the writing table. + +“Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl +until I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!” he said to +himself. + +But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the +doorway of Torpenhow’s room when the latter was packing and asked +innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began +to feel annoyed. + +“You’re a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, +don’t you?” he said on the last evening. + +“I—I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will last?” + +“Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.” + +“I wish I were going.” + +“Good Heavens! You’re the most unaccountable creature! Hasn’t it +occurred to you that you’re going to be married—thanks to me?” + +“Of course, yes. I’m going to be married—so I am. Going to be married. + +I’m awfully grateful to you. Haven’t I told you that?” + +“You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,” said Torpenhow. + +And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the +loneliness he had so much desired. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, + Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, +Yet at the last, with his masters around him, + He of the Faith spoke as master to slave; +Yet at the last, tho’ the Kafirs had maimed him, + Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,— +Yet at the last, tho’ the darkness had claimed him, + He called upon Allah and died a believer. + +—_Kizzilbashi_. + + +“Beg your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but—but isn’t nothin’ going to happen?” +said Mr. Beeton. + +“No!” Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his +temper was of the shortest. + +“’Tain’t my regular business, o’ course, sir; and what I say is, “Mind +your own business and let other people mind theirs;” but just before +Mr. Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might +be moving into a house of your own, so to speak—a sort of house with +rooms upstairs and downstairs where you’d be better attended to, though +I try to act just by all our tenants. Don’t I?” + +“Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan’t trouble you to take me +there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.” + +“I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as +far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in +chambers—and more particular those whose lot is hard—such as you, for +instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don’t you? Soft-roe +bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, “Never mind a +little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the tenants.”’ + +Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long +away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled +down to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing +better than death. + +It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night; +dropping to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising +restless in the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, +would grope along the corridors of the chambers till he heard some one +snore. Then he would know that the day had not yet come, and return +wearily to his bedroom. + +Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the +house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed—and dressing, +now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because collars, +ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and +search meant head-beating against chairs and trunks—once dressed, there +was nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the three +daily meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch +from dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his +mind might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind was +quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as +millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would +not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with +imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past +success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and +feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened +had the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased +through sheer weariness, there poured into Dick’s soul tide on tide of +overwhelming, purposeless fear—dread of starvation always, terror lest +the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the +chambers and a louse’s death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer +horror that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed +his head, and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating +self till the tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being +set before him. + +Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and Dick +learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted +gas-plugs, waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving +picture-nails into walls, and the sins of the charwoman or the +housemaids. In the lack of better things the small gossip of a +servant’’ hall becomes immensely interesting, and the screwing of a +washer on a tap an event to be talked over for days. + +Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when +he went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish, +lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his +weight first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly +with the tins and string-ball on the counter. Then they would perhaps +meet one of Mr. Beeton’s friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, +would hold his peace till Mr. Beeton was willing to go on again. + +The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a +dangerous exercise, and being shaved in a barber’s shop meant exposure +of his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly +brushed, and since he had never taken any care of his personal +appearance he became every known variety of sloven. A blind man cannot +deal with cleanliness till he has been some months used to the +darkness. If he demand attendance and grow angry at the want of it, he +must assert himself and stand upright. Then the meanest menial can see +that he is blind and, therefore, of no consequence. A wise man will +keep his eyes on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick +coal lump by lump out of the scuttle with the tongs and pile it in a +little heap in the fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all +be put back again, one by one and very carefully. He may set himself +sums if he cares to work them out; he may talk to himself or to the cat +if she chooses to visit him; and if his trade has been that of an +artist, he may sketch in the air with his forefinger; but that is too +much like drawing a pig with the eyes shut. He may go to his +bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; +or to his wardrobe and count his shirts, laying them in piles of two or +three on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. + +Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are +very, very long. + +Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, +taps and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. + +“If I don’t have everything just where I know where to look for it, +why, then, I can’t find anything when I do want it. You’ve no idea, +sir, the amount of little things that these chambers uses up,” said Mr. +Beeton. Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: “It’s hard +on you, sir, I _do_ think it’s hard on you. Ain’t you going to do +anything, sir?” + +“I’ll pay my rent and messing. Isn’t that enough?” + +“I wasn’t doubting for a moment that you couldn’t pay your way, sir; +but I ’ave often said to my wife, ‘It’s ’ard on ’im because it isn’t as +if he was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young +gentleman. _That’s_ where it comes so ’ard.’” + +“I suppose so,” said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long +battering had ceased to feel—much. + +“I was thinking,” continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, “that +you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an +evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he’s only nine.” + +“I should be very grateful,” said Dick. “Only let me make it worth his +while.” + +“We wasn’t thinking of _that_, sir, but of course it’s in your own +’ands; but only to ’ear Alf sing ‘A Boy’s best Friend is ’is Mother!’ +Ah!” + +“I’ll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the +newspapers.” + +Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board +certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. +Mr. Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through a +song of some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young +Cockney, and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign +telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale +and scared. + +“’E said ’e couldn’t stand it no more,” he explained. + +“He never said you read badly, Alf?” Mrs. Beeton spoke. + +“No. ’E said I read beautiful. Said ’e never ’eard any one read like +that, but ’e said ’e couldn’t abide the stuff in the papers.” + +“P’raps he’s lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin’ him about +Stocks, Alf?” + +“No; it was all about fightin’ out there where the soldiers is gone—a +great long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words +in it. ’E give me ’arf a crown because I read so well. And ’e says the +next time there’s anything ’e wants read ’e’ll send for me.” + +“That’s good hearing, but I do think for all the half-crown—put it into +the kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it—he might +have kept you longer. Why, he couldn’t have begun to understand how +beautiful you read.” + +“He’s best left to hisself—gentlemen always are when they’re +downhearted,” said Mr. Beeton. + +Alf’s rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow’s special +correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear, +through the boy’s nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares +behind the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and +chaffing across the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke +as it drifted over camp before the wind of the desert. + +That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him, +offering for proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he +had not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed +Dick knew in his heart of hearts that only a lingering sense of humour +and no special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, he had persuaded +himself, would be a ludicrous insult to the gravity of the situation as +well as a weak-kneed confession of fear. + +“Just for the fun of the thing,” he said to the cat, who had taken +Binkie’s place in his establishment, “I should like to know how long +this is going to last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds Torp +cashed for me. I must have two or three thousand at least in the +Bank—twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I +fall back on my hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that +time. Let’s consider. + +Twenty-five—thirty-five—a man’s in his prime then, they +say—forty-five—a middle-aged man just entering +politics—fifty-five—“died at the comparatively early age of +fifty-five,” according to the newspapers. Bah! How these Christians +funk death! Sixty-five—we’re only getting on in years. Seventy-five is +just possible, though. Great hell, cat O! fifty years more of solitary +confinement in the dark! You’ll die, and Beeton will die, and Torp will +die, and Mai—everybody else will die, but I shall be alive and kicking +with nothing to do. I’m very sorry for myself. I should like some one +else to be sorry for me. Evidently I’m not going mad before I die, but +the pain’s just as bad as ever. Some day when you’re vivisected, cat O! +they’ll tie you down on a little table and cut you open—but don’t be +afraid; they’ll take precious good care that you don’t die. You’ll +live, and you’ll be very sorry then that you weren’t sorry for me. +Perhaps Torp will come back or... I wish I could go to Torp and the +Nilghai, even though I were in their way.” + +Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he +entered, found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. + +“There’s a letter for you, sir,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like me to +read it.” + +“Lend it to me for a minute and I’ll tell you.” + +The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not +over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that—that +was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes +only too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to him, +for he did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no +reparation though the evildoer may with tears and the heart’s best love +strive to mend all. It is best to forget that wrong whether it be +caused or endured, since it is as remediless as bad work once put +forward. + +“Read it, then,” said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the +rules of the Board School— + +“‘_I could have given you love, I could have given you loyalty, such as +you never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared what you were? But you +chose to whistle everything down the wind for nothing. My only excuse +for you is that you are so young._’ + +“That’s all,” he said, returning the paper to be dropped into the fire. + +“What was in the letter?” asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. + +“I don’t know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin’ +at everything when you’re young.” + +“I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about +and it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is—unless it +was all a joke. But I don’t know any one who’d take the trouble to play +a joke on me.... Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting +enough. + +I wonder whether I have lost anything really?” + +Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he +had put himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman’s hands. + +Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think +about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. +When his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more, body +and soul together seemed to be dropping without check through the +darkness. + +Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light +again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left +him sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till +the gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless +as the first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed +that he saw. Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he +was utterly worn out and the brain took up its everlasting +consideration of Maisie and might-have-beens. + +At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to +take him out. “Not marketing this time, but we’ll go into the Parks if +you like.” + +“Be damned if I do,” quoth Dick. “Keep to the streets and walk up and +down. I like to hear the people round me.” + +This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their +infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted +arms—but Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and only +once since Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf’s +charge. Alf forgot him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with +some companions. After half an hour’s waiting Dick, almost weeping with +rage and wrath, caught a passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly +policeman, who led him to a four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He +never told Mr. Beeton of Alf’s forgetfulness, but... this was not the +manner in which he was used to walk the Parks aforetime. + +“What streets would you like to walk down, then?” said Mr. Beeton, +sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking on +the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags +full of food. + +“Keep to the river,” said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the +rush of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and +struck thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the +beauties of the scenery as he went on. + +“And walking on the other side of the pavement,” said he, “unless I’m +much mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to be +drawed. I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except +paying tenants, o’ course!” + +“Stop her,” said Dick. “It’s Bessie Broke. Tell her I’d like to speak +to her again. Quick, man!” + +Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and +arrested Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the +man in authority who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick’s +staircase, and her first impulse was to run. + +“Wasn’t you Mr. Heldar’s model?” said Mr. Beeton, planting himself in +front of her. “You was. He’s on the other side of the road and he’d +like to see you.” + +“Why?” said Bessie, faintly. She remembered—indeed had never for long +forgotten—an affair connected with a newly finished picture. + +“Because he has asked me to do so, and because he’s most particular +blind.” + +“Drunk?” + +“No. ’Orspital blind. He can’t see. That’s him over there.” + +Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton +pointed him out—a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty +magenta-coloured neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing +to fear from such an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he +could not follow far. She crossed over, and Dick’s face lighted up. It +was long since a woman of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to +him. + +“I hope you’re well, Mr. Heldar?” said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr. +Beeton stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly. + +“I’m very well indeed, and, by Jove! I’m glad to see—hear you, I mean, +Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again +after you got your money. I don’t know why you should. Are you going +anywhere in particular just now?” + +“I was going for a walk,” said Bessie. + +“Not the old business?” Dick spoke under his breath. + +“Lor, no! I paid my premium’—Bessie was very proud of that word—“for a +barmaid, sleeping in, and I’m at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed +I am.” + +Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human +nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his +gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a +certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the +harm that had been done to him... + +“It’s hard work pulling the beer-handles,” she went on, “and they’ve +got one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by +a penny at the end of the day—but then I don’t believe the machinery is +right. Do you?” + +“I’ve only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.” + +“He’s gone. + +“I’m afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I’ll make it worth +your while. You see.” The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie +saw. + +“It isn’t taking you out of your way?” he said hesitatingly. “I can ask +a policeman if it is.” + +“Not at all. I come on at seven and I’m off at four. That’s easy +hours.” + +“Good God!—but I’m on all the time. I wish I had some work to do too. + +Let’s go home, Bess.” + +He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an +oath. Bessie took his arm and said nothing—as she had said nothing when +he had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They +walked for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through +the crowd. + +“And where’s—where’s Mr. Torpenhow?” she inquired at last. + +“He has gone away to the desert.” + +“Where’s that?” + +Dick pointed to the right. “East—out of the mouth of the river,” said +he. + +“Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side +of Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.” The explanation did +not enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked +to Dick’s path till they came to the chambers. + +“We’ll have tea and muffins,” he said joyously. “I can’t tell you, +Bessie, how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so +suddenly?” + +“I didn’t think you’d want me any more,” she said, emboldened by his +ignorance. + +“I didn’t, as a matter of fact—but afterwards—At any rate I’m glad +you’ve come. You know the stairs.” + +So Bessie led him home to his own place—there was no one to hinder—and +shut the door of the studio. + +“What a mess!” was her first word. “All these things haven’t been +looked after for months and months.” + +“No, only weeks, Bess. You can’t expect them to care.” + +“I don’t know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what +you’ve paid them for. The dust’s just awful. It’s all over the easel.” + +“I don’t use it much now.” + +“All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I’d like +to speak to them housemaids.” + +“Ring for tea, then.” Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by +custom. + +Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there +remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in +her voice when she spoke. + +“How long have you been like this?” she said wrathfully, as though the +blindness were some fault of the housemaids. + +“How?” + +“As you are.” + +“The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my +picture was finished; I hardly saw her alive.” + +“Then they’ve been cheating you ever since, that’s all. I know their +nice little ways.” + +A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine +principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being +defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being +obviously an idiot, needs protection. + +“I don’t think Mr. Beeton cheats much,” said Dick. Bessie was flouncing +up and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment +as he heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between. + +“Tea _and_ muffins,” she said shortly, when the ring at the bell was +answered; “two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I don’t want the +old teapot that was here when I used to come. It don’t draw. Get +another.” + +The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began +to cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust. + +“What are you trying to do?” + +“Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you +let it go so?” + +“How could I help it? Dust away.” + +She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs. +Beeton. Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding +up with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, “Do unto others as you would +be done by.” She had descended to put into her place the person who +demanded muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to +both. + +“Muffins ready yet?” said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a drab +of the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick’s check, had paid +her premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being +neatly dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and +there passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have +appreciated. The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and +Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about +models, hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband. + +“There’s nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,” he said. +“Alf, you go along into the street to play. When he isn’t crossed he’s +as kindly as kind, but when he’s crossed he’s the devil and all. We +took too many little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be +that particular about what he does. They ain’t no objects to a blind +man, of course, but if it was to come into court we’d get the sack. +Yes, I did introduce him to that girl because I’m a feelin’ man +myself.” + +“Much too feelin’!” Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and +thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. + +“I ain’t ashamed of it, and it isn’t for us to judge him hard so long +as he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young +gentlemen, you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each +stick to his own business and then there won’t be any trouble. Take +them muffins down, Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young +woman. His lot is cruel hard, and if he’s crossed he do swear worse +than any one I’ve ever served.” + +“That’s a little better,” said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. “You +needn’t wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.” + +“I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.” + +Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in which +real ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a +first-class public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes’ +notice. + +Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and +displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his +coat; the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the +forehead was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was +a dusty indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called +gray. The utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to her, +and at the bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was +humbled and brought low who had once humbled her. + +“Oh! it _is_ good to hear you moving about,” said Dick, rubbing his +hands. + +“Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live +now.” + +“Never mind that. I’m quite respectable, as you’d see by looking at me. +_You_ don’t seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? +Why isn’t there any one to look after you?” + +Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of +it. + +“I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I +don’t suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. + +Why should they?—and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.” + +“Don’t you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was—well?” + +“A few, but I don’t care to have them looking at me.” + +“I suppose that’s why you’ve growed a beard. Take it off, it don’t +become you.” + +“Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of +me these days?” + +“You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I +can come, can’t I?” + +“I’d be only too grateful if you did. I don’t think I treated you very +well in the old days. I used to make you angry.” + +“Very angry, you did.” + +“I’m sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as +you can. God knows, there isn’t a soul in the world to take that +trouble except you and Mr. Beeton.” + +“A lot of trouble _he’s_ taking and _she_ too.” This with a toss of the +head. “They’ve let you do anyhow and they haven’t done anything for +you. I’ve only to look and see that much. I’ll come, and I’ll be glad +to come, but you must go and be shaved, and you must get some other +clothes—those ones aren’t fit to be seen.” + +“I have heaps somewhere,” he said helplessly. + +“I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I’ll brush +it and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, +but it doesn’t excuse you looking like a sweep.” + +“Do I look like a sweep, then?” + +“Oh, I’m sorry for you. I’m that sorry for you!” she cried impulsively, +and took Dick’s hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to +kiss—she was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not +too proud for a little pity now. She stood up to go. + +“Nothing o’ that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It’s quite +easy when you get shaved, and some clothes.” + +He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She +passed behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and +ran away as swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the +Melancolia. + +“To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,” she said to herself, “after all +he’s done to me and all! Well, I’m sorry for him, and if he was shaved +he wouldn’t be so bad to look at, but... Oh them Beetons, how shameful +they’ve treated him! I know Beeton’s wearing his shirt on his back +to-day just as well as if I’d aired it. To-morrow, I’ll see... I wonder +if he has much of his own. It might be worth more than the bar—I +wouldn’t have to do any work—and just as respectable as if no one +knew.” + +Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely +conscious of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it +seemed, among very many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting +shaved. + +He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A +fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in +the world said that she took an interest in his personal appearance +made him carry himself almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a +while from thinking of Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might +have given that kiss and a million others. + +“Let us consider,” said he, after lunch. “The girl can’t care, and it’s +a toss-up whether she comes again or not, but if money can buy her to +look after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the world would take +the trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She’s a child of the +gutter holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have everything +she wants if she’ll only come and talk and look after me.” He rubbed +his newly shorn chin and began to perplex himself with the thought of +her not coming. “I suppose I did look rather a sweep,” he went on. “I +had no reason to look otherwise. I knew things dropped on my clothes, +but it didn’t matter. It would be cruel if she didn’t come. She must. +Maisie came once, and that was enough for her. She was quite right. She +had something to work for. This creature has only beer-handles to pull, +unless she has deluded some young man into keeping company with her. + +Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We’re falling +pretty low.” + +Something cried aloud within him:—This will hurt more than anything +that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and +tantalise, and in the end drive you mad. + +“I know it, I know it!” Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly; +“but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of +his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she’d +come.” + +Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in +her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would +allow her to be idle for the rest of her days. + +“I shouldn’t have known you,” she said approvingly. “You look as you +used to look—a gentleman that was proud of himself.” + +“Don’t you think I deserve another kiss, then?” said Dick, flushing a +little. + +“Maybe—but you won’t get it yet. Sit down and let’s see what I can do +for you. I’m certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can’t go +through the housekeeping books every month. Isn’t that true?” + +“You’d better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.” + +“Couldn’t do it in these chambers—you know that as well as I do.” + +“I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your +while.” + +“I’d try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn’t care to have to +work for both of us.” This was tentative. + +Dick laughed. + +“Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?” said he. “Torp +took it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.” + +“It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!” + +“Well?” + +“Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a +penny! Oh my!” + +“You can have the penny. That’s not bad for one year’s work. Is that +and a hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?” + +The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, +but she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. + +“Yes; but you’d have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we’d +find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms +here and there. They don’t look as full as they used.” + +“Never mind, we’ll let him have them. The only thing I’m particularly +anxious to take away is that picture I used you for—when you used to +swear at me. We’ll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as +ever we can.” + +“Oh yes,” she said uneasily. + +“I don’t know where I can go to get away from myself, but I’ll try, and +you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You’ll like +that. + +Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it’s good to put one’s arm round +a woman’s waist again.” + +Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm +were thus round Maisie’s waist and a kiss had just been given and taken +between them,—why then... He pressed the girl more closely to himself +because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little +accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the +solace of her company—and certainly he would relapse into his original +slough if she withdrew it—he would not be more than just a little +vexed. + +It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by her +teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his +companion. + +She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. + +“I shouldn’t worrit about that picture if I was you,” she began, in the +hope of turning his attention. + +“It’s at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know +it as well as I do.” + +“I know—but—” + +“But what? You’ve wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer. + +Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or +nine hundred pounds to—to us. I simply didn’t like to think about it +for a long time. It was mixed up with my life so.—But we’ll cover up +our tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the +beginning, Bess.” + +Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value +of money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating +the value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular +about their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she +tries to explain the breakage of a pipe. + +“I’m very sorry, but you remember I was—I was angry with you before Mr. +Torpenhow went away?” + +“You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right +to be.” + +“Then I—but aren’t you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn’t tell you?” + +“Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about +when you might just as well be giving me another kiss?” + +He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, +that kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more +you want. + +Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, “I was so +angry I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren’t angry, +are you?” + +“What? Say that again.” The man’s hand had closed on her wrist. + +“I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,” faltered Bessie. “I thought +you’d only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn’t +you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you’re hurting me.” + +“Isn’t there anything left of the thing?” + +“N’nothing that looks like anything. I’m sorry—I didn’t know you’d take +on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren’t going to hit me?” + +“Hit you! No! Let’s think.” + +He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the +carpet. Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash +of the stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the +shambles that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to +think of the Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With +Bessie’s return and certain new prospects that had developed +themselves, the Melancolia—lovelier in his imagination than she had +ever been on canvas—reappeared. By her aid he might have procured more +money wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well as another +taste of an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a vicious little +housemaid’s folly, there was nothing to look for—not even the hope that +he might some day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. Worst of +all, he had been made to appear ridiculous in Maisie’s eyes. A woman +will forgive the man who has ruined her life’s work so long as he gives +her love; a man may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he +will never forgive the destruction of his work. + +“Tck—tck—tck,” said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed softly. +“It’s an omen, Bessie, and—a good many things considered, it serves me +right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for Maisie’s +running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad—small blame to +her! The whole picture ruined, isn’t it so? What made you do it?” + +“Because I was that angry. I’m not angry now—I’m awful sorry.” + +“I wonder.—It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m to blame for making the +mistake.” + +“What mistake?” + +“Something you wouldn’t understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that +a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!” Dick was +talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist. + +“I ain’t a piece of dirt, and you shouldn’t call me so! I did it “cause +I hated you, and I’m only sorry now “cause you’re—’cause you’re——” + +“Exactly—because I’m blind. There’s nothing like tact in little +things.” + +Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; +she was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry +too that her great revenge had only made Dick laugh. + +“Don’t cry,” he said, and took her into his arms. “You only did what +you thought right.” + +“I—I ain’t a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I’ll never come +to you again.” + +“You don’t know what you’ve done to me. I’m not angry—indeed, I’m not. + +Be quiet for a minute.” + +Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick’s first thought was +connected with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open +sore. + +Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. + +The first pang—the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to the +play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has +decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest +pleasure. + +They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the +love of their life, and in their new wives’ arms are compelled to +realise it. + +It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, +so long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that +resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone. + +These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding +Bessie to his heart. + +“Though you mayn’t know it,” he said, raising his head, “the Lord is a +just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It +serves me right—how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if he +were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but +only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.” + +“Let me go,” said Bess, her face darkening. “Let me go.” + +“All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?” + +“Never. Let me go, I tell you; you’re making fun of me.” + +“Indeed, I’m not. I’m making fun of myself.... Thus. “He saved others, +himself he cannot save.” It isn’t exactly a school-board text.” He +released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she +could not escape. “What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman +can do!” + +“I’m sorry; I’m awful sorry about the picture.” + +“I’m not. I’m grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we talking +about before you mentioned the thing?” + +“About getting away—and money. Me and you going away.” + +“Of course. We will get away—that is to say, I will.” + +“And me?” + +“You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.” + +“Then you won’t——?” + +“I’m afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to +yourself.” + +“You said you couldn’t do anything without me.” + +“That was true a little while ago. I’m better now, thank you. Get me my +hat.” + +“S’pose I don’t?” + +“Beeton will, and you’ll lose fifty pounds. That’s all. Get it.” + +Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had +kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it +pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all +there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through +a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not +too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the +pretty things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly +as respectable as a real lady. + +“Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn’t taste, but it doesn’t matter, and +I’ll think things out. What’s the day of the week, Bess?” + +“Tuesday.” + +“Then Thursday’s mail-day. What a fool—what a blind fool I have been! +Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for +additional expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat’s for old time’s +sake. Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the +last trip—Gad, won’t Torp stare to see me!—a hundred and thirty-two +leaves seventy-eight for _baksheesh_—I shall need it—and to play with. +What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn’t your fault, child; it was mine +altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me +out! I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four +thousand pounds at four per cent—that’s safe interest—means a hundred +and sixty pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a year—also +safe—is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three +hundred a year means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we’ll go +to the bank.” + +Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick +caused Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the +P. and O. offices, where he explained things tersely. + +“Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as +possible. + +What ship’s going?” + +“The _Colgong_,” said the clerk. + +“She’s a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and +the docks?” + +“Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.” + +“Thanks. Change, please. I can’t see very well—will you count it into +my hand?” + +“If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about +their trunks, life would be worth something,” said the clerk to his +neighbour, who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that +condensed milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being +nineteen and unmarried, he spoke with conviction. + +“We are now,” quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the +place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, “beyond the reach +of man, or devil, or woman—which is much more important. I’ve had three +little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn’t ask you +to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We’ll breakfast, +and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.” + +“What are you going to do?” + +“Going away, of course. What should I stay for?” + +“But you can’t look after yourself?” + +“I can do anything. I didn’t realise it before, but I can. I’ve done a +great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie +doesn’t object.” Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. “I +suppose you’re right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and +you’ll get your money.” + +“Shall I sure?” + +“I don’t bilk, and you won’t know whether I do or not unless you come. + +Oh, but it’s long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,—send Beeton here +as you go out.” + +The housekeeper came. + +“What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?” said Dick, imperiously. + +“’Tisn’t for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is +wore out dreadful.” + +“I’m insured for two hundred and seventy.” + +“Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don’t say——” + +“Oh, damn your longwindedness! You’ve made your pickings out of me and +the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a +public-house the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight +question.” + +“Fifty,” said Mr. Beeton, without a moment’s hesitation. + +“Double it; or I’ll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.” + +He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, +and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. + +“That’s sinful, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed. + +“It’s my own. One hundred or——” + +“One hundred it is. It’ll cost me three and six to get that there +pilaster mended.” + +“I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to +spring that price at once!” + +“I hope I’ve done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of +all you, sir.” + +“Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my +clothes are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I’m going.” + +“But the quarter’s notice?” + +“I’ll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.” + +Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that +Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable +view. + +“It’s very sudden—but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen to +him now!” + +There was a sound of chanting from Dick’s room. + +“We’ll never come back any more, boys, +We’ll never come back no more; +We’ll go to the deuce on any excuse, +And never come back no more! +Oh say we’re afloat or ashore, boys, +Oh say we’re afloat or ashore; +But we’ll never come back any more, boys, +We’ll never come back no more!” + + +“Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?” + +“Quick, he’s going to shoot himself—’avin’ gone mad!” said Mrs. Beeton. + +Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the +latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention +of the promises to “find everything to-morrow, sir.” + +“Oh, you copper-nosed old fool—you impotent Academician!” he shouted at +last. “Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your +silly shaking hand then. If _you_ touch it, it will go off, because +it’s loaded. It’s among my campaign-kit somewhere—in the parcel at the +bottom of the trunk.” + +Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight +field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It +was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. +Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, +and Dick drove his hand among the _khaki_ coat and breeches, the blue +cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of +swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and +a pigskin case of stationery. + +“These we don’t want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else +I’ll keep. Pack ’em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you’ve +done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a +minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.” + +It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had +particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he +began, following his right hand with his left: ““The badness of this +writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen.” H’mph!—even a +lawyer can’t mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn’t +be witnessed. Now an inch lower—why did I never learn to use a +type-writer?—“This is the last will and testament of me, Richard +Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no +previous will to revoke.”—That’s all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts +on the paper was I?—“I leave everything that I possess in the world, +including four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and +twenty eight pounds held for me”—oh, I can’t get this straight.” He +tore off half the sheet and began again with the caution about the +handwriting. Then: “I leave all the money I possess in the world +to’—here followed Maisie’s name, and the names of the two banks that +held the money. + +“It mayn’t be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to +dispute it, and I’ve given Maisie’s address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This +is my signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. +To-morrow you must take me to the landlord and I’ll pay forfeit for +leaving without notice, and I’ll lodge this paper with him in case +anything happens while I’m away. Now we’re going to light up the studio +stove. Stay with me, and give me my papers as I want ’em.” + +No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year’s accumulation +of bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove +every document in the studio—saving only three unopened letters; +destroyed sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished +canvases alike. + +“What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough +in one place, to be sure,” said Mr. Beeton, at last. + +“He does. Is there anything more left?” Dick felt round the walls. + +“Not a thing, and the stove’s nigh red-hot.” + +“Excellent, and you’ve lost about a thousand pounds’ worth of sketches. + +Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds’ worth, if I can remember what I used +to be.” + +“Yes, sir,” politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad, +otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a +song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out +of the way. + +There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could +not be accomplished to to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking +up the last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there +remained no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, +and sat down before the stove till the fire died out and the +contracting iron cracked in the silence of the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +With a heart of furious fancies, + Whereof I am commander; +With a burning spear and a horse of air, + To the wilderness I wander. +With a knight of ghosts and shadows + I summoned am to tourney— +Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end, + Methinks it is no journey. + +—_Tom a’ Bedlam’s Song_. + + +“Good-bye, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here’s a hundred—all that I got +for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for +some time. You’ve been a good little girl, all things considered, but +you’ve given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.” + +“Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won’t you?” + +“Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the +cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is—and I am free, I mean.” + +“Who’ll look after you on this ship?” + +“The head-steward, if there’s any use in money. The doctor when we come +to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the +Lord will provide, as He used to do.” + +Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of +leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself +down in his bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so +long to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography +of a ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine +to him. + +Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been +introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good +place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with +joy in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved +about, for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep +sleep of weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of +Maisie, and he slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the +Thames and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel. + +The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very +familiar sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance. + +“Oh, it’s good to be alive again!” He yawned, stretched himself +vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast +of the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgar +Square is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less +Dick could feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A +boisterous little cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the +nose; and one wave breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the +pile of new deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of +broken glass, was stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing +luxuriously, felt his way to the smoking-room by the wheel. There a +strong breeze found him, blew his cap off and left him bareheaded in +the doorway, and the smoking-room steward, understanding that he was a +voyager of experience, said that the weather would be stiff in the +chops off the Channel and more than half a gale in the Bay. These +things fell as they were foretold, and Dick enjoyed himself to the +utmost. It is allowable and even necessary at sea to lay firm hold upon +tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving from place to place. On land +the man who feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea even a blind +man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor over the weakness of +his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales—and these are coin of more +value than silver if properly handled—smoked with him till unholy hours +of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that he promised Dick a +few hours of his time when they came to Port Said. + +And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang +their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom +the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened +hatch-grating where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread +and the passengers made merry, and at last they came to Port Said. + +“Take me,” said Dick, to the doctor, “to Madame Binat’s—if you know +where that is.” + +“Whew!” said the doctor, “I do. There’s not much to choose between ’em; +but I suppose you’re aware that that’s one of the worst houses in the +place. They’ll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.” + +“Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.” + +So he was brought to Madame Binat’s and filled his nostrils with the +well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the +Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua +Franca of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades +with the buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his +coat-sleeve was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. + +Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick +entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a +little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he +had ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened +a bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of +Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation. + +Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, +scandalised, so far as a ship’s doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick’s +reception. Dick was delighted at it. “They remember me here after a +year. They have forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I +want a long talk with you when you’re at liberty. It is good to be back +again.” + +In the evening she set an iron-topped café-table out on the sands, and +Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, +merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the +shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal. + +“Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? +We have not forgotten thee.” + +“I was over there in England and I went blind.” + +“But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here—I and +Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow “Tina—she is still +alive—so often and so well that “Tina laughed when the papers arrived +by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise +in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for +thee.” + +“I am not poor—I shall pay you well.” + +“Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.” Under her breath, “Mon +Dieu, to be blind and so young! What horror!” + +Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the +discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he +was too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his +desire. + +“And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire +as they used to do when the war was here—ten years ago. Beyond Cairo +there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a +correspondent’s passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, +but that is impossible also,” said she. + +“I must go to Suakin.” He knew, thanks to Alf’s readings, that +Torpenhow was at work with the column that was protecting the +construction of the Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch +at that port, and, besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or +advice was worth anything. They were not respectable folk, but they +could cause things to be accomplished, which is much more important +when there is work toward. + +“But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men +always—and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?” + +“My friend is there. + +“Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.” + +Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick’s glass +anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that +he should bow his head in assent and say—“No. He is a man, but—if it +should arrive... blamest thou?” + +“I blame?” she laughed shrilly. “Who am I that I should blame any +one—except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it +is very terrible.” + +“I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the +year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer +goes down the Canal to Suakin—and the post-boats—But even then——” + +“Do not think any longer. _I_ know, and it is for me to think. Thou +shalt go—thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the +house is a little quiet—I must attend to my guests—and afterwards go to +bed. Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.” + +“To-morrow?” + +“As soon as may be.” She was talking as though he were a child. + +He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the +streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat +carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and +sang and danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with one +eye on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick’s +interests. To this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive +Turkish officers of fellaheen regiments, was gracious to Cypriote +commissariat underlings, and more than kind to camel agents of no +nationality whatever. + +In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red +silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a +necklace of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in +to Dick. + +“It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll +too. Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, +the morning chocolate.” She sat down on the side of the bed +whispering:—“It is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. +That is a bribe of ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the +Government. The boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with +thee George, a Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; +they must not know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he +goes with his mules. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is +here, and if I do not receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou +art well, the girl answers for George.” + +“Thank you.” He reached out sleepily for the cup. “You are much too +kind, Madame.” + +“If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be +wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.” She looked at +her liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. “Nay, thou shalt go, in +truth, thou shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.” + +She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. “That is for +good-morning,” she said, going away. “When thou art dressed we will +speak to George and make everything ready. But first we must open the +little trunk. Give me the keys.” + +“The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall +expect Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for +getting in his way, though. Well, it won’t last long.—Ohe, Madame, help +me to my toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of +dressing properly out yonder.” + +He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his hands +with the spurs. There are two ways of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, +spotless blue bands, _khaki_ coat and breeches, and a perfectly +pipeclayed helmet. The right way is the way of the untired man, master +of himself, setting out upon an expedition, well pleased. + +“Everything must be very correct,” Dick explained. “It will become +dirty afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is +everything as it should be?” + +He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on +the right hip and fingered his collar. + +“I can do no more,” Madame said, between laughing and crying. “Look at +thyself—but I forgot.” + +“I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. + +“Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. + +Be quick, Madame.” + +“But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the +daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies——” + +“There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. + +Take me there.” + +In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the +lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to +George and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made +for Dick’s benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her acquaintance +cared to disregard Madame’s advice. That sort of contempt might end in +being knifed by a stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short +provocation. + +For six days—two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal—the little +steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the +superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to +propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his +light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own +discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and +together they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material +and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate +fragments to mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. + +“If you keep with me,” said George, “nobody will ask for passports or +what you do. They are all very busy.” + +“Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might +remember me. I was known here a long time ago—when I was some one +indeed.” + +“A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full. + +Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan—that is +seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan +the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be +brought to them by this line.” + +“Ah! Base camp. I see. That’s a better business than fighting Fuzzies +in the open.” + +“For this reason even the mules go up in the iron-train.” + +“Iron what?” + +“It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.” + +“An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.” + +“And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly +require to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot +not far from the city.” + +“The dears—they always used to!” Dick snuffed the smell of parched +dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old +life was welcoming him back most generously. + +“When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first +send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.” + +“Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you +had the chance?” + +“I have no chance,” said the Greek. “_She_ is there with that woman.” + +“I see. It’s a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the +chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.” + +They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was +desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was +the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On +their return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was +doing. The blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand +on George’s elbow as he replied—“Egyptian Government—mules. My orders +are to give them over to the A. C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion +to show my papers?” + +“Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I’d no right to ask, but not +seeing your face before I——” + +“I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,” said Dick, boldly. “There +will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?” + +“You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded +up early.” The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down +waif this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek +muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small +thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter +dark, and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally +thinking of what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, +and all had been as it was not. + +George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His +charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his +tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. +There was a great bustle and clamour about him. He grew afraid and +almost called for George. + +“I say, have you got your mules ready?” It was the voice of the +subaltern over his shoulder. + +“My man’s looking after them. The—the fact is I’ve a touch of +ophthalmia and can’t see very well. + +“By Jove! that’s bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I’ve +had a turn of it myself. It’s as bad as being blind.” + +“So I find it. When does this armoured train go?” + +“At six o’clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.” + +“Are the Fuzzies on the rampage—eh?” + +“About three nights a week. Fact is I’m in acting command of the +night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.” + +“Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?” + +“Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.” + +“Is that far off?” + +“Between thirty and forty miles—in an infernal thirsty country.” + +“Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?” + +“More or less. I shouldn’t care to cross it alone, or with a +subaltern’s command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through +it in some extraordinary fashion.” + +“They always did.” + +“Have you been here before, then?” + +“I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.” + +“In the service and cashiered,” was the subaltern’s first thought, so +he refrained from putting any questions. + +“There’s your man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer——” + +“That I should be mule-leading?” said Dick. + +“I didn’t mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me—it’s beastly +impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public +school. There’s no mistaking the tone.” + +“I am a public school man.” + +“I thought so. I say, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you’re a +little down on your luck, aren’t you? I saw you sitting with your head +in your hands, and that’s why I spoke.” + +“Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need +be.” + +“Suppose—I mean I’m a public school man myself. Couldn’t I perhaps—take +it as a loan y’know and——” + +“You’re much too good, but on my honour I’ve as much money as I want. + +... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an +everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train. + +There is a fore-truck, isn’t there?” + +“Yes. How d’you know?” + +“I’ve been in an armoured train before. Only let me see—hear some of +the fun I mean, and I’ll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a +non-combatant.” + +The young man thought for a minute. “All right,” he said. “We’re +supposed to be an empty train, and there’s no one to blow me up at the +other end.” + +George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the +mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths +inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to +start. + +Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered +in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for +the muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral +fire. + +The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score +of artillerymen were rioting. + +“Whitechapel—last train! Ah, I see yer kissin’ in the first class +there!” somebody shouted, just as Dick was clambering into the forward +truck. + +“Lordy! ’Ere’s a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and +Ealin’ train. _Echo_, sir. Speshul edition! _Star_, sir.”—“Shall I get +you a foot-warmer?” said another. + +“Thanks. I’ll pay my footing,” said Dick, and relations of the most +amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the +subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track. + +“This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy +in the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner. + +“Oh, but he’s still unimpressed. There he goes!” said the subaltern, as +a bullet struck the outside of the truck. “We always have at least one +demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the +rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.” + +“Not to-night though! Listen!” said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed +bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert +valued their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. + +“Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked of +the engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. + +“I should think so! This is my section of the line. They’ll be playing +old Harry with my permanent way if we don’t stop ’em.” + +“Right O!” + +“_Hrrmph!_” said the machine gun through all its five noses as the +subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the +floor and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was +indiscriminate firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from +the darkness without and unlimited howling. Dick stretched himself on +the floor, wild with delight at the sounds and the smells. + +“God is very good—I never thought I’d hear this again. Give ’em hell, +men. Oh, give ’em hell!” he cried. + +The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party +went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The +children of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and +twenty minutes were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress +recommenced, to be varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady +clack and kick of the machine guns, and a final difficulty with a +half-lifted rail ere the train came under the protection of the roaring +camp at Tanai-el-Hassan. + +“Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,” +said the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun. + +“It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How +superb it must have looked from outside!” said Dick, sighing +regretfully. + +“It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you’ve settled +about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I’m +Bennil of the Gunners—in the artillery lines—and mind you don’t fall +over my tent-ropes in the dark.” + +But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the +hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the +tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for +George. There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of +the rear trucks, with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the +mules. + +The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick’s ear; a cold wind of +the desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and +dirty—so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was +a hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count +over the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for +trains or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In +those days he could see—few men more clearly—and the spectacle of an +armed camp at dinner under the stars was an ever fresh pleasure to the +eye. There was colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much +pleasure in living. This night there remained for him only one more +journey through the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he +has travelled. Then he would grip Torpenhow’s hand again—Torpenhow, who +was alive and strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had +once made the reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least +to be confused with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer +to the same name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the +old life as might be. Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, +who had wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, +who lived in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and +matters that no men needed; that irrational being who had offered him +love and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of +all Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in +all she did, but oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair. + +George’s hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. + +“And what now?” said George. + +“Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where +the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their +camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the +corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me +there!” + +The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the +stumps of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew +they would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded +faces, and the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was +no part of Dick’s policy to go into the desert with a convoy of +supplies. That would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind +non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would probably be forced +to return to Suakin. + +He must go up alone, and go immediately. + +“Now for one last bluff—the biggest of all,” he said. “Peace be with +you, brethren!” The watchful George steered him to the circle of the +nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the +camels, scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding +hens, half ready to get to their feet. + +“A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,” said Dick. + +“A Mulaid?” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that +he knew. + +“A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity. “A Bisharin without +saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.” + +Two or three minutes passed. Then—“We be knee-haltered for the night. +There is no going out from the camp.” + +“Not for money?” + +“H’m! Ah! English money?” + +Another depressing interval of silence. + +“How much?” + +“Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my +journey’s end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, +to be paid when the driver returns.” + +This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his +commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick’s behalf. + +“For scarcely one night’s journey—fifty pounds. Land and wells and good +trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who +speaks?” said Dick. + +“I,” said a voice. “I will go—but there is no going from the camp.” + +“Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries +do not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another +twenty-five pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take +no baggage-camel.” + +Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first +deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the +driver. + +Dick heard the latter say: “A little way out only. Any baggage-beast +will serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?” + +“And though I cannot see’—Dick lifted his voice a little—“yet I carry +that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do +not reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.” + +“But where, in God’s name, are the troops?” + +“Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it +will be life or death to thee.” + +“I know,” said the driver, sullenly. “Stand back from my beast. I am +going to slip him.” + +“Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel’s head a moment. I want to feel +his cheek.” The hands wandered over the hide till they found the +branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built +riding-camel. + +“That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on +those who try to cheat the blind.” + +The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver’s discomfiture. He +had intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. + +“Stand back!” one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a +quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his +hand,—and a cry went up, “Illaha! Aho! He is loose.” + +With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged +forward toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and +lamentation. + +George caught Dick’s arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a +disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. + +“What’s the row now?” he cried. + +“Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” Dick answered, +after the manner of a common soldier. + +“Go on, and take care your throat’s not cut outside—you and your +dromedary’s.” + +The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, +and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. + +“Mount first,” said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently +screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion’s back, “Go +on in God’s name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to Madame, +and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!” + +A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by +the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick +adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed +his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was +conscious only of the sense of rapid progress. + +“A good camel,” he said at last. + +“He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,” the driver +replied. + +“Go on.” + +His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of +his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze it +seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett’s. He had +committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him +up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two +lines of the hymn— + +When Israel of the Lord beloved +Out of the land of bondage came. + + +He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the +saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and +ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt, +and stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of +camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was +fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. +Dick could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to +do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and +punching the driver with the pistol. + +“Is there a moon?” he asked drowsily. + +“She is near her setting.” + +“I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the +desert talk.” + +The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. It +rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A +handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and +crumbled softly to the bottom. + +“Go on. The night is very cold.” + +Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before +the light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that +he had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at +all save jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger +the nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. +Centuries later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his +left and allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe +distance of London he was watching himself thus employed,—watching +critically. Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he +might paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking +moon, the black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that +hand held a revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. +Moreover, he was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind +whatever. + +The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. + +“I smell the dawn,” he whispered. + +“It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?” + +The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the +pungent reek of camels in the square. + +“Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.” + +“They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see +what they do.” + +“Am I in better case? Go forward.” + +They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling +of the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the +day. + +Two or three shots were fired. + +“Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,” Dick spoke +angrily. + +“Nay, it is from the desert,” the driver answered, cowering in his +saddle. + +“Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an +hour ago.” + +The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind +multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most +uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and +were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object +without the square. + +“What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!” said Dick. “It’s “just +before the battle, mother.” Oh, God has been most good to me! + +Only’—the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an +instant—“Maisie...” + +“Allahu! We are in,” said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and +the camel knelt. + +“Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What’s the strength of the +enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?” asked a dozen +voices. For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and +shouted from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, +“Torpenhow! Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.” + +A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe +moved very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, +began to fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually +the scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked +white that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned +over wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square +were coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, +and they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its +feet and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had +cut its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a man +receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and +redoubled firing. + +There was no time to ask any questions. + +“Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!” + +“No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.” Dick turned his +face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, +miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his +hair was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old +man. + +“Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!” + +And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from +the Bisharin’s saddle at Torpenhow’s feet. His luck had held to the +last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head. + +Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick’s body in his +arms. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED *** + +***** This file should be named 2876-0.txt or 2876-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/2876/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Light that Failed</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Rudyard Kipling</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October, 2001 [eBook #2876]<br /> +[Most recently updated: February 1, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Reed, and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover " /> +</div> + +<h1>The Light that Failed</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Rudyard Kipling</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">DEDICATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref02">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>DEDICATION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +If I were hanged on the highest hill,<br /> + <i>Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!</i><br /> +I know whose love would follow me still,<br /> + <i>Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!</i><br /> +<br /> +If I were drowned in the deepest sea,<br /> + <i>Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!</i><br /> +I know whose tears would come down to me,<br /> + <i>Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!</i><br /> +<br /> +If I were damned of body and soul,<br /> +I know whose prayers would make me whole,<br /> + <i>Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref02"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<p class="center"> +This is the story of <i>The Light that Failed</i> as it was originally +conceived by the writer. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +RUDYARD KIPLING +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +So we settled it all when the storm was done<br /> + As comf’y as comf’y could be;<br /> +And I was to wait in the barn, my dears,<br /> + Because I was only three;<br /> +And Teddy would run to the rainbow’s foot,<br /> + Because he was five and a man;<br /> +And that’s how it all began, my dears,<br /> + And that’s how it all began.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>Big Barn Stories</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think she’d do if she caught us? We oughtn’t to +have it, you know,” said Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +“Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,” Dick answered, without +hesitation. “Have you got the cartridges?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; they’re in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do +pin-fire cartridges go off of their own accord?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m <i>not</i> afraid.” Maisie strode forward swiftly, a +hand in her pocket and her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire +revolver. +</p> + +<p> +The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable without +pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick had saved seven +shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed Belgian revolver. +Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the syndicate for the purchase of +a hundred cartridges. “You can save better than I can, Dick,” she +explained; “I like nice things to eat, and it doesn’t matter to +you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the purchase, +which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers did not lie in the +scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the guardian who was +incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother to these two orphans. +Dick had been under her care for six years, during which time she had made her +profit of the allowances supposed to be expended on his clothes, and, partly +through thoughtlessness, partly through a natural desire to pain,—she was +a widow of some years anxious to marry again,—had made his days +burdensome on his young shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate. +</p> + +<p> +Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him ridicule. The +many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her small house she +devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick Heldar. Her religion, +manufactured in the main by her own intelligence and a keen study of the +Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. At such times as she herself was +not personally displeased with Dick, she left him to understand that he had a +heavy account to settle with his Creator; wherefore Dick learned to loathe his +God as intensely as he loathed Mrs. Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame +of mind for the young. Since she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, when +dread of pain drove him to his first untruth, he naturally developed into a +liar, but an economical and self-contained one, never throwing away the least +unnecessary fib, and never hesitating at the blackest, were it only plausible, +that might make his life a little easier. The treatment taught him at least the +power of living alone,—a power that was of service to him when he went to +a public school and the boys laughed at his clothes, which were poor in quality +and much mended. In the holidays he returned to the teachings of Mrs. Jennett, +and, that the chain of discipline might not be weakened by association with the +world, was generally beaten, on one account or another, before he had been +twelve hours under her roof. +</p> + +<p> +The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a long-haired, +gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who moved about the house +silently and for the first few weeks spoke only to the goat that was her +chiefest friend on earth and lived in the back-garden. Mrs. Jennett objected to +the goat on the grounds that he was un-Christian,—which he certainly was. +“Then,” said the atom, choosing her words very deliberately, +“I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and tell them that you are a very bad +woman. Amomma is mine, mine, mine!” Mrs. Jennett made a movement to the +hall, where certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. The atom understood as +clearly as Dick what this meant. “I have been beaten before,” she +said, still in the same passionless voice; “I have been beaten worse than +you can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and +tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. I am not afraid of you.” +Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the atom, after a pause to assure +herself that all danger of war was past, went out, to weep bitterly on +Amomma’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her profoundly, for +he feared that she might interfere with the small liberty of action left to +him. She did not, however; and she volunteered no friendliness until Dick had +taken the first steps. Long before the holidays were over, the stress of +punishment shared in common drove the children together, if it were only to +play into each other’s hands as they prepared lies for Mrs. +Jennett’s use. When Dick returned to school, Maisie whispered, “Now +I shall be all alone to take care of myself; but,” and she nodded her +head bravely, “I can do it. You promised to send Amomma a grass collar. +Send it soon.” A week later she asked for that collar by return of post, +and was not pleased when she learned that it took time to make. When at last +Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot to thank him for it. +</p> + +<p> +Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into a lanky +hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not for a moment had +Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the average canings of a +public school—Dick fell under punishment about three times a +month—filled him with contempt for her powers. “She doesn’t +hurt,” he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, “and she +is kinder to you after she has whacked me.” Dick shambled through the +days unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the school +learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them, cunningly and +with science. The same spirit made him more than once try to tease Maisie, but +the girl refused to be made unhappy. “We are both miserable as it +is,” said she. “What is the use of trying to make things worse? +Let’s find things to do, and forget things.” +</p> + +<p> +The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the +muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and +pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out nearly two +miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched by the sun, sent +up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the afternoon when Dick and +Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting patiently behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Mf!” said Maisie, sniffing the air. “I wonder what makes the +sea so smelly? I don’t like it!” +</p> + +<p> +“You never like anything that isn’t made just for you,” said +Dick bluntly. “Give me the cartridges, and I’ll try first shot. How +far does one of these little revolvers carry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, half a mile,” said Maisie, promptly. “At least it makes +an awful noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don’t like those jagged +stick-up things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. I know how to load. I’ll fire at the breakwater out +there.” +</p> + +<p> +He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of mud to +the right of the wood-wreathed piles. +</p> + +<p> +“Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it’s loaded +all round.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, her hand +firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. +</p> + +<p> +Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very cautiously. +He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon walks, and, finding +the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations with his nose. Maisie fired, +but could not see where the bullet went. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it hit the post,” she said, shading her eyes and looking +out across the sailless sea. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,” said Dick, with +a chuckle. “Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you’ll get it. +Oh, look at Amomma!—he’s eating the cartridges!” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma scampering +away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred to a billy-goat. +Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma had naturally swallowed +two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried up to assure herself that Dick +had not miscounted the tale. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s eaten two.” +</p> + +<p> +“Horrid little beast! Then they’ll joggle about inside him and blow +up, and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?” +</p> + +<p> +Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could not +explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated her from +Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off in his face. Then +she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside him, crying, +“Dick, you aren’t hurt, are you? I didn’t mean it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you didn’t, said Dick, coming out of the smoke and +wiping his cheek. “But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings +awfully.” A neat little splash of gray lead on a stone showed where the +bullet had gone. Maisie began to whimper. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t,” said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. +“I’m not a bit hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but I might have killed you,” protested Maisie, the corners of +her mouth drooping. “What should I have done then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.” Dick grinned at the thought; +then, softening, “Please don’t worry about it. Besides, we are +wasting time. +</p> + +<p> +We’ve got to get back to tea. I’ll take the revolver for a +bit.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick’s +indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol, +restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically bombarded +the breakwater. “Got it at last!” he exclaimed, as a lock of weed +flew from the wood. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me try,” said Maisie, imperiously. “I’m all right +now.” +</p> + +<p> +They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook itself to +pieces, and Amomma the outcast—because he might blow up at any +moment—browsed in the background and wondered why stones were thrown at +him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool which was commanded by +the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat down together before this new +target. +</p> + +<p> +“Next holidays,” said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver +kicked wildly in his hand, “we’ll get another pistol,—central +fire,—that will carry farther.” +</p> + +<p> +“There won’t be any next holidays for me,” said Maisie. +“I’m going away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where to?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and +I’ve got to be educated somewhere,—in France, perhaps,—I +don’t know where; but I shall be glad to go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, +Maisie, is it really true you’re going? Then these holidays will be the +last I shall see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I +wish——” +</p> + +<p> +The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking grass-tufts and +throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy nodding all by itself to the +illimitable levels of the mud-flats and the milk-white sea beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” she said, after a pause, “that I could see you +again sometime. +</p> + +<p> +You wish that, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but it would have been better if—if—you had—shot +straight over there—down by the breakwater.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy who only ten +days before had decorated Amomma’s horns with cut-paper ham-frills and +turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public ways! Then she dropped her +eyes: this was not the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be stupid,” she said reprovingly, and with swift +instinct attacked the side-issue. “How selfish you are! Just think what I +should have felt if that horrid thing had killed you! I’m quite miserable +enough already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? Because you’re going away from Mrs. Jennett?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“From me, then?” +</p> + +<p> +No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though he did +not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this the more +acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maisie, you must know. <i>I’m</i> not supposing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go home,” said Maisie, weakly. +</p> + +<p> +But Dick was not minded to retreat. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say things,” he pleaded, “and I’m +awfully sorry for teasing you about Amomma the other day. It’s all +different now, Maisie, can’t you see? And you might have told me that you +were going, instead of leaving me to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what’s the use of +worrying?” +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t any; but we’ve been together years and years, +and I didn’t know how much I cared.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you ever did care.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t; but I do,—I care awfully now, Maisie,” +he gulped,—“Maisie, darling, say you care too, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, indeed I do; but it won’t be any use.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I am going away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say—will you?” A +second “darling’ came to his lips more easily than the first. There +were few endearments in Dick’s home or school life; he had to find them +by instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of the +revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“I promise,” she said solemnly; “but if I care there is no +need for promising.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you care?” For the first time in the past few minutes their +eyes met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech.... +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dick, don’t! Please don’t! It was all right when we said +good-morning; but now it’s all different!” Amomma looked on from +afar. +</p> + +<p> +He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen kisses +exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its head +approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it was the +first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that either had ever +given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every one of them glorious, +so that they were lifted above the consideration of any worlds at all, +especially those in which tea is necessary, and sat still, holding each +other’s hands and saying not a word. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t forget now,” said Dick, at last. There was that on +his cheek that stung more than gunpowder. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have forgotten anyhow,” said Maisie, and they +looked at each other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an +hour ago to a wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began to +set, and a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall be awfully late for tea,” said Maisie. “Let’s +go home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s use the rest of the cartridges first,” said Dick; and +he helped Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,—a descent that +she was quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took +the grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and Dick +blushed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very pretty,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She +stood close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired over +the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was protecting +Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across the mud caught the +last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red disc. The light held +Dick’s attention for a moment, and as he raised his revolver there fell +upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in that he was standing by Maisie +who had promised to care for him for an indefinite length of time till such +date as—— A gust of the growing wind drove the girl’s long +black hair across his face as she stood with her hand on his shoulder calling +Amomma “a little beast,” and for a moment he was in the +dark,—a darkness that stung. The bullet went singing out to the empty +sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Spoilt my aim,” said he, shaking his head. “There +aren’t any more cartridges; we shall have to run home.” But they +did not run. They walked very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of +indifference to them whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges +in his inside blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden +heritage and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their years. +</p> + +<p> +“And I shall be——” quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he +checked himself: “I don’t know what I shall be. I don’t seem +to be able to pass any exams, but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. +Ho! Ho!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be an artist, then,” said Maisie. “You’re always +laughing at my trying to draw; and it will do you good.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never laugh at anything you do,” he answered. +“I’ll be an artist, and I’ll do things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Artists always want money, don’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My +guardians tell me I’m to have it when I come of age. That will be enough +to begin with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I’m rich,” said Maisie. “I’ve got three +hundred a year all my own when I’m twenty-one. That’s why Mrs. +Jennett is kinder to me than she is to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody +that belonged to me,—just a father or a mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“You belong to me,” said Dick, “for ever and ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we belong—for ever. It’s very nice.” She squeezed +his arm. The kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could +only just see the profile of Maisie’s cheek with the long lashes veiling +the gray eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had +been boggling over for the last two hours. +</p> + +<p> +“And I—love you, Maisie,” he said, in a whisper that seemed +to him to ring across the world,—the world that he would to-morrow or the +next day set out to conquer. +</p> + +<p> +There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, when Mrs. +Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful unpunctuality, and +secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden weapon. +</p> + +<p> +“I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,” said Dick, when +the powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, “but if you think +you’re going to lick me you’re wrong. You are never going to touch +me again. +</p> + +<p> +Sit down and give me my tea. You can’t cheat us out of that, +anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but encouraged Dick +with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that evening. Mrs. Jennett +prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence and a descent into Tophet later, +but Dick walked in Paradise and would not hear. Only when he was going to bed +Mrs. Jennett recovered and asserted herself. He had bidden Maisie good-night +with down-dropped eyes and from a distance. +</p> + +<p> +“If you aren’t a gentleman you might try to behave like one,” +said Mrs. +</p> + +<p> +Jennett, spitefully. “You’ve been quarrelling with Maisie +again.” +</p> + +<p> +This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, white to +the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of indifference, and was +duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room red as fire. That night he +dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the world and brought it to Maisie in a +cartridge-box, but she turned it over with her foot, and, instead of saying +“Thank you,” cried—“Where is the grass collar you +promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew,<br /> +When we went to Kandahar, ridin’ two an’ two,<br /> + Ridin’, ridin’, ridin’, two an’ two,<br /> + Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra,<br /> +All the way to Kandahar, ridin’ two an’ two.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>Barrack-Room Ballad</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few +thousand of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn’t be in such a +hurry to get at their morning papers then. Can’t you imagine the +regulation householder—Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, +and all that lot—frizzling on hot gravel?” +</p> + +<p> +“With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man +here a needle? I’ve got a piece of sugar-sack.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. +Both my knees are worn through.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not six square acres, while you’re about it? But lend me the +needle, and I’ll see what I can do with the selvage. I don’t think +there’s enough to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. +What are you doing with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,” said +Dick, gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn +riding-breeches and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most +obvious open space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the void +developed itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for +that whale-boat.” +</p> + +<p> +A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into exact +halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of the tattered +breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel shirt, went on with +his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the sketch. +</p> + +<p> +Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted with English +soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their clothes. A heap of +boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, and flour- and +small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the whale-boats had been +compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental carpenter was swearing aloud as +he tried, on a wholly insufficient allowance of white lead, to plaster up the +sun-parched gaping seams of the boat herself. +</p> + +<p> +“First the bloomin’ rudder snaps,” said he to the world in +general; “then the mast goes; an’ then, s’ “help me, +when she can’t do nothin’ else, she opens ’erself out like a +cock-eyes Chinese lotus.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,” said the +tailor, without looking up. “Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent +shop again.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it raced +round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half a mile upstream. +It was as though the brown weight of the river would drive the white men back +to their own country. The indescribable scent of Nile mud in the air told that +the stream was falling and the next few miles would be no light thing for the +whale-boats to overpass. The desert ran down almost to the banks, where, among +gray, red, and black hillocks, a camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even +for a day lose touch of the slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for +weeks past, and throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid +had followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the rank and +file had long since lost all count of direction and very nearly of time. They +were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do something, they did not +know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the other end of it was one Gordon, +fighting for the dear life, in a town called Khartoum. There were columns of +British troops in the desert, or in one of the many deserts; there were yet +more columns waiting to embark on the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at +Assioot and Assuan; there were lies and rumours running over the face of the +hopeless land from Suakin to the Sixth Cataract, and men supposed generally +that there must be some one in authority to direct the general scheme of the +many movements. The duty of that particular river-column was to keep the +whale-boats afloat in the water, to avoid trampling on the villagers’ +crops when the gangs “tracked’ the boats with lines thrown from +midstream, to get as much sleep and food as was possible, and, above all, to +press on without delay in the teeth of the churning Nile. +</p> + +<p> +With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the newspapers, and +they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But it was above all things +necessary that England at breakfast should be amused and thrilled and +interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or half the British army went to +pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign was a picturesque one, and lent itself +to vivid word-painting. Now and again a “Special’ managed to get +slain,—which was not altogether a disadvantage to the paper that employed +him,—and more often the hand-to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of +miraculous escapes which were worth telegraphing home at eighteenpence the +word. There were many correspondents with many corps and columns,—from +the veterans who had followed on the heels of the cavalry that occupied Cairo +in ’82, what time Arabi Pasha called himself king, who had seen the first +miserable work round Suakin when the sentries were cut up nightly and the scrub +swarmed with spears, to youngsters jerked into the business at the end of a +telegraph-wire to take the places of their betters killed or invalided. +</p> + +<p> +Among the seniors—those who knew every shift and change in the perplexing +postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest Egyptian garron +offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk a telegraph-clerk into +amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of a newly appointed staff-officer +when press regulations became burdensome—was the man in the flannel +shirt, the black-browed Torpenhow. He represented the Central Southern +Syndicate in the campaign, as he had represented it in the Egyptian war, and +elsewhere. The syndicate did not concern itself greatly with criticisms of +attack and the like. It supplied the masses, and all it demanded was +picturesqueness and abundance of detail; for there is more joy in England over +a soldier who insubordinately steps out of square to rescue a comrade than over +twenty generals slaving even to baldness at the gross details of transport and +commissariat. +</p> + +<p> +He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently abandoned +redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of shell-torn bodies on +the gravel plain. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you for?” said Torpenhow. The greeting of the +correspondent is that of the commercial traveller on the road. +</p> + +<p> +“My own hand,” said the young man, without looking up. “Have +you any tobacco?” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at it +said, “What’s your business here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I’m supposed to be doing +something down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I’m in +charge of the condenser on one of the water-ships. I’ve forgotten +which.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve cheek enough to build a redoubt with,” said +Torpenhow, and took stock of the new acquaintance. “Do you always draw +like that?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man produced more sketches. “Row on a Chinese pig-boat,” +said he, sententiously, showing them one after another.—“Chief mate +dirked by a comprador.—Junk ashore off Hakodate.—Somali muleteer +being flogged.—Star-shelled bursting over camp at +Berbera.—Slave-dhow being chased round Tajurrah Bah.—Soldier lying +dead in the moonlight outside Suakin.—throat cut by Fuzzies.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” said Torpenhow, “can’t say I care for +Verestchagin-and-water myself, but there’s no accounting for tastes. +Doing anything now, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’m amusing myself here.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow looked at the aching desolation of the place. “Faith, +you’ve queer notions of amusement. Got any money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough to go on with. Look here: do you want me to do war-work?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> don’t. My syndicate may, though. You can draw more than a +little, and I don’t suppose you care much what you get, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not this time. I want my chance first.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. “Yes, you’re +right to take your first chance when you can get it.” +</p> + +<p> +He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled across the +causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, “Got man here, +picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress with +sketches.” +</p> + +<p> +The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, “I knew the +chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they’ll have to sweat for it +if I come through this business alive!” +</p> + +<p> +In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that the Central +Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying expenses for three +months. “And, by the way, what’s your name?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. +You’d better stick to me. I’m going up-country with a column, and +I’ll do what I can for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and +I’ll send ’em along.” To himself he said, “That’s +the best bargain the Central southern has ever made; and they got me cheaply +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and arrangements +financial and political, Dick was made free of the New and Honourable +Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the inalienable right of +doing as much work as they can and getting as much for it as Providence and +their owners shall please. To these things are added in time, if the brother be +worthy, the power of glib speech that neither man nor woman can resist when a +meal or a bed is in question, the eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the +constitution of a bullock, the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite +adaptability to all circumstances. But many die before they attain to this +degree, and the past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in +dress-clothes when they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the +multitude. +</p> + +<p> +Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter’s fancy chose to lead him, +and between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost satisfied +themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its influence the two +were drawn very closely together, for they ate from the same dish, they shared +the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie of all, their mails went off +together. It was Dick who managed to make gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in +a palm hut far beyond the Second Cataract, and, while the man lay in bliss on +the floor, possessed himself of some laboriously acquired exclusive +information, forwarded by a confiding correspondent of an opposition syndicate, +made a careful duplicate of the matter, and brought the result to Torpenhow, +who said that all was fair in love or war correspondence, and built an +excellent descriptive article from his rival’s riotous waste of words. It +was Torpenhow who—but the tale of their adventures, together and apart, +from Philae to the waste wilderness of Herawi and Muella, would fill many +books. They had been penned into a square side by side, in deadly fear of being +shot by over-excited soldiers; they had fought with baggage-camels in the chill +dawn; they had jogged along in silence under blinding sun on indefatigable +little Egyptian horses; and they had floundered on the shallows of the Nile +when the whale-boat in which they had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock +and rip out half her bottom-planks. +</p> + +<p> +Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were bringing up +the remainder of the column. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his +over-long-neglected gear, “it has been a beautiful business.” +</p> + +<p> +“The patch or the campaign?” said Dick. “Don’t think +much of either, myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“You want the <i>Euryalus</i> brought up above the Third Cataract, +don’t you? and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, <i>I’m</i> quite +satisfied with my breeches.” He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, +after the manner of a clown. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. +Government Bullock Train. That’s a sack from India.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my initials,—Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the +cloth on purpose. +</p> + +<p> +What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?” Torpenhow shaded his +eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. +</p> + +<p> +A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms and +accoutrements. +</p> + +<p> +““Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,”’ remarked +Dick, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you remember the picture? It’s by Michael Angelo; all +beginners copy it. That scrub’s alive with enemy.” +</p> + +<p> +The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and a +hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the column had wind +of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. As swiftly as a reach of +still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn ridges and scrub-topped +hills were troubled and alive with armed men. +</p> + +<p> +Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout and +gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long story. The +camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little breathing-space, +until some sort of square could be formed. The men on the sand-bank ran to +their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up within shouting distance, +were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied of all save the sick and a few +men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased his outcries, and his friends howled. +</p> + +<p> +“They look like the Mahdi’s men,” said Torpenhow, elbowing +himself into the crush of the square; “but what thousands of ’em +there are! The tribes hereabout aren’t against us, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the Mahdi’s taken another town,” said Dick, “and +set all these yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our scouts should have told us of this. We’ve been trapped,” +said a subaltern. “Aren’t the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry +up, you men!” +</p> + +<p> +There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting against the +sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that whoso was left +outside when the fighting began would very probably die in an extremely +unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound camel-guns posted at one +corner of the square opened the ball as the square moved forward by its right +to get possession of a knoll of rising ground. All had fought in this manner +many times before, and there was no novelty in the entertainment; always the +same hot and stifling formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same +boltlike rush of the enemy, the same pressure on the weakest side, the few +minutes of hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken +only by the yells of those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to pursue. +They had become careless. The camel-guns spoke at intervals, and the square +slouched forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the attack of +three thousand men who had not learned from books that it is impossible for +troops in close order to attack against breech-loading fire. +</p> + +<p> +A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, but the +bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed with the spear +and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there is always much war, told +them that the right flank of the square was the weakest, for they swung clear +of the front. The camel-guns shelled them as they passed and opened for an +instant lanes through their midst, most like those quick-closing vistas in a +Kentish hop-garden seen when the train races by at full speed; and the infantry +fire, held till the opportune moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. +No civilised troops in the world could have endured the hell through which they +came, the living leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, +the wounded cursing and staggering forward, till they fell—a torrent +black as the sliding water above a mill-dam—full on the right flank of +the square. +</p> + +<p> +Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead went +out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground and the +tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing interest, for men +measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these things, counting +mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble and branch. There was +no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught the men knew, the enemy might +be attempting all four sides of the square at once. Their business was to +destroy what lay in front of them, to bayonet in the back those who passed over +them, and, dying, to drag down the slayer till he could be knocked on the head +by some avenging gun-butt. +</p> + +<p> +Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew unendurable. +It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack was repulsed, so the +three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest side of the square. There was +a rush from without, the short <i>hough-hough</i> of the stabbing spears, and a +man on a horse, followed by thirty or forty others, dashed through, yelling and +hacking. The right flank of the square sucked in after them, and the other +sides sent help. The wounded, who knew that they had but a few hours more to +live, caught at the enemy’s feet and brought them down, or, staggering +into a discarded rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the centre +of the square. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his helmet, that +he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face which forthwith +ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that Torpenhow had gone down +under an Arab whom he had tried to “collar low,” and was turning +over and over with his captive, feeling for the man’s eyes. The doctor +jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless soldier fired over +Dick’s shoulder: the flying grains of powder stung his cheek. It was to +Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The representative of the Central +Southern Syndicate had shaken himself clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his +thumb on his trousers. The Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, +then snatched up his spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting under +shelter of Dick’s revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped limply. +His upturned face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but cheers +mingled with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If the heart of +the square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher’s shop. Dick +thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of the enemy were +retiring, as the few—the very few—English cavalry rode down the +laggards. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside in +the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the illimitable +dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and turned it into a red +disc. Some one behind him was saying, “Ah, get away, you brute!” +Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the desert. His eye was held by +the red splash in the distance, and the clamour about him seemed to die down to +a very far-away whisper, like the whisper of a level sea. There was the +revolver and the red light.... and the voice of some one scaring something +away, exactly as had fallen somewhere before,—a darkness that stung. He +fired at random, and the bullet went out across the desert as he muttered, +“Spoilt my aim. There aren’t any more cartridges. We shall have to +run home.” He put his hand to his head and brought it away covered with +blood. +</p> + +<p> +“Old man, you’re cut rather badly,” said Torpenhow. “I +owe you something for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can’t +be ill here.” +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, a black +figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and shouted that Khartoum +the accursed one was dead,—was dead,—was dead,—that two +steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, and that of all their +crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was dead,—was dead,—was +dead! +</p> + +<p> +But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to the +restless Nile for Maisie,—and again Maisie! +</p> + +<p> +“Behold a phenomenon,” said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. +“Here is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman +only. And I’ve seen a good deal of delirium, too.—Dick, +here’s some fizzy drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Maisie,” said Dick. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +So he thinks he shall take to the sea again<br /> + For one more cruise with his buccaneers,<br /> +To singe the beard of the King of Spain,<br /> +And capture another Dean of Jaen<br /> + And sell him in Algiers.—<i>A Dutch Picture</i>.—Longfellow +</p> + +<p> +The Soudan campaign and Dick’s broken head had been some months ended and +mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain sum on +account for work done, which work they were careful to assure him was not +altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter into the Nile at Cairo, +cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a warm farewell to Torpenhow at the +station. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to lie up for a while and rest,” said Torpenhow. +“I don’t know where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to +meet, we shall meet. Are you staying here on the off-chance of another row? +There will be none till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark +that. Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money’s spent; and give me +your address.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,—especially +Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in all, but +the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the vices in all the +continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the heart of that +sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long above the Bitter Lake, +move, if you will only wait, most of the men and women you have known in this +life. Dick established himself in quarters more riotous than respectable. He +spent his evenings on the quay, and boarded many ships, and saw very many +friends,—gracious Englishwomen with whom he had talked not too wisely in +the veranda of Shepherd’s Hotel, hurrying war correspondents, skippers of +the contract troop-ships employed in the campaign, army officers by the score, +and others of less reputable trades. +</p> + +<p> +He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and the +advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong excitement, at +the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. For recreation there +was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing sands, the procession of +shipping, and the white hospitals where the English soldiers lay. He strove to +set down in black and white and colour all that Providence sent him, and when +that supply was ended sought about for fresh material. It was a fascinating +employment, but it ran away with his money, and he had drawn in advance the +hundred and twenty pounds to which he was entitled yearly. “Now I shall +have to work and starve!” thought he, and was addressing himself to this +new fate when a mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, which +said, “Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.” +</p> + +<p> +A large smile overspread his face. “So soon! that’s a good +hearing,” said he to himself. “There will be an orgy to-night. +I’ll stand or fall by my luck. Faith, it’s time it came!” He +deposited half of his funds in the hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and +Madame Binat, and ordered himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur +Binat was shaking with drink, but Madame smiles +sympathetically—“Monsieur needs a chair, of course, and of course +Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses himself strangely.” +</p> + +<p> +Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. “I +understand,” he quavered. “We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an +artist, as I have been.” Dick nodded. “In the end,” said +Binat, with gravity, “Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have +descended.” And he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come to the dance, too,” said Dick; “I shall want +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my +degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. Or at +least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.” The excellent Binat began to +kick and scream. +</p> + +<p> +“All things are for sale in Port Said,” said Madame. “If my +husband comes it will be so much more. Eh, “how you call—’alf +a sovereign.” +</p> + +<p> +The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled courtyard +at the back of Madame Binat’s house. The lady herself, in faded mauve +silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played the piano, and to +the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari girls danced furiously +by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat sat upon a chair and stared with eyes +that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance and the clang of the rattling +piano stole into the drink that took the place of blood in his veins, and his +face glistened. Dick took him by the chin brutally and turned that face to the +light. Madame Binat looked over her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick +leaned against the wall and sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began +to smell, and the girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground. +Then he shut his book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking feebly at his +elbow. “Show me,” he whimpered. “I too was once an artist, +even I!” Dick showed him the rough sketch. “Am I that?” he +screamed. “Will you take that away with you and show all the world that +it is I,—Binat?” He moaned and wept. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur has paid for all,” said Madame. “To the pleasure of +seeing Monsieur again.” +</p> + +<p> +The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the nearest +gambling-hell, where he was well known. “If the luck holds, it’s an +omen; if I lose, I must stay here.” He placed his money picturesquely +about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held. +</p> + +<p> +Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went down to +the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed cargo-steamer, who +landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket than he cared to think +about. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer +was in England. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn’t the knack of +altering much,” Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. +“Now, what must I do?” +</p> + +<p> +The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless streets +and at the appalling rush of traffic. “Oh, you rabbit-hutches!” +said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached residences. +“Do you know what you’ve got to do later on? You have to supply me +with men-servants and maid-servants,”—here he smacked his +lips,—“and the peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I’ll find +clothes and boots, and presently I will return and trample on you.” He +stepped forward energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the +side. As he stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the gutter. +“All right,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s another nick in the score. I’ll jostle you later +on.” +</p> + +<p> +Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with the +certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with only fifty +shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, and lodged +himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost audibly marked in +case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at all. When his clothes +arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate for Torpenhow’s address, +and got it, with the intimation that there was still some money waiting for +him. +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. +</p> + +<p> +“Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to you, +of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle accounts +monthly.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I show that I want anything now, I’m lost,” he said to +himself. “All I need I’ll take later on.” Then, aloud, +“It’s hardly worth while; and I’m going to the country for a +month, too. Wait till I come back, and I’ll see about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your +connection with us?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the +speaker keenly. “That man means something,” he said. +“I’ll do no business till I’ve seen Torpenhow. There’s +a big deal coming.” So he departed, making no promises, to his one little +room by the Docks. And that day was the seventh of the month, and that month, +he reckoned with awful distinctness, had thirty-one days in it! +</p> + +<p> +It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to exist for +twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the experiment +alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid seven shillings a week for his +lodging, which left him rather less than a shilling a day for food and drink. +Naturally, his first purchase was of the materials of his craft; he had been +without them too long. Half a day’s investigations and comparison brought +him to the conclusion that sausages and mashed potatoes, twopence a plate, were +the best food. Now, sausages once or twice a week for breakfast are not +unpleasant. As lunch, even, with mashed potatoes, they become monotonous. At +dinner they are impertinent. At the end of three days Dick loathed sausages, +and, going forth, pawned his watch to revel on sheep’s head, which is not +as cheap as it looks, owing to the bones and the gravy. Then he returned to +sausages and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself entirely to mashed +potatoes for a day, and was unhappy because of pain in his inside. Then he +pawned his waistcoat and his tie, and thought regretfully of money thrown away +in times past. There are few things more edifying unto Art than the actual +belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick in his few walks abroad,—he did not care +for exercise; it raised desires that could not be satisfied—found himself +dividing mankind into two classes,—those who looked as if they might give +him something to eat, and those who looked otherwise. “I never knew what +I had to learn about the human face before,” he thought; and, as a reward +for his humility, Providence caused a cab-driver at a sausage-shop where Dick +fed that night to leave half eaten a great chunk of bread. Dick took +it,—would have fought all the world for its possession,—and it +cheered him. +</p> + +<p> +The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with impatience, he +went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow’s address and smelt +the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the chambers. Torpenhow +was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, to be received with a hug +which nearly cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow dragged him to the light and spoke +of twenty different things in the same breath. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re looking tucked up,” he concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“Got anything to eat?” said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to +sausages?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, anything but sausages! Torp, I’ve been starving on that +accursed horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what lunacy has been your latest?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened his +coat; there was no waistcoat below. “I ran it fine, awfully fine, but +I’ve just scraped through.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t much sense, but you’ve got a backbone, anyhow. +Eat, and talk afterwards.” Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till +he could gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as +men smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco. +</p> + +<p> +“Ouf!” said he. “That’s heavenly! Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why in the world didn’t you come to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a +sort of superstition that this temporary starvation—that’s what it +was, and it hurt—would bring me luck later. It’s over and done with +now, and none of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What’s +the exact state of affairs as regards myself?” +</p> + +<p> +“You had my wire? You’ve caught on here. People like your work +immensely. I don’t know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh touch +and a new way of drawing things. And, because they’re chiefly home-bred +English, they say you have insight. You’re wanted by half a dozen papers; +you’re wanted to illustrate books.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick grunted scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to +the dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment. +</p> + +<p> +Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re a remarkably sensible people.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are subject to fits, if that’s what you mean; and you happen +to be the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what they +call Art. Just now you’re a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you +please. I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you here, and +I have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches you gave me from +time to time. Those coming after your work on the Central Southern Syndicate +appear to have done your business. You’re in luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about +the world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I’ll luck ’em later +on. I want a place to work first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come here,” said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. “This +place is a big box room really, but it will do for you. There’s your +skylight, or your north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of +room to thrash about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good enough,” said Dick, looking round the large room that took up +a third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A pale +yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of the place. +Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three more to +Torpenhow’s room. The well of the staircase disappeared into darkness, +pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking and doors +slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“Do they give you a free hand here?” said Dick, cautiously. He was +Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent +tenants for the most part here. ’Tisn’t a place I would recommend +for a Young Men’s Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these +rooms for you when I wired.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a great deal too kind, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t suppose you were going away from me, did you?” +Torpenhow put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and the two walked up and down +the room, henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion. +They heard rapping at Torpenhow’s door. “That’s some ruffian +come up for a drink,” said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. +There entered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged gentleman in a +satin-faced frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there were deep +pouches under the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Weak heart,” said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, +“very weak heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.” +</p> + +<p> +The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern Syndicate and +“one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr. Heldar. I assure you, +in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely indebted to you; and I +trust, Mr. Heldar, you won’t forget that we were largely instrumental in +bringing you before the public.” He panted because of the seven flights +of stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on his +cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t forget,” said Dick, every instinct of defence +roused in him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve paid me so well that I couldn’t, you know. By the +way, when I am settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. +There must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is er—is what I came to speak about. I fear we can’t +allow it exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the +sketches are our property, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to +assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name and the +influence we naturally command among the press, should be of material service +to you. Sketches such as yours——” +</p> + +<p> +“Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you +dared. You can’t mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they’re +all I’ve got in the world!” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow watched Dick’s face and whistled. +</p> + +<p> +Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock in +trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of his campaign +by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught aright, who said that he +represented a syndicate, which was a thing for which Dick had not the least +reverence. The injustice of the proceedings did not much move him; he had seen +the strong hand prevail too often in other places to be squeamish over the +moral aspects of right and wrong. +</p> + +<p> +But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and when +he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained sweetness that +Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, sir, but you have no—no younger man who can arrange +this business with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party +to——” +</p> + +<p> +“You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.” +</p> + +<p> +The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning against +the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be good enough to +do things. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,” said Torpenhow, +critically; “but I’m afraid, I am very much afraid, you’ve +struck the wrong man. Be careful, Dick; remember, this isn’t the +Soudan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your +name before the world——” +</p> + +<p> +This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant years +lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The memory did not +contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed to enjoy the fruit of +those years. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know quite what to do with you,” began Dick, +meditatively. “Of course you’re a thief, and you ought to be half +killed, but in your case you’d probably die. I don’t want you dead +on this floor, and, besides, it’s unlucky just as one’s moving in. +Don’t hit, sir; you’ll only excite yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He put one hand on the man’s forearm and ran the other down the plump +body beneath the coat. “My goodness!” said he to Torpenhow, +“and this gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver +have the black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of +wet dates, and <i>he</i> was as tough as whipcord. This things’ soft all +over—like a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by a man +who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to breathe +heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft hearth-rug. +Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches underneath the eyes, and +shook his head. “You were going to steal my things,—mine, mine, +mine!—you, who don’t know when you may die. Write a note to your +office,—you say you’re the head of it,—and order them to give +Torpenhow my sketches,—every one of them. Wait a minute: your +hand’s shaking. Now!” He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note +was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick walked +round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as he conceived +best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned with a gigantic +portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, “Now, I hope this will +be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have settled down to work with +any nonsense about actions for assault, believe me, I’ll catch you and +manhandle you, and you’ll die. You haven’t very long to live, +anyhow. Go! <i>Imshi, Vootsak</i>,—get out!” The man departed, +staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: “Phew! what a lawless lot +these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is gang robbery, +organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that man’s mind! +Are my sketches all right, Torp?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I <i>must</i> say, Dick, +you’ve begun well.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it +was everything to me. I don’t think he’ll bring an action. I gave +him some medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at the +little flurry it cost him. Now, let’s look at my things.” +</p> + +<p> +Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep in the +portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over and thought of the +price at which they had been bought. +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw Dick +dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. +</p> + +<p> +“I builded better than I knew, Torp,” he said, without stopping the +dance. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re good! They’re damned good! They’ll go like +flame! I shall have an exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man +would have cheated me out of it! Do you know that I’m sorry now that I +didn’t actually hit him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go out,” said Torpenhow,—“go out and pray to be +delivered from the sin of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things +up from whatever place you’re staying in, and we’ll try to make +this barn a little more shipshape.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then—oh, then,” said Dick, still capering, “we +will spoil the Egyptians!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn,<br /> + When the smoke of the cooking hung gray:<br /> +He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn,<br /> + And he looked to his strength for his prey.<br /> + But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away.<br /> +And he turned from his meal in the villager’s close,<br /> +And he bayed to the moon as she rose.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>In Seonee</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and how does success taste?” said Torpenhow, some three +months later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in +the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“I want more,—heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve +of these fat ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep on his +chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, and a +lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose from a wreck of +oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, belts, and regimental +badges, and ended with a small bale of second-hand uniforms and a stand of +mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet on the dais showed that a military model had +just gone away. The watery autumn sunlight was falling, and shadows sat in the +corners of the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, deliberately, “I like the power; I like the +fun; I like the fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the people +who make the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they’re a queer +gang,—an amazingly queer gang!” +</p> + +<p> +“They have been good enough to you, at any rate. That tin-pot exhibition +of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers called it the +‘Wild Work Show’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, I +believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone artist. +</p> + +<p> +I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or scratched them +on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and colour. Verily, they +are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn’t the word to describe +’em. I met a fellow the other day who told me that it was impossible that +shadows on white sand should be blue,—ultramarine,—as they are. I +found out, later, that the man had been as far as Brighton beach; but he knew +all about Art, confound him. He gave me a lecture on it, and recommended me to +go to school to learn technique. I wonder what old Kami would have said to +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?” +</p> + +<p> +“I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal +magnetism. All he ever said was, ‘<i>Continuez, mes enfants</i>,’ +and you had to make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he +knew something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he could never +have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it was good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?” said Torpenhow, with +a provoking drawl. +</p> + +<p> +Dick squirmed in his place. “Don’t! It makes me want to get out +there again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and +brick-red and sulphur—cockatoo-crest—sulphur—against brown, +with a nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a decorative +frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise sky.” He +began to walk up and down. “And yet, you know, if you try to give these +people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension and +according to the powers He has given you——” +</p> + +<p> +“Modest man! Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven’t even been to Algiers +will tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that it +isn’t Art. +</p> + +<p> +“’This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you’ve +been promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t help it,” said Dick, penitently. “You +weren’t here, and it was lonely these long evenings. A man can’t +work for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they +were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,—but they wouldn’t +draw. They gave me tea,—tea at five in the afternoon!—and talked +about Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. I’ve +heard more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than in the +whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for some continental +syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a regular Christmas-tree of +contraptions when he took the field in full fig, with his water-bottle, +lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, gig-lamps, and the Lord knows what +all. He used to fiddle about with ’em and show us how they worked; but he +never seemed to do much except fudge his reports from the Nilghai. See?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old Nilghai! He’s in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be +up here this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept +clear of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will unsettle +your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t. It has taught me what Art—holy sacred +Art—means.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve learnt something while I’ve been away. What is +Art?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give ’em what they know, and when you’ve done it once do it +again.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. “Here’s a +sample of real Art. It’s going to be a facsimile reproduction for a +weekly. I called it “His Last Shot.” It’s worked up from the +little water-colour I made outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a +beautiful rifleman, up here with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I +redrored him, and I made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with +his helmet at the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his eye, +and the blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn’t pretty, +but he was all soldier and very much man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Once more, modest child!” +</p> + +<p> +Dick laughed. “Well, it’s only to you I’m talking. I did him +just as well as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then +the art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers +wouldn’t like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,—man being +naturally gentle when he’s fighting for his life. They wanted something +more restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but you +might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my “Last +Shot” back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without a +speck on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,—observe the high light on +the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,—rifles are always clean on +service,—because that is Art. +</p> + +<p> +I pipeclayed his helmet,—pipeclay is always used on active service, and +is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and gave him an +air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor’s pattern-plate. Price, +thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was moderately +decent.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you suppose you’re going to give that thing out as your +work?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, home-bred +Art and <i>Dickenson’s Weekly</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, delivered from +rolling clouds: “If you were only a mass of blathering vanity, Dick, I +wouldn’t mind,—I’d let you go to the deuce on your own +mahl-stick; but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find that to +vanity you add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a twelve-year-old girl, then I +bestir myself in your behalf. Thus!” +</p> + +<p> +The canvas ripped as Torpenhow’s booted foot shot through it, and the +terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. +</p> + +<p> +“If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue. +</p> + +<p> +You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take +liberties with his public, even though they be—which they +ain’t—all you say they are.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they don’t know any better. What can you expect from creatures +born and bred in this light?” Dick pointed to the yellow fog. “If +they want furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they pay +for it. +</p> + +<p> +They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.” +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are +the people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They are your +masters. Don’t be deceived, Dickie, you aren’t strong enough to +trifle with them,—or with yourself, which is more important. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover,—Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn’t going +anywhere,—unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the +damnation of the check-book, and that’s worse than death. You will get +drunk—you’re half drunk already—on easily acquired money. For +that money and your own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn +out bad work. You’ll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, +Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut +off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. That’s +settled. Now swear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know, said Dick. “I’ve been trying to make +myself angry, but I can’t, you’re so abominably reasonable. There +will be a row on <i>Dickenson’s Weekly</i>, I fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It’s slow +bleeding of power.” +</p> + +<p> +“It brings in the very desirable dollars,” said Dick, his hands in +his pockets. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. “Why, I thought it was a +man!” said he. “It’s a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it isn’t,” said Dick, wheeling quickly. +“You’ve no notion what the certainty of cash means to a man who has +always wanted it badly. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing will pay me for some of my life’s joys; on that Chinese pig-boat, +for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, because Ho-Wang +wouldn’t allow us anything better, and it all tasted of +pig,—Chinese pig. I’ve worked for this, I’ve sweated and +I’ve starved for this, line on line and month after month. And now +I’ve got it I am going to make the most of it while it lasts. Let them +pay—they’ve no knowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does Your Majesty please to want? You can’t smoke more than +you do; you won’t drink; you’re a gross feeder; and you dress in +the dark, by the look of you. You wouldn’t keep a horse the other day +when I suggested, because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross +the street you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose that +theatres and all the live things you can buy thereabouts mean Life. +</p> + +<p> +What earthly need have you for money?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s there, bless its golden heart,” said Dick. +“It’s there all the time. +</p> + +<p> +Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack ’em with. I +haven’t yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I’m keeping my teeth +filed. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? You +would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn’t go. I +don’t care to profit by the price of a man’s soul,—for +that’s what it would mean. +</p> + +<p> +Dick, it’s no use arguing. You’re a fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got +credit for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, when our +old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking those pigs as a +parallel——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you +always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren’t the +British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go out for a +walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the Nilghai comes up +this evening can I show him your diggings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely. You’ll be asking whether you must knock at my door, +next.” And Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly +gathering London fog. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. He was +the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, and his +experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only his ally, Keneu +the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the craft than he, and he +always opened his conversation with the news that there would be trouble in the +Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed as he entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always +screeching. You’ve heard about Dick’s luck?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn’t he? I hope you +keep him properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.” +</p> + +<p> +“He does. He’s beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is +his reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Already! By Jove, he <i>has</i> cheek! I don’t know about his +reputation, but he’ll come a cropper if he tries that sort of +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I told him. I don’t think he believes it.” +</p> + +<p> +“They never do when they first start off. What’s that wreck on the +ground there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Specimen of his latest impertinence.” Torpenhow thrust the torn +edges of the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the +Nilghai, who looked at it for a moment and whistled. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a chromo,” said he,—“a +chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What possessed him to do it? And yet how +thoroughly he has caught the note that catches a public who think with their +boots and read with their elbows! The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost +saves it; but he mustn’t go on with this. Hasn’t he been praised +and cockered up too much? You know these people here have no sense of +proportion. They’ll call him a second Detaille and a third-hand +Meissonier while his fashion lasts. It’s windy diet for a colt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young +wolf a lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a shin-bone. +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s soul is in the bank. He’s working for cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn’t see that the +obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are +changed.” +</p> + +<p> +“How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there’s any virtue +in print. He wants the whiplash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lay it on with science, then. I’d flay him myself, but I like him +too much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a +woman at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Did</i> he cut you out?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, +what’s the good? Leave him alone and he’ll come home, if he has any +stuff in him, dragging or wagging his tail behind him. There’s more in a +week of life than in a lively weekly. None the less I’ll slate him. +I’ll slate him ponderously in the <i>Cataclysm</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make Dick +wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across him. +</p> + +<p> +He’s intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Matter of temper,” said the Nilghai. “It’s the same +with horses. Some you wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and +some you wallop and they go out for a walk with their hands in their +pockets.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s exactly what Dick has done,” said Torpenhow. +“Wait till he comes back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating +here. I’ll show you some of his last and worst work in his studio.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood of mind. +He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of the Thames +through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by thinking of +Torpenhow’s advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the study of the +faces flocking past. Some had death written on their features, and Dick +marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and coarse-built for the most +part, were alight with love; others were merely drawn and lined with work; but +there was something, Dick knew, to be made out of them all. The poor at least +should suffer that he might learn, and the rich should pay for the output of +his learning. Thus his credit in the world and his cash balance at the bank +would be increased. So much the better for him. He had suffered. Now he would +take toll of the ills of others. +</p> + +<p> +The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red wafer, on +the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of the tide between +the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low tide. A girl hard pressed by +her lover shouted shamelessly, “Ah, get away, you beast!” and a +shift of the same wind that had opened the fog drove across Dick’s face +the black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth below the wall. He was blinded +for the moment, then spun round and found himself face to face +with—Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but they had +not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the firmly modelled +mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of old, she wore a closely +fitting gray dress. +</p> + +<p> +Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own command, +Dick, advancing, said “Halloo!” after the manner of schoolboys, and +Maisie answered, “Oh, Dick, is that you?” Then, against his will, +and before the brain newly released from considerations of the cash balance had +time to dictate to the nerves, every pulse of Dick’s body throbbed +furiously and his palate dried in his mouth. The fog shut down again, and +Maisie’s face was pearl-white through it. No word was spoken, but Dick +fell into step at her side, and the two paced the Embankment together, keeping +the step as perfectly as in their afternoon excursions to the mud-flats. Then +Dick, a little hoarsely—“What has happened to Amomma?” +</p> + +<p> +“He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. +Isn’t it funny?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye—es. No. This. Where have you come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Over there,” He pointed eastward through the fog. “And +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m in the north,—the black north, across all the Park. +I am very busy.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I paint a great deal. That’s all I have to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s happened? You had three hundred a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have that still. I am painting; that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you alone, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a girl living with me. Don’t walk so fast, Dick; +you’re out of step.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you noticed it too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I did. You’re always out of step.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I am. I’m sorry. You went on with the painting?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton’s +in<i>St. John’s Wood</i>, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,—I +mean I went to the National,—and now I’m working under Kami.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Kami is in Paris surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in +the summer, and I live in London in the winter. I’m a householder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you sell much?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now and again, but not often. There is my “bus. I must take it or +lose half an hour. Good-bye, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Maisie. Won’t you tell me where you live? I must see you +again; and perhaps I could help you. I—I paint a little myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is no working light. I walk +from the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. But of +course I shall see you again.” She stepped into the omnibus and was +swallowed up by the fog. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—I—am—damned!” exclaimed Dick, and returned +to the chambers. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio door, +repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be more damned when I’m done with you,” said +the Nilghai, upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow’s shoulder and +waving a sheaf of half-dry manuscript. “Dick, it is of common report that +you are suffering from swelled head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little +Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow +refuses from false delicacy. I’ve been overhauling the pot-boilers in +your studio. They are simply disgraceful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oho! that’s it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you’re +wrong. You can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, +as a P. and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I’m going to +bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m! h’m! h’m! The first part only deals with your +pictures. Here’s the peroration: “For work done without conviction, +for power wasted on trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the +deliberate purpose of winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven +public——” “That’s “His Last Shot,” +second edition. Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“——“public, there remains but one end,—the +oblivion that is preceded by toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that +fate Mr. Heldar has yet to prove himself out of danger.”’ +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wow—wow—wow—wow—wow!</i>” said Dick, +profanely. “It’s a clumsy ending and vile journalese, but +it’s quite true. And yet,”—he sprang to his feet and snatched +at the manuscript,—“you scarred, deboshed, battered old gladiator! +you’re sent out when a war begins, to minister to the blind, brutal, +British public’s bestial thirst for blood. They have no arenas now, but +they must have special correspondents. You’re a fat gladiator who comes +up through a trap-door and talks of what he’s seen. You stand on +precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an affable actress, a +devastating cyclone, or—mine own sweet self. And you presume to lecture +me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I’d caricature you in +four papers!” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. +</p> + +<p> +“As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small—so!” The +manuscript fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. “Go +home, Nilghai,” said Dick; “go home to your lonely little bed, and +leave me in peace. I am about to turn in till to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it isn’t seven yet!” said Torpenhow, with amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,” said Dick, backing +to the studio door. “I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I +shan’t want any dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +The door shut and was locked. +</p> + +<p> +“What can you do with a man like that?” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave him alone. He’s as mad as a hatter.” +</p> + +<p> +At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. “Is the Nilghai with +you still?” said a voice from within. “Then tell him he might have +condensed the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: “Only the +free are bond, and only the bond are free.” Tell him he’s an idiot, +Torp, and tell him I’m another.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Come out and have supper. You’re smoking on an empty +stomach.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“I have a thousand men,” said he,<br /> + “To wait upon my will,<br /> +And towers nine upon the Tyne,<br /> + And three upon the Till.” <br /> +<br /> +“And what care I for you men,” said she,<br /> + “Or towers from Tyne to Till,<br /> +Sith you must go with me,” she said,<br /> + “To wait upon my will?” <br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir Hoggie and the Fairies</i> +</p> + +<p> +Next morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, madman, how d’you feel?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had much better do some work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe; but I’m in no hurry. I’ve made a discovery. Torp, +there’s too much Ego in my Cosmos.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the +Nilghai’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and +now I’m going to work.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, cleaned +three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, rattled through +his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went out abruptly, declaring +that he had done enough for the day. +</p> + +<p> +“This is positively indecent,” said Torpenhow, “and the first +time that Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out +that he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally valuable. +</p> + +<p> +That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going out of +evenings. I must look to this.” He rang for the bald-headed old +housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. +</p> + +<p> +“Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never laid ’is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly +’e dined in; but ’e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up +’ere after theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You +gentlemen on the top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, +sir, droppin’ a walkin’-stick down five flights o’ stairs +an’ then goin’ down four abreast to pick it up again at half-past +two in the mornin’, singin’, ‘Bring back the whiskey, Willie +darlin’,’—not once or twice, but scores o’ +times,—isn’t charity to the other tenants. What I say is, ‘Do +as you would be done by.’ That’s my motto.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course! of course! I’m afraid the top floor isn’t the +quietest in the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, +an’ he laughed, an’ did me a picture of the missis that is as good +as a coloured print. It ’asn’t the ’igh shine of a +photograph, but what I say is, ‘Never look a gift-horse in the +mouth.’ Mr. Heldar’s dress-clothes ’aven’t been on him +for weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all right,” said Torpenhow to himself. +“Orgies are healthy, and Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to +women making eyes I’m not so certain,—Binkie, never you be a man, +little dorglums. They’re contrary brutes, and they do things without any +reason.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the spirit on +the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered the day when he +had decked Amomma’s horns with the ham-frills, and Maisie, white with +rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years seemed in review, and how +closely Maisie was connected with every hour of them! Storm across the sea, and +Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes +and laughing at the homeward race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the +mud-flats, and Maisie sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie +flying before the wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like +small shot about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies +to Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie picking +her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand and her teeth +firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the grass between the mouth of +a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The pictures passed before him one by +one, and the last stayed the longest. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind as it +was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that there might be +other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in the forenoon. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a good working light now,” he said, watching his +shadow placidly. “Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And +there’s Maisie.” +</p> + +<p> +She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no mannerism +of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still Maisie, and, so to +speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed between them, because there +had been none in the old days. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?” said Dick, as +one who was entitled to ask. +</p> + +<p> +“Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I +left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?” +</p> + +<p> +“A fancy head that wouldn’t come right,—horrid thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like working over scraped paint when I’m doing +flesh. The grain comes up woolly as the paint dries.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if you scrape properly.” Maisie waved her hand to illustrate +her methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re as untidy as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, yes! It’s worse than yours. I don’t think +we’ve much altered in anything. Let’s see, though.” He looked +at Maisie critically. The pale blue haze of an autumn day crept between the +tree-trunks of the Park and made a background for the gray dress, the black +velvet toque above the black hair, and the resolute profile. +</p> + +<p> +“No, there’s nothing changed. How good it is! D’you remember +when I fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute,” said he. “That mouth is down at the corners +a little. +</p> + +<p> +Who’s been worrying you, Maisie?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try +hard enough, and Kami says——” +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes +enfants</i>.’ Kami is depressing. I beg your pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing +better and he’d let me exhibit this year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not in this place, surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. The Salon.” +</p> + +<p> +“You fly high.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, +Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t exhibit. I sell.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is your line, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you heard?” Dick’s eyes opened. Was this thing +possible? He cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from +the Marble Arch. “Come up Oxford Street a little and I’ll show +you.” +</p> + +<p> +A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. +</p> + +<p> +“Some reproduction of my work inside,” he said, with suppressed +triumph. Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. “You +see the sort of things I paint. D’you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into action +under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve chucked the off lead-’orse’ said one to the +other. “’E’s tore up awful, but they’re makin’ +good time with the others. That lead-driver drives better nor you, Tom. See +’ow cunnin’ ’e’s nursin’ ’is +’orse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Number Three’ll be off the limber, next jolt,” was the +answer. +</p> + +<p> +“No, ’e won’t. See ’ow ’is foot’s braced +against the iron? ’E’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick watched Maisie’s face and swelled with joy—fine, rank, vulgar +triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the picture. +</p> + +<p> +That was something that she could understand. +</p> + +<p> +“And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!” she said at last, under +her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Me,—all me!” said Dick, placidly. “Look at their +faces. It hits ’em. They don’t know what makes their eyes and +mouths open; but I know. And I know my work’s right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you +think?” +</p> + +<p> +“I call it success. Tell me how you got it.” +</p> + +<p> +They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of his own +doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman. +</p> + +<p> +From the beginning he told the tale, the I—I—I’s flashing +through the records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie listened +and nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did not move her a +hair’s-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, “And +that gave me some notion of handling colour,” or light, or whatever it +might be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her breathless +across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his life before. +</p> + +<p> +And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great desire to +pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, “I understand. Go +on,”—to pick her up and carry her away with him, because she was +Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his right, and a woman +to be desired above all women. +</p> + +<p> +Then he checked himself abruptly. “And so I took all I wanted,” he +said, “and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie’s tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of +patient toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken though dealers +laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even sarcastic, and +girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a few bright spots, in +pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but it wound up with the oft +repeated wail, “And so you see, Dick, I had no success, though I worked +so hard.” +</p> + +<p> +Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not hit the +breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had happened +yesterday. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll tell you something, if +you’ll believe it.” The words were shaping themselves of their own +accord. “The whole thing, lock, stock, and barrel, isn’t worth one +big yellow sea-poppy below Fort Keeling.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie flushed a little. “It’s all very well for you to talk, but +you’ve had the success and I haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me talk, then. I know you’ll understand. Maisie, dear, it +sounds a bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I’ve come +back again. It really is just the same. Can’t you see? You’re alone +now and I’m alone. +</p> + +<p> +What’s the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” she said slowly. “But I’ve got my work +to do, and I must do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do it with me, then, dear. I won’t interrupt.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I couldn’t. It’s my +work,—mine,—mine,—mine! I’ve been alone all my life in +myself, and I’m not going to belong to anybody except myself. I remember +things as well as you do, but that doesn’t count. We were babies then, +and we didn’t know what was before us. Dick, don’t be selfish. I +think I see my way to a little success next year. Don’t take it away from +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, darling. It’s my fault for speaking stupidly. I +can’t expect you to throw up all your life just because I’m back. +I’ll go to my own place and wait a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Dick, I don’t want you to—go—out of—my +life, now you’ve just come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m at your orders; forgive me.” Dick devoured the troubled +little face with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not +conceive that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved +her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s wrong of me,” said Maisie, more slowly than before; +“it’s wrong and selfish; but, oh, I’ve been so lonely! No, +you misunderstand. Now I’ve seen you again,—it’s absurd, but +I want to keep you in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally. We belong.” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my +work that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things. +You must.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, I fancy, or else I don’t know myself. Then you won’t +care to lose sight of me altogether, and—you want me to help you in your +work?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That’s why +I feel so selfish. Can’t things stay as they are? I do want your +help.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall have it. But let’s consider. I must see your pics first, +and overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should see +what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I’ll give you good advice, +and you shall paint according. Isn’t that it, Maisie?” +</p> + +<p> +Again there was triumph in Dick’s eye. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too good of you,—much too good. Because you are +consoling yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want +to keep you. Don’t blame me later, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen +can do no wrong. It isn’t your selfishness that impresses me. It’s +your audacity in proposing to make use of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! You’re only Dick,—and a print-shop.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good: that’s all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don’t +you, that I love you? I don’t want you to have any false notions about +brothers and sisters.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s absurd, but—I believe. I wish I could send you away +before you get angry with me. But—but the girl that lives with me is +red-haired, and an impressionist, and all our notions clash.” +</p> + +<p> +“So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from to-day we shall be +laughing at this together.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie shook her head mournfully. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, +and it will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, and +tell me what you see.” +</p> + +<p> +They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering, and it +stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. Dick brought all +his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on the eyes, mouth, and chin +underneath the black velvet toque. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the same Maisie, and it’s the same me,” he said. +“We’ve both nice little wills of our own, and one or other of us +has to be broken. Now about the future. I must come and see your pictures some +day,—I suppose when the red-haired girl is on the premises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such +heaps of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I must get +back to work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,” said Dick. +“Don’t take my word for anything I’ve told you. Good-bye, +darling, and bless you.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she was out +of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, +“I’m a wretch,—a horrid, selfish wretch. But it’s Dick, +and Dick will understand.” +</p> + +<p> +No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible force meets +the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even as Dick thought. He +tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in a few weeks by his mere +presence and discourse to a better way of thinking. Then he remembered much too +distinctly her face and all that was written on it. +</p> + +<p> +“If I know anything of heads,” he said, “there’s +everything in that face but love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that +chin and mouth won’t be won for nothing. But she’s right. She knows +what she wants, and she’s going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the +people in the wide world, to use me! But then she’s Maisie. There’s +no getting over that fact; and it’s good to see her again. This business +must have been simmering at the back of my head for years.... She’ll use +me as I used Binat at Port Said. +</p> + +<p> +She’s quite right. It will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every +Sunday,—like a young man courting a housemaid. She’s sure to come +around; and yet—that mouth isn’t a yielding mouth. I shall be +wanting to kiss her all the time, and I shall have to look at her +pictures,—I don’t even know what sort of work she does +yet,—and I shall have to talk about Art,—Woman’s Art! +Therefore, particularly and perpetually, damn all varieties of Art. It did me a +good turn once, and now it’s in my way. I’ll go home and do some +Art.” +</p> + +<p> +Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The figure of +a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, +who probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie’s a bilious little body. They’ll eat like lone +women,—meals at all hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the +students in Paris used to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I +shan’t be able to help. +</p> + +<p> +Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full of the +austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the same oar +together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of toil. This is a +good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, strife, recrimination, +and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, and is proof against any absence +and evil conduct. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. He +thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to think of +anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at last was an outlet +for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie barbarically with jewelry,—a +thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets upon the rounded arms, +and rings of price upon her hands,—the cool, temperate, ringless hands +that he had taken between his own. It was an absurd thought, for Maisie would +not even allow him to put one ring on one finger, and she would laugh at golden +trappings. It would be better to sit with her quietly in the dusk, his arm +around her neck and her face on his shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. +Torpenhow’s boots creaked that night, and his strong voice jarred. +Dick’s brows contracted and he murmured an evil word because he had taken +all his success as a right and part payment for past discomfort, and now he was +checked in his stride by a woman who admitted all the success and did not +instantly care for him. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, old man,” said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain +attempts at conversation, “I haven’t put your back up by anything +I’ve said lately, have I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You! No. How could you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Liver out of order?” +</p> + +<p> +“The truly healthy man doesn’t know he has a liver. I’m only +a bit worried about things in general. I suppose it’s my soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“The truly healthy man doesn’t know he has a soul. What business +have you with luxuries of that kind?” +</p> + +<p> +“It came of itself. Who’s the man that says that we’re all +islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s right, whoever he is,—except about the +misunderstanding. I don’t think we could misunderstand each other.” +</p> + +<p> +The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, +insinuatingly—“Dick, is it a woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be hanged if it’s anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you +begin to talk like that, I’ll hire a red-brick studio with white paint +trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among +three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I’ll mount all my pics in aniline-dye +plush plasters, and I’ll invite every woman who maunders over what her +guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive ’em, Torp,—in a +snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You’ll +like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and +swearing. You’ve overdone it, just as he did. It’s no business of +mine, of course, but it’s comforting to think that somewhere under the +stars there’s saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether +it’ll come from heaven or earth, I don’t know, but it’s bound +to come and break you up a little. You want hammering.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick shivered. “All right,” said he. “When this island is +disintegrated, it will call for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. +</p> + +<p> +We’re talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“And you may lead a thousand men,<br /> + Nor ever draw the rein,<br /> +But ere ye lead the Faery Queen<br /> + ’Twill burst your heart in twain.” <br /> +<br /> +He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar,<br /> + The bridle from his hand,<br /> +And he is bound by hand and foot<br /> + To the Queen o’ Faery-land.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir Hoggie and the Fairies</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Some weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across the Park to +his studio. “This,” he said, “is evidently the thrashing that +Torp meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no wrong; and +she certainly has some notion of drawing.” +</p> + +<p> +He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,—always under the green +eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate at +sight,—and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after Sunday, +putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy house north of +the Park, first to see Maisie’s pictures, and then to criticise and +advise upon them as he realised that they were productions on which advice +would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, and his love grew with each visit, he +had been compelled to cram his heart back from between his lips when it +prompted him to kiss Maisie several times and very much indeed. Sunday after +Sunday, the head above the heart had warned him that Maisie was not yet +attainable, and that it would be better to talk as connectedly as possible upon +the mysteries of the craft that was all in all to her. Therefore it was his +fate to endure weekly torture in the studio built out over the clammy back +garden of a frail stuffy little villa where nothing was ever in its right place +and nobody every called,—to endure and to watch Maisie moving to and fro +with the teacups. He abhorred tea, but, since it gave him a little longer time +in her presence, he drank it devoutly, and the red-haired girl sat in an untidy +heap and eyed him without speaking. She was always watching him. +</p> + +<p> +Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him an album +that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,—the briefest of +hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying exhibitions. Dick +stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the open page. “Oh, my +love, my love,” he muttered, “do you value these things? Chuck +’em into the waste-paper basket!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till I get something better,” said Maisie, shutting the book. +</p> + +<p> +Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard for the +maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of these coveted +cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie should sign. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s childish,” said Maisie, “and I didn’t +think it of you. It must be my work. Mine,—mine,—mine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers’ houses. You +are thoroughly good at that.” Dick was sick and savage. +</p> + +<p> +“Better things than medallions, Dick,” was the answer, in tones +that recalled a gray-eyed atom’s fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick +would have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in. +</p> + +<p> +Next Sunday he laid at Maisie’s feet small gifts of pencils that could +almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, and he +was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, among other +things, an exposition of the faith that was in him. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow’s hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with +which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. +</p> + +<p> +A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was +Maisie’s will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make +plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the whys and +wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing a thing if you +only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your method. +</p> + +<p> +“I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,” said Dick, +despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would not +“look flesh,”—it was the same chin that she had scraped out +with the palette knife,—“but I find it almost impossible to teach +you. There’s a queer grim, Dutch touch about your painting that I like; +but I’ve a notion that you’re weak in drawing. You foreshorten as +though you never used the model, and you’ve caught Kami’s pasty way +of dealing with flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you don’t know it +yourself, you shirk hard work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line +alone. Line doesn’t allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches +of flashy, tricky stuff in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing +off,—as I know. That’s immoral. Do line-work for a little while, +and then I can tell more about your powers, as old Kami used to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Dick. “You want to do your fancy heads with a +bunch of flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.” The +red-haired girl laughed a little. “You want to do landscapes with cattle +knee-deep in grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than +you can do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour’s a +gift,—put it aside and think no more about it,—but form you can be +drilled into. +</p> + +<p> +Now, all your fancy heads—and some of them are very good—will keep +you exactly where you are. With line you must go forward or backward, and it +will show up all your weaknesses.” +</p> + +<p> +“But other people——” began Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t mind what other people do. If their souls were your +soul, it would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, and +it’s waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came back +into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly as words, Was +it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas and counsel and join +hands with Life and Love? +</p> + +<p> +Maisie assented to the new programme of schooling so adorably that Dick could +hardly restrain himself from picking her up then and there and carrying her off +to the nearest registrar’s office. It was the implicit obedience to the +spoken word and the blank indifference to the unspoken desire that baffled and +buffeted his soul. He held authority in that house,—authority limited, +indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in seven, but very real while it lasted. +Maisie had learned to appeal to him on many subjects, from the proper packing +of pictures to the condition of a smoky chimney. The red-haired girl never +consulted him about anything. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and watched +him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment were irregular +and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, and biscuit, as he had +suspected from the beginning. The girls were supposed to market week and week +about, but they lived, with the help of a charwoman, as casually as the young +ravens. Maisie spent most of her income on models, and the other girl revelled +in apparatus as refined as her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, +dear-bought from the Docks, Dick warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation +meant the crippling of power to work, which was considerably worse than death. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and drank. When +his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the long winter +twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic authority and his +coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky drawing-room chimney stung Dick like +a whip-lash. +</p> + +<p> +He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, till one +Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a study of +Dick’s head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, +and—quite as an afterthought—look at Maisie. He sat, because he +could not well refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all +the people in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his own craft. +He remembered Binat most distinctly,—that Binat who had once been an +artist and talked about degradation. +</p> + +<p> +It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented the dumb +waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement of the man, in a +spirit of bitter mockery. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll buy it,” said Dick, promptly, “at your own +price.” +</p> + +<p> +“My price is too high, but I dare say you’ll be as grateful +if——” The wet sketch, fluttered from the girl’s hand +and fell into the ashes of the studio stove. When she picked it up it was +hopelessly smudged. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s all spoiled!” said Maisie. “And I never saw +it. Was it like?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and +he removed himself swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“How that man hates me!” said the girl. “And how he loves +you, Maisie!” +</p> + +<p> +“What nonsense? I knew Dick’s very fond of me, but he had his work +to do, and I have mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in +impressionism, after all. Maisie, can’t you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“See? See what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as that +man looks at you, I’d—I don’t know what I’d do. But he +hates me. Oh, how he hates me!” +</p> + +<p> +She was not altogether correct. Dick’s hatred was tempered with gratitude +for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only the sense of +shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park in the fog. +“There’ll be an explosion one of these days,” he said +wrathfully. “But it isn’t Maisie’s fault; she’s right, +quite right, as far as she knows, and I can’t blame her. This business +has been going on for three months nearly. +</p> + +<p> +Three months!—and it cost me ten years’ knocking about to get at +the notion, the merest raw notion, of my work. That’s true; but then I +didn’t have pins, drawing-pins, and palette-knives, stuck into me every +Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very bad time +of it. No, she won’t. I’d be as big a fool about her as I am now. +I’ll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,—she’s +unwholesome,—and now I’ll pass on these present bad times to +Torp.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the sin of +levity, and Dick had listened and replied not a word. In the weeks between the +first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung himself savagely into his +work, resolved that Maisie should at least know the full stretch of his powers. +Then he had taught Maisie that she must not pay the least attention to any work +outside her own, and Maisie had obeyed him all too well. She took his counsels, +but was not interested in his pictures. +</p> + +<p> +“Your things smell of tobacco and blood,” she said once. +“Can’t you do anything except soldiers?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could do a head of you that would startle you,” thought +Dick,—this was before the red-haired girl had brought him under the +guillotine,—but he only said, “I am very sorry,” and harrowed +Torpenhow’s soul that evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, +insensibly and to a large extent against his own will, he ceased to interest +himself in his own work. +</p> + +<p> +For Maisie’s sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him +he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, since +Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to do anything at all +save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. Torpenhow was disgusted as +the weeks went by fruitless, and then attacked him one Sunday evening when Dick +felt utterly exhausted after three hours’ biting self-restraint in +Maisie’s presence. There was Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to consult +the Nilghai, who had come in to talk continental politics. +</p> + +<p> +“Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?” said the +Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool +with a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that bad enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a +while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the staircase: +one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you had better not +touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned +fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he +can’t storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick +brush. +</p> + +<p> +You’re fond of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d take any punishment that’s in store for him if I could; +but the worst of it is, no man can save his brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick +must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there’ll be +trouble in the Balkans in the spring.” +</p> + +<p> +“That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there +when it comes off?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not good enough,” he said shortly. “I’m too +comf’y where I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you aren’t taking all the stuff in the papers +seriously?” said the Nilghai. “Your vogue will be ended in less +than six months,—the public will know your touch and go on to something +new,—and where will you be then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I +shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will be +there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as much as ever +we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you of seeing things that +would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” said Dick, pulling at his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at your +pictures? Just think how full an average man’s life is of his own +pursuits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look up +between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren’t the +least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or notoriety, +according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little +gumption.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be hanged if I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Be</i> hanged, then; you probably will be,—for a spy, by +excited Turks. Heigh-ho! I’m weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out +of me.” Dick dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a bad sign,” said the Nilghai, in an undertone. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to burn, +and put a pillow behind the head. “We can’t help; we can’t +help,” he said. “It’s a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and +I’m fond of it. There’s the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut +over in the square.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shouldn’t wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should. He’s a most businesslike madman.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Dick began to snore furiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and +go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,” said the Nilghai, +in his beard, “I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural +history.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches he was +overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he wondered he had never +conceived it before. It was full of craft. He would seek Maisie on a +week-day,—would suggest an excursion, and would take her by train to Fort +Keeling, over the very ground that they two had trodden together ten years ago. +</p> + +<p> +“As a general rule,” he explained to his chin-lathered reflection +in the morning, “it isn’t safe to cross an old trail twice. Things +remind one of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is an +exception to every rule that ever was. I’ll go to Maisie at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and Maisie +in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was not pleased to +see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; and it needed all his +courage to explain his errand. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you’ve been working too hard,” he concluded, with an +air of authority. “If you do that, you’ll break down. You had much +better come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her +easel too long, and was very tired. +</p> + +<p> +“Anywhere you please. We’ll take a train to-morrow and see where it +stops. We’ll have lunch somewhere, and I’ll bring you back in the +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“If there’s a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.” +Maisie balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. +</p> + +<p> +Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet learned +patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of +working light. Overwork’s only murderous idleness. Don’t be +unreasonable. I’ll call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you are going to ask——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much +as I hate her. She won’t care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray that we +get sunshine.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. +</p> + +<p> +He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great gray +kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired into himself to +consider things. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going out for the day to-morrow with Dick,” said Maisie +to the red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the +Edgware road. +</p> + +<p> +“He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while +you’re away. It’s very dirty.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to the +little excitement, but not without misgivings. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly, she +thought, but I’m sure he’ll be silly and worry me, and I’m +sure I can’t tell him anything he’d like to hear. If he’d +only be sensible, I should like him so much better.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning and +saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the hallway. +Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, were surely the +fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired girl drew her into the +studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie’s eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether +unused to these demonstrations. “Mind my hat,” she said, hurrying +away, and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn’t like some +more breakfast? Put the cloak over you knees.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m quite comf’y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do +stop singing like that. People will think we’re mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em think,—if the exertion doesn’t kill them. They +don’t know who we are, and I’m sure I don’t care who they +are. My faith, Maisie, you’re looking lovely!” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a keen +clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, the +creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a pale-blue +sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout committees and +cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be lovely weather in the country,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“But where are we going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait and see.” +</p> + +<p> +They stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the +fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the +waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the +booking-office than to elbow one’s own way through the crowd. Dick put +her into a Pullman,—solely on account of the warmth there; and she +regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved out +into the country. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I knew where we are going,” she repeated for the twentieth +time. +</p> + +<p> +The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the run, +and Maisie was delighted. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dick, you villain!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven’t +been here since the old times, have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was +ever there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite. Look out a minute. There’s the windmill above the +potato-fields; they haven’t built villas there yet; d’you remember +when I shut you up in it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.” +</p> + +<p> +“She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was +burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a trusting +nature in those days.” +</p> + +<p> +They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with many +reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie’s cheek, +very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear skin. He +congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the evening would bring +him a great reward. +</p> + +<p> +When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new eyes. +First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. Jennett. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?” said Dick, +with mock terror. +</p> + +<p> +“I should make a face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Show, then,” said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +““This is disgraceful,”’ said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. +Jennett’s tone. +</p> + +<p> +““Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and +epistle for the next three Sundays. After all I’ve taught you, too, and +three helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick’s always leading you into +mischief. If you aren’t a gentleman, Dick, you might at +least—“’ +</p> + +<p> +The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used. +</p> + +<p> +““Try to behave like one,”’ said Dick, promptly. +“Quite right. Now we’ll get some lunch and go on to Fort +Keeling,—unless you’d rather drive there?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all +is!” +</p> + +<p> +They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and the +influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed a +confectioner’s shop much considered in the days when their joint +pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick, have you any pennies?” said Maisie, half to herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Only three; and if you think you’re going to have two of ’em +to buy peppermints with, you’re wrong. She says peppermints aren’t +ladylike.” +</p> + +<p> +Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie’s cheeks as the +blood boiled through Dick’s heart. After a large lunch they went down to +the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land that no +builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter breeze came in +from the sea and sang about their ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Maisie,” said Dick, “your nose is getting a crude Prussian +blue at the tip. +</p> + +<p> +I’ll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the ulster +allowed, till she was out of breath. +</p> + +<p> +“We used to run miles,” she panted. “It’s absurd that +we can’t run now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished to +pull your hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the top of your +voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were meant to call up +Mrs. Jennett with a cane and——” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s the same as ever!” said Maisie. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and shaved, +had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a travelling-rug over +his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess and polite conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s worse than anything I imagined,” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with +one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it’ll amuse him. You can whip a +young pup off feather, but you can’t whip a young man.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a woman. It’s one woman; and it’s a +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s your proof?” +</p> + +<p> +“He got up and went out at eight this morning,—got up in the middle +of the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he’s on service. +</p> + +<p> +Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the fight +began at El-Maghrib. It’s disgusting.” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks odd; but maybe he’s decided to buy a horse at last. He +might get up for that, mightn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He’d have told us if there was a horse +in the wind. It’s a girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be certain. Perhaps it’s only a married woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven’t. Who gets up in the +gray dawn to call on another man’s wife? It’s a girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there’s somebody +else in the world besides himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll spoil his hand. She’ll waste his time, and +she’ll marry him, and ruin his work for ever. He’ll be a +respectable married man before we can stop him, and—he’ll never go +on the long trail again.” +</p> + +<p> +“All quite possible, but the earth won’t spin the other way when +that happens.... No! ho! I’d give something to see Dick “go wooing +with the boys.” Don’t worry about it. These things be with Allah, +and we can only look on. Get the chessmen.” +</p> + +<p> +The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the ceiling. The +footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew indistinct in the +distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was all one long kiss. Her hands +were by her side, and they opened and shut savagely from time to time. +</p> + +<p> +The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her door: +“Beg y’ pardon, miss, but in cleanin’ of a floor +there’s two, not to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an’ +mottled, an’ disinfectink. +</p> + +<p> +Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though it would be +pre’aps jest as well if I was to come up ’ere an’ ask you +what sort of soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller +soap, miss——” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury that drove +the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost +shouting— +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose <i>I</i> care what you use? Any kind will +do!—<i>any</i> kind!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in the +glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as though she +had shouted some shameless secret aloud. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Roses red and roses white<br /> +Plucked I for my love’s delight.<br /> +She would none of all my posies,—<br /> +Bade me gather her blue roses.<br /> +<br /> +Half the world I wandered through,<br /> +Seeking where such flowers grew;<br /> +Half the world unto my quest<br /> +Answered but with laugh and jest.<br /> +<br /> +It may be beyond the grave<br /> +She shall find what she would have.<br /> +Mine was but an idle quest,—<br /> +Roses white and red are best!—<i>Blue Roses</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The sea had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and the Marazion +Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white beach-sand dried +stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see the old breakwater,” said Maisie, under her +breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don’t +believe they’ve mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. +Come and look.” +</p> + +<p> +They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook sheltered from +the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder cannon. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, if Ammoma were only here!” said Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie’s hand and called +her by her name. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head and looked out to sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Maisie, darling, doesn’t it make any difference?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” between clenched teeth. “I’d—I’d tell +you if it did; but it doesn’t, Oh, Dick, please be sensible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think that it ever will?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m sure it won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke +hurriedly—“I know what you want perfectly well, but I can’t +give it to you, Dick. It isn’t my fault; indeed, it isn’t. If I +felt that I could care for any one——But I don’t feel that I +care. I simply don’t understand what the feeling means.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that true, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay +you back is by speaking the truth. I daren’t tell a fib. I despise myself +quite enough as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“What in the world for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because—because I take everything that you give me and I give you +nothing in return. It’s mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of +it it worries me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if +I choose to do anything you aren’t to blame. You haven’t a single +thing to reproach yourself with, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then don’t talk about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always +talking about it; and when you aren’t you look it. You don’t know +how I despise myself sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great goodness!” said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. +“Speak the truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do +I—does this worrying bore you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. It does not.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d tell me if it did?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should let you know, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a man +when he’s in love. He’s always a nuisance. You must have known +that?” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was forced +to repeat it. +</p> + +<p> +“There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in +the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you listen?” +</p> + +<p> +“At first; and they couldn’t understand why I didn’t care. +And they used to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be +proud of the praise, and tell Kami, and—I shall never forget—once +Kami laughed at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless—unless they do bad +work. +</p> + +<p> +Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,—of +everything of mine that you’ve seen.” +</p> + +<p> +““Honest, honest, and honest over!”’ quoted Dick from a +catchword of long ago. “Tell me what Kami always says.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie hesitated. “He—he says that there is feeling in them.” +</p> + +<p> +“How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for two +years. I know exactly what he says.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a fib.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s worse; it’s a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his +head on one side,—so,—‘<i>Il y a du sentiment, mais il n’y +a pas de parti pris</i>.’” He rolled the <i>r</i> threateningly, as +Kami used to do. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that is what he says; and I’m beginning to think that he is +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly he is.” Dick admitted that two people in the world could +do and say no wrong. Kami was the man. +</p> + +<p> +“And now you say the same thing. It’s so disheartening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love +you too much to pretend about your work. It’s strong, it’s patient +sometimes,—not always,—and sometimes there’s power in it, but +there’s no special reason why it should be done at all. At least, +that’s how it strikes me.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no special reason why anything in the world should ever be +done. You know that as well as I do. I only want success.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn’t Kami ever +told you so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My +work’s bad, to begin with.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say that, and I don’t think it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s amateurish, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“That it most certainly is not. You’re a work-woman, darling, to +your boot-heels, and I respect you for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t laugh at me behind my back?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak +thing round you, or you’ll get chilled.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray kangaroo fur +to the outside. +</p> + +<p> +“This is delicious,” she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully along +the fur. +</p> + +<p> +“Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just because you try. Don’t you understand, darling? Good work has +nothing to do with—doesn’t belong to—the person who does it. +It’s put into him or her from outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how does that affect——” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be +masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down +quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not do +something that isn’t bad. A great deal depends on being master of the +bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think about success +and the effect of our work—to play with one eye on the gallery—we +lose power and touch and everything else. At least that’s how I have +found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power you possess to your +work, you’re fretting over something which you can neither help no hinder +by a minute. See?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. +Don’t you ever think about the gallery?” +</p> + +<p> +“Much too often; but I’m always punished for it by loss of power. +It’s as simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by +using it for our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we’re +the weaker, we shall suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t treat my work lightly. You know that it’s everything +to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes for +yourself to one for your work. It isn’t your fault, darling. I do exactly +the same thing, and know that I’m doing it. Most of the French schools, +and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their own credit, and +for the sake of their pride. I was told that all the world was interested in my +work, and everybody at Kami’s talked turpentine, and I honestly believed +that the world needed elevating and influencing, and all manner of +impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I actually believed that! When my little +head was bursting with a notion that I couldn’t handle because I +hadn’t sufficient knowledge of my craft, I used to run about wondering at +my own magnificence and getting ready to astonish the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely one can do that sometimes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it’s done +it’s such a tiny thing, and the world’s so big, and all but a +millionth part of it doesn’t care. Maisie, come with me and I’ll +show you something of the size of the world. One can no more avoid working than +eating,—that goes on by itself,—but try to see what you are working +for. I know such little heavens that I could take you to,—islands tucked +away under the Line. +</p> + +<p> +You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as black marble +because it’s so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains day after day and +see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea’s so lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is afraid?—you, or the sun?” +</p> + +<p> +“The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds +overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist orchids +that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk. +</p> + +<p> +There’s a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of +green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the rocks; +and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and you order an +ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock with tassels on it like +ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the bees hum and the water fall +till you go to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can one work there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a +palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When they scuffle you heave a ripe +custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There are hundreds +of places. Come and see them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, with +raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on +honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in a +gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and streets +and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, till you find a wee +gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the market-place, and a jewelled +peacock struts out of a carved doorway and spreads its tail against a marble +screen as fine pierced as point-lace. Then a monkey—a little black +monkey—walks through the main square to get a drink from a tank forty +feet deep. He slides down the creepers to the water’s edge, and a friend +holds him by the tail, in case he should fall in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all true?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change +till it’s just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A little +before sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, with all +his family following, trots through the city gate, churning the foam on his +tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind black stone god and watch that pig +choose himself a palace for the night and stump in wagging his tail. Then the +night-wind gets up, and the sands move, and you hear the desert outside the +city singing, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and everything is dark +till the moon rises. Maisie, darling, come with me and see what the world is +really like. It’s very lovely, and it’s very horrible,—but I +won’t let you see anything horrid,—and it doesn’t care your +life or mine for pictures or anything else except doing its own work and making +love. Come, and I’ll show you how to brew sangaree, and sling a hammock, +and—oh, thousands of things, and you’ll see for yourself what +colour means, and we’ll find out together what love means, and then, +maybe, we shall be allowed to do some good work. Come away!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +“How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as +you can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You have no +business here; you don’t belong to this place; you’re half a +gipsy,—your face tells that; and I—even the smell of open water +makes me restless. Come across the sea and be happy!” +</p> + +<p> +He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking down at +the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, before they knew, +the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long ruled lines of silver +showed where a ripple of the rising tide was turning over the mud-banks. The +wind had dropped, and in the intense stillness they could hear a donkey +cropping the frosty grass many yards away. A faint beating, like that of a +muffled drum, came out of the moon-haze. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” said Maisie, quickly. “It sounds like a +heart beating. Where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could not +trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. Maisie from her +seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear. She wished so +much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her with over-sea emotion +that she both could and could not understand. She was not prepared, however, +for the change in his face as he listened. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a steamer,” he said,—“a twin-screw steamer, +by the beat. I can’t make her out, but she must be standing very close +in-shore. Ah!” as the red of a rocket streaked the haze, +“she’s standing in to signal before she clears the Channel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a wreck?” said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s eyes were turned to the sea. “Wreck! What nonsense! +She’s only reporting herself. Red rocket forward—there’s a +green light aft now, and two red rockets from the bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does that mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I +wonder which steamer it is.” The note of his voice had changed; he seemed +to be talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight broke +the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer working down +Channel. “Four masts and three funnels—she’s in deep draught, +too. That must be the <i>Barralong</i>, or the <i>Bhutia</i>. No, the +<i>Bhutia</i> has a clopper bow. It’s the <i>Barralong</i>, to Australia. +She’ll lift the Southern Cross in a week,—lucky old tub!—oh, +lucky old tub!” +</p> + +<p> +He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better view, +but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the screws grew +fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he returned, still keeping +his eyes to seaward. “Have you ever seen the Southern Cross blazing right +over your head?” he asked. “It’s superb!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said shortly, “and I don’t want to. If you +think it’s so lovely, why don’t you go and see it yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about her +throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray kangaroo +fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up +there.” The eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. +“I’m sorry,” he continued. “The Southern Cross +isn’t worth looking at unless someone helps you to see. That +steamer’s out of hearing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick,” she said quietly, “suppose I were to come to you +now,—be quiet a minute,—just as I am, and caring for you just as +much as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not as a brother, though? You said you didn’t—in the +Park.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never had a brother. Suppose I said, “Take me to those places, +and in time, perhaps, I might really care for you,” what would you +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I +wouldn’t; I’d let you walk. But you couldn’t do it, dear. And +I wouldn’t run the risk. You’re worth waiting for till you can come +without reservation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you honestly believe that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that +light?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye—es. I feel so wicked about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wickeder than usual?” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know all I think. It’s almost too awful to +tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth—at least.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so ungrateful of me, but—but, though I know you care +for me, and I like to have you with me, I’d—I’d even +sacrifice you, if that would bring me what I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn’t lead +to good work.” +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t angry? Remember, I do despise myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not exactly flattered,—I had guessed as much +before,—but I’m not angry. I’m sorry for you. Surely you +ought to have left a littleness like that behind you, years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked +for so long. It came to you without any trouble, and—and I don’t +think it’s fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do? I’d give ten years of my life to get you what you +want. +</p> + +<p> +But I can’t help you; even I can’t help.” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on—“And I know by what you +have just said that you’re on the wrong road to success. It isn’t +got at by sacrificing other people,—I’ve had that much knocked into +me; you must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for +yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at the +beginning, when you’re reaching out after a notion.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you believe all that?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no question of belief or disbelief. That’s the law, +and you take it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can’t, +and then my work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, +four-fifths of everybody’s work must be bad. But the remnant is worth the +trouble for it’s own sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it nice to get credit even for bad work?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s much too nice. But—— May I tell you something? It +isn’t a pretty tale, but you’re so like a man that I forget when +I’m talking to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we had +been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; and we +hadn’t time to bury them.” +</p> + +<p> +“How ghastly!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering +what people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught me a good +deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all colours, +and—I’d never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings before. +So I began to understand that men and women were only material to work with, +and that what they said or did was of no consequence. See? Strictly speaking, +you might just as well put your ear down to the palette to catch what your +colours are saying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick, that’s disgraceful!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must +be either a man or a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you allow that much.” +</p> + +<p> +“In your case I don’t. You aren’t a woman. But ordinary +people, Maisie, must behave and work as such. That’s what makes me so +savage.” He hurled a pebble towards the sea as he spoke. “I know +that it is outside my business to care what people say; I can see that it +spoils my output if I listen to ’em; and yet, confound it +all,”—another pebble flew seaward,—“I can’t help +purring when I’m rubbed the right way. Even when I can see on a +man’s forehead that he is lying his way through a clump of pretty +speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when he doesn’t say pretty things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, belovedest,”—Dick grinned,—“I forget that +I am the steward of these gifts, and I want to make that man love and +appreciate my work with a thick stick. It’s too humiliating altogether; +but I suppose even if one were an angel and painted humans altogether from +outside, one would lose in touch what one gained in grip.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. +</p> + +<p> +“But you seem to think,” she said, “that everything nice +spoils your hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think. It’s the law,—just the same as it was +at Mrs. Jennett’s. +</p> + +<p> +Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I’m glad you see so +clearly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like the view.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I. But—have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to +face it alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I must.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to walk +straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than stumbling +apart. Maisie, can’t you see reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think we should get on together. We should be two of a +trade, so we should never agree.” +</p> + +<p> +“How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a +cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I’d make him chew his own arrow-heads. +</p> + +<p> +Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my +work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I’m not fit to speak +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. +D’you suppose that I don’t know the feeling of worry and bother and +can’t-get-at-ness? You’re lucky if you only have it four days out +of the seven. What difference would that make?” +</p> + +<p> +“A great deal—if you had it too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at +you. But there’s no use talking about it. If you can think in that way +you can’t care for me—yet.” +</p> + +<p> +The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples broke on +the beach before Maisie chose to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick,” she said slowly, “I believe very much that you are +better than I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“This doesn’t seem to bear on the argument—but in what +way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite know, but in what you said about work and things; +and then you’re so patient. Yes, you’re better than I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man’s life. There was +nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted the hem of +the cloak to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, +“can you see things that I can’t? I don’t believe what you +believe; but you’re right, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I’ve seen anything, God knows I couldn’t have seen it but +for you, and I know that I couldn’t have said it except to you. You +seemed to make everything clear for a minute; but I don’t practice what I +preach. You would help me.... There are only us two in the world for all +purposes, and—and you like to have me with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I +am!” +</p> + +<p> +“Darling, I think I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up and +down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s some time since I tried. What was the trouble? +Overwork?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had +no money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it +frightened me—oh, how it frightened me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that fear. It’s the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in +the night sometimes. You oughtn’t to know anything about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do <i>you</i> know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in Consols.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better +investment,—even if I should come to you,—don’t you listen. +Never shift the money for a minute, and never lend a penny of it,—even to +the red-haired girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t scold me so! I’m not likely to be foolish.” +</p> + +<p> +“The earth is full of men who’d sell their souls for three hundred +a year; and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a +ten-pound note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt. Stick to +your money, Maisie, for there’s nothing more ghastly in the world than +poverty in London. It’s scared me. By Jove, it put the fear into +<i>me!</i> And one oughtn’t to be afraid of anything.” +</p> + +<p> +To each man is appointed his particular dread,—the terror that, if he +does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his manhood. +Dick’s experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into the deeps +of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory stood behind him, +tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. As the Nilghai quaked +against his will at the still green water of a lake or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow +flinched before any white arm that could cut or stab and loathed himself for +flinching, Dick feared the poverty he had once tasted half in jest. His burden +was heavier than the burdens of his companions. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve plenty of pennies now,” she said soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never have enough,” he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, +laughing, “I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why threepence?” +</p> + +<p> +“I carried a man’s bag once from Liverpool Street Station to +Blackfriar’s Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,—you needn’t +laugh; indeed it was,—and I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me +threepence; and he hadn’t even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever +money I make, I shall never get that odd threepence out of the world.” +</p> + +<p> +This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity of +work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause, which, since +all men desire it, must be of her right. She hunted for her little purse and +gravely took out a threepenny bit. +</p> + +<p> +“There it is,” she said. “I’ll pay you, Dickie; and +don’t worry any more; it isn’t worth while. Are you paid?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. +“I’m paid a thousand times, and we’ll close that account. It +shall live on my watch-chain; and you’re an angel, Maisie.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very cramped, and I’m feeling a little cold. Good +gracious! the cloak is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was +so chilly.” +</p> + +<p> +A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick’s ulster. He, too, had +forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that laugh +ended all serious discourse. +</p> + +<p> +They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to look at the +glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense black shadows of the +furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick that Maisie could see colour +even as he saw it,—could see the blue in the white of the mist, the +violet that is in gray palings, and all things else as they are,—not of +one hue, but a thousand. And the moonlight came into Maisie’s soul, so +that she, usually reserved, chattered of herself and of the things she took +interest in,—of Kami, wisest of teachers, and of the girls in the +studio,—of the Poles, who will kill themselves with overwork if they are +not checked; of the French, who talk at great length of much more than they +will ever accomplish; of the slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot +understand that inclination does not imply power; of the Americans, whose +rasping voices in the hush of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to +breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indigestion; of tempestuous Russians, +neither to hold nor to bind, who tell the girls ghost-stories till the girls +shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to learn one thing, and, having mastered +that much, stolidly go away and copy pictures for evermore. Dick listened +enraptured because it was Maisie who spoke. He knew the old life. +</p> + +<p> +“It hasn’t changed much,” he said. “Do they still steal +colours at lunch-time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I’m +good—I only attract ultramarine; but there are students who’d +attract flake-white.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done it myself. You can’t help it when the palettes are +hung up. +</p> + +<p> +Every colour is common property once it runs down,—even though you do +start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their tubes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might +catch your success with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mustn’t say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, +which you’ve just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want +of success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with—— No, +I won’t open that question again. It’s time to go back to +town.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, Dick, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re much more interested in that than you are in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, I don’t think I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you +want,—the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will you +promise to obey me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen to +be at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,” said Dick, at a +venture, for he knew with whom he was dealing.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,—only once, really.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s bad enough. And you mustn’t take a cup of tea and a +biscuit in place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re making fun of me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, +hasn’t it dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here’s the whole +earth in a conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to +the skin, or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and +underfeeding, and I haven’t the mere right to look after you. Why, I +don’t even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when the +weather’s cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick, you’re the most awful boy to talk to—really! How do +you suppose I managed when you were away?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t here, and I didn’t know. But now I’m back +I’d give everything I have for the right of telling you to come in out of +the rain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your success too?” +</p> + +<p> +This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. +</p> + +<p> +“As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you’re a trial, Maisie! You’ve +been cooped up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking at +you. +</p> + +<p> +There aren’t twelve hundred people in the world who understand pictures. +The others pretend and don’t care. Remember, I’ve seen twelve +hundred men dead in toadstool-beds. It’s only the voice of the tiniest +little fraction of people that makes success. The real world doesn’t care +a tinker’s—doesn’t care a bit. For aught you or I know, every +man in the world may be arguing with a Maisie of his own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Maisie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he’s fighting for +what’s dearer than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he +did, and if all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and +shouted hymns to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the +knowledge that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day without +an umbrella? Now we’ll go to the station.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said on the beach——” persisted Maisie, with a +certain fear. +</p> + +<p> +Dick groaned aloud: “Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I +have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I’ve learnt the law that +governs it; but I’ve some lingering sense of fun left,—though +you’ve nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn’t +everything to all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to London +joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent harangue on the +beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,—such a horse as never +yet bowed head to bit,—would stable it, with a companion, some twenty +miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her health’s sake should ride +with him twice or thrice a week. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s absurd,” said she. “It wouldn’t be +proper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, who in all London to-night would have sufficient interest or +audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was right; +but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very nice sometimes, but you’re very foolish more +times. I’m not going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your +way to-night. I’ll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me +something. You won’t think any more about that extra threepence, will +you? Remember, you’ve been paid; and I won’t allow you to be +spiteful and do bad work for a little thing like that. You can be so big that +you mustn’t be tiny.” +</p> + +<p> +This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put Maisie +into her hansom. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” she said simply. “You’ll come on Sunday. It +has been a beautiful day, Dick. Why can’t it be like this always?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because love’s like line-work: you must go forward or backward; +you can’t stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good-night, +and, for my—for my sake, take care of yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing that he +hoped for, but—surely this was worth many days—it had brought him +nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and the prize well +worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the river. +</p> + +<p> +“And she understood at once,” he said, looking at the water. +“She found out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, +how she understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she +was!” He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. “I wonder if girls +guess at one-half a man’s life. They can’t, or—they +wouldn’t marry us.” He took her gift out of his pocket, and +considered it in the light of a miracle and a pledge of the comprehension that, +one day, would lead to perfect happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, +with none to save her from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of +danger. +</p> + +<p> +Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the heathen as he +threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil were to befal, let him +bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, since the threepenny piece was +dearest to him of all his possessions. It was a small coin in itself, but +Maisie had given it, and the Thames held it, and surely the Fates would be +bribed for this once. +</p> + +<p> +The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie for the +moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to his chambers with +a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after his first experience of +an entire day spent in the society of a woman. There was a stronger desire at +his heart when there rose before him an unsolicited vision of the +<i>Barralong</i> dipping deep and sailing free for the Southern Cross. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +And these two, as I have told you,<br /> +Were the friends of Hiawatha,<br /> +Chibiabos, the musician,<br /> +And the very strong man, Kwasind.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>Hiawatha</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the Nilghai, who +had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was reading through the first +part, commenting scornfully the while. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s picturesque enough and it’s sketchy,” said he; +“but as a serious consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it’s +not worth much.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, +thirty-nine slips altogether, aren’t there? That should make between +eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!” Torpenhow +shuffled the writing together and hummed— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell,<br /> +If I’d as much money as I could tell,<br /> +I never would cry, Young lambs to sell! +</p> + +<p> +Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of tempers +with all the world. +</p> + +<p> +“Back at last?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“More or less. What have you been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you. +Here’s Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven’t done a +line. It’s scandalous.” +</p> + +<p> +“The notions come and go, my children—they come and go like our +“baccy,” he answered, filling his pipe. “Moreover,” he +stooped to thrust a spill into the grate, “Apollo does not always stretch +his—— Oh, confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!” +</p> + +<p> +“This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,” +said the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow’s large and workmanlike bellows to +their nail on the wall. “We believe in cobblers’ wax. +<i>La!</i>—where you sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you weren’t so big and fat,” said Dick, looking round for +a weapon, “I’d——” +</p> + +<p> +“No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time +you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How d’you +do? to Binkie. Look at him.” +</p> + +<p> +Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick’s knee, +and scratching at his boots. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear man!” said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the +black patch above his right eye. “Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly +Nilghai turn you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.” He pitched him on +the Nilghai’s stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended +to destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, and +panting he stuck out his tongue at the company. +</p> + +<p> +“The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp. +</p> + +<p> +I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters were being +taken down—just as if he hadn’t enough to eat in his own proper +house,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Binks, is that a true bill?” said Torpenhow, severely. The little +dog retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of him +that he really had no further interest in the discussion. +</p> + +<p> +“Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,” +said the Nilghai. “What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be +buying a horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. No, +I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and watch the +pretty ships go by.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place was +its name; I’ve forgotten; but it was only two hours’ run from +London and the ships went by.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see anything you knew?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only the <i>Barralong</i> outwards to Australia, and an Odessa +grain-boat loaded down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt +good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore put on one’s best trousers to see the +<i>Barralong?</i>” said Torpenhow, pointing. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve nothing except these things and my painting duds. +Besides, I wanted to do honour to the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did She make you feel restless?” asked the Nilghai, keenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Crazy. Don’t speak of it. I’m sorry I went.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied himself +among the former’s boots and trees. +</p> + +<p> +“These will do,” he said at last; “I can’t say I think +much of your taste in slippers, but the fit’s the thing.” He +slipped his feet into a pair of sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a +long chair, and lay at length. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re my own pet pair,” Torpenhow said. “I was just +going to put them on myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a +minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good for you that Dick can’t wear your clothes, Torp. You two live +communistically,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick never has anything that I can wear. He’s only useful to +sponge upon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, +then?” said Dick. “I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. +How do you expect a man to keep his accounts properly if +you——” +</p> + +<p> +Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hid a sovereign yesterday! You’re no sort of financier. You lent +me a fiver about a month back. Do you remember?” Torpenhow said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at the +bottom of the tobacco?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some +“baccy and found it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t feed the Nilghai under twice the money—not +though you gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out +sooner or later. What is there to laugh at?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,” said the +Nilghai, still chuckling over the thought of the dinner. “Never mind. We +had both been working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we spent, +and as you’re only a loafer it didn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s pleasant—from the man who is bursting with my meat, +too. I’ll get that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a +theatre now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Put our boots on,—and dress,—<i>and</i> wash?” The +Nilghai spoke very lazily. +</p> + +<p> +“I withdraw the motion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose, just for a change—as a startling variety, you +know—we, that is to say <i>we</i>, get our charcoal and our canvas and go +on with our work.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the soft +leather moccasins. +</p> + +<p> +“What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on +hand, I haven’t any model; if I had my model, I haven’t any spray, +and I never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and twenty +photographs of backgrounds, I couldn’t do anything to-night. I +don’t feel that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Binkie-dog, he’s a lazy hog, isn’t he?” said the +Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, I <i>will</i> do some work,” said Dick, rising swiftly. +“I’ll fetch the Nungapunga Book, and we’ll add another +picture to the Nilghai Saga.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you worrying him a little too much?” asked the +Nilghai, when Dick had left the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me savage +to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to do. You and I +are arranged for——” +</p> + +<p> +“By Kismet and our own powers, more’s the pity. I have dreamed of a +good deal.” +</p> + +<p> +“So have I, but we know our limitations now. I’m dashed if I know +what Dick’s may be when he gives himself to his work. That’s what +makes me so keen about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when all’s said and done, you will be put aside—quite +rightly—for a female girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder... Where do you think he has been to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“To the sea. Didn’t you see the look in his eyes when he talked +about her? He’s as restless as a swallow in autumn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but did he go alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, and I don’t care, but he has the beginnings of +the go-fever upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There’s no +mistaking the signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call upon him +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be his salvation,” Torpenhow said. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps—if you care to take the responsibility of being a +saviour.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew well and +did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of moving incidents, +experienced by himself or related to him by the others, of all the four corners +of the earth. But the wider range of the Nilghai’s body and life +attracted him most. When truth failed he fell back on fiction of the wildest, +and represented incidents in the Nilghai’s career that were +unseemly,—his marriages with many African princesses, his shameless +betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to the Mahdi, his tattooment by +skilled operators in Burmah, his interview (and his fears) with the yellow +headsman in the blood-stained execution-ground of Canton, and finally, the +passings of his spirit into the bodies of whales, elephants, and toucans. +Torpenhow from time to time had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole was a +curious piece of art, because Dick decided, having regard to the name of the +book which being interpreted means “naked,” that it would be wrong +to draw the Nilghai with any clothes on, under any circumstances. Consequently +the last sketch, representing that much-enduring man calling on the War Office +to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, was hardly delicate. He settled +himself comfortably on Torpenhow’s table and turned over the pages. +</p> + +<p> +“What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!” he said. +“There’s a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches +that’s more than life-like. “The Nilghai surrounded while bathing +by the Mahdieh”—that was founded on fact, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come +into the Saga yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; the Binkie-boy hasn’t done anything except eat and kill cats. +Let’s see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced +decorative lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being handed +down to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you’ll exist in rare and +curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this time? The +domestic life of the Nilghai?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t got any.” +</p> + +<p> +“The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of his +wives in Trafalgar Square. That’s it. They came from the ends of the +earth to attend Nilghai’s wedding to an English bride. This shall be an +epic. It’s a sweet material to work with.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a scandalous waste of time,” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry; it keeps one’s hand in—specially when you +begin without the pencil.” He set to work rapidly. “That’s +Nelson’s Column. Presently the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give him some clothes this time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly—a veil and an orange-wreath, because he’s been +married.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gad, that’s clever enough!” said Torpenhow over his +shoulder, as Dick brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a +very fat back and labouring shoulder pressed against stone. +</p> + +<p> +“Just imagine,” Dick continued, “if we could publish a few of +these dear little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can write, +to give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of +that kind. I know I can’t hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I +give the job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance——” +</p> + +<p> +“No-o—one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the +dark of the wall-paper—you only burble and call me names. That left +shoulder’s out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that. +Where’s my pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?” +</p> + +<p> +“I only gave him his riding-orders to—to lambast you on general +principles for not producing work that will last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whereupon that young fool,”—Dick threw back his head and +shut one eye as he shifted the page under his hand,—“being left +alone with an ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and +spilt them both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for +the business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?” +</p> + +<p> +“How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand away +from the body as it does?” said Torpenhow, to whom Dick’s methods +were always new. +</p> + +<p> +“It just depends on where you put ’em. If Maclagan had known that +much about his business he might have done better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, +then?” insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in +hiring for Dick’s benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most +of his waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of Art, +which, he wrote, was one and indivisible. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of +wives. You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough ’em in with +the pencil—Medes, Parthians, Edomites.... Now, setting aside the weakness +and the wickedness and—and the fat-headedness of deliberately trying to +do work that will live, as they call it, I’m content with the knowledge +that I’ve done my best up to date, and I shan’t do anything like it +again for some hours at least—probably years. Most probably never.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything you’ve sold?” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no. It isn’t here and it isn’t sold. Better than that, it +can’t be sold, and I don’t think any one knows where it is. +I’m sure I don’t.... And yet more and more wives, on the north side +of the square. Observe the virtuous horror of the lions!” +</p> + +<p> +“You may as well explain,” said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head +from the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“The sea reminded me of it,” he said slowly. “I wish it +hadn’t. It weighs some few thousand tons—unless you cut it out with +a cold chisel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be an idiot. You can’t pose with us here,” said +the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no pose in the matter at all. It’s a fact. I was +loafing from Lima to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned +into a cargo-boat and owned by a second-hand Italian firm. She was a crazy +basket. We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought ourselves +lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then we used to stop and +let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the crack in the shaft was +spreading.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I should +have been a steward, I think,” said Dick, with perfect gravity, returning +to the procession of angry wives. “I was the only other passenger from +Lima, and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and cockroaches and +scorpions.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what has this to do with the picture?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower +decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, and she +was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port holes—most +annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I hadn’t anything +to do for weeks. The ship’s charts were in pieces and our skipper +daren’t run south for fear of catching a storm. So he did his best to +knock all the Society Islands out of the water one by one, and I went into the +lower deck, and did my picture on the port side as far forward in her as I +could go. There was some brown paint and some green paint that they used for +the boats, and some black paint for ironwork, and that was all I had.” +</p> + +<p> +“The passengers must have thought you mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of my +picture.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was she like?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She +couldn’t read or write, and she didn’t want to, but she used to +come down and watch me paint, and the skipper didn’t like it, because he +was paying her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. That must have been cheerful.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn’t know +whether we should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and when +it was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints and talk +broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few minutes to the +lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. So, you see, we could never +tell when we might be caught, and I had a splendid notion to work out in only +three keys of colour.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was the notion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two lines in Poe— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea,<br /> +Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +It came out of the sea—all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out in +green water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the model for +the devils and the angels both—sea-devils and sea-angels, and the soul +half drowned between them. It doesn’t sound much, but when there was a +good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and creepy. It was seven by +fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting light.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did the woman inspire you much?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“She and the sea between them—immensely. There was a heap of bad +drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten for +sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for all that +it’s the best thing I’ve ever done; and now I suppose the +ship’s broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened after all?” +</p> + +<p> +“It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, but +even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of the demons +scared them, I honestly believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself +before she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of getting +any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, and the fear of +death atop of everything else, O Lord!” He had ceased to look at the +sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you try something of the same kind now?” said the +Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a +cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, I +may.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t find them here,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I shall not.” Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. +“This room’s as hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London below him. +The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, commanding a hundred +chimneys—crooked cowls that looked like sitting cats as they swung round, +and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries supported by iron stanchions and +clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the lights of Piccadilly Circus and Leicester +Square threw a copper-coloured glare above the black roofs, and southward by +all the orderly lights of the Thames. A train rolled out across one of the +railway bridges, and its thunder drowned for a minute the dull roar of the +streets. The Nilghai looked at his watch and said shortly, “That’s +the Paris night-mail. You can book from here to St. Petersburg if you +choose.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across the river. +Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over quietly to the piano +and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as possible, spread out upon the +sofa with the air of one who is not to be lightly disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, “have +you never seen this place before?” +</p> + +<p> +A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then the boom +of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Good place to bank in—bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general not +without fame, still looking out on the darkness—“‘My God, +what a city to loot!’” +</p> + +<p> +Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed plaintively. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,” said Torpenhow. “Come +in,” and they withdrew their heads. “You’ll be buried in +Kensal Green, Dick, one of these days, if it isn’t closed by the time you +want to go there—buried within two feet of some one else, his wife and +his family.” +</p> + +<p> +“Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room +to stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.” Dick flung himself down on the sofa and +tweaked Binkie’s velvet ears, yawning heavily the while. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,” +Torpenhow said to the Nilghai. “It’s never touched except by +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“A piece of gross extravagance,” Dick grunted. “The Nilghai +only comes when I’m out.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because you’re always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him +hear.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter,<br /> +His writings are watered Dickens and water;<br /> +But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high<br /> +Makes even the Mahdieh glad to die!” +</p> + +<p> +Dick quoted from Torpenhow’s letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. +</p> + +<p> +“How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?” +</p> + +<p> +The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many Press-tents +in far-off lands had known. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I sing?” said he, turning in the chair. +</p> + +<p> +““Moll Roe in the Morning,”’ said Torpenhow, at a +venture. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old +chanty whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not a pretty +one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. Without prelude +he launched into that stately tune that calls together and troubles the hearts +of the gipsies of the sea— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies,<br /> +Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the Barralong +crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the chorus— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors,<br /> +We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas,<br /> +Until we take soundings in the Channel of Old England<br /> +From Ushant to Scilly ’tis forty-five leagues.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty-five-thirty-five,” said Dick, petulantly. +“Don’t tamper with Holy Writ. Go on, Nilghai.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The first land we made it was called the Deadman,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and they sang to the end very vigourously. +</p> + +<p> +“That would be a better song if her head were turned the other +way—to the Ushant light, for instance,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,” said Torpenhow. +“Give us something else, Nilghai. You’re in fine fog-horn form +tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give us the “Ganges Pilot”; you sang that in the square the +night before El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are alive +to-night,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow considered for a minute. “By Jove! I believe only you and I. +</p> + +<p> +Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes—all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in Cairo, +carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the Nilghai.” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph! And yet the men here who’ve done their work in a well-warmed +studio all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I charge too +much for my pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear +child,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“I gambled with one to get at the other. Don’t preach. Go on with +the “Pilot.” Where in the world did you get that song?” +</p> + +<p> +“On a tombstone,” said the Nilghai. “On a tombstone in a +distant land. I made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Vanity! Begin.” And the Nilghai began— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I have slipped my cable, messmates, I’m drifting down with the +tide,<br /> +I have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride.<br /> +And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea<br /> +With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free.<br /> +<br /> +“Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge<br /> +Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge.<br /> +Cries Charnock, “Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two,<br /> +The tall pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!”<br /> +<br /> +“Young Joe (you’re nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark?<br /> +Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?—Why, hark!” +</p> + +<p> +They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open sea about +his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The morning gun—Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me!<br /> +I ha’ sounded the Dutch High Admiral’s heart as my lead doth sound the sea.<br /> +“Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide,<br /> +Moore me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride.<br /> +My blessing to Kate at Fairlight—Holwell, my thanks to you;<br /> +Steady! We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?” said +Dick, hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. +</p> + +<p> +“It depends on the man,” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“The man who has been down to look at the sea,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know she was going to upset me in this fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. +It’s more easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of +one’s life and surroundings.” +</p> + +<p> +“But a woman can be——” began Dick, unguardedly. +</p> + +<p> +“A piece of one’s life,” continued Torpenhow. “No, she +can’t. His face darkened for a moment. “She says she wants to +sympathise with you and help you in your work, and everything else that clearly +a man must do for himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the +dickens you haven’t been wasting your time with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t generalise,” said the Nilghai. “By the time you +arrive at five notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved +accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +Shouldn’t begin these things, my son.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have gone down to the sea,” said Dick, just a +little anxious to change the conversation. “And you shouldn’t have +sung.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sea isn’t sending you five notes a day,” said the +Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but I’m fatally compromised. She’s an enduring old hag, +and I’m sorry I ever met her. Why wasn’t I born and bred and dead +in a three-pair back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn’t +you listen to her?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout that shook +the windows, in “The Men of the Sea,” that begins, as all know, +“The sea is a wicked old woman,” and after rading through eight +lines whose imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking of a +capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the men sweat and +tramp in the shingle. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Ye that bore us, O restore us!<br /> +She is kinder than ye;<br /> +For the call is on our heart-strings!’<br /> +Said The Men of the Sea.” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that Dick +should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to their wives. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Ye that love us, can ye move us?<br /> +She is dearer than ye;<br /> +And your sleep will be the sweeter,’<br /> +Said The Men of the Sea.” +</p> + +<p> +The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the rickety +boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making love, drawing +devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether the next minute would +put the Italian captain’s knife between his shoulder-blades. And the +go-fever which is more real than many doctors’ diseases, waked and raged, +urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything in the world, to go away and taste +the old hot, unregenerate life again,—to scuffle, swear, gamble, and love +light loves with his fellows; to take ship and know the sea once more, and by +her beget pictures; to talk to Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow +“Tina mixed the drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and see the +smoke roll outward, thin and thicken again till the shining black faces came +through, and in that hell every man was strictly responsible for his own head, +and his own alone, and struck with an unfettered arm. It was impossible, +utterly impossible, but— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Oh, our fathers in the churchyard,<br /> +She is older than ye,<br /> +And our graves will be the greener,’<br /> +Said The Men of the Sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>is</i> there to hinder?” said Torpenhow, in the long hush +that followed the song. +</p> + +<p> +“You said a little time since that you wouldn’t come for a walk +round the world, Torp.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for +travelling expenses. You’ve shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go +away and do some work, and see some things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Get some of the fat off you; you’re disgracefully out of +condition,” said the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping +a handful of Dick generally over the right ribs. “Soft as +putty—pure tallow born of over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the +field you’ll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. +</p> + +<p> +There’s always trouble in South America.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only +difficulty is to know where I’m to stop. But I shall stay here, as I told +you before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with +the others,” said Torpenhow. “Are you thinking of commissions in +hand? Pay forfeit and go. You’ve money enough to travel as a king if you +please.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see +myself shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third +engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn’t very warm +in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at all, +which I’m not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small trip to +begin with.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s something at any rate. Where will you go?” said +Torpenhow. “It would do you all the good in the world, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick’s eye, and refrained from speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall go in the first place to Rathray’s stable, where I shall +hire one horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I +shall walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a lather +and make Rathray angry. I shall do that to-morrow, for the sake of air and +exercise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the +cushion that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Air and exercise indeed,” said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily +on Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would not open +his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was some trouble in +forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; and even when it was there +he weakly tried to puff against the force of the blast, and his cheeks blew up +with a great explosion; and the enemy becoming helpless with laughter he so +beat them over the head with a soft sofa cushion that that became unsewn and +distributed its feathers, and Binkie, interfering in Torpenhow’s +interests, was bundled into the half-empty bag and advised to scratch his way +out, which he did after a while, travelling rapidly up and down the floor in +the shape of an agitated green haggis, and when he came out looking for +satisfaction, the three pillars of his world were picking feathers out of their +hair. +</p> + +<p> +“A prophet has no honour in his own country,” said Dick, ruefully, +dusting his knees. “This filthy fluff will never brush off my +legs.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was all for your own good,” said the Nilghai. “Nothing +like air and exercise.” +</p> + +<p> +“All for your good,” said Torpenhow, not in the least with +reference to past clowning. “It would let you focus things at their +proper worth and prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed +it would, old man. I shouldn’t have spoken if I hadn’t thought so. +Only, you make a joke of everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before God I do no such thing,” said Dick, quickly and earnestly. +“You don’t know me if you think that.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>I</i> don’t think it,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really +mean, dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save ourselves +from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can’t I see, old man, +how you’re always anxious about me, and try to advise me to make my work +better? Do you suppose I don’t think about that myself? But you +can’t help me—you can’t help me—not even you. I must +play my own hand alone in my own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear, hear,” from the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I’ve never +drawn in the Nungapunga Book?” Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a +little astonished at the outburst. +</p> + +<p> +Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that Dick had +not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai’s life; when that man, +being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged to the paper that +employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery grass in the rear of +Bredow’s brigade on the day that the troopers flung themselves at +Caurobert’s artillery, and for aught they knew twenty battalions in +front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, to give time to decide the +fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant came back to Flavigay that +cavalry can attack and crumple and break unshaken infantry. Whenever he was +inclined to think over a life that might have been better, an income that might +have been larger, and a soul that might have been considerably cleaner, the +Nilghai would comfort himself with the thought, “I rode with +Bredow’s brigade at Vionville,” and take heart for any lesser +battle the next day might bring. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” he said very gravely. “I was always glad that you +left it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned +then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don’t know German. +</p> + +<p> +What is it? “Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of +itself.” I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tempo ist richtung</i>. You’ve learned your lesson well,” said +the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I’m as wrong as I can be—hideously wrong. I must find +that out for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I +daren’t turn my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal +more than you know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that’s all. I must +do my own work and live my own life in my own way, because I’m +responsible for both. +</p> + +<p> +Only don’t think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and +sulphur, and I’ll make my own hell, thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, “What did +the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the +makings of a very fine prig in you, Dick,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his +mouth.” Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, +without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. <i>Sic +volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas</i>, and don’t sneeze in my +eye because I talk Latin. Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +He went out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s distinctly one for you,” said the Nilghai. “I +told you it was hopeless to meddle with him. He’s not pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’d swear at me if he weren’t. I can’t make it out. +He has the go-fever upon him and he won’t go. I only hope that he +mayn’t have to go some day when he doesn’t want to,” said +Torpenhow. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself—and the +question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a burning +desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown into the Thames. +</p> + +<p> +“It came of seeing the sea, and I’m a cur to think about it,” +he decided. +</p> + +<p> +“After all, the honeymoon will be that tour—with reservations; +only... only I didn’t realise that the sea was so strong. I didn’t +feel it so much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He’s +beginning again.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was only Herrick’s Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, and +before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether clothed +indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace. +</p> + +<p> +The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide by Fort +Keeling. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“If I have taken the common clay<br /> + And wrought it cunningly<br /> +In the shape of a god that was digged a clod,<br /> + The greater honour to me.” <br /> +<br /> +“If thou hast taken the common clay,<br /> + And thy hands be not free<br /> +From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil<br /> + The greater shame to thee.”—<i>The Two Potters</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He did no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another Sunday. +He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the red-haired girl had +sketched him there was rather more dread than desire in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about line-work. +She had gone off at score filled with some absurd notion for a “fancy +head.” It cost Dick something to command his temper. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of suggesting anything?” he said pointedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but this will be a picture,—a real picture; and I know that +Kami will let me send it to the Salon. You don’t mind, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not. But you won’t have time for the Salon.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall +get the idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami’s. +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with +his queen who could do no wrong. “Just when I thought I had made some +headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It’s too maddening!” +</p> + +<p> +There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the studio. +Dick could only look unutterable reproach. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” he said, “and I think you make a mistake. +But what’s the idea of your new picture?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took it from a book.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s bad, to begin with. Books aren’t the places for +pictures. And——” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s this,” said the red-haired girl behind him. “I +was reading it to Maisie the other day from <i>The City of Dreadful Night</i>. +D’you know the book?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken +her fancy?” +</p> + +<p> +“The description of the Melancolia— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle,<br /> +But all too impotent to lift the regal<br /> +Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams,<br /> +The household bunch of keys, the housewife’s gown,<br /> + Voluminous indented, and yet rigid<br /> + As though a shell of burnished metal frigid,<br /> +Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick winced. +</p> + +<p> +“But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of +Durer,” said he. “How does the poem run?— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Three centuries and threescore years ago,<br /> +With phantasies of his peculiar thought. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +You might as well try to rewrite <i>Hamlet</i>. It will be a waste of time. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it won’t,” said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a +clatter to reassure herself. “And I mean to do it. Can’t you see +what a beautiful thing it would make?” +</p> + +<p> +“How in perdition can one do work when one hasn’t had the proper +training? Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the thing +through,—training and conviction; not rushing after the first +fancy.” Dick spoke between his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand,” said Maisie. “I think I can do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the voice of the girl behind him— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Baffled and beaten back, she works on still;<br /> + Weary and sick of soul, she works the more.<br /> +Sustained by her indomitable will,<br /> + The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore,<br /> +And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour—— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan’t, dear. The +notion in itself has fascinated me.—Of course you don’t care for +fancy heads, Dick. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t think you could do them. You like blood and bones.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that +isn’t merely a sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, +too. What d’you know about Melacolias?” Dick firmly believed that +he was even then tasting three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“She was a woman,” said Maisie, “and she suffered a great +deal,—till she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, +and then I painted her and sent her to the Salon.” +</p> + +<p> +The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about the picture,” he said. “Are you really +going back to Kami’s for a month before your time?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must, if I want to get the picture done.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s all you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Don’t be stupid, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t the power. You have only the ideas—the ideas and +the little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten years +steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,—a month before you +need?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must do my work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your work—bah!... No, I didn’t mean that. It’s all +right, dear. Of course you must do your work, and—I think I’ll say +good-bye for this week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you even stay for tea? “No, thank you. Have I your +leave to go, dear? There’s nothing more you particularly want me to do, +and the line-work doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only +one single picture’s a success, it draws attention to all the others. I +know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn’t +have been so rude about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry. We’ll talk the Melancolia over some one of the +other Sundays. +</p> + +<p> +There are four more—yes, one, two, three, four—before you go. +Good-bye, Maisie.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl returned, +a little white at the corners of her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick’s gone off,” said Maisie. “Just when I wanted to +talk about the picture. Isn’t it selfish of him?” +</p> + +<p> +Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went on +reading <i>The City of Dreadful Night</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen as his +confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and when he found +that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his rage, he sought +consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for the use of the +afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his patient service; nor was +he pleased with himself; and it was long before he arrived at the proposition +that the queen could do no wrong. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a losing game,” he said. “I’m worth nothing +when a whim of hers is in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used +to double the stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn’t the +power, or the insight, or the training. Only the desire. She’s cursed +with the curse of Reuben. She won’t do line-work, because it means real +work; and yet she’s stronger than I am. I’ll make her understand +that I can beat her on her own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn’t care. +She says I can only do blood and bones. I don’t believe she has blood in +her veins. All the same I love her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can +humble her inordinate vanity I will. I’ll do a Melancolia that shall be +something like a Melancolia—“the Melancolia that transcends all +wit.” I’ll do it at once, con—bless her.” +</p> + +<p> +He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could not +free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie’s departure. He took +very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when she showed +them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time was at hand when all +the church bells in London could not ring Maisie back to him. Once or twice he +said something to Binkie about “hermaphroditic futilities,” but the +little dog received so many confidences both from Torpenhow and Dick that he +did not trouble his tulip-ears to listen. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover +night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, and Dick +felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy stripping the small +house across the Park, and packing her canvases, that she had not time for +thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted a day there fretting over a +wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the very last allow him one small kiss? +He reflected that he might capture her by the strong arm, as he had seem women +captured in the Southern Soudan, and lead her away; but Maisie would never be +led. She would turn her gray eyes upon him and say, “Dick, how selfish +you are!” Then his courage would fail him. It would be better, after all, +to beg for that kiss. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the night-mail on +to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray cloth travelling-cap. +The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green eyes were hollow and her lips +were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and went to Maisie’s side in the +darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags were thundering into the forehold, and +the red-haired girl was watching them. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have a rough passage to-night,” said Dick. +“It’s blowing outside. I suppose I may come over and see you if +I’m good?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I’ll +send for you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of +things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!—so +good to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for that, dear. It hasn’t made any difference, has +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell a fib. It hasn’t—in that way. But +don’t think I’m not grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn the gratitude!” said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and +you’d ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you +were so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. +</p> + +<p> +Can’t you wait till that day comes?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, love. I want you unbroken—all to myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie shook her head. “My poor Dick, what can I say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. +I’ll swear I won’t take any more. You might as well, and then I can +be sure you’re grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it was a +long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood abashed and +tingling from head to toe. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, darling. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. +Only—keep well and do good work,—specially the Melancolia. +I’m going to do one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you +drink. Country drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it’s worse in +France. Write to me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the +whatever-you-call-um girl, and—can’t I have another kiss? No. +You’re quite right. Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +A shout told him that it was not seemly to charge up the mail-bag incline. He +reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he followed her with his +heart. +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s nothing—nothing in the wide world—to keep +us apart except her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. +I’ll get Torp to write to the papers about it. She’s beginning to +pitch already.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping cough at +her elbow. The red-haired girl’s eyes were alight with cold flame. +</p> + +<p> +“He kissed you!” she said. “How could you let him, when he +wasn’t anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, +Maisie, let’s go to the ladies’ cabin. I’m sick,—deadly +sick.” +</p> + +<p> +“We aren’t into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I’ll stay +here. I don’t like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved +one,—only one. +</p> + +<p> +But I didn’t think he’d frighten me so.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had +telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio. +</p> + +<p> +He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow entered, +looking guilty. +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh!” said he. “Don’t make such a noise. I took +it. Come into my rooms, and I’ll show you why.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow’s sofa lay a girl +asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the blue-and-white +dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with mud at the skirts, the +jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and ripped at the shoulder-seams, the +one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, above all, the disgraceful condition of the +kid-topped boots, declared all things. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn’t bring this sort +up here. +</p> + +<p> +They steal things from the rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she +staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. +I couldn’t leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her +your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast asleep the minute +she had finished.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know something of that complaint. She’s been living on sausages, +I suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for presuming +to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at the face! There +isn’t an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,—slack, fatuous, +feeble, futile folly. It’s a typical head. D’you notice how the +skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and +cheek-bone?” +</p> + +<p> +“What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don’t hit a woman when +she’s down. Can’t we do anything? She was simply dropping with +starvation. +</p> + +<p> +She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a wild +beast. It was horrible.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she +going to sleep for ever?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and effrontery. +</p> + +<p> +“Feeling better?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Thank you. There aren’t many gentlemen that are as kind as +you are. Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you leave service?” said Dick, who had been watching the +scarred and chapped hands. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I +didn’t like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how do you like being your own mistress?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I look as if I liked it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face to +the window?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,—so keenly that she +made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“The eyes have it,” said Dick, walking up and down. “They are +superb eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. +This has been sent from heaven to make up for—what was taken away. Now +the weekly strain’s off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gently, old man, gently. You’re scaring somebody out of her +wits,” said Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let him hit me! Oh, please don’t let him hit me! +I’ve been hit cruel to-day because I spoke to a man. Don’t let him +look at me like that! He’s reg’lar wicked, that one. Don’t +let him look at me like that, neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn’t nothing +on when he looks at me like that!” +</p> + +<p> +The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept like a +little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and Torpenhow +flung the door back. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are,” said Dick, soothingly. “My friend here can +call for a policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to +hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. +I’m what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say. I haven’t risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done +by the Academicians. I want to draw your head.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it’s pretty. That is why you will come to the room across +the landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I’ll give +you three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there’s +a quid on account.” +</p> + +<p> +“For nothing? Oh, my!” The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, +and with more foolish tears, “Ain’t neither o’ you two +gentlemen afraid of my bilking you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the +way, what’s your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m Bessie,—Bessie—— It’s no use giving +the rest. Bessie Broke,—Stone-broke, if you like. What’s your +names? But there,—no one ever gives the real ones.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Heldar, and my friend’s called Torpenhow; and you +must be sure to come here. Where do you live?” +</p> + +<p> +“South-the-water,—one room,—five and sixpence a week. +Aren’t you making fun of me about that three quid?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, +you needn’t wear that paint. It’s bad for the skin, and I have all +the colours you’ll be likely to need.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief. The two +men looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a man,” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I’ve been a fool. It isn’t our business to +run about the earth reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no +right on this landing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she won’t come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she +will, worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn’t a woman; she’s +my model; and be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“The idea! She’s a dissolute little scarecrow,—a +gutter-snippet and nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear. +That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won’t know her in a week +or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She’ll be too +happy and smiling for my purposes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you’re not taking her out of charity?—to please +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She +has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me with my +Melancolia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never heard a word about the lady before.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions +at him in words? You ought to know what I’m thinking about. You’ve +heard me grunt lately?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad +“baccy to wicked dealers. And I don’t think I’ve been much in +your confidence for some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that it +meant the Melancolia.” Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, +keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, “<i>Now</i> don’t +you see it? Bessie’s abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded +on to one or two details in the way of sorrow that have come under my +experience lately. Likewise some orange and black,—two keys of each. But +I can’t explain on an empty stomach.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds mad enough. You’d better stick to your soldiers, Dick, +instead of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think so?” Dick began to dance on his heels, singing— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“They’re as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash,<br /> + You ought to ’ear the way they laugh an’ joke;<br /> +They are tricky an’ they’re funny when they’ve got the ready money,—<br /> + Ow! but see ’em when they’re all stone-broke.” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter of +counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get to work +with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear. +</p> + +<p> +The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and overbold by +turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit still, she grew +calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio with freedom and some +point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and the release from fear of +physical pain. Dick made two or three studies of her head in monochrome, but +the actual notion of the Melancolia would not arrive. +</p> + +<p> +“What a mess you keep your things in!” said Bessie, some days +later, when she felt herself thoroughly at home. “I s’pose your +clothes are just as bad. +</p> + +<p> +Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.” +</p> + +<p> +“I buy things to wear, and wear ’em till they go to pieces. I +don’t know what Torpenhow does.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter’s room, and unearthed a bale +of disreputable socks. “Some of these I’ll mend now,” she +said, “and some I’ll take home. D’you know, I sit all day +long at home doing nothing, just like a lady, and no more noticing them other +girls in the house than if they was so many flies. I don’t have any +unnecessary words, but I put ’em down quick, I can tell you, when they +talk to me. No; it’s quite nice these days. I lock my door, and they can +only call me names through the keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, +mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow wears his socks out both ends at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks +mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, and all +his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,” thought Dick; and he +looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had transformed the girl, +as Dick knew they would. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at me like that for?” she said quickly. +“Don’t. You look reg’lar bad when you look that way. You +don’t think much o’ me, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends on how you behave.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a sitting to +bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred the studio and a +big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as an excuse for delay. Then +Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would be moved to tell strange and +wonderful stories of her past, and still stranger ones of her present improved +circumstances. She would make them tea as though she had a right to make it; +and once or twice on these occasions Dick caught Torpenhow’s eyes fixed +on the trim little figure, and because Bessie’s flittings about the room +made Dick ardently long for Maisie, he realised whither Torpenhow’s +thoughts were tending. And Bessie was exceedingly careful of the condition of +Torpenhow’s linen. She spoke very little to him, but sometimes they +talked together on the landing. +</p> + +<p> +“I was a great fool,” Dick said to himself. “I know what red +firelight looks like when a man’s tramping through a strange town; and +ours is a lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie +doesn’t feel that sometimes. But I can’t order Bessie away. +That’s the worst of beginning things. One never knows where they +stop.” +</p> + +<p> +One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, Dick was +roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow’s room. He jumped to his +feet. “Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go in.—Oh, bless +you, Binkie!” The little terrier thrust Torpenhow’s door open with +his nose and came out to take possession of Dick’s chair. The door swung +wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie in the half-light +making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was kneeling by his side, and +her hands were clasped across his knee. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,—I know,” she said thickly. +“’Tisn’t right o’ me to do this, but I can’t help +it; and you were so kind,—so kind; and you never took any notice o’ +me. And I’ve mended all your things so carefully,—I did. Oh, +please, ’tisn’t as if I was asking you to marry me. I +wouldn’t think of it. +</p> + +<p> +But you—couldn’t you take and live with me till Miss Right comes +along? I’m only Miss Wrong, I know, but I’d work my hands to the +bare bone for you. And I’m not ugly to look at. Say you will!” +</p> + +<p> +Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow’s voice in reply—“But look +here. It’s no use. I’m liable to be ordered off anywhere at a +minute’s notice if a war breaks out. At a minute’s +notice—dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. +’Tisn’t much I’m asking, and—you don’t know how +good I can cook.” She had put an arm round his neck and was drawing his +head down. +</p> + +<p> +“Until—I—go, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Torp,” said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here a minute, old man. I’m in +trouble’—“Heaven send he’ll listen to me!” There +was something very like an oath from Bessie’s lips. She was afraid of +Dick, and disappeared down the staircase in panic, but it seemed an age before +Torpenhow entered the studio. He went to the mantelpiece, buried his head on +his arms, and groaned like a wounded bull. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil right have you to interfere?” he said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you +couldn’t be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but +you’re all right now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I oughtn’t to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they +belonged to her. That’s what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of +hankering, doesn’t it?” said Torpenhow, piteously. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren’t in a condition +to discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what +you’re going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t. I wish I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. +You’re going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the +ships go by. And you’re going at once. Isn’t it odd? I’ll +take care of Binkie, but out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He +holds the bank. Fly from him. Pack your things and go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you’re right. Where shall I go?” +</p> + +<p> +“And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire +afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll probably think of some place to go to while you’re +moving,” said Dick. “On to Euston, to begin with, and—oh +yes—get drunk to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the room very +dark. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won’t you hate me +to-morrow!—Binkie, come here.” +</p> + +<p> +Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him with a +meditative foot. +</p> + +<p> +“I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That +showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to perdition; +but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will go to a much worse +place.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +What’s you that follows at my side?—<br /> + The foe that ye must fight, my lord.—<br /> +That hirples swift as I can ride?—<br /> + The shadow of the night, my lord.—<br /> +Then wheel my horse against the foe!—<br /> + He’s down and overpast, my lord.<br /> +Ye war against the sunset glow;<br /> + The darkness gathers fast, my lord.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>The Fight of Heriot’s Ford</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a cheerful life,” said Dick, some days later. +“Torp’s away; Bessie hates me; I can’t get at the notion of +the Melancolia; Maisie’s letters are scrappy; and I believe I have +indigestion. What give a man pains across the head and spots before his eyes, +Binkie? Shall us take some liver pills?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the fiftieth +time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained her enduring +hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat for the sake of his +money. “And Mr. Torpenhow’s ten times a better man than you,” +she concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“He is. That’s why he went away. <i>I</i> should have stayed and +made love to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. “To me! I’d like +to catch you! If I wasn’t afraid o’ being hung I’d kill you. +That’s what I’d do. +</p> + +<p> +D’you believe me?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a notion that +will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman who talks too +much. He would have answered, but at that moment there unrolled itself from one +corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his +eyes, but the gray haze would not go. +</p> + +<p> +“This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. +We can’t have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; +also mutton-chop bones for little dogs.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he said +nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,” he +chirped. “Like a ship, my dear sir,—exactly like a ship. Sometimes +the hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the rigging, +and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the brain-specialist; +sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and then we see an oculist. I +should recommend you to see an oculist. A little patching and repairing from +time to time is all we want. An oculist, by all means.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick sought an oculist,—the best in London. He was certain that the local +practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more certain that +Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence +these spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could.” +</p> + +<p> +As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man cannoned +against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the street. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead +as Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn’t +like.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him hold his +breath as he walked into the oculist’s waiting room, with the heavy +carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints on the wall. +He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches. +</p> + +<p> +Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by a flaming +red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to that eye-doctor, and +they needed large-type amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s idolatrous bad Art,” he said, drawing the book +towards himself. +</p> + +<p> +“From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.” He +opened in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in red +ink— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The next good joy that Mary had,<br /> + It was the joy of three,<br /> +To see her good Son Jesus Christ<br /> + Making the blind to see;<br /> +Making the blind to see, good Lord,<br /> + And happy we may be.<br /> +Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost<br /> + To all eternity! +</p> + +<p> +Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor was bending +above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the gas-microscope in his eyes +made him wince. The doctor’s hand touched the scar of the sword-cut on +Dick’s head, and Dick explained briefly how he had come by it. When the +flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor’s face, and the fear came upon him +again. The doctor wrapped himself in a mist of words. Dick caught allusions to +“scar,” “frontal bone,” “optic nerve,” +“extreme caution,” and the “avoidance of mental +anxiety.” +</p> + +<p> +“Verdict?” he said faintly. “My business is painting, and I +daren’t waste time. What do you make of it?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you give me anything to drink?” +</p> + +<p> +Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners often +needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“As far as I can gather,” he said, coughing above the spirit, +“you call it decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore +hopeless. What is my time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps one year.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God! And if I don’t take care of myself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury +inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and—exposure to the +strong light of the desert, did you say?—with excessive application to +fine work? I really could not say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will let +me, I’ll sit here for a minute, and then I’ll go. You have been +very good in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. +</p> + +<p> +Thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get +it. We’ll go to the Park to think it out.” +</p> + +<p> +They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to think, +because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear at the pit of +his stomach. +</p> + +<p> +“How could it have come without any warning? It’s as sudden as +being shot. It’s the living death, Binkie. We’re to be shut up in +the dark in one year if we’re careful, and we shan’t see anybody, +and we shall never have anything we want, not though we live to be a +hundred!” Binkie wagged his tail joyously. “Binkie, we must think. +Let’s see how it feels to be blind.” Dick shut his eyes, and +flaming commas and Catherine-wheels floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked +across the Park the scope of his vision was not contracted. He could see +perfectly, until a procession of slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across his +eyeballs. +</p> + +<p> +“Little dorglums, we aren’t at all well. Let’s go home. If +only Torp were back, now!” +</p> + +<p> +But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the company +of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. +</p> + +<p> +Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He argued, +in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated with a film of +gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were blindness, all the Torpenhows +in the world could not save him. “I can’t call him off his trip to +sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull through this business +alone,” he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating his moustache and +wondering what the darkness of the night would be like. Then came to his mind +the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. A soldier had been nearly hacked in +two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. For one instant the man felt no pain. Looking +down, he saw that his life-blood was going from him. The stupid bewilderment on +his face was so intensely comic that both Dick and Torpenhow, still panting and +unstrung from a fight for life, had roared with laughter, in which the man +seemed as if he would join, but, as his lips parted in a sheepish grin, the +agony of death came upon him, and he pitched grunting at their feet. Dick +laughed again, remembering the horror. It seemed so exactly like his own case. +</p> + +<p> +“But I have a little more time allowed me,” he said. He paced up +and down the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet of +fear. It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged him to go +forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating pin-dots before his +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.” He talked aloud for +the sake of distraction. “This isn’t nice at all. What shall we do? +We must do something. Our time is short. I shouldn’t have believed that +this morning; but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the +light went out?” +</p> + +<p> +Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made no +suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +““Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were +not crime.... But at my back I always hear——“’ He wiped +his forehead, which was unpleasantly damp. “What can I do? What can I do? +I haven’t any notions left, and I can’t think connectedly, but I +must do something, or I shall go off my head.” +</p> + +<p> +The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to drag forth +long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to his work by +instinct, as a thing that could not fail. “You won’t do, and you +won’t do,” he said, at each inspection. “No more soldiers. I +couldn’t paint ’em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is +battle and murder for me.” +</p> + +<p> +The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight of the +blind had come upon him unaware. “Allah Almighty!” he cried +despairingly, “help me through the time of waiting, and I won’t +whine when my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light +goes?” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of control over +himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on their steadiness; he +could feel that his lips were quivering, and the sweat was running down his +face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward by the desire to get to work at +once and accomplish something, and maddened by the refusal of his brain to do +more than repeat the news that he was about to go blind. “It’s a +humiliating exhibition,” he thought, “and I’m glad Torp +isn’t here to see. The doctor said I was to avoid mental worry. +</p> + +<p> +Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.” +</p> + +<p> +The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. +</p> + +<p> +Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, understood that +his trouble stood off from him—“Allah is good, Binkie. Not quite so +gentle as we could wish, but we’ll discuss that later. I think I see my +way to it now. All those studies of Bessie’s head were nonsense, and they +nearly brought your master into a scrape. I hold the notion now as clear as +crystal,—“the Melancolia that transcends all wit.” There +shall be Maisie in that head, because I shall never get Maisie; and Bess, of +course, because she knows all about Melancolia, though she doesn’t know +she knows; and there shall be some drawing in it, and it shall all end up with +a laugh. That’s for myself. Shall she giggle or grin? No, she shall laugh +right out of the canvas, and every man and woman that ever had a sorrow of +their own shall—what is it the poem says?— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Understand the speech and feel a stir<br /> +Of fellowship in all disastrous fight. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“In all disastrous fight”? That’s better than painting the +thing merely to pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. +Binkie, I’m going to hold you up by your tail. You’re an omen. Come +here.” +</p> + +<p> +Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you’re a brave little dog, +and you don’t yelp when you’re hung up. It is an omen.” +</p> + +<p> +Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick walking up and +down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick wrote a letter to Maisie +full of the tenderest regard for her health, but saying very little about his +own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be born. Not till morning did he remember +that something might happen to him in the future. +</p> + +<p> +He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean, clear joy +of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he should consider +himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at the appointed time. He +forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, but remembered to stir +Bessie, who needed very little stirring, into a tremendous rage, that he might +watch the smouldering lights in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think of the +doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his notion, and the +things of this world had no power upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re pleased to-day,” said Bessie. +</p> + +<p> +Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard for a +drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died down, he went to +the sideboard again, and after some visits became convinced that the eye-doctor +was a liar, since he could still see everything very clearly. +</p> + +<p> +He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that whether +she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next morning, but +the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort. +</p> + +<p> +Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes and blurs +till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the Melancolia both on the +canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier than ever. There was a delightful +sense of irresponsibility upon him, such as they feel who walking among their +fellow-men know that the death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, seeing +that fear is but waste of the little time left, are riotously happy. The days +passed without event. +</p> + +<p> +Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick to come +from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia began to flame +on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known all the sorrow in the +world and was laughing at it. It was true that the corners of the studio draped +themselves in gray film and retired into the darkness, that the spots in his +eyes and the pains across his head were very troublesome, and that +Maisie’s letters were hard to read and harder still to answer. He could +not tell her of his trouble, and he could not laugh at her accounts of her own +Melancolia which was always going to be finished. But the furious days of toil +and the nights of wild dreams made amends for all, and the sideboard was his +best friend on earth. +</p> + +<p> +Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick stared at +her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him with disgust, +saying very little. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded his +return. “News! great news!” he wrote. “The Nilghai knows, and +so does the Keneu. We’re all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your +accoutrements.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever sent +Torpenhow away and ruined her life. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Dick, brutally, “you’re better as you are, +instead of making love to some drunken beast in the street.” He felt that +he had rescued Torpenhow from great temptation. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know if that’s any worse than sitting to a drunken +beast in a studio. <i>You</i> haven’t been sober for three weeks. +You’ve been soaking the whole time; and yet you pretend you’re +better than me!” +</p> + +<p> +“What d’you mean?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Mean! You’ll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a sign +of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and the Keneu +and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Drinking like a fish,” Bessie whispered. “He’s been at +it for nearly a month.” She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment +done. +</p> + +<p> +They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by a +drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,—unshaven, blue-white about the +nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows nervously. +The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this you?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“All that’s left of me. Sit down. Binkie’s quite well, and +I’ve been doing some good work.” He reeled where he stood. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve done some of the worst work you’ve ever done in your +life. Man alive, you’re——” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room to find +lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a friend is much too +sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since Torpenhow used figures and +metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt untranslatable, it will never be +known what was actually said to Dick, who blinked and winked and picked at his +hands. After a time the culprit began to feel the need of a little +self-respect. He was quite sure that he had not in any way departed from +virtue, and there were reasons, too, of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would +explain. +</p> + +<p> +He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could +hardly see. +</p> + +<p> +“You are right,” he said. “But I am right, too. After you +went away I had some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he +turned a gasogene—I mean a gas-engine—into my eye. That was very +long ago. He said, “Scar on the head,—sword-cut and optic +nerve.” Make a note of that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do +before I go blind, and I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but +I can see best when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but +I must go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.” He +pointed to the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at seeing +Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds—if indeed they were +misdeeds—that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for childish +vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his wonderful +picture. +</p> + +<p> +Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two walking +up and down as usual, Torpenhow’s hand on Dick’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, who was +dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his master again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The lark will make her hymn to God,<br /> + The partridge call her brood,<br /> +While I forget the heath I trod,<br /> + The fields wherein I stood.<br /> +’Tis dule to know not night from morn,<br /> + But deeper dule to know<br /> +I can but hear the hunter’s horn<br /> + That once I used to blow.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>The Only Son</i>. +</p> + +<p> +It was the third day after Torpenhow’s return, and his heart was heavy. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me that you can’t see to work without whiskey? +It’s generally the other way about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can a drunkard swear on his honour?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if he has been as good a man as you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I give you my word of honour,” said Dick, speaking hurriedly +through parched lips. “Old man, I can hardly see your face now. +You’ve kept me sober for two days,—if I ever was drunk,—and +I’ve done no work. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t keep me back any more. I don’t know when my eyes may give +out. +</p> + +<p> +The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than ever. I +swear I can see all right when I’m—when I’m moderately +screwed, as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all—the +stuff I want, and the picture will be done. I can’t kill myself in three +days. It only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work +and—the other thing, whether the picture’s finished or not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. You don’t know what that picture means to me. But +surely you could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. +I shouldn’t fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, then. I give you three days; but you’re nearly breaking my +heart.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow devil of +whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The Melancolia was +nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had hoped she would be. Dick +jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he was “a drunken beast’; +but the reproof did not move him. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon +we shall lie back and think about what we’ve done. I’ll give you +three months’ pay when the picture’s finished, and next time I have +any more work in hand—but that doesn’t matter. Won’t three +months’ pay make you hate me less?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it won’t! I hate you, and I’ll go on hating you. Mr. +Torpenhow won’t speak to me any more. He’s always looking at +maps.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that at the +end of her passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a kiss, and put +her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a little fool. He spent +most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, and their talk was of war in +the near future, the hiring of transports, and secret preparations among the +dockyards. He did not wish to see Dick till the picture was finished. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s doing first-class work,” he said to the Nilghai, +“and it’s quite out of his regular line. But, for the matter of +that, so’s his infernal soaking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again +we’ll carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor +Dick! I don’t envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it will be a case of “God help the man who’s chained to +our Davie.” The worst is that we don’t know when it will happen, +and I believe the uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey +more than anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He’s dead. +That’s poor consolation now.” +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. +</p> + +<p> +“All finished!” he shouted. “I’ve done it! Come in! +Isn’t she a beauty? Isn’t she a darling? I’ve been down to +hell to get her; but isn’t she worth it?” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,—a full-lipped, +hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had intended she +would. +</p> + +<p> +“Who taught you how to do it?” said Torpenhow. “The touch and +notion have nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What eyes, +and what insolence!” Unconsciously he threw back his head and laughed +with her. “She’s seen the game played out,—I don’t +think she had a good time of it,—and now she doesn’t care. +Isn’t that the idea?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don’t belong to +Bess.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re—some one else’s. But isn’t it good? +Isn’t it thundering good? Wasn’t it worth the whiskey? I did it. +Alone I did it, and it’s the best I can do.” He drew his breath +sharply, and whispered, “Just God! what could I not do ten years hence, +if I can do this now!—By the way, what do you think of it, Bess?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had taken no +notice of her. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever +saw,” she answered, and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.—Dick, +there’s a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the head +that I don’t understand,” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +That’s trick-work,” said Dick, chuckling with delight at being +completely understood. “I couldn’t resist one little bit of sheer +swagger. It’s a French trick, and you wouldn’t understand; but +it’s got at by slewing round the head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny +foreshortening of one side of the face from the angle of the chin to the top of +the left ear. That, and deepening the shadow under the lobe of the ear. It was +flagrant trick-work; but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled to play with +it,—Oh, you beauty!” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.” +</p> + +<p> +“So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,” said Dick, +slapping his thigh. “He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord +Harry, just when he’s feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw +back his head and laugh,—as she is laughing. I’ve put the life of +my heart and the light of my eyes into her, and I don’t care what +comes.... I’m tired,—awfully tired. I think I’ll get to +sleep. Take away the whiskey, it has served its turn, and give Bessie +thirty-six quid, and three over for luck. Cover the picture.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost before +he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow’s hand. +“Aren’t you never going to speak to me any more?” she said; +but Torpenhow was looking at Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“What a stock of vanity the man has! I’ll take him in hand +to-morrow and make much of him. He deserves it.—Eh! what was that, +Bess?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I’ll put things tidy here a little, and then I’ll +go. You couldn’t give the that three months’ pay now, could you? He +said you were to.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully tidied +up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a bottle of +turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the Melancolia +viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took a palette-knife +and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. In five minutes the +picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. She threw the paint-stained +duster into the studio stove, stuck out her tongue at the sleeper, and +whispered, “Bilked!” as she turned to run down the staircase. She +would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had at least done harm to the man +who had come between her and her desire and who used to make fun of her. +Cashing the check was the very cream of the jest to Bessie. Then the little +privateer sailed across the Thames, to be swallowed up in the gray wilderness +of South-the-Water. +</p> + +<p> +Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off to bed. His +eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. “Let’s have another +look at the picture,” he said, insistently as a child. +</p> + +<p> +“You—go—to—bed,” said Torpenhow. “You +aren’t at all well, though you mayn’t know it. You’re as +jumpy as a cat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reform to-morrow. Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the +picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: “Wiped +out!—scraped out and turped out! He’s on the verge of jumps as it +is. That’s Bess,—the little fiend! Only a woman could have done +that!-with the ink not dry on the check, too! Dick will be raving mad +to-morrow. It was all my fault for trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor +Dick, the Lord is hitting you very hard!” +</p> + +<p> +Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly because the +well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place to crackling +volcanoes of many-coloured fire. “Spout away,” he said aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done my work, and now you can do what you please.” He +lay still, staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his +veins, his brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be +considered, and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that he was +painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed with millions of +lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood embodied hundreds of feet +below his tiny swinging plank, shouting together in his honour, when something +cracked inside his temples like an overstrained bowstring, the glittering dome +broke inward, and he was alone in the thick night. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go to sleep. The room’s very dark. Let’s light a +lamp and see how the Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.” +</p> + +<p> +It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did not +know,—in the rattling accents of deadly fear. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s looked at the picture,” was his first thought, as he +hurried into the bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his +hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity’s sake, come to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick clutched at his shoulder. “Matter! I’ve been lying here for +hours in the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don’t go away. +I’m all in the dark. In the dark, I tell you!” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick’s eyes, but there was no +light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The grip +of his fingers on Torpenhow’s shoulder made Torpenhow wince. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t leave me. You wouldn’t leave me alone now, would you? +I can’t see. D’you understand? It’s black,—quite +black,—and I feel as if I was falling through it all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Steady does it.” Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to +rock him gently to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good. Now don’t talk. If I keep very quiet for a +while, this darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. +H’sh!” Dick knit his brows and stared desperately in front of him. +The night air was chilling Torpenhow’s toes. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you stay like that a minute?” he said. “I’ll get +my dressing-gown and some slippers.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness to clear +away. “What a time you’ve been!” he cried, when Torpenhow +returned. “It’s as black as ever. What are you banging about in the +door-way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Long chair,—horse-blanket,—pillow. Going to sleep by you. +Lie down now; you’ll be better in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t!” The voice rose to a wail. “My God! +I’m blind! I’m blind, and the darkness will never go away.” +He made as if to leap from the bed, but Torpenhow’s arms were round him, +and Torpenhow’s chin was on his shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out +of him. He could only gasp, “Blind!” and wriggle feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“Steady, Dickie, steady!” said the deep voice in his ear, and the +grip tightened. “Bite on the bullet, old man, and don’t let them +think you’re afraid,” The grip could draw no closer. Both men were +breathing heavily. +</p> + +<p> +Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go,” he panted. “You’re cracking my ribs. We-we +mustn’t let them think we’re afraid, must we,—all the powers +of darkness and that lot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lie down. It’s all over now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, obediently. “But would you mind letting me +hold your hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops +through the dark so.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick clutched +it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow withdrew his hand, +and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the forehead, as men do +sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of death, to ease his departure. +</p> + +<p> +In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was adrift on the +shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly—“It’s a +pity,—a great pity; but it’s helped, and it must be eaten, Master +George. Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, putting +aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious notoriety—such +as mine was—that the queen can do no wrong. Torp doesn’t know that. +I’ll tell him when we’re a little farther into the desert. +</p> + +<p> +What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They’ll have +that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you so—there she +goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing round. How good that +looks! I’ll sketch it. No, I can’t. I’m afflicted with +ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it extends up the +Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that’s a joke, Torp. Laugh, you graven +image, and stand clear of the hawser.... It’ll knock you into the water +and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Torpenhow. “This happened before. That night on +the river.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll be sure to say it’s my fault if you get muddy, and +you’re quite near enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that’s not +fair. Ah! I knew you’d miss. +</p> + +<p> +Low and to the left, dear. But you’ve no conviction. Don’t be +angry, darling. I’d cut my hand off if it would give you anything more +than obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now we mustn’t listen. Here’s an island shouting across seas +of misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it’s shouting truth, I +fancy,” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured at +length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being enslaved. He +pleaded to Maisie for a kiss—only one kiss—before she went away, +and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she would; but through +all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness that the queen could do no +wrong. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick’s life +that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the past, and +then a natural sleep. “What a strain he has been running under, poor +chap!” said Torpenhow. “Dick, of all men, handing himself over like +a dog! And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have known that it was +no use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that girl must be! +Dick’s given her his life,—confound him!—and she’s +given him one kiss apparently.” +</p> + +<p> +“Torp,” said Dick, from the bed, “go out for a walk. +You’ve been here too long. I’ll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I +can’t dress myself. Oh, it’s too absurd!” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair in the +studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for the darkness to lift. +It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick adventured on a voyage round the +walls. He hit his shins against the stove, and this suggested to him that it +would be better to crawl on all fours, one hand in front of him. Torpenhow +found him on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m trying to get the geography of my new possessions,” said +he. “D’you remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you +didn’t keep the odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? +Give me all the ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside. +They’re of no importance.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick put it +into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might not have read, +but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never belong to him. +</p> + +<p> +“When she finds that I don’t write, she’ll stop writing. +It’s better so. I couldn’t be any use to her now,” Dick +argued, and the tempter suggested that he should make known his condition. +Every nerve in him revolted. “I have fallen low enough already. I’m +not going to beg for pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.” He strove +to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for +thinking, and as the tides of his strength came back to him in the long +employless days of dead darkness, Dick’s soul was troubled to the core. +Another letter, and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick +sat by the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won +by another man, stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark +background it worked against, spared him no single detail that might send him +raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in +four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The +arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled despair +that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion that Dick confided to his pillow at +night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled with intolerable waiting +and the weight of intolerable darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Come out into the Park,” said Torpenhow. “You haven’t +stirred out since the beginning of things.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use? There’s no movement in the dark; and, +besides,”—he paused irresolutely at the head of the +stairs,—“something will run over me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if I’m with you. Proceed gingerly.” +</p> + +<p> +The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to +Torpenhow’s arm. “Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your +foot!” he said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. “Let’s +curse God and die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there +are the Guards!” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s figure straightened. “Let’s get near ’em. +Let’s go in and look. Let’s get on the grass and run. I can smell +the trees.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mind the low railing. That’s all right!” Torpenhow kicked +out a tuft of grass with his heel. “Smell that,” he said. +“Isn’t it good?” Dick sniffed luxuriously. “Now pick up +your feet and run.” They approached as near to the regiment as was +possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made Dick’s nostrils +quiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s get nearer. They’re in column, aren’t +they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. How did you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Felt it. Oh, my men!—my beautiful men!” He edged forward as +though he could see. “I could draw those chaps once. Who’ll draw +’em now?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll move off in a minute. Don’t jump when the band +begins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Huh! I’m not a new charger. It’s the silences that hurt. +Nearer, Torp!—nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn’t I give to see +’em for a minute!—one half-minute!” +</p> + +<p> +He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the slings +tighten across the bandsman’s chest as he heaved the big drum from the +ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Sticks crossed above his head,” whispered Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“I know. <i>I</i> know! Who should know if I don’t? +H’sh!” +</p> + +<p> +The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash of the +band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, heard the +maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts. The big +drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a perfect +quickstep— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +He must be a man of decent height,<br /> + He must be a man of weight,<br /> +He must come home on a Saturday night<br /> + In a thoroughly sober state;<br /> +He must know how to love me,<br /> + And he must know how to kiss;<br /> +And if he’s enough to keep us both<br /> + I can’t refuse him bliss. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick’s +head fall when the last of the regiment had departed. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,—that’s all. +Torp, take me back. Why did you bring me out?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +There were three friends that buried the fourth,<br /> + The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes<br /> +And they went south and east, and north,—<br /> + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.<br /> +<br /> +There were three friends that spoke of the dead,—<br /> + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.—<br /> +“And would he were with us now,” they said,<br /> + “The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.” <br /> +<br /> +—<i>Ballad</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to bed,—blind +men are ever under the orders of those who can see,—and since he had +returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was alive, +and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, Dick, was dead +in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon their +associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs. Gummidge, and Dick had +retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle three unopened letters from +Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow’s rooms. +</p> + +<p> +Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a large map +embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. +</p> + +<p> +“I was wrong about the Balkans,” said the Nilghai. “But +I’m not wrong about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern +Soudan must be done over again. The public doesn’t care, of course, but +the government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You know +that as well as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from +Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can’t go,” +said Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. +“Can you blame me?” +</p> + +<p> +The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy +cat—“Don’t blame you in the least. It’s uncommonly good +of you, and all the rest of it, but every man—even you, Torp—must +consider his work. I know it sounds brutal, but Dick’s out of the +race,—down,—<i>gastados</i>, expended, finished, done for. He has a +little money of his own. He won’t starve, and you can’t pull out of +your slide for his sake. Think of your own reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick’s was five times bigger than mine and yours put +together.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It’s all +ended now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can command +your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me how tempting it is. I’ll stay here to look +after Dick for a while. He’s as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but +I think he likes to have me near him.” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who throw +away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The constant +strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin. +</p> + +<p> +“There remains a third fate,” said the Keneu, thoughtfully. +“Consider this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is—or +rather was—an able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain +amount of audacity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oho!” said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. +“I begin to see,—Torp, I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: “You were more sorry when he cut you out, +though.—Go on, Keneu.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve often thought, when I’ve seen men die out in the +desert, that if the news could be sent through the world, and the means of +transport were quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each +man’s bedside.” +</p> + +<p> +“There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful things +are as they are,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp’s three-cornered +ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.—What do you think +yourself, Torp?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know they aren’t. But what can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick’s friends here. +You’ve been most in his life.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I picked it up when he was off his head.” +</p> + +<p> +“The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is +she?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent who knows +how to make a verbal <i>précis</i> should tell it. The men listened without +interruption. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his +calf-love?” said the Keneu. “Is it possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling +three letters from her when he thinks I’m not looking. What am I to +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak to him,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes! Write to her,—I don’t know her full name, +remember,—and ask her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told +Dick you were sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into +the bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl, +whoever she is. I honestly believe he’d try to kill you; and the +blindness has made him rather muscular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Torpenhow’s course is perfectly clear,” said the Keneu. +“He will go to Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes +Railway,—single track from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in +’70 because there was a poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred +yards from the church spire There’s a squadron of cavalry quartered +there,—or ought to be. Where this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot +tell. That is Torp’s business. I have given him his route. He will +dispassionately explain the situation to the girl, and she will come back to +Dick,—the more especially because, to use Dick’s words, +“there is nothing but her damned obstinacy to keep them +apart.”’ +</p> + +<p> +“And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between ’em. +Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven’t +the shadow of an excuse for not going,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. “But it’s absurd and +impossible. I can’t drag her back by the hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our business—the business for which we draw our money—is to +do absurd and impossible things,—generally with no reason whatever except +to amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn’t matter. I +shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns. There will be +a batch of unbridled “specials” coming to town in a little while, +and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for sending +Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, +and’—here the Keneu dropped his measured speech—“we +can’t have you tied by the leg to Dick when the trouble begins. +It’s your only chance of getting away; and Dick will be grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will,—worse luck! I can but go and try. I can’t conceive +a woman in her senses refusing Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh +woman into giving you dates. This won’t be a tithe as difficult. You had +better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I will be in +possession. It is an order. Obey.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick,” said Torpenhow, next morning, “can I do anything for +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I’m +blind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor chap!” said Torpenhow to himself. “I must have been +sitting on his nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.” Then, aloud, +“Very well. Since you’re so independent, I’m going off for +four or five days. Say good-bye at least. The housekeeper will look after you, +and Keneu has my rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s face fell. “You won’t be longer than a week at the +outside? I know I’m touched in the temper, but I can’t get on +without you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you? You’ll have to do without me in a little time, +and you’ll be glad I’m gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things might +mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet +Torpenhow’s constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know +what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie’s unopened +letters felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them for +himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him some fresh ones +to play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,—a piece of red +modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using his hands. +Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, “Is it like +anything in the world?” he said drearily. “Take it away. I may get +the touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow has +gone?” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai knew nothing. “We’re staying in his rooms till he comes +back. Can we do anything for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to be left alone, please. Don’t think I’m +ungrateful; but I’m best alone.” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen rebellion +against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the work he had done in +the old days, and the desire to do more work had departed from him. He was +exceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness of his tender grief soothed +him. But his soul and his body cried for Maisie—Maisie who would +understand. His mind pointed out that Maisie, having her own work to do, would +not care. His experience had taught him that when money was exhausted women +went away, and that when a man was knocked out of the race the others trampled +on him. “Then at the least,” said Dick, in reply, “she could +use me as I used Binat,—for some sort of a study. I wouldn’t ask +more than to be near her again, even though I knew that another man was making +love to her. Ugh! what a dog I am!” +</p> + +<p> +A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“When we go—go—go away from here,<br /> + Our creditors will weep and they will wail,<br /> +Our absence much regretting when they find that they’ve been getting<br /> + Out of England by next Tuesday’s Indian mail.” +</p> + +<p> +Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow’s door, and the +sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, “And see, you +good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle—firs’-class +patent—eh, how you say? Open himself inside out.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. “That’s +Cassavetti, come back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. +There’s a row somewhere, and—I’m out of it!” +</p> + +<p> +The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. “That’s for my sake,” +Dick said bitterly. “The birds are getting ready to fly, and they +wouldn’t tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War +Correspondents in London are there;—and I’m out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow’s room. He +could feel that it was full of men. “Where’s the trouble?” +said he. “In the Balkans at last? Why didn’t some one tell +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“We thought you wouldn’t be interested,” said the Nilghai, +shamefacedly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in the Soudan, as usual.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan’t be a +skeleton at the feast.—Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad +as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk swept +forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing press +censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the capacities of +generals,—these in language that would have horrified a trusting +public,—ranging, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the top of their +voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan at any moment. +The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in readiness. The Keneu had +telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti had stolen a perfectly inaccurate +list of troops that would be ordered forward, and was reading it out amid +profane interruptions, and the Keneu introduced to Dick some man unknown who +would be employed as war artist by the Central Southern Syndicate. +“It’s his first outing,” said the Keneu. “Give him some +tips—about riding camels.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, those camels!” groaned Cassavetti. “I shall learn to +ride him again, and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know +your military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire +Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.” +</p> + +<p> +A roar of laughter interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” said the Nilghai. “The lists aren’t even +made out in the War Office.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will there be any force at Suakin?” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: “How many Egyptian +troops will they use?—God help the Fellaheen!—There’s a +railway in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.—We shall have +the Suakin-Berber line built at last.—Canadian voyageurs are too careful. +Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.—Who commands the Desert +column?—No, they never blew up the big rock in the Ghineh bend. We shall +have to be hauled up, as usual.—Somebody tell me if there’s an +Indian contingent, or I’ll break everybody’s +head.—Don’t tear the map in two.—It’s a war of +occupation, I tell you, to connect with the African companies in the +South.—There’s Guinea-worm in most of the wells on that +route.” Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace, bellowed like a fog-horn +and beat upon the table with both hands. +</p> + +<p> +“But what becomes of Torpenhow?” said Dick, in the silence that +followed. +</p> + +<p> +“Torp’s in abeyance just now. He’s off love-making somewhere, +I suppose,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“He said he was going to stay at home,” said the Keneu. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he?” said Dick, with an oath. “He won’t. I’m +not much good now, but if you and the Nilghai hold him down I’ll engage +to trample on him till he sees reason. He’ll stay behind, indeed! +He’s the best of you all. There’ll be some tough work by Omdurman. +We shall come there to stay, this time. +</p> + +<p> +But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“So do we all, Dickie,” said the Keneu. +</p> + +<p> +“And I most of all,” said the new artist of the Central Southern +Syndicate. +</p> + +<p> +“Could you tell me——” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you one piece of advice,” Dick answered, moving +towards the door. “If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, +don’t guard. +</p> + +<p> +Tell the man to go on cutting. You’ll find it cheapest in the end. Thanks +for letting me look in.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s grit in Dick,” said the Nilghai, an hour later, when +the room was emptied of all save the Keneu. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he +answered to it? Poor fellow! Let’s look at him,” said the Keneu. +</p> + +<p> +The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio table, +with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not change his +position. +</p> + +<p> +“It hurts,” he moaned. “God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; +and yet, y’know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. +Shall I see Torp before he goes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. You’ll see him,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The sun went down an hour ago,<br /> + I wonder if I face towards home;<br /> +If I lost my way in the light of day<br /> + How shall I find it now night is come?<br /> +<br /> +—<i>Old Song</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Maisie, come to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so hot I can’t sleep. Don’t worry.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on the +straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne and parched +it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the clay by the bank of +the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers were long since dead, and +the roses in the garden hung withered on their stalks. The heat in the little +low bedroom under the eaves was almost intolerable. The very moonlight on the +wall of Kami’s studio across the road seemed to make the night hotter, +and the shadow of the big bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky +black that caught Maisie’s eye and annoyed her. +</p> + +<p> +“Horrid thing! It should be all white,” she murmured. “And +the gate isn’t in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that +before.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few weeks +had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the study of a female +head intended to represent the Melancolia and not finished in time for the +Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as much two days before; +fourthly,—but so completely fourthly that it was hardly worth thinking +about,—Dick, her property, had not written to her for more than six +weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, and with her work, but she was +exceedingly angry with Dick. +</p> + +<p> +She had written to him three times,—each time proposing a fresh treatment +of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these communications. She had +resolved to write no more. When she returned to England in the autumn—for +her pride’s sake she could not return earlier—she would speak to +him. She missed the Sunday afternoon conferences more than she cared to admit. +All that Kami said was, “<i>Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez +toujours</i>,” and he had been repeating the wearisome counsel through +the hot summer, exactly like a cicada,—an old gray cicada in a black +alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge felt hat. But Dick had tramped +masterfully up and down her little studio north of the cool green London park, +and had said things ten times worse than <i>continuez</i>, before he snatched +the brush out of her hand and showed her where the error lay. His last letter, +Maisie remembered, contained some trivial advice about not sketching in the sun +or drinking water at wayside farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but +three times,—as if he did not know that Maisie could take care of +herself. +</p> + +<p> +But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of voices +in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the little garrison +in the town was talking to Kami’s cook. The moonlight glittered on the +scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand lest it should clank +inopportunely. The cook’s cap cast deep shadows on her face, which was +close to the conscript’s. He slid his arm round her waist, and there +followed the sound of a kiss. +</p> + +<p> +“Faugh!” said Maisie, stepping back. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” said the red-haired girl, who was tossing +uneasily outside her bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Only a conscript kissing the cook,” said Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve gone away now.” She leaned out of the window again, +and put a shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very +small night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one +who knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his +thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the degradation of Suzanne +and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded its head and one leaf +therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil scratching its ear. +</p> + +<p> +Dick could not, “because,” thought Maisie, “he is +mine,—mine,—mine. He said he was. I’m sure I don’t care +what he does. It will only spoil his work if he does; and it will spoil mine +too.” +</p> + +<p> +The rose continued to nod in the futile way peculiar to flowers. There was no +earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, except that he +was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist Maisie in her work. And +her work was the preparation of pictures that went sometimes to English +provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the scrap-book proved, and that were +invariably rejected by the Salon when Kami was plagued into allowing her to +send them up. Her work in the future, it seemed, would be the preparation of +pictures on exactly similar lines which would be rejected in exactly the same +way——The red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. +“It’s too hot to sleep,” she moaned; and the interruption +jarred. +</p> + +<p> +Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the little studio +in England and Kami’s big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, she would go to +another master, who should force her into the success that was her right, if +patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a right to anything. Dick had +told her that he had worked ten years to understand his craft. She had worked +ten years, and ten years were nothing. Dick had said that ten years were +nothing,—but that was in regard to herself only. He had said—this +very man who could not find time to write—that he would wait ten years +for her, and that she was bound to come back to him sooner or later. He had +said this in the absurd letter about sunstroke and diphtheria; and then he had +stopped writing. He was wandering up and down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. +She would like to lecture him now,—not in her nightgown, of course, but +properly dressed, severely and from a height. Yet if he was kissing other girls +he certainly would not care whether she lectured him or not. He would laugh at +her. Very good. +</p> + +<p> +She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., etc. +</p> + +<p> +The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it might be +slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind her. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no doubt +whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began, unwomanly, to +weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he loved her. And he +kissed her,—kissed her on the cheek,—by a yellow sea-poppy that +nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose in the garden. Then there +was an interval, and men had told her that they loved her—just when she +was busiest with her work. Then the boy came back, and at their very second +meeting had told her that he loved her. Then he had—— But there was +no end to the things he had done. He had given her his time and his powers. He +had spoken to her of Art, housekeeping, technique, teacups, the abuse of +pickles as a stimulant,—that was rude,—sable hair-brushes,—he +had given her the best in her stock,—she used them daily; he had given +her advice that she profited by, and now and again—a look. Such a look! +The look of a beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to his +mistress’s feet. In return she had given him nothing whatever, +except—here she brushed her mouth against the open-work sleeve of her +nightgown—the privilege of kissing her once. And on the mouth, too. +Disgraceful! Was that not enough, and more than enough? and if it was not, had +he not cancelled the debt by not writing and—probably kissing other +girls? “Maisie, you’ll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,” +said the wearied voice of her companion. “I can’t sleep a wink with +you at the window.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting on the +meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had nothing to do. +The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the skylight of the studio +across the road in cold silver; she stared at it intently and her thoughts +began to slide one into the other. The shadow of the big bell-handle in the +wall grew short, lengthened again, and faded out as the moon went down behind +the pasture and a hare came limping home across the road. Then the dawn-wind +washed through the upland grasses, and brought coolness with it, and the cattle +lowed by the drought-shrunk river. Maisie’s head fell forward on the +window-sill, and the tangle of black hair covered her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Maisie, wake up. You’ll catch a chill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear; yes, dear.” She staggered to her bed like a wearied +child, and as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, “I +think—I think.... +</p> + +<p> +But he ought to have written.” +</p> + +<p> +Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and turpentine, and +the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, but a golden teacher if +the pupil were only in sympathy with him. Maisie was not in sympathy that day, +and she waited impatiently for the end of the work. She knew when it was +coming; for Kami would gather his black alpaca coat into a bunch behind him, +and, with faded blue eyes that saw neither pupils nor canvas, look back into +the past to recall the history of one Binat. “You have all done not so +badly,” he would say. “But you shall remember that it is not enough +to have the method, and the art, and the power, nor even that which is touch, +but you shall have also the conviction that nails the work to the wall. Of the +so many I taught,”—here the students would begin to unfix +drawing-pins or get their tubes together,—“the very so many that I +have taught, the best was Binat. All that comes of the study and the work and +the knowledge was to him even when he came. After he left me he should have +done all that could be done with the colour, the form, and the knowledge. Only, +he had not the conviction. So to-day I hear no more of Binat,—the best of +my pupils,—and that is long ago. So to-day, too, you will be glad to hear +no more of me. <i>Continuez, mesdemoiselles</i>, and, above all, with +conviction.” +</p> + +<p> +He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the pupils +dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to make plans for +the cool of the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to grimace +before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter to Dick, when she +was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How Torpenhow had managed in +the course of twenty hours to find his way to the hearts of the cavalry +officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to discuss with them the certainty of +a glorious revenge for France, to reduce the colonel to tears of pure +affability, and to borrow the best horse in the squadron for the journey to +Kami’s studio, is a mystery that only special correspondents can unravel. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said he. “It seems an absurd question to +ask, but the fact is that I don’t know her by any other name: Is there +any young lady here that is called Maisie?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Maisie,” was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to introduce myself,” he said, as the horse capered in the +blinding white dust. “My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best +friend, and—and—the fact is that he has gone blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blind!” said Maisie, stupidly. “He can’t be +blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. “No! No! Not blind! I +won’t have him blind!” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you care to see for yourself?” said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,—at once?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! The Paris train doesn’t go through this place till +to-night. There will be ample time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not. Dick wouldn’t do that sort of thing. He’s +sitting in his studio, turning over some letters that he can’t read +because he’s blind.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head and went +into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, complaining of a +headache. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick’s blind!” said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she +steadied herself against a chair-back. “My Dick’s blind!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” The girl was on the sofa no longer. +</p> + +<p> +“A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn’t written to me +for six weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think! <i>I</i> should go back to London and see him and I should kiss +his eyes and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you +don’t go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! +Go to him at once. Go!” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow’s neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite +patience as Maisie’s appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +“I am coming,” said she, her eyes on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.” This +was an order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said +nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing with this +big man who took everything for granted and managed a squealing horse with one +hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, who was weeping bitterly, and +between tears, kisses,—very few of those,—menthol, packing, and an +interview with Kami, the sultry afternoon wore away. +</p> + +<p> +Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,—Dick +who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her unopened +letters. +</p> + +<p> +“But what will you do,” she said to her companion. +</p> + +<p> +“I? Oh, I shall stay here and—finish your Melancolia,” she +said, smiling pitifully. “Write to me afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad Englishman, +doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the officers of the +garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the lines, and had then and +there eloped, after the English custom, with one of those more mad English +girls who drew pictures down there under the care of that good Monsieur Kami. +</p> + +<p> +“They are very droll,” said Suzanne to the conscript in the +moonlight by the studio wall. “She walked always with those big eyes that +saw nothing, and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my sister, +and gives me—see—ten francs!” +</p> + +<p> +The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself on +being a good soldier. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; but he was +careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment entirely to +herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease with which the +matter had been accomplished. +</p> + +<p> +“The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick’s +showing,—when he was off his head,—she must have ordered him about +very thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes shut, +that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order that she +should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last almost beginning +to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking after luggage and a +red-haired friend who never took any interest in her surroundings. But there +appeared to be a feeling in the air that she, Maisie,—of all +people,—was in disgrace. Therefore she justified her conduct to herself +with great success, till Torpenhow came up to her on the steamer and without +preface began to tell the story of Dick’s blindness, suppressing a few +details, but dwelling at length on the miseries of delirium. He stopped before +he reached the end, as though he had lost interest in the subject, and went +forward to smoke. Maisie was furious with him and with herself. +</p> + +<p> +She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for +breakfast, and—she was past any feeling of indignation now—was +bidden curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs while +Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she was being +treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame. It was all +Dick’s fault for being so stupid as to go blind. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick was +sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three envelopes +in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man who gave orders was +no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped behind her. +</p> + +<p> +Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. “Hullo, +Torp! Is that you? I’ve been so lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed herself +up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, and she put one +hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring directly at her, and she +realised for the first time that he was blind. Shutting her eyes in a +railway-carriage to open them when she pleased was child’s play. This man +was blind though his eyes were wide open. +</p> + +<p> +“Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.” Dick looked puzzled +and a little irritated at the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“No; it’s only me,” was the answer, in a strained little +whisper. Maisie could hardly move her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” said Dick, composedly, without moving. “This is +a new phenomenon. Darkness I’m getting used to; but I object to hearing +voices.” +</p> + +<p> +Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie’s +heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began to feel +his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he passed. Once he +caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his knees to feel what the +obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him walking in the Park as though all +the earth belonged to him, tramping up and down her studio two months ago, and +flying up the gangway of the Channel steamer. The beating of her heart was +making her sick, and Dick was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her +breathing. She put out a hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to +herself, she did not know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as +though he had been shot. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Maisie!” said he, with a dry sob. “What are you +doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I came—I came—to see you, please.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s lips closed firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you sit down, then? You see, I’ve had some bother with +my eyes, and——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I know. Why didn’t you tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t write.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has he to do with my affairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“He—he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can’t. I +forgot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dick, I’m so sorry! I’ve come to tell you, +and—— Let me take you back to your chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t! I’m not a child. You only do that out of pity. I +never meant to tell you anything about it. I’m no good now. I’m +down and done for. Let me alone!” +</p> + +<p> +He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. +</p> + +<p> +Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed by a +very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from the girl +through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he was, indeed, down +and done for—masterful no longer but rather a little abject; neither an +artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up to—only some blind +one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of crying. She was immensely +and unfeignedly sorry for him—more sorry than she had ever been for any +one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny his words. +</p> + +<p> +So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had honestly +intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she was only filled +with pity most startlingly distinct from love. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Dick, his face steadily turned away. “I never +meant to worry you any more. What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as unprepared as +herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had dropped into a chair +and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t—I can’t!” she cried desperately. +“Indeed, I can’t. It isn’t my fault. +</p> + +<p> +I’m so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I’m so sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. +</p> + +<p> +Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have failed in +the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of making sacrifices. +</p> + +<p> +“I do despise myself—indeed I do. But I can’t. Oh, Dickie, +you wouldn’t ask me—would you?” wailed Maisie. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick’s eyes +fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips were +trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out eyes that +Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place some one that she +could hardly recognise till he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be. +</p> + +<p> +What’s the use of worrying? For pity’s sake don’t cry like +that; it isn’t worth it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me—help +me!” The passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning +to alarm the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her head +fell on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, dear, hush! Don’t cry. You’re quite right, and +you’ve nothing to reproach yourself with—you never had. +You’re only a little upset by the journey, and I don’t suppose +you’ve had any breakfast. What a brute Torp was to bring you over.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to come. I did indeed,” she protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. And now you’ve come and seen, and +I’m—immensely grateful. +</p> + +<p> +When you’re better you shall go away and get something to eat. What sort +of a passage did you have coming over?” +</p> + +<p> +Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad that she +had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder tenderly but +clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder might be. +</p> + +<p> +She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most +unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room between +them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you better now?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but—don’t you hate me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate you? My God! I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t—isn’t there anything I could do for you, then? +I’ll stay here in England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and +see you sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. I +don’t want to seem rude, but—don’t you think—perhaps +you had almost better go now.” +</p> + +<p> +He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain +continued much longer. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t deserve anything else. I’ll go, Dick. Oh, I’m +so miserable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense. You’ve nothing to worry about; I’d tell you if you +had. Wait a moment, dear. I’ve got something to give you first. I meant +it for you ever since this little trouble began. It’s my Melancolia; she +was a beauty when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever +you’re poor you can sell her. She’s worth a few hundreds at any +state of the market.” He groped among his canvases. “She’s +framed in black. Is this a black frame that I have my hand on? There she is. +What do you think of her?” +</p> + +<p> +He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the eyes +strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One thing and one +thing only could she do for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was speaking of +his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic desire to laugh caught +her by the throat. But for Dick’s sake—whatever this mad blankness +might mean—she must make no sign. Her voice choked with hard-held tears +as she answered, still gazing at the wreck— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dick, it <i>is</i> good!” +</p> + +<p> +He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. “Won’t +you have it, then? I’ll send it over to your house if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I? Oh yes—thank you. Ha! ha!” If she did not fly at once the +laughter that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, choking +and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take refuge in a +cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down in the dismantled +drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, useless till the end of +life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the sorrow, the shame, and the +humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the red-haired girl when Maisie +should return. Maisie had never feared her companion before. Not until she +found herself saying, “Well, he never asked me,” did she realise +her scorn of herself. +</p> + +<p> +And that is the end of Maisie. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at first +that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word of farewell. +He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought upon him this +humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his dark hour came and he +was alone with himself and his desires to get what help he could from the +darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but in following the right, so far as it +served her work, she had wounded her one subject more than his own brain would +let him know. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all I had and I’ve lost it,” he said, as soon as +the misery permitted clear thinking. “And Torp will think that he has +been so infernally clever that I shan’t have the heart to tell him. I +must think this out quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed +two hours of thought. “I’m back. Are you feeling any better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Torp, I don’t know what to say. Come here.” Dick coughed +huskily, wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.” +Torpenhow was perfectly satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow’s hand on Dick’s +shoulder, and Dick buried in his own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“How in the world did you find it all out?” said Dick, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“You shouldn’t go off your head if you want to keep secrets, +Dickie. It was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you’d seen me +rocketing about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun +you’d have laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven +other devils——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils +the other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? Who +d’you work for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your +business would turn out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you have stayed with me, then, if—things had gone +wrong?” He put his question cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask me too much. I’m only a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve tried to be an angel very successfully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh ye—es!... Well, do you attend the function to-night? We shall +be half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war’s a +certainty.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I will, old man, if it’s all the same to you. +I’ll stay quiet here.” +</p> + +<p> +“And meditate? I don’t blame you. You observe a good time if ever a +man did.” +</p> + +<p> +That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured in from +theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow’s room that they might +discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations becoming a +certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bidden all the men they +had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the housekeeper, declared that +never before in his checkered experience had he seen quite such a fancy lot of +gentlemen. They waked the chambers with shoutings and song; and the elder men +were quite as bad as the younger. For the chances of war were in front of them, +and all knew what those meant. +</p> + +<p> +Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the landing, +Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. +Maisie’s quite right—poor little thing. I didn’t know she +could cry like that before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I’m sure +he’d be quite fool enough to stay at home and try to console me—if +he knew. Besides, it isn’t nice to own that you’ve been thrown over +like a broken chair. I must carry this business through alone—as usual. +If there isn’t a war, and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, +that’s all. If there is a way I mustn’t interfere with another +man’s chances. Business is business, and I want to be alone—I want +to be alone. What a row they’re making!” +</p> + +<p> +Somebody hammered at the studio door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come out and frolic, Dickie,” said the Nilghai. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to, but I can’t. I’m not feeling +frolicsome.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, I’ll tell the boys and they’ll drag you like a +badger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please not, old man. On my word, I’d sooner be left alone just +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. +</p> + +<p> +Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.” +</p> + +<p> +For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks, I’ve a headache already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Virtuous child. That’s the effect of emotion on the young. All my +congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your +welfare.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to the devil—oh, send Binkie in here.” +</p> + +<p> +The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made much of +all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely inside the +studio he realised that this was no place for tail-wagging, and settled himself +on Dick’s lap till it was bedtime. Then he went to bed with Dick, who +counted every hour as it struck, and rose in the morning with a painfully clear +head to receive Torpenhow’s more formal congratulations and a particular +account of the last night’s revels. +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t looking very happy for a newly accepted man,” +said Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind that—it’s my own affair, and I’m all right. +Do you really go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted +on better terms than before.” +</p> + +<p> +“When do you start?” +</p> + +<p> +“The day after to-morrow—for Brindisi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God.” Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s not a pretty way of saying you’re glad to get +rid of me. But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me +before you leave?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a slender amount for housekeeping, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s only for—marriage expenses.” +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and +carefully put it away in the writing table. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl until +I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!” he said to himself. +</p> + +<p> +But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the doorway of +Torpenhow’s room when the latter was packing and asked innumerable +questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to feel annoyed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, +don’t you?” he said on the last evening. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will +last?” +</p> + +<p> +“Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I were going.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens! You’re the most unaccountable creature! Hasn’t +it occurred to you that you’re going to be married—thanks to +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, yes. I’m going to be married—so I am. Going to be +married. +</p> + +<p> +I’m awfully grateful to you. Haven’t I told you that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,” said +Torpenhow. +</p> + +<p> +And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the loneliness he +had so much desired. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,<br /> + Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,<br /> +Yet at the last, with his masters around him,<br /> + He of the Faith spoke as master to slave;<br /> +Yet at the last, tho’ the Kafirs had maimed him,<br /> + Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,—<br /> +Yet at the last, tho’ the darkness had claimed him,<br /> + He called upon Allah and died a believer.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>Kizzilbashi</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Beg your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but—but isn’t nothin’ +going to happen?” said Mr. Beeton. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and +his temper was of the shortest. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tain’t my regular business, o’ course, sir; and what +I say is, “Mind your own business and let other people mind +theirs;” but just before Mr. Torpenhow went away he give me to +understand, like, that you might be moving into a house of your own, so to +speak—a sort of house with rooms upstairs and downstairs where +you’d be better attended to, though I try to act just by all our tenants. +Don’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan’t trouble you to take +me there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope +that as far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in +chambers—and more particular those whose lot is hard—such as you, +for instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don’t you? Soft-roe +bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, “Never mind a +little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the +tenants.”’ +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long away; +there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled down to his new +life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing better than death. +</p> + +<p> +It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night; dropping to +sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising restless in the chill of +the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, would grope along the corridors of +the chambers till he heard some one snore. Then he would know that the day had +not yet come, and return wearily to his bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the house +and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed—and dressing, now that +Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because collars, ties, and the like +hid themselves in far corners of the room, and search meant head-beating +against chairs and trunks—once dressed, there was nothing whatever to do +except to sit still and brood till the three daily meals came. Centuries +separated breakfast from lunch and lunch from dinner, and though a man prayed +for hundreds of years that his mind might be taken from him, God would never +hear. Rather the mind was quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against +each other as millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain +would not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with +imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past success, +reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and feeling that it +was good, and suggested all that might have happened had the eyes only been +faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased through sheer weariness, there +poured into Dick’s soul tide on tide of overwhelming, purposeless +fear—dread of starvation always, terror lest the unseen ceiling should +crush down upon him, fear of fire in the chambers and a louse’s death in +red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror that had nothing to do with any fear +of death. Then Dick bowed his head, and clutching the arms of his chair fought +with his sweating self till the tinkle of plates told him that something to eat +was being set before him. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and Dick learned to +hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted gas-plugs, waste-pipes out +of repair, little tricks for driving picture-nails into walls, and the sins of +the charwoman or the housemaids. In the lack of better things the small gossip +of a servant’’ hall becomes immensely interesting, and the screwing +of a washer on a tap an event to be talked over for days. +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when he went +marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish, lamp-wicks, +mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his weight first on one foot +and then on the other and played aimlessly with the tins and string-ball on the +counter. Then they would perhaps meet one of Mr. Beeton’s friends, and +Dick, standing aside a little, would hold his peace till Mr. Beeton was willing +to go on again. +</p> + +<p> +The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a dangerous +exercise, and being shaved in a barber’s shop meant exposure of his +infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly brushed, and since +he had never taken any care of his personal appearance he became every known +variety of sloven. A blind man cannot deal with cleanliness till he has been +some months used to the darkness. If he demand attendance and grow angry at the +want of it, he must assert himself and stand upright. Then the meanest menial +can see that he is blind and, therefore, of no consequence. A wise man will +keep his eyes on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal lump +by lump out of the scuttle with the tongs and pile it in a little heap in the +fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, one by +one and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to work them out; +he may talk to himself or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if his +trade has been that of an artist, he may sketch in the air with his forefinger; +but that is too much like drawing a pig with the eyes shut. He may go to his +bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; or to his +wardrobe and count his shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, +as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. +</p> + +<p> +Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, very +long. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, taps and +nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. +</p> + +<p> +“If I don’t have everything just where I know where to look for it, +why, then, I can’t find anything when I do want it. You’ve no idea, +sir, the amount of little things that these chambers uses up,” said Mr. +Beeton. Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: “It’s +hard on you, sir, I <i>do</i> think it’s hard on you. Ain’t you +going to do anything, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll pay my rent and messing. Isn’t that enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t doubting for a moment that you couldn’t pay your +way, sir; but I ’ave often said to my wife, ‘It’s ’ard +on ’im because it isn’t as if he was an old man, nor yet a +middle-aged one, but quite a young gentleman. <i>That’s</i> where it +comes so ’ard.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through +long battering had ceased to feel—much. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking,” continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, +“that you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of +an evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he’s only nine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be very grateful,” said Dick. “Only let me make it +worth his while.” +</p> + +<p> +“We wasn’t thinking of <i>that</i>, sir, but of course it’s +in your own ’ands; but only to ’ear Alf sing ‘A Boy’s +best Friend is ’is Mother!’ Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the +newspapers.” +</p> + +<p> +Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board certificates +for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr. Beeton remained, +beaming, while the child wailed his way through a song of some eight eight-line +verses in the usual whine of a young Cockney, and, after compliments, left him +to read Dick the foreign telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his +parents rather pale and scared. +</p> + +<p> +“’E said ’e couldn’t stand it no more,” he +explained. +</p> + +<p> +“He never said you read badly, Alf?” Mrs. Beeton spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“No. ’E said I read beautiful. Said ’e never ’eard any +one read like that, but ’e said ’e couldn’t abide the stuff +in the papers.” +</p> + +<p> +“P’raps he’s lost some money in the Stocks. Were you +readin’ him about Stocks, Alf?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; it was all about fightin’ out there where the soldiers is +gone—a great long piece with all the lines close together and very hard +words in it. ’E give me ’arf a crown because I read so well. And +’e says the next time there’s anything ’e wants read +’e’ll send for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good hearing, but I do think for all the +half-crown—put it into the kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see +you do it—he might have kept you longer. Why, he couldn’t have +begun to understand how beautiful you read.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s best left to hisself—gentlemen always are when +they’re downhearted,” said Mr. Beeton. +</p> + +<p> +Alf’s rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow’s +special correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear, +through the boy’s nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares behind +the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and chaffing across +the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it drifted over camp +before the wind of the desert. +</p> + +<p> +That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him, offering for +proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he had not shot himself +long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed Dick knew in his heart of +hearts that only a lingering sense of humour and no special virtue had kept him +alive. Suicide, he had persuaded himself, would be a ludicrous insult to the +gravity of the situation as well as a weak-kneed confession of fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Just for the fun of the thing,” he said to the cat, who had taken +Binkie’s place in his establishment, “I should like to know how +long this is going to last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds Torp +cashed for me. I must have two or three thousand at least in the +Bank—twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I +fall back on my hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that time. +Let’s consider. +</p> + +<p> +Twenty-five—thirty-five—a man’s in his prime then, they +say—forty-five—a middle-aged man just entering +politics—fifty-five—“died at the comparatively early age of +fifty-five,” according to the newspapers. Bah! How these Christians funk +death! Sixty-five—we’re only getting on in years. Seventy-five is +just possible, though. Great hell, cat O! fifty years more of solitary +confinement in the dark! You’ll die, and Beeton will die, and Torp will +die, and Mai—everybody else will die, but I shall be alive and kicking +with nothing to do. I’m very sorry for myself. I should like some one +else to be sorry for me. Evidently I’m not going mad before I die, but +the pain’s just as bad as ever. Some day when you’re vivisected, +cat O! they’ll tie you down on a little table and cut you open—but +don’t be afraid; they’ll take precious good care that you +don’t die. You’ll live, and you’ll be very sorry then that +you weren’t sorry for me. Perhaps Torp will come back or... I wish I +could go to Torp and the Nilghai, even though I were in their way.” +</p> + +<p> +Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered, found +Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a letter for you, sir,” he said. “Perhaps +you’d like me to read it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lend it to me for a minute and I’ll tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not over-steady. It +was within the limits of human possibility that—that was no letter from +Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes only too well. It was a +foolish hope that the girl should write to him, for he did not realise that +there is a wrong which admits of no reparation though the evildoer may with +tears and the heart’s best love strive to mend all. It is best to forget +that wrong whether it be caused or endured, since it is as remediless as bad +work once put forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Read it, then,” said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the +rules of the Board School— +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>I could have given you love, I could have given you loyalty, +such as you never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared what you were? But you +chose to whistle everything down the wind for nothing. My only excuse for you +is that you are so young.</i>’ +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all,” he said, returning the paper to be dropped into +the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“What was in the letter?” asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not +whistlin’ at everything when you’re young.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about and +it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is—unless it was +all a joke. But I don’t know any one who’d take the trouble to play +a joke on me.... Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting enough. +</p> + +<p> +I wonder whether I have lost anything really?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he had put +himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think about +stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. When his heart +was so full of despair that it would hold no more, body and soul together +seemed to be dropping without check through the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light again. But +there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left him sweating and +breathless, the downward flight would recommence till the gathering torture of +it spurred him into another fight as hopeless as the first. Followed some few +minutes of sleep in which he dreamed that he saw. Then the procession of events +would repeat itself till he was utterly worn out and the brain took up its +everlasting consideration of Maisie and might-have-beens. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to take +him out. “Not marketing this time, but we’ll go into the Parks if +you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be damned if I do,” quoth Dick. “Keep to the streets and +walk up and down. I like to hear the people round me.” +</p> + +<p> +This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their infirmity +dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted arms—but Dick +had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and only once since Maisie had +shut her door he had gone there under Alf’s charge. Alf forgot him and +fished for minnows in the Serpentine with some companions. After half an +hour’s waiting Dick, almost weeping with rage and wrath, caught a +passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly policeman, who led him to a +four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He never told Mr. Beeton of Alf’s +forgetfulness, but... this was not the manner in which he was used to walk the +Parks aforetime. +</p> + +<p> +“What streets would you like to walk down, then?” said Mr. Beeton, +sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking on the +grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags full of food. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep to the river,” said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the +rush of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck +thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of the +scenery as he went on. +</p> + +<p> +“And walking on the other side of the pavement,” said he, +“unless I’m much mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to +your rooms to be drawed. I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, +except paying tenants, o’ course!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop her,” said Dick. “It’s Bessie Broke. Tell her +I’d like to speak to her again. Quick, man!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and arrested +Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the man in authority +who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick’s staircase, and her +first impulse was to run. +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t you Mr. Heldar’s model?” said Mr. Beeton, +planting himself in front of her. “You was. He’s on the other side +of the road and he’d like to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Bessie, faintly. She remembered—indeed had never +for long forgotten—an affair connected with a newly finished picture. +</p> + +<p> +“Because he has asked me to do so, and because he’s most particular +blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drunk?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. ’Orspital blind. He can’t see. That’s him over +there.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed him +out—a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty magenta-coloured +neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing to fear from such an +one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could not follow far. She +crossed over, and Dick’s face lighted up. It was long since a woman of +any kind had taken the trouble to speak to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’re well, Mr. Heldar?” said Bessie, a little +puzzled. Mr. Beeton stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed +responsibly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very well indeed, and, by Jove! I’m glad to +see—hear you, I mean, Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up +and see us again after you got your money. I don’t know why you should. +Are you going anywhere in particular just now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was going for a walk,” said Bessie. +</p> + +<p> +“Not the old business?” Dick spoke under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Lor, no! I paid my premium’—Bessie was very proud of that +word—“for a barmaid, sleeping in, and I’m at the bar now +quite respectable. Indeed I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human nature. +Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his gas-plugs +without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a certain uneasiness; +but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the harm that had been done to +him... +</p> + +<p> +“It’s hard work pulling the beer-handles,” she went on, +“and they’ve got one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if +you get wrong by a penny at the end of the day—but then I don’t +believe the machinery is right. Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I’ll make +it worth your while. You see.” The sightless eyes turned towards her and +Bessie saw. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t taking you out of your way?” he said hesitatingly. +“I can ask a policeman if it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. I come on at seven and I’m off at four. That’s +easy hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!—but I’m on all the time. I wish I had some work to +do too. +</p> + +<p> +Let’s go home, Bess.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an oath. +Bessie took his arm and said nothing—as she had said nothing when he had +ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They walked for some +time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“And where’s—where’s Mr. Torpenhow?” she inquired +at last. +</p> + +<p> +“He has gone away to the desert.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick pointed to the right. “East—out of the mouth of the +river,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side of +Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.” The explanation did not +enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to +Dick’s path till they came to the chambers. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have tea and muffins,” he said joyously. “I +can’t tell you, Bessie, how glad I am to find you again. What made you go +away so suddenly?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think you’d want me any more,” she said, +emboldened by his ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t, as a matter of fact—but afterwards—At any +rate I’m glad you’ve come. You know the stairs.” +</p> + +<p> +So Bessie led him home to his own place—there was no one to +hinder—and shut the door of the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“What a mess!” was her first word. “All these things +haven’t been looked after for months and months.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, only weeks, Bess. You can’t expect them to care.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what +you’ve paid them for. The dust’s just awful. It’s all over +the easel.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t use it much now.” +</p> + +<p> +“All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I’d +like to speak to them housemaids.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ring for tea, then.” Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by +custom. +</p> + +<p> +Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there +remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in her voice +when she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you been like this?” she said wrathfully, as though +the blindness were some fault of the housemaids. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“As you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my picture +was finished; I hardly saw her alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then they’ve been cheating you ever since, that’s all. I +know their nice little ways.” +</p> + +<p> +A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine +principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being +defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being +obviously an idiot, needs protection. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think Mr. Beeton cheats much,” said Dick. Bessie was +flouncing up and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of +enjoyment as he heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea <i>and</i> muffins,” she said shortly, when the ring at the +bell was answered; “two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I +don’t want the old teapot that was here when I used to come. It +don’t draw. Get another.” +</p> + +<p> +The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began to cough +as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you trying to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you +let it go so?” +</p> + +<p> +“How could I help it? Dust away.” +</p> + +<p> +She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs. Beeton. +Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding up with the +peculiarly felicitous proverb, “Do unto others as you would be done +by.” She had descended to put into her place the person who demanded +muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to both. +</p> + +<p> +“Muffins ready yet?” said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a +drab of the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick’s check, had +paid her premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being +neatly dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and there +passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have appreciated. +The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and Mrs. Beeton returned +to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about models, hussies, trollops, and +the like, to her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,” he +said. “Alf, you go along into the street to play. When he isn’t +crossed he’s as kindly as kind, but when he’s crossed he’s +the devil and all. We took too many little things out of his rooms since he was +blind to be that particular about what he does. They ain’t no objects to +a blind man, of course, but if it was to come into court we’d get the +sack. Yes, I did introduce him to that girl because I’m a feelin’ +man myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much too feelin’!” Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the +dish, and thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t ashamed of it, and it isn’t for us to judge him hard +so long as he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young +gentlemen, you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each stick to +his own business and then there won’t be any trouble. Take them muffins +down, Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman. His lot is +cruel hard, and if he’s crossed he do swear worse than any one I’ve +ever served.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a little better,” said Bessie, sitting down to the +tea. “You needn’t wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in which real +ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a first-class +public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes’ notice. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and displeased. +There were droppings of food all down the front of his coat; the mouth under +the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the forehead was lined and +contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was a dusty indeterminate colour +that might or might not have been called gray. The utter misery and +self-abandonment of the man appealed to her, and at the bottom of her heart lay +the wicked feeling that he was humbled and brought low who had once humbled +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it <i>is</i> good to hear you moving about,” said Dick, +rubbing his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind that. I’m quite respectable, as you’d see by +looking at me. <i>You</i> don’t seem to live too well. What made you go +blind that sudden? Why isn’t there any one to look after you?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it. +</p> + +<p> +“I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I +don’t suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. +</p> + +<p> +Why should they?—and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you +was—well?” +</p> + +<p> +“A few, but I don’t care to have them looking at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that’s why you’ve growed a beard. Take it off, it +don’t become you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me +these days?” +</p> + +<p> +“You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can +come, can’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d be only too grateful if you did. I don’t think I treated +you very well in the old days. I used to make you angry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very angry, you did.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often +as you can. God knows, there isn’t a soul in the world to take that +trouble except you and Mr. Beeton.” +</p> + +<p> +“A lot of trouble <i>he’s</i> taking and <i>she</i> too.” +This with a toss of the head. “They’ve let you do anyhow and they +haven’t done anything for you. I’ve only to look and see that much. +I’ll come, and I’ll be glad to come, but you must go and be shaved, +and you must get some other clothes—those ones aren’t fit to be +seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heaps somewhere,” he said helplessly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I’ll +brush it and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, but +it doesn’t excuse you looking like a sweep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I look like a sweep, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m sorry for you. I’m that sorry for you!” she +cried impulsively, and took Dick’s hands. Mechanically, he lowered his +head as if to kiss—she was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and +he was not too proud for a little pity now. She stood up to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing o’ that kind till you look more like a gentleman. +It’s quite easy when you get shaved, and some clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She passed +behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and ran away as +swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the Melancolia. +</p> + +<p> +“To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,” she said to herself, +“after all he’s done to me and all! Well, I’m sorry for him, +and if he was shaved he wouldn’t be so bad to look at, but... Oh them +Beetons, how shameful they’ve treated him! I know Beeton’s wearing +his shirt on his back to-day just as well as if I’d aired it. To-morrow, +I’ll see... I wonder if he has much of his own. It might be worth more +than the bar—I wouldn’t have to do any work—and just as +respectable as if no one knew.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely conscious +of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it seemed, among very +many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting shaved. +</p> + +<p> +He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A fresh +suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in the world said +that she took an interest in his personal appearance made him carry himself +almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a while from thinking of Maisie, +who, under other circumstances, might have given that kiss and a million +others. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us consider,” said he, after lunch. “The girl +can’t care, and it’s a toss-up whether she comes again or not, but +if money can buy her to look after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the +world would take the trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She’s a +child of the gutter holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have +everything she wants if she’ll only come and talk and look after +me.” He rubbed his newly shorn chin and began to perplex himself with the +thought of her not coming. “I suppose I did look rather a sweep,” +he went on. “I had no reason to look otherwise. I knew things dropped on +my clothes, but it didn’t matter. It would be cruel if she didn’t +come. She must. Maisie came once, and that was enough for her. She was quite +right. She had something to work for. This creature has only beer-handles to +pull, unless she has deluded some young man into keeping company with her. +</p> + +<p> +Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We’re falling +pretty low.” +</p> + +<p> +Something cried aloud within him:—This will hurt more than anything that +has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and tantalise, and in +the end drive you mad. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, I know it!” Dick cried, clenching his hands +despairingly; “but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get +anything out of his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I +wish she’d come.” +</p> + +<p> +Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in her +life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would allow her to +be idle for the rest of her days. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have known you,” she said approvingly. +“You look as you used to look—a gentleman that was proud of +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think I deserve another kiss, then?” said Dick, +flushing a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe—but you won’t get it yet. Sit down and let’s see +what I can do for you. I’m certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that +you can’t go through the housekeeping books every month. Isn’t that +true?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t do it in these chambers—you know that as well as I +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your +while.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn’t care to +have to work for both of us.” This was tentative. +</p> + +<p> +Dick laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?” said he. +“Torp took it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and +see.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a penny! +Oh my!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can have the penny. That’s not bad for one year’s work. +Is that and a hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?” +</p> + +<p> +The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, but she +must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but you’d have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think +we’d find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the +rooms here and there. They don’t look as full as they used.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, we’ll let him have them. The only thing I’m +particularly anxious to take away is that picture I used you for—when you +used to swear at me. We’ll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as +far as ever we can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” she said uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know where I can go to get away from myself, but +I’ll try, and you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. +You’ll like that. +</p> + +<p> +Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it’s good to put one’s arm +round a woman’s waist again.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm were thus +round Maisie’s waist and a kiss had just been given and taken between +them,—why then... He pressed the girl more closely to himself because the +pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little accident to the +Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the solace of her +company—and certainly he would relapse into his original slough if she +withdrew it—he would not be more than just a little vexed. +</p> + +<p> +It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by her teachings +it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his companion. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t worrit about that picture if I was you,” she +began, in the hope of turning his attention. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you +know it as well as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—but—” +</p> + +<p> +“But what? You’ve wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer. +</p> + +<p> +Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or nine +hundred pounds to—to us. I simply didn’t like to think about it for +a long time. It was mixed up with my life so.—But we’ll cover up +our tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the +beginning, Bess.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value of money. +Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating the value of his +work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular about their things. She +giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she tries to explain the breakage +of a pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, but you remember I was—I was angry with you +before Mr. Torpenhow went away?” +</p> + +<p> +“You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I—but aren’t you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn’t tell +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when +you might just as well be giving me another kiss?” +</p> + +<p> +He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that +kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want. +</p> + +<p> +Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, “I was so angry +I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren’t angry, are +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What? Say that again.” The man’s hand had closed on her +wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,” faltered Bessie. +“I thought you’d only have to do it over again. You did do it over +again, didn’t you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you’re hurting +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there anything left of the thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“N’nothing that looks like anything. I’m sorry—I +didn’t know you’d take on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. +You aren’t going to hit me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hit you! No! Let’s think.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet. +Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the +stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles that he +would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of the Melancolia, +because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie’s return and certain +new prospects that had developed themselves, the Melancolia—lovelier in +his imagination than she had ever been on canvas—reappeared. By her aid +he might have procured more money wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, +as well as another taste of an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a +vicious little housemaid’s folly, there was nothing to look for—not +even the hope that he might some day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. +Worst of all, he had been made to appear ridiculous in Maisie’s eyes. A +woman will forgive the man who has ruined her life’s work so long as he +gives her love; a man may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he +will never forgive the destruction of his work. +</p> + +<p> +“Tck—tck—tck,” said Dick between his teeth, and then +laughed softly. “It’s an omen, Bessie, and—a good many things +considered, it serves me right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that +accounts for Maisie’s running away. She must have thought me perfectly +mad—small blame to her! The whole picture ruined, isn’t it so? What +made you do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I was that angry. I’m not angry now—I’m awful +sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder.—It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m to blame for +making the mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“What mistake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something you wouldn’t understand, dear. Great heavens! to think +that a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!” Dick +was talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t a piece of dirt, and you shouldn’t call me so! I did +it “cause I hated you, and I’m only sorry now “cause +you’re—’cause you’re——” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly—because I’m blind. There’s nothing like tact +in little things.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; she was +afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too that her great +revenge had only made Dick laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t cry,” he said, and took her into his arms. “You +only did what you thought right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I ain’t a little piece of dirt, and if you say that +I’ll never come to you again.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know what you’ve done to me. I’m not +angry—indeed, I’m not. +</p> + +<p> +Be quiet for a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick’s first thought was connected +with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open sore. +</p> + +<p> +Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. +</p> + +<p> +The first pang—the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to the +play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has decreed +that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the love of +their life, and in their new wives’ arms are compelled to realise it. +</p> + +<p> +It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, so long +as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that resource goes +the man is to be pitied and left alone. +</p> + +<p> +These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie to his +heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Though you mayn’t know it,” he said, raising his head, +“the Lord is a just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of +humour. It serves me right—how it serves me right! Torp could understand +it if he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but +only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go,” said Bess, her face darkening. “Let me +go.” +</p> + +<p> +“All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never. Let me go, I tell you; you’re making fun of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I’m not. I’m making fun of myself.... Thus. +“He saved others, himself he cannot save.” It isn’t exactly a +school-board text.” He released her wrist, but since he was between her +and the door, she could not escape. “What an enormous amount of mischief +one little woman can do!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry; I’m awful sorry about the picture.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not. I’m grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were +we talking about before you mentioned the thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“About getting away—and money. Me and you going away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. We will get away—that is to say, I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“And me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you won’t——?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all +to yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“You said you couldn’t do anything without me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was true a little while ago. I’m better now, thank you. Get +me my hat.” +</p> + +<p> +“S’pose I don’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beeton will, and you’ll lose fifty pounds. That’s all. Get +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had kissed +him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it pleased her to +be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all there were four +thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through a slip of the tongue and +a little feminine desire to give a little, not too much, pain she had lost the +money, the blessed idleness and the pretty things, the companionship, and the +chance of looking outwardly as respectable as a real lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn’t taste, but it doesn’t +matter, and I’ll think things out. What’s the day of the week, +Bess?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tuesday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Thursday’s mail-day. What a fool—what a blind fool I +have been! Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for +additional expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat’s for old time’s +sake. Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last +trip—Gad, won’t Torp stare to see me!—a hundred and +thirty-two leaves seventy-eight for <i>baksheesh</i>—I shall need +it—and to play with. What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn’t your +fault, child; it was mine altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your +eyes and take me out! I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. +Four thousand pounds at four per cent—that’s safe +interest—means a hundred and sixty pounds a year; one hundred and twenty +pounds a year—also safe—is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty +pounds added to three hundred a year means gilded luxury for a single woman. +Bess, we’ll go to the bank.” +</p> + +<p> +Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick caused +Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the P. and O. +offices, where he explained things tersely. +</p> + +<p> +“Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as +possible. +</p> + +<p> +What ship’s going?” +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>Colgong</i>,” said the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons +and the docks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks. Change, please. I can’t see very well—will you count +it into my hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about their +trunks, life would be worth something,” said the clerk to his neighbour, +who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that condensed milk is +just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and unmarried, he +spoke with conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“We are now,” quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting +the place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, “beyond the +reach of man, or devil, or woman—which is much more important. I’ve +had three little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn’t +ask you to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We’ll +breakfast, and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Going away, of course. What should I stay for?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t look after yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can do anything. I didn’t realise it before, but I can. +I’ve done a great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss +if Bessie doesn’t object.” Strangely enough, Bessie objected and +Dick laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Well, come at nine the day +after to-morrow and you’ll get your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t bilk, and you won’t know whether I do or not unless +you come. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, but it’s long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,—send Beeton +here as you go out.” +</p> + +<p> +The housekeeper came. +</p> + +<p> +“What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?” said Dick, +imperiously. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tisn’t for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and +some is wore out dreadful.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m insured for two hundred and seventy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don’t +say——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, damn your longwindedness! You’ve made your pickings out of me +and the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house +the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty,” said Mr. Beeton, without a moment’s hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Double it; or I’ll break up half my sticks and burn the +rest.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and +wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s sinful, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my own. One hundred or——” +</p> + +<p> +“One hundred it is. It’ll cost me three and six to get that there +pilaster mended.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring +that price at once!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I’ve done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least +of all you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my clothes +are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I’m going.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the quarter’s notice?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me +alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that Bessie +was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable view. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very sudden—but then he was always sudden in his ways. +Listen to him now!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a sound of chanting from Dick’s room. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“We’ll never come back any more, boys,<br /> +We’ll never come back no more;<br /> +We’ll go to the deuce on any excuse,<br /> +And never come back no more!<br /> +Oh say we’re afloat or ashore, boys,<br /> +Oh say we’re afloat or ashore;<br /> +But we’ll never come back any more, boys,<br /> +We’ll never come back no more!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, he’s going to shoot himself—’avin’ gone +mad!” said Mrs. Beeton. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the latter, +threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention of the promises +to “find everything to-morrow, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you copper-nosed old fool—you impotent Academician!” he +shouted at last. “Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol +in your silly shaking hand then. If <i>you</i> touch it, it will go off, +because it’s loaded. It’s among my campaign-kit somewhere—in +the parcel at the bottom of the trunk.” +</p> + +<p> +Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight +field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It was this +put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. Beeton whipped +the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, and Dick drove his +hand among the <i>khaki</i> coat and breeches, the blue cloth leg-bands, and +the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of swan-neck spurs. Under these +and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin case of stationery. +</p> + +<p> +“These we don’t want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything +else I’ll keep. Pack ’em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. +When you’ve done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you +both. Wait a minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.” +</p> + +<p> +It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had particular +reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he began, following his +right hand with his left: ““The badness of this writing is because +I am blind and cannot see my pen.” H’mph!—even a lawyer +can’t mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn’t be +witnessed. Now an inch lower—why did I never learn to use a +type-writer?—“This is the last will and testament of me, Richard +Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous will +to revoke.”—That’s all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on +the paper was I?—“I leave everything that I possess in the world, +including four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty eight +pounds held for me”—oh, I can’t get this straight.” He +tore off half the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. +Then: “I leave all the money I possess in the world to’—here +followed Maisie’s name, and the names of the two banks that held the +money. +</p> + +<p> +“It mayn’t be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to +dispute it, and I’ve given Maisie’s address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. +This is my signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. To-morrow +you must take me to the landlord and I’ll pay forfeit for leaving without +notice, and I’ll lodge this paper with him in case anything happens while +I’m away. Now we’re going to light up the studio stove. Stay with +me, and give me my papers as I want ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year’s accumulation of +bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove every +document in the studio—saving only three unopened letters; destroyed +sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases alike. +</p> + +<p> +“What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough in +one place, to be sure,” said Mr. Beeton, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“He does. Is there anything more left?” Dick felt round the walls. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a thing, and the stove’s nigh red-hot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent, and you’ve lost about a thousand pounds’ worth of +sketches. +</p> + +<p> +Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds’ worth, if I can remember what I used to +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone +mad, otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a +song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out of the +way. +</p> + +<p> +There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could not be +accomplished to to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking up the last +pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there remained no written +word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, and sat down before the stove +till the fire died out and the contracting iron cracked in the silence of the +night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +With a heart of furious fancies,<br /> + Whereof I am commander;<br /> +With a burning spear and a horse of air,<br /> + To the wilderness I wander.<br /> +With a knight of ghosts and shadows<br /> + I summoned am to tourney—<br /> +Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end,<br /> + Methinks it is no journey.<br /> +<br /> +—<i>Tom a’ Bedlam’s Song</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here’s a hundred—all +that I got for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks +for some time. You’ve been a good little girl, all things considered, but +you’ve given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the +cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is—and I am free, I +mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’ll look after you on this ship?” +</p> + +<p> +“The head-steward, if there’s any use in money. The doctor when we +come to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the +Lord will provide, as He used to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of leavetakers and +weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself down in his bunk until +the decks should be clear. He who had taken so long to move about his own +darkened rooms well understood the geography of a ship, and the necessity of +seeing to his own comforts was as wine to him. +</p> + +<p> +Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been +introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good place at +table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with joy in the cabin. +It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved about, for he knew +everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep sleep of weariness came upon +him just as he would have thought of Maisie, and he slept till the steamer had +cleared the mouth of the Thames and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel. +</p> + +<p> +The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very familiar sound +in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s good to be alive again!” He yawned, stretched +himself vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast +of the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgar Square is +a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick could feel +the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous little +cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and one wave +breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new deck-chairs. He +heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was stung in the face by a +cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to the smoking-room by the +wheel. There a strong breeze found him, blew his cap off and left him +bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room steward, understanding that he +was a voyager of experience, said that the weather would be stiff in the chops +off the Channel and more than half a gale in the Bay. These things fell as they +were foretold, and Dick enjoyed himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even +necessary at sea to lay firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving +from place to place. On land the man who feels with his hands is patently +blind. At sea even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor +over the weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales—and +these are coin of more value than silver if properly handled—smoked with +him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that he +promised Dick a few hours of his time when they came to Port Said. +</p> + +<p> +And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang their +song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom the Lascar +barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened hatch-grating where the cool +winds blew, and the awnings were spread and the passengers made merry, and at +last they came to Port Said. +</p> + +<p> +“Take me,” said Dick, to the doctor, “to Madame +Binat’s—if you know where that is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whew!” said the doctor, “I do. There’s not much to +choose between ’em; but I suppose you’re aware that that’s +one of the worst houses in the place. They’ll rob you to begin with, and +knife you later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.” +</p> + +<p> +So he was brought to Madame Binat’s and filled his nostrils with the +well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the Canal +head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca of the +Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with the buffet of an +old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his coat-sleeve was warm as +new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick entered +the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a little accident +of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he had ever quitted the old +life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened a bottle of peculiarly strong +Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had +spoken of art and degradation. +</p> + +<p> +Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, scandalised, so +far as a ship’s doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick’s reception. +Dick was delighted at it. “They remember me here after a year. They have +forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I want a long talk with you +when you’re at liberty. It is good to be back again.” +</p> + +<p> +In the evening she set an iron-topped café-table out on the sands, and Dick and +she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, merriment, oaths, +and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the shipping in the harbour +twinkled by the head of the Canal. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? +We have not forgotten thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was over there in England and I went blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here—I +and Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow “Tina—she is still +alive—so often and so well that “Tina laughed when the papers +arrived by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise +in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for +thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not poor—I shall pay you well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.” Under her breath, +“Mon Dieu, to be blind and so young! What horror!” +</p> + +<p> +Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the +discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was too +anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire. +</p> + +<p> +“And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire +as they used to do when the war was here—ten years ago. Beyond Cairo +there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent’s +passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is impossible +also,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go to Suakin.” He knew, thanks to Alf’s readings, +that Torpenhow was at work with the column that was protecting the construction +of the Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, +besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth anything. +They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to be accomplished, +which is much more important when there is work toward. +</p> + +<p> +“But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men +always—and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend is there. +</p> + +<p> +“Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick’s glass +anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that he +should bow his head in assent and say—“No. He is a man, +but—if it should arrive... blamest thou?” +</p> + +<p> +“I blame?” she laughed shrilly. “Who am I that I should blame +any one—except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it +is very terrible.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the +year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer goes +down the Canal to Suakin—and the post-boats—But even +then——” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not think any longer. <i>I</i> know, and it is for me to think. Thou +shalt go—thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the +house is a little quiet—I must attend to my guests—and afterwards +go to bed. Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as may be.” She was talking as though he were a child. +</p> + +<p> +He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the streets, and +wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat carried him off to bed +and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and sang and danced and revelled, +Madame Binat moving through it with one eye on the liquor payments and the +girls and the other on Dick’s interests. To this latter end she smiled +upon scowling and furtive Turkish officers of fellaheen regiments, was gracious +to Cypriote commissariat underlings, and more than kind to camel agents of no +nationality whatever. +</p> + +<p> +In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red silk +ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a necklace of +plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in to Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. +Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the morning +chocolate.” She sat down on the side of the bed +whispering:—“It is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse +boat. That is a bribe of ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the +Government. The boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee +George, a Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must +not know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his +mules. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if I do not +receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl answers for +George.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you.” He reached out sleepily for the cup. “You are +much too kind, Madame.” +</p> + +<p> +“If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be +wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.” She looked at her +liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. “Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, +thou shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.” +</p> + +<p> +She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. “That is for +good-morning,” she said, going away. “When thou art dressed we will +speak to George and make everything ready. But first we must open the little +trunk. Give me the keys.” +</p> + +<p> +“The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect +Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in his way, +though. Well, it won’t last long.—Ohe, Madame, help me to my +toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing properly out +yonder.” +</p> + +<p> +He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his hands with the +spurs. There are two ways of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, spotless blue +bands, <i>khaki</i> coat and breeches, and a perfectly pipeclayed helmet. The +right way is the way of the untired man, master of himself, setting out upon an +expedition, well pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything must be very correct,” Dick explained. “It will +become dirty afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything +as it should be?” +</p> + +<p> +He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on the +right hip and fingered his collar. +</p> + +<p> +“I can do no more,” Madame said, between laughing and crying. +“Look at thyself—but I forgot.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his +leggings. +</p> + +<p> +“Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. +</p> + +<p> +Be quick, Madame.” +</p> + +<p> +“But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the +daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies——” +</p> + +<p> +“There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. +</p> + +<p> +Take me there.” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the lighthouse +boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to George and the captain +touching the arrangements that were to be made for Dick’s benefit. Very +few men who had the honour of her acquaintance cared to disregard +Madame’s advice. That sort of contempt might end in being knifed by a +stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short provocation. +</p> + +<p> +For six days—two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal—the +little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the +superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to propitiate +George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his light-of-love and +half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own discomfort. When they +arrived George took him under his wing, and together they entered the red-hot +seaport, encumbered with the material and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, +from locomotives in disconsolate fragments to mounds of chairs and +pot-sleepers. +</p> + +<p> +“If you keep with me,” said George, “nobody will ask for +passports or what you do. They are all very busy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might +remember me. I was known here a long time ago—when I was some one +indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full. +</p> + +<p> +Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan—that is +seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan the +English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be brought to +them by this line.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Base camp. I see. That’s a better business than fighting +Fuzzies in the open.” +</p> + +<p> +“For this reason even the mules go up in the iron-train.” +</p> + +<p> +“Iron what?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.” +</p> + +<p> +“An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly require +to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far from the +city.” +</p> + +<p> +“The dears—they always used to!” Dick snuffed the smell of +parched dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old +life was welcoming him back most generously. +</p> + +<p> +“When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first +send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had +the chance?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no chance,” said the Greek. “<i>She</i> is there with +that woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. It’s a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and +the chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.” +</p> + +<p> +They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was +desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was the +last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On their return +the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was doing. The blue +goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand on George’s elbow +as he replied—“Egyptian Government—mules. My orders are to +give them over to the A. C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion to show my +papers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I’d no right to ask, but not +seeing your face before I——” +</p> + +<p> +“I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,” said Dick, boldly. +“There will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up +early.” The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down waif +this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek muleteers. +Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small thing, but the +bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark, and stumbles up and +down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking of what might have been if +things had fallen out otherwise, and all had been as it was not. +</p> + +<p> +George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His charge sat +alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his tight-shut eyes danced +the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. There was a great bustle and +clamour about him. He grew afraid and almost called for George. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, have you got your mules ready?” It was the voice of the +subaltern over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“My man’s looking after them. The—the fact is I’ve a +touch of ophthalmia and can’t see very well. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! that’s bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. +I’ve had a turn of it myself. It’s as bad as being blind.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I find it. When does this armoured train go?” +</p> + +<p> +“At six o’clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are the Fuzzies on the rampage—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“About three nights a week. Fact is I’m in acting command of the +night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that far off?” +</p> + +<p> +“Between thirty and forty miles—in an infernal thirsty +country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?” +</p> + +<p> +“More or less. I shouldn’t care to cross it alone, or with a +subaltern’s command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through it +in some extraordinary fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“They always did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been here before, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the service and cashiered,” was the subaltern’s first +thought, so he refrained from putting any questions. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s your man coming up with the mules. It seems rather +queer——” +</p> + +<p> +“That I should be mule-leading?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me—it’s +beastly impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public +school. There’s no mistaking the tone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a public school man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought so. I say, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but +you’re a little down on your luck, aren’t you? I saw you sitting +with your head in your hands, and that’s why I spoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need +be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose—I mean I’m a public school man myself. +Couldn’t I perhaps—take it as a loan y’know +and——” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re much too good, but on my honour I’ve as much money as +I want. +</p> + +<p> +... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an +everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train. +</p> + +<p> +There is a fore-truck, isn’t there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. How d’you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been in an armoured train before. Only let me see—hear +some of the fun I mean, and I’ll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a +non-combatant.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man thought for a minute. “All right,” he said. +“We’re supposed to be an empty train, and there’s no one to +blow me up at the other end.” +</p> + +<p> +George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the mules, and +the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths inch boiler-plate +till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to start. +</p> + +<p> +Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered in with +plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the muzzle of a +machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral fire. +</p> + +<p> +The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score of +artillerymen were rioting. +</p> + +<p> +“Whitechapel—last train! Ah, I see yer kissin’ in the first +class there!” somebody shouted, just as Dick was clambering into the +forward truck. +</p> + +<p> +“Lordy! ’Ere’s a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, +Acton, and Ealin’ train. <i>Echo</i>, sir. Speshul edition! <i>Star</i>, +sir.”—“Shall I get you a foot-warmer?” said another. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks. I’ll pay my footing,” said Dick, and relations of +the most amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the +subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track. +</p> + +<p> +“This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in +the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but he’s still unimpressed. There he goes!” said the +subaltern, as a bullet struck the outside of the truck. “We always have +at least one demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the +rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-night though! Listen!” said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed +bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued +their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked +of the engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think so! This is my section of the line. They’ll be +playing old Harry with my permanent way if we don’t stop +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right O!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Hrrmph!</i>” said the machine gun through all its five noses as +the subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor +and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at +the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited +howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the sounds +and the smells. +</p> + +<p> +“God is very good—I never thought I’d hear this again. Give +’em hell, men. Oh, give ’em hell!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party went out +to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children of the desert +had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty minutes were lost in +clearing it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, to be varied with more +shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the machine guns, and a +final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train came under the +protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her +through,” said the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his +pet gun. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How +superb it must have looked from outside!” said Dick, sighing regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you’ve +settled about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. +I’m Bennil of the Gunners—in the artillery lines—and mind you +don’t fall over my tent-ropes in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the hay-bales, the +cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents as he stood, where +he had dropped from the train, shouting for George. There was a sound of +light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the rear trucks, with squealing and +grunting. George was unloading the mules. +</p> + +<p> +The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick’s ear; a cold wind of the +desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and +dirty—so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was a +hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over the +many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains or camels, +mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In those days he could +see—few men more clearly—and the spectacle of an armed camp at +dinner under the stars was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There was colour, +light, and motion, without which no man has much pleasure in living. This night +there remained for him only one more journey through the darkness that never +lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled. Then he would grip +Torpenhow’s hand again—Torpenhow, who was alive and strong, and +lived in the midst of the action that had once made the reputation of a man +called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be confused with the blind, bewildered +vagabond who seemed to answer to the same name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, +and come as near to the old life as might be. Afterwards he would forget +everything: Bessie, who had wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his +life; Beeton, who lived in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and +gas-plugs and matters that no men needed; that irrational being who had offered +him love and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all +Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she did, +but oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair. +</p> + +<p> +George’s hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“And what now?” said George. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where +the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their camels, and +the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the corners, and the men +eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!” +</p> + +<p> +The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the stumps of +scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew they would. The +light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded faces, and the camels +bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no part of Dick’s policy +to go into the desert with a convoy of supplies. That would lead to impertinent +questions, and since a blind non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would +probably be forced to return to Suakin. +</p> + +<p> +He must go up alone, and go immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“Now for one last bluff—the biggest of all,” he said. +“Peace be with you, brethren!” The watchful George steered him to +the circle of the nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, +and the camels, scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding +hens, half ready to get to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,” said +Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“A Mulaid?” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed +that he knew. +</p> + +<p> +“A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity. “A +Bisharin without saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.” +</p> + +<p> +Two or three minutes passed. Then—“We be knee-haltered for the +night. There is no going out from the camp.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for money?” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m! Ah! English money?” +</p> + +<p> +Another depressing interval of silence. +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my +journey’s end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, to +be paid when the driver returns.” +</p> + +<p> +This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his +commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick’s behalf. +</p> + +<p> +“For scarcely one night’s journey—fifty pounds. Land and +wells and good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. +Who speaks?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I,” said a voice. “I will go—but there is no going +from the camp.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries do +not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another twenty-five +pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no +baggage-camel.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first deposit was +paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver. +</p> + +<p> +Dick heard the latter say: “A little way out only. Any baggage-beast will +serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?” +</p> + +<p> +“And though I cannot see’—Dick lifted his voice a +little—“yet I carry that which has six eyes, and the driver will +sit before me. If we do not reach the English troops in the dawn he will be +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where, in God’s name, are the troops?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it +will be life or death to thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said the driver, sullenly. “Stand back from my +beast. I am going to slip him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel’s head a moment. I want to +feel his cheek.” The hands wandered over the hide till they found the +branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built +riding-camel. +</p> + +<p> +“That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on +those who try to cheat the blind.” +</p> + +<p> +The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver’s discomfiture. He had +intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand back!” one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with +a quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his +hand,—and a cry went up, “Illaha! Aho! He is loose.” +</p> + +<p> +With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward toward +the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation. +</p> + +<p> +George caught Dick’s arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a +disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the row now?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” Dick answered, +after the manner of a common soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, and take care your throat’s not cut outside—you and +your dromedary’s.” +</p> + +<p> +The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and his +driver had called him back and made him kneel down. +</p> + +<p> +“Mount first,” said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and +gently screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion’s back, +“Go on in God’s name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to +Madame, and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the +Pit!” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by the +creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick adjusted +himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed his belt +tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was conscious only of +the sense of rapid progress. +</p> + +<p> +“A good camel,” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,” the driver +replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of his +thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze it seemed that +he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett’s. He had committed +some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him up in his +bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two lines of the +hymn— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When Israel of the Lord beloved<br /> +Out of the land of bondage came. +</p> + +<p> +He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the saddle +to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and ending the ride. +Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt, and stormed himself wide +awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up +rising ground. A shot was fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the +desire to sleep. Dick could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and +cramped to do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and +punching the driver with the pistol. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there a moon?” he asked drowsily. +</p> + +<p> +“She is near her setting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the +desert talk.” +</p> + +<p> +The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. It rattled +the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A handful of dry +earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and crumbled softly to the +bottom. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on. The night is very cold.” +</p> + +<p> +Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before the light +lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that he had never +since the beginning of original darkness done anything at all save jolt through +the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger the nailheads on the +saddle-front and count them all carefully. Centuries later he would shift his +revolver from his right hand to his left and allow the eased arm to drop down +at his side. From the safe distance of London he was watching himself thus +employed,—watching critically. Yet whenever he put out his hand to the +canvas that he might paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of the +sinking moon, the black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that +hand held a revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. +Moreover, he was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever. +</p> + +<p> +The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“I smell the dawn,” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?” +</p> + +<p> +The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the pungent +reek of camels in the square. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see +what they do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I in better case? Go forward.” +</p> + +<p> +They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of the +beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day. +</p> + +<p> +Two or three shots were fired. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,” Dick spoke +angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it is from the desert,” the driver answered, cowering in his +saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an +hour ago.” +</p> + +<p> +The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind multiplied. The +children of the desert had arranged that most uncomfortable of surprises, a +dawn attack for the English troops, and were getting their distance by +snap-shots at the only moving object without the square. +</p> + +<p> +“What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!” said Dick. +“It’s “just before the battle, mother.” Oh, God has +been most good to me! +</p> + +<p> +Only’—the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an +instant—“Maisie...” +</p> + +<p> +“Allahu! We are in,” said the man, as he drove into the rearguard +and the camel knelt. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What’s the strength of +the enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?” asked a dozen +voices. For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted +from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, “Torpenhow! Ohe, +Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.” +</p> + +<p> +A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe moved very +swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to fire at the +puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually the scattered white +cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked white that hung heavily in the +stillness of the dawn before they turned over wave-like and glided into the +valleys. The soldiers in the square were coughing and swearing as their own +smoke obstructed their view, and they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded +camel leaped to its feet and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. +Some one had cut its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a +man receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and redoubled +firing. +</p> + +<p> +There was no time to ask any questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.” Dick turned +his face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, +miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair was +gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!” +</p> + +<p> +And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from the +Bisharin’s saddle at Torpenhow’s feet. His luck had held to the +last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head. +</p> + +<p> +Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick’s body in his arms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 2876-h.htm or 2876-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/2876/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Light That Failed + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Release Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2876] +Last Updated: November 5, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED *** + + + + +Produced by David Reed, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Rudyard Kipling + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So we settled it all when the storm was done + As comf'y as comf'y could be; + And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, + Because I was only three; + And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot, + Because he was five and a man; + And that's how it all began, my dears, + And that's how it all began. + + —Big Barn Stories. +</pre> + <p> + 'WHAT do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, you + know,' said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + 'Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,' Dick answered, without + hesitation. 'Have you got the cartridges?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire + cartridges go off of their own accord?' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry them.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm not afraid.' Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket and + her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver. + </p> + <p> + The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable without + pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick had saved + seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed Belgian + revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the syndicate for + the purchase of a hundred cartridges. 'You can save better than I can, + Dick,' she explained; 'I like nice things to eat, and it doesn't matter to + you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.' + </p> + <p> + Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the + purchase, which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers did + not lie in the scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the + guardian who was incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother to + these two orphans. Dick had been under her care for six years, during + which time she had made her profit of the allowances supposed to be + expended on his clothes, and, partly through thoughtlessness, partly + through a natural desire to pain,—she was a widow of some years + anxious to marry again,—had made his days burdensome on his young + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate. + </p> + <p> + Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him + ridicule. The many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her + small house she devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick + Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in the main by her own intelligence and + a keen study of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. At such + times as she herself was not personally displeased with Dick, she left him + to understand that he had a heavy account to settle with his Creator; + wherefore Dick learned to loathe his God as intensely as he loathed Mrs. + Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for the young. Since + she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, when dread of pain drove him to his first untruth, he naturally developed into a liar, but an economical and + self-contained one, never throwing away the least unnecessary fib, and + never hesitating at the blackest, were it only plausible, that might make + his life a little easier. The treatment taught him at least the power of + living alone,—a power that was of service to him when he went to a + public school and the boys laughed at his clothes, which were poor in + quality and much mended. In the holidays he returned to the teachings of + Mrs. Jennett, and, that the chain of discipline might not be weakened by + association with the world, was generally beaten, on one account or + another, before he had been twelve hours under her roof. + </p> + <p> + The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a long-haired, + gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who moved about the + house silently and for the first few weeks spoke only to the goat that was + her chiefest friend on earth and lived in the back-garden. Mrs. Jennett + objected to the goat on the grounds that he was un-Christian,—which + he certainly was. 'Then,' said the atom, choosing her words very + deliberately, 'I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and tell them that you + are a very bad woman. Amomma is mine, mine, mine!' Mrs. Jennett made a + movement to the hall, where certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. + The atom understood as clearly as Dick what this meant. 'I have been + beaten before,' she said, still in the same passionless voice; 'I have + been beaten worse than you can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write + to my lawyer-peoples and tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. + I am not afraid of you.' Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the + atom, after a pause to assure herself that all danger of war was past, + went out, to weep bitterly on Amomma's neck. + </p> + <p> + Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her + profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small liberty + of action left to him. She did not, however; and she volunteered no + friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long before the + holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in common drove the + children together, if it were only to play into each other's hands as they + prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school, Maisie + whispered, 'Now I shall be all alone to take care of myself; but,' and she + nodded her head bravely, 'I can do it. You promised to send Amomma a grass + collar. Send it soon.' A week later she asked for that collar by return of + post, and wa not pleased when she learned that it took time to make. When + at last Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot to thank him for it. + </p> + <p> + Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into a + lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not for a + moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the average + canings of a public school—Dick fell under punishment about three + times a month—filled him with contempt for her powers. 'She doesn't + hurt,' he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, 'and she is + kinder to you after she has whacked me.' Dick shambled through the days + unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the school + learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them, + cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than once try to + tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. 'We are both + miserable as it is,' said she. 'What is the use of trying to make things + worse? Let's find things to do, and forget things.' + </p> + <p> + The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the + muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and + pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out + nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched + by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the + afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting + patiently behind them. + </p> + <p> + 'Mf!' said Maisie, sniffing the air. 'I wonder what makes the sea so + smelly? I don't like it!' + </p> + <p> + 'You never like anything that isn't made just for you,' said Dick bluntly. + 'Give me the cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does one of + these little revolvers carry?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, half a mile,' said Maisie, promptly. 'At least it makes an awful + noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don't like those jagged stick-up + things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.' + </p> + <p> + 'All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.' + </p> + <p> + He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of mud + to the right of the wood-wreathed piles. + </p> + <p> + 'Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all + round.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, her + hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. + </p> + <p> + Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very + cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon + walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations with + his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went. + </p> + <p> + 'I think it hit the post,' she said, shading her eyes and looking out + across the sailless sea. + </p> + <p> + 'I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,' said Dick, with a + chuckle. 'Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, look + at Amomma!—he's eating the cartridges!' + </p> + <p> + Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma + scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred + to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma had + naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried up to + assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, he's eaten two.' + </p> + <p> + 'Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up, + and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?' + </p> + <p> + Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could not + explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated her + from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off in his + face. Then she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside him, + crying, 'Dick, you aren't hurt, are you? I didn't mean it.' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course you didn't, said Dick, coming out of the smoke and wiping his + cheek. 'But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings awfully.' A + neat little splash of gray led on a stone showed where the bullet had + gone. Maisie began to whimper. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't,' said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. 'I'm not a + bit hurt.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, but I might have killed you,' protested Maisie, the corners of her + mouth drooping. 'What should I have done then?' + </p> + <p> + 'Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.' Dick grinned at the thought; then, + softening, 'Please don't worry about it. Besides, we are wasting time. + </p> + <p> + We've got to get back to tea. I'll take the revolver for a bit.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick's + indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol, + restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically + bombarded the breakwater. 'Got it at last!' he exclaimed, as a lock of + weed flew from the wood. + </p> + <p> + 'Let me try,' said Maisie, imperiously. 'I'm all right now.' + </p> + <p> + They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook itself + to pieces, and Amomma the outcast—because he might blow up at any + moment—browsed in the background and wondered why stones were thrown + at him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool which was + commanded by the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat down together + before this new target. + </p> + <p> + 'Next holidays,' said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver kicked + wildly in his hand, 'we'll get another pistol,—central fire,—that + will carry farther.' + </p> + <p> + 'There won't be any next holidays for me,' said Maisie. 'I'm going away.' + </p> + <p> + 'Where to?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and I've got to be + educated somewhere,—in France, perhaps,—I don't know where; + but I shall be glad to go away.' + </p> + <p> + 'I shan't like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, Maisie, is + it really true you're going? Then these holidays will be the last I shall + see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I wish——' + </p> + <p> + The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking grass-tufts + and throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy nodding all by + itself to the illimitable levels of the mud-flats and the milk-white sea + beyond. + </p> + <p> + 'I wish,' she said, after a pause, 'that I could see you again sometime. + </p> + <p> + You wish that, too?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, but it would have been better if—if—you had—shot + straight over there—down by the breakwater.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy who only + ten days before had decorated Amomma's horns with cut-paper ham-frills and + turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public ways! Then she + dropped her eyes: this was not the boy. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't be stupid,' she said reprovingly, and with swift instinct attacked + the side-issue. 'How selfish you are! Just think what I should have felt + if that horrid thing had killed you! I'm quite miserable enough already.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why? Because you're going away from Mrs. Jennett?' + </p> + <p> + 'No.' + </p> + <p> + 'From me, then?' + </p> + <p> + No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though he + did not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this the + more acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know,' she said. 'I suppose it is.' + </p> + <p> + 'Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let's go home,' said Maisie, weakly. + </p> + <p> + But Dick was not minded to retreat. + </p> + <p> + 'I can't say things,' he pleaded, 'and I'm awfully sorry for teasing you + about Amomma the other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't you see? + And you might have told me that you were going, instead of leaving me to + find out.' + </p> + <p> + 'You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?' + </p> + <p> + 'There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't + know how much I cared.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't believe you ever did care.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, I didn't; but I do,—I care awfully now, Maisie,' he gulped,—'Maisie, + darling, say you care too, please.' + </p> + <p> + 'I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why?' + </p> + <p> + 'Because I am going away.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say—will you?' A second + 'darling' came to his lips more easily than the first. There were few + endearments in Dick's home or school life; he had to find them by + instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of + the revolver. + </p> + <p> + 'I promise,' she said solemnly; 'but if I care there is no need for + promising.' + </p> + <p> + 'And do you care?' For the first time in the past few minutes their eyes + met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech.... + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, Dick, don't! Please don't! It was all right when we said + good-morning; but now it's all different!' Amomma looked on from afar. + </p> + <p> + He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen kisses + exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its head + approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it was + the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that either + had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every one of + them glorious, so that they were lifted above the consideration of any + worlds at all, especially those in which tea is necessary, and sat still, + holding each other's hands and saying not a word. + </p> + <p> + 'You can't forget now,' said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek + that stung more than gunpowder. + </p> + <p> + 'I shouldn't have forgotten anyhow,' said Maisie, and they looked at each + other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour ago to a + wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began to set, and + a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. + </p> + <p> + 'We shall be awfully late for tea,' said Maisie. 'Let's go home.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let's use the rest of the cartridges first,' said Dick; and he helped + Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,—a descent that she was + quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took the + grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and + Dick blushed. + </p> + <p> + 'It's very pretty,' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'Pooh!' said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She stood + close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired over + the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was protecting + Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across the mud caught + the last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red disc. The light + held Dick's attention for a moment, and as he raised his revolver there + fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in that he was standing + by Maisie who had promised to care for him for an indefinite length of + time till such date as—— A gust of the growing wind drove the + girl's long black hair across his face as she stood with her hand on his + shoulder calling Amomma 'a little beast,' and for a moment he was in the + dark,—a darkness that stung. The bullet went singing out to the + empty sea. + </p> + <p> + 'Spoilt my aim,' said he, shaking his head. 'There aren't any more + cartridges; we shall have to run home.' But they did not run. They walked + very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of indifference to them + whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges in his inside + blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden heritage + and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their years. + </p> + <p> + 'And I shall be——' quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he checked + himself: 'I don't know what I shall be. I don't seem to be able to pass + any exams, but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. Ho! Ho!' + </p> + <p> + 'Be an artist, then,' said Maisie. 'You're always laughing at my trying to + draw; and it will do you good.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll never laugh at anything you do,' he answered. 'I'll be an artist, + and I'll do things.' + </p> + <p> + 'Artists always want money, don't they?' + </p> + <p> + 'I've got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My guardians tell + me I'm to have it when I come of age. That will be enough to begin with.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ah, I'm rich,' said Maisie. 'I've got three hundred a year all my own + when I'm twenty-one. That's why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than she is + to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody that belonged to me,—just + a father or a mother.' + </p> + <p> + 'You belong to me,' said Dick, 'for ever and ever.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, we belong—for ever. It's very nice.' She squeezed his arm. The + kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could only just + see the profile of Maisie's cheek with the long lashes veiling the gray + eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had been + boggling over for the last two hours. + </p> + <p> + 'And I—love you, Maisie,' he said, in a whisper that seemed to him + to ring across the world,—the world that he would to-morrow or the + next day set out to conquer. + </p> + <p> + There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, when + Mrs. Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful + unpunctuality, and secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden + weapon. + </p> + <p> + 'I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,' said Dick, when the + powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, 'but if you think you're + going to lick me you're wrong. You are never going to touch me again. + </p> + <p> + Sit down and give me my tea. You can't cheat us out of that, anyhow.' + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but encouraged + Dick with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that evening. Mrs. + Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence and a descent into + Tophet later, but Dick walked in Paradise and would not hear. Only when he + was going to bed Mrs. Jennett recovered and asserted herself. He had + bidden Maisie good-night with down-dropped eyes and from a distance. + </p> + <p> + 'If you aren't a gentleman you might try to behave like one,' said Mrs. + Jennett, spitefully. 'You've been quarrelling with Maisie again.' + </p> + <p> + This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, white + to the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of indifference, and + was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room red as fire. That + night he dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the world and brought it to + Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she turned it over with her foot, and, + instead of saying 'Thank you,' cried—'Where is the grass collar you + promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew, + When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two, + Ridin', ridin', ridin', two an' two, + Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, + All the way to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two. + + —Barrack-Room Ballad. +</pre> + <p> + 'I'M NOT angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few thousand + of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn't be in such a hurry to + get at their morning papers then. Can't you imagine the regulation + householder—Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, and + all that lot—frizzling on hot gravel?' + </p> + <p> + 'With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man + here a needle? I've got a piece of sugar-sack.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both my + knees are worn through.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why not six square acres, while you're about it? But lend me the needle, + and I'll see what I can do with the selvage. I don't think there's enough + to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. What are you doing + with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?' + </p> + <p> + 'Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,' said Dick, + gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn riding-breeches + and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most obvious open + space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the void developed + itself. + </p> + <p> + 'Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for + that whale-boat.' + </p> + <p> + A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into + exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of the + tattered breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel shirt, + went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the sketch. + </p> + <p> + Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted with + English soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their clothes. + A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, and flour- and + small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the whale-boats had been + compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental carpenter was swearing aloud + as he tried, on a wholly insufficient allowance of white lead, to plaster + up the sun-parched gaping seams of the boat herself. + </p> + <p> + 'First the bloomin' rudder snaps,' said he to the world in general; 'then + the mast goes; an' then, s' 'help me, when she can't do nothin' else, she + opens 'erself out like a cock-eyes Chinese lotus.' + </p> + <p> + 'Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,' said the tailor, + without looking up. 'Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop again.' + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it + raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half a + mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would drive + the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent of Nile + mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next few miles + would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass. The desert ran + down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black hillocks, a + camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose touch of the + slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks past, and + throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid had + followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the rank + and file had long since lost all count of direction and very nearly of + time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do something, + they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the other end of + it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town called Khartoum. + There were columns of British troops in the desert, or in one of the many + deserts; there were yet more columns waiting to embark on the river; there + were fresh drafts waiting at Assioot and Assuan; there were lies and + rumours running over the face of the hopeless land from Suakin to the + Sixth Cataract, and men supposed generally that there must be some one in + authority to direct the general scheme of the many movements. The duty of + that particular river-column was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the + water, to avoid trampling on the villagers' crops when the gangs 'tracked' + the boats with lines thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep and food + as was possible, and, above all, to press on without delay in the teeth of + the churning Nile. + </p> + <p> + With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the newspapers, + and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But it was above all + things necessary that England at breakfast should be amused and thrilled + and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or half the British army + went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign was a picturesque one, + and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and again a 'Special' managed + to get slain,—which was not altogether a disadvantage to the paper + that employed him,—and more often the hand-to-hand nature of the + fighting allowed of miraculous escapes which were worth telegraphing home + at eighteenpence the word. There were many correspondents with many corps + and columns,—from the veterans who had followed on the heels of the + cavalry that occupied Cairo in '82, what time Arabi Pasha called himself + king, who had seen the first miserable work round Suakin when the sentries + were cut up nightly and the scrub swarmed with spears, to youngsters + jerked into the business at the end of a telegraph-wire to take the places + of their betters killed or invalided. + </p> + <p> + Among the seniors—those who knew every shift and change in the + perplexing postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest + Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk a + telegraph-clerk into amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of a newly + appointed staff-officer when press regulations became burdensome—was + the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed Torpenhow. He represented + the Central Southern Syndicate in the campaign, as he had represented it + in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. The syndicate did not concern itself + greatly with criticisms of attack and the like. It supplied the masses, + and all it demanded was picturesqueness and abundance of detail; for there + is more joy in England over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of + square to rescue a comrade than over twenty generals slaving even to + baldness at the gross details of transport and commissariat. + </p> + <p> + He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently + abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of + shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain. + </p> + <p> + 'What are you for?' said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent is + that of the commercial traveller on the road. + </p> + <p> + 'My own hand,' said the young man, without looking up. 'Have you any + tobacco?' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at + it said, 'What's your business here?' + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm supposed to be doing something + down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in charge of the + condenser on one of the water-ships. I've forgotten which.' + </p> + <p> + 'You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,' said Torpenhow, and took + stock of the new acquaintance. 'Do you always draw like that?' + </p> + <p> + The young man produced more sketches. 'Row on a Chinese pig-boat,' + said he, sententiously, showing them one after another.—'Chief mate + dirked by a comprador.—Junk ashore off Hakodate.—Somali + muleteer being flogged.—Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.—Slave-dhow + being chased round Tajurrah Bah.—Soldier lying dead in the moonlight + outside Suakin.—throat cut by Fuzzies.' + </p> + <p> + 'H'm!' said Torpenhow, 'can't say I care for Verestchagin-and-water + myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are + you?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. I'm amusing myself here.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. 'Yes, you're right to + take your first chance when you can get it.' + </p> + <p> + He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled across + the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, 'Got man here, + picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress with + sketches.' + </p> + <p> + The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, 'I knew the + chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they'll have to sweat for it + if I come through this business alive!' + </p> + <p> + In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that the + Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying expenses + for three months. 'And, by the way, what's your name?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?' + </p> + <p> + 'They've taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. You'd better + stick to me. I'm going up-country with a column, and I'll do what I can + for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I'll send 'em + along.' To himself he said, 'That's the best bargain the Central southern + has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.' + </p> + <p> + So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and + arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New and + Honourable Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the + inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much + for it as Providence and their owners shall please. To these things are + added in time, if the brother be worthy, the power of glib speech that + neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, the + eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a bullock, + the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability to all + circumstances. But many die before they attain to this degree, and the + past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes when + they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the multitude. + </p> + <p> + Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter's fancy chose to lead him, and + between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost satisfied + themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its influence + the two were drawn ver closely together, for they ate from the same dish, + they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie of all, their + mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make gloriously drunk + a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second Cataract, and, while + the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed himself of some laboriously + acquired exclusive information, forwarded by a confiding correspondent of + an opposition syndicate, made a careful duplicate of the matter, and + brought the result to Torpenhow, who said that all was fair in love or war + correspondence, and built an excellent descriptive article from his + rival's riotous waste of words. It was Torpenhow who—but the tale of + their adventures, together and apart, from Philae to the waste wilderness + of Herawi and Muella, would fill many books. They had been penned into a + square side by side, in deadly fear of being shot by over-excited + soldiers; they had fought with baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had + jogged along in silence under blinding sun on indefatigable little + Egyptian horses; and they had floundered on the shallows of the Nile when + the whale-boat in which they had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock + and rip out half her bottom-planks. + </p> + <p> + Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were bringing + up the remainder of the column. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes,' said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his + over-long-neglected gear, 'it has been a beautiful business.' + </p> + <p> + 'The patch or the campaign?' said Dick. 'Don't think much of either, + myself.' + </p> + <p> + 'You want the Euryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don't you? and + eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I'm quite satisfied with my breeches.' + He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner of a clown. + </p> + <p> + 'It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. Government + Bullock Train. That's a sack from India.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's my initials,—Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on + purpose. + </p> + <p> + What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?' Torpenhow shaded his + eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. + </p> + <p> + A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms and + accoutrements. + </p> + <p> + '"Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,"' remarked Dick, calmly. + </p> + <p> + 'D'you remember the picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy + it. That scrub's alive with enemy.' + </p> + <p> + The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and a + hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the column had + wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. As swiftly as a + reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn ridges and + scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with armed men. + </p> + <p> + Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout and + gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long story. The + camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little + breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on the + sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up within + shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied of all + save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased his + outcries, and his friends howled. + </p> + <p> + 'They look like the Mahdi's men,' said Torpenhow, elbowing himself into + the crush of the square; 'but what thousands of 'em there are! The tribes + hereabout aren't against us, I know.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then the Mahdi's taken another town,' said Dick, 'and set all these + yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.' + </p> + <p> + 'Our scouts should have told us of this. We've been trapped,' said a + subaltern. 'Aren't the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you men!' + </p> + <p> + There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting against + the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that whoso was + left outside when the fighting began would very probably die in an + extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound + camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the + square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll of rising + ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and there was no + novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and stifling formation, + the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike rush of the enemy, the + same pressure on the weakest side, the few minutes of hand-to-hand + scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken only by the yells of + those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to pursue. They had become + careless. The camel-guns spoke at intervals, and the square slouched + forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the attack of three + thousand men who had not learned from books that it is impossible for + troops in close order to attack against breech-loading fire. + </p> + <p> + A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, but + the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed with + the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there is always + much war, told them that the right flank of the square was the weakest, + for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled them as they + passed and opened for an instant lanes through their midst, most like + those quick-closing vistas in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the train + races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held till the opportune + moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No civilised troops in the + world could have endured the hell through which they came, the living + leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, the wounded + cursing and staggering forward, till they fell—a torrent black as + the sliding water above a mill-dam—full on the right flank of the + square. + </p> + <p> + Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead + went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground and + the tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing interest, for + men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these things, counting + mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble and branch. There + was no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught the men knew, the + enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square at once. Their + business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to bayonet in the back + those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag down the slayer till he + could be knocked on the head by some avenging gun-butt. + </p> + <p> + Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew + unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack was + repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest side of + the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough of the + stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or forty others, + dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right flank of the square sucked + in after them, and the other sides sent help. The wounded, who knew that + they had but a few hours more to live, caught at the enemy's feet and + brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded rifle, fired blindly + into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the square. + </p> + <p> + Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his helmet, + that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face which + forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that Torpenhow had + gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to 'collar low,' and was turning + over and over with his captive, feeling for the man's eyes. The doctor + jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless soldier fired over + Dick's shoulder: the flying grains of powder stung his cheek. It was to + Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The representative of the Central + Southern Syndicate had shaken himself clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping + his thumb on his trousers. The Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed + aloud, then snatched up his spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting + under shelter of Dick's revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped + limply. His upturned face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but + cheers mingled with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If + the heart of the square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher's + shop. Dick thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of + the enemy were retiring, as the few—the very few—English + cavalry rode down the laggards. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside + in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the + illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and turned + it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, 'Ah, get away, you + brute!' Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the desert. His eye + was held by the red splash in the distance, and the clamour about him + seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like the whisper of a level + sea. There was the revolver and the red light.... and the voice of some + one scaring something away, exactly as had fallen somewhere before,—a + darkness that stung. He fired at random, and the bullet went out across + the desert as he muttered, 'Spoilt my aim. There aren't any more + cartridges. We shall have to run home.' He put his hand to his head and + brought it away covered with blood. + </p> + <p> + 'Old man, you're cut rather badly,' said Torpenhow. 'I owe you something + for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can't be ill here.' + </p> + <p> + Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, a + black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and shouted + that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,—was dead,—was dead,—that + two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, and that of + all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was dead,—was + dead,—was dead! + </p> + <p> + But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to the + restless Nile for Maisie,—and again Maisie! + </p> + <p> + 'Behold a phenomenon,' said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. 'Here is a + man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman only. And I've + seen a good deal of delirium, too.—Dick, here's some fizzy drink.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank you, Maisie,' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So he thinks he shall take to the sea again + For one more cruise with his buccaneers, + To singe the beard of the King of Spain, + And capture another Dean of Jaen + And sell him in Algiers.—A Dutch Picture.—Longfellow +</pre> + <p> + THE SOUDAN campaign and Dick's broken head had been some months ended and + mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain sum on + account for work done, which work they were careful to assure him was not + altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter into the Nile at + Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a warm farewell to + Torpenhow at the station. + </p> + <p> + 'I am going to lie up for a while and rest,' said Torpenhow. 'I don't know + where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we shall meet. + </p> + <p> + Are you starying here on the off-chance of another row? There will be none + till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark that. + </p> + <p> + Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money's spent; and give me your + address.' + </p> + <p> + Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,—especially + Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in all, + but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the vices in + all the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the heart of + that sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long above the + Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and women you + have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters more riotous + than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and boarded many + ships, and saw very many friends,—gracious Englishwomen with whom he + had talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd's Hotel, hurrying war + correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships employed in the + campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less reputable trades. + </p> + <p> + He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and the + advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong excitement, + at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. For + recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing sands, + the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals where the English + soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and colour all that + Providence sent him, and when that supply was ended sought about for fresh + material. It was a fascinating employment, but it ran away with his money, + and he had drawn in advance the hundred and twenty pounds to which he was + entitled yearly. 'Now I shall have to work and starve!' thought he, and + was addressing himself to this new fate when a mysterious telegram arrived + from Torpenhow in England, which said, 'Come back, quick; you have caught + on. Come.' + </p> + <p> + A large smile overspread his face. 'So soon! that's a good hearing,' said + he to himself. 'There will be an orgy to-night. I'll stand or fall by my + luck. Faith, it's time it came!' He deposited half of his funds in the + hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and ordered + himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was shaking with + drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically—'Monsieur needs a chair, of + course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses himself + strangely.' + </p> + <p> + Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. 'I + understand,' he quavered. 'We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, as + I have been.' Dick nodded. 'In the end,' said Binat, with gravity, + 'Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.' And he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + 'You must come to the dance, too,' said Dick; 'I shall want you.' + </p> + <p> + 'For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my + degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. Or at + least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.' The excellent Binat began to + kick and scream. + </p> + <p> + 'All things are for sale in Port Said,' said Madame. 'If my husband comes + it will be so much more. Eh, 'how you call—'alf a sovereign.' + </p> + <p> + The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled + courtyard at the back of Madame Binat's house. The lady herself, in faded + mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played the + piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari + girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat sat upon a + chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance + and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink that took the + place of blood in his veins, and his face glistened. Dick took him by the + chin brutally and turned that face to the light. Madame Binat looked over + her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned against the wall and + sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began to smell, and the + girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground. Then he shut his + book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking feebly at his elbow. 'Show + me,' he whimpered. 'I too was once an artist, even I!' Dick showed him the + rough sketch. 'Am I that?' he screamed. 'Will you take that away with you + and show all the world that it is I,—Binat?' He moaned and wept. + </p> + <p> + 'Monsieur has paid for all,' said Madame. 'To the pleasure of seeing + Monsieur again.' + </p> + <p> + The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the + nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. 'If the luck holds, it's + an omen; if I lose, I must stay here.' He placed his money picturesquely + about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held. + </p> + <p> + Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went + down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed + cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket + than he cared to think about. + </p> + <p> + A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for + summer was in England. + </p> + <p> + 'It's a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn't the knack of altering much,' + Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. 'Now, what must I + do?' + </p> + <p> + The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless + streets and at the appalling rush of traffic. 'Oh, you rabbit-hutches!' + said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached residences. + 'Do you know what you've got to do later on? You have to supply me with + men-servants and maid-servants,'—here he smacked his lips,—'and + the peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I'll find clothes and boots, and + presently I will return and trample on you.' He stepped forward + energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the side. As he + stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the gutter. 'All + right,' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'That's another nick in the score. I'll jostle you later on.' + </p> + <p> + Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with the + certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with only + fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, and + lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost + audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at + all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate for + Torpenhow's address, and got it, with the intimation that there was still + some money waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + 'How much?' said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. + </p> + <p> + 'Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to you, + of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle accounts + monthly.' + </p> + <p> + 'If I show that I want anything now, I'm lost,' he said to himself. 'All I + need I'll take later on.' Then, aloud, 'It's hardly worth while; and I'm + going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and I'll see + about it.' + </p> + <p> + 'But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your connection + with us?' + </p> + <p> + Dick's business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the speaker + keenly. 'That man means something,' he said. 'I'll do no business till + I've seen Torpenhow. There's a big deal coming.' So he departed, making no + promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And that day was the + seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with awful distinctness, + had thirty-one days in it! + </p> + <p> + It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to exist + for twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the + experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid seven + shillings a week for his lodging, which left him rather less than a + shilling a day for food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase was of + the materials of his craft; he had been without them too long. Half a + day's investigations and comparison brought him to the conclusion that + sausages and mashed potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best food. Now, + sausages once or twice a week for breakfast are not unpleasant. As lunch, + even, with mashed potatoes, they become monotonous. At dinner they are + impertinent. At the end of three days Dick loathed sausages, and, going + forth, pawned his watch to revel on sheep's head, which is not as cheap as + it looks, owing to the bones and the gravy. Then he returned to sausages + and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself entirely to mashed potatoes + for a day, and was unhappy because of pain in his inside. Then he pawned + his waistcoat and his tie, and thought regretfully of money thrown away in + times past. There are few things more edifying unto Art than the actual + belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick in his few walks abroad,—he did not + care for exercise; it raised desires that could not be satisfied—found + himself dividing mankind into two classes,—those who looked as if + they might give him something to eat, and those who looked otherwise. 'I + never knew what I had to learn about the human face before,' he thought; + and, as a reward for his humility, Providence caused a cab-driver at a + sausage-shop where Dick fed that night to leave half eaten a great chunk + of bread. Dick took it,—would have fought all the world for its + possession,—and it cheered him. + </p> + <p> + The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with impatience, + he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow's address and + smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the chambers. + Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, to be + received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow dragged + him to the light and spoke of twenty different things in the same breath. + </p> + <p> + 'But you're looking tucked up,' he concluded. + </p> + <p> + 'Got anything to eat?' said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. + </p> + <p> + 'I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?' + </p> + <p> + 'No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed + horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.' + </p> + <p> + 'Now, what lunacy has been your latest?' + </p> + <p> + Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened his + coat; there was no waistcoat below. 'I ran it fine, awfully fine, but I've + just scraped through.' + </p> + <p> + 'You haven't much sense, but you've got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and talk + afterwards.' Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could gorge + no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men smoke + who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco. + </p> + <p> + 'Ouf!' said he. 'That's heavenly! Well?' + </p> + <p> + 'Why in the world didn't you come to me?' + </p> + <p> + 'Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of + superstition that this temporary starvation—that's what it was, and + it hurt—would bring me luck later. It's over and done with now, and + none of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What's the exact + state of affairs as regards myself?' + </p> + <p> + 'You had my wire? You've caught on here. People like your work immensely. + I don't know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh touch and a new + way of drawing things. And, because they're chiefly home-bred English, + they say you have insight. You're wanted by half a dozen papers; you're + wanted to illustrate books.' + </p> + <p> + Dick grunted scornfully. + </p> + <p> + 'You're wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to the + dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment. + </p> + <p> + Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?' + </p> + <p> + 'They're a remarkably sensible people.' + </p> + <p> + 'They are subject to fits, if that's what you mean; and you happen to be + the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what they + call Art. Just now you're a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you please. + I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you here, and I + have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches you gave me + from time to time. Those coming after your work on the Central Southern + Syndicate appear to have done your business. You're in luck.' + </p> + <p> + 'Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about the + world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I'll luck 'em later on. I want a + place to work first.' + </p> + <p> + 'Come here,' said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. 'This place is a big + box room really, but it will do for you. There's your skylight, or your + north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to thrash + about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?' + </p> + <p> + 'Good enough,' said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a + third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A + pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of the + place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three more to + Torpenhow's room. The well of the staircase disappeared into darkness, + pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking and doors + slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom. + </p> + <p> + 'Do they give you a free hand here?' said Dick, cautiously. He was Ishmael + enough to know the value of liberty. + </p> + <p> + 'Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent + tenants for the most part here. 'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a + Young Men's Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms + for you when I wired.' + </p> + <p> + 'You're a great deal too kind, old man.' + </p> + <p> + 'You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you?' Torpenhow put + his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room, + henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion. They + heard rapping at Torpenhow's door. 'That's some ruffian come up for a + drink,' said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. There entered no + one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged gentleman in a satin-faced + frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there were deep pouches + under the eyes. + </p> + <p> + 'Weak heart,' said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, 'very weak + heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.' + </p> + <p> + The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern Syndicate + and 'one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr. + Heldar. I assure you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely + indebted to you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won't forget that we were + largely instrumental in bringing you before the public.' He panted because + of the seven flights of stairs. + </p> + <p> + Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on his + cheek. + </p> + <p> + 'I shan't forget,' said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him. + </p> + <p> + 'You've paid me so well that I couldn't, you know. By the way, when I am + settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. There + must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.' + </p> + <p> + 'That is er—is what I came to speak about. I fear we can't allow it + exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the + sketches are our property, of course.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to + assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name and + the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of material + service to you. Sketches such as yours——' + </p> + <p> + 'Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you + dared. You can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they're all I've + got in the world!' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled. + </p> + <p> + Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock in + trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of his + campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught aright, + who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for which Dick + had not the least reverence. The injustice of the proceedings did not much + move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in other places to + be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong. + </p> + <p> + But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and + when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained + sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife. + </p> + <p> + 'Forgive me, sir, but you have no—no younger man who can arrange + this business with me?' + </p> + <p> + 'I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to——' + </p> + <p> + 'You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.' + </p> + <p> + The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning + against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be + good enough to do things. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,' said Torpenhow, critically; 'but + I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be + careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan.' + </p> + <p> + 'Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your + name before the world——' + </p> + <p> + This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant years + lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The memory did + not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed to enjoy the + fruit of those years. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know quite what to do with you,' began Dick, meditatively. 'Of + course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case + you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides, + it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite + yourself.' + </p> + <p> + He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump body + beneath the coat. 'My goodness!' said he to Torpenhow, 'and this gray oaf + dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the black hide + taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet dates, and + he was as tough as whipcord. This things' soft all over—like a + woman.' + </p> + <p> + There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by a + man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to + breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft + hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches + underneath the eyes, and shook his head. 'You were going to steal my + things,—mine, mine, mine!—you, who don't know when you may + die. + </p> + <p> + Write a note to your office,—you say you're the head of it,—and + order them to give Torpenhow my sketches,—every one of them. Wait a + minute: your hand's shaking. Now!' He thrust a pocket-book before him. The + note was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while + Dick walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice + as he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned + with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, 'Now, I + hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have settled + down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, believe me, I'll + catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You haven't very long to + live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,—get out!' The man departed, + staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: 'Phew! what a lawless lot + these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is gang robbery, + organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that man's mind! Are + my sketches all right, Torp?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, you've + begun well.' + </p> + <p> + 'He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it was + everything to me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave him some + medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at the + little flurry it cost him. Now, let's look at my things.' + </p> + <p> + Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep + in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over and + thought of the price at which they had been bought. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw + Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. + </p> + <p> + 'I builded better than I knew, Torp,' he said, without stopping the dance. + </p> + <p> + 'They're good! They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I shall have an + exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man would have cheated + me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now that I didn't actually hit + him?' + </p> + <p> + 'Go out,' said Torpenhow,—'go out and pray to be delivered from the + sin of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from + whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to make this barn a little + more shipshape.' + </p> + <p> + 'And then—oh, then,' said Dick, still capering, 'we will spoil the + Egyptians!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, + When the smoke of the cooking hung gray: + He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn, + And he looked to his strength for his prey. + + But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away. + + And he turned from his meal in the villager's close, + And he bayed to the moon as she rose. + + —In Seonee. +</pre> + <p> + 'WELL, and how does success taste?' said Torpenhow, some three months + later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country. + </p> + <p> + 'Good,' said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the + studio. + </p> + <p> + 'I want more,—heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve + of these fat ones.' + </p> + <p> + 'Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep on + his chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, and a + lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose from a + wreck of oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, belts, and + regimental badges, and ended with a small bale of second-hand uniforms and + a stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet on the dais showed that a + military model had just gone away. The watery autumn sunlight was falling, + and shadows sat in the corners of the studio. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes,' said Dick, deliberately, 'I like the power; I like the fun; I like + the fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the people who + make the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they're a queer gang,—an + amazingly queer gang!' + </p> + <p> + 'They have been good enough to you, at any rate. Than tin-pot exhibition + of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers called it the + "Wild Work Show"?' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, I + believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone artist. + </p> + <p> + I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or scratched + them on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and colour. + Verily, they are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn't the word to + describe 'em. I met a fellow the other day who told me that it was + impossible that shadows on white sand should be blue,—ultramarine,—as + they are. I found out, later, that the man had been as far as Brighton + beach; but he knew all about Art, confound him. He gave me a lecture on + it, and recommended me to go to school to learn technique. I wonder what + old Kami would have said to that.' + </p> + <p> + 'When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?' + </p> + <p> + 'I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal + magnetism. All he ever said was, "Continuez, mes enfants," and you had to + make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he knew + something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he could never + have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it was good.' + </p> + <p> + 'Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?' said Torpenhow, with a + provoking drawl. + </p> + <p> + Dick squirmed in his place. 'Don't! It makes me want to get out there + again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and + brick-red and sulphur—cockatoo-crest—sulphur—against + brown, with a nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a + decorative frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise + sky.' He began to walk up and down. 'And yet, you know, if you try to give + these people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension + and according to the powers He has given you——' + </p> + <p> + 'Modest man! Go on.' + </p> + <p> + 'Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven't even been to Algiers will + tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that it + isn't Art. + </p> + <p> + ''This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you've been + promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.' + </p> + <p> + 'I couldn't help it,' said Dick, penitently. 'You weren't here, and it was + lonely these long evenings. A man can't work for ever.' + </p> + <p> + 'A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they + were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,—but they wouldn't + draw. They gave me tea,—tea at five in the afternoon!—and + talked about Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. + I've heard more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than + in the whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for some + continental syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a regular + Christmas-tree of contraptions when he took the field in full fig, with + his water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, gig-lamps, + and the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and show us + how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except fudge his reports + from the Nilghai. See?' + </p> + <p> + 'Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up here + this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept clear + of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will unsettle + your mind.' + </p> + <p> + 'It won't. It has taught me what Art—holy sacred Art—means.' + </p> + <p> + 'You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?' + </p> + <p> + 'Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.' + </p> + <p> + Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. 'Here's a sample of + real Art. It's going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I called + it "His Last Shot." It's worked up from the little water-colour I made + outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful rifleman, up here + with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I redrored him, and I + made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with his helmet at + the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his eye, and the + blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn't pretty, but he + was all soldier and very much man.' + </p> + <p> + 'Once more, modest child!' + </p> + <p> + Dick laughed. 'Well, it's only to you I'm talking. I did him just as well + as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then the + art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers wouldn't + like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,—man being naturally + gentle when he's fighting for his life. They wanted something more + restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but you + might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my "Last Shot" + back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without a speck + on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,—observe the high light on + the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,—rifles are always clean + on service,—because that is Art. + </p> + <p> + I pipeclayed his helmet,—pipeclay is always used on active service, + and is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and + gave him an air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pattern-plate. + Price, thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was + moderately decent.' + </p> + <p> + 'And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?' + </p> + <p> + 'Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, home-bred + Art and Dickenson's Weekly.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, delivered + from rolling clouds: 'If you were only a mass of blathering vanity, Dick, + I wouldn't mind,—I'd let you go to the deuce on your own mahl-stick; + but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find that to vanity you + add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a twelve-year-old girl, then I bestir + myself in your behalf. Thus!' + </p> + <p> + The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot shot through it, and the + terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. + </p> + <p> + 'If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue. + </p> + <p> + You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take + liberties with his public, even though they be—which they ain't—all + you say they are.' + </p> + <p> + 'But they don't know any better. What can you expect from creatures born + and bred in this light?' Dick pointed to the yellow fog. 'If they want + furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they pay for + it. + </p> + <p> + They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.' + </p> + <p> + 'That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are + the people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They are + your masters. Don't be deceived, Dickie, you aren't strong enough to + trifle with them,—or with yourself, which is more important. + </p> + <p> + Moreover,—Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn't going anywhere,—unless + you take precious good care, you will fall under the damnation of the + check-book, and that's worse than death. You will get drunk—you're + half drunk already—on easily acquired money. For that money and your + own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn out bad work. + You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, Dickie, as I love + you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut off your nose + to spite your face for all the gold in England. That's settled. Now + swear.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't know, said Dick. 'I've been trying to make myself angry, but I + can't, you're so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on Dickenson's + Weekly, I fancy.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow + bleeding of power.' + </p> + <p> + 'It brings in the very desirable dollars,' said Dick, his hands in his + pockets. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. 'Why, I thought it was a man!' + said he. 'It's a child.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, it isn't,' said Dick, wheeling quickly. 'You've no notion what the + certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly. + </p> + <p> + Nothing will pay me for some of my life's joys; on that Chinese pig-boat, + for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, because Ho-Wang + wouldn't allow us anything better, and it all tasted of pig,—Chinese + pig. I've worked for this, I've sweated and I've starved for this, line on + line and month after month. And now I've got it I am going to make the + most of it while it lasts. Let them pay—they've no knowledge.' + </p> + <p> + 'What does Your Majesty please to want? You can't smoke more than you do; + you won't drink; you're a gross feeder; and you dress in the dark, by the + look of you. You wouldn't keep a horse the other day when I suggested, + because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross the street + you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose that + theatres and all the live things you can buy thereabouts mean Life. + </p> + <p> + What earthly need have you for money?' + </p> + <p> + 'It's there, bless its golden heart,' said Dick. 'It's there all the time. + </p> + <p> + Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack 'em with. I + haven't yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I'm keeping my teeth filed. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide earth.' + </p> + <p> + 'With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? You + would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn't go. I don't + care to profit by the price of a man's soul,—for that's what it + would mean. + </p> + <p> + Dick, it's no use arguing. You're a fool.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got credit + for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, when our + old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking those pigs + as a parallel——' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you + always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren't the + British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go out + for a walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the Nilghai + comes up this evening can I show him your diggings?' + </p> + <p> + 'Surely. You'll be asking whether you must knock at my door, next.' +And Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly + gathering London fog. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. He + was the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, and + his experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only his + ally, Keneu the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the craft than + he, and he always opened his conversation with the news that there would + be trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed as he entered. + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always + screeching. You've heard about Dick's luck?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn't he? I hope you keep him + properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.' + </p> + <p> + 'He does. He's beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his + reputation.' + </p> + <p> + 'Already! By Jove, he has cheek! I don't know about his reputation, but + he'll come a cropper if he tries that sort of thing.' + </p> + <p> + 'So I told him. I don't think he believes it.' + </p> + <p> + 'They never do when they first start off. What's that wreck on the ground + there?' + </p> + <p> + 'Specimen of his latest impertinence.' Torpenhow thrust the torn edges of + the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the Nilghai, + who looked at it for a moment and whistled. + </p> + <p> + 'It's a chromo,' said he,—'a chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What + possessed him to do it? And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note that + catches a public who think with their boots and read with their elbows! + The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost saves it; but he mustn't go + on with this. Hasn't he been praised and cockered up too much? You know + these people here have no sense of proportion. They'll call him a second + Detaille and a third-hand Meissonier while his fashion lasts. It's windy + diet for a colt.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young wolf a + lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a shin-bone. + </p> + <p> + Dick's soul is in the bank. He's working for cash.' + </p> + <p> + 'Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn't see that the + obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are + changed.' + </p> + <p> + 'How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.' + </p> + <p> + 'Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there's any virtue in + print. He wants the whiplash.' + </p> + <p> + 'Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him myself, but I like him too + much.' + </p> + <p> + 'I've no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a woman + at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did he cut you out?' + </p> + <p> + 'You'll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, what's the good? + Leave him alone and he'll come home, if he has any stuff in him, dragging + or wagging his tail behind him. There's more in a week of life than in a + lively weekly. None the less I'll slate him. I'll slate him ponderously in + the Cataclysm.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make Dick + wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across him. + </p> + <p> + He's intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.' + </p> + <p> + 'Matter of temper,' said the Nilghai. 'It's the same with horses. Some you + wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and some you wallop + and they go out for a walk with their hands in their pockets.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's exactly what Dick has done,' said Torpenhow. 'Wait till he comes + back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating here. I'll show you some + of his last and worst work in his studio.' + </p> + <p> + Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood of + mind. He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of the + Thames through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by thinking of + Torpenhow's advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the study of the + faces flocking past. Some had death written on their features, and Dick + marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and coarse-built for the + most part, were alight with love; others were merely drawn and lined with + work; but there was something, Dick knew, to be made out of them all. The + poor at least should suffer that he might learn, and the rich should pay + for the output of his learning. Thus his credit in the world and his cash + balance at the bank would be increased. So much the better for him. He had + suffered. Now he would take toll of the ills of others. + </p> + <p> + The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red + wafer, on the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of the + tide between the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low tide. A + girl hard pressed by her lover shouted shamelessly, 'Ah, get away, you + beast!' and a shift of the same wind that had opened the fog drove across + Dick's face the black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth below the + wall. He was blinded for the moment, then spun round and found himself + face to face with—Maisie. + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but + they had not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the + firmly modelled mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of old, + she wore a closely fitting gray dress. + </p> + <p> + Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own command, + Dick, advancing, said 'Halloo!' after the manner of schoolboys, and Maisie + answered, 'Oh, Dick, is that you?' Then, against his will, and before the + brain newly released from considerations of the cash balance had time to + dictate to the nerves, every pulse of Dick's body throbbed furiously and + his palate dried in his mouth. The fog shut down again, and Maisie's face + was pearl-white through it. No word was spoken, but Dick fell into step at + her side, and the two paced the Embankment together, keeping the step as + perfectly as in their afternoon excursions to the mud-flats. Then Dick, a + little hoarsely—'What has happened to Amomma?' + </p> + <p> + 'He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. Isn't + it funny?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye—es. No. This. Where have you come from?' + </p> + <p> + 'Over there,' He pointed eastward through the fog. 'And you?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, I'm in the north,—the black north, across all the Park. I am + very busy.' + </p> + <p> + 'What do you do?' + </p> + <p> + 'I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why, what's happened? You had three hundred a year.' + </p> + <p> + 'I have that still. I am painting; that's all.' + </p> + <p> + 'Are you alone, then?' + </p> + <p> + 'There's a girl living with me. Don't walk so fast, Dick; you're out of + step.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then you noticed it too?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course I did. You're always out of step.' + </p> + <p> + 'So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the painting?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton's in St. + </p> + <p> + John's Wood, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,—I mean I went to + the National,—and now I'm working under Kami.' + </p> + <p> + 'But Kami is in Paris surely?' + </p> + <p> + 'No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in the + summer, and I live in London in the winter. I'm a householder.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do you sell much?' + </p> + <p> + 'Now and again, but not often. There is my 'bus. I must take it or lose + half an hour. Good-bye, Dick.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good-bye, Maisie. Won't you tell me where you live? I must see you again; + and perhaps I could help you. I—I paint a little myself.' + </p> + <p> + 'I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is no working light. I walk from + the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. But of + course I shall see you again.' She stepped into the omnibus and was + swallowed up by the fog. + </p> + <p> + 'Well—I—am—damned!' exclaimed Dick, and returned to the + chambers. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio + door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. + </p> + <p> + 'You'll be more damned when I'm done with you,' said the Nilghai, + upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a sheaf of + half-dry manuscript. 'Dick, it is of common report that you are suffering + from swelled head.' + </p> + <p> + 'Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little + Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow + refuses from false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot-boilers in your + studio. They are simply disgraceful.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oho! that's it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you're wrong. You + can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, as a P. + and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I'm going to bed.' + </p> + <p> + 'H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here's the + peroration: "For work done without conviction, for power wasted on + trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate purpose + of winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven public——" + 'That's "His Last Shot," second edition. Go on.' + </p> + <p> + '——"public, there remains but one end,—the oblivion that + is preceded by toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. + Heldar has yet to prove himself out of danger.' + </p> + <p> + 'Wow—wow—wow—wow—wow!' said Dick, profanely. 'It's + a clumsy ending and vile journalese, but it's quite true. And yet,'—he + sprang to his feet and snatched at the manuscript,—'you scarred, + deboshed, battered old gladiator! you're sent out when a war begins, to + minister to the blind, brutal, British public's bestial thirst for blood. + They have no arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You're + a fat gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's + seen. You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an + affable actress, a devastating cyclone, or—mine own sweet self. And + you presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while + I'd caricature you in four papers!' + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. + </p> + <p> + 'As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small—so!' The + manuscript fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. 'Go + home, Nilghai,' said Dick; 'go home to your lonely little bed, and leave + me in peace. I am about to turn in till to-morrow.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why, it isn't seven yet!' said Torpenhow, with amazement. + </p> + <p> + 'It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,' said Dick, backing to the + studio door. 'I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want any + dinner.' + </p> + <p> + The door shut and was locked. + </p> + <p> + 'What can you do with a man like that?' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.' + </p> + <p> + At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. 'Is the Nilghai with you + still?' said a voice from within. 'Then tell him he might have condensed + the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: "Only the free are + bond, and only the bond are free." Tell him he's an idiot, Torp, and tell + him I'm another.' + </p> + <p> + 'All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty stomach.' + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'I have a thousand men,' said he, + 'To wait upon my will, + And towers nine upon the Tyne, + And three upon the Till.' + + 'And what care I for you men,' said she, + 'Or towers from Tyne to Till, + Sith you must go with me,' she said, + 'To wait upon my will?' + + Sir Hoggie and the Fairies +</pre> + <p> + NEXT morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco. + </p> + <p> + 'Well, madman, how d'you feel?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know. I'm trying to find out.' + </p> + <p> + 'You had much better do some work.' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too much + Ego in my Cosmos.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?' + </p> + <p> + 'It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and now + I'm going to work.' + </p> + <p> + He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, + cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, + rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went + out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day. + </p> + <p> + 'This is positively indecent,' said Torpenhow, 'and the first time that + Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out that he + has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally valuable. + </p> + <p> + That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going out + of evenings. I must look to this.' He rang for the bald-headed old + housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. + </p> + <p> + 'Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?' + </p> + <p> + 'Never laid 'is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly 'e dined + in; but 'e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up 'ere after + theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen on the + top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, sir, droppin' + a walkin'-stick down five flights o' stairs an' then goin' down four + abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin', singin,' + "Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin,'"—not once or twice, but + scores o' times,—isn't charity to the other tenants. What I say is, + "Do as you would be done by." That's my motto.' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top floor isn't the quietest in the + house.' + </p> + <p> + 'I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an' he + laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a coloured + print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say is, "Never + look a gift-horse in the mouth." Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes 'aven't been + on him for weeks.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then it's all right,' said Torpenhow to himself. 'Orgies are healthy, and + Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making eyes I'm not + so certain,—Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums. They're + contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason.' + </p> + <p> + Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the + spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered the + day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and Maisie, + white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years seemed in + review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour of them! + Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, sweeping + her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward race of the + fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie sniffing + scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before the wind that + threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot about her ears; + Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to Mrs. Jennett while + Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie picking her way + delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand and her teeth + firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the grass between the + mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The pictures passed + before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest. + </p> + <p> + Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind as + it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that there + might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in the + forenoon. + </p> + <p> + 'There's a good working light now,' he said, watching his shadow placidly. + 'Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's Maisie.' + </p> + <p> + She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no + mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still + Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed + between them, because there had been none in the old days. + </p> + <p> + 'What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?' said Dick, as one + who was entitled to ask. + </p> + <p> + 'Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I + left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.' + </p> + <p> + 'I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?' + </p> + <p> + 'A fancy head that wouldn't come right,—horrid thing!' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't like working over scraped paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain + comes up woolly as the paint dries.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not if you scrape properly.' Maisie waved her hand to illustrate her + methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. + </p> + <p> + 'You're as untidy as ever.' + </p> + <p> + 'That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.' + </p> + <p> + 'By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't think we've much altered in + anything. Let's see, though.' He looked at Maisie critically. The pale + blue haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the Park and + made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque above the + black hair, and the resolute profile. + </p> + <p> + 'No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I + fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?' + </p> + <p> + Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to + Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Wait a minute,' said he. 'That mouth is down at the corners a little. + </p> + <p> + Who's been worrying you, Maisie?' + </p> + <p> + 'No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try + hard enough, and Kami says——' + </p> + <p> + '"Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants." Kami is + depressing. I beg your pardon.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better + and he'd let me exhibit this year.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not in this place, surely?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course not. The Salon.' + </p> + <p> + 'You fly high.' + </p> + <p> + 'I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't exhibit. I sell.' + </p> + <p> + 'What is your line, then?' + </p> + <p> + 'Haven't you heard?' Dick's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He cast + about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the Marble + Arch. 'Come up Oxford Street a little and I'll show you.' + </p> + <p> + A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. + </p> + <p> + 'Some reproduction of my work inside,' he said, with suppressed triumph. + Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. 'You see the + sort of things I paint. D'you like it?' + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into + action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + 'They've chucked the off lead-'orse' said one to the other. ''E's tore up + awful, but they're makin' good time with the others. That lead-driver + drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunnin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse.' + </p> + <p> + 'Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,' was the answer. + </p> + <p> + 'No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all + right.' + </p> + <p> + Dick watched Maisie's face and swelled with joy—fine, rank, vulgar + triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the picture. + </p> + <p> + That was something that she could understand. + </p> + <p> + 'And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!' she said at last, under her + breath. + </p> + <p> + 'Me,—all me!' said Dick, placidly. 'Look at their faces. It hits + 'em. They don't know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know. + And I know my work's right.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!' + </p> + <p> + 'Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you think?' + </p> + <p> + 'I call it success. Tell me how you got it.' + </p> + <p> + They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of his + own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman. + </p> + <p> + From the beginning he told the tale, the I—I—I's flashing + through the records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie + listened and nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did + not move her a hair's-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, + 'And that gave me some notion of handling colour,' or light, or whatever + it might be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her + breathless across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his + life before. + </p> + <p> + And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great desire + to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, 'I understand. Go + on,'—to pick her up and carry her away with him, because she was + Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his right, and a + woman to be desired above all women. + </p> + <p> + Then he checked himself abruptly. 'And so I took all I wanted,' he said, + 'and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie's tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of patient + toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken thought dealers + laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even sarcastic, + and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a few bright + spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but it wound up + with the oft repeated wail, 'And so you see, Dick, I had no success, + though I worked so hard.' + </p> + <p> + Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not hit + the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had + happened yesterday. + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind,' he said. 'I'll tell you something, if you'll believe it.' + The words were shaping themselves of their own accord. 'The whole thing, + lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort + Keeling.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie flushed a little. 'It's all very well for you to talk, but you've + had the success and I haven't.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a + bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I've come back again. + It really is just the same. Can't you see? You're alone now and I'm alone. + </p> + <p> + What's the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. + </p> + <p> + 'I understand,' she said slowly. 'But I've got my work to do, and I must + do it.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, I couldn't. It's my work,—mine,—mine,—mine! I've + been alone all my life in myself, and I'm not going to belong to anybody + except myself. I remember things as well as you do, but that doesn't + count. We were babies then, and we didn't know what was before us. Dick, + don't be selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year. + Don't take it away from me.' + </p> + <p> + 'I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for speaking stupidly. I can't + expect you to throw up all your life just because I'm back. I'll go to my + own place and wait a little.' + </p> + <p> + 'But, Dick, I don't want you to—go—out of—my life, now + you've just come back.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm at your orders; forgive me.' Dick devoured the troubled little face + with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not conceive + that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved her. + </p> + <p> + 'It's wrong of me,' said Maisie, more slowly than before; 'it's wrong and + selfish; but, oh, I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now I've + seen you again,—it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.' + </p> + <p> + 'Naturally. We belong.' + </p> + <p> + 'We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work + that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things. + You must.' + </p> + <p> + 'I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then you won't care to lose + sight of me altogether, and—you want me to help you in your work?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I feel + so selfish. Can't things stay as they are? I do want your help.' + </p> + <p> + 'You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and + overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should see + what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good advice, + and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?' + </p> + <p> + Again there was triumph in Dick's eye. + </p> + <p> + 'It's too good of you,—much too good. Because you are consoling + yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want to + keep you. Don't blame me later, please.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can do no + wrong. It isn't your selfishness that impresses me. It's your audacity in + proposing to make use of me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Pooh! You're only Dick,—and a print-shop.' + </p> + <p> + 'Very good: that's all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don't you, that I + love you? I don't want you to have any false notions about brothers and + sisters.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + 'It's absurd, but—I believe. I wish I could send you away before you + get angry with me. But—but the girl that lives with me is + red-haired, and an impressionist, and all our notions clash.' + </p> + <p> + 'So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from to-day we shall be + laughing at this together.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie shook her head mournfully. 'I knew you wouldn't understand, and it + will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, and tell + me what you see.' + </p> + <p> + They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering, + and it stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. Dick + brought all his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on the eyes, + mouth, and chin underneath the black velvet toque. + </p> + <p> + 'It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me,' he said. 'We've both nice + little wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now + about the future. I must come and see your pictures some day,—I + suppose when the red-haired girl is on the premises.' + </p> + <p> + 'Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such heaps + of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I must get + back to work.' + </p> + <p> + 'Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,' said Dick. 'Don't take my + word for anything I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she was + out of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, 'I'm a + wretch,—a horrid, selfish wretch. But it's Dick, and Dick will + understand.' + </p> + <p> + No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible force + meets the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even as Dick + thought. He tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in a few + weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a better way of thinking. Then + he remembered much too distinctly her face and all that was written on it. + </p> + <p> + 'If I know anything of heads,' he said, 'there's everything in that face + but love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that chin and mouth + won't be won for nothing. But she's right. She knows what she wants, and + she's going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the people in the wide + world, to use me! But then she's Maisie. There's no getting over that + fact; and it's good to see her again. This business must have been + simmering at the back of my head for years.... She'll use me as I used + Binat at Port Said. + </p> + <p> + She's quite right. It will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every + Sunday,—like a young man courting a housemaid. She's sure to come + around; and yet—that mouth isn't a yielding mouth. I shall be + wanting to kiss her all the time, and I shall have to look at her + pictures,—I don't even know what sort of work she does yet,—and + I shall have to talk about Art,—Woman's Art! Therefore, particularly + and perpetually, damn all varieties of Art. It did me a good turn once, + and now it's in my way. I'll go home and do some Art.' + </p> + <p> + Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The + figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. + </p> + <p> + 'She's all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, who + probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. + </p> + <p> + Maisie's a bilious little body. They'll eat like lone women,—meals + at all hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the students in Paris + used to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I shan't be able to + help. + </p> + <p> + Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full of + the austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the same + oar together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of toil. + This is a good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, strife, + recrimination, and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, and is proof + against any absence and evil conduct. + </p> + <p> + Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. He + thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to think of + anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at last was an + outlet for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie barbarically with + jewelry,—a thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets + upon the rounded arms, and rings of price upon her hands,—the cool, + temperate, ringless hands that he had taken between his own. It was an + absurd thought, for Maisie would not even allow him to put one ring on one + finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings. It would be better to sit + with her quietly in the dusk, his arm around her neck and her face on his + shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. Torpenhow's boots creaked that + night, and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows contracted and he + murmured an evil word because he had taken all his success as a right and + part payment for past discomfort, and now he was checked in his stride by + a woman who admitted all the success and did not instantly care for him. + </p> + <p> + 'I say, old man,' said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain attempts at + conversation, 'I haven't put your back up by anything I've said lately, + have I?' + </p> + <p> + 'You! No. How could you?' + </p> + <p> + 'Liver out of order?' + </p> + <p> + 'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a liver. I'm only a bit worried + about things in general. I suppose it's my soul.' + </p> + <p> + 'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have you + with luxuries of that kind?' + </p> + <p> + 'It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands + shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?' + </p> + <p> + 'He's right, whoever he is,—except about the misunderstanding. I + don't think we could misunderstand each other.' + </p> + <p> + The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, + insinuatingly—'Dick, is it a woman?' + </p> + <p> + 'Be hanged if it's anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you begin + to talk like that, I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint + trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among + three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye + plush plasters, and I'll invite every woman who maunders over what her + guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive 'em, Torp,—in a + snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You'll + like that?' + </p> + <p> + 'Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and + swearing. You've overdone it, just as he did. It's no business of mine, of + course, but it's comforting to think that somewhere under the stars + there's saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it'll come from + heaven or earth, I don't know, but it's bound to come and break you up a + little. You want hammering.' + </p> + <p> + Dick shivered. 'All right,' said he. 'When this island is disintegrated, + it will call for you.' + </p> + <p> + 'I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. + </p> + <p> + We're talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'And you may lead a thousand men, + Nor ever draw the rein, + But ere ye lead the Faery Queen + 'Twill burst your heart in twain.' + + He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar, + The bridle from his hand, + And he is bound by hand and foot + To the Queen o' Faery-land. + + Sir Hoggie and the Fairies. +</pre> + <p> + SOME weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across the + Park to his studio. 'This,' he said, 'is evidently the thrashing that Torp + meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no wrong; and + she certainly has some notion of drawing.' + </p> + <p> + He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,—always under the + green eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate + at sight,—and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after + Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy + house north of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures, and then to + criticise and advise upon them as he realised that they were productions + on which advice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, and his love + grew with each visit, he had been compelled to cram his heart back from + between his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie several times and + very much indeed. Sunday after Sunday, the head above the heart had warned + him that Maisie was not yet attainable, and that it would be better to + talk as connectedly as possible upon the mysteries of the craft that was + all in all to her. Therefore it was his fate to endure weekly torture in + the studio built out over the clammy back garden of a frail stuffy little + villa where nothing was ever in its right place and nobody every called,—to + endure and to watch Maisie moving to and fro with the teacups. He abhorred + tea, but, since it gave him a little longer time in her presence, he drank + it devoutly, and the red-haired girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed him + without speaking. She was always watching him. + </p> + <p> + Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him an + album that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,—the + briefest of hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying + exhibitions. Dick stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the open + page. 'Oh, my love, my love,' he muttered, 'do you value these things? + Chuck 'em into the waste-paper basket!' + </p> + <p> + 'Not till I get something better,' said Maisie, shutting the book. + </p> + <p> + Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard for + the maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of these + coveted cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie should sign. + </p> + <p> + 'That's childish,' said Maisie, 'and I didn't think it of you. It must be + my work. Mine,—mine,—mine!' + </p> + <p> + 'Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers' houses. You are + thoroughly good at that.' Dick was sick and savage. + </p> + <p> + 'Better things than medallions, Dick,' was the answer, in tones that + recalled a gray-eyed atom's fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would + have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in. + </p> + <p> + Next Sunday he laid at Maisie's feet small gifts of pencils that could + almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, and + he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, among + other things, an exposition of the faith that was in him. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow's hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with + which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. + </p> + <p> + A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was + Maisie's will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make + plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the whys + and wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing a thing + if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your method. + </p> + <p> + 'I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,' said Dick, + despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would + not 'look flesh,'—it was the same chin that she had scraped out with + the palette knife,—'but I find it almost impossible to teach you. + There's a queer grim, Dutch touch about your painting that I like; but + I've a notion that you're weak in drawing. You foreshorten as though you + never used the model, and you've caught Kami's pasty way of dealing with + flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you don't know it yourself, you shirk + hard work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line alone. Line doesn't + allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches of flashy, tricky + stuff in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing off,—as I + know. That's immoral. Do line-work for a little while, and then I can tell + more about your powers, as old Kami used to say.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. + </p> + <p> + 'I know,' said Dick. 'You want to do your fancy heads with a bunch of + flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.' The red-haired + girl laughed a little. 'You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep in + grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than you can + do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour's a gift,—put + it aside and think no more about it,—but form you can be drilled + into. + </p> + <p> + Now, all your fancy heads—and some of them are very good—will + keep you exactly where you are. With line you must go forward or backward, + and it will show up all your weaknesses.' + </p> + <p> + 'But other people——' began Maisie. + </p> + <p> + 'You mustn't mind what other people do. If their souls were your soul, it + would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, and + it's waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.' + </p> + <p> + Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came + back into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly as + words, Was it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas and + counsel and join hands with Life and Love? + </p> + <p> + Maisie assented to the new programme of schooling so adorably that Dick + could hardly restrain himself from picking her up then and there and + carrying her off to the nearest registrar's office. It was the implicit + obedience to the spoken word and the blank indifference to the unspoken + desire that baffled and buffeted his soul. He held authority in that + house,—authority limited, indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in + seven, but very real while it lasted. Maisie had learned to appeal to him + on many subjects, from the proper packing of pictures to the condition of + a smoky chimney. The red-haired girl never consulted him about anything. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and + watched him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment were + irregular and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, and + biscuit, as he had suspected from the beginning. The girls were supposed + to market week and week about, but they lived, with the help of a + charwoman, as casually as the young ravens. Maisie spent most of her + income on models, and the other girl revelled in apparatus as refined as + her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, dear-bought from the Docks, Dick + warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation meant the crippling of power + to work, which was considerably worse than death. + </p> + <p> + Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and drank. + When his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the long winter + twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic authority and + his coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky drawing-room chimney stung + Dick like a whip-lash. + </p> + <p> + He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, till + one Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a study of + Dick's head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, and—quite + as an afterthought—look at Maisie. He sat, because he could not well + refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all the people + in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his own craft. He + remembered Binat most distinctly,—that Binat who had once been an + artist and talked about degradation. + </p> + <p> + It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented the + dumb waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement of the + man, in a spirit of bitter mockery. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll buy it,' said Dick, promptly, 'at your own price.' + </p> + <p> + 'My price is too high, but I dare say you'll be as grateful if——' + The wet sketch, fluttered from the girl's hand and fell into the ashes of + the studio stove. When she picked it up it was hopelessly smudged. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, it's all spoiled!' said Maisie. 'And I never saw it. Was it like?' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank you,' said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he + removed himself swiftly. + </p> + <p> + 'How that man hates me!' said the girl. 'And how he loves you, Maisie!' + </p> + <p> + 'What nonsense? I knew Dick's very fond of me, but he had his work to do, + and I have mine.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in + impressionism, after all. Maisie, can't you see?' + </p> + <p> + 'See? See what?' + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as that + man looks at you, I'd—I don't know what I'd do. But he hates me. Oh, + how he hates me!' + </p> + <p> + She was not altogether correct. Dick's hatred was tempered with gratitude + for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only the sense of + shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park in the fog. + 'There'll be an explosion one of these days,' he said wrathfully. 'But it + isn't Maisie's fault; she's right, quite right, as far as she knows, and I + can't blame her. This business has been going on for three months nearly. + </p> + <p> + Three months!—and it cost me ten years' knocking about to get at the + notion, the merest raw notion, of my work. That's true; but then I didn't + have pins, drawing-pins, and palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday. + </p> + <p> + Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very bad + time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I am now. + I'll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,—she's + unwholesome,—and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the sin + of levity, and Dick and listened and replied not a word. In the weeks + between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung himself + savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least know the full + stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she must not pay the + least attention to any work outside her own, and Maisie had obeyed him all + too well. She took his counsels, but was not interested in his pictures. + </p> + <p> + 'Your things smell of tobacco and blood,' she said once. 'Can't you do + anything except soldiers?' + </p> + <p> + 'I could do a head of you that would startle you,' thought Dick,—this + was before the red-haired girl had brought him under the guillotine,—but + he only said, 'I am very sorry,' and harrowed Torpenhow's soul that + evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, insensibly and to a large + extent against his own will, he ceased to interest himself in his own + work. + </p> + <p> + For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him he + lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, since + Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to do anything + at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. Torpenhow was + disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then attacked him one Sunday + evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after three hours' biting + self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was Language, and Torpenhow + withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come it to talk continental + politics. + </p> + <p> + 'Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool with a + woman.' + </p> + <p> + 'Isn't that bad enough?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a + while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the + staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you + had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.' + </p> + <p> + 'No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned + fellow.' + </p> + <p> + 'He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't + storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush. + </p> + <p> + You're fond of him?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the worst + of it is, no man can save his brother.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick must + learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be trouble + in the Balkans in the spring.' + </p> + <p> + 'That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there + when it comes off?' + </p> + <p> + Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. + </p> + <p> + 'Not good enough,' he said shortly. 'I'm too comf'y where I am.' + </p> + <p> + 'Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?' said the + Nilghai. 'Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,—the + public will know your touch and go on to something new,—and where + will you be then?' + </p> + <p> + 'Here, in England.' + </p> + <p> + 'When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I shall + go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will be there, + and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as much as ever + we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you of seeing things + that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.' + </p> + <p> + 'Um!' said Dick, pulling at his pipe. + </p> + <p> + 'You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at your + pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own pursuits + and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look up between + mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't the least + interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or notoriety, + according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.' + </p> + <p> + 'I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.' + </p> + <p> + 'Be hanged if I do!' + </p> + <p> + 'Be hanged, then; you probably will be,—for a spy, by excited Turks. + </p> + <p> + Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.' Dick + dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. + </p> + <p> + 'That's a bad sign,' said the Nilghai, in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to + burn, and put a pillow behind the head. 'We can't help; we can't help,' he + said. 'It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it. There's + the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square.' + </p> + <p> + 'Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.' + </p> + <p> + 'I should. He's a most businesslike madman.' + </p> + <p> + Then Dick began to snore furiously. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and + go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it.' + </p> + <p> + 'When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,' said the Nilghai, in his + beard, 'I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural + history.' + </p> + <p> + Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches he + was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he wondered he + had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He would seek Maisie + on a week-day,—would suggest an excursion, and would take her by + train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two had trodden + together ten years ago. + </p> + <p> + 'As a general rule,' he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the + morning, 'it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one of + things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel said; but this is an + exception to every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once.' + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and + Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was + not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; + and it needed all his courage to explain his errand. + </p> + <p> + 'I know you've been working too hard,' he concluded, with an air of + authority. 'If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better come.' + </p> + <p> + 'Where?' said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel too + long, and was very tired. + </p> + <p> + 'Anywhere you please. We'll take a train to-morrow and see where it stops. + We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the evening.' + </p> + <p> + 'If there's a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.' Maisie balanced + the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet + learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all. + </p> + <p> + 'You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working + light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll + call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.' + </p> + <p> + 'But surely you are going to ask——' + </p> + <p> + 'No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much + as I hate her. She won't care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray that we + get sunshine.' + </p> + <p> + Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. + </p> + <p> + He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great + gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired into + himself to consider things. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm going out for the day to-morrow with Dick,' said Maisie to the + red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the + Edgware road. + </p> + <p> + 'He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while + you're away. It's very dirty.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to the + little excitement, but not without misgivings. + </p> + <p> + 'There's nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly, she though, but + I'm sure he'll be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell him + anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be sensible, I should like him so + much better.' + </p> + <p> + Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning and + saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the + hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, were + surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired girl + drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether + unused to these demonstrations. 'Mind my hat,' she said, hurrying away, + and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. + </p> + <p> + 'Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more + breakfast? Put the cloak over you knees.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing + like that. People will think we're mad.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let 'em think,—if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know + who we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, + you're looking lovely!' + </p> + <p> + Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a + keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, the + creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a + pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout + committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring. + </p> + <p> + 'It will be lovely weather in the country,' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'But where are we going?' + </p> + <p> + 'Wait and see.' + </p> + <p> + The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the + fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the + waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the + booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put her + into a Pullman,—solely on account of the warmth there; and she + regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved + out into the country. + </p> + <p> + 'I wish I knew where we are going,' she repeated for the twentieth time. + </p> + <p> + The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the + run, and Maisie was delighted. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, Dick, you villain!' + </p> + <p> + 'Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been + here since the old times, have you?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was + ever there.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the + potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when I + shut you up in it?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.' + </p> + <p> + 'She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was + burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a + trusting nature in those days.' + </p> + <p> + They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with + many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's + cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear skin. + He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the evening + would bring him a great reward. + </p> + <p> + When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new eyes. + First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. Jennett. + </p> + <p> + 'Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?' said Dick, with mock + terror. + </p> + <p> + 'I should make a face.' + </p> + <p> + 'Show, then,' said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. + </p> + <p> + Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick + laughed. + </p> + <p> + '"This is disgraceful,"' said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone. + </p> + <p> + '"Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle + for the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three + helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick's always leading you into mischief. If + you aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at least—"' + </p> + <p> + The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used. + </p> + <p> + '"Try to behave like one,"' said Dick, promptly. 'Quite right. Now we'll + get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,—unless you'd rather drive + there?' + </p> + <p> + 'We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all is!' + </p> + <p> + They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and the + influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed a + confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint + pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week. + </p> + <p> + 'Dick, have you any pennies?' said Maisie, half to herself. + </p> + <p> + 'Only three; and if you think you're going to have two of 'em to buy + peppermints with, you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't ladylike.' + </p> + <p> + Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie's cheeks as the + blood boiled through Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went down to + the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land that no + builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter breeze came + in from the sea and sang about their ears. + </p> + <p> + 'Maisie,' said Dick, 'your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the + tip. + </p> + <p> + I'll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.' + </p> + <p> + She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the + ulster allowed, till she was out of breath. + </p> + <p> + 'We used to run miles,' she panted. 'It's absurd that we can't run now.' + </p> + <p> + 'Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished to + pull you hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the top of + your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were meant to + call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and——' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why, it's the same as ever!' said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and + shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a + travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess + and polite conversation. + </p> + <p> + 'It's worse than anything I imagined,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with + one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You can whip a + young pup off feather, but you can't whip a young man.' + </p> + <p> + 'It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl.' + </p> + <p> + 'Where's your proof?' + </p> + <p> + 'He got up and went out at eight this morning,—got up in the middle + of the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he's on service. + </p> + <p> + Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the + fight began at El-Maghrib. It's disgusting.' + </p> + <p> + 'It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might get + up for that, mightn't he?' + </p> + <p> + 'Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in the + wind. It's a girl.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven't. Who gets up in the gray + dawn to call on another man's wife? It's a girl.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in + the world besides himself.' + </p> + <p> + 'She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, and she'll marry him, and + ruin his work for ever. He'll be a respectable married man before we can + stop him, and—he'll ever go on the long trail again.' + </p> + <p> + 'All quite possible, but the earth won't spin the other way when that + happens.... No! ho! I'd give something to see Dick "go wooing with the + boys." Don't worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can only + look on. Get the chessmen.' + </p> + <p> + The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the + ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew + indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was all + one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut + savagely from time to time. + </p> + <p> + The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her + door: 'Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, not to + say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an' disinfectink. + </p> + <p> + Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though it would be + pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you what sort of + soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, + miss——' + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury that + drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost shouting—'Do + you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!—any kind!' + </p> + <p> + The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in + the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as + though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Roses red and roses white + Plucked I for my love's delight. + + She would none of all my posies,— + Bade me gather her blue roses. + + Half the world I wandered through, + Seeking where such flowers grew; + Half the world unto my quest + Answered but with laugh and jest. + + It may be beyond the grave + She shall find what she would have. + + Mine was but an idle quest,— + Roses white and red are best!—Blue Roses +</pre> + <p> + THE SEA had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and the + Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white + beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't see the old breakwater,' said Maisie, under her breath. + </p> + <p> + 'Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe + they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come and + look.' + </p> + <p> + They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook sheltered + from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder cannon. + </p> + <p> + 'Now, if Ammoma were only here!' said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and called + her by her name. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head and looked out to sea. + </p> + <p> + 'Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?' + </p> + <p> + 'No!' between clenched teeth. 'I'd—I'd tell you if it did; but it + doesn't, Oh, Dick, please be sensible.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't you think that it ever will?' + </p> + <p> + 'No, I'm sure it won't.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why?' + </p> + <p> + Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke + hurriedly—'I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it + to you, Dick. It isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I could + care for any one——But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't + understand what the feeling means.' + </p> + <p> + 'Is that true, dear?' + </p> + <p> + 'You've been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you back + is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself quit + enough as it is.' + </p> + <p> + 'What in the world for?' + </p> + <p> + 'Because—because I take everything that you give me and I give you + nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of it + it worries me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if I + choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing to + reproach yourself with, darling.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then don't talk about it.' + </p> + <p> + 'How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always + talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I + despise myself sometimes.' + </p> + <p> + 'Great goodness!' said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. 'Speak the truth + now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I—does this worrying + bore you?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. It does not.' + </p> + <p> + 'You'd tell me if it did?' + </p> + <p> + 'I should let you know, I think.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a man + when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known that?' + </p> + <p> + Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was + forced to repeat it. + </p> + <p> + 'There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in + the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did you listen?' + </p> + <p> + 'At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used + to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud of + the praise, and tell Kami, and—I shall never forget—once Kami + laughed at me.' + </p> + <p> + 'You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?' + </p> + <p> + 'I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless—unless they do bad + work. + </p> + <p> + Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,—of + everything of mine that you've seen.' + </p> + <p> + '"Honest, honest, and honest over!"' quoted Dick from a catchword of long + ago. 'Tell me what Kami always says.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie hesitated. 'He—he says that there is feeling in them.' + </p> + <p> + 'How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for two + years. I know exactly what he says.' + </p> + <p> + 'It isn't a fib.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one + side,—so,—"Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti + pris."' He rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is right.' + </p> + <p> + 'Certainly he is.' Dick admitted that two people in the world could do and + say no wrong. Kami was the man. + </p> + <p> + 'And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you too + much to pretend about your work. It's strong, it's patient sometimes,—not + always,—and sometimes there's power in it, but there's no special + reason why it should be done at all. At least, that's how it strikes me.' + </p> + <p> + 'There's no special reason why anything in the world should ever be done. + You know that as well as I do. I only want success.' + </p> + <p> + 'You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you + so?' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad, to + begin with.' + </p> + <p> + 'I didn't say that, and I don't think it.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's amateurish, then.' + </p> + <p> + 'That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your + boot-heels, and I respect you for that.' + </p> + <p> + 'You don't laugh at me behind my back?' + </p> + <p> + 'No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak + thing round you, or you'll get chilled.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray kangaroo + fur to the outside. + </p> + <p> + 'This is delicious,' she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully along the + fur. + </p> + <p> + 'Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?' + </p> + <p> + 'Just because you try. Don't you understand, darling? Good work has + nothing to do with—doesn't belong to—the person who does it. + It's put into him or her from outside.' + </p> + <p> + 'But how does that affect——' + </p> + <p> + 'Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be + masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of + anything.' + </p> + <p> + 'I understand that.' + </p> + <p> + 'Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down + quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not do + something that isn't bad. A great deal depends on being master of the + bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think about + success and the effect of our work—to play with one eye on the + gallery—we lose power and touch and everything else. At least that's + how I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power you + possess to your work, you're fretting over something which you can neither + help no hinder by a minute. See?' + </p> + <p> + 'It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. Don't + you ever think about the gallery?' + </p> + <p> + 'Much too often; but I'm always punished for it by loss of power. It's as + simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using it for + our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we're the weaker, we + shall suffer.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes for + yourself to one for your work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do exactly + the same thing, and know that I'm doing it. Most of the French schools, + and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their own credit, + and for the sake of their pride. I was told that all the world was + interested in my work, and everybody at Kami's talked turpentine, and I + honestly believed that the world needed elevating and influencing, and all + manner of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I actually believed that! + When my little head was bursting with a notion that I couldn't handle + because I hadn't sufficient knowledge of my craft, I used to run about + wondering at my own magnificence and getting ready to astonish the world.' + </p> + <p> + 'But surely one can do that sometimes?' + </p> + <p> + 'Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it's done it's + such a tiny thing, and the world's so big, and all but a millionth part of + it doesn't care. Maisie, come with me and I'll show you something of the + size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,—that + goes on by itself,—but try to see what you are working for. I know + such little heavens that I could take you to,—islands tucked away + under the Line. + </p> + <p> + You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as black + marble because it's so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains day after day + and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea's so lonely.' + </p> + <p> + 'Who is afraid?—you, or the sun?' + </p> + <p> + 'The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds + overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist + orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk. + </p> + <p> + There's a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of + green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the + rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and you + order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock with + tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the bees + hum and the water fall till you go to sleep.' + </p> + <p> + 'Can one work there?' + </p> + <p> + 'Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a + palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When the scuffle you heave a ripe + custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There are + hundreds of places. Come and see them.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.' + </p> + <p> + 'What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, with + raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on + honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in a + gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and + streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, till you + find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the market-place, + and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and spreads its tail + against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. Then a monkey—a + little black monkey—walks through the main square to get a drink + from a tank forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to the water's + edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should fall in.' + </p> + <p> + 'Is that all true?' + </p> + <p> + 'I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change + till it's just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A little + before sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, with + all his family following, trots through the city gate, churning the foam + on his tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind black stone god and + watch that pig choose himself a palace for the night and stump in wagging + his tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and the sands move, and you hear + the desert outside the city singing, "Now I lay me down to sleep," and + everything is dark till the moon rises. Maisie, darling, come with me and + see what the world is really like. It's very lovely, and it's very + horrible,—but I won't let you see anything horrid,—and it + doesn't care your life or mine for pictures or anything else except doing + its own work and making love. Come, and I'll show you how to brew + sangaree, and sling a hammock, and—oh, thousands of things, and + you'll see for yourself what colour means, and we'll find out together + what love means, and then, maybe, we shall be allowed to do some good + work. Come away!' + </p> + <p> + 'Why?' said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + 'How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as you + can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You have no + business here; you don't belong to this place; you're half a gipsy,—your + face tells that; and I—even the smell of open water makes me + restless. Come across the sea and be happy!' + </p> + <p> + He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking down + at the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, before + they knew, the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long ruled + lines of silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide was turning over + the mud-banks. The wind had dropped, and in the intense stillness they + could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass many yards away. A faint + beating, like that of a muffled drum, came out of the moon-haze. + </p> + <p> + 'What's that?' said Maisie, quickly. 'It sounds like a heart beating. + </p> + <p> + Where is it?' + </p> + <p> + Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could not + trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. Maisie from + her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear. + </p> + <p> + She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her with + over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. She was not + prepared, however, for the change in his face as he listened. + </p> + <p> + 'It's a steamer,' he said,—'a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I + can't make her out, but she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah!' as + the red of a rocket streaked the haze, 'she's standing in to signal before + she clears the Channel.' + </p> + <p> + 'Is it a wreck?' said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. + </p> + <p> + Dick's eyes were turned to the sea. 'Wreck! What nonsense! She's only + reporting herself. Red rocket forward—there's a green light aft now, + and two red rockets from the bridge.' + </p> + <p> + 'What does that mean?' + </p> + <p> + 'It's the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder + which steamer it is.' The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to be + talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight broke + the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer working + down Channel. 'Four masts and three funnels—she's in deep draught, + too. That must be the Barralong, or the Bhutia. No, the Bhutia has a + clopper bow. It's the Barralong, to Australia. She'll lift the Southern + Cross in a week,—lucky old tub!—oh, lucky old tub!' + </p> + <p> + He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better + view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the + screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he + returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. 'Have you ever seen the + Southern Cross blazing right over your head?' he asked. 'It's superb!' + </p> + <p> + 'No,' she said shortly, 'and I don't want to. If you think it's so lovely, + why don't you go and see it yourself?' + </p> + <p> + She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about her + throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray + kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest. + </p> + <p> + 'By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up there.' + The eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. 'I'm sorry,' + he continued. 'The Southern Cross isn't worth looking at unless someone + helps you to see. That steamer's out of hearing.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick,' she said quietly, 'suppose I were to come to you now,—be + quiet a minute,—just as I am, and caring for you just as much as I + do.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not as a brother, though You said you didn't—in the Park.' + </p> + <p> + 'I never had a brother. Suppose I said, "Take me to those places, and in + time, perhaps, I might really care for you," what would you do?' + </p> + <p> + 'Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I wouldn't; + I'd let you walk. But you couldn't do it, dear. And I wouldn't run the + risk. You're worth waiting for till you can come without reservation.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do you honestly believe that?' + </p> + <p> + 'I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that + light?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye—es. I feel so wicked about it.' + </p> + <p> + 'Wickeder than usual?' + </p> + <p> + 'You don't know all I think. It's almost too awful to tell.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth—at least.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's so ungrateful of me, but—but, though I know you care for me, + and I like to have you with me, I'd—I'd even sacrifice you, if that + would bring me what I want.' + </p> + <p> + 'My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn't lead to + good work.' + </p> + <p> + 'You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise myself.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm not exactly flattered,—I had guessed as much before,—but + I'm not angry. I'm sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a + littleness like that behind you, years ago.' + </p> + <p> + 'You've no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked for so + long. It came to you without any trouble, and—and I don't think it's + fair.' + </p> + <p> + 'What can I do? I'd give ten years of my life to get you what you want. + </p> + <p> + But I can't help you; even I can't help.' + </p> + <p> + A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on—'And I know by what you + have just said that you're on the wrong road to success. It isn't got at + by sacrificing other people,—I've had that much knocked into me; you + must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for + yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at the + beginning, when you're reaching out after a notion.' + </p> + <p> + 'How can you believe all that?' + </p> + <p> + 'There's no question of belief or disbelief. That's the law, and you take + it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can't, and then my + work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, four-fifths + of everybody's work must be bad. But the remnant is worth the trouble for + it's own sake.' + </p> + <p> + 'Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad work?' + </p> + <p> + 'It's much too nice. But—— May I tell you something? It isn't + a pretty tale, but you're so like a man that I forget when I'm talking to + you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Tell me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we had + been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; and we + hadn't time to bury them.' + </p> + <p> + 'How ghastly!' + </p> + <p> + 'I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering what + people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught me a good + deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all colours, and—I'd + never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings before. So I began to + understand that men and women were only material to work with, and that + what they said or did was of no consequence. See? Strictly speaking, you + might just as well put your ear down to the palette to catch what your + colours are saying.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick, that's disgraceful!' + </p> + <p> + 'Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must + be either a man or a woman.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm glad you allow that much.' + </p> + <p> + 'In your case I don't. You aren't a woman. But ordinary people, Maisie, + must behave and work as such. That's what makes me so savage.' He hurled a + pebble towards the sea as he spoke. 'I know that it is outside my business + to care what people say; I can see that it spoils my output if I listen to + 'em; and yet, confound it all,'—another pebble flew seaward,—'I + can't help purring when I'm rubbed the right way. Even when I can see on a + man's forehead that he is lying his way through a clump of pretty + speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with my hand.' + </p> + <p> + 'And when he doesn't say pretty things?' + </p> + <p> + 'Then, belovedest,'—Dick grinned,—'I forget that I am the + steward of these gifts, and I want to make that man love and appreciate my + work with a thick stick. It's too humiliating altogether; but I suppose + even if one were an angel and painted humans altogether from outside, one + would lose in touch what one gained in grip.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. + </p> + <p> + 'But you seem to think,' she said, 'that everything nice spoils your + hand.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't think. It's the law,—just the same as it was at Mrs. + Jennett's. + </p> + <p> + Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I'm glad you see so + clearly.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't like the view.' + </p> + <p> + 'Nor I. But—have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to + face it alone?' + </p> + <p> + 'I suppose I must.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to walk + straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than stumbling + apart. Maisie, can't you see reason?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, so + we should never agree.' + </p> + <p> + 'How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a + cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I'd make him chew his own arrow-heads. + </p> + <p> + Well?' + </p> + <p> + 'I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my + work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I'm not fit to speak to.' + </p> + <p> + 'You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. D'you + suppose that I don't know the feeling of worry and bother and + can't-get-at-ness? You're lucky if you only have it four days out of the + seven. What difference would that make?' + </p> + <p> + 'A great deal—if you had it too.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at + you. But there's no use talking about it. If you can think in that way you + can't care for me—yet.' + </p> + <p> + The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples broke + on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. + </p> + <p> + 'Dick,' she said slowly, 'I believe very much that you are better than I + am.' + </p> + <p> + 'This doesn't seem to bear on the argument—but in what way?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and then + you're so patient. Yes, you're better than I am.' + </p> + <p> + Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man's life. There was + nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted the + hem of the cloak to his lips. + </p> + <p> + 'Why,' said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, 'can you see + things that I can't? I don't believe what you believe; but you're right, I + believe.' + </p> + <p> + 'If I've seen anything, God knows I couldn't have seen it but for you, and + I know that I couldn't have said it except to you. You seemed to make + everything clear for a minute; but I don't practice what I preach. You + would help me.... There are only us two in the world for all purposes, and—and + you like to have me with you?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!' + </p> + <p> + 'Darling, I think I can.' + </p> + <p> + 'Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up and + down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?' + </p> + <p> + 'It's some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no + money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it + frightened me—oh, how it frightened me!' + </p> + <p> + 'I know that fear. It's the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in the + night sometimes. You oughtn't to know anything about it.' + </p> + <p> + 'How do you know?' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?' + </p> + <p> + 'It's in Consols.' + </p> + <p> + 'Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better investment,—even + if I should come to you,—don't you listen. Never shift the money for + a minute, and never lend a penny of it,—even to the red-haired + girl.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't scold me so! I'm not likely to be foolish.' + </p> + <p> + 'The earth is full of men who'd sell their souls for three hundred a year; + and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a ten-pound + note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt. + </p> + <p> + Stick to your money, Maisie, for there's nothing more ghastly in the world + than poverty in London. It's scared me. By Jove, it put the fear into me! + And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything.' + </p> + <p> + To each man is appointed his particular dread,—the terror that, if + he does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his + manhood. Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into + the deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory + stood behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. + As the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake + or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut + or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he had + once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of his + companions. + </p> + <p> + Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + 'You've plenty of pennies now,' she said soothingly. + </p> + <p> + 'I shall never have enough,' he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, + laughing, 'I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why threepence?' + </p> + <p> + 'I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to Blackfriar's + Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,—you needn't laugh; indeed it was,—and + I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence; and he hadn't + even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, I shall never + get that odd threepence out of the world.' + </p> + <p> + This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity + of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause, + which, since all men desire it, must be of he right. She hunted for her + little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit. + </p> + <p> + 'There it is,' she said. 'I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any more; + it isn't worth while. Are you paid?' + </p> + <p> + 'I am,' said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. 'I'm + paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my + watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the cloak + is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so chilly.' + </p> + <p> + A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had + forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that + laugh ended all serious discourse. + </p> + <p> + They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to look + at the glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense black + shadows of the furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick that Maisie + could see colour even as he saw it,—could see the blue in the white + of the mist, the violet that is in gray palings, and all things else as + they are,—not of one hue, but a thousand. And the moonlight came + into Maisie's soul, so that she, usually reserved, chattered of herself + and of the things she took interest in,—of Kami, wisest of teachers, + and of the girls in the studio,—of the Poles, who will kill + themselves with overwork if they are not checked; of the French, who talk + at great length of much more than they will ever accomplish; of the + slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot understand that + inclination does not imply power; of the Americans, whose rasping voices + in the hush of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to + breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indigestion; of tempestuous + Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who tell the girls ghost-stories + till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to learn one thing, + and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and copy pictures for + evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was Maisie who spoke. He + knew the old life. + </p> + <p> + 'It hasn't changed much,' he said. 'Do they still steal colours at + lunch-time?' + </p> + <p> + 'Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I'm good—I only + attract ultramarine; but there are students who'd attract flake-white.' + </p> + <p> + 'I've done it myself. You can't help it when the palettes are hung up. + </p> + <p> + Every colour is common property once it runs down,—even though you + do start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their + tubes.' + </p> + <p> + 'I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might + catch your success with them.' + </p> + <p> + 'I mustn't say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, which + you've just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want of + success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with—— + No, I won't open that question again. It's time to go back to town.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sorry, Dick, but——' + </p> + <p> + 'You're much more interested in that than you are in me.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know, I don't think I am.' + </p> + <p> + 'What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you + want,—the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will + you promise to obey me?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course.' + </p> + <p> + 'In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen to be + at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,' said Dick, at a venture, + for he knew with whom he was dealing.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, no,—only once, really.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's bad enough. And you mustn't take a cup of tea and a biscuit in + place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble.' + </p> + <p> + 'You're making fun of me!' + </p> + <p> + 'I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, hasn't it + dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here's the whole earth in a + conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to the + skin, or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and + underfeeding, and I haven't the mere right to look after you. Why, I don't + even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when the + weather's cold.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to—really! How do you + suppose I managed when you were away?' + </p> + <p> + 'I wasn't here, and I didn't know. But now I'm back I'd give everything I + have for the right of telling you to come in out of the rain.' + </p> + <p> + 'Your success too?' + </p> + <p> + This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. + </p> + <p> + 'As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you're a trial, Maisie! You've been cooped + up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking at you. + </p> + <p> + There aren't twelve hundred people in the world who understand pictures. + The others pretend and don't care. Remember, I've seen twelve hundred men + dead in toadstool-beds. It's only the voice of the tiniest little fraction + of people that makes success. The real world doesn't care a tinker's—doesn't + care a bit. For aught you or I know, every man in the world may be arguing + with a Maisie of his own.' + </p> + <p> + 'Poor Maisie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he's fighting for what's dearer + than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did, and if + all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and shouted hymns + to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the knowledge that + you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day without an + umbrella? Now we'll go to the station.' + </p> + <p> + 'But you said on the beach——' persisted Maisie, with a certain + fear. + </p> + <p> + Dick groaned aloud: 'Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I + have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law that + governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,—though you've + nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't everything to + all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to + London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent + harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,—such + a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,—would stable it, with a + companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her + health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week. + </p> + <p> + 'That's absurd,' said she. 'It wouldn't be proper.' + </p> + <p> + 'Now, who in all London to-night would have sufficient interest or + audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?' + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was + right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it. + </p> + <p> + 'You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not + going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way to-night. + I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You won't + think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember, you've + been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work for a + little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be tiny.' + </p> + <p> + This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put + Maisie into her hansom. + </p> + <p> + 'Good-bye,' she said simply. 'You'll come on Sunday. It has been a + beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always?' + </p> + <p> + 'Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you can't + stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good-night, and, for + my—for my sake, take care of yourself.' + </p> + <p> + He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing that + he hoped for, but—surely this was worth many days—it had + brought him nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and + the prize well worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the + river. + </p> + <p> + 'And she understood at once,' he said, looking at the water. 'She found + out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, how she + understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she was!' + He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. 'I wonder if girls guess at + one-half a man's life. They can't, or—they wouldn't marry us.' He + took her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the light of a + miracle and a pledge of the comprehension that, one day, would lead to + perfect happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, with none to save + her from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of danger. + </p> + <p> + Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the heathen + as he threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil were to befal, + let him bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, since the threepenny + piece was dearest to him of all his possessions. It was a small coin in + itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames held it, and surely the + Fates would be bribed for this once. + </p> + <p> + The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie for + the moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to his + chambers with a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after his + first experience of an entire day spent in the society of a woman. There + was a stronger desire at his heart when there rose before him an + unsolicited vision of the Barralong dipping deep and sailing free for the + Southern Cross. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And these two, as I have told you, + Were the friends of Hiawatha, + Chibiabos, the musician, + And the very strong man, Kwasind. + + —Hiawatha. +</pre> + <p> + TORPENHOW was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the + Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was reading + through the first part, commenting scornfully the while. + </p> + <p> + 'It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy,' said he; 'but as a serious + consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much.' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'It's off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, +thirty-nine slips altogether, aren't there? That should make between +eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!' Torpenhow +shuffled the writing together and hummed— + + Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, + If I'd as much money as I could tell, + I never would cry, Young lambs to sell! +</pre> + <p> + Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of + tempers with all the world. + </p> + <p> + 'Back at last?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'More or less. What have you been doing?' + </p> + <p> + 'Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you. + Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a line. It's + scandalous.' + </p> + <p> + 'The notions come and go, my children—they come and go like our + 'baccy,' he answered, filling his pipe. 'Moreover,' he stooped to thrust a + spill into the grate, 'Apollo does not always stretch his—— + Oh, confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!' + </p> + <p> + 'This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,' said + the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to their + nail on the wall. 'We believe in cobblers' wax. La!—where you sit + down.' + </p> + <p> + 'If you weren't so big and fat,' said Dick, looking round for a weapon, + 'I'd——' + </p> + <p> + 'No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time + you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How d'you + do? to Binkie. Look at him.' + </p> + <p> + Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's knee, + and scratching at his boots. + </p> + <p> + 'Dear man!' said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the black + patch above his right eye. 'Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai turn + you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.' He pitched him on the Nilghai's + stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to destroy the + Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, and panting he + stuck out his tongue at the company. + </p> + <p> + 'The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp. + </p> + <p> + I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters were + being taken down—just as if he hadn't enough to eat in his own + proper house,' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Binks, is that a true bill?' said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog + retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of him + that he really had no further interest in the discussion. + </p> + <p> + 'Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,' said the + Nilghai. 'What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be buying a + horse.' + </p> + <p> + 'He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. No, + I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and watch + the pretty ships go by.' + </p> + <p> + 'Where did you go?' + </p> + <p> + 'Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place was + its name; I've forgotten; but it was only two hours' run from London and + the ships went by.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did you see anything you knew?' + </p> + <p> + 'Only the Barralong outwards to Australia, and an Odessa grain-boat loaded + down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt good.' + </p> + <p> + 'Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see the Barralong?' said + Torpenhow, pointing. + </p> + <p> + 'Because I've nothing except these things and my painting duds. Besides, I + wanted to do honour to the sea.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did She make you feel restless?' asked the Nilghai, keenly. + </p> + <p> + 'Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I went.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied + himself among the former's boots and trees. + </p> + <p> + 'These will do,' he said at last; 'I can't say I think much of your taste + in slippers, but the fit's the thing.' He slipped his feet into a pair of + sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and lay at + length. + </p> + <p> + 'They're my own pet pair,' Torpenhow said. 'I was just going to put them + on myself.' + </p> + <p> + 'All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a + minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good for you that Dick can't wear your clothes, Torp. You two live + communistically,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Dick never has anything that I can wear. He's only useful to sponge + upon.' + </p> + <p> + 'Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?' said + Dick. 'I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you expect a + man to keep his accounts properly if you——' + </p> + <p> + Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. + </p> + <p> + 'Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a + fiver about a month back. Do you remember?' Torpenhow said. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, of course.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at the + bottom of the tobacco?' + </p> + <p> + 'By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.' + </p> + <p> + 'You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some 'baccy + and found it.' + </p> + <p> + 'What did you do with it?' + </p> + <p> + 'Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.' + </p> + <p> + 'You couldn't feed the Nilghai under twice the money—not though you + gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner or + later. What is there to laugh at?' + </p> + <p> + 'You're a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,' said the Nilghai, still + chuckling over the thought of the dinner. 'Never mind. We had both been + working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we spent, and as + you're only a loafer it didn't matter.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's pleasant—from the man who is bursting with my meat, too. + I'll get that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre + now.' + </p> + <p> + 'Put our boots on,—and dress,—and wash?' The Nilghai spoke + very lazily. + </p> + <p> + 'I withdraw the motion.' + </p> + <p> + 'Suppose, just for a change—as a startling variety, you know—we, + that is to say we, get our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our + work.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the soft + leather moccasins. + </p> + <p> + 'What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on + hand, I haven't any model; if I had my model, I haven't any spray, and I + never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and twenty + photographs of backgrounds, I couldn't do anything to-night. I don't feel + that way.' + </p> + <p> + 'Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he?' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Very good, I will do some work,' said Dick, rising swiftly. 'I'll fetch + the Nungapunga Book, and we'll add another picture to the Nilghai Saga.' + </p> + <p> + 'Aren't you worrying him a little too much?' asked the Nilghai, when Dick + had left the room. + </p> + <p> + 'Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me savage + to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to do. You and + I are arranged for——' + </p> + <p> + 'By Kismet and our own powers, more's the pity. I have dreamed of a good + deal.' + </p> + <p> + 'So have I, but we know our limitations now. I'm dashed if I know what + Dick's may be when he gives himself to his work. That's what makes me so + keen about him.' + </p> + <p> + 'And when all's said and done, you will be put aside—quite rightly—for + a female girl.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wonder... Where do you think he has been to-day?' + </p> + <p> + 'To the sea. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he talked about her? + He's as restless as a swallow in autumn.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; but did he go alone?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know, and I don't care, but he has the beginnings of the go-fever + upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There's no mistaking the + signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call upon him now.' + </p> + <p> + 'It might be his salvation,' Torpenhow said. + </p> + <p> + 'Perhaps—if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.' + </p> + <p> + Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew well + and did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of moving + incidents, experienced by himself or related to him by the others, of all + the four corners of the earth. But the wider range of the Nilghai's body + and life attracted him most. When truth failed he fell back on fiction of + the wildest, and represented incidents in the Nilghai's career that were + unseemly,—his marriages with many African princesses, his shameless + betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to the Mahdi, his tattooment by + skilled operators in Burmah, his interview (and his fears) with the yellow + headsman in the blood-stained execution-ground of Canton, and finally, the + passings of his spirit into the bodies of whales, elephants, and toucans. + Torpenhow from time to time had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole + was a curious piece of art, because Dick decided, having regard to the + name of the book which being interpreted means 'naked,' that it would be + wrong to draw the Nilghai with any clothes on, under any circumstances. + Consequently the last sketch, representing that much-enduring man calling + on the War Office to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, was hardly + delicate. He settled himself comfortably on Torpenhow's table and turned + over the pages. + </p> + <p> + 'What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!' he said. 'There's + a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that's more than + life-like. "The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the Mahdieh"—that + was founded on fact, eh?' + </p> + <p> + 'It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come + into the Saga yet?' + </p> + <p> + 'No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything except eat and kill cats. Let's + see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced decorative + lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being handed down + to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in rare and + curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this time? The + domestic life of the Nilghai?' + </p> + <p> + 'Hasn't got any.' + </p> + <p> + 'The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of his + wives in Trafalgar Square. That's it. They came from the ends of the earth + to attend Nilghai's wedding to an English bride. This shall be an epic. + It's a sweet material to work with.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's a scandalous waste of time,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't worry; it keeps one's hand in—specially when you begin + without the pencil.' He set to work rapidly. 'That's Nelson's Column. + Presently the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.' + </p> + <p> + 'Give him some clothes this time.' + </p> + <p> + 'Certainly—a veil and an orange-wreath, because he's been married.' + </p> + <p> + 'Gad, that's clever enough!' said Torpenhow over his shoulder, as Dick + brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat back + and labouring shoulder pressed against stone. + </p> + <p> + 'Just imagine,' Dick continued, 'if we could publish a few of these dear + little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can write, to + give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.' + </p> + <p> + 'Well, you'll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of that + kind. I know I can't hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I give the + job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance——' + </p> + <p> + 'No-o—one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the dark + of the wall-paper—you only burble and call me names. That left + shoulder's out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that. + Where's my pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?' + </p> + <p> + 'I only gave him his riding-orders to—to lambast you on general + principles for not producing work that will last.' + </p> + <p> + 'Whereupon that young fool,'—Dick threw back his head and shut one + eye as he shifted the page under his hand,—'being left alone with an + ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and spilt them + both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for the + business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?' + </p> + <p> + 'How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand away + from the body as it does?' said Torpenhow, to whom Dick's methods were + always new. + </p> + <p> + 'It just depends on where you put 'em. If Maclagan had know that much + about his business he might have done better.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why don't you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, then?' + insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in hiring + for Dick's benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most of his + waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of Art, + which, he wrote, was one and indivisible. + </p> + <p> + 'Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of wives. + You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough 'em in with the + pencil—Medes, Parthians, Edomites.... Now, setting aside the + weakness and the wickedness and—and the fat-headedness of + deliberately trying to do work that will live, as they call it, I'm + content with the knowledge that I've done my best up to date, and I shan't + do anything like it again for some hours at least—probably years. + Most probably never.' + </p> + <p> + 'What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Anything you've sold?' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better than that, it can't be + sold, and I don't think any one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't.... + And yet more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe the + virtuous horror of the lions!' + </p> + <p> + 'You may as well explain,' said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from + the paper. + </p> + <p> + 'The sea reminded me of it,' he said slowly. 'I wish it hadn't. It weighs + some few thousand tons—unless you cut it out with a cold chisel.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a fact. I was loafing from + Lima to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into a + cargo-boat and owned by a second-had Italian firm. She was a crazy basket. + We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought ourselves + lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then we used to stop + and let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the crack in the shaft + was spreading.' + </p> + <p> + 'Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?' + </p> + <p> + 'I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I should + have been a steward, I think,' said Dick, with perfect gravity, returning + to the procession of angry wives. 'I was the only other passenger from + Lima, and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and cockroaches and + scorpions.' + </p> + <p> + 'But what has this to do with the picture?' + </p> + <p> + 'Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower + decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, and + she was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port holes—most + annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I hadn't anything to + do for weeks. The ship's charts were in pieces and our skipper daren't run + south for fear of catching a storm. So he did his best to knock all the + Society Islands out of the water one by one, and I went into the lower + deck, and did my picture on the port side as far forward in her as I could + go. There was some brown paint and some green paint that they used for the + boats, and some black paint for ironwork, and that was all I had.' + </p> + <p> + 'The passengers must have thought you mad.' + </p> + <p> + 'There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of my + picture.' + </p> + <p> + 'What was she like?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She + couldn't read or write, and she didn't want to, but she used to come down + and watch me paint, and the skipper didn't like it, because he was paying + her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.' + </p> + <p> + 'I see. That must have been cheerful.' + </p> + <p> + 'It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn't know whether we + should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and when it + was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints and talk + broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few minutes to + the lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. So, you see, we + could never tell when we might be caught, and I had a splendid notion to + work out in only three keys of colour.' + </p> + <p> + 'What was the notion?' + </p> + <p> + 'Two lines in Poe— + </p> + <p> + Neither the angles in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea, Can + ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee. + </p> + <p> + It came out of the sea—all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out + in green water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the + model for the devils and the angels both—sea-devils and sea-angels, + and the soul half drowned between them. It doesn't sound much, but when + there was a good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and creepy. + It was seven by fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting + light.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did the woman inspire you much?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'She and the sea between them—immensely. There was a heap of bad + drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten + for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for all + that it's the best thing I've ever done; and now I suppose the ship's + broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!' + </p> + <p> + 'What happened after all?' + </p> + <p> + 'It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, but + even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of the + demons scared them, I honestly believe.' + </p> + <p> + 'And the woman?' + </p> + <p> + 'She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself before + she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of getting + any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, and the + fear of death atop of everything else, O Lord!' He had ceased to look at + the sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across the room. + </p> + <p> + 'Why don't you try something of the same kind now?' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a + cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, I + may.' + </p> + <p> + 'You won't find them here,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'No, I shall not.' Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. 'This room's as + hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.' + </p> + <p> + He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London below + him. The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, commanding a + hundred chimneys—crooked cowls that looked like sitting cats as they + swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries supported by iron + stanchions and clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the lights of Piccadilly + Circus and Leicester Square threw a copper-coloured glare above the black + roofs, and southward by all the orderly lights of the Thames. A train + rolled out across one of the railway bridges, and its thunder drowned for + a minute the dull roar of the streets. The Nilghai looked at his watch and + said shortly, 'That's the Paris night-mail. You can book from here to St. + Petersburg if you choose.' + </p> + <p> + Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across the + river. Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over quietly + to the piano and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as possible, + spread out upon the sofa with the air of one who is not to be lightly + disturbed. + </p> + <p> + 'Well,' said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, 'have you never + seen this place before?' + </p> + <p> + A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then the + boom of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Good place to bank in—bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn't it?' + </p> + <p> + Dick's chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general not + without fame, still looking out on the darkness—'"My God, what a + city to loot!"' + </p> + <p> + Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed plaintively. + </p> + <p> + 'We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,' said Torpenhow. 'Come in,' and they + withdrew their heads. 'You'll be buried in Kensal Green, Dick, one of + these days, if it isn't closed by the time you want to go there—buried + within two feet of some one else, his wife and his family.' + </p> + <p> + 'Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room to + stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.' Dick flung himself down on the sofa and + tweaked Binkie's velvet ears, yawning heavily the while. + </p> + <p> + 'You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,' Torpenhow said to + the Nilghai. 'It's never touched except by you.' + </p> + <p> + 'A piece of gross extravagance,' Dick grunted. 'The Nilghai only comes + when I'm out.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.' + </p> + <p> + 'The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, His writings are watered + Dickens and water; But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high Makes even + the Mahdieh glad to die!' + </p> + <p> + Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. + </p> + <p> + 'How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?' + </p> + <p> + The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many + Press-tents in far-off lands had known. + </p> + <p> + 'What shall I sing?' said he, turning in the chair. + </p> + <p> + '"Moll Roe in the Morning,"' said Torpenhow, at a venture. + </p> + <p> + 'No,' said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old chanty + whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not a pretty + one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. Without + prelude he launched into that stately tune that calls together and + troubles the hearts of the gipsies of the sea— + </p> + <p> + 'Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, + ladies of Spain.' + </p> + <p> + Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the + Barralong crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross. + </p> + <p> + Then came the chorus— + </p> + <p> + 'We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, We'll rant and we'll + roar across the salt seas, Until we take soundings in the Channel of Old + England From Ushant to Scilly 'tis forty-five leagues.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thirty-five-thirty-five,' said Dick, petulantly. 'Don't tamper with Holy + Writ. Go on, Nilghai.' + </p> + <p> + 'The first land we made it was called the Deadman,' and they sang to the + end very vigourously. + </p> + <p> + 'That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way—to + the Ushant light, for instance,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,' said Torpenhow. 'Give us + something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight.' + </p> + <p> + 'Give us the "Ganges Pilot"; you sang that in the square the night before + El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are alive + to-night,' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow considered for a minute. 'By Jove! I believe only you and I. + </p> + <p> + Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes—all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in + Cairo, carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the + Nilghai.' + </p> + <p> + 'Umph! And yet the men here who've done their work in a well-warmed studio + all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I charge too + much for my pictures.' + </p> + <p> + 'They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,' said + the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'I gambled with one to get at the other. Don't preach. Go on with the + "Pilot." Where in the world did you get that song?' + </p> + <p> + 'On a tombstone,' said the Nilghai. 'On a tombstone in a distant land. I + made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, Vanity! Begin.' And the Nilghai began— + </p> + <p> + 'I have slipped my cable, messmates, I'm drifting down with the tide, I + have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride. + </p> + <p> + And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea With clearer + conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free. + </p> + <p> + 'Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge Strike + with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge. + </p> + <p> + Cries Charnock, "Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two, The tall + pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!" + </p> + <p> + 'Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? Katie has + soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?—Why, hark!' + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open +sea about his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go. + + 'The morning gun— + Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me! + I ha' sounded the Dutch High Admiral's heart + As my lead doth sound the sea. +</pre> + <p> + 'Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, Moore me + close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. + </p> + <p> + My blessing to Kate at Fairlight—Holwell, my thanks to you; Steady! + We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.' + </p> + <p> + 'Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?' said Dick, + hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. + </p> + <p> + 'It depends on the man,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'The man who has been down to look at the sea,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'I didn't know she was going to upset me in this fashion.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. It's more + easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one's life and + surroundings.' + </p> + <p> + 'But a woman can be——' began Dick, unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + 'A piece of one's life,' continued Torpenhow. 'No, she can't. His face + darkened for a moment. 'She says she wants to sympathise with you and help + you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must do for + himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the dickens you + haven't been wasting your time with her.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't generalise,' said the Nilghai. 'By the time you arrive at five + notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved + accordingly. + </p> + <p> + Shouldn't begin these things, my son.' + </p> + <p> + 'I shouldn't have gone down to the sea,' said Dick, just a little anxious + to change the conversation. 'And you shouldn't have sung.' + </p> + <p> + 'The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'No, but I'm fatally compromised. She's an enduring old hag, and I'm sorry + I ever met her. Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a three-pair back?' + </p> + <p> + 'Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you + listen to her?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout that + shook the windows, in 'The Men of the Sea,' that begins, as all know, 'The + sea is a wicked old woman,' and after rading through eight lines whose + imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking of a capstan + when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the men sweat and + tramp in the shingle. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '"Ye that bore us, O restore us! + She is kinder than ye; + For the call is on our heart-strings!" + Said The Men of the Sea.' +</pre> + <p> + The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that + Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to + their wives. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '"Ye that love us, can ye move us? + She is dearer than ye; + And your sleep will be the sweeter," + Said The Men of the Sea.' +</pre> + <p> + The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the + rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making + love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether + the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his + shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors' + diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything in + the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life again,—to + scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his fellows; to take + ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget pictures; to talk to + Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow 'Tina mixed the drinks; to + hear the crackle of musketry, and see the smoke roll outward, thin and + thicken again till the shining black faces came through, and in that hell + every man was strictly responsible for his own head, and his own alone, + and struck with an unfettered arm. It was impossible, utterly impossible, + but— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '"Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, + She is older than ye, + And our graves will be the greener," + Said The Men of the Sea.' +</pre> + <p> + 'What is there to hinder?' said Torpenhow, in the long hush that followed + the song. + </p> + <p> + 'You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round the + world, Torp.' + </p> + <p> + 'That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for + travelling expenses. You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go + away and do some work, and see some things.' + </p> + <p> + 'Get some of the fat off you; you're disgracefully out of condition,' said + the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful of Dick + generally over the right ribs. 'Soft as putty—pure tallow born of + over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.' + </p> + <p> + 'We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field + you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. + </p> + <p> + There's always trouble in South America.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only + difficulty is to know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, as I told + you before.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the + others,' said Torpenhow. 'Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay + forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.' + </p> + <p> + 'You've the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself + shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third + engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn't very warm + in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at + all, which I'm not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small + trip to begin with.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's something at any rate. Where will you go?' said Torpenhow. 'It + would do you all the good in the world, old man.' + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech. + </p> + <p> + 'I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, where I shall hire one + horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I shall + walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a lather + and make Rathray angry. I shall do that to-morrow, for the sake of air and + exercise.' + </p> + <p> + 'Bah!' Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the cushion + that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. + </p> + <p> + 'Air and exercise indeed,' said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Let's give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.' + </p> + <p> + At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would not + open his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was some + trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; and even + when it was there he weakly tried to puff against the force of the blast, + and his cheeks blew up with a great explosion; and the enemy becoming + helpless with laughter he so beat them over the head with a soft sofa + cushion that that became unsewn and distributed its feathers, and Binkie, + interfering in Torpenhow's interests, was bundled into the half-empty bag + and advised to scratch his way out, which he did after a while, travelling + rapidly up and down the floor in the shape of an agitated green haggis, + and when he came out looking for satisfaction, the three pillars of his + world were picking feathers out of their hair. + </p> + <p> + 'A prophet has no honour in his own country,' said Dick, ruefully, dusting + his knees. 'This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.' + </p> + <p> + 'It was all for your own good,' said the Nilghai. 'Nothing like air and + exercise.' + </p> + <p> + 'All for your good,' said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to + past clowning. 'It would let you focus things at their proper worth and + prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it would, + old man. I shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. Only, you make a + joke of everything.' + </p> + <p> + 'Before God I do no such thing,' said Dick, quickly and earnestly. 'You + don't know me if you think that.' + </p> + <p> + I don't think it,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really mean, + dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save ourselves + from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can't I see, old man, + how you're always anxious about me, and try to advise me to make my work + better? Do you suppose I don't think about that myself? But you can't help + me—you can't help me—not even you. I must play my own hand + alone in my own way.' + </p> + <p> + 'Hear, hear,' from the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I've never drawn in the + Nungapunga Book?' Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little astonished + at the outburst. + </p> + <p> + Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that + Dick had not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai's life; when + that man, being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged to + the paper that employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery grass in + the rear of Bredow's brigade on the day that the troopers flung themselves + at Caurobert's artillery, and for aught they knew twenty battalions in + front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, to give time to decide + the fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant came back to + Flavigay that cavalry can attack and crumple and break unshaken infantry. + Whenever he was inclined to think over a life that might have been better, + an income that might have been larger, and a soul that might have been + considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would comfort himself with the thought, + 'I rode with Bredow's brigade at Vionville,' and take heart for any lesser + battle the next day might bring. + </p> + <p> + 'I know,' he said very gravely. 'I was always glad that you left it out.' + </p> + <p> + 'I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned + then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don't know German. + </p> + <p> + What is it? "Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of + itself." I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.' + </p> + <p> + 'Tempe ist richtung. You've learned your lesson well,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be—hideously wrong. I must find that + out for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren't + turn my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more than + you know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own + work and live my own life in my own way, because I'm responsible for both. + </p> + <p> + Only don't think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and + sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks.' + </p> + <p> + There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, 'What did + the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?' + </p> + <p> + 'Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the makings + of a very fine prig in you, Dick,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'I've liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his + mouth.' Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. + </p> + <p> + 'You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, without + any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. Sic volo, + sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my eye because I + talk Latin. Good-night.' + </p> + <p> + He went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + 'That's distinctly one for you,' said the Nilghai. 'I told you it was + hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased.' + </p> + <p> + 'He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the go-fever + upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go some day + when he doesn't want to,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself—and the + question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a + burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown into + the Thames. + </p> + <p> + 'It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to think about it,' he decided. + </p> + <p> + 'After all, the honeymoon will be that tour—with reservations; + only... only I didn't realise that the sea was so strong. I didn't feel it + so much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He's + beginning again.' + </p> + <p> + But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, and + before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether + clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace. + </p> + <p> + The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide by + Fort Keeling. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'If I have taken the common clay + And wrought it cunningly + In the shape of a god that was digged a clod, + The greater honour to me.' + + 'If thou hast taken the common clay, + And thy hands be not free + From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil + The greater shame to thee.'—The Two Potters. +</pre> + <p> + HE DID no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another + Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the red-haired + girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than desire in his mind. + </p> + <p> + He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about + line-work. She had gone off at score filed with some absurd notion for a + 'fancy head.' It cost Dick something to command his temper. + </p> + <p> + 'What's the good of suggesting anything?' he said pointedly. + </p> + <p> + 'Ah, but this will be a picture,—a real picture; and I know that + Kami will let me send it to the Salon. You don't mind, do you?' + </p> + <p> + 'I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + 'We're going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get the + idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami's. + </p> + <p> + Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with + his queen who could do no wrong. 'Just when I thought I had made some + headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It's too maddening!' + </p> + <p> + There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the + studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'and I think you make a mistake. But what's the idea + of your new picture?' + </p> + <p> + 'I took it from a book.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures. And——' + </p> + <p> + 'It's this,' said the red-haired girl behind him. 'I was reading it to + Maisie the other day from The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the + book?' + </p> + <p> + 'A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken + her fancy?' + </p> + <p> + 'The description of the Melancolia— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, + But all too impotent to lift the regal + Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. +</pre> + <p> + And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams, + The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown, + Voluminous indented, and yet rigid + As though a shell of burnished metal frigid, + Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.' +</pre> + <p> + There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick winced. + </p> + <p> + 'But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of + Durer,' said he. 'How does the poem run?— + </p> + <p> + 'Three centuries and threescore years ago, With phantasies of his peculiar + thought. + </p> + <p> + You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time. + </p> + <p> + 'No, it won't,' said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to + reassure herself. 'And I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful + thing it would make?' + </p> + <p> + 'How in perdition can one do work when one hasn't had the proper training? + Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the thing through,—training + and conviction; not rushing after the first fancy.' Dick spoke between his + teeth. + </p> + <p> + 'You don't understand,' said Maisie. 'I think I can do it.' + </p> + <p> + Again the voice of the girl behind him— + </p> + <p> + 'Baffled and beaten back, she works on still; Weary and sick of soul, she + works the more. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sustained by her indomitable will, + The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore, + And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour—— +</pre> + <p> + I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.' + </p> + <p> + 'Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan't, dear. The notion + in itself has fascinated me.—Of course you don't care for fancy + heads, Dick. + </p> + <p> + I don't think you could do them. You like blood and bones.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn't merely a + sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. What d'you + know about Melacolias?' Dick firmly believed that he was even then tasting + three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. + </p> + <p> + 'She was a woman,' said Maisie, 'and she suffered a great deal,—till + she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I + painted her and sent her to the Salon.' + </p> + <p> + The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind about the picture,' he said. 'Are you really going back to + Kami's for a month before your time?' + </p> + <p> + 'I must, if I want to get the picture done.' + </p> + <p> + 'And that's all you want?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.' + </p> + <p> + 'You haven't the power. You have only the ideas—the ideas and the + little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten years + steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,—a month before + you need?' + </p> + <p> + 'I must do my work.' + </p> + <p> + 'Your work—bah!... No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear. Of + course you must do your work, and—I think I'll say good-bye for this + week.' + </p> + <p> + 'Won't you even stay for tea? 'No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, + dear? There's nothing more you particularly want me to do, and the + line-work doesn't matter.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only + one single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I + know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't + have been so rude about it.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other Sundays. + </p> + <p> + There are four more—yes, one, two, three, four—before you go. + Good-bye, Maisie.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl + returned, a little white at the corners of her lips. + </p> + <p> + 'Dick's gone off,' said Maisie. 'Just when I wanted to talk about the + picture. Isn't it selfish of him?' + </p> + <p> + Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went on + reading The City of Dreadful Night. + </p> + <p> + Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen as + his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and when he + found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his rage, he + sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for the use of + the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his patient service; + nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before he arrived at the + proposition that the queen could do no wrong. + </p> + <p> + 'It's a losing game,' he said. 'I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers is + in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double the + stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the + insight, or the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse of + Reuben. She won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet she's + stronger than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her on her + own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only do blood + and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the same I + lover her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her inordinate + vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something like a + Melancolia—"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." I'll do it at + once, con—bless her.' + </p> + <p> + He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could + not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. He + took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when she + showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time was at + hand when all the church bells in London could not ring Maisie back to + him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about 'hermaphroditic + futilities,' but the little dog received so many confidences both from + Torpenhow and Dick that he did not trouble his tulip-ears to listen. + </p> + <p> + Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover + night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, and + Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy stripping the + small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, that she had not + time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted a day there fretting + over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the very last allow him one + small kiss? He reflected that he might capture her by the strong arm, as + he had seem women captured in the Southern Soudan, and lead her away; but + Maisie would never be led. She would turn her gray eyes upon him and say, + 'Dick, how selfish you are!' Then his courage would fail him. It would be + better, after all, to beg for that kiss. + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the + night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray + cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green + eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and + went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags were + thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching them. + </p> + <p> + 'You'll have a rough passage to-night,' said Dick. 'It's blowing outside. + I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?' + </p> + <p> + 'You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for you. + But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of things to + consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!—so good to + me!' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?' + </p> + <p> + 'I can't tell a fib. It hasn't—in that way. But don't think I'm not + grateful.' + </p> + <p> + 'Damn the gratitude!' said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. + </p> + <p> + 'What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd + ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were so + angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. + </p> + <p> + Can't you wait till that day comes?' + </p> + <p> + 'No, love. I want you unbroken—all to myself.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie shook her head. 'My poor Dick, what can I say!' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear I + won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're + grateful.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it was + a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood abashed + and tingling from head to toe. + </p> + <p> + 'Good-bye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only—keep + well and do good work,—specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do + one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country + drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to me if + you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the whatever-you-call-um + girl, and—can't I have another kiss? No. You're quite right. + Good-bye.' + </p> + <p> + A should told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag + incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he + followed her with his heart. + </p> + <p> + 'And there's nothing—nothing in the wide world—to keep us + apart except her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. + I'll get Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch + already.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping cough + at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold flame. + </p> + <p> + 'He kissed you!' she said. 'How could you let him, when he wasn't anything + to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, let's go to the + ladies' cabin. I'm sick,—deadly sick.' + </p> + <p> + 'We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. I don't + like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved one,—only + one. + </p> + <p> + But I didn't think he'd frighten me so.' + </p> + <p> + Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had + telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio. + </p> + <p> + He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow + entered, looking guilty. + </p> + <p> + 'H'sh!' said he. 'Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms, + and I'll show you why.' + </p> + <p> + Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a girl + asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the + blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with mud + at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and ripped at + the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, above all, the + disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared all things. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up here. + </p> + <p> + They steal things from the rooms.' + </p> + <p> + 'It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she staggered + into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. I + couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her your + lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast asleep the minute + she had finished.' + </p> + <p> + 'I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, I + suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for + presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at the + face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,—slack, + fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how the + skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and + cheek-bone?' + </p> + <p> + 'What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's down. + Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. + </p> + <p> + She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a + wild beast. It was horrible.' + </p> + <p> + 'I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she + going to sleep for ever?' + </p> + <p> + The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and + effrontery. + </p> + <p> + 'Feeling better?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you are. + Thank you.' + </p> + <p> + 'When did you leave service?' said Dick, who had been watching the scarred + and chapped hands. + </p> + <p> + 'How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't like + it.' + </p> + <p> + 'And how do you like being your own mistress?' + </p> + <p> + 'Do I look as if I liked it?' + </p> + <p> + 'I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face to + the window?' + </p> + <p> + The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,—so keenly that + she made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'The eyes have it,' said Dick, walking up and down. 'They are superb eyes + for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. This has + been sent from heaven to make up for—what was taken away. Now the + weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. + </p> + <p> + Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.' + </p> + <p> + 'Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,' said + Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit + cruel to-day because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like that! + He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that, + neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like + that!' + </p> + <p> + The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept like + a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and + Torpenhow flung the door back. + </p> + <p> + 'There you are,' said Dick, soothingly. 'My friend here can call for a + policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt + you.' + </p> + <p> + The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh. + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm what + they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?' + </p> + <p> + 'They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.' + </p> + <p> + 'I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by the + Academicians. I want to draw your head.' + </p> + <p> + 'What for?' + </p> + <p> + 'Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the + landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you + three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a + quid on account.' + </p> + <p> + 'For nothing? Oh, my!' The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and with + more foolish tears, 'Ain't neither o' you two gentlemen afraid of my + bilking you?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the + way, what's your name?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm Bessic,—Bessie—— It's no use giving the rest. + Bessie Broke,—Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But + there,—no one ever gives the real ones.' + </p> + <p> + Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + 'My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be sure + to come here. Where do you live?' + </p> + <p> + 'South-the-water,—one room,—five and sixpence a week. Aren't + you making fun of me about that three quid?' + </p> + <p> + 'You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you + needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the colours + you'll be likely to need.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief. + The two men looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + 'You're a man,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the earth + reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on this + landing.' + </p> + <p> + 'Perhaps she won't come back.' + </p> + <p> + 'She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she will, + worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my model; and + be careful.' + </p> + <p> + 'The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,—a gutter-snippet and + nothing more.' + </p> + <p> + 'So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear. + That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a week + or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be too + happy and smiling for my purposes.' + </p> + <p> + 'But surely you're not taking her out of charity?—to please me?' + </p> + <p> + 'I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She + has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me with + my Melancolia.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never heard a word about the lady before.' + </p> + <p> + 'What's the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at him + in words? You ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've heard me grunt + lately?' + </p> + <p> + 'Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad 'baccy to + wicked dealers. And I don't think I've been much in your confidence for + some time.' + </p> + <p> + 'It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that it + meant the Melancolia.' Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, keeping + silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, 'Now don't you see it? Bessie's + abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one or two + details in the way of sorrow that have come under my experience lately. + Likewise some orange and black,—two keys of each. But I can't + explain on an empty stomach.' + </p> + <p> + 'It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick, instead + of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.' + </p> + <p> + 'Think so?' Dick began to dance on his heels, singing— + </p> + <p> + 'They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, You ought to + 'ear the way they laugh an' joke; They are tricky an' they're funny when + they've got the ready money,—Ow! but see 'em when they're all + stone-broke.' + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter of + counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get to + work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear. + </p> + <p> + The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and overbold + by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit still, she + grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio with freedom + and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and the release from + fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies of her head in + monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia would not arrive. + </p> + <p> + 'What a mess you keep your things in!' said Bessie, some days later, when + she felt herself thoroughly at home. 'I s'pose your clothes are just as + bad. + </p> + <p> + Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.' + </p> + <p> + 'I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know + what Torpenhow does.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's room, and unearthed a bale of + disreputable socks. 'Some of these I'll mend now,' she said, 'and some + I'll take home. D'you know, I sit all day long at home doing nothing, just + like a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in the house than if + they was so many flies. I don't have any unnecessary words, but I put 'em + down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me. No; it's quite nice + these days. I lock my door, and they can only call me names through the + keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow + wears his socks out both ends at once.' + </p> + <p> + 'Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks + mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, and + all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,' thought Dick; and he + looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had transformed the + girl, as Dick knew they would. + </p> + <p> + 'What are you looking at me like that for?' she said quickly. 'Don't. You + look reg'lar bad when you look that way. You don't think much o' me, do + you?' + </p> + <p> + 'That depends on how you behave.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a sitting + to bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred the + studio and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as an + excuse for delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would be moved + to tell strange and wonderful stories of her past, and still stranger ones + of her present improved circumstances. She would make them tea as though + she had a right to make it; and once or twice on these occasions Dick + caught Torpenhow's eyes fixed on the trim little figure, and because + Bessie'' flittings about the room made Dick ardently long for Maisie, he + realised whither Torpenhow's thoughts were tending. And Bessie was + exceedingly careful of the condition of Torpenhow's linen. She spoke very + little to him, but sometimes they talked together on the landing. + </p> + <p> + 'I was a great fool,' Dick said to himself. 'I know what red firelight + looks like when a man's tramping through a strange town; and ours is a + lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn't feel + that sometimes. But I can't order Bessie away. That's the worst of + beginning things. One never knows where they stop.' + </p> + <p> + One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, + Dick was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow's room. He + jumped to his feet. 'Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go in.—Oh, + bless you, Binkie!' The little terrier thrust Torpenhow's door open with + his nose and came out to take possession of Dick's chair. The door swung + wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie in the + half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was kneeling + by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee. + </p> + <p> + 'I know,—I know,' she said thickly. ''Tisn't right o' me to do this, + but I can't help it; and you were so kind,—so kind; and you never + took any notice o' me. And I've mended all your things so carefully,—I + did. Oh, please, 'tisn't as if I was asking you to marry me. I wouldn't + think of it. + </p> + <p> + But you—couldn't you take and live with me till Miss Right comes + along? I'm only Miss Wrong, I know, but I'd work my hands to the bare bone + for you. And I'm not ugly to look at. Say you will!' + </p> + <p> + Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow's voice in reply—'But look here. + It's no use. I'm liable to be ordered off anywhere at a minute's notice if + a war breaks out. At a minute's notice—dear.' + </p> + <p> + 'What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. 'Tisn't much I'm + asking, and—you don't know how good I can cook.' She had put an arm + round his neck and was drawing his head down. + </p> + <p> + 'Until—I—go, then.' + </p> + <p> + 'Torp,' said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his voice. + </p> + <p> + 'Come here a minute, old man. I'm in trouble'—'Heaven send he'll + listen to me!' There was something very like an oath from Bessie's lips. + She was afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the staircase in panic, but + it seemed an age before Torpenhow entered the studio. He went to the + mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a wounded bull. + </p> + <p> + 'What the devil right have you to interfere?' he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + 'Who's interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you + couldn't be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you're all + right now.' + </p> + <p> + 'I oughtn't to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they belonged + to her. That's what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of hankering, + doesn't it?' said Torpenhow, piteously. + </p> + <p> + 'Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren't in a condition to + discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what you're + going to do?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't. I wish I did.' + </p> + <p> + 'You're going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. You're + going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the ships go + by. And you're going at once. Isn't it odd? I'll take care of Binkie, but + out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds the bank. Fly + from him. Pack your things and go.' + </p> + <p> + 'I believe you're right. Where shall I go?' + </p> + <p> + 'And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire + afterwards.' + </p> + <p> + An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. + </p> + <p> + 'You'll probably think of some place to go to while you're moving,' said + Dick. 'On to Euston, to begin with, and—oh yes—get drunk + to-night.' + </p> + <p> + He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the room + very dark. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me to-morrow!—Binkie, + come here.' + </p> + <p> + Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him + with a meditative foot. + </p> + <p> + 'I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That + showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to + perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will go + to a much worse place.' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What's you that follows at my side?— + The foe that ye must fight, my lord.— + That hirples swift as I can ride?— + The shadow of the night, my lord.— + Then wheel my horse against the foe!— + He's down and overpast, my lord. + + Ye war against the sunset glow; + The darkness gathers fast, my lord. + + —The Fight of Heriot's Ford. +</pre> + <p> + 'THIS is a cheerful life,' said Dick, some days later. 'Torp's away; + Bessie hates me; I can't get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's + letters are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man + pains across the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take + some liver pills?' + </p> + <p> + Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the + fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained her + enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat for + the sake of his money. 'And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man than + you,' she concluded. + </p> + <p> + 'He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to + you.' + </p> + <p> + The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. 'To me! I'd like to + catch you! If I wasn't afraid o' being hung I'd kill you. That's what I'd + do. + </p> + <p> + D'you believe me?' + </p> + <p> + Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a notion + that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman who + talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment there unrolled + itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the flimsiest + gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not go. + </p> + <p> + 'This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. We + can't have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; also + mutton-chop bones for little dogs.' + </p> + <p> + The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he said + nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. + </p> + <p> + 'We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,' he + chirped. 'Like a ship, my dear sir,—exactly like a ship. Sometimes + the hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the + rigging, and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the + brain-specialist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and then + we see an oculist. I should recommend you to see an oculist. A little + patching and repairing from time to time is all we want. An oculist, by + all means.' + </p> + <p> + Dick sought an oculist,—the best in London. He was certain that the + local practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more certain + that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear spectacles. + </p> + <p> + 'I've neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence these + spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could.' + </p> + <p> + As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man cannoned + against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the street. + </p> + <p> + 'That's the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead as + Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn't like.' + </p> + <p> + Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him hold + his breath as he walked into the oculist's waiting room, with the heavy + carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints on the + wall. He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches. + </p> + <p> + Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by a + flaming red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to that + eye-doctor, and they needed large-type amusement. + </p> + <p> + 'That's idolatrous bad Art,' he said, drawing the book towards himself. + </p> + <p> + 'From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.' He opened + in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in red ink— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The next good joy that Mary had, + It was the joy of three, + To see her good Son Jesus Christ + Making the blind to see; + Making the blind to see, good Lord, + And happy we may be. + + Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost + To all eternity! +</pre> + <p> + Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor was + bending above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the gas-microscope + in his eyes made him wince. The doctor's hand touched the scar of the + sword-cut on Dick's head, and Dick explained briefly how he had come by + it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor's face, and the fear + came upon him again. The doctor wrapped himself in a mist of words. Dick + caught allusions to 'scar,' 'frontal bone,' 'optic nerve,' 'extreme + caution,' and the 'avoidance of mental anxiety.' + </p> + <p> + 'Verdict?' he said faintly. 'My business is painting, and I daren't waste + time. What do you make of it?' + </p> + <p> + Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. + </p> + <p> + 'Can you give me anything to drink?' + </p> + <p> + Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners + often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand. + </p> + <p> + 'As far as I can gather,' he said, coughing above the spirit, 'you call it + decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What is my + time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?' + </p> + <p> + 'Perhaps one year.' + </p> + <p> + 'My God! And if I don't take care of myself?' + </p> + <p> + 'I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury + inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and—exposure to + the strong light of the desert, did you say?—with excessive + application to fine work? I really could not say?' + </p> + <p> + 'I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will let + me, I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very good + in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. + </p> + <p> + Thanks.' + </p> + <p> + Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. + </p> + <p> + 'We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. + We'll go to the Park to think it out.' + </p> + <p> + They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to + thin, because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear at + the pit of his stomach. + </p> + <p> + 'How could it have come without any warning? It's as sudden as being shot. + It's the living death, Binkie. We're to be shut up in the dark in one year + if we're careful, and we shan't see anybody, and we shall never have + anything we want, not though we live to be a hundred!' Binkie wagged his + tail joyously. 'Binkie, we must think. Let's see how it feels to be + blind.' Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and Catherine-wheels + floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked across the Park the scope of + his vision was not contracted. He could see perfectly, until a procession + of slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across his eyeballs. + </p> + <p> + 'Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's go home. If only Torp were + back, now!' + </p> + <p> + But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the + company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. + </p> + <p> + Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He + argued, in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated with + a film of gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were blindness, all + the Torpenhows in the world could not save him. 'I can't call him off his + trip to sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull through this business + alone,' he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating his moustache and + wondering what the darkness of the night would be like. Then came to his + mind the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. A soldier had been nearly + hacked in two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. For one instant the man felt + no pain. Looking down, he saw that his life-blood was going from him. The + stupid bewilderment on his face was so intensely comic that both Dick and + Torpenhow, still panting and unstrung from a fight for life, had roared + with laughter, in which the man seemed as if he would join, but, as his + lips parted in a sheepish grin, the agony of death came upon him, and he + pitched grunting at their feet. Dick laughed again, remembering the + horror. It seemed so exactly like his own case. + </p> + <p> + 'But I have a little more time allowed me,' he said. He paced up and down + the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet of fear. + It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged him to go + forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating pin-dots before + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + 'We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.' He talked aloud for the + sake of distraction. 'This isn't nice at all. What shall we do? We must do + something. Our time is short. I shouldn't have believed that this morning; + but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the light went + out?' + </p> + <p> + Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made no + suggestion. + </p> + <p> + '"Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were not + crime.... But at my back I always hear——"' He wiped his + forehead, which was unpleasantly damp. 'What can I do? What can I do? I + haven't any notions left, and I can't think connectedly, but I must do + something, or I shall go off my head.' + </p> + <p> + The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to drag + forth long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to his + work by instinct, as a thing that could not fail. 'You won't do, and you + won't do,' he said, at each inspection. 'No more soldiers. I couldn't + paint 'em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is battle and + murder for me.' + </p> + <p> + The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight of + the blind had come upon him unaware. 'Allah Almighty!' he cried + despairingly, 'help me through the time of waiting, and I won't whine when + my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light goes?' + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of control + over himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on their + steadiness; he could feel that his lips were quivering, and the sweat was + running down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward by the desire + to get to work at once and accomplish something, and maddened by the + refusal of his brain to do more than repeat the news that he was about to + go blind. 'It's a humiliating exhibition,' he thought, 'and I'm glad Torp + isn't here to see. The doctor said I was to avoid mental worry. + </p> + <p> + Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.' + </p> + <p> + The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. + </p> + <p> + Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, understood + that his trouble stood off from him—'Allah is good, Binkie. Not + quite so gentle as we could wish, but we'll discuss that later. I think I + see my way to it now. All those studies of Bessie's head were nonsense, + and they nearly brought your master into a scrape. I hold the notion now + as clear as crystal,—"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." There + shall be Maisie in that head, because I shall never get Maisie; and Bess, + of course, because she knows all about Melancolia, though she doesn't know + she knows; and there shall be some drawing in it, and it shall all end up + with a laugh. That's for myself. Shall she giggle or grin? No, she shall + laugh right out of the canvas, and every man and woman that ever had a + sorrow of their own shall—what is it the poem says?— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Understand the speech and feel a stir + Of fellowship in all disastrous fight. +</pre> + <p> + "In all disastrous fight"? That's better than painting the thing merely to + pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, I'm + going to hold you up by your tail. You're an omen. Come here.' + </p> + <p> + Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. + </p> + <p> + 'Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you're a brave little dog, and you + don't yelp when you're hung up. It is an omen.' + </p> + <p> + Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick walking + up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick wrote a + letter to Maisie full of the tenderest regard for her health, but saying + very little about his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be born. Not + till morning did he remember that something might happen to him in the + future. + </p> + <p> + He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean, + clear joy of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he + should consider himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at the + appointed time. He forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, but + remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very little stirring, into a + tremendous rage, that he might watch the smouldering lights in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think of + the doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his notion, + and the things of this world had no power upon him. + </p> + <p> + 'You're pleased to-day,' said Bessie. + </p> + <p> + Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard for + a drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died down, he + went to the sideboard again, and after some visits became convinced that + the eye-doctor was a liar, since he could still see everything very + clearly. + </p> + <p> + He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that + whether she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next + morning, but the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort. + </p> + <p> + Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes and + blurs till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the Melancolia + both on the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier than ever. There + was a delightful sense of irresponsibility upon him, such as they feel who + walking among their fellow-men know that the death-sentence of disease is + upon them, and, seeing that fear is but waste of the little time left, are + riotously happy. The days passed without event. + </p> + <p> + Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick to + come from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia began + to flame on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known all the + sorrow in the world and was laughing at it. It was true that the corners + of the studio draped themselves in gray film and retired into the + darkness, that the spots in his eyes and the pains across his head were + very troublesome, and that Maisie's letters were hard to read and harder + still to answer. He could not tell her of his trouble, and he could not + laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia which was always going to be + finished. But the furious days of toil and the nights of wild dreams made + amends for all, and the sideboard was his best friend on earth. + </p> + <p> + Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick stared + at her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him with + disgust, saying very little. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded his + return. 'News! great news!' he wrote. 'The Nilghai knows, and so does the + Keneu. We're all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your + accoutrements.' + </p> + <p> + Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever + sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. + </p> + <p> + 'Well,' said Dick, brutally, 'you're better as you are, instead of making + love to some drunken beast in the street.' He felt that he had rescued + Torpenhow from great temptation. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know if that's any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a + studio. You haven't been sober for three weeks. You've been soaking the + whole time; and yet you pretend you're better than me!' + </p> + <p> + 'What d'you mean?' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.' + </p> + <p> + It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a + sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and + the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Drinking like a fish,' Bessie whispered. 'He's been at it for nearly a + month.' She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. + </p> + <p> + They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by a + drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,—unshaven, blue-white about + the nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows + nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Is this you?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's quite well, and I've been doing + some good work.' He reeled where he stood. + </p> + <p> + 'You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man + alive, you're——' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room to + find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a friend is + much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since Torpenhow + used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt + untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said to Dick, who + blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time the culprit began + to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite sure that he had + not in any way departed from virtue, and there were reasons, too, of which + Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain. + </p> + <p> + He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could + hardly see. + </p> + <p> + 'You are right,' he said. 'But I am right, too. After you went away I had + some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a + gasogene—I mean a gas-engine—into my eye. That was very long + ago. He said, "Scar on the head,—sword-cut and optic nerve." Make a + note of that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go + blind, and I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can + see best when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but + I must go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.' He pointed + to the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at + seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds—if indeed they were + misdeeds—that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for + childish vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to + his wonderful picture. + </p> + <p> + Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two + walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, who was + dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his master + again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The lark will make her hymn to God, + The partridge call her brood, + While I forget the heath I trod, + The fields wherein I stood. + + 'Tis dule to know not night from morn, + But deeper dule to know + I can but hear the hunter's horn + That once I used to blow. + + —The Only Son. +</pre> + <p> + IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was heavy. + </p> + <p> + 'Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's + generally the other way about.' + </p> + <p> + 'Can a drunkard swear on his honour?' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, if he has been as god a man as you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then I give you my word of honour,' said Dick, speaking hurriedly through + parched lips. 'Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've kept me + sober for two days,—if I ever was drunk,—and I've done no + work. + </p> + <p> + Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give out. + </p> + <p> + The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than ever. + I swear I can see all right when I'm—when I'm moderately screwed, as + you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all—the stuff I + want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days. It + only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.' + </p> + <p> + 'If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and—the + other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?' + </p> + <p> + 'I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you + could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I + shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.' + </p> + <p> + 'Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my heart.' + </p> + <p> + Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow devil + of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The + Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had + hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he was + 'a drunken beast'; but the reproof did not move him. + </p> + <p> + 'You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we + shall lie back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three + months' pay when the picture's finished, and next time I have any more + work in hand—but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make + you hate me less?' + </p> + <p> + 'No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow won't + speak to me any more. He's always looking at maps.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that at + the end of our passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a kiss, + and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a little + fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, and their + talk was of war in the near future, the hiring of transports, and secret + preparations among the dockyards. He did not wish to see Dick till the + picture was finished. + </p> + <p> + 'He's doing first-class work,' he said to the Nilghai, 'and it's quite out + of his regular line. But, for the matter of that, so's his infernal + soaking.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again we'll + carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor Dick! I + don't envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, it will be a case of "God help the man who's chained to our Davie." + The worst is that we don't know when it will happen, and I believe the + uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey more than + anything else.' + </p> + <p> + 'How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!' + </p> + <p> + 'He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He's dead. That's poor + consolation now.' + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. + </p> + <p> + 'All finished!' he shouted. 'I've done it! Come in! Isn't she a beauty? + Isn't she a darling? I've been down to hell to get her; but isn't she + worth it?' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,—a full-lipped, + hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had intended + she would. + </p> + <p> + 'Who taught you how to do it?' said Torpenhow. 'The touch and notion have + nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What eyes, and + what insolence!' Unconsciously he threw back his head and laughed with + her. 'She's seen the game played out,—I don't think she had a good + time of it,—and now she doesn't care. Isn't that the idea?' + </p> + <p> + 'Exactly.' + </p> + <p> + 'Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don't belong to Bess.' + </p> + <p> + 'They're—some one else's. But isn't it good? Isn't it thundering + good? Wasn't it worth the whiskey? I did it. Alone I did it, and it's the + best I can do.' He drew his breath sharply, and whispered, 'Just God! what + could I not do ten years hence, if I can do this now!—By the way, + what do you think of it, Bess?' + </p> + <p> + The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had taken + no notice of her. + </p> + <p> + 'I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,' she + answered, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + 'More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.—Dick, + there's a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the head + that I don't understand,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + That's trick-work,' said Dick, chuckling with delight at being completely + understood. 'I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer swagger. It's a + French trick, and you wouldn't understand; but it's got at by slewing + round the head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening of one side of + the face from the angle of the chin to the top of the left ear. That, and + deepening the shadow under the lobe of the ear. It was flagrant + trick-work; but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled to play with it,—Oh, + you beauty!' + </p> + <p> + 'Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.' + </p> + <p> + 'So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,' said Dick, slapping his + thigh. 'He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, just when + he's feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back his head and + laugh,—as she is laughing. I've put the life of my heart and the + light of my eyes into her, and I don't care what comes.... I'm tired,—awfully + tired. I think I'll get to sleep. Take away the whiskey, it has served its + turn, and give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over for luck. Cover the + picture.' + </p> + <p> + He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost + before he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow's + hand. 'Aren't you never going to speak to me any more?' she said; but + Torpenhow was looking at Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'What a stock of vanity the man has! I'll take him in hand to-morrow and + make much of him. He deserves it.—Eh! what was that, Bess?' + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing. I'll put things tidy here a little, and then I'll go. You + couldn't give the that three months' pay now, could you? He said you were + to.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully + tidied up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a bottle + of turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the Melancolia + viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took a + palette-knife and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. In + five minutes the picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. She + threw the paint-stained duster into the studio stove, stuck out her tongue + at the sleeper, and whispered, 'Bilked!' as she turned to run down the + staircase. She would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had at least + done harm to the man who had come between her and her desire and who used + to make fun of her. Cashing the check was the very cream of the jest to + Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across the Thames, to be + swallowed up in the gray wilderness of South-the-Water. + </p> + <p> + Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off to + bed. His eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. 'Let's have another + look at the picture,' he said, insistently as a child. + </p> + <p> + 'You—go—to—bed,' said Torpenhow. 'You aren't at all + well, though you mayn't know it. You're as jumpy as a cat.' + </p> + <p> + 'I reform to-morrow. Good-night.' + </p> + <p> + As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the + picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: 'Wiped out!—scraped + out and turped out! He's on the verge of jumps as it is. That's Bess,—the + little fiend! Only a woman could have done that!-with the ink not dry on + the check, too! Dick will be raving mad to-morrow. It was all my fault for + trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor Dick, the Lord is hitting you + very hard!' + </p> + <p> + Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly because + the well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place to + crackling volcanoes of many-coloured fire. 'Spout away,' he said aloud. + </p> + <p> + 'I've done my work, and now you can do what you please.' He lay still, + staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his veins, + his brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be + considered, and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that he + was painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed with + millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood embodied + hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting together in his + honour, when something cracked inside his temples like an overstrained + bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was alone in the thick + night. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's light a lamp and see how + the Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.' + </p> + <p> + It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did + not know,—in the rattling accents of deadly fear. + </p> + <p> + 'He's looked at the picture,' was his first thought, as he hurried into + the bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his hands. + </p> + <p> + 'Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!' + </p> + <p> + 'What's the matter?' + </p> + <p> + Dick clutched at his shoulder. 'Matter! I've been lying here for hours in + the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away. I'm all in + the dark. In the dark, I tell you!' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there was no + light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The + grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow wince. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I can't see. + D'you understand? It's black,—quite black,—and I feel as if I + was falling through it all.' + </p> + <p> + 'Steady does it.' Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock him + gently to and fro. + </p> + <p> + 'That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this + darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!' Dick + knit his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was + chilling Torpenhow's toes. + </p> + <p> + 'Can you stay like that a minute?' he said. 'I'll get my dressing-gown and + some slippers.' + </p> + <p> + Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness to + clear away. 'What a time you've been!' he cried, when Torpenhow returned. + 'It's as black as ever. What are you banging about in the door-way?' + </p> + <p> + 'Long chair,—horse-blanket,—pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie + down now; you'll be better in the morning.' + </p> + <p> + 'I shan't!' The voice rose to a wail. 'My God! I'm blind! I'm blind, and + the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, but + Torpenhow's arms were round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his shoulder, + and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, 'Blind!' and + wriggle feebly. + </p> + <p> + 'Steady, Dickie, steady!' said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip + tightened. 'Bite on the bullet, old man, and don't let them think you're + afraid,' The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing heavily. + </p> + <p> + Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. + </p> + <p> + 'Let me go,' he panted. 'You're cracking my ribs. We-we mustn't let them + think we're afraid, must we,—all the powers of darkness and that + lot?' + </p> + <p> + 'Lie down. It's all over now.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes,' said Dick, obediently. 'But would you mind letting me hold your + hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops through the + dark so.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick + clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow + withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the + forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of death, + to ease his departure. + </p> + <p> + In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was adrift on + the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly—'It's a pity,—a + great pity; but it's helped, and it must be eaten, Master George. + Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, putting + aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious notoriety—such + as mine was—that the queen can do no wrong. Torp doesn't know that. + I'll tell him when we're a little farther into the desert. + </p> + <p> + What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They'll have + that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you so—there + she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing round. How + good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I can't. I'm afflicted with + ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it extends up + the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's a joke, Torp. Laugh, you + graven image, and stand clear of the hawser.... It'll knock you into the + water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh!' said Torpenhow. 'This happened before. That night on the river.' + </p> + <p> + 'She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get muddy, and you're quite + near enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew you'd + miss. + </p> + <p> + Low and to the left, dear. But you've no conviction. Don't be angry, + darling. I'd cut my hand off if it would give you anything more than + obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.' + </p> + <p> + 'Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island shouting across seas of + misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I fancy,' said + Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured at + length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being + enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss—only one kiss—before + she went away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she + would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness that + the queen could do no wrong. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick's life + that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the past, + and then a natural sleep. 'What a strain he has been running under, poor + chap!' said Torpenhow. 'Dick, of all men, handing himself over like a dog! + And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have known that it was no + use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that girl must be! Dick's + given her his life,—confound him!—and she's given him one kiss + apparently.' + </p> + <p> + 'Torp,' said Dick, from the bed, 'go out for a walk. You've been here too + long. I'll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can't dress myself. Oh, it's + too absurd!' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair in the + studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for the darkness to + lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick adventured on a voyage + round the walls. He hit his shins against the stove, and this suggested to + him that it would be better to crawl on all fours, one hand in front of + him. Torpenhow found him on the floor. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm trying to get the geography of my new possessions,' said he. 'D'you + remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn't keep the + odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give me all the + ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside. They're of + no importance.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick put + it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might not have + read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never belong to + him. + </p> + <p> + 'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. I + couldn't be any use to her now,' Dick argued, and the tempter suggested + that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him revolted. 'I + have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, it + would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but + the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of his + strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead darkness, + Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another, came + from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by the window, the pulse + of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another man, stronger + than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark background it + worked against, spared him no single detail that might send him raging up + and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in four + places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The + arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled + despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion that Dick confided to his + pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled with + intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable darkness. + </p> + <p> + 'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since + the beginning of things.' + </p> + <p> + 'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'—he + paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,—'something will run + over me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.' + </p> + <p> + The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to + Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he + said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse God and die.' + </p> + <p> + 'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there + are the Guards!' + </p> + <p> + Dick's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look. + Let's get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.' + </p> + <p> + 'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of + grass with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' Dick sniffed + luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as near to + the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made + Dick's nostrils quiver. + </p> + <p> + 'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. How did you know?' + </p> + <p> + 'Felt it. Oh, my men!—my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though + he could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?' + </p> + <p> + 'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.' + </p> + <p> + 'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!—nearer! + Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!—one + half-minute!' + </p> + <p> + He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the + slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from + the ground. + </p> + <p> + 'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!' + </p> + <p> + The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash + of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, heard + the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts. + The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a + perfect quickstep— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He must be a man of decent height, + He must be a man of weight, + He must come home on a Saturday night + In a thoroughly sober state; + He must know how to love me, + And he must know how to kiss; + And if he's enough to keep us both + I can't refuse him bliss. +</pre> + <p> + 'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when the + last of the regiment had departed. + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,—that's all. Torp, + take me back. Why did you bring me out?' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There were three friends that buried the fourth, + The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes + And they went south and east, and north,— + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies. + + There were three friends that spoke of the dead,— + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.— + 'And would he were with us now,' they said, + 'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.' + + —Ballad. +</pre> + <p> + THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to bed,—blind + men are ever under the orders of those who can see,—and since he had + returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was + alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, + Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only + burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs. + Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle + three unopened letters from Maisie. + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms. + </p> + <p> + Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a + large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. + </p> + <p> + 'I was wrong about the Balkans,' said the Nilghai. 'But I'm not wrong + about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan must be + done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the government + does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You know that as + well as I do.' + </p> + <p> + 'I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from + Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,' said + Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. 'Can you + blame me?' + </p> + <p> + The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat—'Don't + blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all the rest of + it, but every man—even you, Torp—must consider his work. I + know it sounds brutal, but Dick's out of the race,—down,—gastados + expended, finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't + starve, and you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your + own reputation.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.' + </p> + <p> + 'That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all ended + now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can command your + own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after Dick for a + while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he likes + to have me near him.' + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who + throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The + constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin. + </p> + <p> + 'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider + this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is—or rather was—an + able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of audacity.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oho!' said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. 'I begin to + see,—Torp, I'm sorry.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: 'You were more sorry when he cut you out, + though.—Go on, Keneu.' + </p> + <p> + 'I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if the + news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport were + quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's bedside.' + </p> + <p> + 'There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful things + are as they are,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered + ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.—What do you + think yourself, Torp?' + </p> + <p> + 'I know they aren't. But what can I do?' + </p> + <p> + 'Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here. You've + been most in his life.' + </p> + <p> + 'But I picked it up when he was off his head.' + </p> + <p> + 'The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is + she?' + </p> + <p> + Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent who + knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened without + interruption. + </p> + <p> + 'Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his + calf-love?' said the Keneu. 'Is it possible?' + </p> + <p> + 'I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling + three letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?' + </p> + <p> + 'Speak to him,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh yes! Write to her,—I don't know her full name, remember,—and + ask her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were + sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the + bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl, + whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the blindness + has made him rather muscular.' + </p> + <p> + 'Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,' said the Keneu. 'He will go to + Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,—single + track from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was + a poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire + There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,—or ought to be. Where + this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's + business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain the + situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,—the more + especially because, to use Dick's words, "there is nothing but her damned + obstinacy to keep them apart."' + </p> + <p> + 'And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em. + </p> + <p> + Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven't + the shadow of an excuse for not going,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. 'But it's absurd and impossible. I + can't drag her back by the hair.' + </p> + <p> + 'Our business—the business for which we draw our money—is to + do absurd and impossible things,—generally with no reason whatever + except to amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn't + matter. I shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns. + There will be a batch of unbridled "specials" coming to town in a little + while, and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for + sending Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, and'—here + the Keneu dropped his measured speech—'we can't have you tied by the + leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It's your only chance of getting + away; and Dick will be grateful.' + </p> + <p> + 'He will,—worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a woman + in her senses refusing Dick.' + </p> + <p> + 'Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh + woman into giving you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult. You had + better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I will be + in possession. It is an order. Obey.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dick,' said Torpenhow, next morning, 'can I do anything for you?' + </p> + <p> + 'No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?' + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.' + </p> + <p> + 'Poor chap!' said Torpenhow to himself. 'I must have been sitting on his + nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.' Then, aloud, 'Very well. Since + you're so independent, I'm going off for four or five days. Say good-bye + at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has my rooms.' + </p> + <p> + Dick's face fell. 'You won't be longer than a week at the outside? I know + I'm touched in the temper, but I can't get on without you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll be + glad I'm gone.' + </p> + <p> + Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things + might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet + Torpenhow's constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know + what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie's unopened letters + felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them for himself + as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him some fresh ones to + play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,—a piece of red + modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using his + hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, 'Is it like + anything in the world?' he said drearily. 'Take it away. I may get the + touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow has gone?' + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai knew nothing. 'We're staying in his rooms till he comes back. + Can we do anything for you?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm + best alone.' + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen + rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the work + he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had departed + from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness of + his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body cried for Maisie—Maisie + who would understand. His mind pointed out that Maisie, having her own + work to do, would not care. His experience had taught him that when money + was exhausted women went away, and that when a man was knocked out of the + race the others trampled on him. 'Then at the least,' said Dick, in reply, + 'she could use me as I used Binat,—for some sort of a study. I + wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, even though I knew that + another man was making love to her. Ugh! what a dog I am!' + </p> + <p> + A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully— + </p> + <p> + 'When we go—go—go away from here, Our creditors will weep and + they will wail, Our absence much regretting when they find that they've + been getting Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail.' + </p> + <p> + Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the + sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, 'And see, you good + fellows, I have found a new water-bottle—firs'-class patent—eh, + how you say? Open himself inside out.' + </p> + <p> + Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. 'That's Cassavetti, come + back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a row + somewhere, and—I'm out of it!' + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 'That's for my sake,' Dick said + bitterly. 'The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't tell me. + I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War Correspondents in + London are there;—and I'm out of it.' + </p> + <p> + He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He could + feel that it was full of men. 'Where's the trouble?' said he. 'In the + Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me?' + </p> + <p> + 'We thought you wouldn't be interested,' said the Nilghai, shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + 'It's in the Soudan, as usual.' + </p> + <p> + 'You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton at + the feast.—Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as + ever.' + </p> + <p> + Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk + swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing + press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the capacities + of generals,—these in language that would have horrified a trusting + public,—rangint, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the top of + their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan at any + moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in readiness. The Keneu + had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti had stolen a perfectly + inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered forward, and was reading + it out amid profane interruptions, and the Keneu introduced to Dick some + man unknown who would be employed as war artist by the Central Southern + Syndicate. 'It's his first outing,' said the Keneu. 'Give him some tips—about + riding camels.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, those camels!' groaned Cassavetti. 'I shall learn to ride him again, + and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know your + military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire + Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.' + </p> + <p> + A roar of laughter interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + 'Sit down,' said the Nilghai. 'The lists aren't even made out in the War + Office.' + </p> + <p> + 'Will there be any force at Suakin?' aid a voice. + </p> + <p> + Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: 'How many Egyptian + troops will they use?—God help the Fellaheen!—There's a + railway in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.—We shall + have the Suakin-Berber line built at last.—Canadian voyageurs are + too careful. Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.—Who + commands the Desert column?—No, they never blew up the big rock in + the Ghineh bend. We shall have to be hauled up, as usual.—Somebody + tell me if there's an Indian contingent, or I'll break everybody's head.—Don't + tear the map in two.—It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to + connect with the African companies in the South.—There's Guinea-worm + in most of the wells on that route.' Then the Nilghai, despairing of + peace, bellowed like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands. + </p> + <p> + 'But what becomes of Torpenhow?' said Dick, in the silence that followed. + </p> + <p> + 'Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I suppose,' + said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'He said he was going to stay at home,' said the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + 'Is he?' said Dick, with an oath. 'He won't. I'm not much good now, but if + you and the Nilghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him till he + sees reason. He'll stay behind, indeed! He's the best of you all. There'll + be some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, this time. + </p> + <p> + But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.' + </p> + <p> + 'So do we all, Dickie,' said the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + 'And I most of all,' said the new artist of the Central Southern + Syndicate. + </p> + <p> + 'Could you tell me——' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll give you one piece of advice,' Dick answered, moving towards the + door. 'If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't guard. + </p> + <p> + Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll find it cheapest in the end. Thanks + for letting me look in.' + </p> + <p> + 'There's grit in Dick,' said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room was + emptied of all save the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + 'It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he answered + to it? Poor fellow! Let's look at him,' said the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio + table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not change + his position. + </p> + <p> + 'It hurts,' he moaned. 'God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet, + y'know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I see + Torp before he goes?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, yes. You'll see him,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The sun went down an hour ago, + I wonder if I face towards home; + If I lost my way in the light of day + How shall I find it now night is come? + + —Old Song. +</pre> + <p> + 'MAISIE, come to bed.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on + the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne + and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the + clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers + were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung withered on their + stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves was almost + intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami's studio across the + road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the big + bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that caught + Maisie's eye and annoyed her. + </p> + <p> + 'Horrid thing! It should be all white,' she murmured. 'And the gate isn't + in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few + weeks had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the study of + a female head intended to represent the Melancolia and not finished in + time for the Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as much two + days before; fourthly,—but so completely fourthly that it was hardly + worth thinking about,—Dick, her property, had not written to her for + more than six weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, and with her + work, but she was exceedingly angry with Dick. + </p> + <p> + She had written to him three times,—each time proposing a fresh + treatment of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these + communications. She had resolved to write no more. When she returned to + England in the autumn—for her pride's sake she could not return + earlier—she would speak to him. She missed the Sunday afternoon + conferences more than she cared to admit. All that Kami said was, + 'Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez toujours,' and he had been repeating + the wearisome counsel through the hot summer, exactly like a cicada,—an + old gray cicada in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge felt + hat. + </p> + <p> + But Dick had tramped masterfully up and down her little studio north of + the cool green London park, and had said things ten times worse than + continuez, before he snatched the brush out of her hand and showed her + where the error lay. His last letter, Maisie remembered, contained some + trivial advice about not sketching in the sun or drinking water at wayside + farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but three times,—as if he + did not know that Maisie could take care of herself. + </p> + <p> + But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of + voices in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the + little garrison in the town was talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight + glittered on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand + lest it should clank inopportunely. The cook's cap cast deep shadows on + her face, which was close to the conscript's. He slid his arm round her + waist, and there followed the sound of a kiss. + </p> + <p> + 'Faugh!' said Maisie, stepping back. + </p> + <p> + 'What's that?' said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily outside + her bed. + </p> + <p> + 'Only a conscript kissing the cook,' said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + 'They've gone away now.' She leaned out of the window again, and put a + shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very small + night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one who + knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his + thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the degradation of + Suzanne and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded its head and one + leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil scratching its ear. + </p> + <p> + Dick could not, 'because,' thought Maisie, 'he is mind,—mine,—mine. + He said he was. I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only spoil his + work if he does; and it will spoil mine too.' + </p> + <p> + The rose continued to nod it the futile way peculiar to flowers. There was + no earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, except + that he was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist Maisie in + her work. And her work was the preparation of pictures that went sometimes + to English provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the scrap-book + proved, and that were invariably rejected by the Salon when Kami was + plagued into allowing her to send them up. Her work in the future, it + seemed, would be the preparation of pictures on exactly similar lines + which would be rejected in exactly the same way——The + red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. 'It's too hot to + sleep,' she moaned; and the interruption jarred. + </p> + <p> + Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the little + studio in England and Kami's big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, she would + go to another master, who should force her into the success that was her + right, if patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a right to + anything. Dick had told her that he had worked ten years to understand his + craft. She had worked ten years, and ten years were nothing. Dick had said + that ten years were nothing,—but that was in regard to herself only. + He had said—this very man who could not find time to write—that + he would wait ten years for her, and that she was bound to come back to + him sooner or later. He had said this in the absurd letter about sunstroke + and diphtheria; and then he had stopped writing. He was wandering up and + down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. She would like to lecture him now,—not + in her nightgown, of course, but properly dressed, severely and from a + height. Yet if he was kissing other girls he certainly would not care + whether she lecture him or not. He would laugh at her. Very good. + </p> + <p> + She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it might + be slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind her. + </p> + <p> + Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no doubt + whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began, + unwomanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he + loved her. And he kissed her,—kissed her on the cheek,—by a + yellow sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose + in the garden. Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they + loved her—just when she was busiest with her work. Then the boy came + back, and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her. + Then he had—— But there was no end to the things he had done. + He had given her his time and his powers. He had spoken to her of Art, + housekeeping, technique, teacups, the abuse of pickles as a stimulant,—that + was rude,—sable hair-brushes,—he had given her the best in her + stock,—she used them daily; he had given her advice that she + profited by, and now and again—a look. Such a look! The look of a + beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to his mistress's feet. In + return she had given him nothing whatever, except—here she brushed + her mouth against the open-work sleeve f her nightgown—the privilege + of kissing her once. And on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not + enough, and more than enough? and if it was not, had he not cancelled the + debt by not writing and—probably kissing other girls? 'Maisie, + you'll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,' said the wearied voice of her + companion. 'I can't sleep a wink with you at the window.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting on + the meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had nothing + to do. The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the skylight of + the studio across the road in cold silver; she stared at it intently and + her thoughts began to slide one into the other. The shadow of the big + bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened again, and faded out as the + moon went down behind the pasture and a hare came limping home across the + road. Then the dawn-wind washed through the upland grasses, and brought + coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by the drought-shrunk river. + Maisie's head fell forward on the window-sill, and the tangle of black + hair covered her arms. + </p> + <p> + 'Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, dear; yes, dear.' She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, and + as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, 'I think—I + think.... + </p> + <p> + But he ought to have written.' + </p> + <p> + Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and turpentine, + and the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, but a golden + teacher if the pupil were only in sympathy with him. Maisie was not in + sympathy that day, and she waited impatiently for the end of the work. + </p> + <p> + She knew when it was coming; for Kami would gather his black alpaca coat + into a bunch behind him, and, with faded flue eyes that saw neither pupils + nor canvas, look back into the past to recall the history of one Binat. + 'You have all done not so badly,' he would say. 'But you shall remember + that it is not enough to have the method, and the art, and the power, nor + even that which is touch, but you shall have also the conviction that + nails the work to the wall. Of the so many I taught,'—here the + students would begin to unfix drawing-pins or get their tubes together,—'the + very so many that I have taught, the best was Binat. All that comes of the + study and the work and the knowledge was to him even when he came. After + he left me he should have done all that could be done with the colour, the + form, and the knowledge. Only, he had not the conviction. So to-day I hear + no more of Binat,—the best of my pupils,—and that is long ago. + So to-day, too, you will be glad to hear no more of me. Continuez, + mesdemoiselles, and, above all, with conviction.' + </p> + <p> + He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the + pupils dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to + make plans for the cool of the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to + grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter to + Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How + Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to the + hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to discuss + with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to reduce the + colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best horse in the + squadron for the journey to Kami's studio, is a mystery that only special + correspondents can unravel. + </p> + <p> + 'I beg your pardon,' said he. 'It seems an absurd question to ask, but the + fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young lady + here that is called Maisie?' + </p> + <p> + 'I am Maisie,' was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. + </p> + <p> + 'I ought to introduce myself,' he said, as the horse capered in the + blinding white dust. 'My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best friend, + and—and—the fact is that he has gone blind.' + </p> + <p> + 'Blind!' said Maisie, stupidly. 'He can't be blind.' + </p> + <p> + 'He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. 'No! No! Not blind! I + won't have him blind!' + </p> + <p> + 'Would you care to see for yourself?' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Now,—at once?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till to-night. + There will be ample time.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?' + </p> + <p> + 'Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in his + studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's blind.' + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head and + went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, + complaining of a headache. + </p> + <p> + 'Dick's blind!' said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied + herself against a chair-back. 'My Dick's blind!' + </p> + <p> + 'What?' The girl was on the sofa no longer. + </p> + <p> + 'A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six + weeks.' + </p> + <p> + 'Are you going to him?' + </p> + <p> + 'I must think.' + </p> + <p> + 'Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his eyes + and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't go I + shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to him at + once. Go!' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite + patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + 'I am coming,' said she, her eyes on the ground. + </p> + <p> + 'You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.' This was an + order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said nothing, + but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing with this big + man who took everything for granted and managed a squealing horse with one + hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, who was weeping bitterly, and + between tears, kisses,—very few of those,—menthol, packing, + and an interview with Kami, the sultry afternoon wore away. + </p> + <p> + Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,—Dick + who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her + unopened letters. + </p> + <p> + 'But what will you do,' she said to her companion. + </p> + <p> + 'I? Oh, I shall stay here and—finish your Melancolia,' she said, + smiling pitifully. 'Write to me afterwards.' + </p> + <p> + That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad Englishman, + doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the officers of the + garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the lines, and had + then and there eloped, after the English custom, with one of those more + mad English girls who drew pictures down there under the care of that good + Monsieur Kami. + </p> + <p> + 'They are very droll,' said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight by + the studio wall. 'She walked always with those big eyes that saw nothing, + and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my sister, and + gives me—see—ten francs!' + </p> + <p> + The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself + on being a good soldier. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; but he + was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment entirely + to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease with which + the matter had been accomplished. + </p> + <p> + 'The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick's showing,—when + he was off his head,—she must have ordered him about very + thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.' + </p> + <p> + Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes + shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order + that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last + almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking + after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any interest in her + surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that she, + Maisie,—of all people,—was in disgrace. Therefore she + justified her conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow came + up to her on the steamer and without preface began to tell the story of + Dick's blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at length on the + miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the end, as though he + had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was + furious with him and with herself. + </p> + <p> + She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for + breakfast, and—she was past any feeling of indignation now—was + bidden curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs + while Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she + was being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame. + It was all Dick's fault for being so stupid as to go blind. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick was + sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three + envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man who + gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped behind + her. + </p> + <p> + Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. 'Hullo, + Topr! Is that you? I've been so lonely.' + </p> + <p> + His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed + herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, and + she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring directly + at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind. + </p> + <p> + Shutting her eyes in a rail-way carriage to open them when she pleased was + child's play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open. + </p> + <p> + 'Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.' Dick looked puzzled and a + little irritated at the silence. + </p> + <p> + 'No; it's only me,' was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie + could hardly move her lips. + </p> + <p> + 'H'm!' said Dick, composedly, without moving. 'This is a new phenomenon. + Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices.' + </p> + <p> + Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie's + heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began to + feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he passed. + Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his knees to feel + what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him walking in the Park + as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping up and down her studio + two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the Channel steamer. The + beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick was coming nearer, + guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a hand mechanically to + ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did not know which. It touched + his chest, and he stepped back as though he had been shot. + </p> + <p> + 'It's Maisie!' said he, with a dry sob. 'What are you doing here?' + </p> + <p> + 'I came—I came—to see you, please.' + </p> + <p> + Dick's lips closed firmly. + </p> + <p> + 'Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes, and——' + </p> + <p> + 'I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?' + </p> + <p> + 'I couldn't write.' + </p> + <p> + 'You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.' + </p> + <p> + 'What has he to do with my affairs?' + </p> + <p> + 'He—he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see + you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I + forgot.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and—— Let me + take you back to your chair.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to + tell you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let me + alone!' + </p> + <p> + He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. + </p> + <p> + Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed by + a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from the + girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he was, + indeed, down and done for—masterful no longer but rather a little + abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up to—only + some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of crying. She + was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him—more sorry than she had + ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny his words. + </p> + <p> + So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had + honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she + was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love. + </p> + <p> + 'Well?' said Dick, his face steadily turned away. 'I never meant to worry + you any more. What's the matter?' + </p> + <p> + He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as + unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had + dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands. + </p> + <p> + 'I can't—I can't!' she cried desperately. 'Indeed, I can't. It isn't + my fault. + </p> + <p> + I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry.' + </p> + <p> + Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. + </p> + <p> + Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have + failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of + making sacrifices. + </p> + <p> + 'I do despise myself—indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you + wouldn't ask me—would you?' wailed Maisie. + </p> + <p> + She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick's eyes + fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips were + trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out eyes that + Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place some one that + she could hardly recognise till he spoke. + </p> + <p> + 'Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be. + </p> + <p> + What's the use of worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it isn't + worth it.' + </p> + <p> + 'You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me—help me!' The + passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to alarm + the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her head fell + on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + 'Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite right, and you've nothing to + reproach yourself with—you never had. You're only a little upset by + the journey, and I don't suppose you've had any breakfast. What a brute + Torp was to bring you over.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wanted to come. I did indeed,' she protested. + </p> + <p> + 'Very well. And now you've come and seen, and I'm—immensely + grateful. + </p> + <p> + When you're better you shall go away and get something to eat. What sort + of a passage did you have coming over?' + </p> + <p> + Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad that + she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder + tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder might + be. + </p> + <p> + She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most + unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room + between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart. + </p> + <p> + 'Are you better now?' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, but—don't you hate me?' + </p> + <p> + 'I hate you? My God! I?' + </p> + <p> + 'Isn't—isn't there anything I could do for you, then? I'll stay here + in England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you + sometimes.' + </p> + <p> + 'I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. I + don't want to seem rude, but—don't you think—perhaps you had + almost better go now.' + </p> + <p> + He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain + continued much longer. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable.' + </p> + <p> + 'Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; I'd tell you if you had. Wait a + moment, dear. I've got something to give you first. I meant it for you + ever since this little trouble began. It's my Melancolia; she was a beauty + when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you're poor you + can sell her. She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the market.' He + groped among his canvases. 'She's framed in black. Is this a black frame + that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think of her?' + </p> + <p> + He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the eyes + strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One thing and + one thing only could she do for him. + </p> + <p> + 'Well?' + </p> + <p> + The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was + speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic desire + to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick's sake—whatever this + mad blankness might mean—she must make no sign. Her voice choked + with hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck—'Oh, + Dick, it is good!' + </p> + <p> + He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. 'Won't you + have it, then? I'll send it over to your house if you will.' + </p> + <p> + 'I? Oh yes—thank you. Ha! ha!' If she did not fly at once the + laughter that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, + choking and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take + refuge in a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down + in the dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, + useless till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the + sorrow, the shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the + red-haired girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never feared her + companion before. Not until she found herself saying, 'Well, he never + asked me,' did she realise her scorn of herself. + </p> + <p> + And that is the end of Maisie. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at + first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word + of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought upon + him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his dark hour + came and he was alone with himself and his desires to get what help he + could from the darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but in following the + right, so far as it served her work, she had wounded her one subject more + than his own brain would let him know. + </p> + <p> + 'It's all I had and I've lost it,' he said, as soon as the misery + permitted clear thinking. 'And Torp will think that he has been so + infernally clever that I shan't have the heart to tell him. I must think + this out quietly.' + </p> + <p> + 'Hullo!' said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two + hours of thought. 'I'm back. Are you feeling any better?' + </p> + <p> + 'Torp, I don't know what to say. Come here.' Dick coughed huskily, + wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately. + </p> + <p> + 'What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.' Torpenhow was + perfectly satisfied. + </p> + <p> + They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder, + and Dick buried in his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + 'How in the world did you find it all out?' said Dick, at last. + </p> + <p> + 'You shouldn't go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It + was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rocketing + about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you'd have + laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven other + devils——' + </p> + <p> + 'I know—the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils + the other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? + Who d'you work for?' + </p> + <p> + 'Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business would + turn out.' + </p> + <p> + 'Would you have stayed with me, then, if—things had gone wrong?' He + put his question cautiously. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man.' + </p> + <p> + 'You've tried to be an angel very successfully.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh ye—es!... Well, do you attend the function to-night? We shall be + half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war's a + certainty.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay + quiet here.' + </p> + <p> + 'And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man + did.' + </p> + <p> + That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured in + from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that they might + discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations + becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bidden all + the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the housekeeper, + declared that never before in his checkered experience had he seen quite + such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked the chambers with shoutings and + song; and the elder men were quite as bad as the younger. For the chances + of war were in front of them, and all knew what those meant. + </p> + <p> + Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the + landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. + </p> + <p> + 'When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. Maisie's + quite right—poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry like that + before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be quite fool + enough to stay at home and try to console me—if he knew. Besides, it + isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over like a broken chair. I must + carry this business through alone—as usual. If there isn't a war, + and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. If there is a way I + mustn't interfere with another man's chances. Business is business, and I + want to be alone—I want to be alone. What a row they're making!' + </p> + <p> + Somebody hammered at the studio door. + </p> + <p> + 'Come out and frolic, Dickie,' said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + 'I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.' + </p> + <p> + 'Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.' + </p> + <p> + 'Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. + </p> + <p> + Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.' + </p> + <p> + For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. + </p> + <p> + 'No, thanks, I've a headache already.' + </p> + <p> + 'Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my + congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your + welfare.' + </p> + <p> + 'Go to the devil—oh, send Binkie in here.' + </p> + <p> + The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made much + of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely + inside the studio he realised that this was no place for tail-wagging, and + settled himself on Dick's lap till it was bedtime. Then he went to bed + with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and rose in the morning + with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's more formal + congratulations and a particular account of the last night's revels. + </p> + <p> + 'You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind that—it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you + really go?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted + on better terms than before.' + </p> + <p> + 'When do you start?' + </p> + <p> + 'The day after to-morrow—for Brindisi.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank God.' Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. + </p> + <p> + 'Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me. But + men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.' + </p> + <p> + 'I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before + you leave?' + </p> + <p> + 'That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, it's only for—marriage expenses.' + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and + carefully put it away in the writing table. + </p> + <p> + 'Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl until + I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!' he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the + doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked + innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to + feel annoyed. + </p> + <p> + 'You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, don't + you?' he said on the last evening. + </p> + <p> + 'I—I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will + last?' + </p> + <p> + 'Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wish I were going.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it occurred + to you that you're going to be married—thanks to me?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course, yes. I'm going to be married—so I am. Going to be + married. + </p> + <p> + I'm awfully grateful to you. Haven't I told you that?' + </p> + <p> + 'You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,' said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the + loneliness he had so much desired. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, + Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, + Yet at the last, with his masters around him, + He of the Faith spoke as master to slave; + Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him, + Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,— + Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him, + He called upon Allah and died a believer. + + —Kizzilbashi. +</pre> + <p> + 'BEG your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but—but isn't nothin' going to + happen?' said Mr. Beeton. + </p> + <p> + 'No!' Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his + temper was of the shortest. + </p> + <p> + ''Tain't my regular business, o' course, sir; and what I say is, "Mind + your own business and let other people mind theirs;" but just before Mr. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might be + moving into a house of your own, so to speak—a sort of house with + rooms upstairs and downstairs where you'd be better attended to, though I + try to act just by all our tenants. Don't I?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan't trouble you to take me + there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.' + </p> + <p> + 'I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as + far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in + chambers—and more particular those whose lot is hard—such as + you, for instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you? + Soft-roe bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, "Never + mind a little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the + tenants."' + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long + away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled down + to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing better than + death. + </p> + <p> + It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night; + dropping to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising restless + in the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, would grope + along the corridors of the chambers till he heard some one snore. Then he + would know that the day had not yet come, and return wearily to his + bedroom. + </p> + <p> + Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the + house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed—and + dressing, now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because + collars, ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and + search meant head-beating against chairs and trunks—once dressed, + there was nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the + three daily meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch + from dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his mind + might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind was + quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as + millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would + not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with + imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past + success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and + feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened had + the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased through + sheer weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on tide of + overwhelming, purposeless fear—dread of starvation always, terror + lest the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the + chambers and a louse's death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror + that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed his head, + and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating self till the + tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being set before him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and Dick + learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted gas-plugs, + waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving picture-nails into + walls, and the sins of the charwoman or the housemaids. In the lack of + better things the small gossip of a servant'' hall becomes immensely + interesting, and the screwing of a washer on a tap an event to be talked + over for days. + </p> + <p> + Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when he + went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish, + lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his weight + first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly with the tins + and string-ball on the counter. Then they would perhaps meet one of Mr. + Beeton's friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, would hold his peace + till Mr. Beeton was willing to go on again. + </p> + <p> + The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a + dangerous exercise, and being shaved in a barber's shop meant exposure of + his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly brushed, + and since he had never taken any care of his personal appearance he became + every known variety of sloven. A blind man cannot deal with cleanliness + till he has been some months used to the darkness. If he demand attendance + and grow angry at the want of it, he must assert himself and stand + upright. Then the meanest menial can see that he is blind and, therefore, + of no consequence. A wise man will keep his eyes on the floor and sit + still. For amusement he may pick coal lump by lump out of the scuttle with + the tongs and pile it in a little heap in the fender, keeping count of the + lumps, which must all be put back again, one by one and very carefully. He + may set himself sums if he cares to work them out; he may talk to himself + or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if his trade has been that + of an artist, he may sketch in the air with his forefinger; but that is + too much like drawing a pig with the eyes shut. He may go to his + bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; or + to his wardrobe and count his shirts, laying them in piles of two or three + on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. + </p> + <p> + Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, + very long. + </p> + <p> + Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, taps + and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. + </p> + <p> + 'If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why, + then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the + amount of little things that these chambers uses up,' said Mr. Beeton. + </p> + <p> + Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: 'It's hard on you, sir, + I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?' + </p> + <p> + 'I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but I + 'ave often said to my wife, "It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as if he + was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young gentleman. + That's where it comes so 'ard."' + </p> + <p> + 'I suppose so,' said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long + battering had ceased to feel—much. + </p> + <p> + 'I was thinking,' continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, 'that + you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an + evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.' + </p> + <p> + 'I should be very grateful,' said Dick. 'Only let me make it worth his + while.' + </p> + <p> + 'We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; + but only to 'ear Alf sing "A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!" Ah!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the + newspapers.' + </p> + <p> + Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board + certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr. + </p> + <p> + Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through a song of + some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young Cockney, and, + after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign telegrams. Ten + minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and scared. + </p> + <p> + ''E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,' he explained. + </p> + <p> + 'He never said you read badly, Alf?' Mrs. Beeton spoke. + </p> + <p> + 'No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like that, + but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.' + </p> + <p> + 'P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about + Stocks, Alf?' + </p> + <p> + 'No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone—a + great long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words in + it. 'E give me 'arf a crown because I read so well. And 'e says the next + time there's anything 'e wants read 'e'll send for me.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's good hearing, but I do think for all the half-crown—put it + into the kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it—he + might have kept you longer. Why, he couldn't have begun to understand how + beautiful you read.' + </p> + <p> + 'He's best left to hisself—gentlemen always are when they're + downhearted,' said Mr. Beeton. + </p> + <p> + Alf's rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow's special + correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear, + through the boy's nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares behind + the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and chaffing + across the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it + drifted over camp before the wind of the desert. + </p> + <p> + That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him, + offering for proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he had + not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed Dick + knew in his heart of hearts that only a lingering sense of humour and no + special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, he had persuaded himself, + would be a ludicrous insult to the gravity of the situation as well as a + weak-kneed confession of fear. + </p> + <p> + 'Just for the fun of the thing,' he said to the cat, who had taken + Binkie's place in his establishment, 'I should like to know how long this + is going to last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds Torp cashed + for me. I must have two or three thousand at least in the Bank—twenty + or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I fall back on my + hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that time. Let's + consider. + </p> + <p> + Twenty-five—thirty-five—a man's in his prime then, they say—forty-five—a + middle-aged man just entering politics—fifty-five—"died at the + comparatively early age of fifty-five," according to the newspapers. Bah! + How these Christians funk death! Sixty-five—we're only getting on in + years. Seventy-five is just possible, though. Great hell, cat O! fifty + years more of solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die, and Beeton + will die, and Torp will die, and Mai—everybody else will die, but I + shall be alive and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry for myself. + I should like some one else to be sorry for me. Evidently I'm not going ma + before I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever. Some day when you're + vivisected, cat O! they'll tie you down on a little table and cut you open—but + don't be afraid; they'll take precious good care that you don't die. + You'll live, and you'll be very sorry then that you weren't sorry for me. + Perhaps Torp will come back or... I wish I could go to Torp and the + Nilghai, even though I were in their way.' + </p> + <p> + Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered, + found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. + </p> + <p> + 'There's a letter for you, sir,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd like me to read + it.' + </p> + <p> + 'Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you.' + </p> + <p> + The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not + over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that—that + was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes only + too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to him, for he + did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no reparation though + the evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love strive to mend all. + It is best to forget that wrong whether it be caused or endured, since it + is as remediless as bad work once put forward. + </p> + <p> + 'Read it, then,' said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the rules + of the Board School—'"I could have given you love, I could have + given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared + what you were? But you chose to whistle everything down the wind for + nothing. My only excuse for you is that you are so young." 'That's all,' + he said, returning the paper to be dropped into the fire. + </p> + <p> + 'What was in the letter?' asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin' at + everything when you're young.' + </p> + <p> + 'I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about and + it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is—unless it + was all a joke. But I don't know any one who'd take the trouble to play a + joke on me.... Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting enough. + </p> + <p> + I wonder whether I have lost anything really?' + </p> + <p> + Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he had + put himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman's hands. + </p> + <p> + Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think + about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. When + his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more, body and soul + together seemed to be dropping without check through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light + again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left him + sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till the + gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless as the + first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed that he saw. + Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he was utterly worn + out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration of Maisie and + might-have-beens. + </p> + <p> + At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to + take him out. 'Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if you + like.' + </p> + <p> + 'Be damned if I do,' quoth Dick. 'Keep to the streets and walk up and + down. I like to hear the people round me.' + </p> + <p> + This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their + infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted arms—but + Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and only once since + Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf's charge. Alf forgot + him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with some companions. After + half an hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping with rage and wrath, caught a + passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly policeman, who led him to a + four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He never told Mr. Beeton of Alf's + forgetfulness, but... this was not the manner in which he was used to walk + the Parks aforetime. + </p> + <p> + 'What streets would you like to walk down, then?' said Mr. Beeton, + sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking on + the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags full + of food. + </p> + <p> + 'Keep to the river,' said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush + of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck + thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of the + scenery as he went on. + </p> + <p> + 'And walking on the other side of the pavement,' said he, 'unless I'm much + mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to be drawed. + I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except paying + tenants, o' course!' + </p> + <p> + 'Stop her,' said Dick. 'It's Bessie Broke. Tell her I'd like to speak to + her again. Quick, man!' + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and arrested + Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the man in + authority who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick's staircase, + and her first impulse was to run. + </p> + <p> + 'Wasn't you Mr. Heldar's model?' said Mr. Beeton, planting himself in + front of her. 'You was. He's on the other side of the road and he'd like + to see you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Why?' said Bessie, faintly. She remembered—indeed had never for + long forgotten—an affair connected with a newly finished picture. + </p> + <p> + 'Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular + blind.' + </p> + <p> + 'Drunk?' + </p> + <p> + 'No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.' + </p> + <p> + Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed + him out—a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty + magenta-coloured neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing to + fear from such an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could not + follow far. She crossed over, and Dick's face lighted up. It was long + since a woman of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + 'I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?' said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr. + Beeton stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm very well indeed, and, by Jove! I'm glad to see—hear you, I + mean, Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again + after you got your money. I don't know why you should. Are you going + anywhere in particular just now?' + </p> + <p> + 'I was going for a walk,' said Bessie. + </p> + <p> + 'Not the old business?' Dick spoke under his breath. + </p> + <p> + 'Lor, no! I paid my premium'—Bessie was very proud of that word—'for + a barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I + am.' + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human + nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his + gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a + certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the + harm that had been done to him... + </p> + <p> + 'It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,' she went on, 'and they've got + one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a + penny at the end of the day—but then I don't believe the machinery + is right. Do you?' + </p> + <p> + 'I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.' + </p> + <p> + 'He's gone. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth your + while. You see.' The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie saw. + </p> + <p> + 'It isn't taking you out of your way?' he said hesitatingly. 'I can ask a + policeman if it is.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good God!—but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do + too. + </p> + <p> + Let's go home, Bess.' + </p> + <p> + He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an oath. + Bessie took his arm and said nothing—as she had said nothing when he + had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They walked + for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through the crowd. + </p> + <p> + 'And where's—where's Mr. Torpenhow?' she inquired at last. + </p> + <p> + 'He has gone away to the desert.' + </p> + <p> + 'Where's that?' + </p> + <p> + Dick pointed to the right. 'East—out of the mouth of the river,' + said he. + </p> + <p> + 'Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side of + Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.' The explanation did not + enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to + Dick's patch till they came to the chambers. + </p> + <p> + 'We'll have tea and muffins,' he said joyously. 'I can't tell you, Bessie, + how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so suddenly?' + </p> + <p> + 'I didn't think you'd want me any more,' she said, emboldened by his + ignorance. + </p> + <p> + 'I didn't, as a matter of fact—but afterwards—At any rate I'm + glad you've come. You know the stairs.' + </p> + <p> + So Bessie led him home to his own place—there was no one to hinder—and + shut the door of the studio. + </p> + <p> + 'What a mess!' was her first word. 'All these things haven't been looked + after for months and months.' + </p> + <p> + 'No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect them to care.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what you've + paid them for. The dust's just awful. It's all over the easel.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't use it much now.' + </p> + <p> + 'All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I'd like to + speak to them housemaids.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ring for tea, then.' Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by + custom. + </p> + <p> + Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there + remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in her + voice when she spoke. + </p> + <p> + 'How long have you been like this?' she said wrathfully, as though the + blindness were some fault of the housemaids. + </p> + <p> + 'How?' + </p> + <p> + 'As you are.' + </p> + <p> + 'The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my picture + was finished; I hardly saw her alive.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then they've been cheating you ever since, that's all. I know their nice + little ways.' + </p> + <p> + A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine + principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being + defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being + obviously an idiot, needs protection. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't think Mr. Beeton cheats much,' said Dick. Bessie was flouncing up + and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment as he + heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between. + </p> + <p> + 'Tea and muffins,' she said shortly, when the ring at the bell was + answered; 'two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I don't want the old + teapot that was here when I used to come. It don't draw. Get another.' + </p> + <p> + The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began to + cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust. + </p> + <p> + 'What are you trying to do?' + </p> + <p> + 'Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you let + it go so?' + </p> + <p> + 'How could I help it? Dust away.' + </p> + <p> + She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs. + </p> + <p> + Beeton. Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding up + with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, 'Do unto others as you would be + done by.' She had descended to put into her place the person who demanded + muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to both. + </p> + <p> + 'Muffins ready yet?' said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a drab of + the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick's check, had paid her + premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being neatly + dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and there + passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have + appreciated. The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and + Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about + models, hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband. + </p> + <p> + 'There's nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,' he said. 'Alf, + you go along into the street to play. When he isn't crossed he's as kindly + as kind, but when he's crossed he's the devil and all. We took too many + little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be that particular + about what he does. They ain't no objects to a blind man, of course, but + if it was to come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did introduce him + to that girl because I'm a feelin' man myself.' + </p> + <p> + 'Much too feelin'!' Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and + thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. + </p> + <p> + 'I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to judge him hard so long as + he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young gentlemen, + you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each stick to his + own business and then there won't be any trouble. Take them muffins down, + Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman. His lot is + cruel hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than any one I've ever + served.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's a little better,' said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. 'You + needn't wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.' + </p> + <p> + 'I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in which real + ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a first-class + public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes' notice. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and + displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his coat; + the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the forehead + was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was a dusty + indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called gray. The + utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to her, and at the + bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was humbled and brought + low who had once humbled her. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh! it is good to hear you moving about,' said Dick, rubbing his hands. + </p> + <p> + 'Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live now.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me. + </p> + <p> + You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? Why + isn't there any one to look after you?' + </p> + <p> + Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it. + </p> + <p> + 'I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I + don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. + </p> + <p> + Why should they?—and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was—well?' + </p> + <p> + 'A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.' + </p> + <p> + 'I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't become + you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me + these days?' + </p> + <p> + 'You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can + come, can't I?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very + well in the old days. I used to make you angry.' + </p> + <p> + 'Very angry, you did.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as you + can. God knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that trouble + except you and Mr. Beeton.' + </p> + <p> + 'A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.' This with a toss of the head. + </p> + <p> + 'They've let you do anyhow and they haven't done anything for you. I've + only to look and see that much. I'll come, and I'll be glad to come, but + you must go and be shaved, and you must get some other clothes—those + ones aren't fit to be seen.' + </p> + <p> + 'I have heaps somewhere,' he said helplessly. + </p> + <p> + 'I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I'll brush it + and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, but it + doesn't excuse you looking like a sweep.' + </p> + <p> + 'Do I look like a sweep, then?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for you!' she cried impulsively, + and took Dick's hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to kiss—she + was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not too proud for + a little pity now. She stood up to go. + </p> + <p> + 'Nothing o' that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite easy + when you get shaved, and some clothes.' + </p> + <p> + He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She + passed behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and ran + away as swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the Melancolia. + </p> + <p> + 'To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,' she said to herself, 'after all he's + done to me and all! Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved he + wouldn't be so bad to look at, but... Oh them Beetons, how shameful + they've treated him! I know Beeton's wearing his shirt on his back to-day + just as well as if I'd aired it. To-morrow, I'll see... I wonder if he has + much of his own. It might be worth more than the bar—I wouldn't have + to do any work—and just as respectable as if no one knew.' + </p> + <p> + Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely + conscious of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it + seemed, among very many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting + shaved. + </p> + <p> + He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A + fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in the + world said that she took an interest in his personal appearance made him + carry himself almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a while from + thinking of Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might have given that + kiss and a million others. + </p> + <p> + 'Let us consider,' said he, after lunch. 'The girl can't care, and it's a + toss-up whether she comes again or not, but if money can buy her to look + after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the world would take the + trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She's a child of the gutter + holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have everything she wants + if she'll only come and talk and look after me.' He rubbed his newly shorn + chin and began to perplex himself with the thought of her not coming. 'I + suppose I did look rather a sweep,' he went on. 'I had no reason to look + otherwise. I knew things dropped on my clothes, but it didn't matter. It + would be cruel if she didn't come. She must. Maisie came once, and that + was enough for her. She was quite right. She had something to work for. + This creature has only beer-handles to pull, unless she has deluded some + young man into keeping company with her. + </p> + <p> + Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We're falling pretty + low.' + </p> + <p> + Something cried aloud within him:—This will hurt more than anything + that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and tantalise, + and in the end drive you mad. + </p> + <p> + 'I know it, I know it!' Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly; + 'but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of + his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she'd + come.' + </p> + <p> + Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in + her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would + allow her to be idle for the rest of her days. + </p> + <p> + 'I shouldn't have known you,' she said approvingly. 'You look as you used + to look—a gentleman that was proud of himself.' + </p> + <p> + 'Don't you think I deserve another kiss, then?' said Dick, flushing a + little. + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe—but you won't get it yet. Sit down and let's see what I can + do for you. I'm certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can't go + through the housekeeping books every month. Isn't that true?' + </p> + <p> + 'You'd better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.' + </p> + <p> + 'Couldn't do it in these chambers—you know that as well as I do.' + </p> + <p> + 'I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your + while.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn't care to have to work + for both of us.' This was tentative. + </p> + <p> + Dick laughed. + </p> + <p> + 'Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?' said he. 'Torp took + it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.' + </p> + <p> + 'It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!' + </p> + <p> + 'Well?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a penny! + Oh my!' + </p> + <p> + 'You can have the penny. That's not bad for one year's work. Is that and a + hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?' + </p> + <p> + The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, but + she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; but you'd have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we'd + find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms here + and there. They don't look as full as they used.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind, we'll let him have them. The only thing I'm particularly + anxious to take away is that picture I used you for—when you used to + swear at me. We'll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as + ever we can.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh yes,' she said uneasily. + </p> + <p> + 'I don't know where I can go to get away from myself, but I'll try, and + you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You'll like that. + </p> + <p> + Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it's good to put one's arm round a + woman's waist again.' + </p> + <p> + Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm were + thus round Maisie's waist and a kiss had just been given and taken between + them,—why then... He pressed the girl more closely to himself + because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little + accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the + solace of her company—and certainly he would relapse into his + original slough if she withdrew it—he would not be more than just a + little vexed. + </p> + <p> + It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by her + teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his companion. + </p> + <p> + She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. + </p> + <p> + 'I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was you,' she began, in the + hope of turning his attention. + </p> + <p> + 'It's at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know it + as well as I do.' + </p> + <p> + 'I know—but—' + </p> + <p> + 'But what? You've wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer. + </p> + <p> + Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or nine + hundred pounds to—to us. I simply didn't like to think about it for + a long time. It was mixed up with my life so.—But we'll cover up our + tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the + beginning, Bess.' + </p> + <p> + Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value of + money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating the + value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular about + their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she tries to + explain the breakage of a pipe. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm very sorry, but you remember I was—I was angry with you before + Mr. Torpenhow went away?' + </p> + <p> + 'You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to + be.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then I—but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?' + </p> + <p> + 'Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when + you might just as well be giving me another kiss?' + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that + kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want. + </p> + <p> + Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, 'I was so angry + I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't angry, are you?' + </p> + <p> + 'What? Say that again.' The man's hand had closed on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + 'I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,' faltered Bessie. 'I thought + you'd only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn't you? + Oh, let go of my wrist; you're hurting me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Isn't there anything left of the thing?' + </p> + <p> + 'N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm sorry—I didn't know you'd + take on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to hit + me?' + </p> + <p> + 'Hit you! No! Let's think.' + </p> + <p> + He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet. + </p> + <p> + Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the + stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles + that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of the + Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie's return + and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the Melancolia—lovelier + in his imagination than she had ever been on canvas—reappeared. By + her aid he might have procured mor money wherewith to amuse Bess and to + forget Maisie, as well as another taste of an almost forgotten success. + Now, thanks to a vicious little housemaid's folly, there was nothing to + look for—not even the hope that he might some day take an abiding + interest in the housemaid. Worst of all, he had been made to appear + ridiculous in Maisie's eyes. A woman will forgive the man who has ruined + her life's work so long as he gives her love; a man may forgive those who + ruin the love of his life, but he will never forgive the destruction of + his work. + </p> + <p> + 'Tck—tck—tck,' said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed + softly. 'It's an omen, Bessie, and—a good many things considered, it + serves me right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for + Maisie's running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad—small + blame to her! The whole picture ruined, isn't it so? What made you do it?' + </p> + <p> + 'Because I was that angry. I'm not angry now—I'm awful sorry.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wonder.—It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm to blame for making the + mistake.' + </p> + <p> + 'What mistake?' + </p> + <p> + 'Something you wouldn't understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that a + little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!' Dick was + talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + 'I ain't a piece of dirt, and you shouldn't call me so! I did it 'cause I + hated you, and I'm only sorry now 'cause you're—'cause you're——' + </p> + <p> + 'Exactly—because I'm blind. There's noting like tact in little + things.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; she + was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too that + her great revenge had only made Dick laugh. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't cry,' he said, and took her into his arms. 'You only did what you + thought right.' + </p> + <p> + 'I—I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I'll never + come to you again.' + </p> + <p> + 'You don't know what you've done to me. I'm not angry—indeed, I'm + not. + </p> + <p> + Be quiet for a minute.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick's first thought was connected + with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open sore. + </p> + <p> + Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. + </p> + <p> + The first pang—the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to + the play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has + decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the love + of their life, and in their new wives' arms are compelled to realise it. + </p> + <p> + It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, so + long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that + resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone. + </p> + <p> + These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie + to his heart. + </p> + <p> + 'Though you mayn't know it,' he said, raising his head, 'the Lord is a + just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It + serves me right—how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if + he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but + only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let me go,' said Bess, her face darkening. 'Let me go.' + </p> + <p> + 'All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?' + </p> + <p> + 'Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making fun of me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Indeed, I'm not. I'm making fun of myself.... Thus. "He saved others, + himself he cannot save." It isn't exactly a school-board text.' He + released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she could + not escape. 'What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman can do!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the picture.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we talking + about before you mentioned the thing?' + </p> + <p> + 'About getting away—and money. Me and you going away.' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course. We will get away—that is to say, I will.' + </p> + <p> + 'And me?' + </p> + <p> + 'You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then you won't——?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to + yourself.' + </p> + <p> + 'You said you couldn't do anything without me.' + </p> + <p> + 'That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my + hat.' + </p> + <p> + 'S'pose I don't?' + </p> + <p> + 'Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.' + </p> + <p> + Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had + kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it + pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all + there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through a + slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not too + much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the pretty + things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as + respectable as a real lady. + </p> + <p> + 'Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, but it doesn't matter, and + I'll think things out. What's the day of the week, Bess?' + </p> + <p> + 'Tuesday.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool—what a blind fool I have + been! + </p> + <p> + Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for additional + expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat's for old time's sake. Thirty-two + pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last trip—Gad, + won't Torp stare to see me!—a hundred and thirty-two leaves + seventy-eight for baksheesh—I shall need it—and to play with. + </p> + <p> + What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn't your fault, child; it was mine + altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out! + </p> + <p> + I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand + pounds at four per cent—that's safe interest—means a hundred + and sixty pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a hear—also + safe—is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three + hundred a year means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we'll go to + the bank.' + </p> + <p> + Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick caused + Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the P. and O. + offices, where he explained things tersely. + </p> + <p> + 'Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as possible. + </p> + <p> + What ship's going?' + </p> + <p> + 'The Colgong,' said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + 'She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and + the docks?' + </p> + <p> + 'Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well—will you count it + into my hand?' + </p> + <p> + 'If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about their + trunks, life would be worth something,' said the clerk to his neighbour, + who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that condensed milk + is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and + unmarried, he spoke with conviction. + </p> + <p> + 'We are now,' quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the + place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, 'beyond the reach of + man, or devil, or woman—which is much more important. I've had three + little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask you to + help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We'll breakfast, and + you shall take me down to Galleons Station.' + </p> + <p> + 'What are you going to do?' + </p> + <p> + 'Going away, of course. What should I stay for?' + </p> + <p> + 'But you can't look after yourself?' + </p> + <p> + 'I can do anything. I didn't realise it before, but I can. I've done a + great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie + doesn't object.' Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. 'I + suppose you're right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and + you'll get your money.' + </p> + <p> + 'Shall I sure?' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't bilk, and you won't know whether I do or not unless you come. + </p> + <p> + Oh, but it's long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,—send Beeton + here as you go out.' + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper came. + </p> + <p> + 'What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?' said Dick, imperiously. + </p> + <p> + ''Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore + out dreadful.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.' + </p> + <p> + 'Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say——' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, damn your longwindedness! You've made your pickings out of me and the + other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house the + other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.' + </p> + <p> + 'Fifty,' said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation. + </p> + <p> + 'Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.' + </p> + <p> + He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and + wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. + </p> + <p> + 'That's sinful, sir,' said the housekeeper, alarmed. + </p> + <p> + 'It's my own. One hundred or——' + </p> + <p> + 'One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster + mended.' + </p> + <p> + 'I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring + that price at once!' + </p> + <p> + 'I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all + you, sir.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my clothes + are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going.' + </p> + <p> + 'But the quarter's notice?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.' + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that + Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable + view. + </p> + <p> + 'It's very sudden—but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen + to him now!' + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of chanting from Dick's room. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'We'll never come back any more, boys, + We'll never come back no more; + We'll go to the deuce on any excuse, + And never come back no more! + + Oh say we're afloat or ashore, boys, + Oh say we're afloat or ashore; + But we'll never come back any more, boys, + We'll never come back no more!' +</pre> + <p> + 'Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?' + </p> + <p> + 'Quick, he's going to shoot himself—'avin' gone mad!' said Mrs. + Beeton. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the + latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention of + the promises to 'find everything to-morrow, sir.' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, you copper-nosed old fool—you impotent Academician!' he shouted + at last. 'Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your + silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it's + loaded. + </p> + <p> + It's among my campaign-kit somewhere—in the parcel at the bottom of + the trunk.' + </p> + <p> + Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight + field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It was + this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. + </p> + <p> + Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, + and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue cloth + leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of swan-neck + spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin + case of stationery. + </p> + <p> + 'These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else I'll + keep. Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've done + that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a minute; + get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.' + </p> + <p> + It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had + particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he began, + following his right hand with his left: '"The badness of this writing is + because I am blind and cannot see my pen." H'mph!—even a lawyer + can't mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn't be + witnessed. Now an inch lower—why did I never learn to use a + type-writer?—"This is the last will and testament of me, Richard + Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous + will to revoke."—That's all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the + paper was I?—"I leave everything that I possess in the world, + including four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty + eight pounds held for me"—oh, I can't get this straight.' He tore + off half the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. + Then: 'I leave all the money I possess in the world to'—here + followed Maisie's name, and the names of the two banks that held the + money. + </p> + <p> + 'It mayn't be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to dispute + it, and I've given Maisie's address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This is my + signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. To-morrow you + must take me to the landlord and I'll pay forfeit for leaving without + notice, and I'll lodge this paper with him in case anything happens while + I'm away. Now we're going to light up the studio stove. Stay with me, and + give me my papers as I want 'em.' + </p> + <p> + No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year's accumulation of + bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove every + document in the studio—saving only three unopened letters; destroyed + sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases alike. + </p> + <p> + 'What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough in + one place, to be sure,' said Mr. Beeton, at last. + </p> + <p> + 'He does. Is there anything more left?' Dick felt round the walls. + </p> + <p> + 'Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot.' + </p> + <p> + 'Excellent, and you've lost about a thousand pounds' worth of sketches. + </p> + <p> + Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds' worth, if I can remember what I used to + be.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes, sir,' politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad, + otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a + song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out of + the way. + </p> + <p> + There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could not + be accomplished to to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking up the + last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there remained + no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, and sat down + before the stove till the fire died out and the contracting iron cracked + in the silence of the night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With a heart of furious fancies, + Whereof I am commander; + With a burning spear and a horse of air, + To the wilderness I wander. + + With a knight of ghosts and shadows + I summoned am to tourney— + Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end, + Methinks it is no journey. + + —Tom a' Bedlam's Song. +</pre> + <p> + 'GOOD-BYE, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here's a hundred—all that I + got for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for + some time. You've been a good little girl, all things considered, but + you've given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.' + </p> + <p> + 'Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won't you?' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the cabin. + Once aboard the lugger and the maid is—and I am free, I mean.' + </p> + <p> + 'Who'll look after you on this ship?' + </p> + <p> + 'The head-steward, if there's any use in money. The doctor when we come to + Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the Lord + will provide, as He used to do.' + </p> + <p> + Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of + leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself + down in his bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so long + to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography of a + ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine to him. + </p> + <p> + Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been + introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good + place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with joy + in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved about, + for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep sleep of + weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of Maisie, and he + slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the Thames and was lifting + to the pulse of the Channel. + </p> + <p> + The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very familiar + sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, it's good to be alive again!' He yawned, stretched himself + vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast of + the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgal Square + is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick could + feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous little + cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and one wave + breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new + deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was + stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to + the smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong b reeze found him, blew his + cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room + steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that the + weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than half a + gale in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold, and Dick enjoyed + himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary at sea to lay + firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving from place to + place. On land the man who feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea + even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor over the + weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales—and these + are coin of more value than silver if properly handled—smoked with + him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that + he promised Dick a few hours of his time when they came to Port Said. + </p> + <p> + And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang + their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom + the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened hatch-grating + where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread and the passengers + made merry, and at last they came to Port Said. + </p> + <p> + 'Take me,' said Dick, to the doctor, 'to Madame Binat's—if you know + where that is.' + </p> + <p> + 'Whew!' said the doctor, 'I do. There's not much to choose between 'em; + but I suppose you're aware that that's one of the worst houses in the + place. They'll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.' + </p> + <p> + So he was brought to Madame Binat's and filled his nostrils with the + well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the + Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca + of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with the + buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his coat-sleeve + was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. + </p> + <p> + Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick + entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a + little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he had + ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened a + bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of Monsieur + Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation. + </p> + <p> + Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, scandalised, + so far as a ship's doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick's reception. Dick + was delighted at it. 'They remember me here after a year. They have + forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I want a long talk + with you when you're at liberty. It is good to be back again.' + </p> + <p> + In the evening she set an iron-topped cafe-table out on the sands, and + Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, + merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the + shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? We + have not forgotten thee.' + </p> + <p> + 'I was over there in England and I went blind.' + </p> + <p> + 'But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here—I and + Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow 'Tina—she is still + alive—so often and so well that 'Tina laughed when the papers + arrived by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could + recognise in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the + money for thee.' + </p> + <p> + 'I am not poor—I shall pay you well.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.' Under her breath, 'Mon Dieu, + to be blind and so young! What horror!' + </p> + <p> + Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the + discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was + too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire. + </p> + <p> + 'And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire as + they used to do when the war was here—ten years ago. Beyond Cairo + there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent's + passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is + impossible also,' said she. + </p> + <p> + 'I must go to Suakin.' He knew, thanks to Alf's readings, that Torpenhow + was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the + Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, + besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth + anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to + be accomplished, which is much more important when there is work toward. + </p> + <p> + 'But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men always—and + always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?' + </p> + <p> + 'My friend is there. + </p> + <p> + 'Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.' + </p> + <p> + Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick's glass anew, + and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that he + should bow his head in assent and say—'No. He is a man, but—if + it should arrive... blamest thou?' + </p> + <p> + 'I blame?' she laughed shrilly. 'Who am I that I should blame any one—except + those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it is very + terrible.' + </p> + <p> + 'I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the + year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer + goes down the Canal to Suakin—and the post-boats—But even then——' + </p> + <p> + 'Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt go—thou + shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house is a little + quiet—I must attend to my guests—and afterwards go to bed. + Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.' + </p> + <p> + 'To-morrow?' + </p> + <p> + 'As soon as may be.' She was talking as though he were a child. + </p> + <p> + He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the + streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat + carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and + sang and danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with one eye + on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick's interests. To + this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive Turkish officers of + fellaheen regiments, and more than kind to camel agents of no nationality + whatever. + </p> + <p> + In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red + silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a necklace + of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in to Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. + Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the + morning chocolate.' She sat down on the side of the bed whispering:—'It + is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe of + ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The boat + comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a Greek + muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not know of + thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his mules. Then + he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if I do not receive + a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl answers for + George.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank you.' He reached out sleepily for the cup. 'You are much too kind, + Madame.' + </p> + <p> + 'If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be + wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.' She looked at her + liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. 'Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, thou + shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.' + </p> + <p> + She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. 'That is for good-morning,' + she said, going away. 'When thou art dressed we will speak to George and + make everything ready. But first we must open the little trunk. Give me + the keys.' + </p> + <p> + 'The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect + Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in his + way, though. Well, it won't last long.—Ohe, Madame, help me to my + toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing properly + out yonder.' + </p> + <p> + He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his hands with + the spurs. There are two says of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, spotless + blue bands, khaki coat and breeches, and a perfectly pipeclayed helmet. + The right way is the way of the untired man, master of himself, setting + out upon an expedition, well pleased. + </p> + <p> + 'Everything must be very correct,' Dick explained. 'It will become dirty + afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything as it + should be?' + </p> + <p> + He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on + the right hip and fingered his collar. + </p> + <p> + 'I can do no more,' Madame said, between laughing and crying. 'Look at + thyself—but I forgot.' + </p> + <p> + 'I am very content.' He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. + </p> + <p> + 'Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. + </p> + <p> + Be quick, Madame.' + </p> + <p> + 'But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the + daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies——' + </p> + <p> + 'There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. + </p> + <p> + Take me there.' + </p> + <p> + In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the + lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to George + and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made for Dick's + benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her acquaintance cared to + disregard Madame's advice. That sort of contempt might end in being knifed + by a stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short provocation. + </p> + <p> + For six days—two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal—the + little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the + superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to + propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his + light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own + discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and together + they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material and wastage + of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate fragments to + mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. + </p> + <p> + 'If you keep with me,' said George, 'nobody will ask for passports or what + you do. They are all very busy.' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might + remember me. I was known here a long time ago—when I was some one + indeed.' + </p> + <p> + 'A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full. + </p> + <p> + Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan—that + is seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan + the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be + brought to them by this line.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in + the open.' + </p> + <p> + 'For this reason even the mules to up in the iron-train.' + </p> + <p> + 'Iron what?' + </p> + <p> + 'It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.' + </p> + <p> + 'An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.' + </p> + <p> + 'And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly require + to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far from + the city.' + </p> + <p> + 'The dears—they always used to!' Dick snuffed the smell of parched + dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old life + was welcoming him back most generously. + </p> + <p> + 'When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first + send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.' + </p> + <p> + 'Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had + the chance?' + </p> + <p> + 'I have no chance,' said the Greek. 'She is there with that woman.' + </p> + <p> + 'I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the + chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.' + </p> + <p> + They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was + desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was + the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On their + return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was doing. The + blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand on George's + elbow as he replied—'Egyptian Government—mules. My orders are + to give them over to the A. + </p> + <p> + C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion to show my papers?' + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no right to ask, but not seeing + your face before I——' + </p> + <p> + 'I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,' said Dick, boldly. 'There + will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?' + </p> + <p> + 'You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up + early.' The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down waif + this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek + muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small + thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark, + and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking of + what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, and all had been + as it was not. + </p> + <p> + George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His + charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his + tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. + There was a great bustle and clamour about him. He grew afraid and almost + called for George. + </p> + <p> + 'I say, have you got your mules ready?' It was the voice of the subaltern + over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + 'My man's looking after them. The—the fact is I've a touch of + ophthalmia and can't see very well. + </p> + <p> + 'By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I've + had a turn of it myself. It's as bad as being blind.' + </p> + <p> + 'So I find it. When does this armoured train go?' + </p> + <p> + 'At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.' + </p> + <p> + 'Are the Fuzzies on the rampage—eh?' + </p> + <p> + 'About three nights a week. Fact is I'm in acting command of the + night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.' + </p> + <p> + 'Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?' + </p> + <p> + 'Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.' + </p> + <p> + 'Is that far off?' + </p> + <p> + 'Between thirty and forty miles—in an infernal thirsty country.' + </p> + <p> + 'Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?' + </p> + <p> + 'More or less. I shouldn't care to cross it alone, or with a subaltern's + command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through it in some + extraordinary fashion.' + </p> + <p> + 'They always did.' + </p> + <p> + 'Have you been here before, then?' + </p> + <p> + 'I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.' + </p> + <p> + 'In the service and cashiered,' was the subaltern's first thought, so he + refrained from putting any questions. + </p> + <p> + 'There's you man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer——' + </p> + <p> + 'That I should be mule-leading?' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'I didn't mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me—it's beastly + impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public + school. There's no mistaking the tone.' + </p> + <p> + 'I am a public school man.' + </p> + <p> + 'I thought so. I say, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're a + little down on your luck, aren't you? I saw you sitting with your head in + your hands, and that's why I spoke.' + </p> + <p> + 'Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need be.' + </p> + <p> + 'Suppose—I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I perhaps—take + it as a loan y'know and——' + </p> + <p> + 'You're much too good, but on my honour I've as much money as I want. + </p> + <p> + ... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an + everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train. + </p> + <p> + There is a fore-truck, isn't there?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yes. How d'you know?' + </p> + <p> + 'I've been in an armoured train before. Only let me see—hear some of + the fun I mean, and I'll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a + non-combatant.' + </p> + <p> + The young man thought for a minute. 'All right,' he said. 'We're supposed + to be an empty train, and there's no one to blow me up at the other end.' + </p> + <p> + George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the mules, + and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths inch + boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to start. + </p> + <p> + Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered in + with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the + muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral fire. + </p> + <p> + The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score of + artillerymen were rioting. + </p> + <p> + 'Whitechapel—last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first class + there!' somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward + truck. + </p> + <p> + 'Lordy! 'Ere's a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and Ealin' + train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.'—'Shall I get you a + foot-warmer?' said another. + </p> + <p> + 'Thanks. I'll pay my footing,' said Dick, and relations of the most + amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the + subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track. + </p> + <p> + 'This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in + the open,' said Dick, from his place in the corner. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he goes!' said the subaltern, as a + bullet struck the outside of the truck. 'We always have at least one + demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the + rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not to-night though! Listen!' said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed bullets + was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued + their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. + </p> + <p> + 'Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?' the subaltern asked of the + engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. + </p> + <p> + 'I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing old + Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.' + </p> + <p> + 'Right O!' + </p> + <p> + 'Hrrmph!' said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern + drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor and the + smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at the + rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited + howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the + sounds and the smells. + </p> + <p> + 'God is very good—I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em + hell, men. Oh, give 'em hell!' he cried. + </p> + <p> + The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party went + out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children of + the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty minutes were + lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, to be varied + with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the machine + guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train came + under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan. + </p> + <p> + 'Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,' said + the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun. + </p> + <p> + 'It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How + superb it must have looked from outside!' said Dick, sighing regretfully. + </p> + <p> + 'It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled + about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm + Bennil of the Gunners—in the artillery lines—and mind you + don't fall over my tent-ropes in the dark.' + </p> + <p> + But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the + hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the + tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for + George. There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the + rear trucks, with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the mules. + </p> + <p> + The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold wind of the + desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and dirty—so + dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was a hopeless + job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over the many + times that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains or camels, + mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In those days he could see—few + men more clearly—and the spectacle of an armed camp at dinner under + the stare was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There was colour, light, + and motion, without which no man has much pleasure in living. This night + there remained for him only one more journey through the darkness that + never lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled. Then he would grip + Torpenhow's hand again—Torpenhow, who was alive and strong, and + lived in the midst of the action that had once made the reputation of a + man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be confused with the blind, + bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to the same name. Yes, he would + find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old life as might be. Afterwards + he would forget everything: Bessie, who had wrecked the Melancolia and so + nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived in a strange unreal city full + of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters that no men needed; that irrational + being who had offered him love and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed + her name; and most of all Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was + undeniably right in all she did, but oh, at this distance, so + tantalisingly fair. + </p> + <p> + George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. + </p> + <p> + 'And what now?' said George. + </p> + <p> + 'Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where + the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their + camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the + corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!' + </p> + <p> + The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the stumps + of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew they + would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded faces, and + the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no part of + Dick's policy to go into the desert with a convoy of supplies. That would + lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind non-combatant is not + needed at the front, he would probably be forced to return to Suakin. + </p> + <p> + He must go up alone, and go immediately. + </p> + <p> + 'Now for one last bluff—the biggest of all,' he said. 'Peace be with + you, brethren!' The watchful George steered him to the circle of the + nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels, + scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding hens, half + ready to get to their feet. + </p> + <p> + 'A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'A Mulaid?' said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he + knew. + </p> + <p> + 'A Bisharin,' returned Dick, with perfect gravity. 'A Bisharin without + saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.' + </p> + <p> + Two or three minutes passed. Then—'We be knee-haltered for the + night. There is no going out from the camp.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not for money?' + </p> + <p> + 'H'm! Ah! English money?' + </p> + <p> + Another depressing interval of silence. + </p> + <p> + 'How much?' + </p> + <p> + 'Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my + journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, to + be paid when the driver returns.' + </p> + <p> + This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his + commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf. + </p> + <p> + 'For scarcely one night's journey—fifty pounds. Land and wells and + good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who + speaks?' said Dick. + </p> + <p> + 'I,' said a voice. 'I will go—but there is no going from the camp.' + </p> + <p> + 'Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries do + not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another twenty-five + pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no + baggage-camel.' + </p> + <p> + Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first + deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver. + </p> + <p> + Dick heard the latter say: 'A little way out only. Any baggage-beast will + serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?' + </p> + <p> + 'And though I cannot see'—Dick lifted his voice a little—'yet + I carry that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we + do not reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.' + </p> + <p> + 'But where, in God's name, are the troops?' + </p> + <p> + 'Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it + will be life or death to thee.' + </p> + <p> + 'I know,' said the driver, sullenly. 'Stand back from my beast. I am going + to slip him.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to feel + his cheek.' The hands wandered over the hide till they found the branded + half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built riding-camel. + </p> + <p> + 'That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on + those who try to cheat the blind.' + </p> + <p> + The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had + intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. + </p> + <p> + 'Stand back!' one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a + quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his hand,—and + a cry went up, 'Illaha! Aho! He is loose.' + </p> + <p> + With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward + toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation. + </p> + <p> + George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a + disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. + </p> + <p> + 'What's the row now?' he cried. + </p> + <p> + 'Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,' Dick answered, after + the manner of a common soldier. + </p> + <p> + 'Go on, and take care your throat's not cut out side—you and your + dromedary's.' + </p> + <p> + The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and + his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. + </p> + <p> + 'Mount first,' said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently + screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back, 'Go on + in God's name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to Madame, and + have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!' + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by + the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick + adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed + his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was + conscious only of the sense of rapid progress. + </p> + <p> + 'A good camel,' he said at last. + </p> + <p> + 'He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,' the driver replied. + </p> + <p> + 'Go on.' + </p> + <p> + His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of his + thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in seemed + that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He had committed + some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him up in his + bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two lines of the + hymn— + </p> + <p> + When Israel of the Lord believed Out of the land of bondage came. + </p> + <p> + He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the + saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and + ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt, and + stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of camel-thorn + shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was fired, and the + silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. Dick could think no + longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to do more than nod + uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and punching the driver + with the pistol. + </p> + <p> + 'Is there a moon?' he asked drowsily. + </p> + <p> + 'She is near her setting.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the + desert talk.' + </p> + <p> + The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. It + rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A + handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and + crumbled softly to the bottom. + </p> + <p> + 'Go on. The night is very cold.' + </p> + <p> + Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before the + light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that he had + never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at all save + jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger the + nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. Centuries + later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his left and + allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe distance of + London he was watching himself thus employed,—watching critically. + Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might paint the + tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the black shadow + of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a revolver and + the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, he was in the + dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever. + </p> + <p> + The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. + </p> + <p> + 'I smell the dawn,' he whispered. + </p> + <p> + 'It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?' + </p> + <p> + The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the + pungent reek of camels in the square. + </p> + <p> + 'Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.' + </p> + <p> + 'They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see + what they do.' + </p> + <p> + 'Am I in better case? Go forward.' + </p> + <p> + They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of + the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day. + </p> + <p> + Two or three shots were fired. + </p> + <p> + 'Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,' Dick spoke + angrily. + </p> + <p> + 'Nay, it is from the desert,' the driver answered, cowering in his saddle. + </p> + <p> + 'Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an hour + ago.' + </p> + <p> + The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind multiplied. + The children of the desert had arranged that most uncomfortable of + surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and were getting their + distance by snap-shots at the only moving object without the square. + </p> + <p> + 'What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!' said Dick. 'It's "just + before the battle, mother." Oh, God has been most good to me! + </p> + <p> + Only'—the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an + instant—'Maisie...' + </p> + <p> + 'Allahu! We are in,' said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and the + camel knelt. + </p> + <p> + 'Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength of the + enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?' asked a dozen voices. + For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted + from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, 'Torpenhow! Ohe, + Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.' + </p> + <p> + A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe moved + very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to + fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually the + scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked white + that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned over + wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square were + coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and they + edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet and + roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had cut its + throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a man receiving + his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and redoubled firing. + </p> + <p> + There was no time to ask any questions. + </p> + <p> + 'Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!' + </p> + <p> + 'No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.' Dick turned his face + to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, + miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair + was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man. + </p> + <p> + 'Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!' + </p> + <p> + And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from the + Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the last, even + to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Light That Failed, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED *** + +***** This file should be named 2876-h.htm or 2876-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/2876/ + +Produced by David Reed, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or + re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included + with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + Title: The Light That Failed + + Author: Rudyard Kipling + + Release Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2876] + Last Updated: February 24, 2016 + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED *** + + + + + Produced by David Reed, and David Widger + + + + + +THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + + +By Rudyard Kipling + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER I + +CHAPTER II + +CHAPTER III + +CHAPTER IV + +CHAPTER V + +CHAPTER VI + +CHAPTER VII + +CHAPTER VIII + +CHAPTER IX + +CHAPTER X + +CHAPTER XI + +CHAPTER XII + +CHAPTER XIII + +CHAPTER XIV + +CHAPTER XV + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + So we settled it all when the storm was done + As comf'y as comf'y could be; + And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, + Because I was only three; + And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot, + Because he was five and a man; + And that's how it all began, my dears, + And that's how it all began. + + --Big Barn Stories. +'WHAT do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, +you know,' said Maisie. + +'Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,' Dick answered, without +hesitation. 'Have you got the cartridges?' + +'Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire +cartridges go off of their own accord?' + +'Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry +them.' + +'I'm not afraid.' Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket +and her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver. + +The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable +without pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick +had saved seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed +Belgian revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the +syndicate for the purchase of a hundred cartridges. 'You can save better +than I can, Dick,' she explained; 'I like nice things to eat, and it +doesn't matter to you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.' + +Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the +purchase, which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers +did not lie in the scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the +guardian who was incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother +to these two orphans. Dick had been under her care for six years, during +which time she had made her profit of the allowances supposed to be +expended on his clothes, and, partly through thoughtlessness, partly +through a natural desire to pain,--she was a widow of some years anxious +to marry again,--had made his days burdensome on his young shoulders. + +Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate. + +Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him +ridicule. The many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her +small house she devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick +Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in the main by her own intelligence +and a keen study of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. At +such times as she herself was not personally displeased with Dick, she +left him to understand that he had a heavy account to settle with his +Creator; wherefore Dick learned to loathe his God as intensely as he +loathed Mrs. Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for the +young. Since she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, when dread of +pain drove him to his first untruth, he naturally developed into a liar, +but an economical and self-contained one, never throwing away the least +unnecessary fib, and never hesitating at the blackest, were it only +plausible, that might make his life a little easier. The treatment +taught him at least the power of living alone,--a power that was of +service to him when he went to a public school and the boys laughed at +his clothes, which were poor in quality and much mended. In the holidays +he returned to the teachings of Mrs. Jennett, and, that the chain of +discipline might not be weakened by association with the world, was +generally beaten, on one account or another, before he had been twelve +hours under her roof. + +The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a +long-haired, gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who +moved about the house silently and for the first few weeks spoke only +to the goat that was her chiefest friend on earth and lived in the +back-garden. Mrs. Jennett objected to the goat on the grounds that +he was un-Christian,--which he certainly was. 'Then,' said the +atom, choosing her words very deliberately, 'I shall write to my +lawyer-peoples and tell them that you are a very bad woman. Amomma +is mine, mine, mine!' Mrs. Jennett made a movement to the hall, where +certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. The atom understood as +clearly as Dick what this meant. 'I have been beaten before,' she said, +still in the same passionless voice; 'I have been beaten worse than you +can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write to my lawyer-peoples +and tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. I am not afraid of +you.' Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the atom, after a pause +to assure herself that all danger of war was past, went out, to weep +bitterly on Amomma's neck. + +Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her +profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small +liberty of action left to him. She did not, however; and she volunteered +no friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long before the +holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in common drove the +children together, if it were only to play into each other's hands as +they prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school, +Maisie whispered, 'Now I shall be all alone to take care of myself; +but,' and she nodded her head bravely, 'I can do it. You promised to +send Amomma a grass collar. Send it soon.' A week later she asked for +that collar by return of post, and was not pleased when she learned that +it took time to make. When at last Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot +to thank him for it. + +Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into +a lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not +for a moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the +average canings of a public school--Dick fell under punishment about +three times a month--filled him with contempt for her powers. 'She +doesn't hurt,' he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, 'and +she is kinder to you after she has whacked me.' Dick shambled through +the days unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the +school learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them, +cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than once try +to tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. 'We are both +miserable as it is,' said she. 'What is the use of trying to make things +worse? Let's find things to do, and forget things.' + +The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the +muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and +pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out +nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched +by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the +afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting +patiently behind them. + +'Mf!' said Maisie, sniffing the air. 'I wonder what makes the sea so +smelly? I don't like it!' + +'You never like anything that isn't made just for you,' said Dick +bluntly. 'Give me the cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does +one of these little revolvers carry?' + +'Oh, half a mile,' said Maisie, promptly. 'At least it makes an awful +noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don't like those jagged +stick-up things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.' + +'All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.' + +He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of +mud to the right of the wood-wreathed piles. + +'Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all +round.' + +Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, +her hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. + +Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very +cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon +walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations +with his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went. + +'I think it hit the post,' she said, shading her eyes and looking out +across the sailless sea. + +'I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,' said Dick, with a +chuckle. 'Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, look +at Amomma!--he's eating the cartridges!' + +Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma +scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred +to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma +had naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried +up to assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale. + +'Yes, he's eaten two.' + +'Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up, +and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?' + +Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could +not explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated +her from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off +in his face. Then she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside +him, crying, 'Dick, you aren't hurt, are you? I didn't mean it.' + +'Of course you didn't, said Dick, coming out of the smoke and wiping his +cheek. 'But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings awfully.' +A neat little splash of gray led on a stone showed where the bullet had +gone. Maisie began to whimper. + +'Don't,' said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. 'I'm not a +bit hurt.' + +'No, but I might have killed you,' protested Maisie, the corners of her +mouth drooping. 'What should I have done then?' + +'Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.' Dick grinned at the thought; then, +softening, 'Please don't worry about it. Besides, we are wasting time. + +We've got to get back to tea. I'll take the revolver for a bit.' + +Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick's +indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol, +restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically +bombarded the breakwater. 'Got it at last!' he exclaimed, as a lock of +weed flew from the wood. + +'Let me try,' said Maisie, imperiously. 'I'm all right now.' + +They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook itself +to pieces, and Amomma the outcast--because he might blow up at any +moment--browsed in the background and wondered why stones were thrown +at him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool which +was commanded by the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat down +together before this new target. + +'Next holidays,' said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver kicked +wildly in his hand, 'we'll get another pistol,--central fire,--that will +carry farther.' + +'There won't be any next holidays for me,' said Maisie. 'I'm going +away.' + +'Where to?' + +'I don't know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and I've got to +be educated somewhere,--in France, perhaps,--I don't know where; but I +shall be glad to go away.' + +'I shan't like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, Maisie, +is it really true you're going? Then these holidays will be the last +I shall see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I +wish----' + +The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking +grass-tufts and throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy +nodding all by itself to the illimitable levels of the mud-flats and the +milk-white sea beyond. + +'I wish,' she said, after a pause, 'that I could see you again sometime. + +You wish that, too?' + +'Yes, but it would have been better if--if--you had--shot straight over +there--down by the breakwater.' + +Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy +who only ten days before had decorated Amomma's horns with cut-paper +ham-frills and turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public +ways! Then she dropped her eyes: this was not the boy. + +'Don't be stupid,' she said reprovingly, and with swift instinct +attacked the side-issue. 'How selfish you are! Just think what I should +have felt if that horrid thing had killed you! I'm quite miserable +enough already.' + +'Why? Because you're going away from Mrs. Jennett?' + +'No.' + +'From me, then?' + +No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though +he did not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this +the more acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words. + +'I don't know,' she said. 'I suppose it is.' + +'Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing.' + +'Let's go home,' said Maisie, weakly. + +But Dick was not minded to retreat. + +'I can't say things,' he pleaded, 'and I'm awfully sorry for teasing you +about Amomma the other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't you +see? And you might have told me that you were going, instead of leaving +me to find out.' + +'You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?' + +'There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't +know how much I cared.' + +'I don't believe you ever did care.' + +'No, I didn't; but I do,--I care awfully now, Maisie,' he +gulped,--'Maisie, darling, say you care too, please.' + +'I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use.' + +'Why?' + +'Because I am going away.' + +'Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say--will you?' A second +'darling' came to his lips more easily than the first. There were +few endearments in Dick's home or school life; he had to find them by +instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of +the revolver. + +'I promise,' she said solemnly; 'but if I care there is no need for +promising.' + +'And do you care?' For the first time in the past few minutes their eyes +met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech.... + +'Oh, Dick, don't! Please don't! It was all right when we said +good-morning; but now it's all different!' Amomma looked on from afar. + +He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen +kisses exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its +head approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it +was the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that +either had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every +one of them glorious, so that they were lifted above the consideration +of any worlds at all, especially those in which tea is necessary, and +sat still, holding each other's hands and saying not a word. + +'You can't forget now,' said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek +that stung more than gunpowder. + +'I shouldn't have forgotten anyhow,' said Maisie, and they looked at +each other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour +ago to a wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began +to set, and a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. + +'We shall be awfully late for tea,' said Maisie. 'Let's go home.' + +'Let's use the rest of the cartridges first,' said Dick; and he helped +Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,--a descent that she was +quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took the +grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and +Dick blushed. + +'It's very pretty,' he said. + +'Pooh!' said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She stood +close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired +over the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was +protecting Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across +the mud caught the last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red +disc. The light held Dick's attention for a moment, and as he raised his +revolver there fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in +that he was standing by Maisie who had promised to care for him for an +indefinite length of time till such date as---- A gust of the growing +wind drove the girl's long black hair across his face as she stood with +her hand on his shoulder calling Amomma 'a little beast,' and for a +moment he was in the dark,--a darkness that stung. The bullet went +singing out to the empty sea. + +'Spoilt my aim,' said he, shaking his head. 'There aren't any more +cartridges; we shall have to run home.' But they did not run. They +walked very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of indifference to +them whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges in his +inside blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden +heritage and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their +years. + +'And I shall be----' quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he checked himself: 'I +don't know what I shall be. I don't seem to be able to pass any exams, +but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. Ho! Ho!' + +'Be an artist, then,' said Maisie. 'You're always laughing at my trying +to draw; and it will do you good.' + +'I'll never laugh at anything you do,' he answered. 'I'll be an artist, +and I'll do things.' + +'Artists always want money, don't they?' + +'I've got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My guardians +tell me I'm to have it when I come of age. That will be enough to begin +with.' + +'Ah, I'm rich,' said Maisie. 'I've got three hundred a year all my own +when I'm twenty-one. That's why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than she is +to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody that belonged to me,--just a +father or a mother.' + +'You belong to me,' said Dick, 'for ever and ever.' + +'Yes, we belong--for ever. It's very nice.' She squeezed his arm. The +kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could only +just see the profile of Maisie's cheek with the long lashes veiling the +gray eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had +been boggling over for the last two hours. + +'And I--love you, Maisie,' he said, in a whisper that seemed to him to +ring across the world,--the world that he would to-morrow or the next +day set out to conquer. + +There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, +when Mrs. Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful +unpunctuality, and secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden +weapon. + +'I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,' said Dick, when the +powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, 'but if you think you're +going to lick me you're wrong. You are never going to touch me again. + +Sit down and give me my tea. You can't cheat us out of that, anyhow.' + +Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but +encouraged Dick with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that +evening. Mrs. Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence and +a descent into Tophet later, but Dick walked in Paradise and would not +hear. Only when he was going to bed Mrs. Jennett recovered and asserted +herself. He had bidden Maisie good-night with down-dropped eyes and from +a distance. + +'If you aren't a gentleman you might try to behave like one,' said Mrs. +Jennett, spitefully. 'You've been quarrelling with Maisie again.' +This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, +white to the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of +indifference, and was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room +red as fire. That night he dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the +world and brought it to Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she turned it +over with her foot, and, instead of saying 'Thank you,' cried--'Where is +the grass collar you promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are!' + + + + + +CHAPTER II + + Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew, + When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two, + Ridin', ridin', ridin', two an' two, + Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, + All the way to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two. + + --Barrack-Room Ballad. +'I'M NOT angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few thousand +of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn't be in such a hurry +to get at their morning papers then. Can't you imagine the regulation +householder--Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, and all +that lot--frizzling on hot gravel?' + +'With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man +here a needle? I've got a piece of sugar-sack.' + +'I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both +my knees are worn through.' + +'Why not six square acres, while you're about it? But lend me the +needle, and I'll see what I can do with the selvage. I don't think +there's enough to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. +What are you doing with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?' + +'Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,' said +Dick, gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn +riding-breeches and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most +obvious open space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the +void developed itself. + +'Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for +that whale-boat.' + +A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into +exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of +the tattered breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel +shirt, went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the +sketch. + +Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted +with English soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their +clothes. A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, +and flour- and small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the +whale-boats had been compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental +carpenter was swearing aloud as he tried, on a wholly insufficient +allowance of white lead, to plaster up the sun-parched gaping seams of +the boat herself. + +'First the bloomin' rudder snaps,' said he to the world in general; +'then the mast goes; an' then, s' 'help me, when she can't do nothin' +else, she opens 'erself out like a cock-eyes Chinese lotus.' + +'Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,' said the tailor, +without looking up. 'Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop +again.' + +There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it +raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half +a mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would +drive the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent +of Nile mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next +few miles would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass. The +desert ran down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black +hillocks, a camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose +touch of the slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks +past, and throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid +had followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the +rank and file had long since lost all count of direction and very +nearly of time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do +something, they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the +other end of it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town +called Khartoum. There were columns of British troops in the desert, +or in one of the many deserts; there were yet more columns waiting to +embark on the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at Assioot and +Assuan; there were lies and rumours running over the face of the +hopeless land from Suakin to the Sixth Cataract, and men supposed +generally that there must be some one in authority to direct the general +scheme of the many movements. The duty of that particular river-column +was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the water, to avoid trampling +on the villagers' crops when the gangs 'tracked' the boats with lines +thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep and food as was possible, +and, above all, to press on without delay in the teeth of the churning +Nile. + +With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the +newspapers, and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But +it was above all things necessary that England at breakfast should be +amused and thrilled and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or +half the British army went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign +was a picturesque one, and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and +again a 'Special' managed to get slain,--which was not altogether +a disadvantage to the paper that employed him,--and more often the +hand-to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of miraculous escapes which +were worth telegraphing home at eighteenpence the word. There were many +correspondents with many corps and columns,--from the veterans who had +followed on the heels of the cavalry that occupied Cairo in '82, what +time Arabi Pasha called himself king, who had seen the first miserable +work round Suakin when the sentries were cut up nightly and the scrub +swarmed with spears, to youngsters jerked into the business at the +end of a telegraph-wire to take the places of their betters killed or +invalided. + +Among the seniors--those who knew every shift and change in the +perplexing postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest +Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk +a telegraph-clerk into amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of +a newly appointed staff-officer when press regulations became +burdensome--was the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed +Torpenhow. He represented the Central Southern Syndicate in the +campaign, as he had represented it in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. +The syndicate did not concern itself greatly with criticisms of +attack and the like. It supplied the masses, and all it demanded was +picturesqueness and abundance of detail; for there is more joy in +England over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of square to rescue +a comrade than over twenty generals slaving even to baldness at the +gross details of transport and commissariat. + +He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently +abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of +shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain. + +'What are you for?' said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent is +that of the commercial traveller on the road. + +'My own hand,' said the young man, without looking up. 'Have you any +tobacco?' + +Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at +it said, 'What's your business here?' + +'Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm supposed to be doing something +down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in charge of the +condenser on one of the water-ships. I've forgotten which.' + +'You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,' said Torpenhow, and took +stock of the new acquaintance. 'Do you always draw like that?' + +The young man produced more sketches. 'Row on a Chinese pig-boat,' said +he, sententiously, showing them one after another.--'Chief mate dirked +by a comprador.--Junk ashore off Hakodate.--Somali muleteer being +flogged.--Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.--Slave-dhow being +chased round Tajurrah Bah.--Soldier lying dead in the moonlight outside +Suakin.--throat cut by Fuzzies.' + +'H'm!' said Torpenhow, 'can't say I care for Verestchagin-and-water +myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are +you?' + +'No. I'm amusing myself here.' + +Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. 'Yes, you're right +to take your first chance when you can get it.' + +He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled +across the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, 'Got man +here, picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress +with sketches.' + +The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, 'I knew the +chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they'll have to sweat for it +if I come through this business alive!' + +In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that +the Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying +expenses for three months. 'And, by the way, what's your name?' said +Torpenhow. + +'Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?' + +'They've taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. You'd better +stick to me. I'm going up-country with a column, and I'll do what I can +for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I'll send +'em along.' To himself he said, 'That's the best bargain the Central +southern has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.' + +So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and +arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New +and Honourable Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the +inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much +for it as Providence and their owners shall please. To these things are +added in time, if the brother be worthy, the power of glib speech that +neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, +the eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a +bullock, the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability to +all circumstances. But many die before they attain to this degree, and +the past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes +when they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the +multitude. + +Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter's fancy chose to lead him, +and between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost +satisfied themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its +influence the two were drawn very closely together, for they ate from +the same dish, they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie +of all, their mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make +gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second +Cataract, and, while the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed +himself of some laboriously acquired exclusive information, forwarded +by a confiding correspondent of an opposition syndicate, made a careful +duplicate of the matter, and brought the result to Torpenhow, who said +that all was fair in love or war correspondence, and built an excellent +descriptive article from his rival's riotous waste of words. It was +Torpenhow who--but the tale of their adventures, together and apart, +from Philae to the waste wilderness of Herawi and Muella, would fill +many books. They had been penned into a square side by side, in deadly +fear of being shot by over-excited soldiers; they had fought with +baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had jogged along in silence +under blinding sun on indefatigable little Egyptian horses; and they had +floundered on the shallows of the Nile when the whale-boat in which +they had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock and rip out half her +bottom-planks. + +Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were +bringing up the remainder of the column. + +'Yes,' said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his +over-long-neglected gear, 'it has been a beautiful business.' + +'The patch or the campaign?' said Dick. 'Don't think much of either, +myself.' + +'You want the Euryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don't you? +and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I'm quite satisfied with my +breeches.' He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner +of a clown. + +'It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. +Government Bullock Train. That's a sack from India.' + +'It's my initials,--Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on +purpose. + +What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?' Torpenhow shaded +his eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. + +A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms +and accoutrements. + +'"Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,"' remarked Dick, calmly. + +'D'you remember the picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy +it. That scrub's alive with enemy.' + +The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and +a hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the +column had wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. +As swiftly as a reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the +rock-strewn ridges and scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with +armed men. + +Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout +and gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long +story. The camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little +breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on +the sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up +within shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied +of all save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased +his outcries, and his friends howled. + +'They look like the Mahdi's men,' said Torpenhow, elbowing himself +into the crush of the square; 'but what thousands of 'em there are! The +tribes hereabout aren't against us, I know.' + +'Then the Mahdi's taken another town,' said Dick, 'and set all these +yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.' + +'Our scouts should have told us of this. We've been trapped,' said a +subaltern. 'Aren't the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you +men!' + +There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting against +the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that whoso +was left outside when the fighting began would very probably die in +an extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound +camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the +square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll of rising +ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and there +was no novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and stifling +formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike rush of +the enemy, the same pressure on the weakest side, the few minutes of +hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken only +by the yells of those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to pursue. +They had become careless. The camel-guns spoke at intervals, and the +square slouched forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the +attack of three thousand men who had not learned from books that it is +impossible for troops in close order to attack against breech-loading +fire. + +A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, +but the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed +with the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there +is always much war, told them that the right flank of the square was the +weakest, for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled them +as they passed and opened for an instant lanes through their midst, most +like those quick-closing vistas in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the +train races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held till the +opportune moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No civilised +troops in the world could have endured the hell through which they came, +the living leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, +the wounded cursing and staggering forward, till they fell--a torrent +black as the sliding water above a mill-dam--full on the right flank of +the square. + +Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead +went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground +and the tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing +interest, for men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these +things, counting mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble +and branch. There was no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught +the men knew, the enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square +at once. Their business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to +bayonet in the back those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag +down the slayer till he could be knocked on the head by some avenging +gun-butt. + +Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew +unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack +was repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest +side of the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough +of the stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or +forty others, dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right flank of +the square sucked in after them, and the other sides sent help. The +wounded, who knew that they had but a few hours more to live, caught at +the enemy's feet and brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded +rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the +square. + +Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his +helmet, that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face +which forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that +Torpenhow had gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to 'collar low,' +and was turning over and over with his captive, feeling for the man's +eyes. The doctor jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless +soldier fired over Dick's shoulder: the flying grains of powder stung +his cheek. It was to Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The +representative of the Central Southern Syndicate had shaken himself +clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his thumb on his trousers. The +Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then snatched up his +spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting under shelter of Dick's +revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped limply. His upturned +face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but cheers mingled +with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If the heart of +the square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher's shop. Dick +thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of the +enemy were retiring, as the few--the very few--English cavalry rode down +the laggards. + +Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast +aside in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again +the illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel +and turned it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, 'Ah, +get away, you brute!' Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the +desert. His eye was held by the red splash in the distance, and the +clamour about him seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like +the whisper of a level sea. There was the revolver and the red light.... +and the voice of some one scaring something away, exactly as had fallen +somewhere before,--a darkness that stung. He fired at random, and the +bullet went out across the desert as he muttered, 'Spoilt my aim. There +aren't any more cartridges. We shall have to run home.' He put his hand +to his head and brought it away covered with blood. + +'Old man, you're cut rather badly,' said Torpenhow. 'I owe you something +for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can't be ill here.' + +Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, +a black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and +shouted that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,--was dead,--was +dead,--that two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, +and that of all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was +dead,--was dead,--was dead! + +But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to +the restless Nile for Maisie,--and again Maisie! + +'Behold a phenomenon,' said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. 'Here +is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman only. And +I've seen a good deal of delirium, too.--Dick, here's some fizzy drink.' + +'Thank you, Maisie,' said Dick. + + + + + +CHAPTER III + + So he thinks he shall take to the sea again + For one more cruise with his buccaneers, + To singe the beard of the King of Spain, + And capture another Dean of Jaen + And sell him in Algiers.--A Dutch Picture.--Longfellow +THE SOUDAN campaign and Dick's broken head had been some months ended +and mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain +sum on account for work done, which work they were careful to assure him +was not altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter into +the Nile at Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a warm +farewell to Torpenhow at the station. + +'I am going to lie up for a while and rest,' said Torpenhow. 'I don't +know where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we +shall meet. + +Are you starying here on the off-chance of another row? There will be +none till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark that. + +Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money's spent; and give me your +address.' + +Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,--especially +Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in +all, but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the +vices in all the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the +heart of that sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long +above the Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and +women you have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters +more riotous than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and +boarded many ships, and saw very many friends,--gracious Englishwomen +with whom he had talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd's +Hotel, hurrying war correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships +employed in the campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less +reputable trades. + +He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and +the advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong +excitement, at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. +For recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing +sands, the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals where the +English soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and +colour all that Providence sent him, and when that supply was ended +sought about for fresh material. It was a fascinating employment, but +it ran away with his money, and he had drawn in advance the hundred and +twenty pounds to which he was entitled yearly. 'Now I shall have to work +and starve!' thought he, and was addressing himself to this new fate +when a mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, which +said, 'Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.' + +A large smile overspread his face. 'So soon! that's a good hearing,' +said he to himself. 'There will be an orgy to-night. I'll stand or fall +by my luck. Faith, it's time it came!' He deposited half of his funds +in the hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and +ordered himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was +shaking with drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically--'Monsieur needs +a chair, of course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses +himself strangely.' + +Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. 'I +understand,' he quavered. 'We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, +as I have been.' Dick nodded. 'In the end,' said Binat, with gravity, +'Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.' And he +laughed. + +'You must come to the dance, too,' said Dick; 'I shall want you.' + +'For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my +degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. +Or at least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.' The excellent Binat +began to kick and scream. + +'All things are for sale in Port Said,' said Madame. 'If my husband +comes it will be so much more. Eh, 'how you call--'alf a sovereign.' + +The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled +courtyard at the back of Madame Binat's house. The lady herself, in +faded mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, +played the piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked +Zanzibari girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat +sat upon a chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl +of the dance and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink +that took the place of blood in his veins, and his face glistened. Dick +took him by the chin brutally and turned that face to the light. Madame +Binat looked over her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned +against the wall and sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began +to smell, and the girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten +ground. Then he shut his book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking +feebly at his elbow. 'Show me,' he whimpered. 'I too was once an artist, +even I!' Dick showed him the rough sketch. 'Am I that?' he screamed. +'Will you take that away with you and show all the world that it is +I,--Binat?' He moaned and wept. + +'Monsieur has paid for all,' said Madame. 'To the pleasure of seeing +Monsieur again.' + +The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the +nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. 'If the luck holds, it's +an omen; if I lose, I must stay here.' He placed his money picturesquely +about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held. + +Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went +down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed +cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket +than he cared to think about. + +A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for +summer was in England. + +'It's a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn't the knack of altering much,' +Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. 'Now, what must I +do?' + +The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless +streets and at the appalling rush of traffic. 'Oh, you rabbit-hutches!' +said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached +residences. 'Do you know what you've got to do later on? You have to +supply me with men-servants and maid-servants,'--here he smacked his +lips,--'and the peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I'll find clothes +and boots, and presently I will return and trample on you.' He stepped +forward energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the +side. As he stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the +gutter. 'All right,' he said. + +'That's another nick in the score. I'll jostle you later on.' + +Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with +the certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with +only fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, +and lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost +audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at +all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate +for Torpenhow's address, and got it, with the intimation that there was +still some money waiting for him. + +'How much?' said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. + +'Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to +you, of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle +accounts monthly.' + +'If I show that I want anything now, I'm lost,' he said to himself. 'All +I need I'll take later on.' Then, aloud, 'It's hardly worth while; and +I'm going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and +I'll see about it.' + +'But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your +connection with us?' + +Dick's business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the +speaker keenly. 'That man means something,' he said. 'I'll do no +business till I've seen Torpenhow. There's a big deal coming.' So he +departed, making no promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And +that day was the seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with +awful distinctness, had thirty-one days in it! + +It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to +exist for twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to +begin the experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid +seven shillings a week for his lodging, which left him rather less than +a shilling a day for food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase was +of the materials of his craft; he had been without them too long. Half +a day's investigations and comparison brought him to the conclusion that +sausages and mashed potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best food. +Now, sausages once or twice a week for breakfast are not unpleasant. +As lunch, even, with mashed potatoes, they become monotonous. At dinner +they are impertinent. At the end of three days Dick loathed sausages, +and, going forth, pawned his watch to revel on sheep's head, which +is not as cheap as it looks, owing to the bones and the gravy. Then +he returned to sausages and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself +entirely to mashed potatoes for a day, and was unhappy because of pain +in his inside. Then he pawned his waistcoat and his tie, and thought +regretfully of money thrown away in times past. There are few things +more edifying unto Art than the actual belly-pinch of hunger, and +Dick in his few walks abroad,--he did not care for exercise; it raised +desires that could not be satisfied--found himself dividing mankind into +two classes,--those who looked as if they might give him something to +eat, and those who looked otherwise. 'I never knew what I had to learn +about the human face before,' he thought; and, as a reward for his +humility, Providence caused a cab-driver at a sausage-shop where Dick +fed that night to leave half eaten a great chunk of bread. Dick took +it,--would have fought all the world for its possession,--and it cheered +him. + +The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with impatience, +he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow's address +and smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the +chambers. Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, +to be received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow +dragged him to the light and spoke of twenty different things in the +same breath. + +'But you're looking tucked up,' he concluded. + +'Got anything to eat?' said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. + +'I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?' + +'No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed +horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.' + +'Now, what lunacy has been your latest?' + +Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened +his coat; there was no waistcoat below. 'I ran it fine, awfully fine, +but I've just scraped through.' + +'You haven't much sense, but you've got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and +talk afterwards.' Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could +gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men +smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco. + +'Ouf!' said he. 'That's heavenly! Well?' + +'Why in the world didn't you come to me?' + +'Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of +superstition that this temporary starvation--that's what it was, and it +hurt--would bring me luck later. It's over and done with now, and none +of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What's the exact +state of affairs as regards myself?' + +'You had my wire? You've caught on here. People like your work +immensely. I don't know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh +touch and a new way of drawing things. And, because they're chiefly +home-bred English, they say you have insight. You're wanted by half a +dozen papers; you're wanted to illustrate books.' + +Dick grunted scornfully. + +'You're wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to the +dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment. + +Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?' + +'They're a remarkably sensible people.' + +'They are subject to fits, if that's what you mean; and you happen to be +the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what +they call Art. Just now you're a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you +please. I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you +here, and I have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches +you gave me from time to time. Those coming after your work on the +Central Southern Syndicate appear to have done your business. You're in +luck.' + +'Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about +the world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I'll luck 'em later on. I +want a place to work first.' + +'Come here,' said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. 'This place is a big +box room really, but it will do for you. There's your skylight, or +your north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to +thrash about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?' + +'Good enough,' said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a +third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A +pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of +the place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three +more to Torpenhow's room. The well of the staircase disappeared into +darkness, pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking +and doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom. + +'Do they give you a free hand here?' said Dick, cautiously. He was +Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty. + +'Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent +tenants for the most part here. 'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a +Young Men's Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms +for you when I wired.' + +'You're a great deal too kind, old man.' + +'You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you?' Torpenhow put +his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room, +henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion. +They heard rapping at Torpenhow's door. 'That's some ruffian come up +for a drink,' said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. There +entered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged gentleman in +a satin-faced frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there were +deep pouches under the eyes. + +'Weak heart,' said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, 'very weak +heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.' + +The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern Syndicate +and 'one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr. Heldar. I assure +you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely indebted to +you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won't forget that we were largely +instrumental in bringing you before the public.' He panted because of +the seven flights of stairs. + +Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on +his cheek. + +'I shan't forget,' said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him. + +'You've paid me so well that I couldn't, you know. By the way, when I am +settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. There +must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.' + +'That is er--is what I came to speak about. I fear we can't allow it +exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the +sketches are our property, of course.' + +'Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?' + +'Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to +assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name +and the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of +material service to you. Sketches such as yours----' + +'Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you +dared. You can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they're all +I've got in the world!' + +Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled. + +Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock +in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of +his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught +aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for +which Dick had not the least reverence. The injustice of the proceedings +did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in +other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong. + +But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and +when he spoke again it was with a strained sweetness that Torpenhow knew +well for the beginning of strife. + +'Forgive me, sir, but you have no--no younger man who can arrange this +business with me?' + +'I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to----' + +'You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.' + +The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning +against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be +good enough to do things. + +'Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,' said Torpenhow, critically; +'but I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be +careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan.' + +'Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your +name before the world----' + +This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant +years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The +memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed +to enjoy the fruit of those years. + +'I don't know quite what to do with you,' began Dick, meditatively. 'Of +course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case +you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides, +it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite +yourself.' + +He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump +body beneath the coat. 'My goodness!' said he to Torpenhow, 'and this +gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the +black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet +dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This things' soft all over--like +a woman.' + +There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by +a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to +breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a +soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches +underneath the eyes, and shook his head. 'You were going to steal my +things,--mine, mine, mine!--you, who don't know when you may die. + +Write a note to your office,--you say you're the head of it,--and order +them to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of them. Wait a minute: +your hand's shaking. Now!' He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note +was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick +walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as +he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned +with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, 'Now, +I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have +settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, +believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You +haven't very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,--get out!' The +man departed, staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: 'Phew! what +a lawless lot these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is +gang robbery, organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that +man's mind! Are my sketches all right, Torp?' + +'Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, +you've begun well.' + +'He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it +was everything to me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave him +some medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at +the little flurry it cost him. Now, let's look at my things.' + +Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep +in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over and +thought of the price at which they had been bought. + +The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw +Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. + +'I builded better than I knew, Torp,' he said, without stopping the +dance. + +'They're good! They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I shall have +an exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man would have +cheated me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now that I didn't +actually hit him?' + +'Go out,' said Torpenhow,--'go out and pray to be delivered from the +sin of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from +whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to make this barn a +little more shipshape.' + +'And then--oh, then,' said Dick, still capering, 'we will spoil the +Egyptians!' + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, + When the smoke of the cooking hung gray: + He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn, + And he looked to his strength for his prey. + + But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away. + + And he turned from his meal in the villager's close, + And he bayed to the moon as she rose. + + --In Seonee. +'WELL, and how does success taste?' said Torpenhow, some three months +later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country. + +'Good,' said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the +studio. + +'I want more,--heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve of +these fat ones.' + +'Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.' + +Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep +on his chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, +and a lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose +from a wreck of oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, +belts, and regimental badges, and ended with a small bale of second-hand +uniforms and a stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet on the dais +showed that a military model had just gone away. The watery autumn +sunlight was falling, and shadows sat in the corners of the studio. + +'Yes,' said Dick, deliberately, 'I like the power; I like the fun; I +like the fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the +people who make the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they're a queer +gang,--an amazingly queer gang!' + +'They have been good enough to you, at any rate, than tin-pot exhibition +of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers called it +the "Wild Work Show"?' + +'Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, +I believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone +artist. + +I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or +scratched them on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and +colour. Verily, they are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn't the +word to describe 'em. I met a fellow the other day who told me that +it was impossible that shadows on white sand should be +blue,--ultramarine,--as they are. I found out, later, that the man had +been as far as Brighton beach; but he knew all about Art, confound him. +He gave me a lecture on it, and recommended me to go to school to learn +technique. I wonder what old Kami would have said to that.' + +'When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?' + +'I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal +magnetism. All he ever said was, "Continuez, mes enfants," and you had +to make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he knew +something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he could +never have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it was +good.' + +'Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?' said Torpenhow, with a +provoking drawl. + +Dick squirmed in his place. 'Don't! It makes me want to get out there +again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and +brick-red and sulphur--cockatoo-crest--sulphur--against brown, with a +nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a decorative +frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise sky.' He +began to walk up and down. 'And yet, you know, if you try to give these +people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension and +according to the powers He has given you----' + +'Modest man! Go on.' + +'Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven't even been to Algiers will +tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that it +isn't Art. + +''This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you've been +promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.' + +'I couldn't help it,' said Dick, penitently. 'You weren't here, and it +was lonely these long evenings. A man can't work for ever.' + +'A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.' + +'I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they +were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,--but they wouldn't +draw. They gave me tea,--tea at five in the afternoon!--and talked about +Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. I've heard +more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than in +the whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for some +continental syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a regular +Christmas-tree of contraptions when he took the field in full fig, with +his water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, gig-lamps, +and the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and show +us how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except fudge his +reports from the Nilghai. See?' + +'Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up +here this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept +clear of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will +unsettle your mind.' + +'It won't. It has taught me what Art--holy sacred Art--means.' + +'You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?' + +'Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.' + +Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. 'Here's a sample +of real Art. It's going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I +called it "His Last Shot." It's worked up from the little water-colour +I made outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful rifleman, +up here with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I redrored +him, and I made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with +his helmet at the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his +eye, and the blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn't +pretty, but he was all soldier and very much man.' + +'Once more, modest child!' + +Dick laughed. 'Well, it's only to you I'm talking. I did him just as +well as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then the +art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers wouldn't +like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,--man being naturally +gentle when he's fighting for his life. They wanted something more +restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but +you might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my "Last +Shot" back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without +a speck on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,--observe the high +light on the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,--rifles are always +clean on service,--because that is Art. + +I pipeclayed his helmet,--pipeclay is always used on active service, and +is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and gave +him an air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pattern-plate. +Price, thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was +moderately decent.' + +'And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?' + +'Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, +home-bred Art and Dickenson's Weekly.' + +Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, +delivered from rolling clouds: 'If you were only a mass of blathering +vanity, Dick, I wouldn't mind,--I'd let you go to the deuce on your own +mahl-stick; but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find +that to vanity you add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a twelve-year-old +girl, then I bestir myself in your behalf. Thus!' + +The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot shot through it, and the +terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. + +'If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue. + +You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take +liberties with his public, even though they be--which they ain't--all +you say they are.' + +'But they don't know any better. What can you expect from creatures born +and bred in this light?' Dick pointed to the yellow fog. 'If they want +furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they pay +for it. + +They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.' + +'That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are +the people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They +are your masters. Don't be deceived, Dickie, you aren't strong enough to +trifle with them,--or with yourself, which is more important. + +Moreover,--Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn't going +anywhere,--unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the +damnation of the check-book, and that's worse than death. You will get +drunk--you're half drunk already--on easily acquired money. For that +money and your own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn +out bad work. You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, +Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let +you cut off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. +That's settled. Now swear.' + +'Don't know, said Dick. 'I've been trying to make myself angry, but +I can't, you're so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on +Dickenson's Weekly, I fancy.' + +'Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow +bleeding of power.' + +'It brings in the very desirable dollars,' said Dick, his hands in his +pockets. + +Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. 'Why, I thought it was a +man!' said he. 'It's a child.' + +'No, it isn't,' said Dick, wheeling quickly. 'You've no notion what the +certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly. + +Nothing will pay me for some of my life's joys; on that Chinese +pig-boat, for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, +because Ho-Wang wouldn't allow us anything better, and it all tasted of +pig,--Chinese pig. I've worked for this, I've sweated and I've starved +for this, line on line and month after month. And now I've got it I am +going to make the most of it while it lasts. Let them pay--they've no +knowledge.' + +'What does Your Majesty please to want? You can't smoke more than you +do; you won't drink; you're a gross feeder; and you dress in the dark, +by the look of you. You wouldn't keep a horse the other day when I +suggested, because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross +the street you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose +that theatres and all the live things you can buy thereabouts mean Life. + +What earthly need have you for money?' + +'It's there, bless its golden heart,' said Dick. 'It's there all the +time. + +Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack 'em with. I +haven't yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I'm keeping my teeth +filed. + +Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide earth.' + +'With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? You +would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn't go. I don't +care to profit by the price of a man's soul,--for that's what it would +mean. + +Dick, it's no use arguing. You're a fool.' + +'Don't see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got +credit for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, +when our old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking +those pigs as a parallel----' + +'Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you +always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren't the +British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go +out for a walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the +Nilghai comes up this evening can I show him your diggings?' + +'Surely. You'll be asking whether you must knock at my door, next.' And +Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly gathering +London fog. + +Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. +He was the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, +and his experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only +his ally, Keneu the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the +craft than he, and he always opened his conversation with the news that +there would be trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed +as he entered. + +'Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always +screeching. You've heard about Dick's luck?' + +'Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn't he? I hope you keep him +properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.' + +'He does. He's beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his +reputation.' + +'Already! By Jove, he has cheek! I don't know about his reputation, but +he'll come a cropper if he tries that sort of thing.' + +'So I told him. I don't think he believes it.' + +'They never do when they first start off. What's that wreck on the +ground there?' + +'Specimen of his latest impertinence.' Torpenhow thrust the torn edges +of the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the +Nilghai, who looked at it for a moment and whistled. + +'It's a chromo,' said he,--'a chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What +possessed him to do it? And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note +that catches a public who think with their boots and read with their +elbows! The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost saves it; but +he mustn't go on with this. Hasn't he been praised and cockered up too +much? You know these people here have no sense of proportion. They'll +call him a second Detaille and a third-hand Meissonier while his fashion +lasts. It's windy diet for a colt.' + +'I don't think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young +wolf a lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a +shin-bone. + +Dick's soul is in the bank. He's working for cash.' + +'Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn't see that the +obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are +changed.' + +'How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.' + +'Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there's any virtue in +print. He wants the whiplash.' + +'Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him myself, but I like him too +much.' + +'I've no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a woman +at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.' + +'Did he cut you out?' + +'You'll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, what's the +good? Leave him alone and he'll come home, if he has any stuff in him, +dragging or wagging his tail behind him. There's more in a week of life +than in a lively weekly. None the less I'll slate him. I'll slate him +ponderously in the Cataclysm.' + +'Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make +Dick wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across him. + +He's intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.' + +'Matter of temper,' said the Nilghai. 'It's the same with horses. Some +you wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and some you +wallop and they go out for a walk with their hands in their pockets.' + +'That's exactly what Dick has done,' said Torpenhow. 'Wait till he comes +back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating here. I'll show you +some of his last and worst work in his studio.' + +Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood of +mind. He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of the +Thames through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by thinking of +Torpenhow's advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the study of the +faces flocking past. Some had death written on their features, and Dick +marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and coarse-built for +the most part, were alight with love; others were merely drawn and lined +with work; but there was something, Dick knew, to be made out of them +all. The poor at least should suffer that he might learn, and the rich +should pay for the output of his learning. Thus his credit in the world +and his cash balance at the bank would be increased. So much the better +for him. He had suffered. Now he would take toll of the ills of others. + +The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red +wafer, on the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of +the tide between the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low +tide. A girl hard pressed by her lover shouted shamelessly, 'Ah, get +away, you beast!' and a shift of the same wind that had opened the fog +drove across Dick's face the black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth +below the wall. He was blinded for the moment, then spun round and found +himself face to face with--Maisie. + +There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but +they had not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the +firmly modelled mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of +old, she wore a closely fitting gray dress. + +Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own +command, Dick, advancing, said 'Halloo!' after the manner of schoolboys, +and Maisie answered, 'Oh, Dick, is that you?' Then, against his will, +and before the brain newly released from considerations of the cash +balance had time to dictate to the nerves, every pulse of Dick's body +throbbed furiously and his palate dried in his mouth. The fog shut down +again, and Maisie's face was pearl-white through it. No word was spoken, +but Dick fell into step at her side, and the two paced the Embankment +together, keeping the step as perfectly as in their afternoon excursions +to the mud-flats. Then Dick, a little hoarsely--'What has happened to +Amomma?' + +'He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. Isn't +it funny?' + +'Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?' + +'Ye--es. No. This. Where have you come from?' + +'Over there,' He pointed eastward through the fog. 'And you?' + +'Oh, I'm in the north,--the black north, across all the Park. I am very +busy.' + +'What do you do?' + +'I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do.' + +'Why, what's happened? You had three hundred a year.' + +'I have that still. I am painting; that's all.' + +'Are you alone, then?' + +'There's a girl living with me. Don't walk so fast, Dick; you're out of +step.' + +'Then you noticed it too?' + +'Of course I did. You're always out of step.' + +'So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the painting?' + +'Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton's in _St. +John's Wood_, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,--I mean I went to the +National,--and now I'm working under Kami.' + +'But Kami is in Paris surely?' + +'No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in +the summer, and I live in London in the winter. I'm a householder.' + +'Do you sell much?' + +'Now and again, but not often. There is my 'bus. I must take it or lose +half an hour. Good-bye, Dick.' + +'Good-bye, Maisie. Won't you tell me where you live? I must see you +again; and perhaps I could help you. I--I paint a little myself.' + +'I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is no working light. I walk +from the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. +But of course I shall see you again.' She stepped into the omnibus and +was swallowed up by the fog. + +'Well--I--am--damned!' exclaimed Dick, and returned to the chambers. + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio +door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. + +'You'll be more damned when I'm done with you,' said the Nilghai, +upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a sheaf +of half-dry manuscript. 'Dick, it is of common report that you are +suffering from swelled head.' + +'Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little +Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.' + +'Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow +refuses from false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot-boilers in +your studio. They are simply disgraceful.' + +'Oho! that's it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you're wrong. You +can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, as a +P. and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I'm going to bed.' + +'H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here's +the peroration: "For work done without conviction, for power wasted on +trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate purpose +of winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven public----" 'That's +"His Last Shot," second edition. Go on.' + +'----"public, there remains but one end,--the oblivion that is preceded +by toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. Heldar +has yet to prove himself out of danger."' + +'Wow--wow--wow--wow--wow!' said Dick, profanely. 'It's a clumsy ending +and vile journalese, but it's quite true. And yet,'--he sprang to his +feet and snatched at the manuscript,--'you scarred, deboshed, battered +old gladiator! you're sent out when a war begins, to minister to the +blind, brutal, British public's bestial thirst for blood. They have +no arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You're a fat +gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's seen. +You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an affable +actress, a devastating cyclone, or--mine own sweet self. And you +presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I'd +caricature you in four papers!' + +The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. + +'As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small--so!' The +manuscript fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. 'Go +home, Nilghai,' said Dick; 'go home to your lonely little bed, and leave +me in peace. I am about to turn in till to-morrow.' + +'Why, it isn't seven yet!' said Torpenhow, with amazement. + +'It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,' said Dick, backing to the +studio door. 'I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want +any dinner.' + +The door shut and was locked. + +'What can you do with a man like that?' said the Nilghai. + +'Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.' + +At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. 'Is the Nilghai with +you still?' said a voice from within. 'Then tell him he might have +condensed the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: "Only +the free are bond, and only the bond are free." Tell him he's an idiot, +Torp, and tell him I'm another.' + +'All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty +stomach.' + +There was no answer. + + + + + +CHAPTER V + + 'I have a thousand men,' said he, + 'To wait upon my will, + And towers nine upon the Tyne, + And three upon the Till.' + + 'And what care I for you men,' said she, + 'Or towers from Tyne to Till, + Sith you must go with me,' she said, + 'To wait upon my will?' + + Sir Hoggie and the Fairies +NEXT morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco. + +'Well, madman, how d'you feel?' + +'I don't know. I'm trying to find out.' + +'You had much better do some work.' + +'Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too +much Ego in my Cosmos.' + +'Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?' + +'It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and +now I'm going to work.' + +He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, +cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, +rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went +out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day. + +'This is positively indecent,' said Torpenhow, 'and the first time that +Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out +that he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally +valuable. + +That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going +out of evenings. I must look to this.' He rang for the bald-headed old +housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. + +'Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?' + +'Never laid 'is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly 'e +dined in; but 'e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up 'ere +after theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen +on the top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, sir, +droppin' a walkin'-stick down five flights o' stairs an' then goin' +down four abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin', +singin,' "Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin,'"--not once or twice, +but scores o' times,--isn't charity to the other tenants. What I say is, +"Do as you would be done by." That's my motto.' + +'Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top floor isn't the quietest in +the house.' + +'I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an' +he laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a +coloured print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say +is, "Never look a gift-horse in the mouth." Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes +'aven't been on him for weeks.' + +'Then it's all right,' said Torpenhow to himself. 'Orgies are healthy, +and Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making +eyes I'm not so certain,--Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums. +They're contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason.' + +Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the +spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered +the day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and +Maisie, white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years +seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour +of them! Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, +sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward +race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie +sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before +the wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot +about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to +Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie +picking her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand +and her teeth firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the +grass between the mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The +pictures passed before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest. + +Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind +as it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that +there might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in +the forenoon. + +'There's a good working light now,' he said, watching his shadow +placidly. 'Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's +Maisie.' + +She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no +mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still +Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed +between them, because there had been none in the old days. + +'What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?' said Dick, as one +who was entitled to ask. + +'Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I +left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.' + +'I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?' + +'A fancy head that wouldn't come right,--horrid thing!' + +'I don't like working over scraped paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain +comes up woolly as the paint dries.' + +'Not if you scrape properly.' Maisie waved her hand to illustrate her +methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. + +'You're as untidy as ever.' + +'That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.' + +'By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't think we've much altered +in anything. Let's see, though.' He looked at Maisie critically. The +pale blue haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the +Park and made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque +above the black hair, and the resolute profile. + +'No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I +fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?' + +Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to +Dick. + +'Wait a minute,' said he. 'That mouth is down at the corners a little. + +Who's been worrying you, Maisie?' + +'No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try +hard enough, and Kami says----' + +'"Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants." Kami is +depressing. I beg your pardon.' + +'Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing +better and he'd let me exhibit this year.' + +'Not in this place, surely?' + +'Of course not. The Salon.' + +'You fly high.' + +'I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?' + +'I don't exhibit. I sell.' + +'What is your line, then?' + +'Haven't you heard?' Dick's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He +cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the +Marble Arch. 'Come up Oxford Street a little and I'll show you.' + +A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. + +'Some reproduction of my work inside,' he said, with suppressed triumph. +Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. 'You see the +sort of things I paint. D'you like it?' + +Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into +action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd. + +'They've chucked the off lead-'orse' said one to the other. ''E's tore +up awful, but they're makin' good time with the others. That lead-driver +drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunnin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse.' + +'Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,' was the answer. + +'No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all +right.' + +Dick watched Maisie's face and swelled with joy--fine, rank, vulgar +triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the +picture. + +That was something that she could understand. + +'And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!' she said at last, under her +breath. + +'Me,--all me!' said Dick, placidly. 'Look at their faces. It hits 'em. +They don't know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know. And I +know my work's right.' + +'Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!' + +'Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you +think?' + +'I call it success. Tell me how you got it.' + +They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of his +own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman. + +From the beginning he told the tale, the I--I--I's flashing through the +records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie listened and +nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did not move her +a hair's-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, 'And that +gave me some notion of handling colour,' or light, or whatever it might +be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her breathless +across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his life +before. + +And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great +desire to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, 'I +understand. Go on,'--to pick her up and carry her away with him, because +she was Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his +right, and a woman to be desired above all women. + +Then he checked himself abruptly. 'And so I took all I wanted,' he said, +'and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.' + +Maisie's tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of +patient toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken, though +dealers laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even +sarcastic, and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a +few bright spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but +it wound up with the oft repeated wail, 'And so you see, Dick, I had no +success, though I worked so hard.' + +Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not +hit the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had +happened yesterday. + +'Never mind,' he said. 'I'll tell you something, if you'll believe it.' +The words were shaping themselves of their own accord. 'The whole thing, +lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort +Keeling.' + +Maisie flushed a little. 'It's all very well for you to talk, but you've +had the success and I haven't.' + +'Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a +bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I've come back again. +It really is just the same. Can't you see? You're alone now and I'm +alone. + +What's the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.' + +Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. + +'I understand,' she said slowly. 'But I've got my work to do, and I must +do it.' + +'Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.' + +'No, I couldn't. It's my work,--mine,--mine,--mine! I've been alone all +my life in myself, and I'm not going to belong to anybody except myself. +I remember things as well as you do, but that doesn't count. We were +babies then, and we didn't know what was before us. Dick, don't be +selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year. Don't take +it away from me.' + +'I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for speaking stupidly. I +can't expect you to throw up all your life just because I'm back. I'll +go to my own place and wait a little.' + +'But, Dick, I don't want you to--go--out of--my life, now you've just +come back.' + +'I'm at your orders; forgive me.' Dick devoured the troubled little face +with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not conceive +that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved +her. + +'It's wrong of me,' said Maisie, more slowly than before; 'it's wrong +and selfish; but, oh, I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now +I've seen you again,--it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.' + +'Naturally. We belong.' + +'We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work +that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things. +You must.' + +'I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then you won't care to lose +sight of me altogether, and--you want me to help you in your work?' + +'Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I +feel so selfish. Can't things stay as they are? I do want your help.' + +'You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and +overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should +see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good +advice, and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?' + +Again there was triumph in Dick's eye. + +'It's too good of you,--much too good. Because you are consoling +yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want to +keep you. Don't blame me later, please.' + +'I'm going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can +do no wrong. It isn't your selfishness that impresses me. It's your +audacity in proposing to make use of me.' + +'Pooh! You're only Dick,--and a print-shop.' + +'Very good: that's all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don't you, that I +love you? I don't want you to have any false notions about brothers and +sisters.' + +Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. + +'It's absurd, but--I believe. I wish I could send you away before you +get angry with me. But--but the girl that lives with me is red-haired, +and an impressionist, and all our notions clash.' + +'So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from to-day we shall be +laughing at this together.' + +Maisie shook her head mournfully. 'I knew you wouldn't understand, and +it will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, and +tell me what you see.' + +They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering, +and it stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. +Dick brought all his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on +the eyes, mouth, and chin underneath the black velvet toque. + +'It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me,' he said. 'We've both nice +little wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now +about the future. I must come and see your pictures some day,--I suppose +when the red-haired girl is on the premises.' + +'Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such +heaps of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I +must get back to work.' + +'Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,' said Dick. 'Don't take +my word for anything I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you.' + +Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she +was out of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, +'I'm a wretch,--a horrid, selfish wretch. But it's Dick, and Dick will +understand.' + +No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible +force meets the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even as +Dick thought. He tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in +a few weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a better way of +thinking. Then he remembered much too distinctly her face and all that +was written on it. + +'If I know anything of heads,' he said, 'there's everything in that face +but love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that chin and mouth +won't be won for nothing. But she's right. She knows what she wants, and +she's going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the people in the wide +world, to use me! But then she's Maisie. There's no getting over that +fact; and it's good to see her again. This business must have been +simmering at the back of my head for years.... She'll use me as I used +Binat at Port Said. + +She's quite right. It will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every +Sunday,--like a young man courting a housemaid. She's sure to come +around; and yet--that mouth isn't a yielding mouth. I shall be wanting +to kiss her all the time, and I shall have to look at her pictures,--I +don't even know what sort of work she does yet,--and I shall have to +talk about Art,--Woman's Art! Therefore, particularly and perpetually, +damn all varieties of Art. It did me a good turn once, and now it's in +my way. I'll go home and do some Art.' + +Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The +figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. + +'She's all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, who +probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. + +Maisie's a bilious little body. They'll eat like lone women,--meals at +all hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the students in Paris +used to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I shan't be able +to help. + +Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.' + +Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full +of the austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the +same oar together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of +toil. This is a good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, +strife, recrimination, and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, +and is proof against any absence and evil conduct. + +Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. He +thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to think of +anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at last was an +outlet for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie barbarically with +jewelry,--a thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets +upon the rounded arms, and rings of price upon her hands,--the cool, +temperate, ringless hands that he had taken between his own. It was an +absurd thought, for Maisie would not even allow him to put one ring on +one finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings. It would be better +to sit with her quietly in the dusk, his arm around her neck and her +face on his shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. Torpenhow's boots +creaked that night, and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows contracted +and he murmured an evil word because he had taken all his success as a +right and part payment for past discomfort, and now he was checked in +his stride by a woman who admitted all the success and did not instantly +care for him. + +'I say, old man,' said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain attempts +at conversation, 'I haven't put your back up by anything I've said +lately, have I?' + +'You! No. How could you?' + +'Liver out of order?' + +'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a liver. I'm only a bit +worried about things in general. I suppose it's my soul.' + +'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have +you with luxuries of that kind?' + +'It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands +shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?' + +'He's right, whoever he is,--except about the misunderstanding. I don't +think we could misunderstand each other.' + +The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, +insinuatingly--'Dick, is it a woman?' + +'Be hanged if it's anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you +begin to talk like that, I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint +trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among +three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye +plush plasters, and I'll invite every woman who maunders over what her +guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive 'em, Torp,--in a +snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You'll +like that?' + +'Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and +swearing. You've overdone it, just as he did. It's no business of mine, +of course, but it's comforting to think that somewhere under the stars +there's saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it'll come +from heaven or earth, I don't know, but it's bound to come and break you +up a little. You want hammering.' + +Dick shivered. 'All right,' said he. 'When this island is disintegrated, +it will call for you.' + +'I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. + +We're talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.' + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + 'And you may lead a thousand men, + Nor ever draw the rein, + But ere ye lead the Faery Queen + 'Twill burst your heart in twain.' + + He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar, + The bridle from his hand, + And he is bound by hand and foot + To the Queen o' Faery-land. + + Sir Hoggie and the Fairies. +SOME weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across the +Park to his studio. 'This,' he said, 'is evidently the thrashing that +Torp meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no +wrong; and she certainly has some notion of drawing.' + +He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,--always under the green +eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate +at sight,--and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after +Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy +house north of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures, and then to +criticise and advise upon them as he realised that they were productions +on which advice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, and his love +grew with each visit, he had been compelled to cram his heart back from +between his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie several times and +very much indeed. Sunday after Sunday, the head above the heart had +warned him that Maisie was not yet attainable, and that it would be +better to talk as connectedly as possible upon the mysteries of the +craft that was all in all to her. Therefore it was his fate to endure +weekly torture in the studio built out over the clammy back garden of a +frail stuffy little villa where nothing was ever in its right place and +nobody ever called,--to endure and to watch Maisie moving to and fro +with the teacups. He abhorred tea, but, since it gave him a little +longer time in her presence, he drank it devoutly, and the red-haired +girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed him without speaking. She was always +watching him. + +Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him +an album that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,--the +briefest of hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying +exhibitions. Dick stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the open +page. 'Oh, my love, my love,' he muttered, 'do you value these things? +Chuck 'em into the waste-paper basket!' + +'Not till I get something better,' said Maisie, shutting the book. + +Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard for +the maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of these +coveted cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie should +sign. + +'That's childish,' said Maisie, 'and I didn't think it of you. It must +be my work. Mine,--mine,--mine!' + +'Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers' houses. You are +thoroughly good at that.' Dick was sick and savage. + +'Better things than medallions, Dick,' was the answer, in tones that +recalled a gray-eyed atom's fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would +have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in. + +Next Sunday he laid at Maisie's feet small gifts of pencils that could +almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, +and he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, +among other things, an exposition of the faith that was in him. + +Torpenhow's hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with +which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. + +A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was +Maisie's will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make +plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the +whys and wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing +a thing if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your +method. + +'I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,' said Dick, +despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would +not 'look flesh,'--it was the same chin that she had scraped out with +the palette knife,--'but I find it almost impossible to teach you. +There's a queer grim, Dutch touch about your painting that I like; but +I've a notion that you're weak in drawing. You foreshorten as though you +never used the model, and you've caught Kami's pasty way of dealing with +flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you don't know it yourself, you +shirk hard work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line alone. Line +doesn't allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches of flashy, +tricky stuff in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing off,--as +I know. That's immoral. Do line-work for a little while, and then I can +tell more about your powers, as old Kami used to say.' + +Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. + +'I know,' said Dick. 'You want to do your fancy heads with a bunch of +flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.' The red-haired +girl laughed a little. 'You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep +in grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than +you can do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour's a +gift,--put it aside and think no more about it,--but form you can be +drilled into. + +Now, all your fancy heads--and some of them are very good--will keep you +exactly where you are. With line you must go forward or backward, and it +will show up all your weaknesses.' + +'But other people----' began Maisie. + +'You mustn't mind what other people do. If their souls were your soul, +it would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, +and it's waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.' + +Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came +back into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly +as words, Was it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas +and counsel and join hands with Life and Love? + +Maisie assented to the new programme of schooling so adorably that Dick +could hardly restrain himself from picking her up then and there and +carrying her off to the nearest registrar's office. It was the implicit +obedience to the spoken word and the blank indifference to the unspoken +desire that baffled and buffeted his soul. He held authority in that +house,--authority limited, indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in +seven, but very real while it lasted. Maisie had learned to appeal +to him on many subjects, from the proper packing of pictures to the +condition of a smoky chimney. The red-haired girl never consulted him +about anything. + +On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and +watched him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment +were irregular and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, +and biscuit, as he had suspected from the beginning. The girls were +supposed to market week and week about, but they lived, with the help of +a charwoman, as casually as the young ravens. Maisie spent most of her +income on models, and the other girl revelled in apparatus as refined +as her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, dear-bought from the Docks, +Dick warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation meant the crippling +of power to work, which was considerably worse than death. + +Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and +drank. When his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the +long winter twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic +authority and his coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky drawing-room +chimney stung Dick like a whip-lash. + +He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, +till one Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a +study of Dick's head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, +and--quite as an afterthought--look at Maisie. He sat, because he could +not well refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all +the people in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his +own craft. He remembered Binat most distinctly,--that Binat who had once +been an artist and talked about degradation. + +It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented the +dumb waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement of +the man, in a spirit of bitter mockery. + +'I'll buy it,' said Dick, promptly, 'at your own price.' + +'My price is too high, but I dare say you'll be as grateful if----' The +wet sketch, fluttered from the girl's hand and fell into the ashes of +the studio stove. When she picked it up it was hopelessly smudged. + +'Oh, it's all spoiled!' said Maisie. 'And I never saw it. Was it like?' + +'Thank you,' said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he +removed himself swiftly. + +'How that man hates me!' said the girl. 'And how he loves you, Maisie!' + +'What nonsense? I knew Dick's very fond of me, but he had his work to +do, and I have mine.' + +'Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in +impressionism, after all. Maisie, can't you see?' + +'See? See what?' + +'Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as that +man looks at you, I'd--I don't know what I'd do. But he hates me. Oh, +how he hates me!' + +She was not altogether correct. Dick's hatred was tempered with +gratitude for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only +the sense of shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park +in the fog. 'There'll be an explosion one of these days,' he said +wrathfully. 'But it isn't Maisie's fault; she's right, quite right, as +far as she knows, and I can't blame her. This business has been going on +for three months nearly. + +Three months!--and it cost me ten years' knocking about to get at the +notion, the merest raw notion, of my work. That's true; but then I +didn't have pins, drawing-pins, and palette-knives, stuck into me every +Sunday. + +Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very +bad time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I +am now. I'll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,--she's +unwholesome,--and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp.' + +Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the +sin of levity, and Dick had listened and replied not a word. In the weeks +between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung himself +savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least know the +full stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she must +not pay the least attention to any work outside her own, and Maisie had +obeyed him all too well. She took his counsels, but was not interested +in his pictures. + +'Your things smell of tobacco and blood,' she said once. 'Can't you do +anything except soldiers?' + +'I could do a head of you that would startle you,' thought +Dick,--this was before the red-haired girl had brought him under +the guillotine,--but he only said, 'I am very sorry,' and harrowed +Torpenhow's soul that evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, +insensibly and to a large extent against his own will, he ceased to +interest himself in his own work. + +For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him +he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, +since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to +do anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. +Torpenhow was disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then +attacked him one Sunday evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after +three hours' biting self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was +Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come in +to talk continental politics. + +'Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?' said the +Nilghai. + +'It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool with a +woman.' + +'Isn't that bad enough?' + +'No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for +a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the +staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you +had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.' + +'No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned +fellow.' + +'He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't +storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush. + +You're fond of him?' + +'I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the +worst of it is, no man can save his brother.' + +'No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick +must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be +trouble in the Balkans in the spring.' + +'That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there +when it comes off?' + +Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. + +'Not good enough,' he said shortly. 'I'm too comf'y where I am.' + +'Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?' said +the Nilghai. 'Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,--the +public will know your touch and go on to something new,--and where will +you be then?' + +'Here, in England.' + +'When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I +shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will +be there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as +much as ever we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you +of seeing things that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.' + +'Um!' said Dick, pulling at his pipe. + +'You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at +your pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own +pursuits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look +up between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't +the least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or +notoriety, according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.' + +'I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.' + +'Be hanged if I do!' + +'Be hanged, then; you probably will be,--for a spy, by excited Turks. + +Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.' Dick +dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. + +'That's a bad sign,' said the Nilghai, in an undertone. + +Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to +burn, and put a pillow behind the head. 'We can't help; we can't help,' +he said. 'It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it. +There's the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square.' + +'Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.' + +'I should. He's a most businesslike madman.' + +Then Dick began to snore furiously. + +'Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and +go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it.' + +'When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,' said the Nilghai, in +his beard, 'I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural +history.' + +Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches +he was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he +wondered he had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He +would seek Maisie on a week-day,--would suggest an excursion, and would +take her by train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two +had trodden together ten years ago. + +'As a general rule,' he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the +morning, 'it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one +of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is an +exception to every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once.' + +Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and +Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was +not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; +and it needed all his courage to explain his errand. + +'I know you've been working too hard,' he concluded, with an air of +authority. 'If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better +come.' + +'Where?' said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel +too long, and was very tired. + +'Anywhere you please. We'll take a train to-morrow and see where it +stops. We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the +evening.' + +'If there's a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.' Maisie +balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. + +Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet +learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all. + +'You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working +light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll +call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.' + +'But surely you are going to ask----' + +'No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much +as I hate her. She won't care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray that we +get sunshine.' + +Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. + +He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great +gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired +into himself to consider things. + +'I'm going out for the day to-morrow with Dick,' said Maisie to the +red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the +Edgware road. + +'He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while +you're away. It's very dirty.' + +Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to +the little excitement, but not without misgivings. + +'There's nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly, she though, +but I'm sure he'll be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell him +anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be sensible, I should like him +so much better.' + +Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning +and saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the +hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, +were surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired +girl drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly. + +Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether +unused to these demonstrations. 'Mind my hat,' she said, hurrying away, +and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. + +'Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more +breakfast? Put the cloak over your knees.' + +'I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing +like that. People will think we're mad.' + +'Let 'em think,--if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know who +we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, you're +looking lovely!' + +Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a +keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, +the creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a +pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout +committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring. + +'It will be lovely weather in the country,' said Dick. + +'But where are we going?' + +'Wait and see.' + +The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the +fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the +waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the +booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put +her into a Pullman,--solely on account of the warmth there; and she +regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved +out into the country. + +'I wish I knew where we are going,' she repeated for the twentieth time. + +The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the +run, and Maisie was delighted. + +'Oh, Dick, you villain!' + +'Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been +here since the old times, have you?' + +'No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was +ever there.' + +'Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the +potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when +I shut you up in it?' + +'Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.' + +'She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was +burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a +trusting nature in those days.' + +They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with +many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's +cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear +skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the +evening would bring him a great reward. + +When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new +eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. +Jennett. + +'Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?' said Dick, with +mock terror. + +'I should make a face.' + +'Show, then,' said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. + +Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and +Dick laughed. + +'"This is disgraceful,"' said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone. + +'"Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle +for the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three +helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick's always leading you into mischief. +If you aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at least--"' + +The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been +used. + +'"Try to behave like one,"' said Dick, promptly. 'Quite right. Now we'll +get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,--unless you'd rather drive +there?' + +'We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all +is!' + +They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, +and the influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed +a confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint +pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week. + +'Dick, have you any pennies?' said Maisie, half to herself. + +'Only three; and if you think you're going to have two of 'em to buy +peppermints with, you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't ladylike.' + +Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie's cheeks as +the blood boiled through Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went +down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land +that no builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter +breeze came in from the sea and sang about their ears. + +'Maisie,' said Dick, 'your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the +tip. + +I'll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.' + +She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the +ulster allowed, till she was out of breath. + +'We used to run miles,' she panted. 'It's absurd that we can't run now.' + +'Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished +to pull your hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the +top of your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were +meant to call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and----' + +'Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.' + +'No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.' + +'Why, it's the same as ever!' said Maisie. + +Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and +shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a +travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess +and polite conversation. + +'It's worse than anything I imagined,' said Torpenhow. + +'Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with +one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You can whip a +young pup off feather, but you can't whip a young man.' + +'It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl.' + +'Where's your proof?' + +'He got up and went out at eight this morning,--got up in the middle of +the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he's on service. + +Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the +fight began at El-Maghrib. It's disgusting.' + +'It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might +get up for that, mightn't he?' + +'Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in +the wind. It's a girl.' + +'Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman.' + +'Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven't. Who gets up in the gray +dawn to call on another man's wife? It's a girl.' + +'Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in +the world besides himself.' + +'She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, and she'll marry him, and +ruin his work for ever. He'll be a respectable married man before we can +stop him, and--he'll ever go on the long trail again.' + +'All quite possible, but the earth won't spin the other way when that +happens.... No! ho! I'd give something to see Dick "go wooing with the +boys." Don't worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can only +look on. Get the chessmen.' + +The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the +ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew +indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was +all one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut +savagely from time to time. + +The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her +door: 'Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, +not to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an' +disinfectink. + +Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I thought it would be +pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you what sort of +soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, +miss----' + +There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury +that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost +shouting--'Do you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!--any +kind!' + +The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in +the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as +though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + Roses red and roses white + Plucked I for my love's delight. + + She would none of all my posies,-- + Bade me gather her blue roses. + + Half the world I wandered through, + Seeking where such flowers grew; + Half the world unto my quest + Answered but with laugh and jest. + + It may be beyond the grave + She shall find what she would have. + + Mine was but an idle quest,-- + Roses white and red are best!--Blue Roses +THE SEA had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and +the Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white +beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered. + +'I don't see the old breakwater,' said Maisie, under her breath. + +'Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe +they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come +and look.' + +They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook +sheltered from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder +cannon. + +'Now, if Ammoma were only here!' said Maisie. + +For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and +called her by her name. + +She shook her head and looked out to sea. + +'Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?' + +'No!' between clenched teeth. 'I'd--I'd tell you if it did; but it +doesn't, Oh, Dick, please be sensible.' + +'Don't you think that it ever will?' + +'No, I'm sure it won't.' + +'Why?' + +Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke +hurriedly--'I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it to +you, Dick. It isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I +could care for any one----But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't +understand what the feeling means.' + +'Is that true, dear?' + +'You've been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you +back is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself +quite enough as it is.' + +'What in the world for?' + +'Because--because I take everything that you give me and I give you +nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of +it it worries me.' + +'Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if +I choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing +to reproach yourself with, darling.' + +'Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.' + +'Then don't talk about it.' + +'How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always +talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I +despise myself sometimes.' + +'Great goodness!' said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. 'Speak the +truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I--does this worrying +bore you?' + +'No. It does not.' + +'You'd tell me if it did?' + +'I should let you know, I think.' + +'Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive +a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known +that?' + +Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was +forced to repeat it. + +'There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in +the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.' + +'Did you listen?' + +'At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used +to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud +of the praise, and tell Kami, and--I shall never forget--once Kami +laughed at me.' + +'You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?' + +'I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless--unless they do bad +work. + +Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,--of +everything of mine that you've seen.' + +'"Honest, honest, and honest over!"' quoted Dick from a catchword of +long ago. 'Tell me what Kami always says.' + +Maisie hesitated. 'He--he says that there is feeling in them.' + +'How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for +two years. I know exactly what he says.' + +'It isn't a fib.' + +'It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one +side,--so,--"Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti pris."' He +rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do. + +'Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is +right.' + +'Certainly he is.' Dick admitted that two people in the world could do +and say no wrong. Kami was the man. + +'And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening.' + +'I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you +too much to pretend about your work. It's strong, it's patient +sometimes,--not always,--and sometimes there's power in it, but there's +no special reason why it should be done at all. At least, that's how it +strikes me.' + +'There's no special reason why anything in the world should ever be +done. You know that as well as I do. I only want success.' + +'You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you +so?' + +'Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad, +to begin with.' + +'I didn't say that, and I don't think it.' + +'It's amateurish, then.' + +'That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your +boot-heels, and I respect you for that.' + +'You don't laugh at me behind my back?' + +'No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak +thing round you, or you'll get chilled.' + +Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray +kangaroo fur to the outside. + +'This is delicious,' she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully along the +fur. + +'Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?' + +'Just because you try. Don't you understand, darling? Good work has +nothing to do with--doesn't belong to--the person who does it. It's put +into him or her from outside.' + +'But how does that affect----' + +'Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be +masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of +anything.' + +'I understand that.' + +'Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down +quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not +do something that isn't bad. A great deal depends on being master of the +bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think +about success and the effect of our work--to play with one eye on the +gallery--we lose power and touch and everything else. At least that's +how I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power +you possess to your work, you're fretting over something which you can +neither help nor hinder by a minute. See?' + +'It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. +Don't you ever think about the gallery?' + +'Much too often; but I'm always punished for it by loss of power. It's +as simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using +it for our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we're the +weaker, we shall suffer.' + +'I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me.' + +'Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes +for yourself to one for your work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do +exactly the same thing, and know that I'm doing it. Most of the French +schools, and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their +own credit, and for the sake of their pride. I was told that all +the world was interested in my work, and everybody at Kami's talked +turpentine, and I honestly believed that the world needed elevating and +influencing, and all manner of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I +actually believed that! When my little head was bursting with a notion +that I couldn't handle because I hadn't sufficient knowledge of my +craft, I used to run about wondering at my own magnificence and getting +ready to astonish the world.' + +'But surely one can do that sometimes?' + +'Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it's done it's +such a tiny thing, and the world's so big, and all but a millionth part +of it doesn't care. Maisie, come with me and I'll show you something of +the size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,--that +goes on by itself,--but try to see what you are working for. I know such +little heavens that I could take you to,--islands tucked away under the +Line. + +You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as black +marble because it's so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains day after +day and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea's so lonely.' + +'Who is afraid?--you, or the sun?' + +'The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds +overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist +orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk. + +There's a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of +green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the +rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and +you order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock with +tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the +bees hum and the water fall till you go to sleep.' + +'Can one work there?' + +'Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a +palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When they scuffle you heave a +ripe custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There +are hundreds of places. Come and see them.' + +'I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.' + +'What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, +with raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on +honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in +a gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and +streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, +till you find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the +market-place, and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and +spreads its tail against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. +Then a monkey--a little black monkey--walks through the main square to +get a drink from a tank forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to +the water's edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should +fall in.' + +'Is that all true?' + +'I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change +till it's just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A little +before sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, +with all his family following, trots through the city gate, churning the +foam on his tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind black stone god +and watch that pig choose himself a palace for the night and stump in +wagging his tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and the sands move, and +you hear the desert outside the city singing, "Now I lay me down to +sleep," and everything is dark till the moon rises. Maisie, darling, +come with me and see what the world is really like. It's very lovely, +and it's very horrible,--but I won't let you see anything horrid,--and +it doesn't care for your life or mine for pictures or anything else +except doing its own work and making love. Come, and I'll show you how +to brew sangaree, and sling a hammock, and--oh, thousands of things, and +you'll see for yourself what colour means, and we'll find out together +what love means, and then, maybe, we shall be allowed to do some good +work. Come away!' + +'Why?' said Maisie. + +'How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as +you can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You +have no business here; you don't belong to this place; you're half a +gipsy,--your face tells that; and I--even the smell of open water makes +me restless. Come across the sea and be happy!' + +He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking +down at the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, +before they knew, the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long +ruled lines of silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide was +turning over the mud-banks. The wind had dropped, and in the intense +stillness they could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass many yards +away. A faint beating, like that of a muffled drum, came out of the +moon-haze. + +'What's that?' said Maisie, quickly. 'It sounds like a heart beating. + +Where is it?' + +Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could +not trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. Maisie +from her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear. + +She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her with +over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. She was +not prepared, however, for the change in his face as he listened. + +'It's a steamer,' he said,--'a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I can't +make her out, but she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah!' as the +red of a rocket streaked the haze, 'she's standing in to signal before +she clears the Channel.' + +'Is it a wreck?' said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. + +Dick's eyes were turned to the sea. 'Wreck! What nonsense! She's only +reporting herself. Red rocket forward--there's a green light aft now, +and two red rockets from the bridge.' + +'What does that mean?' + +'It's the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder +which steamer it is.' The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to +be talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight +broke the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer +working down Channel. 'Four masts and three funnels--she's in deep +draught, too. That must be the Barralong, or the Bhutia. No, the Bhutia +has a clopper bow. It's the Barralong, to Australia. She'll lift the +Southern Cross in a week,--lucky old tub!--oh, lucky old tub!' + +He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better +view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the +screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he +returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. 'Have you ever seen the +Southern Cross blazing right over your head?' he asked. 'It's superb!' + +'No,' she said shortly, 'and I don't want to. If you think it's so +lovely, why don't you go and see it yourself?' + +She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about +her throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray +kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest. + +'By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up there.' +The eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. 'I'm +sorry,' he continued. 'The Southern Cross isn't worth looking at unless +someone helps you to see. That steamer's out of hearing.' + +'Dick,' she said quietly, 'suppose I were to come to you now,--be quiet +a minute,--just as I am, and caring for you just as much as I do.' + +'Not as a brother, though? You said you didn't--in the Park.' + +'I never had a brother. Suppose I said, "Take me to those places, and in +time, perhaps, I might really care for you," what would you do?' + +'Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I +wouldn't; I'd let you walk. But you couldn't do it, dear. And I wouldn't +run the risk. You're worth waiting for till you can come without +reservation.' + +'Do you honestly believe that?' + +'I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that +light?' + +'Ye--es. I feel so wicked about it.' + +'Wickeder than usual?' + +'You don't know all I think. It's almost too awful to tell.' + +'Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth--at least.' + +'It's so ungrateful of me, but--but, though I know you care for me, and +I like to have you with me, I'd--I'd even sacrifice you, if that would +bring me what I want.' + +'My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn't lead to +good work.' + +'You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise myself.' + +'I'm not exactly flattered,--I had guessed as much before,--but I'm not +angry. I'm sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a littleness +like that behind you, years ago.' + +'You've no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked for so +long. It came to you without any trouble, and--and I don't think it's +fair.' + +'What can I do? I'd give ten years of my life to get you what you want. + +But I can't help you; even I can't help.' + +A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on--'And I know by what you +have just said that you're on the wrong road to success. It isn't got +at by sacrificing other people,--I've had that much knocked into me; +you must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for +yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at +the beginning, when you're reaching out after a notion.' + +'How can you believe all that?' + +'There's no question of belief or disbelief. That's the law, and you +take it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can't, and +then my work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, +four-fifths of everybody's work must be bad. But the remnant is worth +the trouble for its own sake.' + +'Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad work?' + +'It's much too nice. But---- May I tell you something? It isn't a pretty +tale, but you're so like a man that I forget when I'm talking to you.' + +'Tell me.' + +'Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we had +been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; and we +hadn't time to bury them.' + +'How ghastly!' + +'I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering +what people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught +me a good deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all +colours, and--I'd never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings +before. So I began to understand that men and women were only material +to work with, and that what they said or did was of no consequence. +See? Strictly speaking, you might just as well put your ear down to the +palette to catch what your colours are saying.' + +'Dick, that's disgraceful!' + +'Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must +be either a man or a woman.' + +'I'm glad you allow that much.' + +'In your case I don't. You aren't a woman. But ordinary people, Maisie, +must behave and work as such. That's what makes me so savage.' He hurled +a pebble towards the sea as he spoke. 'I know that it is outside my +business to care what people say; I can see that it spoils my output +if I listen to 'em; and yet, confound it all,'--another pebble flew +seaward,--'I can't help purring when I'm rubbed the right way. Even when +I can see on a man's forehead that he is lying his way through a clump +of pretty speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with +my hand.' + +'And when he doesn't say pretty things?' + +'Then, belovedest,'--Dick grinned,--'I forget that I am the steward of +these gifts, and I want to make that man love and appreciate my work +with a thick stick. It's too humiliating altogether; but I suppose even +if one were an angel and painted humans altogether from outside, one +would lose in touch what one gained in grip.' + +Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. + +'But you seem to think,' she said, 'that everything nice spoils your +hand.' + +'I don't think. It's the law,--just the same as it was at Mrs. +Jennett's. + +Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I'm glad you see so +clearly.' + +'I don't like the view.' + +'Nor I. But--have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to face +it alone?' + +'I suppose I must.' + +'Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to +walk straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than +stumbling apart. Maisie, can't you see reason?' + +'I don't think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, +so we should never agree.' + +'How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a +cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I'd make him chew his own arrow-heads. + +Well?' + +'I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my +work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I'm not fit to speak to.' + +'You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. +D'you suppose that I don't know the feeling of worry and bother and +can't-get-at-ness? You're lucky if you only have it four days out of the +seven. What difference would that make?' + +'A great deal--if you had it too.' + +'Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at +you. But there's no use talking about it. If you can think in that way +you can't care for me--yet.' + +The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples +broke on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. + +'Dick,' she said slowly, 'I believe very much that you are better than I +am.' + +'This doesn't seem to bear on the argument--but in what way?' + +'I don't quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and +then you're so patient. Yes, you're better than I am.' + +Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man's life. There +was nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted +the hem of the cloak to his lips. + +'Why,' said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, 'can you see +things that I can't? I don't believe what you believe; but you're right, +I believe.' + +'If I've seen anything, God knows I couldn't have seen it but for you, +and I know that I couldn't have said it except to you. You seemed to +make everything clear for a minute; but I don't practice what I preach. +You would help me.... There are only us two in the world for all +purposes, and--and you like to have me with you?' + +'Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!' + +'Darling, I think I can.' + +'Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up +and down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?' + +'It's some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?' + +'I don't know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no +money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it +frightened me--oh, how it frightened me!' + +'I know that fear. It's the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in the +night sometimes. You oughtn't to know anything about it.' + +'How do you know?' + +'Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?' + +'It's in Consols.' + +'Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better +investment,--even if I should come to you,--don't you listen. Never +shift the money for a minute, and never lend a penny of it,--even to the +red-haired girl.' + +'Don't scold me so! I'm not likely to be foolish.' + +'The earth is full of men who'd sell their souls for three hundred a +year; and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a +ten-pound note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt. + +Stick to your money, Maisie, for there's nothing more ghastly in the +world than poverty in London. It's scared me. By Jove, it put the fear +into me! And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything.' + +To each man is appointed his particular dread,--the terror that, if he +does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his manhood. +Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into the +deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory stood +behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. As +the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake +or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut +or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he +had once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of +his companions. + +Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. + +'You've plenty of pennies now,' she said soothingly. + +'I shall never have enough,' he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, +laughing, 'I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.' + +'Why threepence?' + +'I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to +Blackfriar's Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,--you needn't laugh; indeed +it was,--and I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence; +and he hadn't even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, +I shall never get that odd threepence out of the world.' + +This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity +of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause, +which, since all men desire it, must be of her right. She hunted for her +little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit. + +'There it is,' she said. 'I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any +more; it isn't worth while. Are you paid?' + +'I am,' said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. 'I'm +paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my +watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie.' + +'I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the +cloak is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so +chilly.' + +A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had +forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that +laugh ended all serious discourse. + +They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to look +at the glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense black +shadows of the furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick that +Maisie could see colour even as he saw it,--could see the blue in the +white of the mist, the violet that is in gray palings, and all things +else as they are,--not of one hue, but a thousand. And the moonlight +came into Maisie's soul, so that she, usually reserved, chattered of +herself and of the things she took interest in,--of Kami, wisest of +teachers, and of the girls in the studio,--of the Poles, who will kill +themselves with overwork if they are not checked; of the French, who +talk at great length of much more than they will ever accomplish; of +the slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot understand that +inclination does not imply power; of the Americans, whose rasping +voices in the hush of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to +breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indigestion; of tempestuous +Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who tell the girls ghost-stories +till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to learn one thing, +and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and copy pictures for +evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was Maisie who spoke. He +knew the old life. + +'It hasn't changed much,' he said. 'Do they still steal colours at +lunch-time?' + +'Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I'm good--I only +attract ultramarine; but there are students who'd attract flake-white.' + +'I've done it myself. You can't help it when the palettes are hung up. + +Every colour is common property once it runs down,--even though you +do start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their +tubes.' + +'I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might +catch your success with them.' + +'I mustn't say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, +which you've just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want +of success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with---- No, I +won't open that question again. It's time to go back to town.' + +'I'm sorry, Dick, but----' + +'You're much more interested in that than you are in me.' + +'I don't know, I don't think I am.' + +'What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you +want,--the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will +you promise to obey me?' + +'Of course.' + +'In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen +to be at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,' said Dick, at a +venture, for he knew with whom he was dealing.' + +'No, no,--only once, really.' + +'That's bad enough. And you mustn't take a cup of tea and a biscuit in +place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble.' + +'You're making fun of me!' + +'I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, hasn't +it dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here's the whole earth in a +conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to the +skin, or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and +underfeeding, and I haven't the mere right to look after you. Why, I +don't even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when the +weather's cold.' + +'Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to--really! How do you suppose +I managed when you were away?' + +'I wasn't here, and I didn't know. But now I'm back I'd give everything +I have for the right of telling you to come in out of the rain.' + +'Your success too?' + +This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. + +'As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you're a trial, Maisie! You've been cooped +up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking at you. + +There aren't twelve hundred people in the world who understand pictures. +The others pretend and don't care. Remember, I've seen twelve hundred +men dead in toadstool-beds. It's only the voice of the tiniest little +fraction of people that makes success. The real world doesn't care a +tinker's--doesn't care a bit. For aught you or I know, every man in the +world may be arguing with a Maisie of his own.' + +'Poor Maisie!' + +'Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he's fighting for what's +dearer than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did, +and if all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and +shouted hymns to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the +knowledge that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day +without an umbrella? Now we'll go to the station.' + +'But you said on the beach----' persisted Maisie, with a certain fear. + +Dick groaned aloud: 'Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I +have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law +that governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,--though +you've nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't +everything to all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.' + +Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to +London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent +harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,--such +a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,--would stable it, with a +companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her +health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week. + +'That's absurd,' said she. 'It wouldn't be proper.' + +'Now, who in all London to-night would have sufficient interest or +audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?' + +Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was +right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it. + +'You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not +going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way to-night. +I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You +won't think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember, +you've been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work +for a little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be +tiny.' + +This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put +Maisie into her hansom. + +'Good-bye,' she said simply. 'You'll come on Sunday. It has been a +beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always?' + +'Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you +can't stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good-night, +and, for my--for my sake, take care of yourself.' + +He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing that +he hoped for, but--surely this was worth many days--it had brought him +nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and the prize +well worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the river. + +'And she understood at once,' he said, looking at the water. 'She found +out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, how she +understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she +was!' He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. 'I wonder if girls +guess at one-half a man's life. They can't, or--they wouldn't marry us.' +He took her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the light of a +miracle and a pledge of the comprehension that, one day, would lead to +perfect happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, with none to +save her from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of danger. + +Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the +heathen as he threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil were +to befall, let him bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, since +the threepenny piece was dearest to him of all his possessions. It was +a small coin in itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames held it, +and surely the Fates would be bribed for this once. + +The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie +for the moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to his +chambers with a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after his +first experience of an entire day spent in the society of a woman. +There was a stronger desire at his heart when there rose before him an +unsolicited vision of the Barralong dipping deep and sailing free for +the Southern Cross. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + And these two, as I have told you, + Were the friends of Hiawatha, + Chibiabos, the musician, + And the very strong man, Kwasind. + + --Hiawatha. +TORPENHOW was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the +Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was +reading through the first part, commenting scornfully the while. + +'It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy,' said he; 'but as a serious +consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much.' + +'It's off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, +thirty-nine slips altogether, aren't there? That should make between +eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!' Torpenhow +shuffled the writing together and hummed-- + + Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, + If I'd as much money as I could tell, + I never would cry, Young lambs to sell! +Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of +tempers with all the world. + +'Back at last?' said Torpenhow. + +'More or less. What have you been doing?' + +'Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you. +Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a line. +It's scandalous.' + +'The notions come and go, my children--they come and go like our +'baccy,' he answered, filling his pipe. 'Moreover,' he stooped to thrust +a spill into the grate, 'Apollo does not always stretch his---- Oh, +confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!' + +'This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,' +said the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to +their nail on the wall. 'We believe in cobblers' wax. La!--where you sit +down.' + +'If you weren't so big and fat,' said Dick, looking round for a weapon, +'I'd----' + +'No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time +you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How +d'you do? to Binkie. Look at him.' + +Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's knee, +and scratching at his boots. + +'Dear man!' said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the black +patch above his right eye. 'Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai +turn you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.' He pitched him on the +Nilghai's stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to +destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, +and panting he stuck out his tongue at the company. + +'The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp. + +I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters +were being taken down--just as if he hadn't enough to eat in his own +proper house,' said Dick. + +'Binks, is that a true bill?' said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog +retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of +him that he really had no further interest in the discussion. + +'Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,' said +the Nilghai. 'What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be +buying a horse.' + +'He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. +No, I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and +watch the pretty ships go by.' + +'Where did you go?' + +'Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place was +its name; I've forgotten; but it was only two hours' run from London and +the ships went by.' + +'Did you see anything you knew?' + +'Only the Barralong outwards to Australia, and an Odessa grain-boat +loaded down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt good.' + +'Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see the Barralong?' said +Torpenhow, pointing. + +'Because I've nothing except these things and my painting duds. Besides, +I wanted to do honour to the sea.' + +'Did She make you feel restless?' asked the Nilghai, keenly. + +'Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I went.' + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied +himself among the former's boots and trees. + +'These will do,' he said at last; 'I can't say I think much of your +taste in slippers, but the fit's the thing.' He slipped his feet into a +pair of sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and +lay at length. + +'They're my own pet pair,' Torpenhow said. 'I was just going to put them +on myself.' + +'All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a +minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.' + +'Good for you that Dick can't wear your clothes, Torp. You two live +communistically,' said the Nilghai. + +'Dick never has anything that I can wear. He's only useful to sponge +upon.' + +'Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?' +said Dick. 'I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you +expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you----' + +Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. + +'Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a +fiver about a month back. Do you remember?' Torpenhow said. + +'Yes, of course.' + +'Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at +the bottom of the tobacco?' + +'By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.' + +'You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some +'baccy and found it.' + +'What did you do with it?' + +'Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.' + +'You couldn't feed the Nilghai under twice the money--not though you +gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner or +later. What is there to laugh at?' + +'You're a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,' said the Nilghai, +still chuckling over the thought of the dinner. 'Never mind. We had both +been working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we spent, and +as you're only a loafer it didn't matter.' + +'That's pleasant--from the man who is bursting with my meat, too. I'll +get that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre now.' + +'Put our boots on,--and dress,--and wash?' The Nilghai spoke very +lazily. + +'I withdraw the motion.' + +'Suppose, just for a change--as a startling variety, you know--we, that +is to say we, get our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our work.' + +Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the +soft leather moccasins. + +'What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on +hand, I haven't any model; if I had my model, I haven't any spray, and I +never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and twenty +photographs of backgrounds, I couldn't do anything to-night. I don't +feel that way.' + +'Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he?' said the Nilghai. + +'Very good, I will do some work,' said Dick, rising swiftly. 'I'll fetch +the Nungapunga Book, and we'll add another picture to the Nilghai Saga.' + +'Aren't you worrying him a little too much?' asked the Nilghai, when +Dick had left the room. + +'Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me +savage to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to +do. You and I are arranged for----' + +'By Kismet and our own powers, more's the pity. I have dreamed of a good +deal.' + +'So have I, but we know our limitations now. I'm dashed if I know what +Dick's may be when he gives himself to his work. That's what makes me so +keen about him.' + +'And when all's said and done, you will be put aside--quite rightly--for +a female girl.' + +'I wonder... Where do you think he has been to-day?' + +'To the sea. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he talked about +her? He's as restless as a swallow in autumn.' + +'Yes; but did he go alone?' + +'I don't know, and I don't care, but he has the beginnings of the +go-fever upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There's no +mistaking the signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call +upon him now.' + +'It might be his salvation,' Torpenhow said. + +'Perhaps--if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.' + +Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew +well and did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of +moving incidents, experienced by himself or related to him by the +others, of all the four corners of the earth. But the wider range of the +Nilghai's body and life attracted him most. When truth failed he +fell back on fiction of the wildest, and represented incidents in the +Nilghai's career that were unseemly,--his marriages with many African +princesses, his shameless betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to +the Mahdi, his tattooment by skilled operators in Burmah, his +interview (and his fears) with the yellow headsman in the blood-stained +execution-ground of Canton, and finally, the passings of his spirit into +the bodies of whales, elephants, and toucans. Torpenhow from time to +time had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole was a curious piece of +art, because Dick decided, having regard to the name of the book which +being interpreted means 'naked,' that it would be wrong to draw the +Nilghai with any clothes on, under any circumstances. Consequently the +last sketch, representing that much-enduring man calling on the War +Office to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, was hardly delicate. +He settled himself comfortably on Torpenhow's table and turned over the +pages. + +'What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!' he said. +'There's a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that's +more than life-like. "The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the +Mahdieh"--that was founded on fact, eh?' + +'It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come +into the Saga yet?' + +'No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything except eat and kill cats. +Let's see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced +decorative lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being +handed down to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in +rare and curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this +time? The domestic life of the Nilghai?' + +'Hasn't got any.' + +'The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of +his wives in Trafalgar Square. That's it. They came from the ends of the +earth to attend Nilghai's wedding to an English bride. This shall be an +epic. It's a sweet material to work with.' + +'It's a scandalous waste of time,' said Torpenhow. + +'Don't worry; it keeps one's hand in--specially when you begin without +the pencil.' He set to work rapidly. 'That's Nelson's Column. Presently +the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.' + +'Give him some clothes this time.' + +'Certainly--a veil and an orange-wreath, because he's been married.' + +'Gad, that's clever enough!' said Torpenhow over his shoulder, as Dick +brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat back +and labouring shoulder pressed against stone. + +'Just imagine,' Dick continued, 'if we could publish a few of these dear +little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can write, to +give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.' + +'Well, you'll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of that +kind. I know I can't hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I give +the job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance----' + +'No-o--one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the dark of +the wall-paper--you only burble and call me names. That left shoulder's +out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that. Where's my +pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?' + +'I only gave him his riding-orders to--to lambast you on general +principles for not producing work that will last.' + +'Whereupon that young fool,'--Dick threw back his head and shut one +eye as he shifted the page under his hand,--'being left alone with an +ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and spilt them +both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for the +business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?' + +'How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand away +from the body as it does?' said Torpenhow, to whom Dick's methods were +always new. + +'It just depends on where you put 'em. If Maclagan had know that much +about his business he might have done better.' + +'Why don't you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, then?' +insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in +hiring for Dick's benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most +of his waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of +Art, which, he wrote, was one and indivisible. + +'Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of +wives. You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough 'em in +with the pencil--Medes, Parthians, Edomites.... Now, setting aside the +weakness and the wickedness and--and the fat-headedness of deliberately +trying to do work that will live, as they call it, I'm content with the +knowledge that I've done my best up to date, and I shan't do anything +like it again for some hours at least--probably years. Most probably +never.' + +'What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?' said Torpenhow. + +'Anything you've sold?' said the Nilghai. + +'Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better than that, it can't be +sold, and I don't think any one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't.... +And yet more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe +the virtuous horror of the lions!' + +'You may as well explain,' said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from +the paper. + +'The sea reminded me of it,' he said slowly. 'I wish it hadn't. It +weighs some few thousand tons--unless you cut it out with a cold +chisel.' + +'Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here,' said the Nilghai. + +'There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a fact. I was loafing from +Lima to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into +a cargo-boat and owned by a second-hand Italian firm. She was a crazy +basket. We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought +ourselves lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then +we used to stop and let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the +crack in the shaft was spreading.' + +'Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?' + +'I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I +should have been a steward, I think,' said Dick, with perfect gravity, +returning to the procession of angry wives. 'I was the only other +passenger from Lima, and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and +cockroaches and scorpions.' + +'But what has this to do with the picture?' + +'Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower +decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, +and she was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port +holes--most annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I +hadn't anything to do for weeks. The ship's charts were in pieces and +our skipper daren't run south for fear of catching a storm. So he did +his best to knock all the Society Islands out of the water one by one, +and I went into the lower deck, and did my picture on the port side as +far forward in her as I could go. There was some brown paint and some +green paint that they used for the boats, and some black paint for +ironwork, and that was all I had.' + +'The passengers must have thought you mad.' + +'There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of my +picture.' + +'What was she like?' said Torpenhow. + +'She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She +couldn't read or write, and she didn't want to, but she used to come +down and watch me paint, and the skipper didn't like it, because he was +paying her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.' + +'I see. That must have been cheerful.' + +'It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn't know whether +we should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and when +it was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints +and talk broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few +minutes to the lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. +So, you see, we could never tell when we might be caught, and I had a +splendid notion to work out in only three keys of colour.' + +'What was the notion?' + +'Two lines in Poe-- + +Neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea, +Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee. + +It came out of the sea--all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out in +green water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the +model for the devils and the angels both--sea-devils and sea-angels, +and the soul half drowned between them. It doesn't sound much, but when +there was a good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and creepy. +It was seven by fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting +light.' + +'Did the woman inspire you much?' said Torpenhow. + +'She and the sea between them--immensely. There was a heap of bad +drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten +for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for all +that it's the best thing I've ever done; and now I suppose the ship's +broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!' + +'What happened after all?' + +'It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, but +even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of the +demons scared them, I honestly believe.' + +'And the woman?' + +'She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself +before she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of +getting any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, +and the fear of death atop of everything else, O Lord!' He had ceased to +look at the sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across the +room. + +'Why don't you try something of the same kind now?' said the Nilghai. + +'Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a +cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, +I may.' + +'You won't find them here,' said the Nilghai. + +'No, I shall not.' Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. 'This room's +as hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.' + +He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London +below him. The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, +commanding a hundred chimneys--crooked cowls that looked like sitting +cats as they swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries +supported by iron stanchions and clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the +lights of Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square threw a copper-coloured +glare above the black roofs, and southward by all the orderly lights of +the Thames. A train rolled out across one of the railway bridges, and +its thunder drowned for a minute the dull roar of the streets. The +Nilghai looked at his watch and said shortly, 'That's the Paris +night-mail. You can book from here to St. Petersburg if you choose.' + +Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across the +river. Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over quietly +to the piano and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as possible, +spread out upon the sofa with the air of one who is not to be lightly +disturbed. + +'Well,' said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, 'have you never +seen this place before?' + +A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then +the boom of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick. + +'Good place to bank in--bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn't it?' + +Dick's chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general +not without fame, still looking out on the darkness--'"My God, what a +city to loot!"' + +Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed +plaintively. + +'We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,' said Torpenhow. 'Come in,' and +they withdrew their heads. 'You'll be buried in Kensal Green, Dick, +one of these days, if it isn't closed by the time you want to go +there--buried within two feet of some one else, his wife and his +family.' + +'Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room +to stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.' Dick flung himself down on the sofa +and tweaked Binkie's velvet ears, yawning heavily the while. + +'You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,' Torpenhow said +to the Nilghai. 'It's never touched except by you.' + +'A piece of gross extravagance,' Dick grunted. 'The Nilghai only comes +when I'm out.' + +'That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.' + +'The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, His writings are +watered Dickens and water; But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high +Makes even the Mahdieh glad to die!' + +Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. + +'How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?' + +The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many +Press-tents in far-off lands had known. + +'What shall I sing?' said he, turning in the chair. + +'"Moll Roe in the Morning,"' said Torpenhow, at a venture. + +'No,' said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old +chanty whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not +a pretty one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. +Without prelude he launched into that stately tune that calls together +and troubles the hearts of the gipsies of the sea-- + +'Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, +ladies of Spain.' + +Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the +Barralong crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross. + +Then came the chorus-- + +'We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, We'll rant and +we'll roar across the salt seas, Until we take soundings in the Channel +of Old England From Ushant to Scilly 'tis forty-five leagues.' + +'Thirty-five-thirty-five,' said Dick, petulantly. 'Don't tamper with +Holy Writ. Go on, Nilghai.' + +'The first land we made it was called the Deadman,' and they sang to the +end very vigourously. + +'That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way--to +the Ushant light, for instance,' said the Nilghai. + +'Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,' said Torpenhow. 'Give us +something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight.' + +'Give us the "Ganges Pilot"; you sang that in the square the night +before El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are alive +to-night,' said Dick. + +Torpenhow considered for a minute. 'By Jove! I believe only you and I. + +Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes--all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in Cairo, +carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the Nilghai.' + +'Umph! And yet the men here who've done their work in a well-warmed +studio all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I +charge too much for my pictures.' + +'They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,' +said the Nilghai. + +'I gambled with one to get at the other. Don't preach. Go on with the +"Pilot." Where in the world did you get that song?' + +'On a tombstone,' said the Nilghai. 'On a tombstone in a distant land. I +made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.' + +'Oh, Vanity! Begin.' And the Nilghai began-- + +'I have slipped my cable, messmates, I'm drifting down with the tide, I +have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride. + +And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea With clearer +conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free. + +'Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge Strike +with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge. + +Cries Charnock, "Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two, The +tall pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!" + +'Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? Katie has +soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?--Why, hark!' + +They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open +sea about his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go. + + 'The morning gun-- + Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me! + I ha' sounded the Dutch High Admiral's heart + As my lead doth sound the sea. +'Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, Moore me +close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. + +My blessing to Kate at Fairlight--Holwell, my thanks to you; Steady! We +steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.' + +'Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?' said Dick, +hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. + +'It depends on the man,' said Torpenhow. + +'The man who has been down to look at the sea,' said the Nilghai. + +'I didn't know she was going to upset me in this fashion.' + +'That's what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. It's more +easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one's life and +surroundings.' + +'But a woman can be----' began Dick, unguardedly. + +'A piece of one's life,' continued Torpenhow. 'No, she can't. His face +darkened for a moment. 'She says she wants to sympathise with you and +help you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must +do for himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the +dickens you haven't been wasting your time with her.' + +'Don't generalise,' said the Nilghai. 'By the time you arrive at +five notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved +accordingly. + +Shouldn't begin these things, my son.' + +'I shouldn't have gone down to the sea,' said Dick, just a little +anxious to change the conversation. 'And you shouldn't have sung.' + +'The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,' said the Nilghai. + +'No, but I'm fatally compromised. She's an enduring old hag, and +I'm sorry I ever met her. Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a +three-pair back?' + +'Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you +listen to her?' said Torpenhow. + +Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout +that shook the windows, in 'The Men of the Sea,' that begins, as all +know, 'The sea is a wicked old woman,' and after reading through eight +lines whose imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking +of a capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the +men sweat and tramp in the shingle. + + '"Ye that bore us, O restore us! + She is kinder than ye; + For the call is on our heart-strings!" + Said The Men of the Sea.' +The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that +Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to +their wives. + + '"Ye that love us, can ye move us? + She is dearer than ye; + And your sleep will be the sweeter," + Said The Men of the Sea.' +The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the +rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making +love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether +the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his +shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors' +diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything +in the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life +again,--to scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his +fellows; to take ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget +pictures; to talk to Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow +'Tina mixed the drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and see the +smoke roll outward, thin and thicken again till the shining black faces +came through, and in that hell every man was strictly responsible for +his own head, and his own alone, and struck with an unfettered arm. It +was impossible, utterly impossible, but-- + + '"Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, + She is older than ye, + And our graves will be the greener," + Said The Men of the Sea.' +'What is there to hinder?' said Torpenhow, in the long hush that +followed the song. + +'You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round +the world, Torp.' + +'That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for +travelling expenses. You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go +away and do some work, and see some things.' + +'Get some of the fat off you; you're disgracefully out of condition,' +said the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful +of Dick generally over the right ribs. 'Soft as putty--pure tallow born +of over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.' + +'We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field +you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.' + +'Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. + +There's always trouble in South America.' + +'Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only +difficulty is to know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, as I +told you before.' + +'Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the +others,' said Torpenhow. 'Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay +forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.' + +'You've the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself +shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third +engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn't very warm +in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at +all, which I'm not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small +trip to begin with.' + +'That's something at any rate. Where will you go?' said Torpenhow. 'It +would do you all the good in the world, old man.' + +The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech. + +'I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, where I shall hire +one horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I +shall walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a +lather and make Rathray angry. I shall do that to-morrow, for the sake +of air and exercise.' + +'Bah!' Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the cushion +that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. + +'Air and exercise indeed,' said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on +Dick. + +'Let's give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.' + +At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would +not open his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was +some trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; and +even when it was there he weakly tried to puff against the force of +the blast, and his cheeks blew up with a great explosion; and the enemy +becoming helpless with laughter he so beat them over the head with a +soft sofa cushion that that became unsewn and distributed its feathers, +and Binkie, interfering in Torpenhow's interests, was bundled into the +half-empty bag and advised to scratch his way out, which he did after +a while, travelling rapidly up and down the floor in the shape of an +agitated green haggis, and when he came out looking for satisfaction, +the three pillars of his world were picking feathers out of their hair. + +'A prophet has no honour in his own country,' said Dick, ruefully, +dusting his knees. 'This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.' + +'It was all for your own good,' said the Nilghai. 'Nothing like air and +exercise.' + +'All for your good,' said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to +past clowning. 'It would let you focus things at their proper worth and +prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it would, +old man. I shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. Only, you make +a joke of everything.' + +'Before God I do no such thing,' said Dick, quickly and earnestly. 'You +don't know me if you think that.' + +I don't think it,' said the Nilghai. + +'How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really +mean, dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save +ourselves from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can't I see, +old man, how you're always anxious about me, and try to advise me to +make my work better? Do you suppose I don't think about that myself? But +you can't help me--you can't help me--not even you. I must play my own +hand alone in my own way.' + +'Hear, hear,' from the Nilghai. + +'What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I've never drawn in +the Nungapunga Book?' Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little +astonished at the outburst. + +Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that +Dick had not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai's life; when +that man, being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged to +the paper that employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery grass +in the rear of Bredow's brigade on the day that the troopers flung +themselves at Caurobert's artillery, and for aught they knew twenty +battalions in front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, to give +time to decide the fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant +came back to Flavigay that cavalry can attack and crumple and break +unshaken infantry. Whenever he was inclined to think over a life that +might have been better, an income that might have been larger, and +a soul that might have been considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would +comfort himself with the thought, 'I rode with Bredow's brigade at +Vionville,' and take heart for any lesser battle the next day might +bring. + +'I know,' he said very gravely. 'I was always glad that you left it +out.' + +'I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned +then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don't know German. + +What is it? "Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of +itself." I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.' + +'Tempe ist richtung. You've learned your lesson well,' said the Nilghai. + +'He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.' + +'Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be--hideously wrong. I must find that out +for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren't turn +my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more than you +know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own +work and live my own life in my own way, because I'm responsible for +both. + +Only don't think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and +sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks.' + +There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, 'What did +the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?' + +'Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the +makings of a very fine prig in you, Dick,' said the Nilghai. + +'I've liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his +mouth.' Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. + +'You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, +without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. +Sic volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my +eye because I talk Latin. Good-night.' + +He went out of the room. + +'That's distinctly one for you,' said the Nilghai. 'I told you it was +hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased.' + +'He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the +go-fever upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go +some day when he doesn't want to,' said Torpenhow. + +In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself--and the +question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a +burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown +into the Thames. + +'It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to think about it,' he +decided. + +'After all, the honeymoon will be that tour--with reservations; only... +only I didn't realise that the sea was so strong. I didn't feel it so +much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He's beginning +again.' + +But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, +and before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether +clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace. + +The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide +by Fort Keeling. + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + 'If I have taken the common clay + And wrought it cunningly + In the shape of a god that was digged a clod, + The greater honour to me.' + + 'If thou hast taken the common clay, + And thy hands be not free + From the taint of the soil, thou hast made thy spoil + The greater shame to thee.'--The Two Potters. +HE DID no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another +Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the +red-haired girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than desire +in his mind. + +He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about +line-work. She had gone off at score filled with some absurd notion for a +'fancy head.' It cost Dick something to command his temper. + +'What's the good of suggesting anything?' he said pointedly. + +'Ah, but this will be a picture,--a real picture; and I know that Kami +will let me send it to the Salon. You don't mind, do you?' + +'I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon.' + +Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. + +'We're going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get +the idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami's. + +Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with +his queen who could do no wrong. 'Just when I thought I had made some +headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It's too maddening!' + +There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the +studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach. + +'I'm sorry,' he said, 'and I think you make a mistake. But what's the +idea of your new picture?' + +'I took it from a book.' + +'That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures. +And----' + +'It's this,' said the red-haired girl behind him. 'I was reading it to +Maisie the other day from The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the +book?' + +'A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken +her fancy?' + +'The description of the Melancolia-- + + 'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, + But all too impotent to lift the regal + Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. +And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) + + 'The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams, + The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown, + Voluminous indented, and yet rigid + As though a shell of burnished metal frigid, + Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.' +There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick +winced. + +'But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of +Durer,' said he. 'How does the poem run?-- + +'Three centuries and threescore years ago, With phantasies of his +peculiar thought. + +You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time. + +'No, it won't,' said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to +reassure herself. 'And I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful +thing it would make?' + +'How in perdition can one do work when one hasn't had the proper +training? Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the +thing through,--training and conviction; not rushing after the first +fancy.' Dick spoke between his teeth. + +'You don't understand,' said Maisie. 'I think I can do it.' + +Again the voice of the girl behind him-- + + 'Baffled and beaten back, she works on still; + Weary and sick of soul, she works the more. + Sustained by her indomitable will, + The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore, + And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour---- +I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.' + +'Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan't, dear. The +notion in itself has fascinated me.--Of course you don't care for fancy +heads, Dick. + +I don't think you could do them. You like blood and bones.' + +'That's a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn't merely +a sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. What +d'you know about Melacolias?' Dick firmly believed that he was even then +tasting three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. + +'She was a woman,' said Maisie, 'and she suffered a great deal,--till +she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I +painted her and sent her to the Salon.' + +The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. + +Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. + +'Never mind about the picture,' he said. 'Are you really going back to +Kami's for a month before your time?' + +'I must, if I want to get the picture done.' + +'And that's all you want?' + +'Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.' + +'You haven't the power. You have only the ideas--the ideas and the +little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten +years steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,--a month +before you need?' + +'I must do my work.' + +'Your work--bah!... No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear. Of +course you must do your work, and--I think I'll say good-bye for this +week.' + +'Won't you even stay for tea? 'No, thank you. Have I your leave to +go, dear? There's nothing more you particularly want me to do, and the +line-work doesn't matter.' + +'I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only +one single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I +know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't +have been so rude about it.' + +'I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other +Sundays. + +There are four more--yes, one, two, three, four--before you go. +Good-bye, Maisie.' + +Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl +returned, a little white at the corners of her lips. + +'Dick's gone off,' said Maisie. 'Just when I wanted to talk about the +picture. Isn't it selfish of him?' + +Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went +on reading The City of Dreadful Night. + +Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen +as his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and +when he found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his +rage, he sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for +the use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his +patient service; nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before +he arrived at the proposition that the queen could do no wrong. + +'It's a losing game,' he said. 'I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers +is in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double +the stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the +insight, or the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse +of Reuben. She won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet +she's stronger than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her +on her own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only +do blood and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the +same I love her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her +inordinate vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something +like a Melancolia--"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." I'll do it +at once, con--bless her.' + +He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could +not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. +He took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when +she showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time +was at hand when all the church bells in London could not ring +Maisie back to him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about +'hermaphroditic futilities,' but the little dog received so many +confidences both from Torpenhow and Dick that he did not trouble his +tulip-ears to listen. + +Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover +night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, +and Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy +stripping the small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, +that she had not time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted +a day there fretting over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the +very last allow him one small kiss? He reflected that he might capture +her by the strong arm, as he had seem women captured in the Southern +Soudan, and lead her away; but Maisie would never be led. She would turn +her gray eyes upon him and say, 'Dick, how selfish you are!' Then his +courage would fail him. It would be better, after all, to beg for that +kiss. + +Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the +night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray +cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green +eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and +went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags +were thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching +them. + +'You'll have a rough passage to-night,' said Dick. 'It's blowing +outside. I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?' + +'You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for +you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of +things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!--so +good to me!' + +'Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?' + +'I can't tell a fib. It hasn't--in that way. But don't think I'm not +grateful.' + +'Damn the gratitude!' said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. + +'What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd +ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were +so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. + +Can't you wait till that day comes?' + +'No, love. I want you unbroken--all to myself.' + +Maisie shook her head. 'My poor Dick, what can I say!' + +'Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear +I won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're +grateful.' + +Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. + +It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it +was a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood +abashed and tingling from head to toe. + +'Good-bye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only--keep +well and do good work,--specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do +one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country +drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to +me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the +whatever-you-call-um girl, and--can't I have another kiss? No. You're +quite right. Good-bye.' + +I shout told him that it was not seemly to charge the mail-bag incline. +He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he followed +her with his heart. + +'And there's nothing--nothing in the wide world--to keep us apart except +her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I'll get +Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch already.' + +Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping +cough at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold +flame. + +'He kissed you!' she said. 'How could you let him, when he wasn't +anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, +let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick,--deadly sick.' + +'We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. +I don't like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved +one,--only one. + +But I didn't think he'd frighten me so.' + +Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had +telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio. + +He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow +entered, looking guilty. + +'H'sh!' said he. 'Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my +rooms, and I'll show you why.' + +Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a +girl asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the +blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with +mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and +ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, +above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared +all things. + +'Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up +here. + +They steal things from the rooms.' + +'It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she +staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was +collapse. I couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and +gave her your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast +asleep the minute she had finished.' + +'I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, +I suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for +presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at +the face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,--slack, +fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how +the skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and +cheek-bone?' + +'What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's down. +Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. + +She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like +a wild beast. It was horrible.' + +'I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she +going to sleep for ever?' + +The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and +effrontery. + +'Feeling better?' said Torpenhow. + +'Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you +are. Thank you.' + +'When did you leave service?' said Dick, who had been watching the +scarred and chapped hands. + +'How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't +like it.' + +'And how do you like being your own mistress?' + +'Do I look as if I liked it?' + +'I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face +to the window?' + +The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,--so keenly that she +made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. + +'The eyes have it,' said Dick, walking up and down. 'They are superb +eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. +This has been sent from heaven to make up for--what was taken away. Now +the weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. + +Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.' + +'Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,' said +Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. + +'Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit +cruel to-day because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like +that! He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that, +neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like +that!' + +The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept +like a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and +Torpenhow flung the door back. + +'There you are,' said Dick, soothingly. 'My friend here can call for a +policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt +you.' + +The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh. + +'Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm +what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?' + +'They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.' + +'I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by +the Academicians. I want to draw your head.' + +'What for?' + +'Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the +landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you +three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a +quid on account.' + +'For nothing? Oh, my!' The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and +with more foolish tears, 'Ain't neither o' you two gentlemen afraid of +my bilking you?' + +'No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the +way, what's your name?' + +'I'm Bessic,--Bessie---- It's no use giving the rest. Bessie +Broke,--Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But there,--no one +ever gives the real ones.' + +Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. + +'My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be +sure to come here. Where do you live?' + +'South-the-water,--one room,--five and sixpence a week. Aren't you +making fun of me about that three quid?' + +'You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you +needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the +colours you'll be likely to need.' + +Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief. +The two men looked at each other. + +'You're a man,' said Torpenhow. + +'I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the +earth reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on +this landing.' + +'Perhaps she won't come back.' + +'She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she +will, worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my +model; and be careful.' + +'The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,--a gutter-snippet and +nothing more.' + +'So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear. +That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a +week or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be +too happy and smiling for my purposes.' + +'But surely you're not taking her out of charity?--to please me?' + +'I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She +has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me +with my Melancolia.' + +'Never heard a word about the lady before.' + +'What's the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at +him in words? You ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've heard me +grunt lately?' + +'Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad 'baccy to +wicked dealers. And I don't think I've been much in your confidence for +some time.' + +'It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that +it meant the Melancolia.' Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, +keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, 'Now don't you see it? +Bessie's abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one +or two details in the way of sorrow that have come under my experience +lately. Likewise some orange and black,--two keys of each. But I can't +explain on an empty stomach.' + +'It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick, +instead of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.' + +'Think so?' Dick began to dance on his heels, singing-- + +'They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, You ought +to 'ear the way they laugh an' joke; They are tricky an' they're funny +when they've got the ready money,--Ow! but see 'em when they're all +stone-broke.' + +Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter +of counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get +to work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear. + +The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and +overbold by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit +still, she grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio +with freedom and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and +the release from fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies +of her head in monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia would +not arrive. + +'What a mess you keep your things in!' said Bessie, some days later, +when she felt herself thoroughly at home. 'I s'pose your clothes are +just as bad. + +Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.' + +'I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know +what Torpenhow does.' + +Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's room, and unearthed a bale +of disreputable socks. 'Some of these I'll mend now,' she said, 'and +some I'll take home. D'you know, I sit all day long at home doing +nothing, just like a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in +the house than if they was so many flies. I don't have any unnecessary +words, but I put 'em down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me. +No; it's quite nice these days. I lock my door, and they can only +call me names through the keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, +mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow wears his socks out both ends at once.' + +'Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks +mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, and +all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,' thought Dick; and he +looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had transformed the +girl, as Dick knew they would. + +'What are you looking at me like that for?' she said quickly. 'Don't. +You look reg'lar bad when you look that way. You don't think much o' me, +do you?' + +'That depends on how you behave.' + +Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a +sitting to bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred +the studio and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as +an excuse for delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would +be moved to tell strange and wonderful stories of her past, and still +stranger ones of her present improved circumstances. She would make them +tea as though she had a right to make it; and once or twice on these +occasions Dick caught Torpenhow's eyes fixed on the trim little figure, +and because Bessie's flittings about the room made Dick ardently long +for Maisie, he realised whither Torpenhow's thoughts were tending. And +Bessie was exceedingly careful of the condition of Torpenhow's linen. +She spoke very little to him, but sometimes they talked together on the +landing. + +'I was a great fool,' Dick said to himself. 'I know what red firelight +looks like when a man's tramping through a strange town; and ours is a +lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn't feel +that sometimes. But I can't order Bessie away. That's the worst of +beginning things. One never knows where they stop.' + +One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, +Dick was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow's room. He +jumped to his feet. 'Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go +in.--Oh, bless you, Binkie!' The little terrier thrust Torpenhow's door +open with his nose and came out to take possession of Dick's chair. The +door swung wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie +in the half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was +kneeling by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee. + +'I know,--I know,' she said thickly. ''Tisn't right o' me to do this, +but I can't help it; and you were so kind,--so kind; and you never took +any notice o' me. And I've mended all your things so carefully,--I did. +Oh, please, 'tisn't as if I was asking you to marry me. I wouldn't think +of it. + +But you--couldn't you take and live with me till Miss Right comes along? +I'm only Miss Wrong, I know, but I'd work my hands to the bare bone for +you. And I'm not ugly to look at. Say you will!' + +Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow's voice in reply--'But look here. It's +no use. I'm liable to be ordered off anywhere at a minute's notice if a +war breaks out. At a minute's notice--dear.' + +'What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. 'Tisn't much +I'm asking, and--you don't know how good I can cook.' She had put an arm +round his neck and was drawing his head down. + +'Until--I--go, then.' + +'Torp,' said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his voice. + +'Come here a minute, old man. I'm in trouble'--'Heaven send he'll listen +to me!' There was something very like an oath from Bessie's lips. She +was afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the staircase in panic, but +it seemed an age before Torpenhow entered the studio. He went to the +mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a wounded +bull. + +'What the devil right have you to interfere?' he said, at last. + +'Who's interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you +couldn't be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you're +all right now.' + +'I oughtn't to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they +belonged to her. That's what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of +hankering, doesn't it?' said Torpenhow, piteously. + +'Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren't in a condition +to discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what +you're going to do?' + +'I don't. I wish I did.' + +'You're going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. +You're going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the +ships go by. And you're going at once. Isn't it odd? I'll take care of +Binkie, but out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds the +bank. Fly from him. Pack your things and go.' + +'I believe you're right. Where shall I go?' + +'And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire +afterwards.' + +An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. + +'You'll probably think of some place to go to while you're moving,' said +Dick. 'On to Euston, to begin with, and--oh yes--get drunk to-night.' + +He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the +room very dark. + +'Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me +to-morrow!--Binkie, come here.' + +Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him +with a meditative foot. + +'I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That +showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to +perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will +go to a much worse place.' + + + + + +CHAPTER X + + What's you that follows at my side?-- + The foe that ye must fight, my lord.-- + That hirples swift as I can ride?-- + The shadow of the night, my lord.-- + Then wheel my horse against the foe!-- + He's down and overpast, my lord. + + Ye war against the sunset glow; + The darkness gathers fast, my lord. + + --The Fight of Heriot's Ford. +'THIS is a cheerful life,' said Dick, some days later. 'Torp's away; +Bessie hates me; I can't get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's +letters are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man +pains across the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take +some liver pills?' + +Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the +fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained +her enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat +for the sake of his money. 'And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man +than you,' she concluded. + +'He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to +you.' + +The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. 'To me! I'd like to +catch you! If I wasn't afraid o' being hung I'd kill you. That's what +I'd do. + +D'you believe me?' + +Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a +notion that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a +woman who talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment +there unrolled itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, +of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not +go. + +'This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. +We can't have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; +also mutton-chop bones for little dogs.' + +The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he +said nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. + +'We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,' he +chirped. 'Like a ship, my dear sir,--exactly like a ship. Sometimes the +hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the +rigging, and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the +brain-specialist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and +then we see an oculist. I should recommend you to see an oculist. A +little patching and repairing from time to time is all we want. An +oculist, by all means.' + +Dick sought an oculist,--the best in London. He was certain that the +local practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more +certain that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear +spectacles. + +'I've neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence +these spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could.' + +As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man +cannoned against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the +street. + +'That's the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead as +Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn't like.' + +Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him +hold his breath as he walked into the oculist's waiting room, with the +heavy carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints +on the wall. He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches. + +Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by a +flaming red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to that +eye-doctor, and they needed large-type amusement. + +'That's idolatrous bad Art,' he said, drawing the book towards himself. + +'From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.' He opened +in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in red +ink-- + + The next good joy that Mary had, + It was the joy of three, + To see her good Son Jesus Christ + Making the blind to see; + Making the blind to see, good Lord, + And happy we may be. + + Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost + To all eternity! +Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor +was bending above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the +gas-microscope in his eyes made him wince. The doctor's hand touched the +scar of the sword-cut on Dick's head, and Dick explained briefly how he +had come by it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor's face, +and the fear came upon him again. The doctor wrapped himself in a +mist of words. Dick caught allusions to 'scar,' 'frontal bone,' 'optic +nerve,' 'extreme caution,' and the 'avoidance of mental anxiety.' + +'Verdict?' he said faintly. 'My business is painting, and I daren't +waste time. What do you make of it?' + +Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. + +'Can you give me anything to drink?' + +Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners +often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand. + +'As far as I can gather,' he said, coughing above the spirit, 'you call +it decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What +is my time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?' + +'Perhaps one year.' + +'My God! And if I don't take care of myself?' + +'I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury +inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and--exposure to the +strong light of the desert, did you say?--with excessive application to +fine work? I really could not say?' + +'I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will +let me, I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very +good in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. + +Thanks.' + +Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. + +'We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. +We'll go to the Park to think it out.' + +They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to +thin, because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear +at the pit of his stomach. + +'How could it have come without any warning? It's as sudden as being +shot. It's the living death, Binkie. We're to be shut up in the dark in +one year if we're careful, and we shan't see anybody, and we shall +never have anything we want, not though we live to be a hundred!' Binkie +wagged his tail joyously. 'Binkie, we must think. Let's see how it +feels to be blind.' Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and +Catherine-wheels floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked across the +Park the scope of his vision was not contracted. He could see perfectly, +until a procession of slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across his +eyeballs. + +'Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's go home. If only Torp +were back, now!' + +But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the +company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. + +Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He +argued, in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated +with a film of gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were +blindness, all the Torpenhows in the world could not save him. 'I can't +call him off his trip to sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull +through this business alone,' he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating +his moustache and wondering what the darkness of the night would be +like. Then came to his mind the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. +A soldier had been nearly hacked in two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. +For one instant the man felt no pain. Looking down, he saw that his +life-blood was going from him. The stupid bewilderment on his face +was so intensely comic that both Dick and Torpenhow, still panting and +unstrung from a fight for life, had roared with laughter, in which the +man seemed as if he would join, but, as his lips parted in a sheepish +grin, the agony of death came upon him, and he pitched grunting at their +feet. Dick laughed again, remembering the horror. It seemed so exactly +like his own case. + +'But I have a little more time allowed me,' he said. He paced up and +down the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet of +fear. It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged him +to go forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating pin-dots +before his eyes. + +'We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.' He talked aloud for the +sake of distraction. 'This isn't nice at all. What shall we do? We must +do something. Our time is short. I shouldn't have believed that this +morning; but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the +light went out?' + +Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made +no suggestion. + +'"Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were not +crime.... But at my back I always hear----"' He wiped his forehead, +which was unpleasantly damp. 'What can I do? What can I do? I haven't +any notions left, and I can't think connectedly, but I must do +something, or I shall go off my head.' + +The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to drag +forth long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to his +work by instinct, as a thing that could not fail. 'You won't do, and you +won't do,' he said, at each inspection. 'No more soldiers. I couldn't +paint 'em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is battle and +murder for me.' + +The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight +of the blind had come upon him unaware. 'Allah Almighty!' he cried +despairingly, 'help me through the time of waiting, and I won't whine +when my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light goes?' + +There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of +control over himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on +their steadiness; he could feel that his lips were quivering, and the +sweat was running down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward +by the desire to get to work at once and accomplish something, and +maddened by the refusal of his brain to do more than repeat the news +that he was about to go blind. 'It's a humiliating exhibition,' he +thought, 'and I'm glad Torp isn't here to see. The doctor said I was to +avoid mental worry. + +Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.' + +The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. + +Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, understood +that his trouble stood off from him--'Allah is good, Binkie. Not quite +so gentle as we could wish, but we'll discuss that later. I think I see +my way to it now. All those studies of Bessie's head were nonsense, and +they nearly brought your master into a scrape. I hold the notion now as +clear as crystal,--"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." There shall +be Maisie in that head, because I shall never get Maisie; and Bess, of +course, because she knows all about Melancolia, though she doesn't know +she knows; and there shall be some drawing in it, and it shall all end +up with a laugh. That's for myself. Shall she giggle or grin? No, she +shall laugh right out of the canvas, and every man and woman that ever +had a sorrow of their own shall--what is it the poem says?-- + + 'Understand the speech and feel a stir + Of fellowship in all disastrous fight. +"In all disastrous fight"? That's better than painting the thing merely +to pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, +I'm going to hold you up by your tail. You're an omen. Come here.' + +Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. + +'Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you're a brave little dog, and +you don't yelp when you're hung up. It is an omen.' + +Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick walking +up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick wrote a +letter to Maisie full of the tenderest regard for her health, but saying +very little about his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be born. Not +till morning did he remember that something might happen to him in the +future. + +He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean, +clear joy of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he +should consider himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at +the appointed time. He forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, +but remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very little stirring, into a +tremendous rage, that he might watch the smouldering lights in her eyes. + +He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think of +the doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his notion, +and the things of this world had no power upon him. + +'You're pleased to-day,' said Bessie. + +Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard +for a drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died +down, he went to the sideboard again, and after some visits became +convinced that the eye-doctor was a liar, since he could still see +everything very clearly. + +He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that +whether she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next +morning, but the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort. + +Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes +and blurs till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the +Melancolia both on the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier than +ever. There was a delightful sense of irresponsibility upon him, such +as they feel who walking among their fellow-men know that the +death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, seeing that fear is but +waste of the little time left, are riotously happy. The days passed +without event. + +Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick +to come from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia +began to flame on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known +all the sorrow in the world and was laughing at it. It was true that the +corners of the studio draped themselves in gray film and retired into +the darkness, that the spots in his eyes and the pains across his head +were very troublesome, and that Maisie's letters were hard to read and +harder still to answer. He could not tell her of his trouble, and he +could not laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia which was always +going to be finished. But the furious days of toil and the nights of +wild dreams made amends for all, and the sideboard was his best friend +on earth. + +Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick +stared at her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him +with disgust, saying very little. + +Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded his +return. 'News! great news!' he wrote. 'The Nilghai knows, and so +does the Keneu. We're all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your +accoutrements.' + +Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever +sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. + +'Well,' said Dick, brutally, 'you're better as you are, instead of +making love to some drunken beast in the street.' He felt that he had +rescued Torpenhow from great temptation. + +'I don't know if that's any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a +studio. You haven't been sober for three weeks. You've been soaking the +whole time; and yet you pretend you're better than me!' + +'What d'you mean?' said Dick. + +'Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.' + +It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a +sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and +the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick. + +'Drinking like a fish,' Bessie whispered. 'He's been at it for nearly a +month.' She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. + +They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by +a drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,--unshaven, blue-white about +the nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows +nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. + +'Is this you?' said Torpenhow. + +'All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's quite well, and I've been +doing some good work.' He reeled where he stood. + +'You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man +alive, you're----' + +Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room +to find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a +friend is much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since +Torpenhow used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt +untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said to Dick, +who blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time the culprit +began to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite sure that +he had not in any way departed from virtue, and there were reasons, too, +of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain. + +He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he +could hardly see. + +'You are right,' he said. 'But I am right, too. After you went away I +had some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a +gasogene--I mean a gas-engine--into my eye. That was very long ago. He +said, "Scar on the head,--sword-cut and optic nerve." Make a note of +that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go blind, and +I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can see best +when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but I must +go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.' He pointed to +the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause. + +Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at +seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds--if indeed they were +misdeeds--that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for childish +vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his +wonderful picture. + +Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two +walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder. + +Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, +who was dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his +master again. + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + The lark will make her hymn to God, + The partridge call her brood, + While I forget the heath I trod, + The fields wherein I stood. + + 'Tis dule to know not night from morn, + But deeper dule to know + I can but hear the hunter's horn + That once I used to blow. + + --The Only Son. +IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was heavy. + +'Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's +generally the other way about.' + +'Can a drunkard swear on his honour?' said Dick. + +'Yes, if he has been as good a man as you.' + +'Then I give you my word of honour,' said Dick, speaking hurriedly +through parched lips. 'Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've +kept me sober for two days,--if I ever was drunk,--and I've done no +work. + +Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give out. + +The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than +ever. I swear I can see all right when I'm--when I'm moderately screwed, +as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all--the stuff +I want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days. +It only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.' + +'If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and--the +other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?' + +'I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you +could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I +shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.' + +'Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my +heart.' + +Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow +devil of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The +Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had +hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he +was 'a drunken beast'; but the reproof did not move him. + +'You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we +shall lie back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three +months' pay when the picture's finished, and next time I have any more +work in hand--but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make you +hate me less?' + +'No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow +won't speak to me any more. He's always looking at maps.' + +Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that +at the end of our passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a +kiss, and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a +little fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, +and their talk was of war in the near future, the hiring of transports, +and secret preparations among the dockyards. He did not wish to see Dick +till the picture was finished. + +'He's doing first-class work,' he said to the Nilghai, 'and it's quite +out of his regular line. But, for the matter of that, so's his infernal +soaking.' + +'Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again we'll +carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor Dick! +I don't envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.' + +'Yes, it will be a case of "God help the man who's chained to our +Davie." The worst is that we don't know when it will happen, and I +believe the uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey +more than anything else.' + +'How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!' + +'He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He's dead. That's poor +consolation now.' + +In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. + +'All finished!' he shouted. 'I've done it! Come in! Isn't she a beauty? +Isn't she a darling? I've been down to hell to get her; but isn't she +worth it?' + +Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,--a full-lipped, +hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had +intended she would. + +'Who taught you how to do it?' said Torpenhow. 'The touch and notion +have nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What eyes, +and what insolence!' Unconsciously he threw back his head and laughed +with her. 'She's seen the game played out,--I don't think she had a good +time of it,--and now she doesn't care. Isn't that the idea?' + +'Exactly.' + +'Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don't belong to Bess.' + +'They're--some one else's. But isn't it good? Isn't it thundering good? +Wasn't it worth the whiskey? I did it. Alone I did it, and it's the best +I can do.' He drew his breath sharply, and whispered, 'Just God! what +could I not do ten years hence, if I can do this now!--By the way, what +do you think of it, Bess?' + +The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had taken +no notice of her. + +'I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,' she +answered, and turned away. + +'More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.--Dick, +there's a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the +head that I don't understand,' said Torpenhow. + +That's trick-work,' said Dick, chuckling with delight at being +completely understood. 'I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer +swagger. It's a French trick, and you wouldn't understand; but it's got +at by slewing round the head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening +of one side of the face from the angle of the chin to the top of the +left ear. That, and deepening the shadow under the lobe of the ear. It +was flagrant trick-work; but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled +to play with it,--Oh, you beauty!' + +'Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.' + +'So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,' said Dick, slapping +his thigh. 'He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, just +when he's feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back his +head and laugh,--as she is laughing. I've put the life of my heart +and the light of my eyes into her, and I don't care what comes.... I'm +tired,--awfully tired. I think I'll get to sleep. Take away the whiskey, +it has served its turn, and give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over +for luck. Cover the picture.' + +He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost +before he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow's +hand. 'Aren't you never going to speak to me any more?' she said; but +Torpenhow was looking at Dick. + +'What a stock of vanity the man has! I'll take him in hand to-morrow and +make much of him. He deserves it.--Eh! what was that, Bess?' + +'Nothing. I'll put things tidy here a little, and then I'll go. You +couldn't give me that three months' pay now, could you? He said you were +to.' + +Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully +tidied up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a +bottle of turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the +Melancolia viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took +a palette-knife and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. +In five minutes the picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. +She threw the paint-stained duster into the studio stove, stuck out her +tongue at the sleeper, and whispered, 'Bilked!' as she turned to run +down the staircase. She would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had +at least done harm to the man who had come between her and her desire +and who used to make fun of her. Cashing the check was the very cream of +the jest to Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across the Thames, +to be swallowed up in the gray wilderness of South-the-Water. + +Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off +to bed. His eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. 'Let's have +another look at the picture,' he said, insistently as a child. + +'You--go--to--bed,' said Torpenhow. 'You aren't at all well, though you +mayn't know it. You're as jumpy as a cat.' + +'I reform to-morrow. Good-night.' + +As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the +picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: 'Wiped out!--scraped +out and turped out! He's on the verge of jumps as it is. That's +Bess,--the little fiend! Only a woman could have done that!-with the ink +not dry on the check, too! Dick will be raving mad to-morrow. It was all +my fault for trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor Dick, the Lord is +hitting you very hard!' + +Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly because +the well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place to +crackling volcanoes of many-coloured fire. 'Spout away,' he said aloud. + +'I've done my work, and now you can do what you please.' He lay still, +staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his +veins, his brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be +considered, and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that +he was painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed +with millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood +embodied hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting +together in his honour, when something cracked inside his temples like +an overstrained bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was +alone in the thick night. + +'I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's light a lamp and see how +the Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.' + +It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did +not know,--in the rattling accents of deadly fear. + +'He's looked at the picture,' was his first thought, as he hurried +into the bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his +hands. + +'Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!' + +'What's the matter?' + +Dick clutched at his shoulder. 'Matter! I've been lying here for hours +in the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away. I'm +all in the dark. In the dark, I tell you!' + +Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there was no +light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The +grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow wince. + +'Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I can't +see. D'you understand? It's black,--quite black,--and I feel as if I was +falling through it all.' + +'Steady does it.' Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock him +gently to and fro. + +'That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this +darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!' Dick +knit his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was +chilling Torpenhow's toes. + +'Can you stay like that a minute?' he said. 'I'll get my dressing-gown +and some slippers.' + +Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness +to clear away. 'What a time you've been!' he cried, when Torpenhow +returned. 'It's as black as ever. What are you banging about in the +door-way?' + +'Long chair,--horse-blanket,--pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie down +now; you'll be better in the morning.' + +'I shan't!' The voice rose to a wail. 'My God! I'm blind! I'm blind, and +the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, +but Torpenhow's arms were round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his +shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, +'Blind!' and wriggle feebly. + +'Steady, Dickie, steady!' said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip +tightened. 'Bite on the bullet, old man, and don't let them think you're +afraid,' The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing heavily. + +Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. + +'Let me go,' he panted. 'You're cracking my ribs. We-we mustn't let them +think we're afraid, must we,--all the powers of darkness and that lot?' + +'Lie down. It's all over now.' + +'Yes,' said Dick, obediently. 'But would you mind letting me hold your +hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops through +the dark so.' + +Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick +clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow +withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the +forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of +death, to ease his departure. + +In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was adrift +on the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly--'It's a +pity,--a great pity; but it's helped, and it must be eaten, Master +George. Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, +putting aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious +notoriety--such as mine was--that the queen can do no wrong. Torp +doesn't know that. I'll tell him when we're a little farther into the +desert. + +What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They'll +have that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you +so--there she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing +round. How good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I can't. I'm afflicted +with ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it +extends up the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's a joke, Torp. +Laugh, you graven image, and stand clear of the hawser.... It'll knock +you into the water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.' + +'Oh!' said Torpenhow. 'This happened before. That night on the river.' + +'She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get muddy, and you're quite +near enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew you'd +miss. + +Low and to the left, dear. But you've no conviction. Don't be angry, +darling. I'd cut my hand off if it would give you anything more than +obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.' + +'Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island shouting across seas of +misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I fancy,' +said Torpenhow. + +The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured +at length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being +enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss--only one kiss--before she +went away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she +would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness that +the queen could do no wrong. + +Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick's life +that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the +past, and then a natural sleep. 'What a strain he has been running +under, poor chap!' said Torpenhow. 'Dick, of all men, handing himself +over like a dog! And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have +known that it was no use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that +girl must be! Dick's given her his life,--confound him!--and she's given +him one kiss apparently.' + +'Torp,' said Dick, from the bed, 'go out for a walk. You've been here +too long. I'll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can't dress myself. Oh, +it's too absurd!' + +Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair +in the studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for +the darkness to lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick +adventured on a voyage round the walls. He hit his shins against the +stove, and this suggested to him that it would be better to crawl on all +fours, one hand in front of him. Torpenhow found him on the floor. + +'I'm trying to get the geography of my new possessions,' said he. 'D'you +remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn't keep the +odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give me all the +ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside. They're +of no importance.' + +Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick +put it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might +not have read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never +belong to him. + +'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better +so. I couldn't be any use to her now,' Dick argued, and the tempter +suggested that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him +revolted. 'I have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for +pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of +his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as +the tides of his strength came back to him in the long employless days +of dead darkness, Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, +and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by +the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won +by another man, stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for +the dark background it worked against, spared him no single detail that +might send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove +that seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would +not taste in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and +in its place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion +that Dick confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between +the paroxysms were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of +intolerable darkness. + +'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since +the beginning of things.' + +'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'--he +paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--'something will run over +me.' + +'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.' + +The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to +Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he +said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse God and die.' + +'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there +are the Guards!' + +Dick's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look. +Let's get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.' + +'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft +of grass with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' Dick +sniffed luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached +as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being +unfixed made Dick's nostrils quiver. + +'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?' + +'Yes. How did you know?' + +'Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though he +could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?' + +'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.' + +'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, +Torp!--nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a +minute!--one half-minute!' + +He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the +slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum +from the ground. + +'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow. + +'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!' + +The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash +of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, +heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the +belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain +that made a perfect quickstep-- + + He must be a man of decent height, + He must be a man of weight, + He must come home on a Saturday night + In a thoroughly sober state; + He must know how to love me, + And he must know how to kiss; + And if he's enough to keep us both + I can't refuse him bliss. +'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when the +last of the regiment had departed. + +'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, +take me back. Why did you bring me out?' + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + There were three friends that buried the fourth, + The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes + And they went south and east, and north,-- + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies. + + There were three friends that spoke of the dead,-- + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.-- + 'And would he were with us now,' they said, + 'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.' + + --Ballad. +THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to bed,--blind +men are ever under the orders of those who can see,--and since he had +returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was +alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, +Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only +burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs. +Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle +three unopened letters from Maisie. + +The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms. + +Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a +large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. + +'I was wrong about the Balkans,' said the Nilghai. 'But I'm not wrong +about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan +must be done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the +government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You +know that as well as I do.' + +'I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from +Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,' said +Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. 'Can +you blame me?' + +The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat--'Don't +blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all the rest +of it, but every man--even you, Torp--must consider his work. I know it +sounds brutal, but Dick's out of the race,--down,--gastados expended, +finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't starve, +and you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own +reputation.' + +'Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.' + +'That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all +ended now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can +command your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.' + +'Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after Dick +for a while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he +likes to have me near him.' + +The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who +throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The +constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin. + +'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider +this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is--or rather +was--an able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of +audacity.' + +'Oho!' said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. 'I begin to +see,--Torp, I'm sorry.' + +Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: 'You were more sorry when he cut you out, +though.--Go on, Keneu.' + +'I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if +the news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport +were quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's +bedside.' + +'There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful +things are as they are,' said the Nilghai. + +'Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered +ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.--What do you think +yourself, Torp?' + +'I know they aren't. But what can I do?' + +'Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here. You've +been most in his life.' + +'But I picked it up when he was off his head.' + +'The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who +is she?' + +Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent +who knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened +without interruption. + +'Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his +calf-love?' said the Keneu. 'Is it possible?' + +'I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling +three letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?' + +'Speak to him,' said the Nilghai. + +'Oh yes! Write to her,--I don't know her full name, remember,--and ask +her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were +sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the +bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie +girl, whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the +blindness has made him rather muscular.' + +'Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,' said the Keneu. 'He will go to +Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,--single track +from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was a +poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire +There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,--or ought to be. Where +this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's +business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain +the situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,--the more +especially because, to use Dick's words, "there is nothing but her +damned obstinacy to keep them apart."' + +'And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em. + +Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven't +the shadow of an excuse for not going,' said the Nilghai. + +Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. 'But it's absurd and impossible. I +can't drag her back by the hair.' + +'Our business--the business for which we draw our money--is to do absurd +and impossible things,--generally with no reason whatever except to +amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn't matter. I +shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns. There +will be a batch of unbridled "specials" coming to town in a little +while, and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for +sending Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, +and'--here the Keneu dropped his measured speech--'we can't have you +tied by the leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It's your only chance +of getting away; and Dick will be grateful.' + +'He will,--worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a woman in +her senses refusing Dick.' + +'Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh +woman into giving you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult. You had +better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I will +be in possession. It is an order. Obey.' + +'Dick,' said Torpenhow, next morning, 'can I do anything for you?' + +'No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?' + +'Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?' + +'No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.' + +'Poor chap!' said Torpenhow to himself. 'I must have been sitting on his +nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.' Then, aloud, 'Very well. Since +you're so independent, I'm going off for four or five days. Say good-bye +at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has my rooms.' + +Dick's face fell. 'You won't be longer than a week at the outside? I +know I'm touched in the temper, but I can't get on without you.' + +'Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll be +glad I'm gone.' + +Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things +might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet +Torpenhow's constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know +what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie's unopened +letters felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them +for himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him some +fresh ones to play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,--a piece of +red modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using his +hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, 'Is it +like anything in the world?' he said drearily. 'Take it away. I may get +the touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow has +gone?' + +The Nilghai knew nothing. 'We're staying in his rooms till he comes +back. Can we do anything for you?' + +'I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm +best alone.' + +The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen +rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the work +he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had departed +from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness +of his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body cried for +Maisie--Maisie who would understand. His mind pointed out that Maisie, +having her own work to do, would not care. His experience had taught him +that when money was exhausted women went away, and that when a man was +knocked out of the race the others trampled on him. 'Then at the least,' +said Dick, in reply, 'she could use me as I used Binat,--for some sort +of a study. I wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, even though I +knew that another man was making love to her. Ugh! what a dog I am!' + +A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully-- + +'When we go--go--go away from here, Our creditors will weep and they +will wail, Our absence much regretting when they find that they've been +getting Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail.' + +Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the +sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, 'And see, you +good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle--firs'-class patent--eh, +how you say? Open himself inside out.' + +Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. 'That's Cassavetti, +come back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a +row somewhere, and--I'm out of it!' + +The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 'That's for my sake,' Dick said +bitterly. 'The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't +tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War +Correspondents in London are there;--and I'm out of it.' + +He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He +could feel that it was full of men. 'Where's the trouble?' said he. 'In +the Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me?' + +'We thought you wouldn't be interested,' said the Nilghai, shamefacedly. + +'It's in the Soudan, as usual.' + +'You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton +at the feast.--Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as +ever.' + +Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk +swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing +press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the +capacities of generals,--these in language that would have horrified a +trusting public,--ranting, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the +top of their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the +Soudan at any moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in +readiness. The Keneu had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti +had stolen a perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered +forward, and was reading it out amid profane interruptions, and the +Keneu introduced to Dick some man unknown who would be employed as war +artist by the Central Southern Syndicate. 'It's his first outing,' said +the Keneu. 'Give him some tips--about riding camels.' + +'Oh, those camels!' groaned Cassavetti. 'I shall learn to ride him +again, and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know +your military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire +Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.' + +A roar of laughter interrupted him. + +'Sit down,' said the Nilghai. 'The lists aren't even made out in the War +Office.' + +'Will there be any force at Suakin?' said a voice. + +Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: 'How many Egyptian +troops will they use?--God help the Fellaheen!--There's a railway +in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.--We shall have the +Suakin-Berber line built at last.--Canadian voyageurs are too careful. +Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.--Who commands the Desert +column?--No, they never blew up the big rock in the Ghineh bend. We +shall have to be hauled up, as usual.--Somebody tell me if there's an +Indian contingent, or I'll break everybody's head.--Don't tear the +map in two.--It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to connect with the +African companies in the South.--There's Guinea-worm in most of the +wells on that route.' Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace, bellowed +like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands. + +'But what becomes of Torpenhow?' said Dick, in the silence that +followed. + +'Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I +suppose,' said the Nilghai. + +'He said he was going to stay at home,' said the Keneu. + +'Is he?' said Dick, with an oath. 'He won't. I'm not much good now, but +if you and the Nilghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him till +he sees reason. He'll stay behind, indeed! He's the best of you all. +There'll be some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, +this time. + +But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.' + +'So do we all, Dickie,' said the Keneu. + +'And I most of all,' said the new artist of the Central Southern +Syndicate. + +'Could you tell me----' + +'I'll give you one piece of advice,' Dick answered, moving towards +the door. 'If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't +guard. + +Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll find it cheapest in the end. +Thanks for letting me look in.' + +'There's grit in Dick,' said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room +was emptied of all save the Keneu. + +'It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he +answered to it? Poor fellow! Let's look at him,' said the Keneu. + +The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio +table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not +change his position. + +'It hurts,' he moaned. 'God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet, +y'know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I +see Torp before he goes?' + +'Oh, yes. You'll see him,' said the Nilghai. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + The sun went down an hour ago, + I wonder if I face towards home; + If I lost my way in the light of day + How shall I find it now night is come? + + --Old Song. +'MAISIE, come to bed.' + +'It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry.' + +Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on +the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne +and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the +clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers +were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung withered on their +stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves was almost +intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami's studio across +the road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the big +bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that caught +Maisie's eye and annoyed her. + +'Horrid thing! It should be all white,' she murmured. 'And the gate +isn't in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.' + +Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few +weeks had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the study +of a female head intended to represent the Melancolia and not finished +in time for the Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as +much two days before; fourthly,--but so completely fourthly that it was +hardly worth thinking about,--Dick, her property, had not written to +her for more than six weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, and +with her work, but she was exceedingly angry with Dick. + +She had written to him three times,--each time proposing a fresh +treatment of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these +communications. She had resolved to write no more. When she returned +to England in the autumn--for her pride's sake she could not return +earlier--she would speak to him. She missed the Sunday afternoon +conferences more than she cared to admit. All that Kami said was, +'Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez toujours,' and he had been repeating +the wearisome counsel through the hot summer, exactly like a cicada,--an +old gray cicada in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge felt +hat. + +But Dick had tramped masterfully up and down her little studio north +of the cool green London park, and had said things ten times worse than +continuez, before he snatched the brush out of her hand and showed her +where the error lay. His last letter, Maisie remembered, contained +some trivial advice about not sketching in the sun or drinking water at +wayside farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but three times,--as +if he did not know that Maisie could take care of herself. + +But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of +voices in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the +little garrison in the town was talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight +glittered on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand +lest it should clank inopportunely. The cook's cap cast deep shadows on +her face, which was close to the conscript's. He slid his arm round her +waist, and there followed the sound of a kiss. + +'Faugh!' said Maisie, stepping back. + +'What's that?' said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily +outside her bed. + +'Only a conscript kissing the cook,' said Maisie. + +'They've gone away now.' She leaned out of the window again, and put a +shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very small +night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one +who knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his +thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the degradation of +Suzanne and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded its head and +one leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil scratching its +ear. + +Dick could not, 'because,' thought Maisie, 'he is mine,--mine,--mine. He +said he was. I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only spoil his +work if he does; and it will spoil mine too.' + +The rose continued to nod in the futile way peculiar to flowers. There +was no earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, +except that he was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist +Maisie in her work. And her work was the preparation of pictures that +went sometimes to English provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the +scrap-book proved, and that were invariably rejected by the Salon when +Kami was plagued into allowing her to send them up. Her work in the +future, it seemed, would be the preparation of pictures on exactly +similar lines which would be rejected in exactly the same way----The +red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. 'It's too hot +to sleep,' she moaned; and the interruption jarred. + +Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the little +studio in England and Kami's big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, she +would go to another master, who should force her into the success that +was her right, if patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a +right to anything. Dick had told her that he had worked ten years to +understand his craft. She had worked ten years, and ten years were +nothing. Dick had said that ten years were nothing,--but that was in +regard to herself only. He had said--this very man who could not find +time to write--that he would wait ten years for her, and that she was +bound to come back to him sooner or later. He had said this in the +absurd letter about sunstroke and diphtheria; and then he had stopped +writing. He was wandering up and down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. +She would like to lecture him now,--not in her nightgown, of course, +but properly dressed, severely and from a height. Yet if he was kissing +other girls he certainly would not care whether she lectured him or not. +He would laugh at her. Very good. + +She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., +etc. + +The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it +might be slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind +her. + +Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no +doubt whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began, +unwomanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he +loved her. And he kissed her,--kissed her on the cheek,--by a yellow +sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose in +the garden. Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they +loved her--just when she was busiest with her work. Then the boy came +back, and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her. +Then he had---- But there was no end to the things he had done. He +had given her his time and his powers. He had spoken to her of +Art, housekeeping, technique, teacups, the abuse of pickles as a +stimulant,--that was rude,--sable hair-brushes,--he had given her the +best in her stock,--she used them daily; he had given her advice that +she profited by, and now and again--a look. Such a look! The look of a +beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to his mistress's feet. In +return she had given him nothing whatever, except--here she brushed her +mouth against the open-work sleeve of her nightgown--the privilege of +kissing her once. And on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not +enough, and more than enough? and if it was not, had he not cancelled +the debt by not writing and--probably kissing other girls? 'Maisie, +you'll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,' said the wearied voice of her +companion. 'I can't sleep a wink with you at the window.' + +Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting +on the meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had +nothing to do. The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the +skylight of the studio across the road in cold silver; she stared at it +intently and her thoughts began to slide one into the other. The shadow +of the big bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened again, and +faded out as the moon went down behind the pasture and a hare came +limping home across the road. Then the dawn-wind washed through the +upland grasses, and brought coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by +the drought-shrunk river. Maisie's head fell forward on the window-sill, +and the tangle of black hair covered her arms. + +'Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill.' + +'Yes, dear; yes, dear.' She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, +and as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, 'I think--I +think.... + +But he ought to have written.' + +Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and +turpentine, and the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, +but a golden teacher if the pupil were only in sympathy with him. Maisie +was not in sympathy that day, and she waited impatiently for the end of +the work. + +She knew when it was coming; for Kami would gather his black alpaca +coat into a bunch behind him, and, with faded blue eyes that saw neither +pupils nor canvas, look back into the past to recall the history of one +Binat. 'You have all done not so badly,' he would say. 'But you shall +remember that it is not enough to have the method, and the art, and +the power, nor even that which is touch, but you shall have also +the conviction that nails the work to the wall. Of the so many I +taught,'--here the students would begin to unfix drawing-pins or get +their tubes together,--'the very so many that I have taught, the best +was Binat. All that comes of the study and the work and the knowledge +was to him even when he came. After he left me he should have done all +that could be done with the colour, the form, and the knowledge. Only, +he had not the conviction. So to-day I hear no more of Binat,--the best +of my pupils,--and that is long ago. So to-day, too, you will be glad +to hear no more of me. Continuez, mesdemoiselles, and, above all, with +conviction.' + +He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the +pupils dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to +make plans for the cool of the afternoon. + +Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to +grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter +to Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How +Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to +the hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to +discuss with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to +reduce the colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best +horse in the squadron for the journey to Kami's studio, is a mystery +that only special correspondents can unravel. + +'I beg your pardon,' said he. 'It seems an absurd question to ask, but +the fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young +lady here that is called Maisie?' + +'I am Maisie,' was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. + +'I ought to introduce myself,' he said, as the horse capered in the +blinding white dust. 'My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best +friend, and--and--the fact is that he has gone blind.' + +'Blind!' said Maisie, stupidly. 'He can't be blind.' + +'He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.' + +Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. 'No! No! Not blind! +I won't have him blind!' + +'Would you care to see for yourself?' said Torpenhow. + +'Now,--at once?' + +'Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till to-night. +There will be ample time.' + +'Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?' + +'Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in +his studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's +blind.' + +There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head +and went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, +complaining of a headache. + +'Dick's blind!' said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied +herself against a chair-back. 'My Dick's blind!' + +'What?' The girl was on the sofa no longer. + +'A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six +weeks.' + +'Are you going to him?' + +'I must think.' + +'Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his +eyes and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't +go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to +him at once. Go!' + +Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite +patience as Maisie appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. + +'I am coming,' said she, her eyes on the ground. + +'You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.' This was +an order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said +nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing +with this big man who took everything for granted and managed a +squealing horse with one hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, +who was weeping bitterly, and between tears, kisses,--very few of +those,--menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, the sultry +afternoon wore away. + +Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,--Dick +who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her +unopened letters. + +'But what will you do,' she said to her companion. + +'I? Oh, I shall stay here and--finish your Melancolia,' she said, +smiling pitifully. 'Write to me afterwards.' + +That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad +Englishman, doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the +officers of the garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the +lines, and had then and there eloped, after the English custom, with one +of those more mad English girls who drew pictures down there under the +care of that good Monsieur Kami. + +'They are very droll,' said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight +by the studio wall. 'She walked always with those big eyes that saw +nothing, and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my +sister, and gives me--see--ten francs!' + +The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself +on being a good soldier. + +Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; +but he was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment +entirely to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease +with which the matter had been accomplished. + +'The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick's +showing,--when he was off his head,--she must have ordered him about +very thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.' + +Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes +shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order +that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last +almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking +after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any interest in her +surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that she, +Maisie,--of all people,--was in disgrace. Therefore she justified her +conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow came up to her +on the steamer and without preface began to tell the story of Dick's +blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at length on the +miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the end, as though he +had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was +furious with him and with herself. + +She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for +breakfast, and--she was past any feeling of indignation now--was bidden +curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs while +Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she was +being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame. It +was all Dick's fault for being so stupid as to go blind. + +Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick +was sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three +envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man +who gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped +behind her. + +Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. 'Hullo, +Torp! Is that you? I've been so lonely.' + +His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed +herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, +and she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring +directly at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind. + +Shutting her eyes in a rail-way carriage to open them when she pleased +was child's play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open. + +'Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.' Dick looked puzzled and +a little irritated at the silence. + +'No; it's only me,' was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie +could hardly move her lips. + +'H'm!' said Dick, composedly, without moving. 'This is a new phenomenon. +Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices.' + +Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie's +heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began +to feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he +passed. Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his +knees to feel what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him +walking in the Park as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping +up and down her studio two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the +Channel steamer. The beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick +was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a +hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did not +know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as though he had +been shot. + +'It's Maisie!' said he, with a dry sob. 'What are you doing here?' + +'I came--I came--to see you, please.' + +Dick's lips closed firmly. + +'Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes, +and----' + +'I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?' + +'I couldn't write.' + +'You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.' + +'What has he to do with my affairs?' + +'He--he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see you.' + +'Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I +forgot.' + +'Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and---- Let me take you +back to your chair.' + +'Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to +tell you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let +me alone!' + +He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. + +Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed +by a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from +the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he +was, indeed, down and done for--masterful no longer but rather a little +abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up +to--only some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of +crying. She was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him--more sorry than +she had ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny +his words. + +So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had +honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she +was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love. + +'Well?' said Dick, his face steadily turned away. 'I never meant to +worry you any more. What's the matter?' + +He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as +unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had +dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands. + +'I can't--I can't!' she cried desperately. 'Indeed, I can't. It isn't my +fault. + +I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry.' + +Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. + +Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have +failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of +making sacrifices. + +'I do despise myself--indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you wouldn't +ask me--would you?' wailed Maisie. + +She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick's eyes +fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips +were trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out +eyes that Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place +some one that she could hardly recognise till he spoke. + +'Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be. + +What's the use of worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it +isn't worth it.' + +'You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me--help me!' The +passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to alarm +the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her head +fell on his shoulder. + +'Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite right, and you've nothing to +reproach yourself with--you never had. You're only a little upset by the +journey, and I don't suppose you've had any breakfast. What a brute Torp +was to bring you over.' + +'I wanted to come. I did indeed,' she protested. + +'Very well. And now you've come and seen, and I'm--immensely grateful. + +When you're better you shall go away and get something to eat. What sort +of a passage did you have coming over?' + +Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad +that she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder +tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder +might be. + +She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most +unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room +between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart. + +'Are you better now?' he said. + +'Yes, but--don't you hate me?' + +'I hate you? My God! I?' + +'Isn't--isn't there anything I could do for you, then? I'll stay here +in England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you +sometimes.' + +'I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. +I don't want to seem rude, but--don't you think--perhaps you had almost +better go now.' + +He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain +continued much longer. + +'I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable.' + +'Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; I'd tell you if you had. Wait +a moment, dear. I've got something to give you first. I meant it for +you ever since this little trouble began. It's my Melancolia; she was a +beauty when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you're +poor you can sell her. She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the +market.' He groped among his canvases. 'She's framed in black. Is this +a black frame that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think of +her?' + +He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the +eyes strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One +thing and one thing only could she do for him. + +'Well?' + +The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was +speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic +desire to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick's sake--whatever +this mad blankness might mean--she must make no sign. Her voice choked +with hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck--'Oh, +Dick, it is good!' + +He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. 'Won't you +have it, then? I'll send it over to your house if you will.' + +'I? Oh yes--thank you. Ha! ha!' If she did not fly at once the laughter +that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, choking +and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take refuge +in a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down in the +dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, useless +till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the sorrow, +the shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the +red-haired girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never feared her +companion before. Not until she found herself saying, 'Well, he never +asked me,' did she realise her scorn of herself. + +And that is the end of Maisie. + +For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at +first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word +of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought +upon him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his +dark hour came and he was alone with himself and his desires to get what +help he could from the darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but in +following the right, so far as it served her work, she had wounded her +one subject more than his own brain would let him know. + +'It's all I had and I've lost it,' he said, as soon as the misery +permitted clear thinking. 'And Torp will think that he has been so +infernally clever that I shan't have the heart to tell him. I must think +this out quietly.' + +'Hullo!' said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two +hours of thought. 'I'm back. Are you feeling any better?' + +'Torp, I don't know what to say. Come here.' Dick coughed huskily, +wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately. + +'What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.' Torpenhow was +perfectly satisfied. + +They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's +shoulder, and Dick buried in his own thoughts. + +'How in the world did you find it all out?' said Dick, at last. + +'You shouldn't go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It +was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rocketing +about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you'd +have laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven +other devils----' + +'I know--the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils the +other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? Who +d'you work for?' + +'Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business +would turn out.' + +'Would you have stayed with me, then, if--things had gone wrong?' He put +his question cautiously. + +'Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man.' + +'You've tried to be an angel very successfully.' + +'Oh ye--es!... Well, do you attend the function to-night? We shall +be half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war's a +certainty.' + +'I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay +quiet here.' + +'And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man +did.' + +That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured +in from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that they +might discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations +becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bidden +all the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the +housekeeper, declared that never before in his checkered experience had +he seen quite such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked the chambers +with shoutings and song; and the elder men were quite as bad as the +younger. For the chances of war were in front of them, and all knew what +those meant. + +Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the +landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. + +'When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. +Maisie's quite right--poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry +like that before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be +quite fool enough to stay at home and try to console me--if he knew. +Besides, it isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over like a broken +chair. I must carry this business through alone--as usual. If there +isn't a war, and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. If +there is a way I mustn't interfere with another man's chances. Business +is business, and I want to be alone--I want to be alone. What a row +they're making!' + +Somebody hammered at the studio door. + +'Come out and frolic, Dickie,' said the Nilghai. + +'I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.' + +'Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.' + +'Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.' + +'Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. + +Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.' + +For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. + +'No, thanks, I've a headache already.' + +'Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my +congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your +welfare.' + +'Go to the devil--oh, send Binkie in here.' + +The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been +made much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; +but scarcely inside the studio he realised that this was no place for +tail-wagging, and settled himself on Dick's lap till it was bedtime. +Then he went to bed with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and +rose in the morning with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's +more formal congratulations and a particular account of the last night's +revels. + +'You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,' said +Torpenhow. + +'Never mind that--it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you really +go?' + +'Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted +on better terms than before.' + +'When do you start?' + +'The day after to-morrow--for Brindisi.' + +'Thank God.' Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. + +'Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me. +But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.' + +'I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before +you leave?' + +'That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?' + +'Oh, it's only for--marriage expenses.' + +Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and +carefully put it away in the writing table. + +'Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl +until I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!' he said to +himself. + +But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the +doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked +innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to +feel annoyed. + +'You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, +don't you?' he said on the last evening. + +'I--I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will last?' + +'Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.' + +'I wish I were going.' + +'Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it +occurred to you that you're going to be married--thanks to me?' + +'Of course, yes. I'm going to be married--so I am. Going to be married. + +I'm awfully grateful to you. Haven't I told you that?' + +'You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,' said Torpenhow. + +And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the +loneliness he had so much desired. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, + Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, + Yet at the last, with his masters around him, + He of the Faith spoke as master to slave; + Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him, + Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,-- + Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him, + He called upon Allah and died a believer. + + --Kizzilbashi. +'BEG your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but--but isn't nothin' going to happen?' +said Mr. Beeton. + +'No!' Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his +temper was of the shortest. + +''Tain't my regular business, o' course, sir; and what I say is, "Mind +your own business and let other people mind theirs;" but just before Mr. +Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might be +moving into a house of your own, so to speak--a sort of house with rooms +upstairs and downstairs where you'd be better attended to, though I try +to act just by all our tenants. Don't I?' + +'Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan't trouble you to take me +there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.' + +'I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as +far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in +chambers--and more particular those whose lot is hard--such as you, for +instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you? Soft-roe +bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, "Never mind a +little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the tenants."' + +Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long +away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled +down to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing +better than death. + +It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night; +dropping to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising +restless in the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, +would grope along the corridors of the chambers till he heard some one +snore. Then he would know that the day had not yet come, and return +wearily to his bedroom. + +Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the +house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed--and dressing, +now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because collars, +ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and search +meant head-beating against chairs and trunks--once dressed, there was +nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the three +daily meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch +from dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his +mind might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind +was quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as +millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would +not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with +imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past +success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and +feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened had +the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased +through sheer weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on tide of +overwhelming, purposeless fear--dread of starvation always, terror +lest the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the +chambers and a louse's death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror +that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed his head, +and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating self till +the tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being set before +him. + +Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and +Dick learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted +gas-plugs, waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving +picture-nails into walls, and the sins of the charwoman or the +housemaids. In the lack of better things the small gossip of a servant's +hall becomes immensely interesting, and the screwing of a washer on a +tap an event to be talked over for days. + +Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when +he went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish, +lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his weight +first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly with the +tins and string-ball on the counter. Then they would perhaps meet one of +Mr. Beeton's friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, would hold his +peace till Mr. Beeton was willing to go on again. + +The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a +dangerous exercise, and being shaved in a barber's shop meant exposure +of his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly +brushed, and since he had never taken any care of his personal +appearance he became every known variety of sloven. A blind man cannot +deal with cleanliness till he has been some months used to the darkness. +If he demand attendance and grow angry at the want of it, he must assert +himself and stand upright. Then the meanest menial can see that he is +blind and, therefore, of no consequence. A wise man will keep his eyes +on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal lump by lump +out of the scuttle with the tongs and pile it in a little heap in the +fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, +one by one and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to +work them out; he may talk to himself or to the cat if she chooses to +visit him; and if his trade has been that of an artist, he may sketch +in the air with his forefinger; but that is too much like drawing a pig +with the eyes shut. He may go to his bookshelves and count his books, +ranging them in order of their size; or to his wardrobe and count his +shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer +from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. + +Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are +very, very long. + +Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, +taps and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. + +'If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why, +then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the +amount of little things that these chambers uses up,' said Mr. Beeton. + +Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: 'It's hard on you, +sir, I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?' + +'I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?' + +'I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but +I 'ave often said to my wife, "It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as +if he was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young +gentleman. That's where it comes so 'ard."' + +'I suppose so,' said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long +battering had ceased to feel--much. + +'I was thinking,' continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, 'that +you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an +evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.' + +'I should be very grateful,' said Dick. 'Only let me make it worth his +while.' + +'We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; +but only to 'ear Alf sing "A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!" Ah!' + +'I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the +newspapers.' + +Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board +certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. +Mr. Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through +a song of some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young +Cockney, and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign +telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and +scared. + +''E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,' he explained. + +'He never said you read badly, Alf?' Mrs. Beeton spoke. + +'No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like +that, but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.' + +'P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about +Stocks, Alf?' + +'No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone--a +great long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words +in it. 'E give me 'arf a crown because I read so well. And 'e says the +next time there's anything 'e wants read 'e'll send for me.' + +'That's good hearing, but I do think for all the half-crown--put it into +the kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it--he might +have kept you longer. Why, he couldn't have begun to understand how +beautiful you read.' + +'He's best left to hisself--gentlemen always are when they're +downhearted,' said Mr. Beeton. + +Alf's rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow's special +correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear, +through the boy's nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares behind +the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and chaffing +across the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it +drifted over camp before the wind of the desert. + +That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him, +offering for proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he +had not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed +Dick knew in his heart of hearts that only a lingering sense of humour +and no special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, he had persuaded +himself, would be a ludicrous insult to the gravity of the situation as +well as a weak-kneed confession of fear. + +'Just for the fun of the thing,' he said to the cat, who had taken +Binkie's place in his establishment, 'I should like to know how long +this is going to last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds +Torp cashed for me. I must have two or three thousand at least in the +Bank--twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I +fall back on my hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that +time. Let's consider. + +Twenty-five--thirty-five--a man's in his prime then, +they say--forty-five--a middle-aged man just entering +politics--fifty-five--"died at the comparatively early age of +fifty-five," according to the newspapers. Bah! How these Christians funk +death! Sixty-five--we're only getting on in years. Seventy-five is +just possible, though. Great hell, cat O! fifty years more of solitary +confinement in the dark! You'll die, and Beeton will die, and Torp will +die, and Mai--everybody else will die, but I shall be alive and kicking +with nothing to do. I'm very sorry for myself. I should like some one +else to be sorry for me. Evidently I'm not going mad before I die, but +the pain's just as bad as ever. Some day when you're vivisected, cat O! +they'll tie you down on a little table and cut you open--but don't be +afraid; they'll take precious good care that you don't die. You'll live, +and you'll be very sorry then that you weren't sorry for me. Perhaps +Torp will come back or... I wish I could go to Torp and the Nilghai, +even though I were in their way.' + +Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered, +found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. + +'There's a letter for you, sir,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd like me to read +it.' + +'Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you.' + +The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not +over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that--that +was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes +only too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to +him, for he did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no +reparation though the evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love +strive to mend all. It is best to forget that wrong whether it be caused +or endured, since it is as remediless as bad work once put forward. + +'Read it, then,' said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the +rules of the Board School--'"I could have given you love, I could have +given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared +what you were? But you chose to whistle everything down the wind for +nothing. My only excuse for you is that you are so young." 'That's all,' +he said, returning the paper to be dropped into the fire. + +'What was in the letter?' asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. + +'I don't know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin' +at everything when you're young.' + +'I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about and +it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is--unless it was +all a joke. But I don't know any one who'd take the trouble to play a +joke on me.... Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting enough. + +I wonder whether I have lost anything really?' + +Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he +had put himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman's hands. + +Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think +about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. +When his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more, +body and soul together seemed to be dropping without check through the +darkness. + +Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light +again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left +him sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till +the gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless +as the first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed +that he saw. Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he +was utterly worn out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration +of Maisie and might-have-beens. + +At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to +take him out. 'Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if +you like.' + +'Be damned if I do,' quoth Dick. 'Keep to the streets and walk up and +down. I like to hear the people round me.' + +This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their +infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted +arms--but Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and +only once since Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf's +charge. Alf forgot him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with +some companions. After half an hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping with +rage and wrath, caught a passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly +policeman, who led him to a four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He +never told Mr. Beeton of Alf's forgetfulness, but... this was not the +manner in which he was used to walk the Parks aforetime. + +'What streets would you like to walk down, then?' said Mr. Beeton, +sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking +on the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags +full of food. + +'Keep to the river,' said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush +of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck +thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of +the scenery as he went on. + +'And walking on the other side of the pavement,' said he, 'unless I'm +much mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to +be drawed. I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except +paying tenants, o' course!' + +'Stop her,' said Dick. 'It's Bessie Broke. Tell her I'd like to speak to +her again. Quick, man!' + +Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and +arrested Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the +man in authority who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick's +staircase, and her first impulse was to run. + +'Wasn't you Mr. Heldar's model?' said Mr. Beeton, planting himself in +front of her. 'You was. He's on the other side of the road and he'd like +to see you.' + +'Why?' said Bessie, faintly. She remembered--indeed had never for long +forgotten--an affair connected with a newly finished picture. + +'Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular +blind.' + +'Drunk?' + +'No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.' + +Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed +him out--a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty magenta-coloured +neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing to fear from such +an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could not follow far. +She crossed over, and Dick's face lighted up. It was long since a woman +of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to him. + +'I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?' said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr. +Beeton stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly. + +'I'm very well indeed, and, by Jove! I'm glad to see--hear you, I mean, +Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again after +you got your money. I don't know why you should. Are you going anywhere +in particular just now?' + +'I was going for a walk,' said Bessie. + +'Not the old business?' Dick spoke under his breath. + +'Lor, no! I paid my premium'--Bessie was very proud of that word--'for a +barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I +am.' + +Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human +nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his +gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a +certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the +harm that had been done to him... + +'It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,' she went on, 'and they've got +one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a +penny at the end of the day--but then I don't believe the machinery is +right. Do you?' + +'I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.' + +'He's gone. + +'I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth +your while. You see.' The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie +saw. + +'It isn't taking you out of your way?' he said hesitatingly. 'I can ask +a policeman if it is.' + +'Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.' + +'Good God!--but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do too. + +Let's go home, Bess.' + +He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an +oath. Bessie took his arm and said nothing--as she had said nothing when +he had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They +walked for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through +the crowd. + +'And where's--where's Mr. Torpenhow?' she inquired at last. + +'He has gone away to the desert.' + +'Where's that?' + +Dick pointed to the right. 'East--out of the mouth of the river,' said +he. + +'Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side +of Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.' The explanation did +not enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to +Dick's path till they came to the chambers. + +'We'll have tea and muffins,' he said joyously. 'I can't tell you, +Bessie, how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so +suddenly?' + +'I didn't think you'd want me any more,' she said, emboldened by his +ignorance. + +'I didn't, as a matter of fact--but afterwards--At any rate I'm glad +you've come. You know the stairs.' + +So Bessie led him home to his own place--there was no one to hinder--and +shut the door of the studio. + +'What a mess!' was her first word. 'All these things haven't been looked +after for months and months.' + +'No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect them to care.' + +'I don't know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what you've +paid them for. The dust's just awful. It's all over the easel.' + +'I don't use it much now.' + +'All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I'd like +to speak to them housemaids.' + +'Ring for tea, then.' Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by +custom. + +Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there +remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in her +voice when she spoke. + +'How long have you been like this?' she said wrathfully, as though the +blindness were some fault of the housemaids. + +'How?' + +'As you are.' + +'The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my +picture was finished; I hardly saw her alive.' + +'Then they've been cheating you ever since, that's all. I know their +nice little ways.' + +A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine +principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being +defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being +obviously an idiot, needs protection. + +'I don't think Mr. Beeton cheats much,' said Dick. Bessie was flouncing +up and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment +as he heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between. + +'Tea and muffins,' she said shortly, when the ring at the bell was +answered; 'two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I don't want +the old teapot that was here when I used to come. It don't draw. Get +another.' + +The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began to +cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust. + +'What are you trying to do?' + +'Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you +let it go so?' + +'How could I help it? Dust away.' + +She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs. +Beeton. Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding +up with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, 'Do unto others as you would +be done by.' She had descended to put into her place the person who +demanded muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to +both. + +'Muffins ready yet?' said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a drab +of the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick's check, had paid +her premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being +neatly dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and +there passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have +appreciated. The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and +Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about +models, hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband. + +'There's nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,' he said. +'Alf, you go along into the street to play. When he isn't crossed he's +as kindly as kind, but when he's crossed he's the devil and all. We took +too many little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be that +particular about what he does. They ain't no objects to a blind man, of +course, but if it was to come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did +introduce him to that girl because I'm a feelin' man myself.' + +'Much too feelin'!' Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and +thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. + +'I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to judge him hard so long +as he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young +gentlemen, you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each +stick to his own business and then there won't be any trouble. Take them +muffins down, Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman. +His lot is cruel hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than any +one I've ever served.' + +'That's a little better,' said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. 'You +needn't wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.' + +'I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.' + +Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in +which real ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a +first-class public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes' +notice. + +Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and +displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his +coat; the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the +forehead was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was +a dusty indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called +gray. The utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to +her, and at the bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was +humbled and brought low who had once humbled her. + +'Oh! it is good to hear you moving about,' said Dick, rubbing his hands. + +'Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live +now.' + +'Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me. + +You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? Why +isn't there any one to look after you?' + +Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of +it. + +'I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I +don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. + +Why should they?--and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.' + +'Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was--well?' + +'A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.' + +'I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't +become you.' + +'Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me +these days?' + +'You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can +come, can't I?' + +'I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very +well in the old days. I used to make you angry.' + +'Very angry, you did.' + +'I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as +you can. God knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that trouble +except you and Mr. Beeton.' + +'A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.' This with a toss of the +head. + +'They've let you do anyhow and they haven't done anything for you. I've +only to look and see that much. I'll come, and I'll be glad to come, but +you must go and be shaved, and you must get some other clothes--those +ones aren't fit to be seen.' + +'I have heaps somewhere,' he said helplessly. + +'I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I'll brush +it and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, +but it doesn't excuse you looking like a sweep.' + +'Do I look like a sweep, then?' + +'Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for you!' she cried impulsively, +and took Dick's hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to +kiss--she was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not +too proud for a little pity now. She stood up to go. + +'Nothing o' that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite +easy when you get shaved, and some clothes.' + +He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She +passed behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and +ran away as swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the Melancolia. + +'To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,' she said to herself, 'after all +he's done to me and all! Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved +he wouldn't be so bad to look at, but... Oh them Beetons, how shameful +they've treated him! I know Beeton's wearing his shirt on his back +to-day just as well as if I'd aired it. To-morrow, I'll see... I wonder +if he has much of his own. It might be worth more than the bar--I +wouldn't have to do any work--and just as respectable as if no one +knew.' + +Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely +conscious of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it +seemed, among very many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting +shaved. + +He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A +fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in +the world said that she took an interest in his personal appearance made +him carry himself almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a while +from thinking of Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might have +given that kiss and a million others. + +'Let us consider,' said he, after lunch. 'The girl can't care, and it's +a toss-up whether she comes again or not, but if money can buy her to +look after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the world would take +the trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She's a child of the +gutter holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have everything +she wants if she'll only come and talk and look after me.' He rubbed his +newly shorn chin and began to perplex himself with the thought of her +not coming. 'I suppose I did look rather a sweep,' he went on. 'I had +no reason to look otherwise. I knew things dropped on my clothes, but +it didn't matter. It would be cruel if she didn't come. She must. Maisie +came once, and that was enough for her. She was quite right. She had +something to work for. This creature has only beer-handles to pull, +unless she has deluded some young man into keeping company with her. + +Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We're falling +pretty low.' + +Something cried aloud within him:--This will hurt more than anything +that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and +tantalise, and in the end drive you mad. + +'I know it, I know it!' Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly; +'but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of +his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she'd +come.' + +Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in +her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would +allow her to be idle for the rest of her days. + +'I shouldn't have known you,' she said approvingly. 'You look as you +used to look--a gentleman that was proud of himself.' + +'Don't you think I deserve another kiss, then?' said Dick, flushing a +little. + +'Maybe--but you won't get it yet. Sit down and let's see what I can do +for you. I'm certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can't go +through the housekeeping books every month. Isn't that true?' + +'You'd better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.' + +'Couldn't do it in these chambers--you know that as well as I do.' + +'I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your +while.' + +'I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn't care to have to work +for both of us.' This was tentative. + +Dick laughed. + +'Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?' said he. 'Torp took +it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.' + +'It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!' + +'Well?' + +'Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a +penny! Oh my!' + +'You can have the penny. That's not bad for one year's work. Is that and +a hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?' + +The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, +but she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. + +'Yes; but you'd have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we'd +find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms +here and there. They don't look as full as they used.' + +'Never mind, we'll let him have them. The only thing I'm particularly +anxious to take away is that picture I used you for--when you used to +swear at me. We'll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as +ever we can.' + +'Oh yes,' she said uneasily. + +'I don't know where I can go to get away from myself, but I'll try, +and you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You'll like +that. + +Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it's good to put one's arm round a +woman's waist again.' + +Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm +were thus round Maisie's waist and a kiss had just been given and taken +between them,--why then... He pressed the girl more closely to himself +because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little +accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the +solace of her company--and certainly he would relapse into his original +slough if she withdrew it--he would not be more than just a little +vexed. + +It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by +her teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his +companion. + +She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. + +'I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was you,' she began, in the +hope of turning his attention. + +'It's at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know +it as well as I do.' + +'I know--but--' + +'But what? You've wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer. + +Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or nine +hundred pounds to--to us. I simply didn't like to think about it for +a long time. It was mixed up with my life so.--But we'll cover up +our tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the +beginning, Bess.' + +Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value of +money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating the +value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular about +their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she tries +to explain the breakage of a pipe. + +'I'm very sorry, but you remember I was--I was angry with you before Mr. +Torpenhow went away?' + +'You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right +to be.' + +'Then I--but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?' + +'Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when +you might just as well be giving me another kiss?' + +He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, +that kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more +you want. + +Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, 'I was so +angry I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't angry, +are you?' + +'What? Say that again.' The man's hand had closed on her wrist. + +'I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,' faltered Bessie. 'I thought +you'd only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn't +you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you're hurting me.' + +'Isn't there anything left of the thing?' + +'N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm sorry--I didn't know you'd take +on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to hit me?' + +'Hit you! No! Let's think.' + +He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the +carpet. + +Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the +stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles +that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of +the Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie's +return and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the +Melancolia--lovelier in his imagination than she had ever been on +canvas--reappeared. By her aid he might have procured mor money +wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well as another +taste of an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a vicious little +housemaid's folly, there was nothing to look for--not even the hope that +he might some day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. Worst of +all, he had been made to appear ridiculous in Maisie's eyes. A woman +will forgive the man who has ruined her life's work so long as he gives +her love; a man may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he +will never forgive the destruction of his work. + +'Tck--tck--tck,' said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed softly. +'It's an omen, Bessie, and--a good many things considered, it serves me +right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for Maisie's +running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad--small blame to +her! The whole picture ruined, isn't it so? What made you do it?' + +'Because I was that angry. I'm not angry now--I'm awful sorry.' + +'I wonder.--It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm to blame for making the +mistake.' + +'What mistake?' + +'Something you wouldn't understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that +a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!' Dick was +talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist. + +'I ain't a piece of dirt, and you shouldn't call me so! I did it 'cause +I hated you, and I'm only sorry now 'cause you're--'cause you're----' + +'Exactly--because I'm blind. There's noting like tact in little things.' + +Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; +she was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too +that her great revenge had only made Dick laugh. + +'Don't cry,' he said, and took her into his arms. 'You only did what you +thought right.' + +'I--I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I'll never come +to you again.' + +'You don't know what you've done to me. I'm not angry--indeed, I'm not. + +Be quiet for a minute.' + +Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick's first thought was +connected with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open +sore. + +Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. + +The first pang--the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to +the play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has +decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest +pleasure. + +They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by +the love of their life, and in their new wives' arms are compelled to +realise it. + +It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, +so long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that +resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone. + +These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie +to his heart. + +'Though you mayn't know it,' he said, raising his head, 'the Lord is a +just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It +serves me right--how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if +he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but +only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.' + +'Let me go,' said Bess, her face darkening. 'Let me go.' + +'All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?' + +'Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making fun of me.' + +'Indeed, I'm not. I'm making fun of myself.... Thus. "He saved others, +himself he cannot save." It isn't exactly a school-board text.' He +released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she could +not escape. 'What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman can +do!' + +'I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the picture.' + +'I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we talking +about before you mentioned the thing?' + +'About getting away--and money. Me and you going away.' + +'Of course. We will get away--that is to say, I will.' + +'And me?' + +'You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.' + +'Then you won't----?' + +'I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to +yourself.' + +'You said you couldn't do anything without me.' + +'That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my +hat.' + +'S'pose I don't?' + +'Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.' + +Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had +kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it +pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all +there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through +a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, +not too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the +pretty things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as +respectable as a real lady. + +'Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, but it doesn't matter, and +I'll think things out. What's the day of the week, Bess?' + +'Tuesday.' + +'Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool--what a blind fool I have been! + +Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for additional +expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat's for old time's sake. +Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last +trip--Gad, won't Torp stare to see me!--a hundred and thirty-two leaves +seventy-eight for baksheesh--I shall need it--and to play with. + +What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn't your fault, child; it was mine +altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out! + +I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand +pounds at four per cent--that's safe interest--means a hundred and sixty +pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a year--also safe--is two +eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three hundred a year +means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we'll go to the bank.' + +Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick +caused Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the +P. and O. offices, where he explained things tersely. + +'Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as +possible. + +What ship's going?' + +'The Colgong,' said the clerk. + +'She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and +the docks?' + +'Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.' + +'Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well--will you count it into +my hand?' + +'If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about +their trunks, life would be worth something,' said the clerk to his +neighbour, who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that +condensed milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being +nineteen and unmarried, he spoke with conviction. + +'We are now,' quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the +place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, 'beyond the reach +of man, or devil, or woman--which is much more important. I've had three +little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask you +to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We'll breakfast, +and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.' + +'What are you going to do?' + +'Going away, of course. What should I stay for?' + +'But you can't look after yourself?' + +'I can do anything. I didn't realise it before, but I can. I've done a +great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie +doesn't object.' Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. +'I suppose you're right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and +you'll get your money.' + +'Shall I sure?' + +'I don't bilk, and you won't know whether I do or not unless you come. + +Oh, but it's long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,--send Beeton here +as you go out.' + +The housekeeper came. + +'What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?' said Dick, imperiously. + +''Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore +out dreadful.' + +'I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.' + +'Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say----' + +'Oh, damn your longwindedness! You've made your pickings out of me and +the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house +the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.' + +'Fifty,' said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation. + +'Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.' + +He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, +and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. + +'That's sinful, sir,' said the housekeeper, alarmed. + +'It's my own. One hundred or----' + +'One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there +pilaster mended.' + +'I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring +that price at once!' + +'I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all +you, sir.' + +'Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my +clothes are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going.' + +'But the quarter's notice?' + +'I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.' + +Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that +Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable +view. + +'It's very sudden--but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen to +him now!' + +There was a sound of chanting from Dick's room. + + 'We'll never come back any more, boys, + We'll never come back no more; + We'll go to the deuce on any excuse, + And never come back no more! + + Oh say we're afloat or ashore, boys, + Oh say we're afloat or ashore; + But we'll never come back any more, boys, + We'll never come back no more!' +'Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?' + +'Quick, he's going to shoot himself--'avin' gone mad!' said Mrs. Beeton. + +Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the +latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention +of the promises to 'find everything to-morrow, sir.' + +'Oh, you copper-nosed old fool--you impotent Academician!' he shouted +at last. 'Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your +silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it's +loaded. + +It's among my campaign-kit somewhere--in the parcel at the bottom of the +trunk.' + +Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight +field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It +was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. +Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, +and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue +cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of +swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and +a pigskin case of stationery. + +'These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else +I'll keep. Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've +done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a +minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.' + +It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had +particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he +began, following his right hand with his left: '"The badness of this +writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen." H'mph!--even a +lawyer can't mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it +needn't be witnessed. Now an inch lower--why did I never learn to use +a type-writer?--"This is the last will and testament of me, Richard +Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous +will to revoke."--That's all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the +paper was I?--"I leave everything that I possess in the world, including +four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty eight +pounds held for me"--oh, I can't get this straight.' He tore off half +the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. +Then: 'I leave all the money I possess in the world to'--here followed +Maisie's name, and the names of the two banks that held the money. + +'It mayn't be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to +dispute it, and I've given Maisie's address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. +This is my signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. +To-morrow you must take me to the landlord and I'll pay forfeit for +leaving without notice, and I'll lodge this paper with him in case +anything happens while I'm away. Now we're going to light up the studio +stove. Stay with me, and give me my papers as I want 'em.' + +No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year's accumulation +of bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove +every document in the studio--saving only three unopened letters; +destroyed sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases +alike. + +'What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough +in one place, to be sure,' said Mr. Beeton, at last. + +'He does. Is there anything more left?' Dick felt round the walls. + +'Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot.' + +'Excellent, and you've lost about a thousand pounds' worth of sketches. + +Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds' worth, if I can remember what I used to +be.' + +'Yes, sir,' politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad, +otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a +song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out of +the way. + +There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could +not be accomplished till to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking +up the last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there +remained no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, +and sat down before the stove till the fire died out and the contracting +iron cracked in the silence of the night. + + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + With a heart of furious fancies, + Whereof I am commander; + With a burning spear and a horse of air, + To the wilderness I wander. + + With a knight of ghosts and shadows + I summoned am to tourney-- + Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end, + Methinks it is no journey. + + --Tom a' Bedlam's Song. +'GOOD-BYE, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here's a hundred--all that I got +for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for +some time. You've been a good little girl, all things considered, but +you've given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.' + +'Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won't you?' + +'Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the +cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is--and I am free, I mean.' + +'Who'll look after you on this ship?' + +'The head-steward, if there's any use in money. The doctor when we come +to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the +Lord will provide, as He used to do.' + +Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of +leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself +down in his bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so +long to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography +of a ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine +to him. + +Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been +introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good +place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with +joy in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved +about, for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep +sleep of weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of +Maisie, and he slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the +Thames and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel. + +The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very +familiar sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance. + +'Oh, it's good to be alive again!' He yawned, stretched himself +vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast of +the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgar Square +is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick +could feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous +little cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and +one wave breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new +deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was +stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to +the smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong breeze found him, blew +his cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room +steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that +the weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than +half a gale in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold, and +Dick enjoyed himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary +at sea to lay firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving +from place to place. On land the man who feels with his hands is +patently blind. At sea even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest +with the doctor over the weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor +many tales--and these are coin of more value than silver if properly +handled--smoked with him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his +short-lived regard that he promised Dick a few hours of his time when +they came to Port Said. + +And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang +their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and +Tom the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened +hatch-grating where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread and +the passengers made merry, and at last they came to Port Said. + +'Take me,' said Dick, to the doctor, 'to Madame Binat's--if you know +where that is.' + +'Whew!' said the doctor, 'I do. There's not much to choose between 'em; +but I suppose you're aware that that's one of the worst houses in the +place. They'll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.' + +'Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.' + +So he was brought to Madame Binat's and filled his nostrils with the +well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the +Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca +of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with +the buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his +coat-sleeve was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. + +Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick +entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a +little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he +had ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened +a bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of +Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation. + +Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, +scandalised, so far as a ship's doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick's +reception. Dick was delighted at it. 'They remember me here after a +year. They have forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I +want a long talk with you when you're at liberty. It is good to be back +again.' + +In the evening she set an iron-topped cafe-table out on the sands, and +Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, +merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the +shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal. + +'Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? +We have not forgotten thee.' + +'I was over there in England and I went blind.' + +'But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here--I +and Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow 'Tina--she is still +alive--so often and so well that 'Tina laughed when the papers arrived +by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise +in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for +thee.' + +'I am not poor--I shall pay you well.' + +'Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.' Under her breath, 'Mon Dieu, +to be blind and so young! What horror!' + +Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the +discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he +was too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire. + +'And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire +as they used to do when the war was here--ten years ago. Beyond Cairo +there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent's +passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is +impossible also,' said she. + +'I must go to Suakin.' He knew, thanks to Alf's readings, that Torpenhow +was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the +Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, +besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth +anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to +be accomplished, which is much more important when there is work toward. + +'But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men +always--and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?' + +'My friend is there. + +'Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.' + +Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick's glass +anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that +he should bow his head in assent and say--'No. He is a man, but--if it +should arrive... blamest thou?' + +'I blame?' she laughed shrilly. 'Who am I that I should blame any +one--except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it +is very terrible.' + +'I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the +year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer +goes down the Canal to Suakin--and the post-boats--But even then----' + +'Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt +go--thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house +is a little quiet--I must attend to my guests--and afterwards go to bed. +Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.' + +'To-morrow?' + +'As soon as may be.' She was talking as though he were a child. + +He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the +streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat +carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and +sang and danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with +one eye on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick's +interests. To this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive +Turkish officers of fellaheen regiments, and more than kind to camel +agents of no nationality whatever. + +In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming +red silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a +necklace of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in +to Dick. + +'It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. +Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the +morning chocolate.' She sat down on the side of the bed whispering:--'It +is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe +of ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The +boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a +Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not +know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his +mules. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if +I do not receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the +girl answers for George.' + +'Thank you.' He reached out sleepily for the cup. 'You are much too +kind, Madame.' + +'If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be +wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.' She looked at her +liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. 'Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, +thou shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.' + +She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. 'That is for +good-morning,' she said, going away. 'When thou art dressed we will +speak to George and make everything ready. But first we must open the +little trunk. Give me the keys.' + +'The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect +Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in +his way, though. Well, it won't last long.--Ohe, Madame, help me to my +toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing properly +out yonder.' + +He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his hands +with the spurs. There are two ways of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, +spotless blue bands, khaki coat and breeches, and a perfectly pipeclayed +helmet. The right way is the way of the untired man, master of himself, +setting out upon an expedition, well pleased. + +'Everything must be very correct,' Dick explained. 'It will become dirty +afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything as it +should be?' + +He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on +the right hip and fingered his collar. + +'I can do no more,' Madame said, between laughing and crying. 'Look at +thyself--but I forgot.' + +'I am very content.' He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. + +'Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. + +Be quick, Madame.' + +'But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the +daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies----' + +'There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. + +Take me there.' + +In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the +lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to +George and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made +for Dick's benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her acquaintance +cared to disregard Madame's advice. That sort of contempt might end in +being knifed by a stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short +provocation. + +For six days--two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal--the +little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the +superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to +propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his +light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own +discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and +together they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material +and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate +fragments to mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. + +'If you keep with me,' said George, 'nobody will ask for passports or +what you do. They are all very busy.' + +'Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might +remember me. I was known here a long time ago--when I was some one +indeed.' + +'A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full. + +Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan--that is +seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan +the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be +brought to them by this line.' + +'Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in +the open.' + +'For this reason even the mules go up in the iron-train.' + +'Iron what?' + +'It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.' + +'An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.' + +'And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly require +to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far +from the city.' + +'The dears--they always used to!' Dick snuffed the smell of parched +dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old +life was welcoming him back most generously. + +'When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first +send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.' + +'Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had +the chance?' + +'I have no chance,' said the Greek. 'She is there with that woman.' + +'I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the +chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.' + +They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was +desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was +the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On +their return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was +doing. The blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand +on George's elbow as he replied--'Egyptian Government--mules. My orders +are to give them over to the A. C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion +to show my papers?' + +'Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no right to ask, but not +seeing your face before I----' + +'I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,' said Dick, boldly. 'There +will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?' + +'You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up +early.' The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down +waif this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek +muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small +thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark, +and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking +of what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, and all had +been as it was not. + +George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His +charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his +tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. +There was a great bustle and clamour about him. He grew afraid and +almost called for George. + +'I say, have you got your mules ready?' It was the voice of the +subaltern over his shoulder. + +'My man's looking after them. The--the fact is I've a touch of +ophthalmia and can't see very well. + +'By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I've +had a turn of it myself. It's as bad as being blind.' + +'So I find it. When does this armoured train go?' + +'At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.' + +'Are the Fuzzies on the rampage--eh?' + +'About three nights a week. Fact is I'm in acting command of the +night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.' + +'Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?' + +'Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.' + +'Is that far off?' + +'Between thirty and forty miles--in an infernal thirsty country.' + +'Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?' + +'More or less. I shouldn't care to cross it alone, or with a subaltern's +command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through it in some +extraordinary fashion.' + +'They always did.' + +'Have you been here before, then?' + +'I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.' + +'In the service and cashiered,' was the subaltern's first thought, so he +refrained from putting any questions. + +'There's your man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer----' + +'That I should be mule-leading?' said Dick. + +'I didn't mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me--it's beastly +impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public +school. There's no mistaking the tone.' + +'I am a public school man.' + +'I thought so. I say, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're a +little down on your luck, aren't you? I saw you sitting with your head +in your hands, and that's why I spoke.' + +'Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need +be.' + +'Suppose--I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I +perhaps--take it as a loan y'know and----' + +'You're much too good, but on my honour I've as much money as I want. + +... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an +everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train. + +There is a fore-truck, isn't there?' + +'Yes. How d'you know?' + +'I've been in an armoured train before. Only let me see--hear some +of the fun I mean, and I'll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a +non-combatant.' + +The young man thought for a minute. 'All right,' he said. 'We're +supposed to be an empty train, and there's no one to blow me up at the +other end.' + +George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the +mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths +inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to +start. + +Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered +in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for +the muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral +fire. + +The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score +of artillerymen were rioting. + +'Whitechapel--last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first class +there!' somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward +truck. + +'Lordy! 'Ere's a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and +Ealin' train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.'--'Shall I get you +a foot-warmer?' said another. + +'Thanks. I'll pay my footing,' said Dick, and relations of the most +amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the +subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track. + +'This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy +in the open,' said Dick, from his place in the corner. + +'Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he goes!' said the subaltern, as +a bullet struck the outside of the truck. 'We always have at least +one demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the +rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.' + +'Not to-night though! Listen!' said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed +bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert +valued their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. + +'Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?' the subaltern asked of the +engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. + +'I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing +old Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.' + +'Right O!' + +'Hrrmph!' said the machine gun through all its five noses as the +subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor +and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate +firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness +without and unlimited howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild +with delight at the sounds and the smells. + +'God is very good--I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em hell, +men. Oh, give 'em hell!' he cried. + +The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party +went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The +children of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and +twenty minutes were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress +recommenced, to be varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady +clack and kick of the machine guns, and a final difficulty with a +half-lifted rail ere the train came under the protection of the roaring +camp at Tanai-el-Hassan. + +'Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,' +said the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun. + +'It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. +How superb it must have looked from outside!' said Dick, sighing +regretfully. + +'It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled +about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm +Bennil of the Gunners--in the artillery lines--and mind you don't fall +over my tent-ropes in the dark.' + +But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the +hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the +tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for +George. There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of +the rear trucks, with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the +mules. + +The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold wind of +the desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and +dirty--so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was +a hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count +over the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for +trains or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In +those days he could see--few men more clearly--and the spectacle of an +armed camp at dinner under the stars was an ever fresh pleasure to the +eye. There was colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much +pleasure in living. This night there remained for him only one more +journey through the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he +has travelled. Then he would grip Torpenhow's hand again--Torpenhow, who +was alive and strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had once +made the reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be +confused with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to +the same name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old +life as might be. Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, who had +wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived +in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters +that no men needed; that irrational being who had offered him love +and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all +Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she +did, but oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair. + +George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. + +'And what now?' said George. + +'Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where +the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their +camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the +corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!' + +The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the +stumps of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew +they would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded +faces, and the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no +part of Dick's policy to go into the desert with a convoy of +supplies. That would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind +non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would probably be forced to +return to Suakin. + +He must go up alone, and go immediately. + +'Now for one last bluff--the biggest of all,' he said. 'Peace be with +you, brethren!' The watchful George steered him to the circle of the +nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the +camels, scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding +hens, half ready to get to their feet. + +'A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,' said Dick. + +'A Mulaid?' said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that +he knew. + +'A Bisharin,' returned Dick, with perfect gravity. 'A Bisharin without +saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.' + +Two or three minutes passed. Then--'We be knee-haltered for the night. +There is no going out from the camp.' + +'Not for money?' + +'H'm! Ah! English money?' + +Another depressing interval of silence. + +'How much?' + +'Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my +journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, +to be paid when the driver returns.' + +This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his +commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf. + +'For scarcely one night's journey--fifty pounds. Land and wells and +good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who +speaks?' said Dick. + +'I,' said a voice. 'I will go--but there is no going from the camp.' + +'Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries +do not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another +twenty-five pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take +no baggage-camel.' + +Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first +deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the +driver. + +Dick heard the latter say: 'A little way out only. Any baggage-beast +will serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?' + +'And though I cannot see'--Dick lifted his voice a little--'yet I carry +that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do not +reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.' + +'But where, in God's name, are the troops?' + +'Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it +will be life or death to thee.' + +'I know,' said the driver, sullenly. 'Stand back from my beast. I am +going to slip him.' + +'Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to feel +his cheek.' The hands wandered over the hide till they found the +branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built +riding-camel. + +'That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on +those who try to cheat the blind.' + +The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had +intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. + +'Stand back!' one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a +quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his +hand,--and a cry went up, 'Illaha! Aho! He is loose.' + +With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward +toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation. + +George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a +disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. + +'What's the row now?' he cried. + +'Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,' Dick answered, after +the manner of a common soldier. + +'Go on, and take care your throat's not cut outside--you and your +dromedary's.' + +The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and +his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. + +'Mount first,' said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently +screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back, 'Go +on in God's name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to Madame, +and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!' + +A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by +the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick +adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed +his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was +conscious only of the sense of rapid progress. + +'A good camel,' he said at last. + +'He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,' the driver +replied. + +'Go on.' + +His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of +his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in +seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He had +committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him +up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two +lines of the hymn-- + +When Israel of the Lord beloved + +Out of the land of bondage came. + +He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the +saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and +ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the +butt, and stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of +camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was +fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. +Dick could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to +do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and +punching the driver with the pistol. + +'Is there a moon?' he asked drowsily. + +'She is near her setting.' + +'I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the +desert talk.' + +The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. +It rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A +handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and +crumbled softly to the bottom. + +'Go on. The night is very cold.' + +Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before +the light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that +he had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at +all save jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would +finger the nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. +Centuries later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his +left and allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe +distance of London he was watching himself thus employed,--watching +critically. Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might +paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the +black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a +revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, he +was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever. + +The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. + +'I smell the dawn,' he whispered. + +'It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?' + +The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the +pungent reek of camels in the square. + +'Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.' + +'They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see +what they do.' + +'Am I in better case? Go forward.' + +They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of +the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day. + +Two or three shots were fired. + +'Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,' Dick spoke +angrily. + +'Nay, it is from the desert,' the driver answered, cowering in his +saddle. + +'Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an +hour ago.' + +The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind +multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most +uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and +were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object +without the square. + +'What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!' said Dick. 'It's "just +before the battle, mother." Oh, God has been most good to me! + +Only'--the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an +instant--'Maisie...' + +'Allahu! We are in,' said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and +the camel knelt. + +'Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength of the +enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?' asked a dozen voices. +For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted +from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, 'Torpenhow! +Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.' + +A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe +moved very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, +began to fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually +the scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked +white that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned +over wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square +were coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and +they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet +and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had +cut its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a +man receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and +redoubled firing. + +There was no time to ask any questions. + +'Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!' + +'No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.' Dick turned his +face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, +miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair +was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man. + +'Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!' + +And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from +the Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the +last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head. + +Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his +arms. + + + + + + + + + + + End of Project Gutenberg's The Light That Failed, by Rudyard Kipling + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIGHT THAT FAILED *** + + ***** This file should be named 2876.txt or 2876.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/2876/ + + Produced by David Reed, and David Widger + + + Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions + will be renamed. + + Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no + one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation + (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without + permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.07.00*END* + + + + + +Prepared by David Reed haradda@aol.com or davidr@inconnect.com + + + + + +The Light That Failed + +by Rudyard Kipling + + + + +CHAPTER I + + So we settled it all when the storm was done + As comf'y as comf'y could be; + And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, + Because I was only three; + And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot, + Because he was five and a man; + And that's how it all began, my dears, + And that's how it all began. -- Big Barn Stories. + + 'WHAT do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, + you know,' said Maisie. + + 'Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,' Dick answered, without + hesitation. 'Have you got the cartridges?' + + "Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire + cartridges go off of their own accord?' + + 'Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry + them.' + + "I'm not afraid.' Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket + and her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver. + + The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable + without pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick + had saved seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed + Belgian revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the + syndicate for the purchase of a hundred cartridges. 'You can save better + than I can, Dick,' she explained; 'I like nice things to eat, and it + doesn't matter to you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.' + + Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the + purchase, which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers + did not lie in the scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the + guardian who was incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother + to these two orphans. Dick had been under her care for six years, during + which time she had made her profit of the allowances supposed to be + expended on his clothes, and, partly through thoughtlessness, partly + through a natural desire to pain,--she was a widow of some years anxious + to marry again,--had made his days burdensome on his young shoulders. + + Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate. + + Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him + ridicule. The many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her + small house she devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick + Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in the main by her own intelligence + and a keen study of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. At + such times as she herself was not personally displeased with Dick, she + left him to understand that he had a heavy account to settle with his + Creator; wherefore Dick learned to loathe his God as intensely as he + loathed Mrs. Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for the + young. Since she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, but an + economical and self-contained one, never throwing away the least + unnecessary fib, and never hesitating at the blackest, were it only + plausible, that might make his life a little easier. The treatment + taught him at least the power of living alone,--a power that was of + service to him when he went to a public school and the boys laughed at + his clothes, which were poor in quality and much mended. In the holidays + he returned to the teachings of Mrs. Jennett, and, that the chain of + discipline might not be weakened by association with the world, was + generally beaten, on one account or another, before he had been twelve + hours under her roof. + + The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a + long-haired, gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who + moved about the house silently and for the first few weeks spoke only to + the goat that was her chiefest friend on earth and lived in the + back-garden. Mrs. Jennett objected to the goat on the grounds that he + was un-Christian,--which he certainly was. 'Then,' said the atom, + choosing her words very deliberately, 'I shall write to my + lawyer-peoples and tell them that you are a very bad woman. Amomma is + mine, mine, mine!' Mrs. Jennett made a movement to the hall, where + certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. The atom understood as + clearly as Dick what this meant. 'I have been beaten before,' she said, + still in the same passionless voice; 'I have been beaten worse than you + can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write to my lawyer-peoples and + tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. I am not afraid of + you.' Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the atom, after a pause + to assure herself that all danger of war was past, went out, to weep + bitterly on Amomma's neck. + + Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her + profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small + liberty of action left to him. She did not, however; and she volunteered + no friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long before the + holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in common drove the + children together, if it were only to play into each other's hands as + they prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school, + Maisie whispered, 'Now I shall be all alone to take care of myself; + but,' and she nodded her head bravely, 'I can do it. You promised to + send Amomma a grass collar. Send it soon.' A week later she asked for + that collar by return of post, and wa not pleased when she learned that + it took time to make. When at last Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot + to thank him for it. + + Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into + a lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not for + a moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the + average canings of a public school--Dick fell under punishment about + three times a month--filled him with contempt for her powers. 'She + doesn't hurt,' he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, 'and + she is kinder to you after she has whacked me.' Dick shambled through + the days unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the + school learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them, + cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than once try + to tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. 'We are both + miserable as it is,' said she. 'What is the use of trying to make things + worse? Let's find things to do, and forget things.' + + The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the + muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and + pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out + nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched + by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the + afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting + patiently behind them. + + 'Mf!' said Maisie, sniffing the air. 'I wonder what makes the sea so + smelly? I don't like it!' + + 'You never like anything that isn't made just for you,' said Dick + bluntly. 'Give me the cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does + one of these little revolvers carry?' + + 'Oh, half a mile,' said Maisie, promptly. 'At least it makes an awful + noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don't like those jagged + stick-up things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.' + + 'All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.' + + He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of + mud to the right of the wood-wreathed piles. + + 'Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all + round.' + + Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, + her hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. + + Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very + cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon + walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations + with his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went. + + 'I think it hit the post,' she said, shading her eyes and looking out + across the sailless sea. + + 'I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,' said Dick, with a + chuckle. 'Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, look + at Amomma!--he's eating the cartridges!' + + Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma + scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred + to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma + had naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried + up to assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale. + + 'Yes, he's eaten two.' + + 'Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up, + and serve him right. . . . Oh, Dick! have I killed you?' + + Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could + not explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated + her from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off in + his face. Then she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside + him, crying, 'Dick, you aren't hurt, are you? I didn't mean it.' + + 'Of course you didn't, said Dick, coming out of the smoke and wiping his + cheek. 'But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings awfully.' A + neat little splash of gray led on a stone showed where the bullet had + gone. Maisie began to whimper. + + 'Don't,' said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. 'I'm not a + bit hurt.' + + 'No, but I might have killed you,' protested Maisie, the corners of her + mouth drooping. 'What should I have done then?' + + 'Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.' Dick grinned at the thought; then, + softening, 'Please don't worry about it. Besides, we are wasting time. + + We've got to get back to tea. I'll take the revolver for a bit.' + + Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick's + indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol, + restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically + bombarded the breakwater. 'Got it at last!' he exclaimed, as a lock of + weed flew from the wood. + + 'Let me try,' said Maisie, imperiously. 'I'm all right now.' + + They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook itself + to pieces, and Amomma the outcast--because he might blow up at any + moment--browsed in the background and wondered why stones were thrown at + him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool which was + commanded by the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat down + together before this new target. + + 'Next holidays,' said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver kicked + wildly in his hand, 'we'll get another pistol,--central fire,--that will + carry farther.' + + 'There won't b any next holidays for me,' said Maisie. 'I'm going away.' + + 'Where to?' + + 'I don't know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and I've got to + be educated somewhere,--in France, perhaps,--I don't know where; but I + shall be glad to go away.' + + 'I shan't like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, Maisie, + is it really true you're going? Then these holidays will be the last I + shall see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I + wish----' + + The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking + grass-tufts and throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy + nodding all by itself to the illimitable levels of the mud-flats and the + milk-white sea beyond. + + 'I wish,' she said, after a pause, 'that I could see you again sometime. + + You wish that, too?' + + 'Yes, but it would have been better if--if--you had--shot straight over + there--down by the breakwater.' + + Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy who + only ten days before had decorated Amomma's horns with cut-paper + ham-frills and turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public + ways! Then she dropped her eyes: this was not the boy. + + 'Don't be stupid,' she said reprovingly, and with swift instinct + attacked the side-issue. 'How selfish you are! Just think what I should + have felt if that horrid thing had killed you! I'm quite miserable + enough already.' + + 'Why? Because you're going away from Mrs. Jennett?' + + 'No.' + + 'From me, then?' + + No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though + he did not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this + the more acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words. + + 'I don't know,' she said. 'I suppose it is.' + + 'Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing.' + + 'Let's go home,' said Maisie, weakly. + + But Dick was not minded to retreat. + + 'I can't say things,' he pleaded, 'and I'm awfully sorry for teasing you + about Amomma the other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't you + see? And you might have told me that you were going, instead of leaving + me to find out.' + + 'You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?' + + 'There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't + know how much I cared.' + + 'I don't believe you ever did care.' + + 'No, I didn't; but I do,--I care awfully now, Maisie,' he + gulped,--'Maisie, darling, say you care too, please.' + + 'I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use.' + + 'Why?' + + 'Because I am going away.' + + 'Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say--will you?' A second + 'darling' came to his lips more easily than the first. There were few + endearments in Dick's home or school life; he had to find them by + instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of + the revolver. + + 'I promise,' she said solemnly; 'but if I care there is no need for + promising.' + + 'And do you care?' For the first time in the past few minutes their eyes + met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech. . . . + + 'Oh, Dick, don't! Please don't! It was all right when we said + good-morning; but now it's all different!' Amomma looked on from afar. + + He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen + kisses exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its + head approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it + was the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that + either had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every + one of them glorious, so that they were lifted above the consideration + of any worlds at all, especially those in which tea is necessary, and + sat still, holding each other's hands and saying not a word. + + 'You can't forget now,' said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek + that stung more than gunpowder. + + 'I shouldn't have forgotten anyhow,' said Maisie, and they looked at + each other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour + ago to a wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began + to set, and a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. + + 'We shall be awfully late for tea,' said Maisie. 'Let's go home.' + + 'Let's use the rest of the cartridges first,' said Dick; and he helped + Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,--a descent that she was + quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took the + grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and + Dick blushed. + + 'It's very pretty,' he said. + + 'Pooh!' said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She stood + close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired over + the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was + protecting Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across + the mud caught the last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red + disc. The light held Dick's attention for a moment, and as he raised his + revolver there fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in that + he was standing by Maisie who had promised to care for him for an + indefinite length of time till such date as---- A gust of the growing + wind drove the girl's long black hair across his face as she stood with + her hand on his shoulder calling Amomma 'a little beast,' and for a + moment he was in the dark,--a darkness that stung. The bullet went + singing out to the empty sea. + + 'Spoilt my aim,' said he, shaking his head. 'There aren't any more + cartridges; we shall have to run home.' But they did not run. They + walked very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of indifference to + them whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges in his + inside blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden + heritage and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their + years. + + 'And I shall be----' quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he checked himself: 'I + don't know what I shall be. I don't seem to be able to pass any exams, + but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. Ho! Ho!' + + 'Be an artist, then,' said Maisie. 'You're always laughing at my trying + to draw; and it will do you good.' + + 'I'll never laugh at anything you do,' he answered. 'I'll be an artist, + and I'll do things.' + + 'Artists always want money, don't they?' + + 'I've got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My guardians + tell me I'm to have it when I come of age. That will be enough to begin + with.' + + 'Ah, I'm rich,' said Maisie. 'I've got three hundred a year all my own + when I'm twenty-one. That's why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than she is + to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody that belonged to me,--just a + father or a mother.' + + 'You belong to me,' said Dick, 'for ever and ever.' + + 'Yes, we belong--for ever. It's very nice.' She squeezed his arm. The + kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could only + just see the profile of Maisie's cheek with the long lashes veiling the + gray eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had + been boggling over for the last two hours. + + 'And I--love you, Maisie,' he said, in a whisper that seemed to him to + ring across the world,--the world that he would to-morrow or the next + day set out to conquer. + + There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, when + Mrs. Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful + unpunctuality, and secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden + weapon. + + 'I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,' said Dick, when the + powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, 'but if you think you're + going to lick me you're wrong. You are never going to touch me again. + + Sit down and give me my tea. You can't cheat us out of that, anyhow.' + + Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but + encouraged Dick with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that + evening. Mrs. Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence and + a descent into Tophet later, but Dick walked in Paradise and would not + hear. Only when he was going to bed Mrs. Jennett recovered and asserted + herself. He had bidden Maisie good-night with down-dropped eyes and from + a distance. + + 'If you aren't a gentleman you might try to behave like one,' said Mrs. + + Jennett, spitefully. 'You've been quarrelling with Maisie again.' + + This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, + white to the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of + indifference, and was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room + red as fire. That night he dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the + world and brought it to Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she turned it + over with her foot, and, instead of saying 'Thank you,' cried-- + 'Where is the grass collar you promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you + are!'? + +CHAPTER II + +Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew, +When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two, +Ridin', ridin', ridin', two an' two, +Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, +All the way to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two. + +--Barrack-Room Ballad. + +'I'M NOT angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few +thousand of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn't be in such +a hurry to get at their morning papers then. Can't you imagine the +regulation householder--Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, +Paterfamilias, and all that lot--frizzling on hot gravel?' + +'With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man +here a needle? I've got a piece of sugar-sack.' + +'I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both my +knees are worn through.' + +'Why not six square acres, while you're about it? But lend me the needle, +and I'll see what I can do with the selvage. I don't think there's enough to +protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. What are you doing +with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?' + +'Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,' said Dick, +gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn +riding-breeches and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most +obvious open space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the void +developed itself. + +'Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for +that whale-boat.' + +A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into +exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of +the tattered breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel +shirt, went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the +sketch. + +Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted +with English soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their +clothes. A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, and +flour- and small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the +whale-boats had been compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental +carpenter was swearing aloud as he tried, on a wholly insufficient +allowance of white lead, to plaster up the sun-parched gaping seams of +the boat herself. + +'First the bloomin' rudder snaps,' said he to the world in general; 'then +the mast goes; an' then, s' 'help me, when she can't do nothin' else, she +opens 'erself out like a cock-eyes Chinese lotus.' + +'Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,' said the tailor, +without looking up. 'Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop again.' + +There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it +raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half a +mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would +drive the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent +of Nile mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next few +miles would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass. The desert +ran down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black +hillocks, a camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose +touch of the slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks +past, and throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid +had followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the +rank and file had long since lost all count of direction and very nearly of +time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do +something, they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the +other end of it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town called +Khartoum. There were columns of British troops in the desert, or in one +of the many deserts; there were yet more columns waiting to embark on +the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at Assioot and Assuan; there +were lies and rumours running over the face of the hopeless land from +Suakin to the Sixth Cataract, and men supposed generally that there +must be some one in authority to direct the general scheme of the many +movements. The duty of that particular river-column was to keep the +whale-boats afloat in the water, to avoid trampling on the villagers' crops +when the gangs 'tracked' the boats with lines thrown from midstream, to +get as much sleep and food as was possible, and, above all, to press on +without delay in the teeth of the churning Nile. + +With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the +newspapers, and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But +it was above all things necessary that England at breakfast should be +amused and thrilled and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or +half the British army went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign +was a picturesque one, and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and +again a 'Special' managed to get slain,--which was not altogether a +disadvantage to the paper that employed him,--and more often the +hand-to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of miraculous escapes which +were worth telegraphing home at eighteenpence the word. There were +many correspondents with many corps and columns,--from the veterans +who had followed on the heels of the cavalry that occupied Cairo in '82, +what time Arabi Pasha called himself king, who had seen the first +miserable work round Suakin when the sentries were cut up nightly and +the scrub swarmed with spears, to youngsters jerked into the business at +the end of a telegraph-wire to take the places of their betters killed or +invalided. + +Among the seniors--those who knew every shift and change in the +perplexing postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest +Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk a +telegraph-clerk into amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of a newly +appointed staff-officer when press regulations became burdensome--was +the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed Torpenhow. He +represented the Central Southern Syndicate in the campaign, as he had +represented it in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. The syndicate did not +concern itself greatly with criticisms of attack and the like. It supplied +the masses, and all it demanded was picturesqueness and abundance of +detail; for there is more joy in England over a soldier who +insubordinately steps out of square to rescue a comrade than over twenty +generals slaving even to baldness at the gross details of transport and +commissariat. + +He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently +abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of +shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain. + +'What are you for?' said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent +is that of the commercial traveller on the road. + +'My own hand,' said the young man, without looking up. 'Have you any +tobacco?' + +Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked +at it said, 'What's your business here?' + +'Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm supposed to be doing something +down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in charge of the +condenser on one of the water-ships. I've forgotten which.' + +'You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,' said Torpenhow, and took +stock of the new acquaintance. 'Do you always draw like that?' + +The young man produced more sketches. 'Row on a Chinese pig-boat,' + +said he, sententiously, showing them one after another.--'Chief mate +dirked by a comprador.--Junk ashore off Hakodate.--Somali muleteer +being flogged.--Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.--Slave-dhow +being chased round Tajurrah Bah.--Soldier lying dead in the moonlight +outside Suakin.--throat cut by Fuzzies.' + +'H'm!' said Torpenhow, 'can't say I care for Verestchagin-and-water +myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are +you?' + +'No. I'm amusing myself here.' + +Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. 'Yes, you're right +to take your first chance when you can get it.' + +He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled +across the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, 'Got man +here, picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress +with sketches.' + +The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, 'I knew +the chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they'll have to sweat for +it if I come through this business alive!' + +In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that the +Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying +expenses for three months. 'And, by the way, what's your name?' said +Torpenhow. + +'Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?' + +'They've taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. You'd better +stick to me. I'm going up-country with a column, and I'll do what I can +for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I'll send 'em +along.' To himself he said, 'That's the best bargain the Central southern +has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.' + +So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and +arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New and +Honourable Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the +inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much +for it as Providence and their owners shall please. To these things are +added in time, if the brother be worthy, the power of glib speech that +neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, +the eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a bullock, +the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability to all +circumstances. But many die before they attain to this degree, and the +past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes when +they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the multitude. + +Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter's fancy chose to lead him, +and between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost +satisfied themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its +influence the two were drawn ver closely together, for they ate from the +same dish, they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie of all, +their mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make +gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second +Cataract, and, while the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed himself of +some laboriously acquired exclusive information, forwarded by a +confiding correspondent of an opposition syndicate, made a careful +duplicate of the matter, and brought the result to Torpenhow, who said +that all was fair in love or war correspondence, and built an excellent +descriptive article from his rival's riotous waste of words. It was +Torpenhow who--but the tale of their adventures, together and apart, +from Philae to the waste wilderness of Herawi and Muella, would fill +many books. They had been penned into a square side by side, in deadly +fear of being shot by over-excited soldiers; they had fought with +baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had jogged along in silence under +blinding sun on indefatigable little Egyptian horses; and they had +floundered on the shallows of the Nile when the whale-boat in which they +had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock and rip out half her +bottom-planks. + +Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were +bringing up the remainder of the column. + +'Yes,' said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his +over-long-neglected gear, 'it has been a beautiful business.' + +'The patch or the campaign?' said Dick. 'Don't think much of either, +myself.' + +'You want the Euryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don't you? +and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I'm quite satisfied with my +breeches.' He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner +of a clown. + +'It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. Government +Bullock Train. That's a sack from India.' + +'It's my initials,--Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on purpose. + +What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?' Torpenhow +shaded his eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. + +A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms +and accoutrements. + +'"Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,"' remarked Dick, calmly. + +'D'you remember the picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy +it. That scrub's alive with enemy.' + +The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and +a hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the +column had wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. As +swiftly as a reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn +ridges and scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with armed men. + +Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout and +gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long story. The +camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little +breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on +the sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up +within shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied +of all save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased +his outcries, and his friends howled. + +'They look like the Mahdi's men,' said Torpenhow, elbowing himself into +the crush of the square; 'but what thousands of 'em there are! The tribes +hereabout aren't against us, I know.' + +'Then the Mahdi's taken another town,' said Dick, 'and set all these +yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.' + +'Our scouts should have told us of this. We've been trapped,' said a +subaltern. 'Aren't the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you +men!' + +There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting +against the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that +whoso was left outside when the fighting began would very probably die +in an extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound +camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the +square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll of rising +ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and there was +no novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and stifling +formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike rush of the +enemy, the same pressure on the weakest side, the few minutes of +hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken only by +the yells of those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to purse. They +had become careless. The camel-guns spoke at intervals, and the square +slouched forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the +attack of three thousand men who had not learned from books that it is +impossible for troops in close order to attack against breech-loading fire. + +A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, +but the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed +with the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there is +always much war, told them that the right flank of the square was the +weakest, for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled them +as they passed and opened for an instant lanes through their midst, most +like those quick-closing vistas in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the +train races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held till the opportune +moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No civilised troops in +the world could have endured the hell through which they came, the +living leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, the +wounded cursing and staggering forward, till they fell--a torrent black as +the sliding water above a mill-dam--full on the right flank of the square. + +Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead +went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground ant +the tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing interest, for +men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these things, +counting mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble and +branch. There was no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught the +men knew, the enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square at +once. Their business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to bayonet +in the back those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag down the +slayer till he could be knocked on the head by some avenging gun-butt. + +Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew +unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack was +repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest side +of the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough of +the stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or forty +others, dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right flank of the +square sucked in after them, and the other sides sent help. The wounded, +who knew that they had but a few hours more to live, caught at the +enemy's feet and brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded +rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the square. + +Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his +helmet, that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face +which forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that +Torpenhow had gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to 'collar +low,' and was turning over and over with his captive, feeling for the +man's eyes. The doctor jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a +helmetless soldier fired over Dick's shoulder: the flying grains of powder +stung his cheek. It was to Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The +representative of the Central Southern Syndicate had shaken himself +clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his thumb on his trousers. The Arab, +both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then snatched up his spear +and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting under shelter of Dick's +revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped limply. His upturned +face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but cheers mingled +with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If the heart of the +square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher's shop. Dick +thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of the +enemy were retiring, as the few--the very few--English cavalry rode +down the laggards. + +Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside +in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the +illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and turned +it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, 'Ah, get away, you +brute!' Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the desert. His eye +was held by the red spash in the distance, and the clamour about him +seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like the whisper of a +level sea. There was the revolver and the red light. . . . and the voice of +some one scaring something away, exactly as had fallen somewhere +before,--a darkness that stung. He fired at random, and the bullet went +out across the desert as he muttered, 'Spoilt my aim. There aren't any +more cartridges. We shall have to run home.' He put his hand to his head +and brought it away covered with blood. + +'Old man, you're cut rather badly,' said Torpenhow. 'I owe you +something for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can't be ill +here.' + +Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the +whale-boats, a black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the +sand-bar and shouted that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,--was +dead,--was dead,--that two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside +the city, and that of all their crews there remained not one; and +Khartoum was dead,--was dead,--was dead! + +But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to +the restless Nile for Maisie,--and again Maisie!? + +'Behold a phenomenon,' said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. 'Here +is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman +only. And I've seen a good deal of delirium, too.--Dick, here's some fizzy +drink.' + +'Thank you, Maisie,' said Dick. + +CHAPTER III + +So he thinks he shall take to the sea again +For one more cruise with his buccaneers, +To singe the beard of the King of Spain, +And capture another Dean of Jaen +And sell him in Algiers.--A Dutch Picture. Longfellow + +THE SOUDAN campaign and Dick's broken head had been some months +ended and mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a +certain sum on account for work done, which work they were careful to +assure him was not altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the +letter into the Nile at Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade +a warm farewell to Torpenhow at the station. + +'I am going to lie up for a while and rest,' said Torpenhow. 'I don't know +where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we shall meet. + +Are you starying here on the off-chance of another row? There will be +none till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark that. + +Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money's spent; and give me +your address.' + +Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,--especially +Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in all, +but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the vices in all +the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the heart of that +sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long above the Bitter +Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and women you have +known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters more riotous than +respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and boarded many ships, +and saw very many friends,--gracious Englishwomen with whom he had +talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd's Hotel, hurrying war +correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships employed in the +campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less reputable trades. + +He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and the +advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong excitement, +at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. For +recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing sands, +the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals where the English +soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and colour all that +Providence sent him, and when that supply was ended sought about for +fresh material. It was a fascinating employment, but it ran away with his +money, and he had drawn in advance the hundred and twenty pounds to +which he was entitled yearly. 'Now I shall have to work and starve!' + +thought he, and was addressing himself to this new fate when a +mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, which said, +'Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.' + +A large smile overspread his face. 'So soon! that's a good hearing,' said +he to himself. 'There will be an orgy to-night. I'll stand or fall by my +luck. Faith, it's time it came!' He deposited half of his funds in the hands +of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and ordered +himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was shaking with +drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically-- +'Monsieur needs a chair, of course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; +Monsieur amuses himself strangely.' + +Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. 'I +understand,' he quavered. 'We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, +as I have been.' Dick nodded. 'In the end,' said Binat, with gravity, +'Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.' And he +laughed. + +'You must come to the dance, too,' said Dick; 'I shall want you.' + +'For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my +degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. Or +at least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.' The excellent Binat began +to kick and scream. + +'All things are for sale in Port Said,' said Madame. 'If my husband comes +it will be so much more. Eh, 'how you call--'alf a sovereign.' + +The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled +courtyard at the back of Madame Binat's house. The lady herself, in +faded mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played +the piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked +Zanzibari girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat sat +upon a chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the +dance and the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink that took the +place of blood in his veins, and his face glistened. Dick took him by the +chin brutally and turned that face to the light. Madame Binat looked +over her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned against the +wall and sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began to smell, and +the girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground. Then he +shut his book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking feebly at his +elbow. 'Show me,' he whimpered. 'I too was once an artist, even I!' Dick +showed him the rough sketch. 'Am I that?' he screamed. 'Will you take +that away with you and show all the world that it is I,--Binat?' He +moaned and wept. + +'Monsieur has paid for all,' said Madame. 'To the pleasure of seeing +Monsieur again.' + +The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the +nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. 'If the luck holds, it's +an omen; if I lose, I must stay here.' He placed his money picturesquely +about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held. + +Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went +down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed +cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his +pocket than he cared to think about. + +A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for +summer was in England. + +'It's a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn't the knack of altering much,' Dick +thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. 'Now, what must I +do?' + +The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless +streets and at the appalling rush of traffic. 'Oh, you rabbit-hutches!' said +he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached residences. 'Do +you know what you've got to do later on? You have to supply me with +men-servants and maid-servants,'--here he smacked his lips,--'and the +peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I'll clothes and boots, and presently +I will return and trample on you.' He stepped forward energetically; he +saw that one of his shoes was burst at the side. As he stooped to make +investigations, a man jostled him into the gutter. 'All right,' he said. + +'That's another nick in the score. I'll jostle you later on.' + +Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with the +certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with only +fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, and +lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost +audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at +all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate +for Torpenhow's address, and got it, with the intimation that there was +still some money waiting for him. + +'How much?' said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. + +'Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to you, +of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle accounts +monthly.' + +'If I show that I want anything now, I'm lost,' he said to himself. 'All I +need I'll take later on.' Then, aloud, 'It's hardly worth while; and I'm +going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and I'll see +about it.' + +'But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your +connection with us?' + +Dick's business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the speaker +keenly. 'That man means something,' he said. 'I'll do no business till I've +seen Torpenhow. There's a big deal coming.' So he departed, making no +promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And that day was the +seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with awful +distinctness, had thirty-one days in it!? + +It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to exist for +twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the +experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid seven shillings +a week for his lodging, which left him rather less than a shilling a day for +food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase was of the materials of his +craft; he had been without them too long. Half a day's investigations and +comparison brought him to the conclusion that sausages and mashed +potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best food. Now, sausages once or +twice a week for breakfast are not unpleasant. As lunch, even, with +mashed potatoes, they become monotonous. At dinner they are +impertinent. At the end of three days Dick loathed sausages, and, going, +forth, pawned his watch to revel on sheep's head, which is not as cheap +as it looks, owing to the bones and the gravy. Then he returned to +sausages and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself entirely to +mashed potatoes for a day, and was unhappy because of pain in his +inside. Then he pawned his waistcoat and his tie, and thought regretfully +of money thrown away in times past. There are few things more edifying +unto Art than the actual belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick in his few walks +abroad,--he did not care for exercise; it raised desires that could not be +satisfied--found himself dividing mankind into two classes,--those who +looked as if they might give him something to eat, and those who looked +otherwise. 'I never knew what I had to learn about the human face +before,' he thought; and, as a reward for his humility, Providence caused +a cab-driver at a sausage-shop where Dick fed that night to leave half +eaten a great chunk of bread. Dick took it,--would have fought all the +world for its possession,--and it cheered him. + +The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with +impatience, he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to +Torpenhow's address and smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the +corridors of the chambers. Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick +burst into his room, to be received with a hug which nearly cracked his +ribs, as Torpenhow dragged him tot he light and spoke of twenty +different things in the same breath. + +'But you're looking tucked up,' he concluded. + +'Got anything to eat?' said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. + +'I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?' + +'No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed +horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.' + +'Now, what lunacy has been your latest?' + +Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened +his coat; there was no waistcoat below. 'I ran it fine, awfully fine, but +I've just scraped through.' + +'You haven't much sense, but you've got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and +talk afterwards.' Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could +gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as +men smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco. + +'Ouf!' said he. 'That's heavenly! Well?' + +'Why in the world didn't you come to me?' + +'Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of +superstition that this temporary starvation--that's what it was, and it +hurt--would bring me luck later. It's over and done with now, and none +of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What's the exact +state of affairs as regards myself?' + +'You had my wire? You've caught on here. People like your work +immensely. I don't know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh +touch and a new way of drawing things. And, because they're chiefly +home-bred English, they say you have insight. You're wanted by half a +dozen papers; you're wanted to illustrate books.' + +Dick grunted scornfully. + +'You're wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to the +dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment. + +Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?' + +'They're a remarkably sensible people.' + +'They are subject to fits, if that's what you mean; and you happen to be +the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what they +call Art. Just now you're a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you +please. I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you +here, and I have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches +you gave me from time to time. Those coming after your work on the +Central Southern Syndicate appear to have done your business. You're +in luck.' + +'Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about the +world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I'll luck 'em later on. I want a +place to work first.' + +'Come here,' said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. 'This place is a big +box room really, but it will do for you. There's your skylight, or your +north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to thrash +about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?' + +'Good enough,' said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a +third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A +pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of +the place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three more to +Torpenhow's room. The well of the staircase disappeared into darkness, +pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking and doors +slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom. + +'Do they give you a free hand here?' said Dick, cautiously. He was +Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty. + +'Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent +tenants for the most part here. 'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a +Young Men's Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms +for you when I wired.' + +'You're a great deal too kind, old man.' + +'You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you?' Torpenhow +put his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the +room, henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent +communion. They heard rapping at Torpenhow's door. 'That's some +ruffian come up for a drink,' said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice +cheerily. There entered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged +gentleman in a satin-faced frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and +there were deep pouches under the eyes. + +'Weak heart,' said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, 'very weak +heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.' + +The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern +Syndicate and 'one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr. + +Heldar. I assure you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely +indebted to you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won't forget that we were +largely instrumental in bringing you before the public.' He panted +because of the seven flights of stairs. + +Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on +his cheek. + +'I shan't forget,' said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him. + +'You've paid me so well that I couldn't, you know. By the way, when I +am settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. There +must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.' + +'That is er--is what I came to speak about. I fear we can't allow it +exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the +sketches are our property, of course.' + +'Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?' + +'Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to +assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name and +the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of +material service to you. Sketches such as yours----' + +'Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you +dared. You can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they're all +I've got in the world!' + +Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled. + +Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock +in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of his +campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught +aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for +which Dick had not the least reverence. The injustice of the proceedings +did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in +other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong. + +But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and +when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained +sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife. + +'Forgive me, sir, but you have no--no younger man who can arrange this +business with me?' + +'I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to----' + +'You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.' + +The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was +leaning against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered +him to be good enough to do things. + +'Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,' said Torpenhow, critically; 'but +I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be +careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan.' + +'Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your +name before the world----' + +This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant +years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The +memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who +proposed to enjoy the fruit of those years. + +'I don't know quite what to do with you,' began Dick, meditatively. 'Of +course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case +you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides, it's +unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite yourself.' + +He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump +body beneath the coat. 'My goodness!' said he to Torpenhow, 'and this +gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the +black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet +dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This things' soft all over--like a +woman.' + +There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by +a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to +breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft +hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches +underneath the eyes, and shook his head. 'You were going to steal my +things,--mine, mine, mine!--you, who don't know when you may die. + +Write a note to your office,--you say you're the head of it,--and order +them to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of them. Wait a minute: +your hand's shaking. Now!' He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note +was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick +walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice +as he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow +returned with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, +'Now, I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I +have settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, +believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You haven't +very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,--get out!' The man +departed, staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: 'Phew! what a +lawless lot these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is gang +robbery, organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that +man's mind! Are my sketches all right, Torp?' + +'Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, you've +begun well.' + +'He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it +was everything to me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave him some +medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at the little +flurry it cost him. Now, let's look at my things.' + +Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was +deep in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over +and thought of the price at which they had been bought. + +The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and +saw Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. + +'I builded better than I knew, Torp,' he said, without stopping the dance. + +'They're good! They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I shall have +an exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man would have +cheated me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now that I didn't +actually hit him?' + +'Go out,' said Torpenhow,--'go out and pray to be delivered from the sin +of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from +whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to make this barn a little +more shipshape.' + +'And then--oh, then,' said Dick, still capering, 'we will spoil the +Egyptians!'? + +CHAPTER IV + +The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, +When the smoke of the cooking hung gray: +He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn, +And he looked to his strength for his prey. + +But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away. + +And he turned from his meal in the villager's close, +And he bayed to the moon as she rose.--In Seonee.? + +'WELL, and how does success taste?' said Torpenhow, some three +months later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the +country. + +'Good,' said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the studio. + +'I want more,--heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve of +these fat ones.' + +'Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.' + +Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep +on his chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, +and a lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose from +a wreck of oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, belts, +and regimental badges, and ended with a small bale of second-hand +uniforms and a stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet on the dais +showed that a military model had just gone away. The watery autumn +sunlight was falling, and shadows sat in the corners of the studio. + +'Yes,' said Dick, deliberately, 'I like the power; I like the fun; I like the +fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the people who make +the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they're a queer gang,--an +amazingly queer gang!' + +'They have been good enough to you, at any rate. Than tin-pot exhibition +of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers called it the +"Wild Work Show"?' + +'Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, +I believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone artist. + +I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or +scratched them on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and +colour. Verily, they are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn't the +word to describe 'em. I met a fellow the other day who told me that it +was impossible that shadows on white sand should be +blue,--ultramarine,--as they are. I found out, later, that the man had been +as far as Brighton beach; but he knew all about Art, confound him. He +gave me a lecture on it, and recommended me to go to school to learn +technique. I wonder what old Kami would have said to that.' + +'When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?' + +'I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal +magnetism. All he ever said was, "Continuez, mes enfants," and you had +to make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he knew +something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he could +never have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it was good.' + +'Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?' said Torpenhow, with a +provoking drawl. + +Dick squirmed in his place. 'Don't! It makes me want to get out there +again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and +brick-red and sulphur--cockatoo-crest--sulphur--against brown, with a +nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a decorative +frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise sky.' He +began to walk up and down. 'And yet, you know, if you try to give these +people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension and +according to the powers He has given you----' + +'Modest man! Go on.' + +'Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven't even been to Algiers +will tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that it +isn't Art. + +''This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you've been +promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.' + +'I couldn't help it,' said Dick, penitently. 'You weren't here, and it was +lonely these long evenings. A man can't work for ever.' + +'A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.' + +'I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they +were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,--but they wouldn't +draw. They gave me tea,--tea at five in the afternoon!--and talked about +Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. I've heard +more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than in the +whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for some +continental syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a regular +Christmas-tree of contraptions when he took the field in full fig, with his +water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, gig-lamps, and +the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and show us +how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except fudge his +reports from the Nilghai. See?' + +'Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up here +this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept clear +of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will unsettle +your mind.' + +'It won't. It has taught me what Art--holy sacred Art--means.' + +'You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?' + +'Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.' + +Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. 'Here's a sample of +real Art. It's going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I called it +"His Last Shot." It's worked up from the little water-colour I made +outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful rifleman, up +here with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I redrored him, +and I made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with his +helmet at the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his eye, and +the blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn't pretty, but +he was all soldier and very much man.' + +'Once more, modest child!' + +Dick laughed. 'Well, it's only to you I'm talking. I did him just as well as +I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then the +art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers wouldn't +like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,--man being naturally gentle +when he's fighting for his life. They wanted something more restful, with +a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but you might as well +talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my "Last Shot" back. Behold +the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without a speck on it. That is +Art. I polished his boots,--observe the high light on the toe. That is Art. I +cleaned his rifle,--rifles are always clean on service,--because that is Art. + +I pipeclayed his helmet,--pipeclay is always used on active service, and is +indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and gave him +an air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pattern-plate. Price, thank +Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was moderately +decent.' + +'And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?' + +'Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, home-bred +Art and Dickenson's Weekly.' + +Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, +delivered from rolling clouds: 'If you were only a mass of blathering +vanity, Dick, I wouldn't mind,--I'd let you go to the deuce on your own +mahl-stick; but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find that +to vanity you add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a twelve-year-old +girl, then I bestir myself in your behalf. Thus!' + +The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot shot through it, and the +terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. + +'If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue. + +You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take +liberties with his public, even though they be--which they ain't--all you +say they are.' + +'But they don't know any better. What can you expect from creatures +born and bred in this light?' Dick pointed to the yellow fog. 'If they want +furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they pay for it. + +They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.' + +'That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are +they people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They are +your masters. Don't be deceived, Dickie, you aren't strong enough to +trifle with them,--or with yourself, which is more important. + +Moreover,--Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn't going +anywhere,--unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the +damnation of the check-book, and that's worse than death. You will get +drunk--you-re half drunk already--on easily acquired money. For that +money and you own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn +out bad work. You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, +Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you +cut off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. That's +settled. Now swear.' + +'Don't know, said Dick. 'I've been trying to make myself angry, but I +can't, you're so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on +Dickenson's Weekly, I fancy.' + +'Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow +bleeding of power.' + +'It brings in the very desirable dollars,' said Dick, his hands in his +pockets. + +Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. 'Why, I thought it was a +man!' said he. 'It's a child.' + +'No, it isn't,' said Dick, wheeling quickly. 'You've no notion owhat the +certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly. + +Nothing will pay me for some of my life's joys; on that Chinese pig-boat, +for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, because +Ho-Wang wouldn't allow us anything better, and it all tasted of +pig,--Chinese pig. I've worked for this, I've sweated and I've starved for +this, line on line and month after month. And now I've got it I am going +to make the most of it while it lasts. Let them pay--they've no knowledge.' + +'What does Your Majesty please to want? You can't smoke more than +you do; you won't drink; you're a gross feeder; and you dress in the +dark, by the look of you. You wouldn't keep a horse the other day when I +suggested, because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross +the street you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose +that theatres and all the live things you can by thereabouts mean Life. + +What earthly need have you for money?' + +'It's there, bless its golden heart,' said Dick. 'It's there all the time. + +Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack 'em with. I +haven't yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I'm keeping my teeth filed. + +Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide earth.' + +'With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? +You would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn't go. I don't +care to profit by the price of a man's soul,--for that's what it would mean. + +Dick, it's no use arguing. You're a fool.' + +'Don't see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got credit +for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, when our +old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking those pigs +as a parallel----' + +'Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you +always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren't the +British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go out for +a walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the Nilghai comes +up this evening can I show him your diggings?' + +'Surely.' And Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly +gathering London fog. + +Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. He +was the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, and +his experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only his +ally, Keneu the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the craft +than he, and he always opened his conversation with the news that there +would be trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed as he +entered. + +'Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always +screeching. You've heard about Dick's luck?' + +'Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn't he? I hope you keep him +properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.' + +'He does. He's beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his +reputation.' + +'Already! By Jove, he has cheek! I don't know about his reputation, but +he'll come a cropper if he tries that sort of thing.' + +'So I told him. I don't think he believes it.' + +'They never do when they first start off. What's that wreck on the +ground there?' + +'Specimen of his latest impertinence.' Torpenhow thrust the torn edges of +the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the Nilghai, +who looked at it for a moment and whistled. + +'It's a chromo,' said he,--'a chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What +possessed him to do it? And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note +that catches a public who think with their boots and read with their +elbows! The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost saves it; but he +mustn't go on with this. Hasn't he been praised and cockered up too +much? You know these people here have no sense of proportion. They'll +call him a second Detaille and a third-hand Meissonier while his fashion +lasts. It's windy diet for a colt.' + +'I don't think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young wolf a +lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a shin-bone. + +Dick's soul is in the bank. He's working for cash.' + +'Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn't see that the +obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are +changed.' + +'How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.' + +'Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there's any virtue in +print. He wants the whiplash.' + +'Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him myself, but I like him too +much.' + +'I've no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a woman +at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.' + +'Did he cut you out?' + +'You'll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, what's the good? +Leave him alone and he'll come home, if he has any stuff in him, +dragging or wagging his tail behind him. There's more in a week of life +than in a lively weekly. None the less I'll slate him. I'll slate him +ponderously in the Cataclysm.' + +'Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make +Dick wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across him. + +He's intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.' + +'Matter of temper,' said the Nilghai. 'It's the same with horses. Some you +wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and some you +wallop and they go out for a walk with their hands in their pockets.' + +'That's exactly what Dick has done,' said Torpenhow. 'Wait till he comes +back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating here. I'll show you +some of his last and worst work in his studio.' + +Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood of +mind. He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of +the Thames through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by +thinking of Torpenhow's advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the +study of the faces flocking past. Some had death written on their +features, and Dick marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and +coarse-built for the most part, were alight with love; others were merely +drawn and lined with work; but there was something, Dick knew, to be +made out of them all. The poor at least should suffer that he might learn, +and the rich should pay for the output of his learning. Thus his credit in +the world and his cash balance at the bank would be increased. So much +the better for him. He had suffered. Now he would take toll of the ills of +others. + +The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red +wafer, on the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of the +tide between the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low tide. A girl +hard pressed by her lover shouted shamelessly, 'Ah, get away, you beast!' + +and a shift of the same wind that had opened the fog drove across Dick's +face the black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth below the wall. He +was blinded for the moment, then spun round and found himself face to +face with--Maisie. + +There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but +they had not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the +firmly modelled mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of old, +she wore a closely fitting gray dress. + +Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own +command, Dick, advancing, said 'Halloo!' after the manner of +schoolboys, and Maisie answered, 'Oh, Dick, is that you?' Then, against +his will, and before the brain newly released from considerations of the +cash balance had time to dictate to the nerves, every pulse of Dick's body +throbbed furiously and his palate dried in his mouth. The fog shut down +again, and Maisie's face was pearl-white through it. No word was +spoken, but Dick fell into step at her side, and the two paced the +Embankment together, keeping the step as perfectly as in their afternoon +excursions to the mud-flats. Then Dick, a little hoarsely-- +'What has happened to Amomma?' + +'He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. Isn't +it funny?' + +'Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?' + +'Ye--es. No. This. Where have you come from?' + +'Over there,' He pointed eastward through the fog. 'And you?' + +'Oh, I'm in the north,--the black north, across all the Park. I am very +busy.' + +'What do you do?' + +'I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do.' + +'Why, what's happened? You had three hundred a year.' + +'I have that still. I am painting; that's all.' + +'Are you alone, then?' + +'There's a girl living with me. Don't walk so fast, Dick; you're out of +step.' + +'Then you noticed it too?' + +'Of course I did. You're always out of step.' + +'So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the painting?' + +'Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton's in St. + +John's Wood, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,--I mean I went to the +National,--and now I'm working under Kami.' + +'But Kami is in Paris surely?' + +'No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in +the summer, and I live in London in the winter. I'm a householder.' + +'Do you sell much?' + +'Now and again, but not often. There is my 'bus. I must take it or lose +half an hour. Good-bye, Dick.' + +'Good-bye, Maisie. Won't you tell me where you live? I must see you +again; and perhaps I could help you. I--I paint a little myself.' + +'I may be in the Park to-morrow, if there is no working light. I walk from +the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. But of +course I shall see you again.' She stepped into the omnibus and was +swallowed up by the fog. + +'Well--I--am--damned!' exclaimed Dick, and returned to the chambers. + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the stgudio +door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. + +'You'll be more damned when I'm done with you,' said the Nilghai, +upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a +sheaf of half-dry manuscript. 'Dick, it is of common report that you are +suffering from swelled head.' + +'Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little +Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.' + +'Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow +refuses from false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot-boilers in your +studio. They are simply disgraceful.' + +'Oho! that's it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you're wrong. You +can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, as a +P. and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I'm going to bed.' + +'H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here's the +peroration: "For work done without conviction, for power wasted on +trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate purpose of +winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven public----" +'That's "His Last Shot," second edition. Go on.' + +'----"public, there remains but one end,--the oblivion that is preceded by +toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. Heldar has +yet to prove himself out of danger.' + +'Wow--wow--wow--wow--wow!' said Dick, profanely. 'It's a clumsy ending +and vile journalese, but it's quite true. And yet,'--he sprang to his feet +and snatched at the manuscript,--'you scarred, deboshed, battered old +gladiator! you're sent out when a war begins, to minister to the blind, +brutal, British public's bestial thirst for blood. They have no arenas now, +but they must have special correspondents. You're a fat gladiator who +comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's seen. You stand on +precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an affable actress, a +devastating cyclone, or--mine own sweet self. And you presume to lecture +me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I'd caricature you in +four papers!' + +The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. + +'As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small--so!' The manuscript +fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. 'Go home, Nilghai,' + +said Dick; 'go home to your lonely little bed, and leave me in peace. I am +about to turn in till to-morrow.' + +'Why, it isn't seven yet!' said Torpenhow, with amazement. + +'It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,' said Dick, backing to the +studio door. 'I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want any +dinner.' + +The door shut and was locked. + +'What can you do with a man like that?' said the Nilghai. + +'Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.' + +At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. 'Is the Nilghai with you +still?' said a voice from within. 'Then tell him he might have condensed +the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: "Only the free are +bond, and only the bond are free." Tell him he's an idiot, Torp, and tell +him I'm another.' + +'All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty +stomach.' + +There was no answer. + +CHAPTER V + +'I have a thousand men,' said he, +'To wait upon my will, +And towers nine upon the Tyne, +And three upon the Till.'? + +'And what care I for you men,' said she, +'Or towers from Tyne to Till, +Sith you must go with me,' she said, +'To wait upon my will?' + +Sir Hoggie and the Fairies + +NEXT morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of +tobacco. + +'Well, madman, how d'you feel?' + +'I don't know. I'm trying to find out.' + +'You had much better do some work.' + +'Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too +much Ego in my Cosmos.' + +'Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?' + +'It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; +and now I'm going to work.' + +He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, +cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, rattled +through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went out +abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day. + +'This is positively indecent,' said Torpenhow, 'and the first time that +Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out that +he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally valuable. + +That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going +out of evenings. I must look to this.' He rang for the bald-headed old +housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. + +'Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?' + +'Never laid 'is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly 'e dined in; +but 'e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up 'ere after +theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen on +the top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, sir, +droppin' a walkin'-stick down five flights o' stairs an' then goin' down +four abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin', singin' + +"Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin,'"--not once or twice, but scores +o' times,--isn't charity to the other tenants. What I say is, "Do as you +would be done by." That's my motto.' + +'Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top floor isn't the quietest in the +house.' + +'I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an' he +laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a coloured +print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say is, "Never +look a gift-horse in the mouth." Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes 'aven't been +on him for weeks.' + +'Then it's all right,' said Torpenhow to himself. 'Orgies are healthy, and +Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making eyes I'm +not so certain,--Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums. They're +contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason.' + +Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the +spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered +the day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and +Maisie, white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years +seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour +of them! Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, +sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the +homeward race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and +Maisie sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before +the wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot +about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to +Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie +picking her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand and +her teeth firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the grass +between the mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The +pictures passed before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest. + +Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind +as it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that there +might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in the +forenoon. + +'There's a good working light now,' he said, watching his shadow +placidly. 'Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's +Maisie.' + +She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no +mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still +Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed +between them, because there had been none in the old days. + +'What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?' said Dick, as one +who was entitled to ask. + +'Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I left +it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.' + +'I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?' + +'A fancy head that wouldn't come right,--horrid thing!' + +'I don't like working over scraped paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain +comes up woolly as the paint dries.' + +'Not if you scrape properly.' Maisie waved her hand to illustrate her +methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. + +'You're as untidy as ever.' + +'That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.' + +'By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't think we've much altered in +anything. Let's see, though.' He looked at Maisie critically. The pale blue +haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the Park and +made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque above the +black hair, and the resolute profile. + +'No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I +fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?' + +Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to +Dick. + +'Wait a minute,' said he. 'That mouth is down at the corners a little. + +Who's been worrying you, Maisie?' + +'No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try +hard enough, and Kami says----' + +'"Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants." Kami is +depressing. I beg your pardon.' + +'Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better +and he'd let me exhibit this year.' + +'Not in this place, surely?' + +'Of course not. The Salon.' + +'You fly high.' + +'I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?' + +'I don't exhibit. I sell.' + +'What is your line, then?' + +'Haven't you heard?' Dick's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He +cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the +Marble Arch. 'Come up Oxford Street a little and I'll show you.' + +A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. + +'Some reproduction of my work inside,' he said, with suppressed +triumph. Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. 'You +see the sort of things I paint. D'you like it?' + +Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into +action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd. + +'They've chucked the off lead-'orse' said one to the other. ''E's tore up +awful, but they're makin' good time with the others. That lead-driver +drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunnin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse.' + +'Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,' was the answer. + +'No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all right.' + +Dick watched Maisie's face and swelled with joy--fine, rank, vulgar +triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the picture. + +That was something that she could understand. + +'And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!' she said at last, under her +breath. + +'Me,--all me!' said Dick, placidly. 'Look at their faces. It hits 'em. They +don't know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know. And I +know my work's right.' + +'Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!' + +'Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you think?' + +'I call it success. Tell me how you got it.' + +They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of his +own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman. + +From the beginning he told the tale, the I--I--I's flashing through the +records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie listened and +nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did not move her a +hair's-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, 'And that +gave me some notion of handling colour,' or light, or whatever it might +be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her breathless +across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his life before. + +And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great desire +to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, 'I understand. Go +on,'--to pick her up and carry her away with him, because she was +Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his right, and a +woman to be desired above all women. + +Then he checked himself abruptly. 'And so I took all I wanted,' he said, +'and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.' + +Maisie's tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of patient +toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken thought dealers +laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even +sarcastic, and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a few +bright spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but it wound +up with the oft repeated wail, 'And so you see, Dick, I had no success, +though I worked so hard.' + +Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not +hit the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had +happened yesterday. + +'Never mind,' he said. 'I'll tell you something, if you'll believe it.' The +words were shaping themselves of their own accord. 'The whole thing, +lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort +Keeling.' + +Maisie flushed a little. 'It's all very well for you to talk, but you've had +the success and I haven't.' + +'Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a bit +absurd, but5 those ten years never existed, and I've come back again. It +really is just the same. Can't you see? You're alone now and I'm alone. + +What's the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.' + +Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. + +'I understand,' she said slowly. 'But I've got my work to do, and I must +do it.' + +'Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.' + +'No, I couldn't. It's my work,--mine,--mine,--mine! I've been alone all my +life in myself, and I'm not going to belong to anybody except myself. I +remember things as well as you do, but that doesn't count. We were +babies then, and we didn't know what was before us. Dick, don't be +selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year. Don't take it +away from me.' + +'I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for speaking stupidly. I can't +expect you to throw up all your life just because I'm back. I'll go to my +own place and wait a little.' + +'But, Dick, I don't want you to--go--out of--my life, now you've just come +back.' + +'I'm at your orders; forgive me.' Dick devoured the troubled little face +with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not conceive +that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved her. + +'It's wrong of me,' said Maisie, more slowly than before; 'it's wrong and +selfish; but, oh, I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now I've +seen you again,--it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.' + +'Naturally. We belong.' + +'We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my +work that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing +things. You must.' + +'I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then you won't care to lose +sight of me altogether, and--you want me to help you in your work?' + +'Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I feel +so selfish. Can't things stay as they are? I do want your help.' + +'You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and +overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should +see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good +advice, and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?' + +Again there was triumph in Dick's eye. + +'It's too good of you,--much too good. Because you are consoling yourself +with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want to keep +you. Don't blame me later, please.' + +'I'm going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can +do no wrong. It isn't your selfishness that impresses me. It's your +audacity in proposing to make use of me.' + +'Pooh! You're only Dick,--and a print-shop.' + +'Very good: that's all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don't you, that I love +you? I don't want you to have any false notions about brothers and +sisters.' + +Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. + +'It's absurd, but--I believe. I wish I could send you away before you get +angry with me. But--but the girl that lives with me is red-haired, and an +impressionist, and all our notions clash.' + +'So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from to-day we shall be +laughing at this together.' + +Maisie shook her head mournfully. 'I knew you wouldn't understand, +and it will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, +and tell me what you see.' + +They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was +gathering, and it stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the +railings. Dick brought all his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to +bear on the eyes, mouth, and chin underneath the black velvet toque. + +'It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me,' he said. 'We've both nice +little wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now about +the future. I must come and see your pictures some day,--I suppose when +the red-haired girl is on the premises.' + +'Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such +heaps of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I +must get back to work.' + +'Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,' said Dick. 'Don't take my +word for anything I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you.' + +Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she was +out of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, 'I'm a +wretch,--a horrid, selfish wretch. But it's Dick, and Dick will +understand.' + +No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible +force meets the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even +as Dick thought. He tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in a +few weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a better way of +thinking. Then he remembered much too distinctly her face and all that +was written on it. + +'If I know anything of heads,' he said, 'there's everything in that face but +love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that chin and mouth won't be +won for nothing. But she's right. She knows what she wants, and she's +going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the people in the wide world, +to use me! But then she's Maisie. There's no getting over that fact; and +it's good to see her again. This business must have been simmering at the +back of my head for years. . . . She'll use me as I used Binat at Port Said. + +She's quite right. It will hurt a little. I shall have to see her every +Sunday,--like a young man courting a housemaid. She's sure to come +around; and yet--that mouth isn't a yielding mouth. I shall be wanting to +kiss her all the time, and I shall have to look at her pictures,--I don't even +know what sort of work she does yet,--and I shall have to talk about +Art,--Woman's Art! Therefore, particularly and perpetually, damn all +varieties of Art. It did me a good turn once, and now it's in my way. I'll +go home and do some Art.' + +Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The +figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. + +'She's all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, who +probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. + +Maisie's a bilious little body. They'll eat like lone women,--meals at all +hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the students in Paris used +to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I shan't be able to help. + +Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.' + +Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full +of the austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the +same oar together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of +toil. This is a good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, strife, +recrimination, and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, and is proof +against any absence and evil conduct. + +Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. He +thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to think of +anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at last was +an outlet for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie barbarically with +jewelry,--a thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets upon the +rounded arms, and rings of price upon her hands,--thie cool, temperate, +ringless hands that he had taken between his own. It was an absurd +thought, for Maisie would not even allow him to put one ring on one +finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings. It would be better to sit +with her quietly in the dusk, his arm around her neck and her face on his +shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. Torpenhow's boots creaked that +night, and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows contracted and he +murmured an evil word because he had taken all his success as a right +and part payment for past discomfort, and now he was checked in his +stride by a woman who admitted all the success and did not instantly +care for him. + +'I say, old man,' said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain +attempts at conversation, 'I haven't put your back up by anything I've +said lately, have I?' + +'You! No. How could you?' + +'Liver out of order?' + +'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a liver. I'm only a bit +worried about things in general. I suppose it's my soul.' + +'The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have +you with luxuries of that kind?' + +'It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands shouting +lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?' + +'He's right, whoever he is,--except about the misunderstanding. I don't +think we could misunderstand each other.' + +The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, +insinuatingly-- +'Dick, is it a woman?' + +'Be hanged if it's anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you +begin to talk like that, I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint +trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among +three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye +plush plasters, and I'll invite every woman who maunders over what her +guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive 'em, Torp,--in a +snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You'll +like that?' + +'Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and +swearing. You've overdone it, just as he did. It's no business of mine, of +course, but it's comforting to think that somewhere under the stars +there's saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it'll come +from heaven or earth, I don't know, but it's bound to come and break you +up a little. You want hammering.' + +Dick shivered. 'All right,' said he. 'When this island is disintegrated, it +will call for you.' + +'I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. + +We're talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.'? + +CHAPTER VI + +'And you may lead a thousand men, +Nor ever draw the rein, +But ere ye lead the Faery Queen +'Twill burst your heart in twain.'? + +He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar, +The bridle from his hand, +And he is bound by hand and foot +To the Queen o' Faery-land. + +Sir Hoggie and the Fairies. + +SOME weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across +the Park to his studio. 'This,' he said, 'is evidently the thrashing that +Torp meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no +wrong; and she certainly has some notion of drawing.' + +He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,--always under the green +eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate at +sight,--and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after +Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy +house north of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures, and then to +criticise and advise upon them as he realised that they were productions +on which advice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, and his love +grew with each visit, he had been compelled to cram his heart back from +between his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie several times and +very much indeed. Sunday after Sunday, the head above the heart had +warned him that Maisie was not yet attainable, and that it would be +better to talk as connectedly as possible upon the mysteries of the craft +that was all in all to her. Therefore it was his fate to endure weekly +torture in the studio built out over the clammy back garden of a frail +stuffy little villa where nothing was ever in its right place and nobody +every called,--to endure and to watch Maisie moving to and fro with the +teacups. He abhorred tea, but, since it gave him a little longer time in her +presence, he drank it devoutly, and the red-haired girl sat in an untidy +heap and eyed him without speaking. She was always watching him. + +Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him an +album that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,--the briefest +of hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying exhibitions. Dick +stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the open page. 'Oh, my +love, my love,' he muttered, 'do you value these things? Chuck 'em into +the waste-paper basket!' + +'Not till I get something better,' said Maisie, shutting the book. + +Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard for +the maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of these +coveted cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie should sign. + +'That's childish,' said Maisie, 'and I didn't think it of you. It must be my +work. Mine,--mine,--mine!' + +'Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers' houses. You are +thoroughly good at that.' Dick was sick and savage. + +'Better things than medallions, Dick,' was the answer, in tones that +recalled a gray-eyed atom's fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would +have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in. + +Next Sunday he laid at Maisie's feet small gifts of pencils that could +almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, +and he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, +among other things, an exposition of the faith that was in him. + +Torpenhow's hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency +with which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. + +A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was +Maisie's will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make +plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the +whys and wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing a +thing if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your +method. + +'I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,' said Dick, +despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would +not 'look flesh,'--it was the same chin that she had scraped out with the +palette knife,--'but I find it almost impossible to teach you. There's a +queer grin, Dutch touch about your painting that I like; but I've a notion +that you're weak in drawing. You foreshorten as though you never used +the model, and you've caught Kami's pasty way of dealing with flesh in +shadow. Then, again, though you don't know it yourself, you shirk hard +work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line lone. Line doesn't +allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches of flashy, tricky stuff +in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing off,--as I know. That's +immoral. Do line-work for a little while, and then I can tell more about +your powers, as old Kami used to say.' + +Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. + +'I know,' said Dick. 'You want to do your fancy heads with a bunch of +flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.' The red-haired girl +laughed a little. 'You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep in +grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than you +can do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour's a gift,--put +it aside and think no more about it,--but form you can be drilled into. + +Now, all your fancy heads--and some of them are very good--will keep +you exactly where you are. With line you must go forward or backward, +and it will show up all your weaknesses.' + +'But other people----' began Maisie. + +'You mustn't mind what other people do. If their souls were your soul, it +would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, and +it's waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.' + +Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came +back into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly as +words, Was it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas and +counsel and join hands with Life and Love? + +Maisie assented to the new programme of schooling so adorably that +Dick could hardly restrain himself from picking her up then and there +and carrying her off to the nearest registrar's office. It was the implicit +obedience to the spoken word and the blank indifference to the unspoken +desire that baffled and buffeted his soul. He held authority in that +house,--authority limited, indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in seven, +but very real while it lasted. Maisie had learned to appeal to him on +many subjects, from the proper packing of pictures to the condition of a +smoky chimney. The red-haired girl never consulted him about anything. + +On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and +watched him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment +were irregular and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, +and biscuit, as he had suspected from the beginning. The girls were +supposed to market week and week about, but they lived, with the help of +a charwoman, as casually as the young ravens. Maisie spent most of her +income on models, and the other girl revelled in apparatus as refined as +her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, dear-bought from the +Docks, Dick warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation meant the +crippling of power to work, which was considerably worse than death. + +Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and +drank. When his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the +long winter twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic +authority and his coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky +drawing-room chimney stung Dick like a whip-lash. + +He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, +till one Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a +study of Dick's head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, +and--quite as an afterthought--look at Maisie. He sat, because he could +not well refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all the +people in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his own +craft. He remembered Binat most distinctly,--that Binat who had once +been an artist and talked about degradation. + +It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented the +dumb waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement of +the man, in a spirit of bitter mockery. + +'I'll buy it,' said Dick, promptly, 'at your own price.' + +'My price is too high, but I dare say you'll be as grateful if----' The wet +sketch, fluttered from the girl's hand and fell into the ashes of the studio +stove. When she picked it up it was hopelessly smudged. + +'Oh, it's all spoiled!' said Maisie. 'And I never saw it. Was it like?' + +'Thank you,' said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he +removed himself swiftly. + +'How that man hates me!' said the girl. 'And how he loves you, Maisie!' + +'What nonsense? I knew Dick's very fond of me, but he had his work to +do, and I have mine.' + +'Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in +impressionism, after all. Maisie, can't you see?' + +'See? See what?' + +'Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as that +man looks at you, I'd--I don't know what I'd do. But he hates me. Oh, +how he hates me!' + +She was not altogether correct. Dick's hatred was tempered with +gratitude for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only +the sense of shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park in the +fog. 'There'll be an explosion one of these days,' he said wrathfully. 'But +it isn't Maisie's fault; she's right, quite right, as far as she knows, and I +can't blame her. This business has been going on for three months nearly. + +Three months!--and it cost me ten years' knocking about to get at the +notion, the merest raw notion, of my work. That's true; but then I didn't +have pins, drawing-pins, and palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday. + +Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very bad +time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I am now. I'll +poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,--she's +unwholesome,--and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp.' + +Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the +sin of levity, and Dick and listened and replied not a word. In the weeks +between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung himself +savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least know the full +stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she must not pay +the least attention to any work outside her own, and Maisie had obeyed +him all too well. She took his counsels, but was not interested in his +pictures. + +'Your things smell of tobacco and blood,' she said once. 'Can't you do +anything except soldiers?' + +'I could do a head of you that would startle you,' thought Dick,--this was +before the red-haired girl had brought him under the guillotine,--but he +only said, 'I am very sorry,' and harrowed Torpenhow's soul that +evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, insensibly and to a large +extent against his own will, he ceased to interest himself in his own work. + +For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him he +lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, since +Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to do anything at +all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. Torpenhow +was disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then attacked him one +Sunday evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after three hours' + +biting self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was Language, and +Torpenhow withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come it to talk +continental politics. + +'Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?' said the Nilghai. + +'It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool with a +woman.' + +'Isn't that bad enough?' + +'No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a +while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the +staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you +had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.' + +'No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned +fellow.' + +'He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't +storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush. + +You're fond of him?' + +'I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the worst +of it is, no man can save his brother.' + +'No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick must +learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be trouble in +the Balkans in the spring.' + +'That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there +when it comes off?' + +Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. + +'Not good enough,' he said shortly. 'I'm too comf'y where I am.' + +'Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?' said the +Nilghai. 'Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,--the public +will know your touch and go on to something new,--and where will you +be then?' + +'Here, in England.' + +'When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I +shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will be +there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as much as +ever we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you of seeing +things that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.' + +'Um!' said Dick, pulling at his pipe. + +'You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at your +pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own pursuits +and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look up +between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't the +least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or notoriety, +according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.' + +'I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.' + +'Be hanged if I do!' + +'Be hanged, then; you probably will be,--for a spy, by excited Turks. + +Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.' Dick +dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. + +'That's a bad sign,' said the Nilghai, in an undertone. + +Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to +burn, and put a pillow behind the head. 'We can't help; we can't help,' he +said. 'It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it. There's the +scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square.' + +'Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.' + +'I should. He's a most businesslike madman.' + +Then Dick began to snore furiously. + +'Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and go +and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it.' + +'When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,' said the Nilghai, in his +beard, 'I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural history.' + +Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches +he was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he +wondered he had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He would +seek Maisie on a week-day,--would suggest an excursion, and would take +her by train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two had +trodden together ten years ago. + +'As a general rule,' he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the +morning, 'it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one of +things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel said; but this is an exception +to every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once.' + +Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and +Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was +not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; +and it needed all his courage to explain his errand. + +'I know you've been working too hard,' he concluded, with an air of +authority. 'If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better come.' + +'Where?' said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel +too long, and was very tired. + +'Anywhere you please. We'll take a train to-morrow and see where it +stops. We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the +evening.' + +'If there's a good working light to-morrow, I lose a day.' Maisie balanced +the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. + +Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet +learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all. + +'You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working +light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll +call for you to-morrow after breakfast early.' + +'But surely you are going to ask----' + +'No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much +as I hate her. She won't care to come. To-morrow, then; and pray that +we get sunshine.' + +Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. + +He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great +gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired +into himself to consider things. + +'I'm going out for the day to-morrow with Dick,' said Maisie to the +red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the +Edgware road. + +'He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while +you're away. It's very dirty.' + +Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to +the little excitement, but not without misgivings. + +'There's nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly, she though, but +I'm sure he'll be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell him +anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be sensible, I should like him so +much better.' + +Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning +and saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the +hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, +were surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired +girl drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly. + +Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether +unused to these demonstrations. 'Mind my hat,' she said, hurrying away, +and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. + +'Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more +breakfast? Put the cloak over you knees.' + +'I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing +like that. People will think we're mad.' + +'Let 'em think,--if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know who +we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, you're +looking lovely!' + +Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a +keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, the +creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a +pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout +committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring. + +'It will be lovely weather in the country,' said Dick. + +'But where are we going?' + +'Wait and see.' + +The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the +fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the +waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the +booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put +her into a Pullman,--solely on account of the warmth there; and she +regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train +moved out into the country. + +'I wish I knew where we are going,' she repeated for the twentieth time. + +The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of +the run, and Maisie was delighted. + +'Oh, Dick, you villain!' + +'Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been +here since the old times, have you?' + +'No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was +ever there.' + +'Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the +potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when I +shut you up in it?' + +'Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.' + +'She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was +burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a +trusting nature in those days.' + +They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with +many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's +cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear +skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the +evening would bring him a great reward. + +When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new +eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. Jennett. + +'Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?' said Dick, with +mock terror. + +'I should make a face.' + +'Show, then,' said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. + +Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick +laughed. + +'"This is disgraceful,"' said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone. + +'"Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle for +the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three helps +every Sunday at dinner! Dick's always leading you into mischief. If you +aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at least--"' + +The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been +used. + +'"Try to behave like one,"' said Dick, promptly. 'Quite right. Now we'll +get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,--unless you'd rather drive +there?' + +'We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all is!' + +They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and the +influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed a +confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint +pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week. + +'Dick, have you any pennies?' said Maisie, half to herself. + +'Only three; and if you think you're going to have two of 'em to buy +peppermints with, you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't ladylike.' + +Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie's cheeks as +the blood boiled through Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went +down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land +that no builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter +breeze came in from the sea and sang about their ears. + +'Maisie,' said Dick, 'your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the tip. + +I'll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.' + +She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the +ulster allowed, till she was out of breath. + +'We used to run miles,' she panted. 'It's absurd that we can't run now.' + +'Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished to +pull you hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the top of +your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were meant to +call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and----' + +'Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.' + +'No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.' + +'Why, it's the same as ever!' said Maisie. + +Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed +and shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a +travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess +and polite conversation. + +'It's worse than anything I imagined,' said Torpenhow. + +'Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with +one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You can whip a +young pup off feather, but you can't whip a young man.' + +'It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl.' + +'Where's your proof?' + +'He got up and went out at eight this morning,--got up in the middle of +the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he's on service. + +Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the +fight began at El-Maghrib. It's disgusting.' + +'It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might get +up for that, mightn't he?' + +'Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in +the wind. It's a girl.' + +'Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman.' + +'Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven't. Who gets up in the gray +dawn to call on another man's wife? It's a girl.' + +'Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in +the world besides himself.' + +'She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, and she'll marry him, and +ruin his work for ever. He'll be a respectable married man before we can +stop him, and--he'll ever go on the long trail again.' + +'All quite possible, but the earth won't spin the other way when that +happens. . . . No! ho! I'd give something to see Dick "go wooing with the +boys." Don't worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can only +look on. Get the chessmen.'? + +The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the +ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew +indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was all one +long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut savagely +from time to time. + +The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her +door: 'Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, not to +say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an' disinfectink. + +Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though it would be +pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you what sort of soap +you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, +miss----' + +There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury +that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost +shouting-- +'Do you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!--any kind!' + +The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in +the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as +though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud. + +CHAPTER VII + +Roses red and roses white +Plucked I for my love's delight. + +She would none of all my posies,-- +Bade me gather her blue roses. + +Half the world I wandered through, +Seeking where such flowers grew; +Half the world unto my quest +Answered but with laugh and jest. + +It may be beyond the grave +She shall find what she would have. + +Mine was but an idle quest,-- +Roses white and red are best! -- Blue Roses.? + +THE SEA had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, and +the Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the white +beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered. + +'I don't see the old breakwater,' said Maisie, under her breath. + +'Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe +they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come +and look.' + +They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook sheltered +from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder cannon. + +'Now, if Ammoma were only here!' said Maisie. + +For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and +called her by her name. + +She shook her head and looked out to sea. + +'Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?' + +'No!' between clenched teeth. 'I'd--I'd tell you if it did; but it doesn't, Oh, +Dick, please be sensible.' + +'Don't you think that it ever will?' + +'No, I'm sure it won't.' + +'Why?' + +Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke +hurriedly-- +'I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it to you, Dick. It +isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I could care for any one---- +But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't understand what the feeling +means.' + +'Is that true, dear?' + +'You've been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you +back is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself quit +enough as it is.' + +'What in the world for?' + +'Because--because I take everything that you give me and I give you +nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of it +it worries me.' + +'Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if I +choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing to +reproach yourself with, darling.' + +'Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.' + +'Then don't talk about it.' + +'How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always +talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I +despise myself sometimes.' + +'Great goodness!' said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. 'Speak the truth +now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I--does this worrying bore +you?' + +'No. It does not.' + +'You'd tell me if it did?' + +'I should let you know, I think.' + +'Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a man +when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known that?' + +Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was +forced to repeat it. + +'There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was +in the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.' + +'Did you listen?' + +'At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used +to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud of +the praise, and tell Kami, and--I shall never forget--once Kami laughed +at me.' + +'You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?' + +'I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless--unless they do bad work. + +Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures generally,--of +everything of mine that you've seen.' + +'"Honest, honest, and honest over!"' quoted Dick from a catchword of +long ago. 'Tell me what Kami always says.' + +Maisie hesitated. 'He--he says that there is feeling in them.' + +'How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for +two years. I know exactly what he says.' + +'It isn't a fib.' + +'It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one +side,--so,--"Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti pris."' He rolled +the r threateningly, as Kami used to do. + +'Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is right.' + +'Certainly he is.' Dick admitted that two people in the world could do and +say no wrong. Kami was the man. + +'And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening.' + +'I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you too +much to pretend about your work. It's strong, it's patient sometimes,--not +always,--and sometimes there's power in it, but there's no special reason +why it should be done at all. At least, that's how it strikes me.' + +'There's no special reason why anything in the world should ever be +done. You know that as well as I do. I only want success.' + +'You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you +so?' + +'Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad, +to begin with.' + +'I didn't say that, and I don't think it.' + +'It's amateurish, then.' + +'That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your +boot-heels, and I respect you for that.' + +'You don't laugh at me behind my back?' + +'No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak +thing round you, or you'll get chilled.' + +Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray +kangaroo fur to the outside. + +'This is delicious,' she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully along the fur. + +'Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?' + +'Just because you try. Don't you understand, darling? Good work has +nothing to do with--doesn't belong to--the person who does it. It's put into +him or her from outside.' + +'But how does that affect----' + +'Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be +masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of +anything.' + +'I understand that.' + +'Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down +quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not do +something that isn't bad. A great deal depends on being master of the +bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think about +success and the effect of our work--to play with one eye on the +gallery--we lose power and touch and everything else. At least that's how +I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power you possess +to your work, you're fretting over something which you can neither help +no hinder by a minute. See?' + +'It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. Don't +you ever think about the gallery?' + +'Much too often; but I'm always punished for it by loss of power. It's as +simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using it for +our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we're the weaker, +we shall suffer.' + +'I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me.' + +'Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes for +yourself to one for your work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do exactly the +same thing, and know that I'm doing it. Most of the French schools, and +all the schools here, drive the students to work for their own credit, and +for the sake of their pride. I was told that all the world was interested in +my work, and everybody at Kami's talked turpentine, and I honestly +believed that the world needed elevating and influencing, and all manner +of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I actually believed that! When +my little head was bursting with a notion that I couldn't handle because I +hadn't sufficient knowledge of my craft, I used to run about wondering at +my own magnificence and getting ready to astonish the world.' + +'But surely one can do that sometimes?' + +'Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it's done it's +such a tiny thing, and the world's so big, and all but a millionth part of it +doesn't care. Maisie, come with me and I'll show you something of the +size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,--that goes +on by itself,--but try to see what you are working for. I know such little +heavens that I could take you to,--islands tucked away under the Line. + +You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as black +marble because it's so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains day after day +and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea's so lonely.' + +'Who is afraid?--you, or the sun?' + +'The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds +overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist +orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk. + +There's a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of +green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the +rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and +you order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock +with tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the +bees hum and the water fall till you go to sleep.' + +'Can one work there?' + +'Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a +palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When the scuffle you heave a ripe +custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There are +hundreds of places. Come and see them.' + +'I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.' + +'What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, with +raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on +honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in +a gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and +streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, till you +find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the market-place, +and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and spreads its +tail against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. Then a +monkey--a little black monkey--walks through the main square to get a +drink from a tank forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to the +water's edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should fall in.' + +'Is that all true?' + +'I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change +till it's just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A little before +sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, with all his +family following, trots through the city gate, churning the foam on his +tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind black stone god and watch +that pig choose himself a palace for the night and stump in wagging his +tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and the sands move, and you hear the +desert outside the city singing, "Now I lay me down to sleep," and +everything is dark till the moon rises. Maisie, darling, come with me and +see what the world is really like. It's very lovely, and it's very +horrible,--but I won't let you see anything horrid,--and it doesn't care +your life or mine for pictures or anything else except doing its own work +and making love. Come, and I'll show you how to brew sangaree, and +sling a hammock, and--oh, thousands of things, and you'll see for yourself +what colour means, and we'll find out together what love means, and +then, maybe, we shall be allowed to do some good work. Come away!' + +'Why?' said Maisie. + +'How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as +you can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You have +no business here; you don't belong to this place; you're half a +gipsy,--your face tells that; and I--even the smell of open water makes me +restless. Come across the sea and be happy!' + +He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking down +at the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, before +they knew, the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long ruled +lines of silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide was turning over +the mud-banks. The wind had dropped, and in the intense stillness they +could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass many yards away. A faint +beating, like that of a muffled drum, came out of the moon-haze. + +'What's that?' said Maisie, quickly. 'It sounds like a heart beating. + +Where is it?' + +Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could +not trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. Maisie +from her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear. + +She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her +with over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. She +was not prepared, however, for the change in his face as he listened. + +'It's a steamer,' he said,--'a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I can't make +her out, but she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah!' as the red of a +rocket streaked the haze, 'she's standing in to signal before she clears the +Channel.' + +'Is it a wreck?' said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. + +Dick's eyes were turned to the sea. 'Wreck! What nonsense! She's only +reporting herself. Red rocket forward--there's a green light aft now, and +two red rockets from the bridge.' + +'What does that mean?' + +'It's the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder +which steamer it is.' The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to be +talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight broke +the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer +working down Channel. 'Four masts and three funnels--she's in deep +draught, too. That must be the Barralong, or the Bhutia. No, the Bhutia +has a clopper bow. It's the Barralong, to Australia. She'll lift the +Southern Cross in a week,--lucky old tub!--oh, lucky old tub!' + +He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better +view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the +screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he +returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. 'Have you ever seen the +Southern Cross blazing right over your head?' he asked. 'It's superb!' + +'No,' she said shortly, 'and I don't want to. If you think it's so lovely, why +don't you go and see it yourself?' + +She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about her +throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray +kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest. + +'By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up there.' The +eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. 'I'm sorry,' he +continued. 'The Southern Cross isn't worth looking at unless someone +helps you to see. That steamer's out of hearing.' + +'Dick,' she said quietly, 'suppose I were to come to you now,--be quiet a +minute,--just as I am, and caring for you just as much as I do.' + +'Not as a brother, though You said you didn't--in the Park.' + +'I never had a brother. Suppose I said, "Take me to those places, and in +time, perhaps, I might really care for you," what would you do?' + +'Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I +wouldn't; I'd let you walk. But you couldn't do it, dear. And I wouldn't +run the risk. You're worth waiting for till you can come without +reservation.' + +'Do you honestly believe that?' + +'I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that +light?' + +'Ye--es. I feel so wicked about it.' + +'Wickeder than usual?' + +'You don't know all I think. It's almost too awful to tell.' + +'Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth--at least.' + +'It's so ungrateful of me, but--but, though I know you care for me, and I +like to have you with me, I'd--I'd even sacrifice you, if that would bring +me what I want.' + +'My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn't lead to good +work.' + +'You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise myself.' + +'I'm not exactly flattered,--I had guessed as much before,--but I'm not +angry. I'm sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a littleness like +that behind you, years ago.' + +'You've no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked for so +long. It came to you without any trouble, and--and I don't think it's fair.' + +'What can I do? I'd give ten years of my life to get you what you want. + +But I can't help you; even I can't help.' + +A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on-- +'And I know by what you have just said that you're on the wrong road to +success. It isn't got at by sacrificing other people,--I've had that much +knocked into me; you must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and +never think for yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work +except just at the beginning, when you're reaching out after a notion.' + +'How can you believe all that?' + +'There's no question of belief or disbelief. That's the law, and you take it +or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can't, and then my work +turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, four-fifths +of everybody's work must be bad. But the remnant is worth the trouble +for it's own sake.' + +'Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad work?' + +'It's much too nice. But---- May I tell you something? It isn't a pretty +tale, but you're so like a man that I forget when I'm talking to you.' + +'Tell me.' + +'Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we +had been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; +and we hadn't time to bury them.' + +'How ghastly!' + +'I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering +what people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught me a +good deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all colours, +and--I'd never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings before. So I +began to understand that men and women were only material to work +with, and that what they said or did was of no consequence. See? Strictly +speaking, you might just as well put your ear down to the palette to catch +what your colours are saying.' + +'Dick, that's disgraceful!' + +'Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must +be either a man or a woman.' + +'I'm glad you allow that much.' + +'In your case I don't. You aren't a woman. But ordinary people, Maisie, +must behave and work as such. That's what makes me so savage.' He +hurled a pebble towards the sea as he spoke. 'I know that it is outside my +business to care what people say; I can see that it spoils my output if I +listen to 'em; and yet, confound it all,'--another pebble flew seaward,--'I +can't help purring when I'm rubbed the right way. Even when I can see +on a man's forehead that he is lying his way through a clump of pretty +speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with my hand.' + +'And when he doesn't say pretty things?' + +'Then, belovedest,'--Dick grinned,--'I forget that I am the steward of +these gifts, and I want to make that man love and appreciate my work +with a thick stick. It's too humiliating altogether; but I suppose even if +one were an angel and painted humans altogether from outside, one +would lose in touch what one gained in grip.' + +Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. + +'But you seem to think,' she said, 'that everything nice spoils your hand.' + +'I don't think. It's the law,--just the same as it was at Mrs. Jennett's. + +Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I'm glad you see so clearly.' + +'I don't like the view.' + +'Nor I. But--have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to face +it alone?' + +'I suppose I must.' + +'Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to walk +straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than stumbling +apart. Maisie, can't you see reason?' + +'I don't think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, so +we should never agree.' + +'How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a +cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I'd make him chew his own arrow-heads. + +Well?' + +'I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my +work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I'm not fit to speak to.' + +'You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. D'you +suppose that I don't know the feeling of worry and bother and +can't-get-at-ness? You're lucky if you only have it four days out of the +seven. What difference would that make?' + +'A great deal--if you had it too.' + +'Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at +you. But there's no use talking about it. If you can think in that way you +can't care for me--yet.' + +The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples +broke on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. + +'Dick,' she said slowly, 'I believe very much that you are better than I +am.' + +'This doesn't seem to bear on the argument--but in what way?' + +'I don't quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and +then you're so patient. Yes, you're better than I am.' + +Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man's life. There +was nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted the +hem of the cloak to his lips. + +'Why,' said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, 'can you see +things that I can't? I don't believe what you believe; but you're right, I +believe.' + +'If I've seen anything, God knows I couldn't have seen it but for you, and +I know that I couldn't have said it except to you. You seemed to make +everything clear for a minute; but I don't practice what I preach. You +would help me. . . . There are only us two in the world for all purposes, +and--and you like to have me with you?' + +'Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!' + +'Darling, I think I can.' + +'Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up and +down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?' + +'It's some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?' + +'I don't know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no +money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it +frightened me--oh, how it frightened me!' + +'I know that fear. It's the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in the night +sometimes. You oughtn't to know anything about it.' + +'How do you know?' + +'Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?' + +'It's in Consols.' + +'Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better +investment,--even if I should come to you,--don't you listen. Never shift +the money for a minute, and never lend a penny of it,--even to the +red-haired girl.' + +'Don't scold me so! I'm not likely to be foolish.' + +'The earth is full of men who'd sell their souls for three hundred a year; +and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and a +ten-pound note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt. + +Stick to your money, Maisie, for there's nothing more ghastly in the +world than poverty in London. It's scared me. By Jove, it put the fear +into me! And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything.' + +To each man is appointed his particular dread,--the terror that, if he does +not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his manhood. Dick's +experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into the deeps of +him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory stood behind +him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. As the +Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake or a +mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut or +stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he had +once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of his +companions. + +Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. + +'You've plenty of pennies now,' she said soothingly. + +'I shall never have enough,' he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, +laughing, 'I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.' + +'Why threepence?' + +'I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to Blackfriar's +Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,--you needn't laugh; indeed it was,--and I +wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence; and he +hadn't even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, I shall +never get that odd threepence out of the world.' + +This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the +sanctity of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in +applause, which, since all men desire it, must be of he right. She hunted +for her little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit. + +'There it is,' she said. 'I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any more; it +isn't worth while. Are you paid?' + +'I am,' said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. 'I'm +paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my +watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie.' + +'I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the cloak +is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so chilly.' + +A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had +forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that +laugh ended all serious discourse. + +They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to +look at the glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense +black shadows of the furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick that +Maisie could see colour even as he saw it,--could see the blue in the white +of the mist, the violet that is in gray palings, and all things else as they +are,--not of one hue, but a thousand. And the moonlight came into +Maisie's soul, so that she, usually reserved, chattered of herself and of +the things she took interest in,--of Kami, wisest of teachers, and of the +girls in the studio,--of the Poles, who will kill themselves with overwork if +they are not checked; of the French, who talk at great length of much +more than they will ever accomplish; of the slovenly English, who toil +hopelessly and cannot understand that inclination does not imply power; +of the Americans, whose rasping voices in the hush of a hot afternoon +strain tense-drawn nerves to breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to +indigestion; of tempestuous Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who tell +the girls ghost-stories till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to +learn one thing, and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and +copy pictures for evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was +Maisie who spoke. He knew the old life. + +'It hasn't changed much,' he said. 'Do they still steal colours at +lunch-time?' + +'Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I'm good--I only attract +ultramarine; but there are students who'd attract flake-white.' + +'I've done it myself. You can't help it when the palettes are hung up. + +Every colour is common property once it runs down,--even though you +do start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their tubes.' + +'I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might catch +your success with them.' + +'I mustn't say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, which +you've just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want of +success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with---- No, I won't +open that question again. It's time to go back to town.' + +'I'm sorry, Dick, but----' + +'You're much more interested in that than you are in me.' + +'I don't know, I don't think I am.' + +'What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you +want,--the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will you +promise to obey me?' + +'Of course.' + +'In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen to +be at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,' said Dick, at a +venture, for he knew with whom he was dealing.' + +'No, no,--only once, really.' + +'That's bad enough. And you mustn't take a cup of tea and a biscuit in +place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble.' + +'You're making fun of me!' + +'I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, hasn't it +dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here's the whole earth in a +conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to the skin, +or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and +underfeeding, and I haven't the mere right to look after you. Why, I +don't even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when +the weather's cold.' + +'Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to--really! How do you suppose I +managed when you were away?' + +'I wasn't here, and I didn't know. But now I'm back I'd give everything I +have for the right of telling you to come in out of the rain.' + +'Your success too?' + +This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. + +'As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you're a trial, Maisie! You've been cooped +up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking at you. + +There aren't twelve hundred people in the world who understand +pictures. The others pretend and don't care. Remember, I've seen twelve +hundred men dead in toadstool-beds. It's only the voice of the tiniest little +fraction of people that makes success. The real world doesn't care a +tinker's--doesn't care a bit. For aught you or I know, every man in the +world may be arguing with a Maisie of his own.' + +'Poor Maisie!' + +'Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he's fighting for what's dearer +than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did, and if all +the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and shouted hymns +to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the knowledge +that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day without +an umbrella? Now we'll go to the station.' + +'But you said on the beach----' persisted Maisie, with a certain fear. + +Dick groaned aloud: 'Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I +have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law that +governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,--though you've +nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't everything to all +the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.' + +Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to +London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent +harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,--such +a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,--would stable it, with a +companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her +health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week. + +'That's absurd,' said she. 'It wouldn't be proper.' + +'Now, who in all London to-night would have sufficient interest or +audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?' + +Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was +right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it. + +'You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not +going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way to-night. I'll +go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You won't +think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember, you've +been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work for a +little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be tiny.' + +This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to +put Maisie into her hansom. + +'Good-bye,' she said simply. 'You'll come on Sunday. It has been a +beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always?' + +'Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you +can't stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good-night, and, +for my--for my sake, take care of yourself.' + +He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing +that he hoped for, but--surely this was worth many days--it had brought +him nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and the +prize well worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the +river. + +'And she understood at once,' he said, looking at the water. 'She found +out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, how she +understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she +was!' He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. 'I wonder if girls guess +at one-half a man's life. They can't, or--they wouldn't marry us.' He took +her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the light of a miracle and a +pledge of the comprehension that, one day, would lead to perfect +happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, with none to save her +from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of danger. + +Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the +heathen as he threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil were to +befal, let him bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, since the +threepenny piece was dearest to him of all his possessions. It was a small +coin in itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames held it, and surely +the Fates would be bribed for this once. + +The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie +for the moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to his +chambers with a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after his +first experience of an entire day spent in the society of a woman. There +was a stronger desire at his heart when there rose before him an +unsolicited vision of the Barralong dipping deep and sailing free for the +Southern Cross. + +CHAPTER VIII + +And these two, as I have told you, +Were the friends of Hiawatha, +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind. + +--Hiawatha.? + +TORPENHOW was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the +Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was +reading through the first part, commenting scornfully the while. + +'It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy,' said he; 'but as a serious +consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much.' + +'It's off my hands at any rate. . . . Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine +slips altogether, aren't there? That should make between eleven and +twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigho!' Torpenhow shuffled +the writing together and hummed-- + +Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, +If I'd as much money as I could tell, +I never would cry, Young lambs to sell! +? + +Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of tempers +with all the world. + +'Back at last?' said Torpenhow. + +'More or less. What have you been doing?' + +'Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind +you. Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a +line. It's scandalous.' + +'The notions come and go, my children--they come and go like our +'baccy,' he answered, filling his pipe. 'Moreover,' he stooped to thrust a +spill into the grate, 'Apollo does not always stretch his---- Oh, confound +your clumsy jests, Nilghai!' + +'This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,' said the +Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to their +nail on the wall. 'We believe in cobblers' wax. La!--where you sit down.' + +'If you weren't so big and fat,' said Dick, looking round for a weapon, +'I'd----' + +'No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last +time you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say +How d'you do? to Binkie. Look at him.' + +Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's +knee, and scratching at his boots. + +'Dear man!' said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the black +patch above his right eye. 'Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai +turn you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.' He pitched him on the +Nilghai's stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to +destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, and +panting he stuck out his tongue at the company. + +'The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp. + +I saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters +were being taken down--just as if he hadn't enough to eat in his own +proper house,' said Dick. + +'Binks, is that a true bill?' said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog +retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of +him that he really had no further interest in the discussion. + +'Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,' said the +Nilghai. 'What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be buying +a horse.' + +'He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. No, I +felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and watch the +pretty ships go by.' + +'Where did you go?' + +'Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place +was its name; I've forgotten; but it was only two hours' run from London +and the ships went by.' + +'Did you see anything you knew?' + +'Only the Barralong outwards to Australia, and an Odessa grain-boat +loaded down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt good.' + +'Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see the Barralong?' said +Torpenhow, pointing. + +'Because I've nothing except these things and my painting duds. Besides, +I wanted to do honour to the sea.' + +'Did She make you feel restless?' asked the Nilghai, keenly. + +'Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I went.' + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied +himself among the former's boots and trees. + +'These will do,' he said at last; 'I can't say I think much of your taste in +slippers, but the fit's the thing.' He slipped his feet into a pair of sock-like +sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and lay at length. + +'They're my own pet pair,' Torpenhow said. 'I was just going to put them +on myself.' + +'All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a +minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.' + +'Good for you that Dick can't wear your clothes, Torp. You two live +communistically,' said the Nilghai. + +'Dick never has anything that I can wear. He's only useful to sponge +upon.' + +'Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, +then?' said Dick. 'I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do +you expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you----' + +Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. + +'Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a +fiver about a month back. Do you remember?' Torpenhow said. + +'Yes, of course.' + +'Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at the +bottom of the tobacco?' + +'By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.' + +'You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some +'baccy and found it.' + +'What did you do with it?' + +'Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.' + +'You couldn't feed the Nilghai under twice the money--not though you +gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner or +later. What is there to laugh at?' + +'You're a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,' said the Nilghai, still +chuckling over the thought of the dinner. 'Never mind. We had both been +working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we spent, and as +you're only a loafer it didn't matter.' + +'That's pleasant--from the man who is bursting with my meat, too. I'll get +that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre now.' + +'Put our boots on,--and dress,--and wash?' The Nilghai spoke very lazily. + +'I withdraw the motion.' + +'Suppose, just for a change--as a startling variety, you know--we, that is +to say we, get our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our work.' + +Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the +soft leather moccasins. + +'What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on +hand, I haven't any model; if I had my model, I haven't any spray, and I +never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and +twenty photographs of backgrounds, I couldn't do anything to-night. I +don't feel that way.' + +'Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he?' said the Nilghai. + +'Very good, I will do some work,' said Dick, rising swiftly. 'I'll fetch the +Nungapunga Book, and we'll add another picture to the Nilghai Saga.' + +'Aren't you worrying him a little too much?' asked the Nilghai, when +Dick had left the room. + +'Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me savage +to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to do. You +and I are arranged for----' + +'By Kismet and our own powers, more's the pity. I have dreamed of a +good deal.' + +'So have I, but we know our limitations now. I'm dashed if I know what +Dick's may be when he gives himself to his work. That's what makes me +so keen about him.' + +'And when all's said and done, you will be put aside--quite rightly--for a +female girl.' + +'I wonder . . . Where do you think he has been to-day?' + +'To the sea. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he talked about her? +He's as restless as a swallow in autumn.' + +'Yes; but did he go alone?' + +'I don't know, and I don't care, but he has the beginnings of the go-fever +upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There's no mistaking the +signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call upon him now.' + +'It might be his salvation,' Torpenhow said. + +'Perhaps--if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.' + +Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew +well and did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of +moving incidents, experienced by himself or related to him by the others, +of all the four corners of the earth. But the wider range of the Nilghai's +body and life attracted him most. When truth failed he fell back on +fiction of the wildest, and represented incidents in the Nilghai's career +that were unseemly,--his marriages with many African princesses, his +shameless betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to the Mahdi, his +tattooment by skilled operators in Burmah, his interview (and his fears) +with the yellow headsman in the blood-stained execution-ground of +Canton, and finally, the passings of his spirit into the bodies of whales, +elephants, and toucans. Torpenhow from time to time had added rhymed +descriptions, and the whole was a curious piece of art, because Dick +decided, having regard to the name of the book which being interpreted +means 'naked,' that it would be wrong to draw the Nilghai with any +clothes on, under any circumstances. Consequently the last sketch, +representing that much-enduring man calling on the War Office to press +his claims to the Egyptian medal, was hardly delicate. He settled himself +comfortably on Torpenhow's table and turned over the pages. + +'What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!' he said. 'There's +a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that's more than +life-like. "The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the Mahdieh"--that +was founded on fact, eh?' + +'It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come +into the Saga yet?' + +'No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything except eat and kill cats. Let's +see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced decorative +lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being handed +down to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in rare and +curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this time? The +domestic life of the Nilghai?' + +'Hasn't got any.' + +'The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of his +wives in Trafalgar Square. That's it. They came from the ends of the +earth to attend Nilghai's wedding to an English bride. This shall be an +epic. It's a sweet material to work with.' + +'It's a scandalous waste of time,' said Torpenhow. + +'Don't worry; it keeps one's hand in--specially when you begin without +the pencil.' He set to work rapidly. 'That's Nelson's Column. Presently +the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.' + +'Give him some clothes this time.' + +'Certainly--a veil and an orange-wreath, because he's been married.' + +'Gad, that's clever enough!' said Torpenhow over his shoulder, as Dick +brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat back +and labouring shoulder pressed against stone. + +'Just imagine,' Dick continued, 'if we could publish a few of these dear +little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can write, to +give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.' + +'Well, you'll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of that +kind. I know I can't hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I give +the job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance----' + +'No-o--one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the dark of +the wall-paper--you only burble and call me names. That left shoulder's +out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that. Where's my +pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?' + +'I only gave him his riding-orders to--to lambast you on general +principles for not producing work that will last.' + +'Whereupon that young fool,'--Dick threw back his head and shut one +eye as he shifted the page under his hand,--'being left alone with an +ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and spilt them +both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for +the business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?' + +'How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand +away from the body as it does?' said Torpenhow, to whom Dick's +methods were always new. + +'It just depends on where you put 'em. If Maclagan had know that much +about his business he might have done better.' + +'Why don't you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, then?' + +insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in hiring +for Dick's benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most of his +waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of Art, +which, he wrote, was one and indivisible. + +'Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of +wives. You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough 'em in +with the pencil--Medes, Parthians, Edomites. . . . Now, setting aside the +weakness and the wickedness and--and the fat-headedness of deliberately +trying to do work that will live, as they call it, I'm content with the +knowledge that I've done my best up to date, and I shan't do anything +like it again for some hours at least--probably years. Most probably +never.' + +'What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?' said Torpenhow. + +'Anything you've sold?' said the Nilghai. + +'Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better than that, it can't be sold, and +I don't think any one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't. . . . And yet +more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe the +virtuous horror of the lions!' + +'You may as well explain,' said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from +the paper. + +'The sea reminded me of it,' he said slowly. 'I wish it hadn't. It weighs +some few thousand tons--unless you cut it out with a cold chisel.' + +'Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here,' said the Nilghai. + +'There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a fact. I was loafing from Lima +to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into a +cargo-boat and owned by a second-had Italian firm. She was a crazy +basket. We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought +ourselves lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then we +used to stop and let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the +crack in the shaft was spreading.' + +'Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?' + +'I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I should have +been a steward, I think,' said Dick, with perfect gravity, returning to the +procession of angry wives. 'I was the only other passenger from Lima, +and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and cockroaches and +scorpions.' + +'But what has this to do with the picture?' + +'Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower +decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, +and she was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port +holes--most annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I hadn't +anything to do for weeks. The ship's charts were in pieces and our +skipper daren't run south for fear of catching a storm. So he did his best +to knock all the Society Islands out of the water one by one, and I went +into the lower deck, and did my picture on the port side as far forward in +her as I could go. There was some brown paint and some green paint that +they used for the boats, and some black paint for ironwork, and that was +all I had.' + +'The passengers must have thought you mad.' + +'There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of +my picture.' + +'What was she like?' said Torpenhow. + +'She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She +couldn't read or write, and she didn't want to, but she used to come down +and watch me paint, and the skipper didn't like it, because he was paying +her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.' + +'I see. That must have been cheerful.' + +'It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn't know whether +we should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and +when it was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints +and talk broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few +minutes to the lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. So, you +see, we could never tell when we might be caught, and I had a splendid +notion to work out in only three keys of colour.' + +'What was the notion?' + +'Two lines in Poe-- + +Neither the angles in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea, +Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee. + +It came out of the sea--all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out in green +water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the model +for the devils and the angels both--sea-devils and sea-angels, and the soul +half drowned between them. It doesn't sound much, but when there was +a good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and creepy. It was +seven by fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting light.' + +'Did the woman inspire you much?' said Torpenhow. + +'She and the sea between them--immensely. There was a heap of bad +drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten +for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for all +that it's the best thing I've ever done; and now I suppose the ship's +broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!' + +'What happened after all?' + +'It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, but +even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of the +demons scared them, I honestly believe.' + +'And the woman?' + +'She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself before +she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of getting +any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, and the +fear of death atop of everything else, O Lord!' He had ceased to look at +the sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across the room. + +'Why don't you try something of the same kind now?' said the Nilghai. + +'Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a +cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, +I may.' + +'You won't find them here,' said the Nilghai. + +'No, I shall not.' Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. 'This room's as +hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.' + +He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London +below him. The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, +commanding a hundred chimneys--crooked cowls that looked like sitting +cats as they swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries +supported by iron stanchions and clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the +lights of Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square threw a copper-coloured +glare above the black roofs, and southward by all the orderly lights of the +Thames. A train rolled out across one of the railway bridges, and its +thunder drowned for a minute the dull roar of the streets. The Nilghai +looked at his watch and said shortly, 'That's the Paris night-mail. You +can book from here to St. Petersburg if you choose.' + +Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across +the river. Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over +quietly to the piano and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as +possible, spread out upon the sofa with the air of one who is not to be +lightly disturbed. + +'Well,' said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, 'have you never +seen this place before?' + +A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then +the boom of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick. + +'Good place to bank in--bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn't it?' + +Dick's chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general not +without fame, still looking out on the darkness--'"My God, what a city to +loot!"' + +Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed plaintively. + +'We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,' said Torpenhow. 'Come in,' and +they withdrew their heads. 'You'll be buried in Kensal Green, Dick, one +of these days, if it isn't closed by the time you want to go there--buried +within two feet of some one else, his wife and his family.' + +'Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room +to stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.' Dick flung himself down on the sofa and +tweaked Binkie's velvet ears, yawning heavily the while. + +'You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,' Torpenhow said +to the Nilghai. 'It's never touched except by you.' + +'A piece of gross extravagance,' Dick grunted. 'The Nilghai only comes +when I'm out.' + +'That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.'? + +'The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, +His writings are watered Dickens and water; +But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high +Makes even the Mahdieh glad to die!'? + +Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. + +'How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?' + +The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many +Press-tents in far-off lands had known. + +'What shall I sing?' said he, turning in the chair. + +'"Moll Roe in the Morning,"' said Torpenhow, at a venture. + +'No,' said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old chanty +whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not a pretty +one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. Without +prelude he launched into that stately tune that calls together and troubles +the hearts of the gipsies of the sea-- + +'Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, +Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.'? + +Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the +Barralong crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross. + +Then came the chorus-- + +'We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, +We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas, +Until we take soundings in the Channel of Old England +From Ushant to Scilly 'tis forty-five leagues.'? + +'Thirty-five-thirty-five,' said Dick, petulantly. 'Don't tamper with Holy +Writ. Go on, Nilghai.'? + +'The first land we made it was called the Deadman,'? + +and they sang to the end very vigourously. + +'That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way--to +the Ushant light, for instance,' said the Nilghai. + +'Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,' said Torpenhow. 'Give us +something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight.' + +'Give us the "Ganges Pilot"; you sang that in the square the night before +El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are alive +to-night,' said Dick. + +Torpenhow considered for a minute. 'By Jove! I believe only you and I. + +Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes--all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in Cairo, +carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the Nilghai.' + +'Umph! And yet the men here who've done their work in a well-warmed +studio all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I charge +too much for my pictures.' + +'They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,' + +said the Nilghai. + +'I gambled with one to get at the other. Don't preach. Go on with the +"Pilot." Where in the world did you get that song?' + +'On a tombstone,' said the Nilghai. 'On a tombstone in a distant land. I +made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.' + +'Oh, Vanity! Begin.' And the Nilghai began-- + +'I have slipped my cable, messmates, I'm drifting down with the tide, +I have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride. + +And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea +With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free. + +'Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge +Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge. + +Cries Charnock, "Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two, +The tall pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!" + +'Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? +Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?--Why, hark!'? + +They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open sea +about his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go. + +'The morning gun--Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me!? + +I ha' sounded the Dutch High Admiral's heart as my lead doth sound the +sea. + +'Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, +Moore me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. + +My blessing to Kate at Fairlight--Holwell, my thanks to you; +Steady! We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue.'? + +'Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?' said Dick, +hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. + +'It depends on the man,' said Torpenhow. + +'The man who has been down to look at the sea,' said the Nilghai. + +'I didn't know she was going to upset me in this fashion.' + +'That's what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. It's +more easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one's life and +surroundings.' + +'But a woman can be----' began Dick, unguardedly. + +'A piece of one's life,' continued Torpenhow. 'No, she can't. His face +darkened for a moment. 'She says she wants to sympathise with you and +help you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must do +for himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the dickens +you haven't been wasting your time with her.' + +'Don't generalise,' said the Nilghai. 'By the time you arrive at five notes a +day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved accordingly. + +Shouldn't begin these things, my son.' + +'I shouldn't have gone down to the sea,' said Dick, just a little anxious to +change the conversation. 'And you shouldn't have sung.' + +'The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,' said the Nilghai. + +'No, but I'm fatally compromised. She's an enduring old hag, and I'm +sorry I ever met her. Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a +three-pair back?' + +'Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you +listen to her?' said Torpenhow. + +Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout that +shook the windows, in 'The Men of the Sea,' that begins, as all know, +'The sea is a wicked old woman,' and after rading through eight lines +whose imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking of a +capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the men +sweat and tramp in the shingle. + +'"Ye that bore us, O restore us!? + +She is kinder than ye; +For the call is on our heart-strings!" +Said The Men of the Sea.'? + +The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that +Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to +their wives. + +'"Ye that love us, can ye move us? +She is dearer than ye; +And your sleep will be the sweeter," +Said The Men of the Sea.'? + +The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the +rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making +love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether +the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his +shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors' + +diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond +anything in the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life +again,--to scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his fellows; to +take ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget pictures; to talk +to Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow 'Tina mixed the +drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and see the smoke roll outward, +thin and thicken again till the shining black faces came through, and in +that hell every man was strictly responsible for his own head, and his +own alone, and struck with an unfettered arm. It was impossible, utterly +impossible, but-- + +'"Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, +She is older than ye, +And our graves will be the greener," +Said The Men of the Sea.'? + +'What is there to hinder?' said Torpenhow, in the long hush that +followed the song. + +'You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round the +world, Torp.' + +'That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for +travelling expenses. You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go +away and do some work, and see some things.' + +'Get some of the fat off you; you're disgracefully out of condition,' said +the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful of +Dick generally over the right ribs. 'Soft as putty--pure tallow born of +over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.' + +'We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field +you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.' + +'Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. + +There's always trouble in South America.' + +'Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only +difficulty is to know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, as I told you +before.' + +'Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the +others,' said Torpenhow. 'Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay +forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.' + +'You've the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself +shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third +engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn't very +warm in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped +at all, which I'm not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small +trip to begin with.' + +'That's something at any rate. Where will you go?' said Torpenhow. 'It +would do you all the good in the world, old man.' + +The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech. + +'I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, where I shall hire one +horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I shall +walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a lather +and make Rathray angry. I shall do that to-morrow, for the sake of air +and exercise.' + +'Bah!' Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the +cushion that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. + +'Air and exercise indeed,' said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on Dick. + +'Let's give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.' + +At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would not +open his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was some +trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; and even +when it was there he weakly tried to puff against the force of the blast, +and his cheeks blew up with a great explosion; and the enemy becoming +helpless with laughter he so beat them over the head with a soft sofa +cushion that that became unsewn and distributed its feathers, and Binkie, +interfering in Torpenhow's interests, was bundled into the half-empty +bag and advised to scratch his way out, which he did after a while, +travelling rapidly up and down the floor in the shape of an agitated green +haggis, and when he came out looking for satisfaction, the three pillars of +his world were picking feathers out of their hair. + +'A prophet has no honour in his own country,' said Dick, ruefully, +dusting his knees. 'This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.' + +'It was all for your own good,' said the Nilghai. 'Nothing like air and +exercise.' + +'All for your good,' said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to +past clowning. 'It would let you focus things at their proper worth and +prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it would, +old man. I shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. Only, you make a +joke of everything.' + +'Before God I do no such thing,' said Dick, quickly and earnestly. 'You +don't know me if you think that.' + +I don't think it,' said the Nilghai. + +'How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really +mean, dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save +ourselves from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can't I see, +old man, how you're always anxious about me, and try to advise me to +make my work better? Do you suppose I don't think about that myself? +But you can't help me--you can't help me--not even you. I must play my +own hand alone in my own way.' + +'Hear, hear,' from the Nilghai. + +'What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I've never drawn in the +Nungapunga Book?' Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little +astonished at the outburst. + +Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that +Dick had not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai's life; when +that man, being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged to +the paper that employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery grass +in the rear of Bredow's brigade on the day that the troopers flung +themselves at Caurobert's artillery, and for aught they knew twenty +battalions in front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, to give +time to decide the fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant came +back to Flavigay that cavalry can attack and crumple and break +unshaken infantry. Whenever he was inclined to think over a life that +might have been better, an income that might have been larger, and a +soul that might have been considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would +comfort himself with the thought, 'I rode with Bredow's brigade at +Vionville,' and take heart for any lesser battle the next day might bring. + +'I know,' he said very gravely. 'I was always glad that you left it out.' + +'I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned +then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don't know German. + +What is it? "Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of +itself." I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.' + +'Tempe ist richtung. You've learned your lesson well,' said the Nilghai. + +'He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.' + +'Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be--hideously wrong. I must find that out +for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren't turn my +head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more than you +know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own work +and live my own life in my own way, because I'm responsible for both. + +Only don't think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and +sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks.' + +There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, +'What did the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South +Carolina?' + +'Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the makings +of a very fine prig in you, Dick,' said the Nilghai. + +'I've liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his +mouth.' Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. + +'You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, +without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. Sic +volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my eye +because I talk Latin. Good-night.' + +He went out of the room. + +'That's distinctly one for you,' said the Nilghai. 'I told you it was hopeless +to meddle with him. He's not pleased.' + +'He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the go-fever +upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go some +day when he doesn't want to,' said Torpenhow. + +* * * * * * +In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself--and the +question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a +burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown +into the Thames. + +'It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to think about it,' he decided. + +'After all, the honeymoon will be that tour--with reservations; only . . . + +only I didn't realise that the sea was so strong. I didn't feel it so much +when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. He's beginning +again.' + +But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, and +before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether +clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace. + +The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide +by Fort Keeling. + +CHAPTER IX + +'If I have taken the common clay +And wrought it cunningly +In the shape of a god that was digged a clod, +The greater honour to me.'? + +'If thou hast taken the common clay, +And thy hands be not free +From the taint of the soil , thou hast made thy spoil +The greater shame to thee.'--The Two Potters.? + +HE DID no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another +Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the +red-haired girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than +desire in his mind. + +He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about +line-work. She had gone off at score filed with some absurd notion for a +'fancy head.' It cost Dick something to command his temper. + +'What's the good of suggesting anything?' he said pointedly. + +'Ah, but this will be a picture,--a real picture; and I know that Kami will +let me send it to the Salon. You don't mind, do you?' + +'I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon.' + +Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. + +'We're going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get the +idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami's. + +Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with his +queen who could do no wrong. 'Just when I thought I had made some +headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It's too maddening!' + +There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the +studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach. + +'I'm sorry,' he said, 'and I think you make a mistake. But what's the idea +of your new picture?' + +'I took it from a book.' + +'That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures. And----' + +'It's this,' said the red-haired girl behind him. 'I was reading it to Maisie +the other day from The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the book?' + +'A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken her +fancy?' + +'The description of the Melancolia-- + +'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, +But all too impotent to lift the regal +Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. + +And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) + +'The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams, +The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown, +Voluminous indented, and yet rigid +As though a shell of burnished metal frigid, +Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.'? + +There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick winced. + +'But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of +Durer,' said he. 'How does the poem run?-- + +'Three centuries and threescore years ago, +With phantasies of his peculiar thought. + +You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time. + +'No, it won't,' said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to +reassure herself. 'And I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful +thing it would make?' + +'How in perdition can one do work when one hasn't had the proper +training? Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the thing +through,--training and conviction; not rushing after the first fancy.' Dick +spoke between his teeth. + +'You don't understand,' said Maisie. 'I think I can do it.' + +Again the voice of the girl behind him-- + +'Baffled and beaten back, she works on still; +Weary and sick of soul, she works the more. + +Sustained by her indomitable will, +The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore, +And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour---- + +I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.' + +'Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan't, dear. The notion in +itself has fascinated me.--Of course you don't care for fancy heads, Dick. + +I don't think you could do them. You like blood and bones.' + +'That's a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn't merely a +sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. What d'you +know about Melacolias?' Dick firmly believed that he was even then +tasting three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. + +'She was a woman,' said Maisie, 'and she suffered a great deal,--till she +could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I painted +her and sent her to the Salon.' + +The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. + +Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. + +'Never mind about the picture,' he said. 'Are you really going back to +Kami's for a month before your time?' + +'I must, if I want to get the picture done.' + +'And that's all you want?' + +'Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.' + +'You haven't the power. You have only the ideas--the ideas and the little +cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten years +steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,--a month before you +need?' + +'I must do my work.' + +'Your work--bah! . . . No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear. Of +course you must do your work, and--I think I'll say good-bye for this +week.' + +'Won't you even stay for tea? +'No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, dear? There's nothing more you +particularly want me to do, and the line-work doesn't matter.' + +'I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only +one single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I know +some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't have +been so rude about it.' + +'I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other Sundays. + +There are four more--yes, one, two, three, four--before you go. Good-bye, +Maisie.' + +Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl +returned, a little white at the corners of her lips. + +'Dick's gone off,' said Maisie. 'Just when I wanted to talk about the +picture. Isn't it selfish of him?' + +Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went +on reading The City of Dreadful Night. + +Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen +as his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and +when he found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his +rage, he sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for the +use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his patient +service; nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before he +arrived at the proposition that the queen could do no wrong. + +'It's a losing game,' he said. 'I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers is in +question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double the stakes +and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the insight, or +the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse of Reuben. She +won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet she's stronger +than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her on her own +Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only do blood +and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the same I lover +her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her inordinate +vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something like a +Melancolia--"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." I'll do it at once, +con--bless her.' + +He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could +not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. He +took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when she +showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time was +at hand when all the church bells in London could not ring Maisie back +to him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about 'hermaphroditic +futilities,' but the little dog received so many confidences both from +Torpenhow and Dick that he did not trouble his tulip-ears to listen. + +Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover +night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, +and Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy stripping +the small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, that she had +not time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted a day there +fretting over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the very last allow +him one small kiss? He reflected that he might capture her by the strong +arm, as he had seem women captured in the Southern Soudan, and lead +her away; but Maisie would never be led. She would turn her gray eyes +upon him and say, 'Dick, how selfish you are!' Then his courage would +fail him. It would be better, after all, to beg for that kiss. + +Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the +night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray +cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green +eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and +went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags +were thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching +them. + +'You'll have a rough passage to-night,' said Dick. 'It's blowing outside. I +suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?' + +'You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for you. But +I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of things to +consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!--so good to +me!' + +'Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?' + +'I can't tell a fib. It hasn't--in that way. But don't think I'm not grateful.' + +'Damn the gratitude!' said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. + +'What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and +you'd ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when +you were so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. + +Can't you wait till that day comes?' + +'No, love. I want you unbroken--all to myself.' + +Maisie shook her head. 'My poor Dick, what can I say!' + +'Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear I +won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're +grateful.' + +Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. + +It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it was a +long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood abashed +and tingling from head to toe. + +'Good-bye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only--keep +well and do good work,--specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do one, +too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country +drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to me +if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the +whatever-you-call-um girl, and--can't I have another kiss? No. You're +quite right. Good-bye.' + +A should told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag +incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he +followed her with his heart. + +'And there's nothing--nothing in the wide world--to keep us apart except +her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I'll get Torp +to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch already.' + +Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping cough +at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold flame. + +'He kissed you!' she said. 'How could you let him, when he wasn't +anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, +let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick,--deadly sick.' + +'We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. I don't +like the smell of the engines. . . . Poor Dick! He deserved one,--only one. + +But I didn't think he'd frighten me so.' + +Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had +telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio. + +He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow +entered, looking guilty. + +'H'sh!' said he. 'Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms, +and I'll show you why.' + +Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a girl +asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the +blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with +mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and +ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, +above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared all +things. + +'Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up here. + +They steal things from the rooms.' + +'It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she staggered +into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. I +couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her your +lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast asleep the +minute she had finished.' + +'I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, I +suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for +presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at the +face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,--slack, fatuous, +feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how the skull begins +to show through the flesh padding on the face and cheek-bone?' + +'What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's +down. Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. + +She almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a +wild beast. It was horrible.' + +'I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she +going to sleep for ever?' + +The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and +effrontery. + +'Feeling better?' said Torpenhow. + +'Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you +are. Thank you.' + +'When did you leave service?' said Dick, who had been watching the +scarred and chapped hands. + +'How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't like +it.' + +'And how do you like being your own mistress?' + +'Do I look as if I liked it?' + +'I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your +face to the window?' + +The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,--so keenly that she +made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. + +'The eyes have it,' said Dick, walking up and down. 'They are superb +eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. This +has been sent from heaven to make up for--what was taken away. Now +the weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. + +Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.' + +'Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,' said +Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. + +'Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit cruel +to-day because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like that! He's +reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that, neither! Oh, I +feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like that!' + +The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept like +a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and +Torpenhow flung the door back. + +'There you are,' said Dick, soothingly. 'My friend here can call for a +policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt +you.' + +The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh. + +'Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm +what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?' + +'They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.' + +'I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by the +Academicians. I want to draw your head.' + +'What for?' + +'Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the +landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you +three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a +quid on account.' + +'For nothing? Oh, my!' The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and +with more foolish tears, 'Ain't neither o' you two gentlemen afraid of my +bilking you?' + +'No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the +way, what's your name?' + +'I'm Bessic,--Bessie---- It's no use giving the rest. Bessie +Broke,--Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But there,--no one +ever gives the real ones.' + +Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. + +'My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be +sure to come here. Where do you live?' + +'South-the-water,--one room,--five and sixpence a week. Aren't you +making fun of me about that three quid?' + +'You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you +needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the colours +you'll be likely to need.' + +Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged +pocket-handkerchief. The two men looked at each other. + +'You're a man,' said Torpenhow. + +'I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the earth +reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on this +landing.' + +'Perhaps she won't come back.' + +'She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she will, +worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my model; +and be careful.' + +'The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,--a gutter-snippet and +nothing more.' + +'So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear. That +fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a week or +two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be too happy +and smiling for my purposes.' + +'But surely you're not taking her out of charity?--to please me?' + +'I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She has +been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me with +my Melancolia.' + +'Never heard a word about the lady before.' + +'What's the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at him +in words? You ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've heard me +grunt lately?' + +'Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad 'baccy to +wicked dealers. And I don't think I've been much in your confidence for +some time.' + +'It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that it +meant the Melancolia.' Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, +keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, 'Now don't you see it? +Bessie's abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one or +two details in the way of sorrow that have come under my experience +lately. Likewise some orange and black,--two keys of each. But I can't +explain on an empty stomach.' + +'It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick, instead +of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.' + +'Think so?' Dick began to dance on his heels, singing-- + +'They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, +You ought to 'ear the way they laugh an' joke; +They are tricky an' they're funny when they've got the ready money,-- +Ow! but see 'em when they're all stone-broke.'? + +Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter of +counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get to +work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear. + +The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and +overbold by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit +still, she grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio with +freedom and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and the +release from fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies of her +head in monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia would not +arrive. + +'What a mess you keep your things in!' said Bessie, some days later, when +she felt herself thoroughly at home. 'I s'pose your clothes are just as bad. + +Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.' + +'I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know +what Torpenhow does.' + +Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's room, and unearthed a bale of +disreputable socks. 'Some of these I'll mend now,' she said, 'and some I'll +take home. D'you know, I sit all day long at home doing nothing, just like +a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in the house than if they +was so many flies. I don't have any unnecessary words, but I put 'em +down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me. No; it's quite nice these +days. I lock my door, and they can only call me names through the +keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow +wears his socks out both ends at once.' + +'Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks +mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, +and all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,' thought Dick; +and he looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had +transformed the girl, as Dick knew they would. + +'What are you looking at me like that for?' she said quickly. 'Don't. You +look reg'lar bad when you look that way. You don't think much o' me, do +you?' + +'That depends on how you behave.' + +Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a sitting to +bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred the studio +and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as an excuse for +delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would be moved to +tell strange and wonderful stories of her past, and still stranger ones of +her present improved circumstances. She would make them tea as though +she had a right to make it; and once or twice on these occasions Dick +caught Torpenhow's eyes fixed on the trim little figure, and because +Bessie'' flittings about the room made Dick ardently long for Maisie, he +realised whither Torpenhow's thoughts were tending. And Bessie was +exceedingly careful of the condition of Torpenhow's linen. She spoke +very little to him, but sometimes they talked together on the landing. + +'I was a great fool,' Dick said to himself. 'I know what red firelight looks +like when a man's tramping through a strange town; and ours is a lonely, +selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn't feel that +sometimes. But I can't order Bessie away. That's the worst of beginning +things. One never knows where they stop.' + +One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, Dick +was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow's room. He +jumped to his feet. 'Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go in.--Oh, +bless you, Binkie!' The little terrier thrust Torpenhow's door open with +his nose and came out to take possession of Dick's chair. The door swung +wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie in the +half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was kneeling +by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee. + +'I know,--I know,' she said thickly. ''Tisn't right o' me to do this, but I +can't help it; and you were so kind,--so kind; and you never took any +notice o' me. And I've mended all your things so carefully,--I did. Oh, +please, 'tisn't as if I was asking you to marry me. I wouldn't think of it. + +But you--couldn't you take and live with me till Miss Right comes along? +I'm only Miss Wrong, I know, but I'd work my hands to the bare bone +for you. And I'm not ugly to look at. Say you will!' + +Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow's voice in reply-- +'But look here. It's no use. I'm liable to be ordered off anywhere at a +minute's notice if a war breaks out. At a minute's notice--dear.' + +'What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. 'Tisn't much +I'm asking, and--you don't know how good I can cook.' She had put an +arm round his neck and was drawing his head down. + +'Until--I--go, then.' + +'Torp,' said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his voice. + +'Come here a minute, old man. I'm in trouble'--'Heaven send he'll listen +to me!' There was something very like an oath from Bessie's lips. She was +afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the staircase in panic, but it +seemed an age before Torpenhow entered the studio. He went to the +mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a wounded +bull. + +'What the devil right have you to interfere?' he said, at last. + +'Who's interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you +couldn't be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you're all +right now.' + +'I oughtn't to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they belonged +to her. That's what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of hankering, +doesn't it?' said Torpenhow, piteously. + +'Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren't in a condition to +discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what +you're going to do?' + +'I don't. I wish I did.' + +'You're going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. You're +going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the ships go +by. And you're going at once. Isn't it odd? I'll take care of Binkie, but out +you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds the bank. Fly from +him. Pack your things and go.' + +'I believe you're right. Where shall I go?' + +'And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire +afterwards.' + +An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. + +'You'll probably think of some place to go to while you're moving,' said +Dick. 'On to Euston, to begin with, and--oh yes--get drunk to-night.' + +He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the +room very dark. + +'Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me +to-morrow!--Binkie, come here.' + +Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him +with a meditative foot. + +'I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That +showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to +perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will go +to a much worse place.'? + +CHAPTER X + +What's you that follows at my side?-- +The foe that ye must fight, my lord.-- +That hirples swift as I can ride?-- +The shadow of the night, my lord.-- +Then wheel my horse against the foe!-- +He's down and overpast, my lord. + +Ye war against the sunset glow; +The darkness gathers fast, my lord. + +-- The Fight of Heriot's Ford.? + +'THIS is a cheerful life,' said Dick, some days later. 'Torp's away; Bessie +hates me; I can't get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's letters are +scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man pains across +the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take some liver pills?' + +Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the +fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained +her enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat +for the sake of his money. 'And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man +than you,' she concluded. + +'He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to +you.' + +The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. 'To me! I'd like to catch +you! If I wasn't afraid o' being hung I'd kill you. That's what I'd do. + +D'you believe me?' + +Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a notion +that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman who +talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment there +unrolled itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the +flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not go. + +'This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. We +can't have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; also +mutton-chop bones for little dogs.' + +The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he said +nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. + +'We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,' he +chirped. 'Like a ship, my dear sir,--exactly like a ship. Sometimes the hull +is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the rigging, and +then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the brain-specialist; +sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and then we see an oculist. I +should recommend you to see an oculist. A little patching and repairing +from time to time is all we want. An oculist, by all means.' + +Dick sought an oculist,--the best in London. He was certain that the local +practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more certain +that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear spectacles. + +'I've neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence these +spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could.' + +As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man +cannoned against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the street. + +'That's the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead as +Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn't like.' + +Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him +hold his breath as he walked into the oculist's waiting room, with the +heavy carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints +on the wall. He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches. + +Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by +a flaming red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to +that eye-doctor, and they needed large-type amusement. + +'That's idolatrous bad Art,' he said, drawing the book towards himself. + +'From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.' He +opened in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in +red ink-- + +The next good joy that Mary had, +It was the joy of three, +To see her good Son Jesus Christ +Making the blind to see; +Making the blind to see, good Lord, +And happy we may be. + +Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost +To all eternity! +? + +Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor was +bending above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the +gas-microscope in his eyes made him wince. The doctor's hand touched +the scar of the sword-cut on Dick's head, and Dick explained briefly how +he had come by it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor's +face, and the fear came upon him again. The doctor wrapped himself in a +mist of words. Dick caught allusions to 'scar,' 'frontal bone,' 'optic +nerve,' 'extreme caution,' and the 'avoidance of mental anxiety.' + +'Verdict?' he said faintly. 'My business is painting, and I daren't waste +time. What do you make of it?' + +Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. + +'Can you give me anything to drink?' + +Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the +prisoners often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in +his hand. + +'As far as I can gather,' he said, coughing above the spirit, 'you call it +decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What is +my time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?' + +'Perhaps one year.' + +'My God! And if I don't take care of myself?' + +'I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury +inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and--exposure to the +strong light of the desert, did you say?--with excessive application to fine +work? I really could not say?' + +'I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will let +me, I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very good in +telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. + +Thanks.' + +Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. + +'We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. We'll +go to the Park to think it out.' + +They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to +thin, because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear +at the pit of his stomach. + +'How could it have come without any warning? It's as sudden as being +shot. It's the living death, Binkie. We're to be shut up in the dark in one +year if we're careful, and we shan't see anybody, and we shall never have +anything we want, not though we live to be a hundred!' Binkie wagged +his tail joyously. 'Binkie, we must think. Let's see how it feels to be +blind.' Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and Catherine-wheels +floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked across the Park the scope of +his vision was not contracted. He could see perfectly, until a procession of +slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across his eyeballs. + +'Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's go home. If only Torp were +back, now!' + +But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the +company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. + +Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He +argued, in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated with +a film of gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were blindness, all the +Torpenhows in the world could not save him. 'I can't call him off his trip +to sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull through this business +alone,' he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating his moustache and +wondering what the darkness of the night would be like. Then came to +his mind the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. A soldier had been +nearly hacked in two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. For one instant the +man felt no pain. Looking down, he saw that his life-blood was going +from him. The stupid bewilderment on his face was so intensely comic +that both Dick and Torpenhow, still panting and unstrung from a fight +for life, had roared with laughter, in which the man seemed as if he +would join, but, as his lips parted in a sheepish grin, the agony of death +came upon him, and he pitched grunting at their feet. Dick laughed +again, remembering the horror. It seemed so exactly like his own case. + +'But I have a little more time allowed me,' he said. He paced up and +down the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet of +fear. It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged him +to go forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating pin-dots +before his eyes. + +'We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.' He talked aloud for the +sake of distraction. 'This isn't nice at all. What shall we do? We must do +something. Our time is short. I shouldn't have believed that this morning; +but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the light +went out?' + +Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made no +suggestion. + +'"Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were not +crime. . . . But at my back I always hear----"' He wiped his forehead, +which was unpleasantly damp. 'What can I do? What can I do? I haven't +any notions left, and I can't think connectedly, but I must do something, +or I shall go off my head.' + +The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to +drag forth long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to +his work by instinct, as a thing that could not fail. 'You won't do, and you +won't do,' he said, at each inspection. 'No more soldiers. I couldn't paint +'em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is battle and murder +for me.' + +The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight of +the blind had come upon him unaware. 'Allah Almighty!' he cried +despairingly, 'help me through the time of waiting, and I won't whine +when my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light goes?' + +There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of +control over himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on +their steadiness; he could feel that his lips were quivering, and the sweat +was running down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward by the +desire to get to work at once and accomplish something, and maddened +by the refusal of his brain to do more than repeat the news that he was +about to go blind. 'It's a humiliating exhibition,' he thought, 'and I'm +glad Torp isn't here to see. The doctor said I was to avoid mental worry. + +Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.' + +The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. + +Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, understood +that his trouble stood off from him-- +'Allah is good, Binkie. Not quite so gentle as we could wish, but we'll +discuss that later. I think I see my way to it now. All those studies of +Bessie's head were nonsense, and they nearly brought your master into a +scrape. I hold the notion now as clear as crystal,--"the Melancolia that +transcends all wit." There shall be Maisie in that head, because I shall +never get Maisie; and Bess, of course, because she knows all about +Melancolia, though she doesn't know she knows; and there shall be some +drawing in it, and it shall all end up with a laugh. That's for myself. Shall +she giggle or grin? No, she shall laugh right out of the canvas, and every +man and woman that ever had a sorrow of their own shall--what is it the +poem says?-- + +'Understand the speech and feel a stir +Of fellowship in all disastrous fight. + +"In all disastrous fight"? That's better than painting the thing merely to +pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, I'm +going to hold you up by your tail. You're an omen. Come here.' + +Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. + +'Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you're a brave little dog, and you +don't yelp when you're hung up. It is an omen.' + +Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick walking +up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick wrote a +letter to Maisie full of the tenderest regard for her health, but saying +very little about his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be born. Not +till morning did he remember that something might happen to him in the +future. + +He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean, clear +joy of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he should +consider himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at the +appointed time. He forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, but +remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very little stirring, into a +tremendous rage, that he might watch the smouldering lights in her eyes. + +He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think of +the doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his notion, +and the things of this world had no power upon him. + +'You're pleased to-day,' said Bessie. + +Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard for +a drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died down, he +went to the sideboard again, and after some visits became convinced that +the eye-doctor was a liar, since he could still see everything very clearly. + +He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that +whether she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next +morning, but the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort. + +Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes +and blurs till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the +Melancolia both on the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier +than ever. There was a delightful sense of irresponsibility upon him, such +as they feel who walking among their fellow-men know that the +death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, seeing that fear is but waste +of the little time left, are riotously happy. The days passed without event. + +Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick +to come from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia +began to flame on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known +all the sorrow in the world and was laughing at it. It was true that the +corners of the studio draped themselves in gray film and retired into the +darkness, that the spots in his eyes and the pains across his head were +very troublesome, and that Maisie's letters were hard to read and harder +still to answer. He could not tell her of his trouble, and he could not +laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia which was always going to +be finished. But the furious days of toil and the nights of wild dreams +made amends for all, and the sideboard was his best friend on earth. + +Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick stared +at her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him with +disgust, saying very little. + +Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded +his return. 'News! great news!' he wrote. 'The Nilghai knows, and so does +the Keneu. We're all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your +accoutrements.' + +Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever +sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. + +'Well,' said Dick, brutally, 'you're better as you are, instead of making +love to some drunken beast in the street.' He felt that he had rescued +Torpenhow from great temptation. + +'I don't know if that's any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a +studio. You haven't been sober for three weeks. You've been soaking the +whole time; and yet you pretend you're better than me!' + +'What d'you mean?' said Dick. + +'Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.' + +It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a +sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, +and the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for +Dick. + +'Drinking like a fish,' Bessie whispered. 'He's been at it for nearly a +month.' She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. + +They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by a +drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,--unshaven, blue-white about the +nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows +nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. + +'Is this you?' said Torpenhow. + +'All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's quite well, and I've been doing +some good work.' He reeled where he stood. + +'You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man +alive, you're----' + +Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room +to find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a friend +is much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since +Torpenhow used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and +contempt untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said +to Dick, who blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time +the culprit began to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite sure +that he had not in any way departed from virtue, and there were reasons, +too, of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain. + +He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could +hardly see. + +'You are right,' he said. 'But I am right, too. After you went away I had +some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a +gasogene--I mean a gas-engine--into my eye. That was very long ago. He +said, "Scar on the head,--sword-cut and optic nerve." Make a note of +that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go blind, and I +suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can see best when +I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but I must go on +with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.' He pointed to the all but +finished Melancolia and looked for applause. + +Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at +seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds--if indeed they were +misdeeds--that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for +childish vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to +his wonderful picture. + +Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two +walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder. + +Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, who +was dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his master +again. + +CHAPTER XI + +The lark will make her hymn to God, +The partridge call her brood, +While I forget the heath I trod, +The fields wherein I stood. + +'Tis dule to know not night from morn, +But deeper dule to know +I can but hear the hunter's horn +That once I used to blow. -- The Only Son.? + +IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was +heavy. + +'Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's +generally the other way about.' + +'Can a drunkard swear on his honour?' said Dick. + +'Yes, if he has been as god a man as you.' + +'Then I give you my word of honour,' said Dick, speaking hurriedly +through parched lips. 'Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've +kept me sober for two days,--if I ever was drunk,--and I've done no work. + +Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give out. + +The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than +ever. I swear I can see all right when I'm--when I'm moderately screwed, +as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all--the stuff I +want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days. It +only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.' + +'If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and--the +other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?' + +'I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you +could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I +shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.' + +'Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my +heart.' + +Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow devil +of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The +Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had +hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he +was 'a drunken beast'; but the reproof did not move him. + +'You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we +shall lie back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three +months' pay when the picture's finished, and next time I have any more +work in hand--but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make +you hate me less?' + +'No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow won't +speak to me any more. He's always looking at maps.' + +Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that at +the end of our passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a kiss, +and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a little +fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, and their +talk was of war in the near future, the hiring of transports, and secret +preparations among the dockyards. He did not wish to see Dick till the +picture was finished. + +'He's doing first-class work,' he said to the Nilghai, 'and it's quite out of +his regular line. But, for the matter of that, so's his infernal soaking.' + +'Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again +we'll carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor +Dick! I don't envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.' + +'Yes, it will be a case of "God help the man who's chained to our Davie." +The worst is that we don't know when it will happen, and I believe the +uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey more than +anything else.' + +'How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!' + +'He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He's dead. That's poor +consolation now.' + +In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. + +'All finished!' he shouted. 'I've done it! Come in! Isn't she a beauty? Isn't +she a darling? I've been down to hell to get her; but isn't she worth it?' + +Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,--a full-lipped, +hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had +intended she would. + +'Who taught you how to do it?' said Torpenhow. 'The touch and notion +have nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What eyes, +and what insolence!' Unconsciously he threw back his head and laughed +with her. 'She's seen the game played out,--I don't think she had a good +time of it,--and now she doesn't care. Isn't that the idea?' + +'Exactly.' + +'Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don't belong to Bess.' + +'They're--some one else's. But isn't it good? Isn't it thundering good? +Wasn't it worth the whiskey? I did it. Alone I did it, and it's the best I +can do.' He drew his breath sharply, and whispered, 'Just God! what +could I not do ten years hence, if I can do this now!--By the way, what do +you think of it, Bess?' + +The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had +taken no notice of her. + +'I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,' she answered, +and turned away. + +'More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.--Dick, +there's a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the head +that I don't understand,' said Torpenhow. + +That's trick-work,' said Dick, chuckling with delight at being completely +understood. 'I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer swagger. It's a French +trick, and you wouldn't understand; but it's got at by slewing round the +head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening of one side of the face from +the angle of the chin to the top of the left ear. That, and deepening the +shadow under the lobe of the ear. It was flagrant trick-work; but, having +the notion fixed, I felt entitled to play with it,--Oh, you beauty!' + +'Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.' + +'So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,' said Dick, slapping +his thigh. 'He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, just +when he's feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back his head +and laugh,--as she is laughing. I've put the life of my heart and the light +of my eyes into her, and I don't care what comes. . . . I'm tired,--awfully +tired. I think I'll get to sleep. Take away the whiskey, it has served its +turn, and give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over for luck. Cover the +picture.' + +He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost +before he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow's +hand. 'Aren't you never going to speak to me any more?' she said; but +Torpenhow was looking at Dick. + +'What a stock of vanity the man has! I'll take him in hand to-morrow and +make much of him. He deserves it.--Eh! what was that, Bess?' + +'Nothing. I'll put things tidy here a little, and then I'll go. You couldn't +give the that three months' pay now, could you? He said you were to.' + +Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully +tidied up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a bottle of +turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the Melancolia +viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took a +palette-knife and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. In +five minutes the picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. She +threw the paint-stained duster into the studio stove, stuck out her tongue +at the sleeper, and whispered, 'Bilked!' as she turned to run down the +staircase. She would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had at least +done harm to the man who had come between her and her desire and +who used to make fun of her. Cashing the check was the very cream of +the jest to Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across the Thames, to be +swallowed up in the gray wilderness of South-the-Water. + +Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off to +bed. His eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. 'Let's have another +look at the picture,' he said, insistently as a child. + +'You--go--to--bed,' said Torpenhow. 'You aren't at all well, though you +mayn't know it. You're as jumpy as a cat.' + +'I reform to-morrow. Good-night.' + +As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the +picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: 'Wiped out!--scraped +out and turped out! He's on the verge of jumps as it is. That's Bess,--the +little fiend! Only a woman could have done that!-with the ink not dry on +the check, too! Dick will be raving mad to-morrow. It was all my fault for +trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor Dick, the Lord is hitting you +very hard!' + +Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly because +the well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place to +crackling volcanoes of many-coloured fire. 'Spout away,' he said aloud. + +'I've done my work, and now you can do what you please.' He lay still, +staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his veins, his +brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be considered, +and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that he was +painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed with +millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood embodied +hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting together in his +honour, when something cracked inside his temples like an overstrained +bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was alone in the +thick night. + +'I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's light a lamp and see how the +Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.' + +It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did +not know,--in the rattling accents of deadly fear. + +'He's looked at the picture,' was his first thought, as he hurried into the +bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his hands. + +'Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!' + +'What's the matter?' + +Dick clutched at his shoulder. 'Matter! I've been lying here for hours in +the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away. I'm all +in the dark. In the dark, I tell you!' + +Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there was no +light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The +grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow wince. + +'Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I can't +see. D'you understand? It's black,--quite black,--and I feel as if I was +falling through it all.' + +'Steady does it.' Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock +him gently to and fro. + +'That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this +darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!' Dick knit +his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was +chilling Torpenhow's toes. + +'Can you stay like that a minute?' he said. 'I'll get my dressing-gown and +some slippers.' + +Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness +to clear away. 'What a time you've been!' he cried, when Torpenhow +returned. 'It's as black as ever. What are you banging about in the +door-way?' + +'Long chair,--horse-blanket,--pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie down +now; you'll be better in the morning.' + +'I shan't!' The voice rose to a wail. 'My God! I'm blind! I'm blind, and +the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, but +Torpenhow's arms were round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his +shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, +'Blind!' and wriggle feebly. + +'Steady, Dickie, steady!' said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip +tightened. 'Bite on the bullet, old man, and don't let them think you're +afraid,' The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing heavily. + +Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. + +'Let me go,' he panted. 'You're cracking my ribs. We-we mustn't let +them think we're afraid, must we,--all the powers of darkness and that +lot?' + +'Lie down. It's all over now.' + +'Yes,' said Dick, obediently. 'But would you mind letting me hold your +hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops through +the dark so.' + +Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick +clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow +withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the +forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of +death, to ease his departure. + +In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was +adrift on the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly-- +'It's a pity,--a great pity; but it's helped, and it must be eaten, Master +George. Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, +putting aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious +notoriety--such as mine was--that the queen can do no wrong. Torp +doesn't know that. I'll tell him when we're a little farther into the desert. + +What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They'll +have that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you +so--there she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing +round. How good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I can't. I'm afflicted with +ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it extends up +the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's a joke, Torp. Laugh, you +graven image, and stand clear of the hawser. . . . It'll knock you into the +water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.' + +'Oh!' said Torpenhow. 'This happened before. That night on the river.' + +'She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get muddy, and you're quite near +enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew you'd miss. + +Low and to the left, dear. But you've no conviction. Don't be angry, +darling. I'd cut my hand off if it would give you anything more than +obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.' + +'Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island shouting across seas of +misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I fancy,' said +Torpenhow. + +The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured +at length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being +enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss--only one kiss--before she went +away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she +would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness that +the queen could do no wrong. + +Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick's life +that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the +past, and then a natural sleep. 'What a strain he has been running under, +poor chap!' said Torpenhow. 'Dick, of all men, handing himself over like +a dog! And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have known that +it was no use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that girl must +be! Dick's given her his life,--confound him!--and she's given him one kiss +apparently.' + +'Torp,' said Dick, from the bed, 'go out for a walk. You've been here too +long. I'll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can't dress myself. Oh, it's too +absurd!' + +Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair in the +studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for the darkness to +lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick adventured on a voyage +round the walls. He hit his shins against the stove, and this suggested to +him that it would be better to crawl on all fours, one hand in front of +him. Torpenhow found him on the floor. + +'I'm trying to get the geography of my new possessions,' said he. 'D'you +remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn't keep the +odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give me all the +ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside. They're of +no importance.' + +Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick +put it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might not +have read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never +belong to him. + +'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. I +couldn't be any use to her now,' Dick argued, and the tempter suggested +that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him revolted. 'I +have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, it +would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but +the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of his +strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead darkness, +Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another, came +from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by the window, the +pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another man, +stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark +background it worked against, spared him no single detail that might +send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that +seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste +in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its +place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion that +Dick confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms +were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable +darkness. + +'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since +the beginning of things.' + +'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'--he +paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--'something will run over +me.' + +'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.' + +The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to +Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he +said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse God and die.' + +'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there +are the Guards!' + +Dick's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look. Let's +get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.' + +'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of +grass with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' Dick sniffed +luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as near +to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed +made Dick's nostrils quiver. + +'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?' + +'Yes. How did you know?' + +'Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though he +could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?' + +'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.' + +'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, +Torp!--nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a +minute!--one half-minute!' + +He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the +slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum +from the ground. + +'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow. + +'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!' + +The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the +crash of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, +heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the +belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain +that made a perfect quickstep-- + +He must be a man of decent height, +He must be a man of weight, +He must come home on a Saturday night +In a thoroughly sober state; +He must know how to love me, +And he must know how to kiss; +And if he's enough to keep us both +I can't refuse him bliss. + +'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when +the last of the regiment had departed. + +'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, take me +back. Why did you bring me out?'? + +CHAPTER XII + +There were three friends that buried the fourth, +The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes +And they went south and east, and north,-- +The strong man fights, but the sick man dies. + +There were three friends that spoke of the dead,-- +The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.-- +'And would he were with us now,' they said, +'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.' + +-- Ballad. + +THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to +bed,--blind men are ever under the orders of those who can see,--and +since he had returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow +because he was alive, and all the world because it was alive and could +see, while he, Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, +are only burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something +about a Mrs. Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to handle +and re-handle three unopened letters from Maisie. + +The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms. + +Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a +large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. + +'I was wrong about the Balkans,' said the Nilghai. 'But I'm not wrong +about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan must +be done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the +government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You +know that as well as I do.' + +'I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from +Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,' said +Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. 'Can +you blame me?' + +The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat-- +'Don't blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all the +rest of it, but every man--even you, Torp--must consider his work. I know +it sounds brutal, but Dick's out of the race,--down,--gastados expended, +finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't starve, and +you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own +reputation.' + +'Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.' + +'That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all ended +now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can command +your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.' + +'Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after Dick for a +while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he likes to +have me near him.' + +The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools +who throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed +angrily. The constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves +thin. + +'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider this, +and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is--or rather was--an +able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of +audacity.' + +'Oho!' said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. 'I begin to +see,--Torp, I'm sorry.' + +Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: 'You were more sorry when he cut you +out, though.--Go on, Keneu.' + +'I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if the +news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport were +quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's bedside.' + +'There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful +things are as they are,' said the Nilghai. + +'Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered +ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.--What do you think +yourself, Torp?' + +'I know they aren't. But what can I do?' + +'Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here. You've +been most in his life.' + +'But I picked it up when he was off his head.' + +'The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is +she?' + +Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent +who knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened +without interruption. + +'Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his calf-love?' + +said the Keneu. 'Is it possible?' + +'I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling three +letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?' + +'Speak to him,' said the Nilghai. + +'Oh yes! Write to her,--I don't know her full name, remember,--and ask +her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were sorry +for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the +bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl, +whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the blindness +has made him rather muscular.' + +'Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,' said the Keneu. 'He will go to +Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,--single track +from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was a +poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire +There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,--or ought to be. Where +this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's +business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain the +situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,--the more especially +because, to use Dick's words, "there is nothing but her damned obstinacy +to keep them apart."' + +'And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em. + +Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven't the +shadow of an excuse for not going,' said the Nilghai. + +Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. 'But it's absurd and impossible. I +can't drag her back by the hair.' + +'Our business--the business for which we draw our money--is to do +absurd and impossible things,--generally with no reason whatever except +to amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn't matter. I +shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns. There +will be a batch of unbridled "specials" coming to town in a little while, +and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for sending +Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, +and'--here the Keneu dropped his measured speech--'we can't have you +tied by the leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It's your only chance of +getting away; and Dick will be grateful.' + +'He will,--worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a woman in +her senses refusing Dick.' + +'Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh +woman into giving you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult. You had +better not be here to-morrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I will be +in possession. It is an order. Obey.'? + +'Dick,' said Torpenhow, next morning, 'can I do anything for you?' + +'No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?' + +'Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?' + +'No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.' + +'Poor chap!' said Torpenhow to himself. 'I must have been sitting on his +nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.' Then, aloud, 'Very well. Since +you're so independent, I'm going off for four or five days. Say good-bye +at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has my rooms.' + +Dick's face fell. 'You won't be longer than a week at the outside? I know +I'm touched in the temper, but I can't get on without you.' + +'Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll be +glad I'm gone.' + +Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things +might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet +Torpenhow's constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know +what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie's unopened +letters felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them +for himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him some +fresh ones to play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,--a piece of red +modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using his +hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, 'Is it like +anything in the world?' he said drearily. 'Take it away. I may get the +touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow has +gone?' + +The Nilghai knew nothing. 'We're staying in his rooms till he comes +back. Can we do anything for you?' + +'I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm best +alone.' + +The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen +rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the work +he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had departed +from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness of +his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body cried for +Maisie--Maisie who would understand. His mind pointed out that Maisie, +having her own work to do, would not care. His experience had taught +him that when money was exhausted women went away, and that when a +man was knocked out of the race the others trampled on him. 'Then at +the least,' said Dick, in reply, 'she could use me as I used Binat,--for some +sort of a study. I wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, even +though I knew that another man was making love to her. Ugh! what a +dog I am!' + +A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully-- + +'When we go--go--go away from here, +Our creditors will weep and they will wail, +Our absence much regretting when they find that they've been getting +Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail.'? + +Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the +sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, 'And see, you +good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle--firs'-class patent--eh, how +you say? Open himself inside out.' + +Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. 'That's Cassavetti, come +back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a +row somewhere, and--I'm out of it!' + +The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 'That's for my sake,' Dick said +bitterly. 'The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't tell me. I +can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War +Correspondents in London are there;--and I'm out of it.' + +He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He +could feel that it was full of men. 'Where's the trouble?' said he. 'In the +Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me?' + +'We thought you wouldn't be interested,' said the Nilghai, shamefacedly. + +'It's in the Soudan, as usual.' + +'You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton at +the feast.--Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as ever.' + +Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk +swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing +press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the capacities +of generals,--these in language that would have horrified a trusting +public,--rangint, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the top of their +voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the Soudan at any +moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in readiness. The +Keneu had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti had stolen a +perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered forward, and +was reading it out amid profane interruptions, and the Keneu introduced +to Dick some man unknown who would be employed as war artist by the +Central Southern Syndicate. 'It's his first outing,' said the Keneu. 'Give +him some tips--about riding camels.' + +'Oh, those camels!' groaned Cassavetti. 'I shall learn to ride him again, +and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know your +military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire +Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.' + +A roar of laughter interrupted him. + +'Sit down,' said the Nilghai. 'The lists aren't even made out in the War +Office.' + +'Will there be any force at Suakin?' aid a voice. + +Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: 'How many +Egyptian troops will they use?--God help the Fellaheen!--There's a +railway in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.--We shall +have the Suakin-Berber line built at last.--Canadian voyageurs are too +careful. Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.--Who +commands the Desert column?--No, they never blew up the big rock in +the Ghineh bend. We shall have to be hauled up, as usual.--Somebody tell +me if there's an Indian contingent, or I'll break everybody's head.--Don't +tear the map in two.--It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to connect with +the African companies in the South.--There's Guinea-worm in most of +the wells on that route.' Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace, bellowed +like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands. + +'But what becomes of Torpenhow?' said Dick, in the silence that +followed. + +'Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I +suppose,' said the Nilghai. + +'He said he was going to stay at home,' said the Keneu. + +'Is he?' said Dick, with an oath. 'He won't. I'm not much good now, but if +you and the Nilghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him till he +sees reason. He'll stay behind, indeed! He's the best of you all. There'll be +some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, this time. + +But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.' + +'So do we all, Dickie,' said the Keneu. + +'And I most of all,' said the new artist of the Central Southern Syndicate. + +'Could you tell me----' + +'I'll give you one piece of advice,' Dick answered, moving towards the +door. 'If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't guard. + +Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll find it cheapest in the end. Thanks +for letting me look in.' + +'There's grit in Dick,' said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room was +emptied of all save the Keneu. + +'It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he +answered to it? Poor fellow! Let's look at him,' said the Keneu. + +The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio +table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not +change his position. + +'It hurts,' he moaned. 'God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet, +y'know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I see +Torp before he goes?' + +'Oh, yes. You'll see him,' said the Nilghai. + +CHAPTER XIII + +The sun went down an hour ago, +I wonder if I face towards home; +If I lost my way in the light of day +How shall I find it now night is come? +--Old Song.? + +'MAISIE, come to bed.' + +'It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry.' + +Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on +the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon +Vitry-sur-Marne and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in +the meadows, the clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the +roadside flowers were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung +withered on their stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the +eaves was almost intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami's +studio across the road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow +of the big bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that +caught Maisie's eye and annoyed her. + +'Horrid thing! It should be all white,' she murmured. 'And the gate isn't +in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.' + +Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few +weeks had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the +study of a female head intended to represent the Melancolia and not +finished in time for the Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said +as much two days before; fourthly,--but so completely fourthly that it +was hardly worth thinking about,--Dick, her property, had not written to +her for more than six weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, +and with her work, but she was exceedingly angry with Dick. + +She had written to him three times,--each time proposing a fresh +treatment of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these +communications. She had resolved to write no more. When she returned +to England in the autumn--for her pride's sake she could not return +earlier--she would speak to him. She missed the Sunday afternoon +conferences more than she cared to admit. All that Kami said was, +'Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez toujours,' and he had been repeating +the wearisome counsel through the hot summer, exactly like a cicada,--an +old gray cicada in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge felt hat. + +But Dick had tramped masterfully up and down her little studio north of +the cool green London park, and had said things ten times worse than +continuez, before he snatched the brush out of her hand and showed her +where the error lay. His last letter, Maisie remembered, contained some +trivial advice about not sketching in the sun or drinking water at wayside +farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but three times,--as if he did +not know that Maisie could take care of herself. + +But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of +voices in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the +little garrison in the town was talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight +glittered on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand +lest it should clank inopportunely. The cook's cap cast deep shadows on +her face, which was close to the conscript's. He slid his arm round her +waist, and there followed the sound of a kiss. + +'Faugh!' said Maisie, stepping back. + +'What's that?' said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily outside +her bed. + +'Only a conscript kissing the cook,' said Maisie. + +'They've gone away now.' She leaned out of the window again, and put a +shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very small +night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one +who knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his +thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the degradation of +Suzanne and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded its head and +one leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil scratching its ear. + +Dick could not, 'because,' thought Maisie, 'he is mind,--mine,--mine. He +said he was. I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only spoil his work +if he does; and it will spoil mine too.' + +The rose continued to nod it the futile way peculiar to flowers. There was +no earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, except +that he was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist Maisie in +her work. And her work was the preparation of pictures that went +sometimes to English provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the +scrap-book proved, and that were invariably rejected by the Salon when +Kami was plagued into allowing her to send them up. Her work in the +future, it seemed, would be the preparation of pictures on exactly similar +lines which would be rejected in exactly the same way---- +The red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. 'It's too hot +to sleep,' she moaned; and the interruption jarred. + +Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the little +studio in England and Kami's big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, she +would go to another master, who should force her into the success that +was her right, if patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a right to +anything. Dick had told her that he had worked ten years to understand +his craft. She had worked ten years, and ten years were nothing. Dick +had said that ten years were nothing,--but that was in regard to herself +only. He had said--this very man who could not find time to write--that +he would wait ten years for her, and that she was bound to come back to +him sooner or later. He had said this in the absurd letter about sunstroke +and diphtheria; and then he had stopped writing. He was wandering up +and down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. She would like to lecture him +now,--not in her nightgown, of course, but properly dressed, severely and +from a height. Yet if he was kissing other girls he certainly would not +care whether she lecture him or not. He would laugh at her. Very good. + +She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., etc. + +The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it might +be slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind her. + +Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no +doubt whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began, +unwomanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he +loved her. And he kissed her,--kissed her on the cheek,--by a yellow +sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose in the +garden. Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they loved +her--just when she was busiest with her work. Then the boy came back, +and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her. Then he +had---- But there was no end to the things he had done. He had given her +his time and his powers. He had spoken to her of Art, housekeeping, +technique, teacups, the abuse of pickles as a stimulant,--that was +rude,--sable hair-brushes,--he had given her the best in her stock,--she +used them daily; he had given her advice that she profited by, and now +and again--a look. Such a look! The look of a beaten hound waiting for +the word to crawl to his mistress's feet. In return she had given him +nothing whatever, except--here she brushed her mouth against the +open-work sleeve f her nightgown--the privilege of kissing her once. And +on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not enough, and more than +enough? and if it was not, had he not cancelled the debt by not writing +and--probably kissing other girls? +'Maisie, you'll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,' said the wearied voice +of her companion. 'I can't sleep a wink with you at the window.' + +Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting on +the meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had +nothing to do. The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the +skylight of the studio across the road in cold silver; she stared at it +intently and her thoughts began to slide one into the other. The shadow +of the big bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened again, and faded +out as the moon went down behind the pasture and a hare came limping +home across the road. Then the dawn-wind washed through the upland +grasses, and brought coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by the +drought-shrunk river. Maisie's head fell forward on the window-sill, and +the tangle of black hair covered her arms. + +'Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill.' + +'Yes, dear; yes, dear.' She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, and +as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, 'I think--I think. . . . + +But he ought to have written.' + +Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and turpentine, +and the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, but a golden +teacher if the pupil were only in sympathy with him. Maisie was not in +sympathy that day, and she waited impatiently for the end of the work. + +She knew when it was coming; for Kami would gather his black alpaca +coat into a bunch behind him, and, with faded flue eyes that saw neither +pupils nor canvas, look back into the past to recall the history of one +Binat. 'You have all done not so badly,' he would say. 'But you shall +remember that it is not enough to have the method, and the art, and the +power, nor even that which is touch, but you shall have also the +conviction that nails the work to the wall. Of the so many I taught,'--here +the students would begin to unfix drawing-pins or get their tubes +together,--'the very so many that I have taught, the best was Binat. All +that comes of the study and the work and the knowledge was to him even +when he came. After he left me he should have done all that could be +done with the colour, the form, and the knowledge. Only, he had not the +conviction. So to-day I hear no more of Binat,--the best of my +pupils,--and that is long ago. So to-day, too, you will be glad to hear no +more of me. Continuez, mesdemoiselles, and, above all, with conviction.' + +He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the +pupils dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to make +plans for the cool of the afternoon. + +Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to +grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter to +Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How +Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to +the hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to +discuss with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to +reduce the colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best +horse in the squadron for the journey to Kami's studio, is a mystery that +only special correspondents can unravel. + +'I beg your pardon,' said he. 'It seems an absurd question to ask, but the +fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young lady +here that is called Maisie?' + +'I am Maisie,' was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. + +'I ought to introduce myself,' he said, as the horse capered in the blinding +white dust. 'My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best friend, +and--and--the fact is that he has gone blind.' + +'Blind!' said Maisie, stupidly. 'He can't be blind.' + +'He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.' + +Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. 'No! No! Not blind! I +won't have him blind!' + +'Would you care to see for yourself?' said Torpenhow. + +'Now,--at once?' + +'Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till to-night. There +will be ample time.' + +'Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?' + +'Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in his +studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's blind.' + +There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head +and went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, +complaining of a headache. + +'Dick's blind!' said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied +herself against a chair-back. 'My Dick's blind!' + +'What?' The girl was on the sofa no longer. + +'A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six +weeks.' + +'Are you going to him?' + +'I must think.' + +'Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his eyes +and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't go I +shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to him at +once. Go!' + +Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite +patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. + +'I am coming,' said she, her eyes on the ground. + +'You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.' This was an +order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said +nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing with +this big man who took everything for granted and managed a squealing +horse with one hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, who was +weeping bitterly, and between tears, kisses,--very few of those,--menthol, +packing, and an interview with Kami, the sultry afternoon wore away. + +Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to +Dick,--Dick who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing +with her unopened letters. + +'But what will you do,' she said to her companion. + +'I? Oh, I shall stay here and--finish your Melancolia,' she said, smiling +pitifully. 'Write to me afterwards.' + +That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad +Englishman, doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the +officers of the garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the +lines, and had then and there eloped, after the English custom, with one +of those more mad English girls who drew pictures down there under the +care of that good Monsieur Kami. + +'They are very droll,' said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight by +the studio wall. 'She walked always with those big eyes that saw nothing, +and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my sister, and +gives me--see--ten francs!' + +The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself on +being a good soldier. + +Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; but +he was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment +entirely to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease +with which the matter had been accomplished. + +'The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick's +showing,--when he was off his head,--she must have ordered him about +very thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.' + +Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes +shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order +that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last +almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking +after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any interest in her +surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that she, +Maisie,--of all people,--was in disgrace. Therefore she justified her +conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow came up to her on +the steamer and without preface began to tell the story of Dick's +blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at length on the +miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the end, as though he +had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was +furious with him and with herself. + +She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask +for breakfast, and--she was past any feeling of indignation now--was +bidden curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs +while Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that +she was being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks +flame. It was all Dick's fault for being so stupid as to go blind. + +Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick +was sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three +envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man +who gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped +behind her. + +Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. 'Hullo, +Topr! Is that you? I've been so lonely.' + +His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed +herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, +and she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring +directly at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind. + +Shutting her eyes in a rail-way carriage to open them when she pleased +was child's play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open. + +'Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.' Dick looked puzzled and +a little irritated at the silence. + +'No; it's only me,' was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie +could hardly move her lips. + +'H'm!' said Dick, composedly, without moving. 'This is a new +phenomenon. Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices.' + +Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie's +heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began +to feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he +passed. Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his +knees to feel what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him +walking in the Park as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping up +and down her studio two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the +Channel steamer. The beating of her heart was making her sick, and +Dick was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her breathing. She put +out a hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to herself, she +did not know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as though +he had been shot. + +'It's Maisie!' said he, with a dry sob. 'What are you doing here?' + +'I came--I came--to see you, please.' + +Dick's lips closed firmly. + +'Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes, and----' + +'I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?' + +'I couldn't write.' + +'You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.' + +'What has he to do with my affairs?' + +'He--he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see you.' + +'Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I forgot.' + +'Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and---- Let me take you +back to your chair.' + +'Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to tell +you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let me alone!' + +He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. + +Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed by +a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from +the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he was, +indeed, down and done for--masterful no longer but rather a little abject; +neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up to--only +some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of crying. She +was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him--more sorry than she had +ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny his words. + +So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had +honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now +she was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love. + +'Well?' said Dick, his face steadily turned away. 'I never meant to worry +you any more. What's the matter?' + +He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as +unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had +dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands. + +'I can't--I can't!' she cried desperately. 'Indeed, I can't. It isn't my fault. + +I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry.' + +Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. + +Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have failed in +the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of making sacrifices. + +'I do despise myself--indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you wouldn't +ask me--would you?' wailed Maisie. + +She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick's eyes +fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips were +trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out eyes that +Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place some one +that she could hardly recognise till he spoke. + +'Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be. + +What's the use of worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it isn't +worth it.' + +'You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me--help me!' The +passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to +alarm the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her +head fell on his shoulder. + +'Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite right, and you've nothing to +reproach yourself with--you never had. You're only a little upset by the +journey, and I don't suppose you've had any breakfast. What a brute +Torp was to bring you over.' + +'I wanted to come. I did indeed,' she protested. + +'Very well. And now you've come and seen, and I'm--immensely grateful. + +When you're better you shall go away and get something to eat. What +sort of a passage did you have coming over?' + +Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad that +she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder +tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder +might be. + +She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most +unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room +between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart. + +'Are you better now?' he said. + +'Yes, but--don't you hate me?' + +'I hate you? My God! I?' + +'Isn't--isn't there anything I could do for you, then? I'll stay here in +England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you sometimes.' + +'I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. I +don't want to seem rude, but--don't you think--perhaps you had almost +better go now.' + +He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain +continued much longer. + +'I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable.' + +'Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; I'd tell you if you had. Wait a +moment, dear. I've got something to give you first. I meant it for you ever +since this little trouble began. It's my Melancolia; she was a beauty when +I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you're poor you can +sell her. She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the market.' He +groped among his canvases. 'She's framed in black. Is this a black frame +that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think of her?' + +He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the +eyes strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One +thing and one thing only could she do for him. + +'Well?' + +The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was +speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic desire +to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick's sake--whatever this mad +blankness might mean--she must make no sign. Her voice choked with +hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck-- +'Oh, Dick, it is good!' + +He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. 'Won't you +have it, then? I'll send it over to your house if you will.' + +'I? Oh yes--thank you. Ha! ha!' If she did not fly at once the laughter +that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, choking +and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take refuge in +a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down in the +dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, useless +till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the sorrow, the +shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the red-haired +girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never feared her companion +before. Not until she found herself saying, 'Well, he never asked me,' did +she realise her scorn of herself. + +And that is the end of Maisie. + +* * * * * * +For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at +first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word +of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought +upon him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his +dark hour came and he was alone with himself and his desires to get +what help he could from the darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but +in following the right, so far as it served her work, she had wounded her +one subject more than his own brain would let him know. + +'It's all I had and I've lost it,' he said, as soon as the misery permitted +clear thinking. 'And Torp will think that he has been so infernally clever +that I shan't have the heart to tell him. I must think this out quietly.' + +'Hullo!' said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two +hours of thought. 'I'm back. Are you feeling any better?' + +'Torp, I don't know what to say. Come here.' Dick coughed huskily, +wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately. + +'What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.' Torpenhow +was perfectly satisfied. + +They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's +shoulder, and Dick buried in his own thoughts. + +'How in the world did you find it all out?' said Dick, at last. + +'You shouldn't go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It +was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rocketing +about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you'd +have laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms to-night. Seven +other devils----' + +'I know--the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils the +other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? +Who d'you work for?' + +'Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business +would turn out.' + +'Would you have stayed with me, then, if--things had gone wrong?' He +put his question cautiously. + +'Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man.' + +'You've tried to be an angel very successfully.' + +'Oh ye--es! . . . Well, do you attend the function to-night? We shall be +half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war's a certainty.' + +'I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay quiet here.' + +'And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man did.' + +That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured +in from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that they +might discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations +becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu,, and the Nilghai had +bidden all the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, +the housekeeper, declared that never before in his checkered experience +had he seen quite such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked the +chambers with shoutings and song; and the elder men were quite as bad +as the younger. For the chances of war were in front of them, and all +knew what those meant. + +Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the landing, +Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. + +'When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. Maisie's +quite right--poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry like that before; +but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be quite fool enough to +stay at home and try to console me--if he knew. Besides, it isn't nice to +own that you've been thrown over like a broken chair. I must carry this +business through alone--as usual. If there isn't a war, and Torp finds out, +I shall look foolish, that's all. If there is a way I mustn't interfere with +another man's chances. Business is business, and I want to be alone--I +want to be alone. What a row they're making!' + +Somebody hammered at the studio door. + +'Come out and frolic, Dickie,' said the Nilghai. + +'I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.' + +'Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.' + +'Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.' + +'Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. + +Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.' + +For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. + +'No, thanks, I've a headache already.' + +'Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my +congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your welfare.' + +'Go to the devil--oh, send Binkie in here.' + +The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made +much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely +inside the studio he realised that this was no place for tail-wagging, and +settled himself on Dick's lap till it was bedtime. Then he went to bed with +Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and rose in the morning with +a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's more formal +congratulations and a particular account of the last night's revels. + +'You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,' said Torpenhow. + +'Never mind that--it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you really go?' + +'Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted +on better terms than before.' + +'When do you start?' + +'The day after to-morrow--for Brindisi.' + +'Thank God.' Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. + +'Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me. But +men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.' + +'I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before +you leave?' + +'That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?' + +'Oh, it's only for--marriage expenses.' + +Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and +carefully put it away in the writing table. + +'Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl until I +go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!' he said to himself. + +But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the +doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked +innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began +to feel annoyed. + +'You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, +don't you?' he said on the last evening. + +'I--I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will last?' + +'Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.' + +'I wish I were going.' + +'Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it +occurred to you that you're going to be married--thanks to me?' + +'Of course, yes. I'm going to be married--so I am. Going to be married. + +I'm awfully grateful to you. Haven't I told you that?' + +'You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,' said Torpenhow. + +And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the +loneliness he had so much desired. + +CHAPTER XIV + +Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, +Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, +Yet at the last, with his masters around him, +He of the Faith spoke as master to slave; +Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him, +Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,-- +Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him, +He called upon Allah and died a believer. + +--Kizzilbashi. + +'BEG your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but--but isn't nothin' going to happen?' + +said Mr. Beeton. + +'No!' Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his +temper was of the shortest. + +''Tain't my regular business, o' course, sir; and what I say is, "Mind +your own business and let other people mind theirs;" but just before Mr. + +Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might be +moving into a house of your own, so to speak--a sort of house with rooms +upstairs and downstairs where you'd be better attended to, though I try +to act just by all our tenants. Don't I?' + +'Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan't trouble you to take me +there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.' + +'I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as +far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in +chambers--and more particular those whose lot is hard--such as you, for +instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you? Soft-roe +bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, "Never mind a little +extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the tenants."' + +Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long +away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled +down to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing +better than death. + +It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night; dropping +to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising restless in the +chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, would grope along the +corridors of the chambers till he heard some one snore. Then he would +know that the day had not yet come, and return wearily to his bedroom. + +Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the +house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed--and dressing, +now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because collars, +ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and search +meant head-beating against chairs and trunks--once dressed, there was +nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the three daily +meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch from +dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his mind +might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind was +quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as +millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would +not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with +imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past +success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and +feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened had +the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased through +sheer weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on tide of +overwhelming, purposeless fear--dread of starvation always, terror lest +the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the +chambers and a louse's death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror +that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed his head, +and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating self till the +tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being set before him. + +Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and Dick +learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted gas-plugs, +waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving picture-nails into walls, +and the sins of the charwoman or the housemaids. In the lack of better +things the small gossip of a servant'' hall becomes immensely interesting, +and the screwing of a washer on a tap an event to be talked over for days. + +Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him +when he went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over +fish, lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his +weight first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly with +the tins and string-ball on the counter. Then they would perhaps meet +one of Mr. Beeton's friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, would hold +his peace till Mr. Beeton was willing to go on again. + +The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a +dangerous exercise, and being shaved in a barber's shop meant exposure +of his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly brushed, +and since he had never taken any care of his personal appearance he +became every known variety of sloven. A blind man cannot deal with +cleanliness till he has been some months used to the darkness. If he +demand attendance and grow angry at the want of it, he must assert +himself and stand upright. Then the meanest menial can see that he is +blind and, therefore, of no consequence. A wise man will keep his eyes on +the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal lump by lump out +of the scuttle with the tongs and pile it in a little heap in the fender, +keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, one by one +and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to work them +out; he may talk to himself or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if +his trade has been that of an artist, he may sketch in the air with his +forefinger; but that is too much like drawing a pig with the eyes shut. He +may go to his bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of +their size; or to his wardrobe and count his shirts, laying them in piles of +two or three on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. + +Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, +very long. + +Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, +taps and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. + +'If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why, +then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the +amount of little things that these chambers uses up,' said Mr. Beeton. + +Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: 'It's hard on you, sir, +I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?' + +'I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?' + +'I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but +I 'ave often said to my wife, "It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as if he was +an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young gentleman. + +That's where it comes so 'ard."' + +'I suppose so,' said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long +battering had ceased to feel--much. + +'I was thinking,' continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, 'that you +might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an +evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.' + +'I should be very grateful,' said Dick. 'Only let me make it worth his +while.' + +'We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; but +only to 'ear Alf sing "A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!" Ah!' + +'I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the +newspapers.' + +Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board +certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. Mr. + +Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through a +song of some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young +Cockney, and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign +telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and +scared. + +''E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,' he explained. + +'He never said you read badly, Alf?' Mrs. Beeton spoke. + +'No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like that, +but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.' + +'P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about +Stocks, Alf?' + +'No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone--a great +long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words in it. 'E +give me 'arf a crown because I read so well. And 'e says the next time +there's anything 'e wants read 'e'll send for me.' + +'That's good hearing, but I do think for all the half-crown--put it into the +kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it--he might have +kept you longer. Why, he couldn't have begun to understand how +beautiful you read.' + +'He's best left to hisself--gentlemen always are when they're +downhearted,' said Mr. Beeton. + +Alf's rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow's special +correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear, +through the boy's nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares behind +the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and chaffing +across the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it +drifted over camp before the wind of the desert. + +That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him, +offering for proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he had +not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed +Dick knew in his heart of hearts that only a lingering sense of humour +and no special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, he had persuaded +himself, would be a ludicrous insult to the gravity of the situation as well +as a weak-kneed confession of fear. + +'Just for the fun of the thing,' he said to the cat, who had taken Binkie's +place in his establishment, 'I should like to know how long this is going to +last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds Torp cashed for me. I +must have two or three thousand at least in the Bank--twenty or thirty +years more provided for, that is to say. Then I fall back on my hundred +and twenty a year, which will be more by that time. Let's consider. + +Twenty-five--thirty-five--a man's in his prime then, they +say--forty-five--a middle-aged man just entering politics--fifty-five--"died +at the comparatively early age of fifty-five," according to the +newspapers. Bah! How these Christians funk death! Sixty-five--we're +only getting on in years. Seventy-five is just possible, though. Great hell, +cat O! fifty years more of solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die, +and Beeton will die, and Torp will die, and Mai--everybody else will die, +but I shall be alive and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry for +myself. I should like some one else to be sorry for me. Evidently I'm not +going ma before I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever. Some day when +you're vivisected, cat O! they'll tie you down on a little table and cut you +open--but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good care that you don't +die. You'll live, and you'll be very sorry then that you weren't sorry for +me. Perhaps Torp will come back or . . . I wish I could go to Torp and the +Nilghai, even though I were in their way.' + +Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered, +found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. + +'There's a letter for you, sir,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd like me to read it.' + +'Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you.' + +The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not +over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that--that was +no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes only too +well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to him, for he did not +realise that there is a wrong which admits of no reparation though the +evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love strive to mend all. It is +best to forget that wrong whether it be caused or endured, since it is as +remediless as bad work once put forward. + +'Read it, then,' said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the rules +of the Board School-- +'"I could have given you love, I could have given you loyalty, such as you +never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared what you were? But you chose +to whistle everything down the wind for nothing. My only excuse for you is +that you are so young." +'That's all,' he said, returning the paper to be dropped into the fire. + +'What was in the letter?' asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. + +'I don't know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin' at +everything when you're young.' + +'I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about +and it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is--unless it +was all a joke. But I don't know any one who'd take the trouble to play a +joke on me. . . . Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting enough. + +I wonder whether I have lost anything really?' + +Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he +had put himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman's hands. + +Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think +about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. When +his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more, body and soul +together seemed to be dropping without check through the darkness. + +Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light +again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left +him sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till +the gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless as +the first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed that +he saw. Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he was +utterly worn out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration of +Maisie and might-have-beens. + +At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to +take him out. 'Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if you +like.' + +'Be damned if I do,' quoth Dick. 'Keep to the streets and walk up and +down. I like to hear the people round me.' + +This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their +infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted +arms--but Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and only +once since Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf's +charge. Alf forgot him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with +some companions. After half an hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping +with rage and wrath, caught a passer-by, who introduced him to a +friendly policeman, who led him to a four-wheeler opposite the Albert +Hall. He never told Mr. Beeton of Alf's forgetfulness, but . . . this was not +the manner in which he was used to walk the Parks aforetime. + +'What streets would you like to walk down, then?' said Mr. Beeton, +sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking on +the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags full +of food. + +'Keep to the river,' said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush of +it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck thence +on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of the +scenery as he went on. + +'And walking on the other side of the pavement,' said he, 'unless I'm +much mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to +be drawed. I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except +paying tenants, o' course!' + +'Stop her,' said Dick. 'It's Bessie Broke. Tell her I'd like to speak to her +again. Quick, man!' + +Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and +arrested Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the +man in authority who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick's +staircase, and her first impulse was to run. + +'Wasn't you Mr. Heldar's model?' said Mr. Beeton, planting himself in +front of her. 'You was. He's on the other side of the road and he'd like to +see you.' + +'Why?' said Bessie, faintly. She remembered--indeed had never for long +forgotten--an affair connected with a newly finished picture. + +'Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular +blind.' + +'Drunk?' + +'No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.' + +Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed +him out--a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty +magenta-coloured neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was +nothing to fear from such an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, +he could not follow far. She crossed over, and Dick's face lighted up. It +was long since a woman of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to +him. + +'I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?' said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr. Beeton +stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly. + +'I'm very well indeed, and, by Jove! I'm glad to see--hear you, I mean, +Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again after +you got your money. I don't know why you should. Are you going +anywhere in particular just now?' + +'I was going for a walk,' said Bessie. + +'Not the old business?' Dick spoke under his breath. + +'Lor, no! I paid my premium'--Bessie was very proud of that word--'for a +barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I +am.' + +Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human +nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his +gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a +certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the +harm that had been done to him . . . + +'It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,' she went on, 'and they've got +one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a +penny at the end of the day--but then I don't believe the machinery is +right. Do you?' + +'I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.' + +'He's gone. + +'I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth your +while. You see.' The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie saw. + +'It isn't taking you out of your way?' he said hesitatingly. 'I can ask a +policeman if it is.' + +'Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.' + +'Good God!--but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do too. + +Let's go home, Bess.' + +He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an +oath. Bessie took his arm and said nothing--as she had said nothing when +he had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They +walked for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through the +crowd. + +'And where's--where's Mr. Torpenhow?' she inquired at last. + +'He has gone away to the desert.' + +'Where's that?' + +Dick pointed to the right. 'East--out of the mouth of the river,' said he. + +'Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side of +Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.' The explanation did not +enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to Dick's +patch till they came to the chambers. + +'We'll have tea and muffins,' he said joyously. 'I can't tell you, Bessie, +how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so suddenly?' + +'I didn't think you'd want me any more,' she said, emboldened by his +ignorance. + +'I didn't, as a matter of fact--but afterwards-- At any rate I'm glad +you've come. You know the stairs.' + +So Bessie led him home to his own place--there was no one to hinder--and +shut the door of the studio. + +'What a mess!' was her first word. 'All these things haven't been looked +after for months and months.' + +'No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect them to care.' + +'I don't know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what +you've paid them for. The dust's just awful. It's all over the easel.' + +'I don't use it much now.' + +'All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I'd like to +speak to them housemaids.' + +'Ring for tea, then.' Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by custom. + +Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there +remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in her +voice when she spoke. + +'How long have you been like this?' she said wrathfully, as though the +blindness were some fault of the housemaids. + +'How?' + +'As you are.' + +'The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my +picture was finished; I hardly saw her alive.' + +'Then they've been cheating you ever since, that's all. I know their nice +little ways.' + +A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine +principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being +defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being +obviously an idiot, needs protection. + +'I don't think Mr. Beeton cheats much,' said Dick. Bessie was flouncing +up and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of +enjoyment as he heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between. + +'Tea and muffins,' she said shortly, when the ring at the bell was +answered; 'two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I don't want the +old teapot that was here when I used to come. It don't draw. Get +another.' + +The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he +began to cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the +dust. + +'What are you trying to do?' + +'Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you let +it go so?' + +'How could I help it? Dust away.' + +She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs. + +Beeton. Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding +up with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, 'Do unto others as you would +be done by.' She had descended to put into her place the person who +demanded muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to +both. + +'Muffins ready yet?' said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a drab of +the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick's check, had paid her +premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being +neatly dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and there +passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have +appreciated. The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and +Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about +models, hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband. + +'There's nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,' he said. 'Alf, +you go along into the street to play. When he isn't crossed he's as kindly +as kind, but when he's crossed he's the devil and all. We took too many +little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be that particular +about what he does. They ain't no objects to a blind man, of course, but if +it was to come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did introduce him to +that girl because I'm a feelin' man myself.' + +'Much too feelin'!' Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and +thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. + +'I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to judge him hard so long as he +pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young gentlemen, +you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each stick to his +own business and then there won't be any trouble. Take them muffins +down, Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman. His +lot is cruel hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than any one I've +ever served.' + +'That's a little better,' said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. 'You needn't +wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.' + +'I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.' + +Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in which +real ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a first-class +public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes' notice. + +Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and +displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his coat; +the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the +forehead was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was +a dusty indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called +gray. The utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to her, +and at the bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was +humbled and brought low who had once humbled her. + +'Oh! it is good to hear you moving about,' said Dick, rubbing his hands. + +'Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live now.' + +'Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me. + +You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? +Why isn't there any one to look after you?' + +Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it. + +'I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I +don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. + +Why should they?--and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.' + +'Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was--well?' + +'A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.' + +'I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't become +you.' + +'Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me +these days?' + +'You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can +come, can't I?' + +'I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very well in +the old days. I used to make you angry.' + +'Very angry, you did.' + +'I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as +you can. God knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that trouble +except you and Mr. Beeton.' + +'A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.' This with a toss of the head. + +'They've let you do anyhow and they haven't done anything for you. I've +only to look and see that much. I'll come, and I'll be glad to come, but you +must go and be shaved, and you must get some other clothes--those ones +aren't fit to be seen.' + +'I have heaps somewhere,' he said helplessly. + +'I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I'll brush it +and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, but it +doesn't excuse you looking like a sweep.' + +'Do I look like a sweep, then?' + +'Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for you!' she cried impulsively, and +took Dick's hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to kiss--she +was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not too +proud for a little pity now. She stood up to go. + +'Nothing o' that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite easy +when you get shaved, and some clothes.' + +He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She +passed behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and +ran away as swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the +Melancolia. + +'To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,' she said to herself, 'after all he's +done to me and all! Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved he +wouldn't be so bad to look at, but . . . Oh them Beetons, how shameful +they've treated him! I know Beeton's wearing his shirt on his back to-day +just as well as if I'd aired it. To-morrow, I'll see . . . I wonder if he has +much of his own. It might be worth more than the bar--I wouldn't have +to do any work--and just as respectable as if no one knew.' + +Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely +conscious of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it seemed, +among very many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting shaved. + +He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A +fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in the +world said that she took an interest in his personal appearance made him +carry himself almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a while from +thinking of Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might have given +that kiss and a million others. + +'Let us consider,' said he, after lunch. 'The girl can't care, and it's a +toss-up whether she comes again or not, but if money can buy her to look +after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the world would take the +trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She's a child of the gutter +holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have everything she wants +if she'll only come and talk and look after me.' He rubbed his newly +shorn chin and began to perplex himself with the thought of her not +coming. 'I suppose I did look rather a sweep,' he went on. 'I had no +reason to look otherwise. I knew things dropped on my clothes, but it +didn't matter. It would be cruel if she didn't come. She must. Maisie +came once, and that was enough for her. She was quite right. She had +something to work for. This creature has only beer-handles to pull, +unless she has deluded some young man into keeping company with her. + +Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We're falling +pretty low.' + +Something cried aloud within him:--This will hurt more than anything +that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and tantalise, +and in the end drive you mad. + +'I know it, I know it!' Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly; 'but, +good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of his life +except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she'd come.' + +Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in +her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would +allow her to be idle for the rest of her days. + +'I shouldn't have known you,' she said approvingly. 'You look as you +used to look--a gentleman that was proud of himself.' + +'Don't you think I deserve another kiss, then?' said Dick, flushing a little. + +'Maybe--but you won't get it yet. Sit down and let's see what I can do for +you. I'm certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can't go +through the housekeeping books every month. Isn't that true?' + +'You'd better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.' + +'Couldn't do it in these chambers--you know that as well as I do.' + +'I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your +while.' + +'I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn't care to have to work +for both of us.' This was tentative. + +Dick laughed. + +'Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?' said he. 'Torp +took it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.' + +'It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!' + +'Well?' + +'Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a +penny! Oh my!' + +'You can have the penny. That's not bad for one year's work. Is that and +a hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?' + +The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, +but she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. + +'Yes; but you'd have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we'd +find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms here +and there. They don't look as full as they used.' + +'Never mind, we'll let him have them. The only thing I'm particularly +anxious to take away is that picture I used you for--when you used to +swear at me. We'll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as +ever we can.' + +'Oh yes,' she said uneasily. + +'I don't know where I can go to get away from myself, but I'll try, and +you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You'll like that. + +Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it's good to put one's arm round a +woman's waist again.' + +Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm +were thus round Maisie's waist and a kiss had just been given and taken +between them,--why then . . . He pressed the girl more closely to himself +because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain a little +accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really desired the +solace of her company--and certainly he would relapse into his original +slough if she withdrew it--he would not be more than just a little vexed. + +It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by her +teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his companion. + +She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. + +'I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was you,' she began, in the hope +of turning his attention. + +'It's at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know it +as well as I do.' + +'I know--but--' + +'But what? You've wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer. + +Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or +nine hundred pounds to--to us. I simply didn't like to think about it for a +long time. It was mixed up with my life so.--But we'll cover up our tracks +and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the beginning, +Bess.' + +Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value +of money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating +the value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular +about their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she +tries to explain the breakage of a pipe. + +'I'm very sorry, but you remember I was--I was angry with you before +Mr. Torpenhow went away?' + +'You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right +to be.' + +'Then I--but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?' + +'Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about +when you might just as well be giving me another kiss?' + +He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that +kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want. + +Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, 'I was so angry I +rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't angry, are you?' + +'What? Say that again.' The man's hand had closed on her wrist. + +'I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,' faltered Bessie. 'I thought +you'd only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn't you? +Oh, let go of my wrist; you're hurting me.' + +'Isn't there anything left of the thing?' + +'N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm sorry--I didn't know you'd take +on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to hit me?' + +'Hit you! No! Let's think.' + +He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet. + +Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the +stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles +that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of the +Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie's return +and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the +Melancolia--lovelier in his imagination than she had ever been on +canvas--reappeared. By her aid he might have procured mor money +wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well as another taste of +an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a vicious little housemaid's +folly, there was nothing to look for--not even the hope that he might some +day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. Worst of all, he had been +made to appear ridiculous in Maisie's eyes. A woman will forgive the +man who has ruined her life's work so long as he gives her love; a man +may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he will never forgive +the destruction of his work. + +'Tck--tck--tck,' said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed softly. 'It's +an omen, Bessie, and--a good many things considered, it serves me right +for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for Maisie's running +away. She must have thought me perfectly mad--small blame to her! The +whole picture ruined, isn't it so? What made you do it?' + +'Because I was that angry. I'm not angry now--I'm awful sorry.' + +'I wonder.--It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm to blame for making the +mistake.' + +'What mistake?' + +'Something you wouldn't understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that +a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!' Dick was +talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist. + +'I ain't a piece of dirt, and you shouldn't call me so! I did it 'cause I hated +you, and I'm only sorry now 'cause you're--'cause you're----' + +'Exactly--because I'm blind. There's noting like tact in little things.' + +Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; she +was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too that +her great revenge had only made Dick laugh. + +'Don't cry,' he said, and took her into his arms. 'You only did what you +thought right.' + +'I--I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I'll never come to you +again.' + +'You don't know what you've done to me. I'm not angry--indeed, I'm not. + +Be quiet for a minute.' + +Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick's first thought was +connected with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open +sore. + +Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. + +The first pang--the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to the play, +for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has decreed +that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest pleasure. + +They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the +love of their life, and in their new wives' arms are compelled to realise it. + +It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, so +long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that resource +goes the man is to be pitied and left alone. + +These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding +Bessie to his heart. + +'Though you mayn't know it,' he said, raising his head, 'the Lord is a just +and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It serves +me right--how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if he were +here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but only for +a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.' + +'Let me go,' said Bess, her face darkening. 'Let me go.' + +'All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?' + +'Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making fun of me.' + +'Indeed, I'm not. I'm making fun of myself. . . . Thus. "He saved others, +himself he cannot save." It isn't exactly a school-board text.' He released +her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she could not +escape. 'What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman can do!' + +'I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the picture.' + +'I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it. . . . What were we talking +about before you mentioned the thing?' + +'About getting away--and money. Me and you going away.' + +'Of course. We will get away--that is to say, I will.' + +'And me?' + +'You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.' + +'Then you won't----?' + +'I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to +yourself.' + +'You said you couldn't do anything without me.' + +'That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my +hat.' + +'S'pose I don't?' + +'Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.' + +Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had +kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it +pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all +there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now +through a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not +too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the pretty +things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as +respectable as a real lady. + +'Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, but it doesn't matter, and I'll +think things out. What's the day of the week, Bess?' + +'Tuesday.' + +'Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool--what a blind fool I have been!? + +Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for +additional expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat's for old time's +sake. Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the +last trip--Gad, won't Torp stare to see me!--a hundred and thirty-two +leaves seventy-eight for baksheesh--I shall need it--and to play with. + +What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn't your fault, child; it was mine +altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out!? + +I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand +pounds at four per cent--that's safe interest--means a hundred and sixty +pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a hear--also safe--is two +eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three hundred a +year means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we'll go to the bank.' + +Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick +caused Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the +P. and O. offices, where he explained things tersely. + +'Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as possible. + +What ship's going?' + +'The Colgong,' said the clerk. + +'She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and the +docks?' + +'Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.' + +'Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well--will you count it into my +hand?' + +'If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about their +trunks, life would be worth something,' said the clerk to his neighbour, +who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that condensed +milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and +unmarried, he spoke with conviction. + +'We are now,' quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the +place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, 'beyond the reach +of man, or devil, or woman--which is much more important. I've had +three little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask +you to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We'll +breakfast, and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.' + +'What are you going to do?' + +'Going away, of course. What should I stay for?' + +'But you can't look after yourself?' + +'I can do anything. I didn't realise it before, but I can. I've done a great +deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie doesn't +object.' Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. 'I suppose +you're right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and you'll get +your money.' + +'Shall I sure?' + +'I don't bilk, and you won't know whether I do or not unless you come. + +Oh, but it's long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,--send Beeton here as +you go out.' + +The housekeeper came. + +'What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?' said Dick, imperiously. + +''Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore out +dreadful.' + +'I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.' + +'Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say----' + +'Oh, damn your longwindedness! You've made your pickings out of me +and the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a +public-house the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight +question.' + +'Fifty,' said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation. + +'Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.' + +He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and +wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. + +'That's sinful, sir,' said the housekeeper, alarmed. + +'It's my own. One hundred or----' + +'One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster +mended.' + +'I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring +that price at once!' + +'I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all you, +sir.' + +'Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my +clothes are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going.' + +'But the quarter's notice?' + +'I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.' + +Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that +Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable +view. + +'It's very sudden--but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen to +him now!' + +There was a sound of chanting from Dick's room. + +'We'll never come back any more, boys, +We'll never come back no more; +We'll go to the deuce on any excuse, +And never come back no more!? + +Oh say we're afloat or ashore, boys, +Oh say we're afloat or ashore; +But we'll never come back any more, boys, +We'll never come back no more!'? + +'Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?' + +'Quick, he's going to shoot himself--'avin' gone mad!' said Mrs. Beeton. + +Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the +latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention of +the promises to 'find everything to-morrow, sir.' + +'Oh, you copper-nosed old fool--you impotent Academician!' he shouted +at last. 'Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your +silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it's loaded. + +It's among my campaign-kit somewhere--in the parcel at the bottom of +the trunk.' + +Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight +field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It +was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. + +Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, +and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue +cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of +swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and +a pigskin case of stationery. + +'These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else +I'll keep. Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've +done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a +minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.' + +It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had +particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he +began, following his right hand with his left: '"The badness of this +writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen." H'mph!--even a +lawyer can't mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn't be +witnessed. Now an inch lower--why did I never learn to use a +type-writer?--"This is the last will and testament of me, Richard Heldar. + +I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous will to +revoke."--That's all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the paper was +I?--"I leave everything that I possess in the world, including four +thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty eight +pounds held for me"--oh, I can't get this straight.' He tore off half the +sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. Then: 'I +leave all the money I possess in the world to'--here followed Maisie's +name, and the names of the two banks that held the money. + +'It mayn't be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to dispute +it, and I've given Maisie's address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This is my +signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. To-morrow +you must take me to the landlord and I'll pay forfeit for leaving without +notice, and I'll lodge this paper with him in case anything happens while +I'm away. Now we're going to light up the studio stove. Stay with me, +and give me my papers as I want 'em.' + +No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year's accumulation of +bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove every +document in the studio--saving only three unopened letters; destroyed +sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases alike. + +'What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough in +one place, to be sure,' said Mr. Beeton, at last. + +'He does. Is there anything more left?' Dick felt round the walls. + +'Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot.' + +'Excellent, and you've lost about a thousand pounds' worth of sketches. + +Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds' worth, if I can remember what I used +to be.' + +'Yes, sir,' politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad, +otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a +song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out +of the way. + +There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could not +be accomplished to to-morrow. Dick groped about the floor picking up +the last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there +remained no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, and +sat down before the stove till the fire died out and the contracting iron +cracked in the silence of the night. + +CHAPTER XV + +With a heart of furious fancies, +Whereof I am commander; +With a burning spear and a horse of air, +To the wilderness I wander. + +With a knight of ghosts and shadows +I summoned am to tourney-- +Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end, +Methinks it is no journey. + +-- Tom a' Bedlam's Song.? + +'GOOD-BYE, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here's a hundred--all that I got +for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for +some time. You've been a good little girl, all things considered, but you've +given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.' + +'Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won't you?' + +'Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the +cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is--and I am free, I mean.' + +'Who'll look after you on this ship?' + +'The head-steward, if there's any use in money. The doctor when we +come to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the +Lord will provide, as He used to do.' + +Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of leavetakers +and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself down in his +bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so long to move +about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography of a ship, +and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine to him. + +Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been +introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good +place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with joy +in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved about, +for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep sleep of +weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of Maisie, and +he slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the Thames and was +lifting to the pulse of the Channel. + +The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very familiar +sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance. + +'Oh, it's good to be alive again!' He yawned, stretched himself vigorously, +and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast of the lights of +Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgal Square is a +common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick could feel +the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous little +cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and one wave +breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new +deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was +stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to the +smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong b reeze found him, blew his +cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room +steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that +the weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than +half a gale in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold, and Dick +enjoyed himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary at sea to +lay firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving from place to +place. On land the man who feels with his hands is patently blind. At sea +even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest with the doctor over the +weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor many tales--and these are +coin of more value than silver if properly handled--smoked with him till +unholy hours of the night, and so won his short-lived regard that he +promised Dick a few hours of his time when they came to Port Said. + +And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang +their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and Tom +the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened +hatch-grating where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread +and the passengers made merry, and at last they came to Port Said. + +'Take me,' said Dick, to the doctor, 'to Madame Binat's--if you know +where that is.' + +'Whew!' said the doctor, 'I do. There's not much to choose between 'em; +but I suppose you're aware that that's one of the worst houses in the +place. They'll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.' + +'Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.' + +So he was brought to Madame Binat's and filled his nostrils with the +well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the +Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua +Franca of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades +with the buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his +coat-sleeve was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. + +Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when +Dick entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But +for a little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he +had ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened a +bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of +Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation. + +Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, +scandalised, so far as a ship's doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick's +reception. Dick was delighted at it. 'They remember me here after a +year. They have forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I +want a long talk with you when you're at liberty. It is good to be back +again.' + +In the evening she set an iron-topped caf-table out on the sands, and +Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, +merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the +shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal. + +'Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? +We have not forgotten thee.' + +'I was over there in England and I went blind.' + +'But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here--I and +Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow 'Tina--she is still alive--so +often and so well that 'Tina laughed when the papers arrived by the +mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise in the +paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for thee.' + +'I am not poor--I shall pay you well.' + +'Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.' Under her breath, 'Mon Dieu, +to be blind and so young! What horror!' + +Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the +discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he was +too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire. + +'And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire +as they used to do when the war was here--ten years ago. Beyond Cairo +there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent's +passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is +impossible also,' said she. + +'I must go to Suakin.' He knew, thanks to Alf's readings, that Torpenhow +was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the +Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, +besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth +anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to +be accomplished, which is much more important when there is work +toward. + +'But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men +always--and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?' + +'My friend is there. + +'Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.' + +Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick's glass +anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that +he should bow his head in assent and say-- +'No. He is a man, but--if it should arrive . . . blamest thou?' + +'I blame?' she laughed shrilly. 'Who am I that I should blame any +one--except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it is +very terrible.' + +'I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the +year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer +goes down the Canal to Suakin--and the post-boats-- But even then----' + +'Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt +go--thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house is a +little quiet--I must attend to my guests--and afterwards go to bed. Thou +shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.' + +'To-morrow?' + +'As soon as may be.' She was talking as though he were a child. + +He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the streets, +and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat carried +him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and sang and +danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with one eye on +the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick's interests. To +this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive Turkish officers of +fellaheen regiments, and more than kind to camel agents of no nationality +whatever. + +In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming red +silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a necklace +of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in to Dick. + +'It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. Thus +in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the +morning chocolate.' She sat down on the side of the bed whispering:-- +'It is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe of +ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The +boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a +Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not +know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his +mules. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if I do +not receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the girl +answers for George.' + +'Thank you.' He reached out sleepily for the cup. 'You are much too kind, +Madame.' + +'If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be +wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.' She looked at her +liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. 'Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, thou +shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.' + +She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. 'That is for +good-morning,' she said, going away. 'When thou art dressed we will +speak to George and make everything ready. But first we must open the +little trunk. Give me the keys.' + +'The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect +Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in his +way, though. Well, it won't last long.--Ohe, Madame, help me to my +toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing properly out +yonder.' + +He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his +hands with the spurs. There are two says of wearing well-oiled +ankle-jacks, spotless blue bands, khaki coat and breeches, and a perfectly +pipeclayed helmet. The right way is the way of the untired man, master +of himself, setting out upon an expedition, well pleased. + +'Everything must be very correct,' Dick explained. 'It will become dirty +afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything as it +should be?' + +He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on +the right hip and fingered his collar. + +'I can do no more,' Madame said, between laughing and crying. 'Look at +thyself--but I forgot.' + +'I am very content.' He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. + +'Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. + +Be quick, Madame.' + +'But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the +daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies----' + +'There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. + +Take me there.' + +In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the +lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to +George and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made +for Dick's benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her +acquaintance cared to disregard Madame's advice. That sort of contempt +might end in being knifed by a stranger in a gambling hell upon +surprisingly short provocation. + +For six days--two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal--the little +steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the +superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to +propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his +light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own +discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and +together they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material +and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate +fragments to mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. + +'If you keep with me,' said George, 'nobody will ask for passports or +what you do. They are all very busy.' + +'Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might +remember me. I was known here a long time ago--when I was some one +indeed.' + +'A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full. + +Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan--that is +seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan +the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be +brought to them by this line.' + +'Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in +the open.' + +'For this reason even the mules to up in the iron-train.' + +'Iron what?' + +'It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.' + +'An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.' + +'And I go up with my mules to-night. Only those who particularly +require to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not +far from the city.' + +'The dears--they always used to!' Dick snuffed the smell of parched dust, +heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old life was +welcoming him back most generously. + +'When I have got my mules together I go up to-night, but you must first +send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.' + +'Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you +had the chance?' + +'I have no chance,' said the Greek. 'She is there with that woman.' + +'I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the +chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.' + +They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was +desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was +the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On +their return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was +doing. The blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand +on George's elbow as he replied-- +'Egyptian Government--mules. My orders are to give them over to the A. + +C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion to show my papers?' + +'Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no right to ask, but not seeing +your face before I----' + +'I go out in the train to-night, I suppose,' said Dick, boldly. 'There will be +no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?' + +'You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded +up early.' The young man went away wondering what sort of +broken-down waif this might be who talked like a gentleman and +consorted with Greek muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an +English officer is no small thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays +it from the utter dark, and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking +and eternally thinking of what might have been if things had fallen out +otherwise, and all had been as it was not. + +George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His +charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his tight-shut +eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. There was a +great bustle and clamour about him. He grew afraid and almost called +for George. + +'I say, have you got your mules ready?' It was the voice of the subaltern +over his shoulder. + +'My man's looking after them. The--the fact is I've a touch of ophthalmia +and can't see very well. + +'By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I've had +a turn of it myself. It's as bad as being blind.' + +'So I find it. When does this armoured train go?' + +'At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.' + +'Are the Fuzzies on the rampage--eh?' + +'About three nights a week. Fact is I'm in acting command of the +night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.' + +'Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?' + +'Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.' + +'Is that far off?' + +'Between thirty and forty miles--in an infernal thirsty country.' + +'Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?' + +'More or less. I shouldn't care to cross it alone, or with a subaltern's +command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through it in some +extraordinary fashion.' + +'They always did.' + +'Have you been here before, then?' + +'I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.' + +'In the service and cashiered,' was the subaltern's first thought, so he +refrained from putting any questions. + +'There's you man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer----' + +'That I should be mule-leading?' said Dick. + +'I didn't mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me--it's beastly impertinence I +know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public school. There's +no mistaking the tone.' + +'I am a public school man.' + +'I thought so. I say, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're a little +down on your luck, aren't you? I saw you sitting with your head in your +hands, and that's why I spoke.' + +'Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need +be.' + +'Suppose--I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I +perhaps--take it as a loan y'know and----' + +'You're much too good, but on my honour I've as much money as I want. + +. . . I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an +everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train. + +There is a fore-truck, isn't there?' + +'Yes. How d'you know?' + +'I've been in an armoured train before. Only let me see--hear some of the +fun I mean, and I'll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a non-combatant.' + +The young man thought for a minute. 'All right,' he said. 'We're +supposed to be an empty train, and there's no one to blow me up at the +other end.' + +George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the +mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths +inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to start. + +Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered +in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the +muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral fire. + +The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a +score of artillerymen were rioting. + +'Whitechapel--last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first class there!' + +somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward truck. + +'Lordy! 'Ere's a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and +Ealin' train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.'--'Shall I get you a +foot-warmer?' said another. + +'Thanks. I'll pay my footing,' said Dick, and relations of the most amiable +were established ere silence came with the arrival of the subaltern, and +the train jolted out over the rough track. + +'This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable +Fuzzy in the open,' said Dick, from his place in the corner. + +'Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he goes!' said the subaltern, as a +bullet struck the outside of the truck. 'We always have at least one +demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the +rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.' + +'Not to-night though! Listen!' said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed bullets +was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued +their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. + +'Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?' the subaltern asked of the +engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. + +'I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing old +Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.' + +'Right O!' + +'Hrrmph!' said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern +drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor and the +smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at +the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and +unlimited howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight +at the sounds and the smells. + +'God is very good--I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em hell, +men. Oh, give 'em hell!' he cried. + +The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party +went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children +of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty minutes +were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, to be +varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the +machine guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train +came under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan. + +'Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,' said +the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun. + +'It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How superb +it must have looked from outside!' said Dick, sighing regretfully. + +'It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled about +your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm Bennil +of the Gunners--in the artillery lines--and mind you don't fall over my +tent-ropes in the dark.' + +But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the hay-bales, +the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents as he +stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for George. There +was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the rear trucks, +with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the mules. + +The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold wind of the +desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and +dirty--so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was a +hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over +the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains +or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In those days he +could see--few men more clearly--and the spectacle of an armed camp at +dinner under the stare was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There was +colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much pleasure in +living. This night there remained for him only one more journey through +the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled. Then +he would grip Torpenhow's hand again--Torpenhow, who was alive and +strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had once made the +reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be confused +with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to the same +name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old life as +might be. Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, who had +wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived +in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters that +no men needed; that irrational being who had offered him love and +loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all Maisie, +who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she did, but +oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair. + +George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. + +'And what now?' said George. + +'Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to +where the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their +camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the +corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!' + +The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the +stumps of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew +they would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded faces, +and the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no part +of Dick's policy to go into the desert with a convoy of supplies. That +would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind non-combatant is +not needed at the front, he would probably be forced to return to Suakin. + +He must go up alone, and go immediately. + +'Now for one last bluff--the biggest of all,' he said. 'Peace be with you, +brethren!' The watchful George steered him to the circle of the nearest +fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels, +scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding hens, half +ready to get to their feet. + +'A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,' said Dick. + +'A Mulaid?' said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that +he knew. + +'A Bisharin,' returned Dick, with perfect gravity. 'A Bisharin without +saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.' + +Two or three minutes passed. Then-- +'We be knee-haltered for the night. There is no going out from the camp.' + +'Not for money?' + +'H'm! Ah! English money?' + +Another depressing interval of silence. + +'How much?' + +'Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my +journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, +to be paid when the driver returns.' + +This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his +commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf. + +'For scarcely one night's journey--fifty pounds. Land and wells and good +trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who +speaks?' said Dick. + +'I,' said a voice. 'I will go--but there is no going from the camp.' + +'Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries do +not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another twenty-five +pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no +baggage-camel.' + +Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first +deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the driver. + +Dick heard the latter say: 'A little way out only. Any baggage-beast will +serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?' + +'And though I cannot see'--Dick lifted his voice a little--'yet I carry that +which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do not reach +the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.' + +'But where, in God's name, are the troops?' + +'Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember +it will be life or death to thee.' + +'I know,' said the driver, sullenly. 'Stand back from my beast. I am going +to slip him.' + +'Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to feel +his cheek.' The hands wandered over the hide till they found the branded +half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built riding-camel. + +'That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on +those who try to cheat the blind.' + +The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had +intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. + +'Stand back!' one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a +quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his +hand,--and a cry went up, 'Illaha! Aho! He is loose.' + +With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward +toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation. + +George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a +disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. + +'What's the row now?' he cried. + +'Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,' Dick answered, after +the manner of a common soldier. + +'Go on, and take care your throat's not cut out side--you and your +dromedary's.' + +The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, +and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. + +'Mount first,' said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently +screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back, 'Go on +in God's name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to +Madame, and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the +Pit!' + +A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by +the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick +adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed +his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was +conscious only of the sense of rapid progress. + +'A good camel,' he said at last. + +'He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,' the driver +replied. + +'Go on.' + +His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of his +thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in +seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He +had committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had +locked him up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the +first two lines of the hymn-- + +When Israel of the Lord believed +Out of the land of bondage came. + +He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the +saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and +ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the butt, and +stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of +camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was +fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. Dick +could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to do more +than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and punching +the driver with the pistol. + +'Is there a moon?' he asked drowsily. + +'She is near her setting.' + +'I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the +desert talk.' + +The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. It +rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A +handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and +crumbled softly to the bottom. + +'Go on. The night is very cold.' + +Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before +the light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that he +had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at all +save jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger the +nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. Centuries +later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his left and allow +the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe distance of London +he was watching himself thus employed,--watching critically. Yet +whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might paint the +tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the black +shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a +revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, +he was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever. + +The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. + +'I smell the dawn,' he whispered. + +'It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?' + +The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind +the pungent reek of camels in the square. + +'Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.' + +'They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see +what they do.' + +'Am I in better case? Go forward.' + +They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling +of the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day. + +Two or three shots were fired. + +'Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,' Dick spoke angrily. + +'Nay, it is from the desert,' the driver answered, cowering in his saddle. + +'Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an +hour ago.' + +The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind +multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most +uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and +were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object +without the square. + +'What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!' said Dick. 'It's "just +before the battle, mother." Oh, God has been most good to me!? + +Only'--the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an +instant--'Maisie . . .' + +'Allahu! We are in,' said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and the +camel knelt. + +'Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength of the +enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?' asked a dozen +voices. For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and +shouted from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, +'Torpenhow! Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.' + +A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe moved +very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began to +fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually the +scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked white +that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned over +wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square were +coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and +they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet +and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had cut +its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a man +receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and +redoubled firing. + +There was no time to ask any questions. + +'Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!' + +'No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.' Dick turned his face to +Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, +miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair +was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man. + +'Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!' + +And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from the +Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the last, even +to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head. + +Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his arms. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Light That Failed, by Rudyard Kipling + diff --git a/old/ltfld10.zip b/old/ltfld10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1dd88f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ltfld10.zip |
