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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae4b7b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68496 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68496) diff --git a/old/68496-0.txt b/old/68496-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4dd3ffb..0000000 --- a/old/68496-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6197 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dwala, by George Calderon - -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: Dwala - A romance - -Author: George Calderon - -Release Date: July 10, 2022 [eBook #68496] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - produced from images made available by the HathiTrust - Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWALA *** - - - - - -DWALA - - - - - DWALA - - _A ROMANCE_ - - BY - - GEORGE CALDERON - - AUTHOR OF ‘THE ADVENTURES OF DOWNY V. GREEN’ - - LONDON - SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE - 1904 - - [All rights reserved] - - - - - TO - KITTIE - - - - -DWALA - - - - -I - - -The sun was sinking towards the Borneo mountains. The forest and the -sea, inscrutable to the bullying noon, relented in this discreeter -light, revealing secrets of green places. Birds began to rustle in the -big trees; the shaking of broad leaves in the undergrowth betrayed the -movement of beasts of prey going about their daily work. The stately -innocence of Nature grew lovelier in a sudden trouble of virginal -consciousness. - -There was only one sign of human habitation in the landscape--a worn -patch by the shore, like a tiny wilderness in a vast oasis. Battered -meat-tins, empty bottles, and old newspapers littered the waterline; -under the rock was a tumble-down hut and a shed; from a stable at the -side a pony looked out patiently over the half-door; something rustled -in a big cage. In the twilight under the shed a man lay sleeping in a -low hammock, grizzled and battered, with one bare brown foot hanging -over the edge. He yawned and opened his eyes. - -‘Are ye thar, Colonel?’ - -Another figure, which had been crouching beside the hammock with -a palm-leaf, watching the sleeper, slowly uprose. Hardly a human -figure this, though dressed like a man; something rather akin to the -surrounding forest; a thing of large majestic motions, and melancholy -eyes, deep-set under thick eyebrows. The man sat up and coughed for a -little while. - -‘Whar’s the dinner, Colonel? You’ve not lit the fire yet.’ - -‘Fire crackles,’ said the Colonel. - -The man stretched and spat. - -‘Ah, you was afraid the noise’d wake me, sonny. Wahl, hurry up now, for -I’m as peckish as a pea-hen.’ - -The man refilled his pipe from the big tin that lay in the hammock with -him, while the Colonel, going hither and thither with large, deft -movements, piled a fire, boiled a pot and spread the dinner. Dinner -ready, he brought it to the man; crouching at his feet he watched him -reverently as he handled knife and fork. At the smell of dinner a -number of large monkeys came swinging down from the trees and collected -outside the shed. A captive chimpanzee came out of a tub-kennel and -began to ramble swiftly and silently to and fro on its chain, as if -developing in movement some unwholesome purpose conceived in the hours -of quiescence. The man threw them pieces from time to time, for which -they scrambled and fought in a way that called for interference. - -‘Now, Chauncey, you leave pore Amélie’s whiskers alone. That piece was -meant for her.... Go slow, Marie! and you, William J. Bryan, get up off -Talmage, unless you’ve a yearn for the far-end of my teacher’s help.’ - -When the meal was over the American took out some sewing--some old -clothes of his own, that he was patching up for the Colonel--while the -Colonel ate the scraps that remained, and cleared the things away. This -done, the Colonel came and sat down once more by the man. - -‘Whar’s your Word-makin’ and Word-takin’ gotten to, Colonel?’ said the -American, looking up from his sewing. ‘Hev you bin hidin’ it up that -teak tree agen?’ - -The Colonel looked uncomfortably about him, blinked once or twice, and -scratched his thigh. - -‘Burn my fingers,’ said the man, ‘but I think you’re as like a human -b’y as any ape can get. Slip off yer boots. Mosey up and fetch ’em back -right now, you young hellion, and spell me out “Home, sweet home,” -afore I get to the end of this seam.’ - -‘So I’m a scientific discoverer, am I?’ mused the American, left alone. -‘And I’ve foun’ the Missin’ Link at last, hev I? There’ll be a pile o’ -money in that, I shouldn’t wonder. The Colonel’ll be mighty pleased -when he hears he ain’t an or’nary ape; he’ll be as proud as a Bishop -among the angels.’ - -The Colonel meanwhile came climbing with swift and solemn accuracy down -the teak tree, the box of letters in his mouth. The chimpanzee growled -and chattered with aimless fury as she roamed to and fro. - -‘See here, Colonel, I’ve hed a letter from the Boss. I fotch it in -along with that passel on last Toosday.... Squit that I-talian music, -you dun-coloured Dago’--this to the chimpanzee--‘you unlicensed -traveller in otto o’ roses; shet yer head, I say, and don’t show yer -lunch-hooks at me.... I’ll hev to get rid o’ that dosh-burned critter; -she’ll niver be a credit to the Show.... Whar was I? Why, letter from -the Boss; that’s so. Wahl, thar was noos in that letter fur you an’ me, -Colonel, big noos.’ - -The Colonel turned his melancholy eyes on his master: their expression -never varied, but his breath came quick and fast with an unspoken -interrogation. - -‘I’d bin expeckin’ it fur a lawng time; but I begin to feel sorter -queer now it’s nigh on comin’ true.’ - -‘Are they goin’ to fetch us away?’ said the Colonel. - -‘This vurry next day that is, Colonel; one of his boats will put in -here and fetch me away with the whole of my bag o’ tricks to meet the -Show in London.’ - -‘You’re mighty glad, eh?’ - -‘I’m that, sonny. But I feel sorter queer too. I’ve grown kinder used -to this life, bein’ boss myself an’ all that. And yet, if you come to -think of it, ... by Jelly, it’s the queerest thing of all. Me goin’ -inter pardnership, as you might say, with an ornary ape! Hand me the -matches, sonny--by my foot thar; this blamey pipe’s gone out agen.... -Here was I an’ pore old Jabez dumped down by the Boss, to train some -monkeys for his show. Whin Jabez took the fever and went over the -range I began to be kinder lonesome; got a sorter hungry feel in my -teeth with not speakin’. So I slipped into a kinder habit o’ talkin’ -to you all like humans, jest to ease my gums. An’ all of a sudden, one -fine day, Colonel, you bein’ dissatisfied with yer dinner, you ups an’ -answers me back. I was tolerable astonished at the time, I remember, -tho’ I didn’t let on, maybe, but jest caught you a clip on the ear for -sassin’ yer biggers, an’ passed along. I’d niver hed any back-talk from -an anthropoid before. Of course, as you say, it came nateral-like to -you; you was on’y addin’ one more language to your vurry considerable -stock, an’ I reckon from what you tell me that the de-flections of the -verb are much simpler in Amurrkan than in Chimpanzee for instance; but -the fack remains that you’re the first monkey I iver heard talkin’ -outside of his own dialeck. The Boss was considerable interessted in my -re-port, an’ he’s worked up a theory of how your species got the bulge -on the rest by larnin’ their various lingoes, workin’ trade relations, -and pouchin’ the difference of exchange on cokernuts an’ bread-fruits. -It’s his idee to deliver himself of a lecture on the subject before the -R’yal Institoot, an’ make you sing some o’ your folksongs whin we get -to London.’ - -‘Ah--what like’s London, dad?’ - -‘Wahl, sonny, it’s not so fine a place as Bawston, but it has its -p’ints. The people are easier took in than in Bawston, an’ we find it -a better place for a Show. Then they hev a King in London, which we -don’t hev in Bawston; besides dooks and markises, which we on’y see -in Amurrka in the pairin’ season. An’ Shakspere was born near there -too, an’ the original Miss Corelli. One city’s much like another, -whin you’ve bin three years in Borneo. What a man gits a yearn for is -civalisation.’ - -‘Ci-va-li-sation ... What’s civalisation, dad?’ - -‘It’s a hard word, sonny; but it means purty well everything we don’t -hev here in Borneo. It means leadin’ a higher life, hustlin’ around, -machinery, perlicemen, hevin’ a good time, iced drinks, theaters, -ringin’ a bell fer yer boots, an’ a hunderd other things. Gas lamps, -an’ electric light, an’ beer, an’ wine----’ - -‘Like yonder?’ - -‘That’s it, sonny; like that lot I brought from Bilimano, on’y -stronger. An’ iverybody’s in lovely close; all the women lookin’ -like picters outer “Puck”; all the men wi’ creases down their pants; -pavement down along all the streets----’ - -‘Don’t stop sewin’, dad.’ - -‘Ah, you young scamp, you’re eager to git inter yer new pair, I can -see. Gosh, but the women, they’re hunky.’ - -‘What like’s the streets, dad?’ - -‘It’s a cur’ous thing, but you don’t seem to take so much interest -in the women as I’d hev expected, sonny ... I reckon you were in the -habit, before I caught you, of sorter climbin’ out with gals of your -own species among the banyan-trees down away in Java; and you don’t set -much store by other kinds. That’ll be another p’int for the lecture.... -Think what a man I’ll be over in England, sonny; I’ll be top o’ the -tree over thar, you’ll be proud to know me. I’ll be flyin’ around the -town in a plug hat an’ silver-topped cane, noddin’ an’ affable howdy -to my multitudinous friends from the top of a tramcar. “Who’s that?” -people will say. “Why, don’t you know? That’s the scientific man who -foun’ the Missin’ Link.”’ - -‘Missin’ ... Missin’ what, dad?’ - -‘The Missin’ Link.’ - -‘What’s the ... Missin’ Link?’ - -‘Wahl, I should smile! Ef I hedn’t clean forgotten to tell you. It’s -all in the Boss’s letter. Why--you’re the Missin’ Link, sonny!’ - -‘What’s that, anyway?’ - -‘Wahl, sonny, it means a sort o’ monkey that isn’t quite an ornary sort -o’ monkey ... kinder, sorter.... Wahl, as you might say, sonny, partly -almost more like a man.’ - -‘Like--like you, dad?’ - -‘Wahl, not that exactly--a sorter lower creation altogether. But -there’s a lot o’ scientific folks as says that men are descended from -Missin’ Links.’ - -The Colonel rose to his feet and looked out to sea with dilated -nostrils. - -‘Missin’ Links ... men ... civalisation ... and Colonel’s a Missin’ -Link! Why, then....’ - -‘Go slow, sonny. I on’y said you was a peg higher’n an omary monkey. -Jest sit down quiet an’ figure out “anthropoid” with those letters o’ -yourn. You’d be mighty small potatoes in a civalised crowd; so you’ve -no need to slop over that way.’ - -The Colonel sat down, obediently, to his letters, and they both worked -in silence for some time. - -‘Yes,’ continued the American, ‘I shouldn’t wonder ef they was to eleck -me a member of some of those larned societies of theirs. They’ll be -askin’ me out to champagne dinners, too, no doubt. I shouldn’t wonder -now ef I was to be asked to go an’ dine with the Prince of Wales--him I -was tellin’ you about; distinguished furriners always go to dine with -the Prince o’ Wales.’ - -‘Take Colonel too, dad?’ - -‘Whar to, sonny?’ - -‘The Prince o’ Wales’s.’ - -‘Now that’s downright foolish to be talkin’ like that, Colonel. You’ll -hev to stay with the Show, of course.... You’ll be pleased with the -Show; it’s the most fre-quented place in London; they’ll be givin’ you -buns an’ candy all day long. The Boss was thinkin’ of puttin’ you in -the anamal department, but ef he’s pleased with you I shouldn’t wonder -but what he’d promote you to the human monstrosities. I’ll put in a -good word for you. We’ve bin the best o’ friends, Colonel; you kin hev -the key o’ my trunk any day; but I won’t be able to see so much of you -arter to-morrow. No. I’ve been thinkin’ over the question keerfully, -an’ I’ve concluded you an’ me’ll not be able to travel over together.’ - -The Colonel listened with impassive attention. The American avoided -his eye with some little embarrassment. - -‘There’s all manner o’ difficulties, sonny. In the first place, these -ignorant Christian sailor-lads that’ll come ashore to-morrow won’t -perhaps hardly grasp the situation ef they find me talkin’ ornary sense -with a hairy pagan ape; an’ I think you’d best keep yer head shet until -they’ve gotten used to the looks of you, an’ I’ve hed time to explain -matters. It might create some jealousies in the crew ef you was set up -over their heads to consort with the captain an’ the mate, as I’ll be -doin’. At first sight it seemed to me as ef you’d hev to travel all -alone in the steerage as a third-class passenger.’ - -‘Steerage--what’s the steerage?’ - -‘That’s down in the between decks. Not so bad, sonny: I’ve travelled -that way often myself. But it’s not high-class, like travellin’ with -the captain.... Yes, that’s what I’d meant at first. But there’s -obstacles in the way o’ that too, sonny. I’ve been thinkin’ ef we enter -you as a passenger there may be difficulties at the Custom House with -the Alien Immigrants Act. They’re mighty pertikler.... There, that’s -done!’ he interjected, as he bit off the thread and held up the new -trousers to view. ‘Climb inter those pants, sonny, an’ let’s see how -they look.’ - -The Colonel did as he was told, and the American continued: - -‘You an’ me would be mightily put about to fill in the form of -declaration as to famaly history an’ religion an’ what not, ef it’s the -same as in the States. An’ on the whole I’ve concluded it will be best -to put you back in your old hutch and take you over under the Large -Wild Anamals Act.’ - -The Colonel seemed wholly absorbed in the adjustment of his clothes. -The muscles of his big jaw worked backwards and forwards to a pressure -of the teeth. - -‘They’re a bit baggy behind,’ continued his patron. ‘I’ll hev to take -a reef in the seat. Slip ’em off again; you won’t be needin’ any close -any more till we get over to London.’ - -Instead of obeying, the Colonel walked slowly forward out of the -penthouse to the shade of a young tree where a big wooden cage lay -lumbering on its side. He looked at it and turned it thoughtfully -over with a push of his powerful leg; then laid one hand on the thick -bough above him, the other on the stem of the tree. A slow cracking and -rustling ensued, splinters gaped white, the bough was in his hands, -raised aloft, and descending furiously, smashing the old hutch to -little pieces. The American rose astounded from his hammock. - -‘Quit that foolin’, and come here!’ - -Bang! Bang! Bang! - -‘Come here, you mule-headed monkey.’ - -The Colonel dropped breathless for one moment on all fours, rose to his -full height swinging the monstrous branch over his head and sending -forth a long loud yell like a man in a nightmare, then swept crashing -away into the forest, his weapon thumping like a sledge-hammer as he -went. - -The monkeys in the trees about chattered applause or commentary, a -cloud of sea-fowl flew up from the shore, and the American stood -scratching the back of his head thoughtfully in the midst. Then he -looked round at the trees and the sea and the pony, taking them all -into his confidence with a discomfited smile; pulled himself together -and shouted: - -‘Colonel!’ - -He grew contemptuous at the want of an answer, thrust down the ashes in -his pipe with a horny finger, and returned slowly to his rest under the -shed, consoling his solitude with a slow-flowing murmur of scorn: - -‘All right, my child. You wait till you come back. Civalisation! You! -You ornary, popeyed, bobtailed, jimber-jawed, jerrybuilt jackass....’ - - - - -II - - -The Colonel went through the virgin forest, spending his fury in -motion, swinging forward from branch to branch, running, leaping, -till the fury was lost in the recovered delight of liberty. Childhood -continued, after an irrelevance. - -Here was the old smell of forest earth, the inexhaustible plenty -of bare elastic boughs, the cool feeling of fungus, the absence of -articulate speech, the impossibility of anger. Night came, the grand -and terrible night, with its old familiar fear, long lost in the -neighbourhood of a confident human mind. He rejoiced in his fear as in -a fine quality recovered, rousing it to an ecstasy after long silences, -by murmuring his own name in the darkness in terrified tones: ‘Colonel! -Colonel!’ - -Then there came a rustling of leaves, a low chuck-chuck of prey warning -prey, the sound of a vast retreat, and the slow padding of panther feet -on the forest floor. The Colonel lay still on his bough, tingling with -an unnatural calm, and the Panther breathed deep below him and looked -up. And the Panther said: - -‘I am _the_ Panther, all Panthers in one--a symbol, irresistible.’ - -Waves of strong life undulated down his spotted tail, as though life -passed through him to and from all his tribe; and the Colonel lay in a -pleasant fear and numbness on his bough. And the Panther said: - -‘I will climb slowly to you.’ - -‘And leap suddenly!’ - -‘The glory of my eye shall increase upon you.’ - -‘Numbing my limbs!’ - -‘We will fall and play together on the earth.’ - -‘I shall die!’ - -‘A noble death.’ - -‘I shall be torn and eaten!’ - -‘And your strength shall go into the strength of All the Panthers.’ - -But as the Panther reached the fork of the boughs his paw slipped, -and the numbness left the Colonel, and he leaped upon the neck of the -panther with fingers and teeth, crying: - -‘You are not All the Panthers, but a single creature like myself; and I -will tear you as I tear a young tree when my limbs desire it.’ - -They fell together, a long distance, to the earth, and the Colonel -grasped one mauling hind-paw of the panther with one foot and gripped -him by the belly with the other, and rolled over and over with him, and -strangled him, and tore his two jaws apart to the shoulder as an angry -man might tear a glove. Then he licked his wounds and slung his boots -over his shoulder again, and forgot all about the battle but the joy of -unlimited ferocity. - -So he went forward from day to day, forgetful of the past, and -thoughtless for the future, till he came to the top of the mountain, -and, looking back, beheld the sea. He gazed at it for some time, then -murmured ‘Civalisation!’ and fell into a deep gloom of thought. - -He followed the tops of the mountains to the north, with an obscure -dissatisfaction growing in the dark back places of his mind; the -pleasure of motion was poisoned in each extreme tension by a recurrent -languor. He lacked something, and he did not know what he lacked. He -went idly forward for many days, till he heard the chopping of an axe. -He drew stealthily nearer to the sound, and followed the man back in -the evening to his village--a village of naked men with dark skins, -very orderly and quiet. And the Colonel lurked about by the village and -watched the people, and was happy again. - -For he had tasted the supreme happiness of the animal, the nearness of -Man. The animal that has once had Man for his companion or for his prey -is never afterwards contented with other company or fare. Curiosity had -taken its place among his appetites; the necessity of watching Man’s -inscrutable ways, the pleasure of using his implements and reproducing -his effects. - - - - -III - - -In the dead of night the Colonel descended into the midst of the -village, in boots and torn trousers, and drew water on the long -beam-lever from the well and poured it into the tank, talking gently to -himself while he did it; and the villagers, awakened by the creaking -and rattling, crept to crannies and looked on and trembled. - -And in the morning they gathered in the village square and speculated. -Who is he? The women were afraid to go into the forest; the ripe crops -dropped the seed from their ears in the clearings. - -Night after night he was there, and graciously tasted of their -offerings of fruit and cakes. No one slept by night but the children, -and the priest who dreamed true dreams. The priest was their hope, for -through him alone could the Soochings learn from the gods what must -be believed and done. And day after day the perplexity grew, for the -priest was old and forgot his dreams; and though he sat till sunset -with the doctors of the law about him, he could not recall them. - -But, one day, when they had sat for many hours in silence, watching the -True Dreamer with his head bowed between his knees, trying to remember, -a young priest spoke: - -‘I myself have had a dream.’ - -‘Of what use are your dreams?’ said the old man, looking quickly up. - -‘I dreamed that I saw the True Dreamer sleeping; and over him stood the -vision of a dead man, with the burial cords hanging loose about him, -and a peeled rod in his hand as of a messenger.’ - -A murmur ran round the squatting circle. - -‘It is true,’ said the old man ‘I have seen this vision three times.’ - -‘And the True Dreamer said, “Who is he that cometh by night?” And the -vision answered, “It is the God with Two Names, the inventor of the -blow-pipe, come back to be king over the tribe as in the first time.”’ - -‘Katongo tells the truth,’ said the old man ‘so spake the vision.’ - -‘And the True Dreamer said, “Who shall be his chief priest and -interpret his meaning to the multitude?” And the vision answered, “You -yourself, O True Dreamer; and at your right hand shall stand the young -man Katongo, who is foolish, but full of zeal.”’ - -‘All this was so,’ said the old man. ‘And, furthermore, the messenger -told me the rites by which the God with Two Names may be propitiated. -These rites are a secret which it is unlawful to reveal till the -time be come. But should any of them be left undone, pestilence and -destruction will fall on the whole tribe.’ - -The True Dreamer arose and went back to his house. The news spread -through the tribe, and there was great rejoicing. The old king was -promptly clubbed on the head, and the priests, attended by the state -conch-blowers and heralds, proclaimed the accession of the new monarch -under the title of King Dwala, Him-of-Two-Names, both unknown; drums -were beaten, hogs were killed, and the tribe gave itself up to frenzies -of loyalty and large draughts of the fermented juice of the mowa-tree. - -The Colonel, terrified by the noise, withdrew further into the forest, -and did not dare to return for several days. His absence gave no one -but the priests the least concern, as his place was efficiently filled -by a painted image of ugly and imposing aspect. - -Preparations were hurried on for solemnising the nuptials of the new -monarch--or the image--at the new moon, to the sacred sago-tree which -stood in the middle of the place of assembly. - -Politically speaking, the result of all these events was that the -war party had captured the machine. The question which divided the -Soochings at this time was the relation to be adopted by the tribe -towards the gold-diggers who had lately penetrated into the Sooching -forest. Many members of the tribe looked upon the miners as harmless -idiots, bound by the curse of some more powerful magician to sweat -at a spade, and too stupid to guard their treasures of wonderful -mugs and tins and nails and even large pieces of corrugated iron from -the clumsiest of thieves; but the seriously-minded tribesmen, and -especially the religious party, penetrated their hidden motive of -digging up the Spirit of Tree-Vigour, and bringing upon the Sooching -forest that same blight of sterility which followed the track of the -white men wherever they went. Nothing, in their view, could appease -the already irritated Spirit but the wholesale destruction of these -desecrators. - -The Colonel’s continued absence put the war party in a dangerous -position; the more so as a Jew from the mining camp arrived at this -time with a little cartload of looking-glasses and whisky in the -village, and brought over a number of wobblers to the party of peace. -The True Dreamer worked hard for his party, dreaming judicious dreams -by night, and organising search parties in the daytime for the purpose -of bringing the new king to his throne. - -The Colonel watched the search parties with interest, and at last had -the courage to follow one of them back to the edge of the camp. That -night, as he was amusing himself by the well in the moonlight, he was -astonished at hearing a low clear whistle, and seeing men approaching -him slowly from every side with deep obeisances; he had never yet seen -human beings in this attitude, which seemed to be copied from the other -animals. But it appeared that they meant kindly by it, and he let them -approach until they made a small circle about him. A gaunt old man -stood before him with arms upraised to the sky, pouring forth a torrent -of incomprehensible words. Not knowing what was expected of him, the -Colonel took a mug that lay beside him, dipped it in the tank, and -handed it to the old man, whose eyes gushed over with tears of delight -at this sign of favour; while the rest made a clucking noise with their -tongues and said: - -‘Dwala malana!’--which means, ‘Glory to Him-of-Two-Names.’ - -They invited him with gestures to taste the dishes of fruit which lay -about him; and he did so, to their great joy. The village had all -turned out by now; torches flared and smoked on every side; and it -was in a blaze of light and through a thick avenue of men, women and -children that the Colonel was at last conducted to the temple which -had been prepared for him. The noise of conchs and drums had no more -terrors for him now, and he watched the dances with an intensity of -interest that threw him at last into a state of hypnotic coma. - -The village slept late next morning. When the Colonel awoke he went -out, from force of habit, to prepare breakfast. The guardians who slept -on the threshold sat up and watched his movements awhile in stupid -amazement; his quiet exit by the window had failed at first to rouse -them. - -He was working impatiently and irritably: he was afraid of being late; -nothing was in its place. There was no axe to chop the wood; he had to -break it with his hands. There were no matches, no tins of beef. It -took all the gestures of all the priests to make him understand that -he must not work. In time he grew used to being waited on by others; -he grew used to obeisances and reverence. It was a new interest, and -not more puzzling than most things. One thing disturbed him. Outside -the temple was posted the Royal Minstrel, who played only one tune on -his pipe--the Royal Tune. At first the Colonel had been delighted with -this tune, and had made the minstrel play it to him from morning till -night. But he grew tired of it. Whenever he opened the door, or even so -much as showed his head at a window, the minstrel fired off this thing; -when he went outside the village on any errand the minstrel followed -him playing it. It maddened him, and at last he broke the pipe over the -minstrel’s head and slunk back into his temple, and was very miserable -for the rest of the day. But the people were delighted with this kingly -trait, and the minstrel sold the pieces for a large price. - -A strict watch was kept over his movements at first for fear he should -escape; but after a while this was relaxed, and he used to roam at -will in the forest. He usually returned at night, but not always. He -visited the gold-diggings, but was alarmed by the look of the diggers, -who reminded him of the American; he was afraid they would put him -into a hutch. In another part of the forest he found a white man with a -large family. The women and children were greatly frightened; but the -man invited him into the house and told him he was a Missionary. The -Colonel stayed there two days, and was converted to Christianity. - -Meanwhile the tribe was preparing for war. The women were sealed up -hermetically in huts; the warriors danced and rubbed their muscles with -mowa juice; and late one night they disappeared silently with shields -and spears among the trees. Next day they appeared again, exultant, -with loads of booty; the white men had been utterly routed. - -The stupefaction of the succeeding orgies was partially dispelled after -many days by the frenzy of inspired minstrels, who proclaimed the -imminence of the second Golden Age, and the permanent establishment -of the wise and beneficent empire of the great Prince Dwala, -Him-of-Two-Names, over the whole of the island, and those eyots beyond -which constituted the rest of the habitable world. - -The power of actual motion was finally restored by the rattle of -musketry in the grey light of one dawn, and the snapping of twigs -overhead, followed by the appearance of men in khaki among the trees. -Unarmed and unprepared, the villagers fled into the forest beyond, and -not a soul remained but the old Dreamer, who was seeking new visions -in the quiet recesses of his sleeping apartment, and the Colonel, -who ensconced himself comfortably in the sago-tree to watch this new -human phenomenon. Horses crouched and snorted, dragging guns up the -last slope, with a cluster of men straining at each wheel; infantrymen -advanced and halted and turned at a shouted word; and the Colonel sat -and looked on as at a new dance performed for his amusement. He was -delighted at the burning of the huts, which made the biggest flame he -had ever seen; but he grew tired at last of the long pauses in the -ballet; so he climbed down to the tank and splashed water over the -officers. - - - - -IV - - -The royal prisoner was royally housed. After the jolting journey in the -sultry covered wagon, to the steady tramp of the marching soldiers, -and the frightened crying of the old Dreamer who crouched beside him, -it was pleasant to be in these spacious rooms, to look from under the -sun-blinds into the leafy garden, to sit on the wet stones and dabble -in the black pool in the hall. - -Prince Dwala was shut up in the Old Residence while the Colonial Office -made up its mind what was to be done with him. Compassionate ladies -sent him baskets full of flowers. The rest of the prisoners--the -Dreamer and a rabble of braves hunted down in the hills--were huddled -away in the jail. - -The Prince had many visitors. The Governor came, accompanied by -his staff, young men in cocked hats, who looked as tall and morose -as possible while the Governor lectured him. A young man came from -the ‘Pioneer’ and interviewed him as to his opinion of Western -civilisation; the Prince’s answers were disjointed, amounting to -little more than ejaculations, such as ‘iced drinks’ and ‘theaters’; -but his interest was evident, and the ‘Pioneer’ said that his views -on the subject were ‘quite equal to those of some of the best of our -Indian Princes.’ On the all-engrossing gold question he had been -diplomatically discreet, nor would he commit himself on the equally -difficult question of the British suzerainty over the Soochings. - -He had numerous visits from Mr. Wyndham Cato, the Pro-Boer M.P., who -was staying with the Governor, having arrived in the course of a grand -tour of the Colonies, destined to supply him with ammunition for an -attack on the Government all along the line on the ‘native question.’ -But for Mr. Cato, the case of the Soochings would never have attained -the importance it had. The Governor was disposed to treat the whole -thing as a hole-and-corner brawl, a question of police; he would have -bundled Dwala and his braves obscurely away into a penal settlement -if he had been left alone. Mr. Cato blew the bubble. Bouverie Street -and Whitehall, stimulated by telegrams, reacted one on the other. It -became a public matter. The Governor smiled benignly, and squared it -up to a larger scale. Thanks to Mr. Cato, Prince Dwala was a captive -Prince instead of an arrested malefactor. The Prince conceived a warm -affection for the little man, who let him try on his gold spectacles, -and showed him how his watch wound up. - -‘I have very little influence with the Governor; I have done all I -can, and I am afraid that your deposition is certain,’ said Mr. Cato, -one day, as he and the Prince squatted side by side at the edge of the -pool--Mr. Cato folding little paper boats out of pieces of newspaper, -while the Prince stirred the water with his foot to make them bob -up and down. ‘But, even then, you will still be a Prince, and it is -better to be a native Prince than the hereditary tyrant of a so-called -civilised country, the heir of one of our mushroom dynasties of Europe, -whose only purpose in life is to help a self-elected aristocracy, as -vulgar as themselves, to grind down the sweating millions of honest -working folk. You will still receive your revenues, if there is any -justice left in this disjointed world of ours. I shall agitate to -the best of my power to get some addition to your income from our -niggardly Government. You will be a comparatively rich man, and if you -win your lawsuit you ought to do very well indeed. Nobody has a right -to prevent your going to London if you wish to. I am starting myself in -a few days, and if you will allow me, I shall be very glad to take you -with me.’ - -‘Not in a hutch?’ - -‘A “hutch”? Don’t be absurd. You won’t be a prisoner. You’ll travel as -I travel. And, until some suitable residence has been found for you, I -insist on your coming to stay with us at Hampstead. I am sure that my -aunt and the two sisters who live with me will welcome you most warmly.’ - -The lawsuit to which Mr. Cato alluded was one of his own contriving. -When the first load of gold from the mines was sold to the Bank, the -Solicitor-General for the Colony had put in a claim for a royalty, -which was met by the defence that the mine was outside the limits of -the colony. The miners set up concessions granted by the deceased -monarch of the Soochings. Mr. Cato, a republican at home, but a firm -upholder of the divine rights of ‘native’ princes, hired a lawyer on -behalf of Prince Dwala and claimed the mines as his personal property, -set aside from time immemorial for the maintenance of the dignity of -the Royal House. The tribe at large had never exercised more than the -right of hunting over them. He denied the validity of the concessions, -and asked for a declaration that the fee simple was vested in the -Prince. - - - - -V - - -Prince Dwala formed a frequent subject of conversation at the -Residence. Mr. Cato disagreed on every possible question with everybody -there; but they found him a charming visitor, and the process of -‘draain’ his leg,’ as the Scotch call it, was an unfailing amusement to -the younger members of the party. - -He found them assembled round the breakfast table when he came out on -the veranda next morning, beaming round through his gold spectacles -with that benevolent smile with which he always began the day. Lady -Crampton sat at the end, behind a silver urn--a flighty, good-looking -creature, who might have passed for thirty. Besides her there were -Mademoiselle and the three girls; Dick Crampton, and Reggie the -nephew--secretaries both--deep in the batch of last month’s newspapers, -which had just arrived. - -The Governor and his private secretary were still at work. - -‘When’s the execution, Dick?’ said Reggie, helping himself to ham. - -‘Half-past ten, old man; you’ve lots of time.’ - -‘The usual tortures, I suppose?’ - -‘Just the usual. The Mater’s been up for hours sharpenin’ the spikes of -the rack.’ - -‘Getting rusty, I suppose?’ - -‘Not they! They got blunted over all those land-tax defaulters last -week.’ - -Helen, the youngest girl, tossed her long hair over her cheeks and -exploded with laughter. - -‘Soyez gentille, Hélène,’ said Mademoiselle: ‘les jeunes filles bien -élevées ne rient pas à table.’ - -Mr. Cato adjusted his spectacles, and stared with horror from face to -face. - -‘What nonsense are those boys talkin’ down there?’ said Lady Crampton. -‘For Heaven’s sake don’t choke, Helen! Dick, you naughty boy, do try to -behave.’ - -‘You mind what the Mater says, Reggie.’ - -‘What was Her Excellency pleased to remark?’ - -‘She says you’re not to play the elephas mas gigas ass. Hello, Guv’; -good mornin’.’ - -His Excellency came in, tall and débonnaire, and sat down to breakfast. -After him came his private secretary, a pale and anxious young man, who -said little, and opened an egg as if he expected to find an important -despatch inside it. - -‘Any news, Reggie?’ said the Governor, cheerfully rubbing his large -white hands together. - -‘Fry’s hurt his finger.’ - -‘Bad luck to it!’ - -‘Well, Sir Henry,’ said Mr. Cato, beaming away, ‘I’m going to have a -_good talk_ with you after breakfast about Prince Dwala.’ - -‘Too busy, too busy, my dear Sir. You talk it over with Mr. Batts; _he_ -knows all about everything.’ - -The private secretary looked up darkly, and gave a dry nod at Mr. Cato. - -‘Rum chap that Prince,’ said Reggie: ‘looks uncommon like a monkey.’ - -Mr. Cato flushed with indignation. - -‘_Please_ don’t talk like that, Mr. Crampton. I know you mean no harm; -but it’s just by little remarks like that that we Englishmen nourish -that narrow-minded contempt for natives to which we are all of us only -too prone.’ - -‘Dear little things, monkeys,’ murmured the tactful Lady Crampton: ‘my -sister used to keep one in Kensington, till it took to hidin’ food in -the beds, and had to be given to the Zoo.’ - -After breakfast Mr. Cato and Mr. Batts retired into a dark chamber, and -discussed the question of the Prince’s future. Mr. Batts sat like an -eminent specialist, with folded arms and pursed lips, while Mr. Cato -expounded his views. Mr. Batts held out great hopes of the Government -coming down handsomely. - -‘My dear Sir, we couldn’t have chosen a better moment for the -application. The Colonial Office is bound to spend its grant by the end -of the financial year, under penalty of having it reduced in the next -Budget--it’s a Treasury rule. What I’m telling you is a secret, mind; -don’t let it go any further. Between you and me, my dear Sir, they’re -often glad if some expense of this kind turns up to put their surplus -into; and once they’ve got him over, it’s easy enough to get the item -renewed year by year. They like native potentates; it’s picturesque and -popular. As for preventing white men from going into their country, -that is a policy which I can’t accept. It’s opposed to the natives’ own -interest: their countries could never be developed without European -assistance.’ - -‘How do you mean “developed,” Mr. Batts?’ - -‘Well, take the question of gold, for instance. These lazy beggars the -Soochings would simply leave it lying useless in the ground, as far as -they are concerned. Mind you, I’m not saying that all these Jews and -foreigners who start the thing are the most desirable people to carry -civilisation among the savages. Providence works for good by very -funny means.’ - -‘But the gold belongs to the Soochings.’ - -‘Gold or any other commodity belongs by the law of nature to the man -who works it. It’s a reward for his industry. That’s in Mill. It’s not -by any means such an easy thing working a mine as you might think, -especially in a savage country. First of all, there’s the labour -difficulty to deal with.’ - -‘What do you mean by the “labour difficulty”?’ - -‘Getting labour, of course; native labour to work the mine.’ - -‘But what are the Europeans doing there, if they’re not going to -labour?’ - -‘You’ve evidently not studied the mining question, my dear Sir. Once -the prospecting is over, Europeans don’t _dig_. That would be very -primitive. They have their work pretty well cut out as it is, pegging -out their claims and looking after the men to see they don’t steal. -Of course they have to get natives to dig for them--Soochings in this -case.’ - -‘But why should the Soochings dig for them?’ - -‘Why should they, my dear Sir? Why, we’d pretty soon _make_ ’em! But -it’s no good arguing these big questions on first principles. We -simply follow the policy which has worked so well in other parts of -the world.... Now what’s your figure for the Prince’s salary from the -Colonial Office?’ - -‘Well, what do you say to a thousand a year?’ - -‘Oh, make it two, make it two. That Mandingo man gets two thousand; and -we don’t want to have our native princes priced lower than Africans. -It’s just these things which fix the status of a Colony in the eyes of -London people.’ - -‘Good; two thousand.’ - -‘And as big a lump down as we can screw out of them. I’ll instruct His -Excellency.’ - -‘Then he’ll get his ordinary revenue from his subjects?’ - -‘That won’t amount to much.’ - -‘And the royalties on the gold?’ - -‘Don’t count on that. I saw the Chief Justice last night; he’s going to -give it against you.’ - -‘I shall appeal.’ - -‘To the Privy Council? Well, well: one never knows what will happen -when a case gets to the Privy Council.’ - - - - -VI - - -Mr. Cato found his path unexpectedly smooth. The Colonial Secretary, -delighted at shifting an awkward responsibility on to the shoulders -of a political opponent, telegraphed a gracious acceptance of Mr. -Cato’s offer to take charge of the Prince. The two thousand a year -was promised without bargaining, with another two thousand down for -initial expenses. The Colonial Court, it is true, had decided against -the Sooching claim, but leave was given to appeal; and Mr. Cato took a -lawyer and a packing-case full of evidence with him on board the P. & -O. in order to carry the question before the Privy Council. - -He had taken up the clubs for Prince Dwala on purely unselfish -grounds, but he could not help feeling a personal satisfaction in -the results of what he had done. His whole tour had been a success; -now that he had seen the various kinds of native whom he had so long -championed in Parliament, the rightness of his attitude came home to -him with a picturesque forcibleness. He was like a dramatist who had -seen all his plays acted one after the other for the first time. And -now by this last lucky hit he had put himself over the heads of all -his rivals in his own peculiar line of politics. Prince Dwala’s case -would be famous; his colleagues would help him trounce the Government -for this wicked gold war; the credit of it would be his; every question -would come round to him for a final answer; the oppressed native would -be sitting at home in his drawing-room. As he lay awake in his bunk he -caught himself musing pleasurably over the social distinction which it -might involve. Nonsense! A Prince is no better than any other man, or -very little. Still, other people think so; it would be amusing to watch -their demeanour. - -It was no light matter being in charge of a Prince on board ship. Mr. -Cato found it best during the daytime to keep him as much as possible -in his cabin, where he sat looking patiently out of a port-hole, -saying over new words and phrases he had heard, or making cigarettes -with the little machine which Mr. Cato carried about with him--a -contrivance which inspired him with far greater interest and awe -than the complications of the engine-room. It was the best cabin on -board, by-the-bye, for the Shanghai merchant had insisted on giving -it up to the Prince. It was not that Dwala claimed any outward signs -of respect--he was modesty itself; but his presence caused a certain -_gêne_ among the other passengers, who were uncertain whether to rise -from their seats or not when he entered the reading-room. Then he had -no idea of punctuality, and naturally nobody liked to begin dinner -until he came in. The sailors had no end of a job enticing him down -from the crosstrees, where he had ensconced himself at the sound of the -dinner-bell. Then again, the chief steward was nearly frightened out of -his wits, when he leaned over his shoulder to offer him potatoes, at -the way the Prince grabbed his plate and growled, under the impression -that he wanted to take it away from him. The passengers saw but little -of him till the last night of the voyage, when they insisted on his -presiding at the concert in aid of the Sailors’ Orphanage. They were -all immensely impressed by the grave attention with which he listened -to the comic songs. - -Mr. Cato was very busy all day going through the evidence with the -lawyer; and half of every night he spent following the Prince in his -swift rambles over the ship, seeing that he did not get into mischief. -It was a relief when they landed at last in England. - - - - -VII - - -The first thing Mr. Cato did, when he had settled his guest comfortably -at home in Hampstead, under the kindly care of his two sisters, was to -go and call on Lord Griffinhoofe, his immediate political leader. - -Mr. Cato’s party was divided at this time into many sections. An -official leader had at one time been appointed, but in the confusion -of politics the party had lost the papers and forgotten his name. The -leadership was now divided among a number of eminent men, of whom Lord -Griffinhoofe, ex-Cabinet Minister and member of one of the oldest -and richest families in England, was not the least. It was generally -understood that he would get an important portfolio when a Liberal -Government should be formed, and the urbanity of his manner was held to -fit him peculiarly for the Foreign Office. - -London was out of town when Mr. Cato arrived. The Session was over; but -Lord Griffinhoofe was known to have come back on business for a few -weeks to his house in Piccadilly. Mr. Cato found the blinds down, and a -charwoman washing the steps. He walked in unannounced and entered the -well-known reception-room on the ground floor, disguised at present -with a furniture of linen bags, enfolding monstrous shapes of large -ornaments. Here he found a flushed female, with a bonnet on the side -of her head, sitting on one of the long row of leather chairs. She -smiled and wagged her feathers and roses at him pleasantly, assuring -him that ‘the good gentleman’ would be ‘out in a jiffy.’ Mr. Cato -seated himself modestly in a dark corner and waited. - -After a little while the inner door opened, and Lord Griffinhoofe -himself appeared--a large stout man, with peering short-sighted eyes. -He smiled and nodded when he found himself confronted by a curtseying -female. Then he cleared his throat, looked in three pockets for his -eye-glasses, wiped them, and examined the dirty scrap of paper which he -held in his hand. - -‘Mrs. Waggs?’ he said. - -‘Yes, my lord,’ said the smiling woman in the bonnet; ‘that’s my name, -sir, after my dear ’usband who went to the bad.’ - -‘Well, and what can I do for you?’ - -‘Mrs. Waggs, my lord, that’s my name. I’ve come to be cook, ’earin’ as -you was in want of a temp’ry from my good friend Mrs. ’Amilton, who -washes the steps, pore thing, of a Saturday when the other lidy ’as to -be at ’ome.’ - -Lord Griffinhoofe examined the paper very carefully, and cleared his -throat again. - -‘H’m! It’s very awkward. My wife’s away. I hardly know what to do. -You’re a cook, you say?’ - -‘Mrs. Waggs, my lord. Good plain or fancy with the best of character’s, -though short, bein’ a temp’ry.’ - -‘Can you ... can you dust things, Mrs. Waggs?’ - -‘Dust? Me dust? No thank you, my lord, not if I know it. Thank ’Eaven, -I ’aven’t come down to a duster quite as yet. O no, thank you! Mrs. -Waggs, plain or fancy, on the usual terms, but no dustin’, thank you! -I’m not an ’ousemaid.’ - -‘It’s very awkward. So you want to be cook. Can you make pastry?’ - -‘Anythink in reason, my lord. One doesn’t ask too much of a pore woman -with two children and an ’usband in trouble. Pastry is not my fort, nor -’ave I been accustomed to families where pastry was eaten on a large -scale.’ - -‘Well, well. It’s very awkward. The fact is that I _have_ a cook -already.’ - -‘And well you may, my lord, you that might ’ave dozens for the askin’.’ -Mrs. Waggs burst into tears. ‘But it’s ’ard on a pore woman that’s -trudged miles an’ miles without a drop o’ drink to look for a job, to -be told the place is bespoke.’ - -‘There, there, don’t cry, Mrs. Waggs. I can’t turn my cook out to make -a place for you, can I?’ - -‘An’ my pore ’usband in trouble, ’im that never did an ’ard day’s work -in ’is life before.’ - -Clouds veiled the serenity of Lord Griffinhoofe’s countenance for a -little while, then he passed his hand over his face and emerged with a -bright idea. - -‘How would it be if you saw the cook and had it out with _her_?’ - -Mrs. Waggs, paying no direct attention to this proposal, nor to the -next proposal to come back in a few days and see what could be done -then, but continuing merely to repeat her name and claims, Lord -Griffinhoofe finally decided that the best thing he could do was to -ring the bell and consult the housekeeper. A lean woman in black -presented herself, glanced quickly round, and listened with sour -submission while Lord Griffinhoofe explained the situation and its -difficulties. - -‘Shall I deal with the woman, my lord?’ - -‘I shall be extremely grateful, Mrs. Porter. I hardly know what to do -myself.’ - -Three short steps brought the housekeeper in front of Mrs. Waggs. - -‘Now then, out you go! March!’ - -Mrs. Waggs quailed and rose obediently. - -‘Comin’ here in such a state--the idea!’ - -The housekeeper shut the front-door behind the visitor, and returned -demurely the way she had come. - -‘Thank you, Mrs. Porter,’ said Lord Griffinhoofe, with a nervous smile: -‘I thought you would know what was the right thing.... And what can -I do for you, Madam?’ he inquired, stumbling on Mr. Cato. ‘What, Mr. -Cato! So you’re back. How stupid of them to keep you waiting in here. -Come along! Come along!’ - -He led him into his study beyond. - -‘So you’ve come back for the great fight. It’s a secret--I had a wire -this morning--you mustn’t tell anyone; we’re within measurable distance -of a General Election.’ - -‘Yes; I saw it in the “Westminster” last night.’ - -‘Really! How _do_ these papers find out? It came on me quite as a -surprise. I’ve been promised--practically promised the--h’m! h’m! It’s -a dead secret, mind; you mustn’t let it out.’ - -‘Why, the “Westminster”....’ - -‘They had that in too?’ - -‘No; in fact they mentioned Lord Rosebery.’ - -‘Bosh!’ - -‘Only guesswork, of course,’ added Mr. Cato hastily, seeing an uneasy -flush on Lord Griffinhoofe’s face. ‘Quite impracticable! Not a man we -could work with.’ - -‘A mere talker!’ - -‘With the Eastern Question looming....’ - -‘A man who can’t say No!’ - -‘Russia needs a firm hand....’ - -‘Rosebery’s no more capable of managing Russia than I am of managing a -... well, a ... well.... And what was it you came to see me about, Mr. -Cato?’ - -Mr. Cato entered with great detail into all the facts of Prince Dwala’s -case. The great man rubbed his fat knees and assumed a sagacious look; -his breath came very short, and suddenly he looked as if he were going -to cry. - -‘Wait a moment, Mr. Cato. If I had a bit of pencil, I should like to -put your facts down, so as to get a clear idea. In what year do you say -he was born?’ - -‘I haven’t a notion. These facts aren’t important enough to make a note -of.’ - -‘Then you oughtn’t to tell me them. It only confuses.’ - -‘The important thing is: how far will the Party help him?’ - -‘We shall want a pencil for that. It’s such a nuisance my secretary -being away. He always has a pencil. He takes his holiday now. Couldn’t -we put it off till Parliament assembles?’ - -‘The matter is urgent.’ - -‘Everything seems so urgent nowadays,’ Lord Griffinhoofe smiled sadly, -as if remembering better days. - -‘We must secure the best lawyers at once.’ - -‘Oh, it’s a law case! I see.’ - -‘Yes, I’ve told you so already; an appeal to the Privy Council. -Colonial appeals go before the Privy Council.’ - -‘I remember. That’ll be the Judicial Committee, no doubt. Well, can’t -_they_ settle it?’ - -‘That isn’t the point. It’s a most difficult question of law, and -everything depends on how the question is argued. We must get the very -best counsel we can. The expenses are enormous.’ - -‘Can’t the ... er ... the what’s his name manage it?’ - -‘Prince Dwala? We have no right to ask it of him. His fortune is very -small, for a Prince; and I look upon the British nation and the Liberal -Party as trustees to see that he gets it intact. I myself have already -incurred very heavy expenses.’ - -‘Oh, you shouldn’t spend your own money.’ - -‘That’s just it; I want the Party to help with their funds.’ - -‘Well, well; if the cause is a good one. We might wait a few months, -and see what people think.’ - -‘But the case will be over.’ - -‘One can’t help that. We mustn’t rush things.’ - -Nothing could budge the great man from his attitude of caution and -delay. It was evident that, in the absence of his secretary with the -pencil, he conceived only the vaguest idea of the question in hand. Mr. -Cato went home at last, expressing the heroic resolution to fight the -case on his own money, even if it ruined him. - - - - -VIII - - -Mr. Cato’s work was no light matter. He followed the case in every -stage; he explained it all to the solicitors, and re-explained it to -different layers of barristers. Every new document was submitted to him -for revision. He was tormented all the time by anxiety for the future; -his fortune was not a large one, and he had to reduce his capital to -a very serious extent in order to meet the preliminary expenses of the -case. The Prince, his guest, must indeed miss no comfort in his house; -but in every other respect he enjoined the strictest economy on his -sisters. - -There were other things also to be thought of. The Prince’s ignorance -on many subjects was astonishing; his questions showed it. This was, -of course, natural in a native; but if he was to be a social success -in England, then, in spite of his age, it was necessary that he should -have some education. The Prince raised no objection. He had taken quite -a fancy to Miss Briscoe, who appeared at first in the character of a -guest at lunch, with no suggestion of the governess about her. A big -genial woman of fifty, with thick black eyebrows, and an indomitable -belief in the Christian fellowship of all men in this wonderful world, -she brought light into Dwala’s life. - -For it must be confessed that the Prince’s first impression of this -long-desired civilisation was one of disappointment. It was undoubtedly -dull in Mr. Cato’s house. Mr. Cato was out all day; and though his -aunt was a dear old lady in her way, and his sisters two of the most -charitable creatures in the neighbourhood, nobody would have called -them lively company for a Missing Link. The indoor life told upon his -health; the clockwork regularity of the daily round and the entire -absence of events reduced his spirits to the lowest depth. He had -been accustomed in his childhood to the happy vicissitudes of forest -life; to the pleasure of escaping thunderstorms and beasts of prey; -to the relief of calm sleep after weeks of storm-rocked trees; to the -wild delight after long hunger of finding more than he could eat. It -maddened him to hear these old ladies chattering over tiny pulsations -of monotony as it they were events; to hear them discussing the paltry -British weather under an impervious roof; to hear them talk of burglars -in the next parish as if they were tigers on the lower branches; to -learn that Julia’s quarrel with Mrs. Armstrong had ended in changing -her doctor, when he had pictured her tearing handfuls of fur out of -Mrs. Armstrong’s back. He longed to throttle the smug butcher who -brought the daily tray of meat, robbing life of all the pleasure of -desire. - -When he first arrived the Prince had been so easily amused. It was -enough for him to sit at a window and watch the men mending the road; -to follow the housemaid from room to room and see her make the beds; -to help to screw a leaf into the dining-room table; to dust Mr. -Cato’s books. It was, therefore, a great surprise to his host when he -blurted this out one evening. Had it been one of his nephews from the -country--his youngest sister married the Rector of Woolcombing--Mr. -Cato would have known what to do; he would have treated him to some -of those amusements which are provided for country nephews; taken him -to the British Museum, South Kensington, the Tower of London, or the -College of Mining in Jermyn Street; he would have contrived little -outings on omnibuses, ending with tea at an Aërated Bread shop. But the -Prince seemed too old for these things; the weather was bad; Mr. Cato -was busy, and he had determined to keep him at Hampstead till things -had settled down and he knew his proper social value. - - - - -IX - - -That was one of Mr. Cato’s chief preoccupations. What was the Prince’s -social station in England? How much deference might be demanded of the -world? Who were the people to whose company he had a natural right? One -must neither prejudice his future by assuming too low a value for him, -nor expose him to any rebuff by claiming too much. - -The question was one beyond Mr. Cato’s own competence. His thoughts -turned to his nephew Pendred. Not a country nephew this, with any -implication of humbleness. Quite the contrary; Pendred Lillico, -ex-Lieutenant of the Grenadiers, son of Mr. Cato’s half-sister, who had -married a hitherto obscure baronet in the days of her beauty. Pendred -was a dancing man, a well-known man, a pattern of manners, an arbiter -of fashions. They rarely met: Mr. Cato was secretly afraid of his -nephew; Pendred seldom had occasion to boast of his uncle. - -He arrived on his motor-car--small, fair, translucent, admirable. The -occasion suited him. Appreciation was his _métier_--appreciation of -frocks, laces, china, women, men. He knew hallmarks, pottery-marks, -marks of breeding, marks of coming success. Mr. Cato passed the morning -before his arrival in a restless state; he was nervous as to the -verdict. - -‘How much a year, do you say?’ asked Pendred, in his touching little -glass voice. - -‘Two thousand.’ - -‘H’m ... Borneo.... Can I see him?’ - -‘But that makes no difference, does it?’ - -‘It’s everything.’ - -‘But, surely dukes and millionaires aren’t estimated on their personal -value?’ - -‘Oh, once you get into big figures!’ - -‘But a man’s social value....’ - -‘Social value, my dear uncle, is human value.’ - -‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it.’ - -‘On two thousand a year, that is.... Well, let’s see your man. I think -I shall be able to give you an opinion.’ - -Prince Dwala was seated in an armchair in the library--nursing the -fire, remote, abstracted. So abstracted that he took no notice of -their entrance. Pendred put his head on one side and tried to sketch a -rough estimate; he was puzzled. He put his head on the other side and -attempted a new valuation. Mr. Cato touched the Prince on the shoulder. - -‘I’ve brought you my nephew to make your acquaintance.’ - -Dwala gave a long sigh and looked up. - -‘Nephew ... what’s a nephew?’ - -‘_This_ is my nephew,’ said Mr. Cato, presenting Pendred, who stepped -delicately forward, smiling, with hand extended. - -The Prince drew him towards himself. Then suddenly, without any -warning, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he took -him up in his arms and carried him to the light to make a better -examination. Mr. Cato stood petrified. Pendred lay perfectly still, -looking up with frightened blue eyes. Dwala seated himself on the edge -of the table by the window, and put Pendred on his knee. It was the -first finished product of civilisation that he had seen, perfect at -every point. He smelt him; he stroked his hair and ears; he felt the -fineness of his clothes; and growled a deep guttural growl of delight. - -‘I should like to have a nephew, too.’ - -‘Put him down, put him down,’ cried Mr. Cato, finding voice: ‘you -mustn’t treat Pendred like that!’ - -Dwala glided obediently off the table, set Pendred on a chair, and -crouched at his feet looking up. - -‘Does it talk?’ he asked. - -‘That’s right. Of course he does. Pendred’s a terrible chatterbox. -He’ll talk your head off.’ - -‘Please make it talk.’ - -‘How can he talk when you frighten him to death like that?’ - -‘Don’t be absurd, Uncle Wyndham,’ said Pendred plaintively: ‘I’m not -at all frightened, thank you.’ He pulled out his case of gold-tipped -cigarettes, and lighted one, at which Dwala growled again and clapped -his hands. - -‘Did you have a jolly voyage? I hear you were quite a lion on board. -Terrible long journey. Awful bore travellin’. What do you think of -England?’ - -‘Pretty voice! pretty voice!’ said the Prince, stroking one of his -little boots. ‘Will it eat? He pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and -put it up to Pendred’s lips. Pendred slipped his legs away and jumped -up. - -‘No, thanks awfully. I must be gettin’ home. People to tea. Awful -bore.’ And with this he bolted straight out of the door and through -the house to his motor-car, which was snorting and jumping up and down -outside, in charge of a man in shiny black surrounded by a crowd of -ragamuffins. He was half-way down the road when Mr. Cato emerged in -pursuit. - -The Prince sat by the fire, nodding his head in high spirits, and -ejaculating: ‘Awful bore! Awful bore!’ - -‘How dare you?’ said Mr. Cato, coming in a moment later, and shutting -the door behind him. - -‘Dare what?’ - -‘How dare you treat my nephew like that? Pendred! A gentleman! A future -baronet! Here am I, working my fingers to the bone to get justice -done to you--at it night and day, spending my substance, sacrificing -everything--and then, when I invite my nephew out here, who might have -helped you in your London career, you treat him like that! You drive -him out of the house--he even forgot his gloves.’ - -‘I liked him. I wanted to keep him.’ - -‘You treat him like a child, like a plaything, a doll. You forget that -he is a man.’ - -‘Is he a man?’ - -‘He was twenty-eight in June. Of course he’s a man.’ - -‘I didn’t know. He has no eye.’ - -‘No eye? What do you mean?’ - -‘Nothing here.’ The Prince moved his hand over his eyes. ‘Nothing -behind.’ - -‘I don’t know what you mean. Eye or no eye, I’ll beg you for the future -to be respectful to _everybody_, mind you--_everybody_, high or low. -Social position makes no difference. Now you’ve spoilt everything. -Pendred’s offended. He won’t come back. How can you get on if you -behave like that?’ - -Mr. Cato had heard of a man ‘having a leg,’ but never of a man having -‘no eye.’ It conveyed nothing to him. But the idea was clear and -even elementary to Dwala. Being a beast, endowed with no reason, -having only instinct and that μονὴ αἰσθήματος, or persistence of -impressions, which takes the place of reason in the lower animals, -he was incapable of the rational classification of natural things -which characterises the human outlook. His criteria of species were -distinct but illogical; his categories did not tally with human -categories; they fell short of them and they overlapped them. Species -was defined for him, not by the grouping of attributes, but by an -abstract something--a spiritual essence inherent in the attributes. -He was guided, to put it in philosophical terms, not by ‘phenomena,’ -but by ‘noumena.’ For instance, he knew a horse from a donkey, not by -its size, its ears, or its coat, not on consideration, but abruptly, -instinctively, round the corner, by an effluence of individuality; in -short, by its ‘equinity.’ So too, in the forest, he had always known -a venomous cobra from a harmless grass-snake at any distance, not by -considerations of form or colour--considerations which might often have -led to too late a conclusion--but merely by its ‘cobrinity.’ But this -attitude is liable to error; and Prince Dwala had been led astray by -it. His notion of the essence of humanity was formed from the men he -had first met; it was limited and imperfect. It included an element not -essential to humanity, this ‘eye’ of which he spoke: a thing difficult -to define; something revealed in the bodily eye; not exactly strength -of will or power to command; not entirely dignity or courage; some -reflection rather of the spirit of the universe, a self-completeness -and responsibility, a consciousness of individual independence. This he -had known and felt in the American, in the Soochings, in Mr. Cato, in -the housemaid--it was the basis of his respect and obedience; but it -was wanting in Pendred Lillico. - -It was fortunate that he was disabused of error so early in his career. -He could afford to laugh at his foolishness later--he saw what mistakes -of behaviour it would have led him into; for when he came to know -London better, he found that the mass of people, both in drawing-rooms -and slums, indubitably men, altogether lacked the ‘eye’ which he had -thought essential. - - - - -X - - -At breakfast next morning Mr. Cato groaned a good deal over his letters. - -‘Well, Wyndham, what does Pendred say?’ asked sister Emily. - -Mr. Cato frowned, and shook his head in a menacing aside, enjoining -discretion. - -‘I was afraid so,’ he said, after breakfast, when Dwala had retired -to the study fire. ‘Pendred is very pessimistic. Oh dear, oh dear! -And yet, who can say he is not right after the way he was treated? “I -am afraid that the same thing cannot be said of your _protégé_. Quite -apart from his rudeness to me--of which I will say nothing, if you will -do the same--it is evident that Prince Dwala is not a gentleman. Not at -present, at any rate. There is a _brusquerie_ about him which would do -very well in a Hapsburg or a Hohenzollern, but not in a deposed Borneo -Prince. He doesn’t know how to sit down; nor in fact what to sit on. -He doesn’t know what to do with his hands; all his movements are too -large, and, as Lady Hamish would say, ‘too conclusive.’” Pendred won’t -come to lunch on Tuesday--I was afraid not; he leaves town on Monday. -However, there is a ray of hope. It is really very generous of Pendred, -considering. It is certainly worth trying. “Gentlemen are made as well -as born. Captain Howland-Bowser acquired it because he was determined -to succeed; and now nobody would know he was not a gentleman, and in -fact a very fine gentleman, and received everywhere. Of course it is -a secret. I should never have known if Warbeck Wemyss had not told me -himself. Present the letter I enclose, and let him see that you mean -perfect discretion.”’ - -‘Who is Warbeck Wemyss? Not _the_ ...’ - -‘Of course.’ - -‘The actor?’ - -‘Gives lessons in manners, do you mean?’ - -‘But won’t it be very expensive?’ - -‘Of course Wyndham means the Prince to pay himself.’ - -‘Now Clara, once for all, let me hear no more of these hints. The -Prince shall _not_ pay. We have no right to expect it, poor fellow. We -have done very well without going to the country this year, and surely -we can manage to do it again. If the worst comes to the worst we can -move into a smaller house when the Prince leaves us. You must try to -be more economical; the bills come to far more than they ought to.’ He -closed the discussion by leaving the room. - -Warbeck Wemyss consented, on terms. It was a ‘wrench,’ as Traddles -would have said; but surely it was worth while. The lessons were -a great amusement for the Prince. The going out into the passage; -the entering the library, hat in hand; the surprise on Mr. Wemyss’s -part; the little interchange on health and weather; the play with -his monstrous gloves: the more elaborate lessons; introductions; -forgetfulnesses; the assumption of grave interest while a humble -Wemyss endeavoured to recall to him where they had met before; the -pretended dinners; the new words; the manner of gallantry; the manner -of confidence; the gestures and ejaculations of patience under a long -anecdote--a thousand situations which pictured a new and delightful -universe before his eyes. Dwala had the imitative faculty in -perfection; he almost cried with humble joy when Wemyss clapped him on -the shoulder, and assured him that he would make a gentleman of him in -no time. Mr. Cato was delighted with the teacher’s reports: a little -slapdash at first; rather random in the use of ‘rippin’’ and ‘awful -bore,’ but quicker progress than he had ever seen. - - - - -XI - - -Meanwhile there were other things to raise Mr. Cato’s spirits. -Parliament was back. The Government still held good, it is true, in -spite of all rumours to the contrary; but opposition is exhilarating. -Best of all, the Privy Council was in session. The Crown Officers, worn -out with long obstructive sittings, made a poor fight of it: a dispute -about a bit of land in Borneo was a small matter compared with the -fate of a historic party. The judges were favourably impressed by the -brusque appositeness of Mr. Cato’s counsel. - -When Mr. Cato came back one day in a four-wheeler instead of the -omnibus, his sisters knew that something extraordinary had happened. - -‘We’ve won!’ he cried, sinking, smiling and exhausted, into an armchair. - -Everybody shook hands with Dwala. - -‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said, pressing each hand delicately, and -laying his left hand on the top of it, in a graceful and engaging way -which Mr. Wemyss had taught him. ‘You’re very kind.’ But he had no -understanding of the news. Only at dinner, when a gold-necked bottle -of Christmas champagne was produced and they all drank his health, he -began to realise that it was something solemn and important. - - - - -XII - - -It was more solemn than anybody suspected. The news from the mines had -been good; but it was nothing to what it was going to be. When Mr. Cato -came home in the afternoon, two days later, he found a smart brougham -at the door. On the hall table lay a card: ‘Baron Blumenstrauss.’ The -famous Baron in his house! The drawing-room was empty. He went into -the library. There he beheld an elderly bald-headed Jewish gentleman -in a white waistcoat, with fat little purple hands clasping his spread -knees, gazing with baggy eyes through dishevelled gold pince-nez -at Prince Dwala, who lay back in an armchair, lids down, breathing -heavily. At Mr. Cato’s entrance, the visitor took off his pince-nez and -looked up. - -‘It iss an extra-ordinary ting,’ he said: ‘de shendlemann ’as gone to -sleep!’ - -The Prince awoke at this and leaned forward blinking. - -‘Pray continue. It is _most_ interesting.’ - -‘I am not used to ’ave my beesness bropositions receift in soch a way. -I am Baron Blumenstrauss,’ he said, turning to Mr. Cato, with gurgling -guttural r’s. - -‘Yes?... I am Mr. Cato--Mr. Wyndham Cato ... I ... I live here, you -know.’ - -‘Ah--sit down, Mister Cato. I ’ave read your speeches. You are cleffer -man; you ’ave ideas; wrong ideas, bot cleffer. What can I do wid a -shendlemann dat go to sleep when I make him beesness bropositions? I -offer to make him very rich man, he say “rippin’”; I say four hunderd -tousand pount a year, he shut his eye; I say _fife_ hunderd tousand -pount, he go to sleep.’ - -‘Five, hundred ... thousand ... pounds!’ ejaculated Mr. Cato faintly, -overwhelmed. - -‘Effery year.’ - -‘Why?’ - -The Baron winked ponderously, with an effort, and smiled with exquisite -penetration of Mr. Cato’s labyrinthine slyness. - -‘Nod for nussing!’ - -‘What is the proposition?’ - -‘Are you de shendlemann’s guardian?’ returned the Baron abruptly. - -‘Why no,’ reflected Mr. Cato: ‘I suppose I am not. But I’m his -principal adviser.’ - -‘Ah! I know.’ - -The Baron rose suddenly, snatching up his white-lined hat and lavender -gloves. - -‘Well, goot-bye, shendlemen. I haf laties wait for me at home. Adieu, -mon Prince.’ - -‘_Good_-bye, _good_-bye,’ said Dwala, with careful intonations: ‘I -hope you’ll look in again some time.’ - -‘Goot-bye, I leaf you to your books, your studies. Goot-bye ... Dis -vay?’ he appealed to Mr. Cato, moving towards the door. - -‘I’ll see you out.’ - -‘Goot! You haf charming leetle house. Man can see dat Madame haf -excellent taste.’ - -He stopped at the hat-rack, took down a hat and put it into Mr. Cato’s -hand, nodding and smiling. - -‘Put him on. You come wid me.’ - -‘I wasn’t going out.’ - -‘Come alonk. I make you beesness broposition.’ He hurried him down the -steps. ‘Leedle flower’s all dead,’ he said, half glancing at the wintry -garden. ‘Half-past seex,’ he added, looking at his watch. - -As they bowled along in the smooth brougham, night fell. The Baron -talked; Mr. Cato began to see dimly the gigantic outline of the thing -that he had done. His mind was still numbed with the vastness of big -figures; he hardly perceived the order in which things happened. The -Baron had drawn a paper from some recess of the carriage and put it -in his hand; he was fascinated by the purple unconscious forefinger -striding about it, and the continuous voice in his ear. It was a map, a -copy of the map of the Sooching forest made by the lawyers: ‘As shown -in the map appended hereto, and marked C,’ he repeated to himself. -Yellow squares, and circles and figures in black had grown on the bare -centre since he last saw it. The purple blood-gorged finger was running -rapidly from pit to pit; they were all full of gold, and the finger -was peeping and gloating and chuckling, planning schemes of union and -division, conquest and annihilation. The coachman’s steady back looked -in with its two silver eyes from the box, like the face of a giant -Fate, rumbling and gliding them to inevitable ends. - -The burst of a barrel organ brought him to everyday consciousness. The -Baron was still talking. - -‘“Are de Government mad?” said my friends to me. “Dey might haf taken -de whole ting wid deir retchiment of men; and dey let it all go to one -shendlemann. An’ now dere can neffer be a war for it; it is brivate -broperty. Dey leaf it to de Soochinks? Goot! Someday de Soochinks -rebel; dey oppose de Ettucation law, de Tynamite law, de Church law: de -Government take it away from dem. Goot! Dat is Bolitics. But dey have -made it Broperty: dere is no Bolitics wid Broperty. We shall see big -row. De Government will fall.”’ - -‘They have many things to answer for.’ - -‘It is solid gold!’ - -‘Ten thousand butchered Bulgarians lie at their door.’ - -‘Polgarrians? What are your ten tousand Polgarrians to me, ten hunderd -tousand Polgarrians, ten million Polgarrians? A tousand tons of solid -gold, I tell you. Dey know nussing, your Government. All de land is -one big reef. I haf known it tree munt, you haf known it, efferybody -haf known it; but de Government knows nussing, de Brivy Gouncil knows -nussing.’ - -‘Do you mean that the gold runs right across this map, where these -marks are?’ - -‘Natürlich.’ - -‘I never even guessed it.’ - -‘Is it a choke? Bah! Den why haf you made soch friends of de Brince?’ - -‘What’s your proposal?’ - -‘Wait!’ He put his head out of window and shouted to the driver: -‘Kvicker! Kvicker!’.... ‘I tell you at home. Haf a smoke?’ He held out -a fat cigar-case. - -‘No thank you.’ - -‘Take it! take it! Fifty pount a box.’ Mr. Cato still refused. - -Gates opened before them; they drove over a gravel court, and ascended -broad steps on a red carpet rolled down by footmen. - -‘To de English room.’ - -They flew through a monstrous hall, with three footmen after them; -fountains, palms, mosaics, tiles, pillars, galleries, lights; a -card-table, dwarfed by the vastness; card-players, lounging men, thin -contemptuous women smoking cigarettes. As they bowled rapidly by, the -Baron waved flickering red fingers: - -‘My exguses laties. Come along Max: beesness!’ - -A young Jew arose from the table, threw down his cards, made apologies, -and followed quickly. - -In the English room the Baron cast rapid gestures at the pictures on -the walls: - -‘Reynolds, Cainsborough, Dicksee, Constable, Leader, Freeth. Come -along, Max. Bring champagne,’ he said to the footmen. - -‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Mr. Cato. - -‘Goot! I will drink it mysailfe.’ - -They sat in a blaze of electric light, velvet, gold, Venetian glasses; -everything exhaled a fat smell of luxury. This was the stunning -atmosphere in which the Baron preferred to make his ‘broposition.’ -Papers flitted about the table; champagne and diamond rings flickered -before Mr. Cato’s eyes. - -The Baron planned an amalgamation, a monopoly; harmony and -understanding; big handling and cheap production; the sales regulated; -the market chosen; the rate of exchange manipulated. A mass of -companies, with different names, different directorates, even different -supposititious localities. - -‘If I call him Cato Deeps, and say he is in Mexico, who knows? who -cares? De enchineer? I pay him. De public? De diffidends are all in -Treadneedle Street.’ - -An oscillation of good reports and bad reports, share-prices going up -and down, with the Baron and his friends in the middle of the see-saw, -and money rolling to them from alternate ends of the plank. - -‘Gold is goot, but gompanies are better,’ he said. - -But the Baron must have a free hand; it amounted to a purchase, a -right to exploit. Everything depended on the Prince, and evidently the -Prince depended on Mr. Cato. For the one there waited the 500,000_l._ -a year in perpetuity, guaranteed on his own property; for the other, -directorships, fees, shares, pickings at every corner; a safe income of -at least ten thousand to be had for the asking. He had only to get the -Prince’s consent to the bargain. - -Mr. Cato flipped aside the personal question without a word. But for -the Prince? 500,000_l._ a year. No one could reasonably ask more of -life. Had he a right to refuse it? But these companies! tricks of -promotion! all the garbage of the money market. Had he a right to -accept it? He hesitated. - -The butler came in, and murmured in the Baron’s ear. - -‘Where?’ - -‘Just outside, sir.’ - -‘Gif him a smoke, and tell him to vait.’ - -‘Can I come in?’ said a voice at the door. - -‘Aha, cher Duc!’ cried the Baron with brazen-voiced, brutal _bonhomie_: -‘go to de pilliard room and vait.’ - -‘Can’t you spare a moment?’ - -‘Ne voyez-vous pas?’ The _bonhomie_ passed to imperial fierceness. ‘I -am peezy!’ - -‘Well?’ he said, as Mr. Cato still sat plunged in thought. ‘For you -it is leetle question--for de Brince, leetle question: it is me or -somebody else. Fife hunderd tousand pount, effery year.’ - -Mr. Cato still pondered. He thought he saw his duty clearing before him. - -‘Well? De Duke vaits; I vait. You impoverish de world: you widdraw me -from circulation. Is it Yes?’ - -‘No!’ said Mr. Cato, pushing back his chair. ‘It is No.’ - -‘Ah?... Who will manage de mines?’ - -‘The Prince will manage the mines. _I_ will manage the mines.’ - -‘Goot! You hear, Max? Dis shendlemann will manage de mines.’ - -Max only stared palely at Mr. Cato. The irony was too great for -laughter. He saw a man putting to sea on a plank, unconscious of the -deep voice of the gathering tornado; a child going out with a wooden -gun to make sport of an angry crowd of _sans-culottes_. - -‘Can I get a copy of the corrected map anywhere?’ asked the Child. - -‘Gif him de map, Max,’ said the Baron, with a short, indulgent laugh. -‘My secret achents haf brepared it, Mr. Cato. Gif him de figures, all -de papers. Let him haf efferyting. Goot-bye, Mr. Cato. See him to de -carriage, Max.’ - -‘I’ll walk, thank you.’ - -‘Better drive. Goot-bye.’ - -‘Good-bye.’ - -‘You will haf deeficulties, Mr. Cato.’ - -Mr. Cato went home by omnibus. His heart sank as he looked at the map, -divorced from the purple finger. - -There is lightheartedness in great conflict: we see the larger outline; -our forces are fed by the consciousness of it. A field of gold, still -in possession; a thing still to sell, if need be: it was an impregnable -position. But courage is needed after the battle; we see partially, at -short range. To have rejected a magnificent offer, to have so little in -its place--some papers, an idea, a consciousness that needed an atlas -to explain it. To have rejected the proposals of confident authority -creates a helpless mid-air terror; that is the power of religions. Mr. -Cato felt like a heretic of the Middle Ages, wondering, on the way to -the stake, if after all the Pope were not right. - -He went straight to his bedroom; walked up and down in his slippers, -lay awake for hours in long moods of elation and depression, and fell -asleep at last very cold. - - - - -XIII - - -The wheel had begun to turn. Nothing could stop it now. Next morning -came a fresh-looking elderly gentleman in grey, who announced himself -as ‘of the Colonial Office.’ He looked about him as if he meant to buy -the place; but modestly, as if for someone else. Mr. Cato received him -in the drawing-room. He hoped the Prince was well. The Colonial Office -had heard of the Prince’s improving fortunes. His business concerned -the Prince, but it could most conveniently be broached to Mr. Cato. He -would see the Prince afterwards. - -It had probably struck Mr. Cato that the time had now arrived for the -Prince to set up a separate establishment. The Colonial Office, which -was ultimately responsible for him, felt that Mr. Cato’s kindness must -not be trespassed on. He must not be allowed to monopolise the Prince. - -Mr. Cato had probably noticed that native potentates always had, what -you might call, for want of a better word, ‘keepers’ attached to -their persons while they were in England. The actual title varied. As -a rule it was some tall muscular military man who was said to be ‘in -attendance on His Majesty the So-and-so.’ It was this functionary’s -duty to keep him generally out of mischief; for these Oriental fellows -would play the very deuce if left alone. Well, as far as Prince Dwala -was concerned, the Colonial Office had decided that a Private Secretary -would meet the case, and they had in fact selected the man. - -‘Who is it?’ asked Mr. Cato, repressing a pang of jealousy. - -‘One of the Huxtables--John Huxtable, a son of the Bishop.’ - -This again smelt of large success. Mr. Cato knew nothing of this -particular John; but he was a Huxtable, and Huxtables are, like -Napoleon, not men but institutions. Nature has such caprices. Out of -many million wild rough briars, one rougher and crabbeder than all the -rest is chosen by her for a fathering stock; whatever is grafted on it -thrives. Another is richer, larger, better-flowered, the pride of the -field--it is wise, courteous, a soldier, a leader of men; it is made -a Duke; it is grafted with the delicatest buds of Paestum. But the -bloom is frail and mean; shelter and fine feeding avail not, it has -a good place in the garden, but it is fragrant only in its name. The -Huxtables came of a rough and crabbed stock. Their great-grandfather -was somebody’s gamekeeper. His sons throve in business. His grandsons -were great men--soldiers, lawyers, priests. His great-grandsons, an -innumerable rising generation, were destined for greater greatness. It -had become an English custom to see large futures before them. They -were big and bony, they played at Lord’s, they abounded in clubs and -country houses; their handsome, strong-toothed sisters married well, -breeding powerful broad-browed babies that frowned and pinched. - -This particular Huxtable had tutored a Prince of the blood. He had -been secretary to a philanthropic commission; he would be a Cabinet -Minister, a Viceroy--anything he pleased. For the present he would be -private secretary to Dwala: he would manage him, regulate him, assert -him, protect him, establish him, marry him perhaps, and pass on to -another broad stage in the regal staircase of his career. - -As for the mines, the gentleman in grey had no advice to offer. It was -a private affair of Prince Dwala’s; no concern of the Colonial Office. -Why not consult some big financier? Baron Blumenstrauss, for instance. - -Mr. Cato made no reply. - -‘Well, after all,’ the grey gentleman concluded, ‘it had better be left -to Mr. Huxtable.’ - - - - -XIV - - -The Huxtable came later--a terrifying young man, who said little, -but listened with a tolerant smile--and after him a host of others, -entailed by his plans for Dwala. A house had been found in Park Lane. -The owner, who was travelling in the East, had left the thing intact; -his creditors wished to sell it as it stood. The appointments were -passable; he had been a rather random collector of good things--some -rubbish must be weeded out and replaced, but there was nothing to delay -possession. - -However, it must be paid for. If Mr. Cato would produce his accounts, -the Huxtable would be glad to go through them with him. - -‘Oh, I have no accounts to show.’ - -‘Why not?’ - -‘Dwala has been my guest. There is nothing to account for.’ - -‘But the property in Borneo--you have an account of that?’ - -‘No.’ - -‘This is all very curious. A man has a fortune of some hundreds of -thousands a year, and no account is kept of it!’ - -‘But he hasn’t got it yet. It lies buried in the earth in Borneo.’ - -‘Yes; it consists of mines, I know. But, of course, the fortune was -realisable as soon as the Privy Council gave their decision.’ - -‘Well, it hasn’t been realised.’ - -‘But the decision was given a week ago. Do you mean to say it has been -_neglected_ all this time?’ - -‘“Neglected” is a piece of impertinence, Mr. Huxtable.’ - -‘A week’s income lost means something like 10,000_l._’ - -‘How dare you come to me--me, who has been toiling night and day in the -Prince’s interest--in this authoritative, censorious way--I, who am old -enough to be your grandfather--talking of neglect?’ - -‘You regard it as an aspersion? Well, and what are the results of all -your labour?’ - -‘I have secured him justice.’ - -‘Justice is a matter of law, Mr. Cato: the Privy Council has attended -to that. If you were incapable of realising his fortune yourself, -why not have applied to some big financier--Baron Blumenstrauss, for -instance?’ - -‘I have seen Baron Blumenstrauss.’ - -‘Well, what did he say?’ - -‘He made an offer. He volunteered to buy all the Prince’s rights for -500,000_l._ a year.’ - -‘Then, surely, you have realised it?’ - -‘No, sir, I have not.’ - -‘You don’t mean that you refused his offer? You weren’t expecting -anyone to offer more, I suppose?’ - -‘I refused his offer.’ - -‘On what ground?’ - -‘I regard Baron Blumenstrauss as an immoral man. I regard his business -methods as immoral. If I had accepted the offer on the Prince’s behalf, -I should have been advising him to lend himself to a vile system of -exploitation, which I regard as one of the most infamous curses of our -modern civilisation. I would rather see Dwala starve.’ - -‘You have taken a very great responsibility on yourself, Mr. Cato.’ - -‘I am quite willing to bear it.’ - -A smile flickered round the Huxtable’s nose, and Mr. Cato felt that he -was being betrayed into melodrama. Silence ensued. - -‘Your sentiments are very noble, Mr. Cato,’ said Huxtable at last. ‘I -should say that they did you every credit, if it were your own fortune -that we were talking about. But it is not. And if you think it over, -you will see that your conduct lies open to the very gravest criticism. -By a series of unusual circumstances you find yourself practically -master of the disposal of a vast fortune belonging to someone else. -Instead of accepting an excellent offer for the benefit of the person -whose interests you for some reason claim the right of defending, you -go off at a tangent in pursuit of your own political theories.’ - -‘Political theories?’ - -‘Yes, sir; political theories. Your views are well known. You regard -the ways of the money market as immoral; you preach saintliness in -the conduct of business; you think our social and financial system a -mistake; you are, in fact, opposed to our civilisation as you find it. -Those are your politics. Excellent! Charming! That is what makes your -speeches a success. Moreover, you have a perfect right to practise your -theories with your own property if you please. This Sermon-on-the-Mount -way of doing business would make you a delightful customer in the City, -no doubt. But when it comes to Prince Dwala’s affairs, the case is -different. You are in the position of a trustee.’ - -‘Then is a trustee to be without a conscience?’ - -‘Certainly not; that’s just the point. I wonder you mention it. A -trustee’s conscience ought to be a very delicate affair.’ - -‘Do you mean to insinuate that I have acted without conscience?’ - -‘I don’t insinuate it, sir; I say it straight out. You have acted -unconscientiously.’ - -‘You have the insolence to say that!’ cried Mr. Cato, jumping up, with -tears of fury in his voice. ‘You dare to sit there and tell me I have -no conscience; you ... you damnable young prig!’ - -The Huxtable sat with folded arms, looking at him coldly, -magisterially. This young untroubled man was the World, the -unrighteous, unanimous World, sitting in judgment on him. - -‘You don’t improve your case by losing your temper and being abusive,’ -said the World. ‘Your conscience, your whole conscience, should have -been bent on serving the Prince’s interests; it was your duty to divest -yourself of all personal theories, all prejudices, all principles, and -devote yourself only to getting the best price you could. You are not a -business man, and you had no right to experiment on the Prince’s behalf -with theories of business that never _have_ worked, never _will_ work, -and never _could_ work. Nobody will offer you a better price than the -Baron, because no one can afford a better price.’ - -‘Well, you have succeeded me. There are the mines intact. Go to the -Baron and get him to renew his offer.’ - -‘The Baron will not make the same offer again.’ - -‘How do you know?’ - -‘Because I have seen the Baron.’ - -‘You have seen him!... Then all this long discussion was a trap for me?’ - -‘You can call it a trap if you like, though I think the word is a -damaging one for you. I have seen the Baron, and he at once stated that -he washed his hands of the whole affair.’ - -‘But if his only motive is money, things are just as they were a week -ago. He can still make his money.’ - -‘You only expose your ignorance of the man you were so ready to -abuse--a man of unsullied reputation, by-the-bye. Money is _not_ his -only motive.’ - -‘What other motive has he?’ - -‘Pride.’ - -‘Him?’ - -‘Yes, sir; pride. When a man of that magnitude steps off his pedestal -and comes down to a suburban house to offer his services to a private -individual, he expects to be treated at least with consideration. He is -accustomed to dealing with Empires, Governments, National Banks; not -with obscure gentlemen in Hampstead villas. What happened? The Prince -fell asleep, and you gave the Baron a blunt rebuff.’ - -‘It’s not my business to keep Prince Dwala awake.’ - -‘It’s not your business to settle his affairs while he’s asleep. You -made an enemy of Baron Blumenstrauss.’ - -‘The Baron’s enmity to me is of no importance.’ - -‘Quite true; of no importance. But you made him the Prince’s enemy--an -enemy of the estate. He began negotiating against us at once, floating -companies over our head. He is omnipotent, and you turned him against -the Prince. His pride was hurt.’ - -‘Surely he can swallow his pride!’ - -‘No doubt; but not at the same figure. He offers only 400,000_l._ a -year.’ - -‘Well, what do you mean to do?’ - -‘I have accepted his offer.’ - -‘Ha!... I hope you made a good thing out of it?’ - -They both rose to their feet. - -‘In what way, Mr. Cato?’ - -‘There was, I suppose, some commission attached to the negotiation?’ - -‘No, sir; there was no commission. Baron Blumenstrauss knew me better -than to offer me any such thing.’ - -It was perfectly true. It would have been inapt. There were other ways -in which the Baron could discharge his debt of gratitude to a young man -with a great future. - -‘Where is the Prince?’ said Huxtable. - -‘What do you want with him?’ - -‘I am going to take him into London.’ - -‘His house isn’t ready.’ - -‘Yes, it is. Will you make out your bill?’ - -‘What bill?’ - -‘For the expenses of his keep.’ - -‘He has been my guest, I tell you.’ - -‘As you please. Where is he now?’ - -‘He has gone for a walk with his governess.’ - -‘I will wait for him.’ - -This imperturbable young man sat quietly down in an armchair and -cracked his thumb-joints. Mr. Cato looked at him with silent wonder, -and left the room. He envied the Huxtable his nerves: his own were in a -tumult; he could not have stayed with him a moment longer. - - - - -XV - - -Meanwhile Dwala, all unconscious, was standing on Parliament Hill, -with Miss Briscoe’s tall figure at his side. It must have been some -unwitting prescience which took them there that day. - -London lay at their feet: London, which Dwala had never seen; London, -where his life would lie from this day forth. Not the formless, -endless, straight-ruled London seen by the man in the street; not a -pervading, uniform, roaring, inevitable presence: but London apart; -in the distance; without sound; without smell; set to a foreground -of sun-beaten grass and a gambolling wind from the fields and seas; -a thing with a shape; a whole; bounded, surrounded, grim and grimy, -sprawling down the dishonoured valley; murky, random, ridged and -toothed, like the _débris_ of Ladoga’s ice, piled in the Neva by -December. - -Dwala laughed. - -It was a joke of a magnitude fitted to his monstrous mind. ‘Man is -the laughing animal:’ he had proved himself human. Behold, he had -worshipped Man and his inventions; he had come forth to see the -sublimest invention of all; he had travelled over half the world for -it; everywhere they spoke of it with awe. And now he had seen it. It -was London. - -The hill shook with his laughter. All the birds and beasts in the big -city heard it and made answer--cheeping, squeaking, mewing, barking, -whinnying, and braying together; forgetful, for the moment, of their -long debates on the habits of mankind, their tedious tales of human -sagacity, their fruitless altercations as to whether men had instinct -or were guided only by reason. - -The commotion escaped Miss Briscoe’s notice: she heard only one deep -guttural laugh beside her, and looking up, beheld a grave impassive -face. - -‘There is St. Paul’s: do you see, Prince? How grand it looks, watching -over the great city like a shepherd over his flock. “Toil on, toil on, -my children,” it seems to say: “I am here in the midst of you, the -Church, the Temple builded of the lowly Carpenter, with my message of -strength for the faint-hearted, consolation for the afflicted, peace -for all when the day’s task is done. Toil on, that the great work may -be accomplished at last.”’ - -‘Work? Ah, you may well say work,’ said a voice from the bench beside -them. - -An old man was sitting there; a handsome old man, with a strong, bony -face. His knobbed hands rested on the top of a walking-stick, his -chin on his hands. He wore the unmistakable maroon jacket and black -shovel-hat of the workhouse; corduroys clothed his lean and hollow -thighs. - -‘Bless you, there’s work for everyone as _wants_ to work. See that -chimney down there, that biggun? That’s Boffin’s, where I was. Three -and fifty years I worked at Boffin’s.’ - -‘Was it a happy life?’ asked Miss Briscoe. - -‘Happy? Bless you, the times I’ve had there when I was a youngster. -Always up to larks. There’s three of my grandsons there now.’ - -Miss Briscoe admired his furrowed, placid face. ‘Take this,’ she -whispered. - -The old man looked coldly at a shilling. - -‘No, thanky ... but if the gentleman has some tabacca on him, I could -do with a bit.’ - -As they neared the bottom of the hill, Mr. Cato came hurrying towards -them. There were tears in his eyes, and wet hollows in his cheeks. - -‘Well, Dwala my boy, I’ve brought you news. You’re going into London -to-night, to your new home.’ - -Dwala put up his face to the sky and laughed again. - - - - -XVI - - -Dwala was a social success, an object of multiple affection. His large -grave ways, his modesty, his kindliness, made him personally beloved. -He was, of course, always a ‘native’; there was no escaping that. But -to be tolerated, if you are tolerated everywhere, is social greatness. - -One thing he lacked, they said--the sense of humour. The tiny shock -that makes a human joke was too slight for his large senses. But -humour, after all, is a rather bourgeois quality. - -He was adopted from the beginning, pushed, trumpeted, imposed, -by that powerful paper the ‘Flywheel.’ He had captivated Captain -Howland-Bowser, its correspondent, at the first encounter. The -‘Flywheel,’ descending after a century, from its Olympian heights, into -the arena of popular favour--by gradual stages, beginning with the -great American ‘pill competition’--had put itself on a level with the -rest by adding a column of ‘Beau Monde Intime’ to its daily issue. The -thing was done on the old Olympian scale. The column was not entrusted -to a chattering magpie-newswoman, or to a broken-winged baronet, as is -the way with lesser sheets; but to an eagle of the heights--the famous -Captain Howland-Bowser, our modern Petronius, the Grand Old Man of -Pall Mall; the Buck from Bath, as envious youngsters called him; the -well-known author of ‘Furbelows’ and the ‘Gourmet’s Calendar.’ - -The fateful evening is recorded in his ‘Memoirs of a Man about Town,’ -that farrago of entertaining scandal, which proved a mine of wealth to -his sorrowing wife and family, to whom he bequeathed the manuscript -when he died, as a consolation for a somewhat neglectful attitude in -life: - -‘It was at Lady L----’s that I first met Prince D----, that “swart -monarch” whose brilliant career, with its astonishing _dénouement_, -made so much stir in 19--. I remember that evening well. We had supper -at the Blackguards; _homards à la Cayenne_ with _crème de crevettes_, -_cailles Frédérique_, _salade Howland-Bowser_, &c., &c. Tom Warboys -was there, gallant Tom; Harry Clarke, of Sandown fame; Lord F---- -(Mrs. W----’s Lord F----); R----, the artist; poor H----, who shot -himself afterwards; and a few others. W-rb-ck W-m-ss came in later, and -delighted the company with some of his well-known anecdotes. We formed -a brilliant little group in the dear old club--Adolphe was in his -zenith then. The Prince was in great form, saying little, but enjoying -all the fun with a grave relish which was all his own. R---- was the -only blemish in the galaxy; _il faisait tache_, as the volatile Gaul -would say. H---- was getting hold of him at the time to choose some -pictures for the Prince’s “’umble ’ut” in Park Lane. R---- raised a -general laugh at his own expense when I pressed him for an estimate of -Grisetti’s “Passive Resistance,” the gem of our little collection. The -knowingest men in London were agreed that it was not only one of the -wittiest pictures of the year, but the girl the man was kissing was the -most alluring young female ever clapped on canvas. R---- valued it at -twenty pounds--the price of the frame! We roared. It had cost a cool -two thousand, and was worth at least five hundred more. So much for -experts! He was very chapfallen the rest of the evening. - -‘However, _revenons à notre mouton_, as the gay Parisians said, -when the siege was raised and _bottines sauce souris_ went out of -fashion. It was at the supper-table that Prince D---- revealed that -extraordinary delicacy of perception which first opened your humble -servant’s eyes to what a pitch refinement can go. His manners, -by-the-bye, were unimpeachable: stately, and yet affable. _Non -imperitus loquor._ But the amazing thing was his palate. There are -delicate palates in London--though many who pose as “men of culture” -have little or none--but the delicacy of Prince D----’s was what I -should call “superhuman,” if subsequent events had not proved that this -extraordinary gift had, by some topsy-turvy chance, fallen to the lot -of one who, I suppose, after all, we must now acknowledge “sub-human.” - -‘I had just brought to what I thought, and still think, perfection, -a mixed claret, on which I had been at work a long time. The waiter -had his orders. “_Fiat experimentum_,” said I, and three bottles, -unmarked, were brought. Every one at table was given a liqueur glass of -each to taste. The company mumbled and mouthed them, and each one gave -a different opinion--all wrong. The poor “gamboge-slinger” admitted at -once that he didn’t know port from burgundy: I had suspected as much. - -‘“Well, Prince,” said I, “what’s your opinion?” To my astonishment I -saw that he hadn’t touched a drop. He sat quite still, leaning back in -his chair; his nostrils quivered a little. Suddenly he put out one of -his long fingers--his hands were enormous--and touched what I shall -call, for short, “Glass A.” - -‘“That is a good wine,” he said, “the same as we had at home night -before last.” He turned to poor H----. - -‘“Château Mauville,” said H----. - -‘“And that,” he said, touching Glass B, “is thin and sour; it smells -of leather. And that,” he said, touching Glass C, “is a mixture of the -two, and very good it is.” Saying which, he drank it off and licked his -lips. - -‘“Gentlemen!” cried I, jumping up; “this is the most extraordinary -thing I ever heard. Without tasting a drop, the Prince has guessed -_exactly_ right. It’s Château Mauville, which I have mixed--a sudden -inspiration which came to me one morning in my bath--with an inferior -Spanish claret, tinged with that odd smack of the wine-skin, which I -thought would fit in with the rather tea-rosy taste of the Mauville.” - -‘You can imagine the excitement which this event produced in that -coterie of _viveurs_. From that moment his success in London was -assured. The story got about, in a distorted form of course, as these -things will. I was obliged to give the correct version of it in the -“Flywheel” a few days later. - -‘It was I that introduced him to Lord X----, who had been complaining -for years that there wasn’t a man in town fit to drink his Madeira. -Trench by trench the citadel of public opinion was stormed and taken. -How well I remember,’ &c., &c. - - - - -XVII - - -Prince Dwala succeeded by other qualities than those attributed to him. -His wealth raised him to a high tableland, where others also dwelt; -it was not his fine palate which raised him higher, nor was it his -manners. His manners, in point of fact, were not perfect; his manner -perhaps, but not his manners. The finest manners were not to be learnt -in the school of Warbeck Wemyss, as he quickly perceived; that was -only a preparation, a phase. Captain Howland-Bowser, who believed his -own success to be due to that schooling, was mistaken; he underrated -himself: his success was greatly due to his fine presence, but still -more to the fact that his intelligence stood head and shoulders higher -than that of most of those with whom he was thrown into contact; and he -had confirmed his pre-eminence by his literary fame. - -Prince Dwala’s popularity was chiefly due to the zeal, the zest, the -frenzy, with which he threw himself into the distractions and pursuits -of the best society. He missed nothing: he was everywhere; wakeful, -watchful, interested. He was a dancing man, a dining man, a club man, -a racing man, an automobilist, a first-nighter. His dark head, groomed -to a millimetre, his big figure, tailored to perfection, formed a -necessary feature of every gathering. - -Nor did he hold himself aloof from the more serious pursuits of the -wealthy: he was at every meeting, big or small, that had to do with -missionary work, temperance, philanthropy; he visited the Geographical -Society, the Antiquaries, the Christian Scientists, and the lady with -the crystal globe in Hanover Square. - -He was up early, walking through the slums, or having his -correspondence read to him. Tired rings grew round the Huxtable’s eyes; -the Prince was as fresh as paint. He was studying ‘the Human Question.’ - -We will not follow him through all the details of his social life: -the limbo of frocks and lights, the lovely people, the unlovely, the -endless flickering of vivid talk, the millions of ideas, all different -in outline but uniform in impulse, like the ripples on the Atlantic -swell. We come at once to the great day when he met Lady Wyse. - -Strange that such a meeting should have marked the day for him as -great. Not strange that it should be so for you and me: for us it has -inner meanings, implications of success; it marks the grandeur of our -flight; it has high possibilities. Who knows but we may catch the fancy -of the lovely creature, be admitted freely to her familiar fellowship; -penetrate thereby to the very innermost arcana of the Social Mystery? - -But for him--a monster of the forest, an elemental being--that -happiness should date from his first meeting with a woman whom we must -call after all frail, the fine flower of all that is most artificial -and decadent in England: that was strange. But so it was. - -He had studied; he had seen; he knew the human question to the bottom. -But what to make of it? Was this all? Discontentment gnawed him. He -suffered a deprivation, as once in the forest, when he lacked Man. Now -he had had Man, to the full; he was sated. What more? - -Lady Wyse understood his want, and helped him to supply it. He must -reduce himself, limit his range to the human scale; he must put off -his elemental largeness and himself be Man; be less--an Englishman, a -Londoner. - - - - -XVIII - - -Lady Lillico’s evening was crowded. ‘This is quite an intellectual -party to-day,’ she said, shaking hands with Dwala and Huxtable, and -leading them down the avenue which opened of its own accord in the -forest of men and women. ‘Such a number of literary people. _How_ -do you do, Mr. MacAllister? It’s an age since we’ve seen you; and -this is your wife, isn’t it? To be sure. Let me introduce you to -Prince Dwala.... That was Sandy MacAllister, the author of “The Auld -Licht that Failit”--all about those dear primitive Ayrshire people; -everybody’s so interested nowadays in their fidelity and simplicity and -religiousness and all that. The Kirkyard School, they call it. It’s a -pity his wife’s so Scotch. Lord Glendover is here....’ - -‘Cabinet Ministers, Oho!’ said Huxtable. - -‘And Lady Violet Huggins, and the Duke of Dover, and Sir Peter -Parchmin, the great biologist, and Sir Benet Smyth, and _both_ the Miss -Dillwaters. And who else _do_ you think I’ve “bagged,” Mr. Huxtable?’ - -‘I can’t guess.’ - -‘Lady Wyse!’ - -‘Really? I congratulate you.’ - -‘Isn’t it splendid? She’s been so rude.’ - -‘Next thing I hear you’ll be having....’ - -‘S’sh.... General Wapshot, that fierce little man over there, came with -her; we didn’t ask him, but he always goes wherever she goes. And isn’t -it dreadful, Prince, I asked Wyndham to get Mr. Barlow to come--the -new poet, you know; and it turns out that he’s a pro-Boer too, and -_insists_ upon reciting his own poems? There he is at this very moment.’ - -In their course down the room they were passing the door of a smaller -apartment, given over for the evening to a set entertainment. They -could see a rumpled young man waving his arms in there; they caught a -whiff of him as they went by. - - ‘Theirs not to do or die! - Theirs but to question why!’ - -he was saying. - -‘I don’t know _what_ Mr. Disturnal will think; that’s him, there’--she -indicated a muscular ruffian with a square blue jaw, priest or -prize-fighter, one would have guessed, who was leaning against the -door-post listening over his shoulder with a sardonic smile. - -‘But, of course, you know all our celebrities already, Prince. He’s the -most coming man on the Conservative side, they say; a staunch upholder -of the Church, with all the makings of a really great statesman. It was -he who saved us only last week over the second reading of that dreadful -Prayer Book Amendment Act, by borrowing a pole-cat in Seven Dials just -in the nick of time, and hiding it in the Lobby, so that the supporters -of the measure couldn’t get in to vote. What a pity Julia isn’t here! -I’m sure he’s looking out for her. She’s just gone into the rest-cure; -quite worn out, poor thing. We live at a terribly high pressure, -Prince; people take life so seriously now. Oh, there’s the dear Duke -singing one of his delicious songs.’ They were passing the door again -on the return journey, and the ping-pang of a banjo came frolicking out -on the air with a fat voice lumbering huskily in pursuit: - - ‘Oh, I always get tight - On a Saturday night, - And sober up on Sun-day,’ - -sang the Duke. Laughter followed with the confused thunder of an -attempted chorus. Mr. Disturnal had shifted his other shoulder to the -door-post and was looking in, with open mouth and delighted eye. - -‘Isn’t it amusing?’ said Lady Lillico. ‘That tall man with the white -moustache over there is Captain Howland-Bowser, quite a literary light. -You know him? He married one of the Devonshire joneses; the Barley -Castle joneses, you know, with a small j.’ - -Pendred passed at this moment, with a hungry lady of middle years -hanging on his arm; he slapped the Prince familiarly on the shoulder -as he went by. The awkwardness of their first encounter had been quite -lived down by now. - -‘Oh, please introduce me!’ begged the lady. - -‘What, to the Prince?’ said Pendred. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t like him.’ - -‘I should _love_ him.’ - -‘He has a most repulsive face.’ - -‘I _love_ a repulsive face.’ - -‘He drinks like a fish.’ - -‘I _love_ a man who drinks. Oh, Mr. Lillico, we mustn’t be too -censorious about the conduct of great people; they are exposed to -innumerable temptations of which we know nothing.’ - -This was the famous Miss Dillwater, whose _métier_ in life was -loyalty--loyalty to every kind of Royal personage, but more -particularly to the unfortunate. From her earliest childhood her dreams -had been wholly concerned with kings and queens; in the daytime she -thought over the clever answers she would make to monarchs whom she -found sitting _incognito_ in parks, and pictured herself kneeling in -floods of tears when summoned to the palace the next morning. She had -pursued Don Carlos from hotel to hotel for years; and only deserted -his cause at last to follow King Milan into exile. Every spring she -returned to London to lay a wreath on the grave of Mary Queen of Scots, -and to conspire with other dangerous people for the restoration of -Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria, our rightful monarch, to the throne of -England. Tears coursed down her cheeks when Pendred introduced her, and -it was a considerable embarrassment to the Prince when she seized his -hairy hand and pressed it fervently to her lips. She followed him about -the rest of the evening, with a melancholy smile on her wan face. - -‘Oh, Mr. Lillico,’ she said, in an aside to Pendred; ‘I can never thank -you enough. He’s wonderful. That great jaw! those big teeth! those long -arms! that brow! He reminds me of one of Charlotte Brontë’s heroes. I -do love a _man_!’ - -The Prince was one of the magnetic centres of the gathering; the -particles regrouped themselves as he moved about from place to place. -There was one moment when he was comparatively deserted; everyone was -crowding round a lady in black; angry cries issued from the group. Lady -Lillico hurried up to him. - -‘Pray come over here, Prince, and listen to what Miss Dillwater’s -sister is saying. She is about to reveal _the_ great secret about Guy -de Maupassant and Marie Bashkirtseff. She’s a great literary authority, -you know. I’ve not read anything by either of them myself as yet, but -I’m _deeply_ interested. We are all Bashkirtseffites or Maupassantists -now.’ - -But unfortunately, they were too late for the secret; they came in only -for the broken crumbs of it. - -‘I was Marie’s _greatest_ friend,’ Miss Sophie was saying; ‘and you -may depend upon it, what I tell you is true. _That_ is the reason why -they never married. I am a delicate-minded woman, and nothing should -have dragged this secret from me if I had not felt the overwhelming -importance of it to literature.’ - -‘The charge is false!’ bellowed a furious voice. - -‘The thing will have to be looked into.’ - -‘Well, whatever anyone says,’ cried a stout woman, ‘I never _have_ read -this Bashkirtseff lady’s diary, and I never _will_.’ - -‘And, pray, why not, Madam?’ snorted back an elderly gentleman. -‘Maupassant is a fraud! After what I have heard to-night, I disown him. -His books ought never to have been published.’ - -‘Hear, hear! And with him goes Zola, and all the rest of them. What do -you think, Lord Glendover?’ - -‘Oh, me? I never can see what people want with all these foreign -fellers. John Bull’s good enough for me.’ - -Attention was distracted at this point by a new interest which had -arisen on the outskirts of the group. Sir Peter Parchmin, the great -savant, the petticoat pet--he had made a fortune in fashionable medical -practice, but was forgiven it on his retirement, at fifty, in virtue of -his new claims as a researcher in biology--was wriggling faint protests -at the violence of a throng of ladies who were propelling him, with the -help of a tall octogenarian buffoon, towards the centre of the public. - -‘What’s up?’ - -‘Parchmin’s going to tell us the latest news about the Missing Link,’ -said the big buffoon. - -‘Oh, a story about the Missing Link!’ exclaimed Lady Lillico. ‘This -is most exciting. Sit down everybody, and let us hear it. I _adore_ -scientific things.’ - -‘Oh, what _is_ the Missing Link?’ said a young lady. ‘I’ve so often -heard of it, and wondered what it is.’ - -‘Well, ladies,’ said the Biologist, taking the centre, and reconciling -himself very readily to the situation. He fondled and smoothed his -periods with undulating gestures of the long sleek freckled hands. -‘You’ve all of you heard, no doubt, of Darwin?’ - -‘Oh, yes,’ everybody chorussed. - -‘What, Sir Julius Darwin, who bought Upton Holes?’ - -‘No, no, Lord Glendover,’ explained Lady Lillico, ‘one of the -Shropshire Darwins--a very well-known scientist.’ - -‘Ah!’ said Lord Glendover, sinking back and losing all interest. - -‘Well, when he traced the relationship between Man and the ... er, -Anthropoids....’ - -‘Oh, please don’t use technical terms, Sir Peter!’ cried Lady Lillico. -‘We’re none of us specialists here.’ - -‘Well, let us say the manlike apes ... when he had traced the -relationship, there was still one place left empty in the ... er ... so -to speak, in the genealogical tree.’ The Biologist emitted this with a -grin. ‘No remains have ever been found of the hypothetical animal from -which man and the apes are descended: and this link, which is still -lacking to the completeness of the series, has therefore been called -the Missing Link.’ - -A very young soldier, with a handkerchief sticking out of his sleeve, -leaned forward at this point, blushing deeply: - -‘Then do I understand you, sir, that we are not actually _descended_ -from monkeys?’ - -‘No, not actually descended.’ - -‘How very curious!’ - -‘Fancy! This is something quite new.’ - -‘They certainly ought not to have attacked Genesis till they were more -sure of their ground.’ - -‘How amusing of them to call it the Missing Link!’ - -‘Sort o’ pun, eh?’ - -‘But what’s the story, Sir Peter?’ - -‘I’m coming to that.... Now, we may roughly put the date of the Missing -Link from which we are descended at about three hundred million years -ago.’ - -An ‘Oh!’ of disappointment ran round the ladies. The representative of -the ‘Flywheel’ gave a ‘Humph!’ and walked off, to look at himself in -the glass. - -‘But wait a moment,’ said the Biologist. ‘Though improbable, it is -not impossible that the species from which, by differentiation, arose -men on the one hand and apes on the other, should have continued its -existence, _undifferentiated_, at the same time. And the rumour is that -there is at least one specimen of the race still alive; and, what is -more, that he was lately in the possession of an American, and on the -eve of being shipped to England for exhibition.’ - -‘What an extraordinary thing!’ - -‘It’s _too_ fascinating!’ - -‘Like those Babylonian hieroglyphics at the British Museum.’ - -‘Yes; or radium.’ - -‘Or that rhinoceros in Fleet Street.’ - -‘But how _old_ he must be!’ - -‘It is said that he escaped to the forest,’ continued the Biologist; -‘and his keeper lost all trace of him. We mean to raise a fund for an -expedition to find him.’ - -‘What’s the good of him?’ asked a surly man--one of the -Bashkirtseffites--abruptly. - -‘The good, sir? It would be the most important thing in Science for -centuries!’ - -‘What good will it do the community, I should like to know? Will it -increase our output, or raise the standard of comfort, or do anything -for Civilisation?’ - -‘Ha! now we’re getting into Politics,’ said Lord Glendover, rising, and -thereby giving an impulse which disintegrated Sir Peter’s audience. - -Howland-Bowser detached Prince Dwala from the group as it broke up, -and drew him aside, with an air of important confidence. - -‘If you go to the refreshment room,’ he said, ‘_don’t touch the -champagne that’s open_. Ask the head waiter--the old man with the -Newgate fringe; if you mention my name, he’ll know. It’s the ... ah ... -ha....’ - -While he was speaking two figures emerged vividly from the mass, coming -towards and past them. Eyes darkened over shoulders looking after them. -The straight blue figure of a smooth slender woman, diffusing a soft -air of beauty and disdain; and half at her side, half behind her, the -Biologist, sly and satisfied, hair and flesh of an even tawny hue, -the neck bent forward, equally ready to pounce on a victim or suffer -a yoke, balancing his body to a Lyceum stride, clasping an elbow with -a hand behind his back, bountifully pouring forth minted words and -looking through rims of gold into the woman’s face, as it were round -the corner of a door, like some mediæval statesman playing bo-peep with -a baby king. - -Lady Lillico was pursuing with tired and frightened eyes. - -Howland-Bowser cleared his throat and shifted his weight on to one -gracefully-curving leg. Lady Lillico had caught them in their passage. - -‘Oh, Lady Wyse,’ she said, with a downward inflection of fear, as if -she had stepped in a hole, ‘may I introduce Prince Dwala? Prince Dwala: -Lady Wyse.’ - -The blue lady’s eyes traversed Howland-Bowser in the region of the -tropics with purely impersonal contempt; he outlined a disclamatory -bow, and fingered his tie. The eyes reached Dwala and came to anchor. - -‘Oh, you’re the Black Prince,’ said Lady Wyse; ‘the Wild Man from -Borneo that everybody talks about?’ - -Lady Lillico quailed, and vanished through the floor. Howland-Bowser -looked round the room, chin up, and walked off with the air of an -archdeacon at a school-treat. - -‘How delightful!’ pursued the insolent lady slowly. ‘Of course you’re a -Mahommedan, and carry little fetishes about with you, and all that.’ - -Her eyes were directed vaguely at his shirt-studs. Looking down from -above he saw only the lids of them, long-lashed and iris-edged, -convexed by the eye-balls, like two delicate blue-veined eggs. She -raised them at last, and he looked into them. - -It was like looking out to sea. - -She looked into his: and it was as if a broad sheet of water had -passed swiftly through the forest of her mind, and all the withering -thickets, touched by the magic flood, had reared their heads, put forth -green leaves, blossomed, and filled with joy-drunk birds, singing -full-throated contempt and hatred of mankind. The energy to hate, -seared with the long drought of loneliness, was quickened and renewed -by this vision of a kindred spirit. - -For she too was a monster. Not a monster created, like Dwala, at one -wave of the wand by Nature in the woods; but hewn from the living rock -by a thousand hands of men, slowly chipped and chiselled and polished -and refined till it reached perfection. Every meanness, every flattery -that touched her had gone to her moulding; till now she was finished, -blow-hardened, unmalleable; the multiplied strokes slid off without a -trace. - -Her position was known to all; there was no secret about it. The great -blow that had severed the rough shape from the mass was struck, as -it were, before the face of all the world. They might have taken her -and tumbled her down the mountain side, to roll ingloriously into the -engulfing sea. Instead of that they had set her on a pedestal, carved -her with their infamous tools, fawned round her, swinging Lilliputian -censers, seeking favour, and singing praise. - -She was a monster, and no one knew it. And now at last she had met -an equal mind: her eyes met other eyes that saw the world as she saw -it--whole and naked at a glance. There was no question of love between -them; they met in frozen altitudes far above the world where such -things were. They were two comets laughing their way through space -together. - -All the Biologist saw was an augur-smile upon their lips. - -‘Come along,’ said Lady Wyse, slipping her white glove through Prince -Dwala’s arm. ‘Let’s get somewhere where we can talk.’ - -‘Then what becomes of me?’ grinned the insinuating savant. - -‘Oh, you?’ said the lady. ‘You can go to the devil!’ - -Captain Howland-Bowser looked enviously after them as they left the -room. - -‘Your Borneo Prince has made no end of a conquest, Baron,’ he said, -finding Blumenstrauss--whom he hated, by-the-bye--at his elbow. ‘H’m! -H’m!’ - -‘Aha, my dear Bowser, wid nine hunderd tousand pount a year one can do -anysing.’ - - * * * * * - -What they could have to say to one another in the window-seat, no one -could imagine. They were neither of them great talkers; everybody knew -that. Yet there was Prince Dwala, with his grave face tilted to one -side, eagerly drinking in her words, answering rapidly, decisively; and -Lady Wyse giggling like a school-girl, blinking away tears of laughter -from her violet eyes. Such a thing had never been seen. How long had -they known one another? Never met till this evening. Nonsense; he’s -there every afternoon. - - * * * * * - -Whatever the subject of the duologue may have been, the effect of it -on Lady Wyse was of the happiest kind. She was metamorphosed; radiant, -and, for her, gracious; transfused with life, she seemed taller and -larger than before. - -The Huxtable’s grim face was wreathed, in spite of him, in smiles; a -flush of pleasure peeped out from under his bristling hair as Lady Wyse -stopped Dwala before him and demanded an introduction. - -‘I’ve heard of you so often, Mr. Huxtable. My father knew your uncle -the Judge. I hope you’ll come to some of my Thursdays.’ - -The scent of her new mood spread abroad like the scent of honey, and -the flies came clustering round her. Chief among them Lord Glendover, -the Cabinet Minister, who had made four remarks in the course of the -evening--all of them foolish. Tall, lean, hairy, brown and grizzled, -he was one of those men who, though neither wise, clever, strong, nor -careful, convey a sense of largeness and deserved success. He would -have been important, even as a gardener; he would have ruined the -flower-beds, but could never have been dismissed. His only assessable -claim to greatness lay in the merit of inheriting a big name and -estate. He was, in point of fact, quite stupid; but his opinions, -launched from such a dock, went out to sea with all the impressiveness -of Atlantic liners, and the smaller craft made way respectfully. - -Sir Benet Smyth winged after him, buoyant with the grave flightiness -of diplomacy, and luminous with the coming glory of his tour of the -Courts. For the Government, despairing of reforms in the army, was -meditating a wholesale purchase of foreign goodwill, a cheap scheme -of national defence, founded on the precept, _les petits cadeaux font -l’amitié_. The details were not yet made known, but rumour had it for -certain that the Spanish Infanta was to get the Colonelcy of the Irish -Guards, the Mad Mullah was to get the Garter, and President Roosevelt -was to get Jamaica. It was also said by some that the Government was -going to strike out a new line in honorary titles by making the Sultan -of Turkey Bishop of Birmingham: but this was not certain. - -Sir Benet and Lord Glendover sat down with Dwala, the General, the -Biologist, the Baron, and Huxtable, in a semi-circle centring on Lady -Wyse. - -‘We’ve been wondering, dear Lady Wyse,’ said the Biologist, ‘what was -the subject of your engrossing conversation with the Prince.’ - -‘I can guess de sopchect,’ said Baron Blumenstrauss. ‘It was loff ... -or beesness.’ - -‘You were so animated, both of you.’ - -‘Den it was bote. De Breence would nod be animated by beesness, and de -laty would nod be animated by loff!’ - -‘Ha, ha!’ said Lord Glendover, vaguely discerning the outline of an -epigram; ‘that’s a right-and-lefter.’ - -‘You’re quite right, Baron,’ said Lady Wyse: ‘it was both. We’ve -been making a compact, I think you call it. The Prince puts himself -unreservedly into my hands. I’m to do whatever I like with him.’ - -‘Gompacts ...’ began the Baron, and broke off. - -The Biologist looked as if he would like to kick him, but lacked the -physical courage. - -‘I’ve been telling the Prince he’s too modest,’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘P’r’aps you didn’t lead him on enough,’ suggested the diplomat; at -which the Biologist vented a sickly grin, and Lady Wyse hit him very -hard with her fan. - -‘Too modest about himself, I was going to say, if I had a chance of -ending my sentences with all you wags about. A man of his talents -oughtn’t to be contented to loaf about doing nothing. He might be -anything with his intellect--a great writer, or a scientist, or a -diplomat, or a financier.’ - -‘Or a tinker or a tailor, or a soldier or a sailor,’ said the Biologist. - -‘Do you think that I’m joking, you idiot?’ said Lady Wyse, emitting a -cold shaft of light that went to his backbone. - -‘No, of course not, dear Lady Wyse! I was only thinking....’ - -‘Soldier or sailor--confound you, sir!’ said the little General -fiercely. ‘There’s no need to drag in the services.’ - -‘No, no,’ said Lady Wyse: ‘we were talking of intellect.’ - -‘One isn’t a scientist by wishing it,’ said the Biologist. ‘One has to -go through the mill. Besides....’ - -‘Well, a diplomat, then. He’d look sweet in a cocked hat.’ - -‘Ah, no really, Lady Wyse, I pro-test,’ said Sir Benet; ‘you don’t know -what a grind one has.... Besides....’ - -‘Ah! I forgot,’ said Lady Wyse, playing with her fan. ‘Prince Dwala’s a -black. Isn’t he what’s called a black, Sir Benet?’ - -‘Well, really, Lady Wyse!’ - -‘Don’t mind me,’ said Dwala. - -‘No, no!’ interposed the Biologist: ‘it’s quite a misuse of terms -I assure you. The word is applied loosely to Africans; but it is a -mistake to use it in speaking of the Archipelago. The Soochings, as I -understand, belong to the Malayan family, with a considerable infusion, -no doubt, of Aryan blood. “Dwa-la,” “Two Names,” is practically Aryan. -So that the Prince belongs, in point of fact, to the same stock as -ourselves. In fact, Lady Ballantyne mistook him for an Englishman....’ - -‘She’s as blind as a bat,’ said Lady Wyse. ‘Still, black or white, he -belongs to a very old family.’ - -‘One of the oldest in the world,’ said Dwala. - -‘Well, never mind. Shall we make a writer of him? I’m sure that doesn’t -require any preparation.’ - -‘Ha, ha, that’s good!’ bellowed Lord Glendover. ‘Here, -Howland-Bowser’--he beckoned the journalist, who was hovering near the -group. ‘Lady Wyse says any fool can be a writer.’ He gripped him by the -biceps, presenting him. - -‘You know Captain Howland-Bowser, don’t you, Lady Wyse, our great -literary man?’ - -‘No,’ said Lady Wyse, looking calmly at her fan: ‘never heard of him.’ - -‘Aha, Bowser!’ said the Baron, with a nod. - -The Captain withdrew in good order, discomfited but dignified. - -‘You’re very discouraging, all of you,’ pursued the great lady. ‘I -suppose the Baron is now going to tell me that you have to study for -twenty years before you can set up as a money-lender.’ - -‘Dere is only one brofession,’ said the Baron thoughtfully, ‘where one -can be great man widout knowing anysing; bot it is de most eenfluential -of all.’ - -‘What’s that?’ - -‘Bolitics.’ - -‘Capital!’ said Lady Wyse. ‘We’ll put Prince Dwala in the Cabinet.’ - -Lord Glendover rose from his chair at this, in what might almost be -called a ‘huff.’ His gaunt, important face hung over the group like the -top of an old Scotch fir. - -‘I don’t know whether this sort of thing is thought funny,’ he said, -putting up his large mouth to one side to help support the eye-glass -which he was busy placing. ‘But if you imagine, Baron Blumenstrauss, -that men are entrusted with responsibility for the welfare of -thirty-eight millions of human beings without the most careful process -of selection, you are most confoundedly mistaken. I never heard such -a statement! You’d like to have an entrance examination instituted for -Cabinet Ministers, I suppose?’ - -‘Excellent ideea!’ said the Baron. - -‘Sit down,’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘Then all I can say is ... you’re an Anarchist! I’ve served my country -for forty years,’ he pursued, in a voice broken with emotion, resuming -his seat. ‘When I came down, a bright young boy, from Oxford, instead -of running about amusing myself, as I might have done, I slaved away -for years in an Under-Secretaryship....’ - -‘This is all in “Who’s Who,”’ said Lady Wyse. ‘We’re talking about -Prince Dwala now.’ - -It was embarrassing and even painful to the smaller quantities of the -group to see that great noble child, Lord Glendover, being shaken up -and dumped down in this unceremonious way. The diplomat played with his -hat, while Huxtable and the Biologist kept very still, with their eyes -on the ground. Dwala himself might have been looking on at a game of -spillikins for all the interest he showed. - -‘Cabinet Meenister is beeg to begeen?’ propounded the Baron tentatively. - -‘It’s impossible!’ murmured Lord Glendover. - -‘I don’t know whether you clearly understood what I said about a -“compact” just now,’ said Lady Wyse, sitting back, beautifully inert, -with her hands in her lap. ‘It’s meant to be taken quite literally. The -Prince and I have entered into an offensive and defensive alliance. -Whatever we do, we do in common. We have decided that he is to be -a Cabinet Minister. You see? If it’s impossible, make it possible. -You understand me now, no doubt? I’m pretty clear. You’ll have to -exert yourselves, all of you.’ Her eyes travelled slowly from face to -face, looking in turn at Lord Glendover, the Diplomat, the Baron, the -Biologist, and Huxtable. - -‘Yes, you too, Mr. Huxtable.’ - -Then she suddenly yawned a cat-like yawn, and sauntered forth to where -Lady Lillico stood. - -‘Good-bye; I’ve had a charming evening. Is this your boy?’ - -‘Yes, this is Pendred.’ - -‘He looks very presentable.’ She nodded and passed on. - -Lord Glendover and the Diplomat still sat in their places when the -little group dispersed. Lord Glendover rubbed his knees. Their eyes met -at last, with the sly surprise of two naughty boys who have just had -their ears boxed; smiling defiance, altruistically--each for the other; -inwardly resolving to incur no graver danger. - -Lord Glendover had only one tiny grain of hope left; he was uneasy till -it was shaken out of the sack. He caught Lady Wyse near the door. - -‘Do you know that Prince Dwala isn’t a British subject even?’ - -‘Isn’t he? Make him one.’ - -‘How am I to make him one?’ - -‘Oh, the usual way, whatever it is. Find out.’ - -In the next room she was stopped again. The Biologist came writhing -through the grass. - -‘I’ve thought of a little plan, dear Lady Wyse, for starting Prince -Dwala on his political career.’ - -‘Have you? I hope it’s a good one.’ - -‘First rate. Our member, Crayshaw--he sits for London University, you -know....’ - -‘Hang the details! Ah, there he is!’ - -Prince Dwala, with his henchman at his side, was lying in wait for Lady -Wyse by the second door. - -‘Take the ugly duckling away,’ said Lady Wyse; ‘I want to talk to the -Prince.’ - -The Biologist buttonholed poor Huxtable and walked him off. Dwala and -Lady Wyse stood face to face again. - -‘Well?’ she said. - -‘Well?’ he answered. - -They remained for some time in a large, light, comfortable silence. - -‘I’d been looking forward to another talk with you,’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘Had you?’ - -‘But I see that we really have nothing to say to one another.’ - -‘Absolutely nothing.’ - -‘And never shall,’ she added. ‘It wouldn’t matter if we never met -again.’ - -‘Not a bit.’ - -They stood looking brightly at one another for a minute or two. - -‘What fun it is!’ - -‘Grand!’ said Dwala. - -She nodded and went home. - - - - -XIX - - -Hitherto, Dwala had been great, but great only in the relative sense, -in comparison with you and me and the Man in the Street; great to the -capacity of a vast austerely-fronted house in Park Lane; overwhelming -for us on the pavement who fancy him within, infusing that big block -with a huge cubic soul; who catch glimpses of him whirling out of -the big gates to take tea, no doubt, with Ambassadors and Duchesses, -and whirling in again with some real live Royalty--so rumours the -little crowd outside as the stout policeman touches his helmet. Not -immeasurable, however, to the big-calibred folk who eat with him, -talk with him, see him starting on routes of acquaintance which they -have long since travelled: even to Huxtable, mere man, a calculable -quantity. - -But a new movement was beginning, an upheaval; volcanic forces were -at work; the throes of earthquake, striking premonitory awe into the -hearts of men, presaged a rearrangement of geography. And slowly the -Great World became aware that a new mountain was rising in its midst. - -The Dwala Naturalisation Bill, introduced in the Lords, had run a -calm and rapid course, and Dwala was an Englishman. The journals -recorded it without exultation: it was placed among the ‘Items of -Interest’ in the ‘Daily Mail.’ But soon there followed articles on -his scientific interests: it appeared that he was already an eminent -philatelist; Huxtable had bought big stamp-collections for him at the -sales--Huxtable had innocent tastes which he was now able to enjoy by -proxy. The Prince was interested in Antarctic Exploration--at least, he -had signed a cheque for a thousand pounds for the Relief Expedition; in -astronomy, too, for he had promised a new telescope to the Greenwich -Observatory. His claims to represent Science in Parliament--since he -had decided to go into politics--were indisputable; and there was -ground for the rumour that London University had settled upon him -for their representative, provided that one or two stipulations were -fulfilled. If not, the Government had a safe seat for him in Cornwall. - -His private life became a matter of public interest. He had bought -Wynfield Castle in Yorkshire; he was fitting it with lifts and electric -light; the Saharan Emperor had promised to come over for the shooting -next autumn; Sir Benet Smyth, who had arranged the visit, would be -there. There was no truth in the rumour of his engagement to Lady -Alice Minnifer, Lord Glendover’s daughter; the rumour was at any rate -premature. - -Politicians began to frequent his ways: he was not destined to be an -ordinary humdrum Member, paying a heavy price to be driven in and -out of lobbies by a sheep-dog; he was going to be a power. Of what -nature, nobody knew exactly; his opinions could only be guessed. -That mattered very little. All the public has to do is to get the big -man and plant him in office; party discipline will do the rest. There -were fifteen parties in Parliament, and only two lobbies for them to -vote in; leaders with opinions were a drug in the market; better the -large unifying vagueness of a mind with none. Why he was to be great -no one clearly knew; the fiat had gone forth from some hidden chamber -of the citadel; or it had descended inscrutably from heaven, or risen -on the breath of the sweating multitude: anyhow, there was a general -agreement of unknown origin to magnify the name of Dwala. These things -are mysterious, and the responsibility cannot be fixed till the time of -recrimination comes. - -Huxtable was happy. Well he might be, lucky dog! His uncles smiled and -slapped him on the back in public in their big successful way. Lady -Glendover remembered his face; Pendred Lillico went about boasting that -young Huxtable had been his fag at Eton. These things were pleasant to -the Huxtable mind; pleasant also the graciousness of Lady Wyse, who -distinguished him at her Thursdays above his betters in the social -hierarchy. - -Yet there were things in Park Lane that he could have wished different. -Of course he had done what he could to the right human furnishing of -the big house; he had secured his patron the necessary atmosphere of -awestruck service, silent efficiency and unassuming pomp. There was -the stout butler, who looked like a conscientious low-church Bishop -left over from a dinner-party, eager to please but uneasy at finding -himself still there. He went about the house silently in flat slippers, -seeking a clue to his identity, and looking out of window from time to -time, as if he meditated escaping in search of his See. Tall scarlet -footmen, with white legs, borrowed from some giant balustrade: stately -animals, ‘incedingly upborne,’ like Vashti in ‘Villette’--alert but -always perpendicular, eager as midshipmen to the domestic call, -blighting visitors at the entry with the frigid consciousness of social -difference. For the rest of the economy, invisible hands and watchful -eyes; she-brownies that came and went unseen; bells that rang in -distant corridors, summoning punctual feet to unknown observances; -green-baize doors that swung and hid the minor mysteries of the great -life. - -These things were good. But what of Hartopp and the little girl? - - - - -XX - - -Huxtable’s advertisement in the ‘Morning Post’ had brought applications -from 130 valets. It brought also a letter from a country clergyman, -beseeking another chance for Prosser--ex-burglar, son of a country -poacher, a reformed character--lately returned to his father’s humble -home in penitence from Portland, after five years of penal servitude. -The blameless, colourless remainder had no chance against him. Dwala -was delighted. Prosser came--a little pale man, trim and finicking, -with shining eyes; nothing of the brutal house-breaker in him; a man -of patient, orderly mind, who had gone to Burglary as another man -might go to the Bar, because he had ‘influence,’ and no aptitude for -any other calling. With his father to back him, he had a connection -ready-made among the ‘fences,’ or receivers of stolen goods. He had not -thought himself justified in throwing away such chances with a wife and -child to keep. He studied the arts of valeting and butlering; entered -gentlemen’s houses with a good character from a friendly ‘fence,’ and -left them with the jewellery and plate, till he was lagged over a -wretched little job in the suburbs, and taken to Portland Bill, where -one of his mates--a fraudulent low-church company-promoter--converted -him and showed him the wickedness of what he had been doing in all its -coarse enormity. - -His wife had gone to the bad during his absence, and the little -girl had been adopted and cared for by another friendly ‘fence’--an -afflicted villain of the name of Hartopp. So much he had heard; but -he had not enough the courage of his new innocence to go into that -dangerous neighbourhood to find her. - -Dwala elicited these facts in cross-examination. He was deeply -interested in this new side of life; and we must, perforce, follow him -into it, though it has little apparent relevance to the present course -of the story. - -For Dwala’s political eminence is a ‘set piece’ which took some time -in the preparing; and in order to give the stage carpenters time to -get through with their work, it is convenient at this point to get -done with one or two necessary ‘flats.’ Besides, the social heights to -which Fate brought him are giddy places for those who have not strong -and accustomed heads, and it is safer to descend now and then and amble -in the plain, among the greasy multitude that crawls so irrelevantly -below--despicable to the mountaineers, who look down and mark the -wind-borne cheers, risking their heroic lives at every step among the -precipices, yet asking nothing more of the valley than a distant awe, -and a handful of guides and porters, with baskets of meat, well-filled, -and topped with bottles of good champagne. - -Prosser passed under the trees to Hyde Park Corner, bound on his daily -walk. His eyes were bright, and the world swam by as unimportant as a -dream; for Prosser, in the respectable seclusion of his room, had taken -to drinking--steady drinking day by day, without resistance or remorse. -Life, to which he returned from jail with such hungry imagination, -had suddenly revealed itself to him in its ugly arid nakedness: his -conversion and good resolutions had stripped it of all its meaning; -now it was an old worn billiard-table, with no balls or cues to it; -cumbering the room, importunately present, grim and terrible in its -powers of insistent boredom. To hide from it--to crouch and hide with -his head between his hands, against the dirty floor--that was the only -resource since he had renounced the game and sent the balls away. He -drank and was happy; not actively happy, but deviating this way and -that into dreamy vacancy and strong disgust, escaping the awful middle -way of boredom. He felt his control going, and he smiled triumphantly -at the coming of his hideous mistress. Often he thought of walking into -the servants’ hall and boasting of his secret. But the coarse activity -of real life dispelled the longing as soon as he neared his audience. -He remained trim, upright, and serenely deferent, with shining eyes -and pursed dry lips. - -At Hyde Park Corner a little crowd was gathered about a musician--an -old man, with a leg and a half and a crutch, and a placard ‘BLIND’ on -his chest. He had just finished a last shrill _bravura_ on the penny -whistle. A respectable wet-eyed girl in black went round with a bag and -collected money. - -‘_Pity_ the poor blind!’ shouted the musician in a sudden angry -imperative. - -Prosser wagged his head in a soliloquy of recognition; and gazed -giddily at the little girl. - -‘Nobody got a penny for the poor blind?’ asked the angry voice. - -‘’Ark at ’im,’ said a woman. ‘Why, the gal’s got a nole ’at full!’ - -‘What girl?’ said the old man sharply. - -At that moment the girl dodged through the little crowd and -disappeared, bag and all, down Piccadilly. - -‘Stop her! stop her!’ cried one or two ineffective voices. - -The old man dashed his penny whistle angrily on the ground, buried his -face in his hands, turned to the wall, and broke into shoulder-shaking -sobs. - -‘What, ain’t that your gal?’ asked a compassionate stout man in black, -with a worn leather bag, touching him gently on the heaving shoulder--a -dentist from the slums, one might guess him at. - -‘Small girl in black, was it?’ asked the blind man. - -‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t exactly notice.’ - -‘Sort of orphan-looking girl, very quiet?’ - -‘Yes, that’s her.’ - -‘That girl’s a----little blood-sucker!’ said the old man. ‘Wherever I -go, there’s that girl comes and collects the coppers kind people mean -for me. Leave me alone, all of you! Clear out! I’ve broke my whistle -now, and haven’t a copper to get another, let alone a crust of bread -these three days.’ - -‘What a shime!’ commented the crowd. ‘Call ’erself a gal! I’d gal ’er! -A reg’lar little Bulgarian, that’s what she is!’ - -‘Now, then, move on there,’ commanded a big policeman, bearing down on -the crowd, confident in his own broad momentum, like a punt among the -reeds. ‘What’s all this?’ - -‘They’ve been robbin’ a pore blind man, that’s what it is,’ said the -benevolent dentist; at which the policeman rounded on him sharply with -extended, directing arm. - -‘Now then, _you_ move on there!’ And the dentist retired submissively -in the direction indicated, hovering in safety. - -A benevolent, bent old gentleman, lately helped by the porter down the -steps of one of the big bow-windowed clubs, came hobbling up on three -legs, and stopped and asked questions. The policeman saluted. The -little crowd closed round them; the black helmet in the midst leaned -this way and that, arbitrating between misfortune and benevolence. -Judgment and award were soon achieved; the black helmet heaved and -turned about, and the crowd scattered obediently east and west. - -‘What a nice old gentleman!’ said one of many voices passing Prosser. - -‘Give ’im a sovring, did he?’ - -‘Don’t you wish _you_ was blind, Miss ’Ankin?’ - -‘Lot of sov’rings _you’d_ give me!’ - -‘Gow on!’ - -‘What did they take ’im up for then?’ - -‘On’y takin’ ’im over the road, stoopid.’ - -Prosser stood and watched the old man cross in the constable’s grip; -saw him loosed into Grosvenor Place; followed, and watched him as he -clumped his way along the blank brick wall, leaning forward from the -crutch, grotesquely and terribly, towards his extended arm, which beat -the pavement with a stick before him, driving pedestrians to right and -left, crying furiously as he went ‘_Pity_ the poor blind!’ and stopping -now and then to mumble the sovereign and chuckle to himself. - -Near Victoria Station he stopped, and thrashed the kerb. A girl slipped -out from somewhere and took his arm; the same girl who had so lately -robbed him. - -‘That you, Joey?’ said the blind man. - -‘What luck, Toppin?’ - -The old man grinned. - -‘Got a plunk, Joey; benevolent gent.’ - -‘My, what a soft!’ - -‘Just take me over to Victoria Street. Wait at the Monico; ain’t safe -here.’ - -Over the road he gave the sovereign into her keeping, and she frisked -up a side street. Prosser followed him down Victoria Street, helped -him silently over the crossings, and was still dreaming of one like -himself, meeting an old friend and lacking the energy to acknowledge -him; when the blind man turned suddenly and grabbed him by the arm. - -‘What’s your name?’ - -‘Prosser,’ he faltered. - -‘I thought so. You’ve been drinking, you ---- fool. Where have you been -all this time since you came out?’ - -‘I ... I’m in service.’ - -‘Ah?’ - -‘I’ve turned over a new leaf. Was that my little girl?’ - -‘That was Joey. Why?’ - -‘I only wanted to know.’ - -‘Ah! making conversation, as it were. Yes; you’re gentry now, of -course--joined the respectable classes.’ He fumbled Prosser’s coat as -he spoke, feeling round the cloth buttons to see if they were sound -and fat. ‘One has to talk for talking’s sake when one belongs to the -gentry. Well, I’m off. Don’t waste your elegant conversation on me; -go back to the Duchess.... _Pity_ the poor blind!’ He was off again, -crying hoarsely along the big grey blocks, and Prosser pursuing timidly. - -‘Stop, stop, Mr. Hartopp! You didn’t mind my mentioning the little -girl?’ - -‘_Pity_ the poor blind!’ - -His appeal to the public was launched with an abrupt intonation which -implied a final ‘D---- you!’ as plain as words. - -‘It’s _my_ little girl after all,’ said Prosser. - -‘Don’t talk like a d----d drunken maudlin fool!’ growled the blind -man, stopping short again. People looked over their shoulders as they -went past, ladies from the Stores drew aside into the road and hurried -by, seeing this maimed old man leaning back over his extended crutch, -blaspheming at the trim underling who stood so mild and weak behind -him. - -‘I know your sort! rotten gutless puppies that lose their grit as soon -as they get under. Portland; good conduct marks; conversion; piety; -ticket-of-leave, and then drink, drink, drink! “Gone into service!” -“My little girl!” Ugh! What do you want to do with your “little girl”? -Would you like the little pet to “go into service” too? and wear a -little muslin pinafore, with pockets in front? Speak up, man, speak up. -Don’t stand there like a sodden hog, dreaming over your next big drink -while I’m making conversation. Don’t you hear me, you elegant toff?’ - -Prosser started guiltily. - -‘I’d been thinking perhaps my employer would find her a nice home -somewhere.’ - -‘A little cottage in the country somewhere, eh? with geraniums in the -window and a little watering pot all her own, eh? And what about me? -I’d make a pretty footman if you’d recommend me, and stand on the steps -in a salmon-coloured suit and help the gentlefolk in and out of their -carriages.’ - -‘He’d do something for you, I’m sure. He’s a very kind master.’ - -‘“A very kind master!” Oh, good Lord!... _Pity_ the poor blind!’ - -‘Mr. Hartopp, Mr. Hartopp!’ - -The old man stopped again and faced right round. - -‘Prosser, if you follow me an inch further I’ll knock out your mucky -fuddled brains with my crutch all over the pavement. I swear I will. Go -home and soak, you sentimental skunk.’ - -Prosser stood still for some time watching the angry figure bobbing -down the road. Then he turned up by the Turkish Baths and made his way -home. - -That evening he related the whole of his adventure to Prince Dwala, not -even omitting the confession of his own intemperance. - -‘So you drink, do you? Drink too much of course, that is.’ - -‘You’re not angry, sir?’ - -‘Of course not. Not a bit.... It must be awfully expensive?’ - -‘I can’t help it, sir. I don’t want to help it. Of course I’ll have to -go?’ - -‘Go where?’ - -‘Leave you, I mean, sir.’ - -‘Oh, please don’t do that, Prosser. You shall have as much as you need. -Don’t have more than you really need. I’m sorry it’s you, of course, -because I like you so much. But now you explain it to me, I don’t see -how it could have been helped. I’m awfully sorry about it. That’s a -very wonderful old man.’ - -‘Mr. Hartopp? Yes, sir.’ - -‘Do you think he’d come and live here?’ - -‘He wouldn’t take service, sir.’ - -‘No, as a friend, I mean. You see, Prosser, this house is much bigger -than I really need. I have to live in it, of course, because I’m so -rich; besides, there’s poor Huxtable to think of.’ - -‘You needn’t pity Mr. Huxtable much, sir.’ - -‘No, that’s true: I suppose he’s very happy. Do you know anything about -Mr. Hartopp’s past life? One isn’t born a “Fence” I suppose?’ - -‘Oh no, sir, it takes a very intelligent man to be a Fence. Mr. -Hartopp’s a very intelligent man, and had a first-class education.’ - -‘What’s his story, then?’ - -‘Story, sir? There’s no story as far as I ever heard. Nothing out of -the ordinary, sir.’ - -‘How did he become blind?’ - -‘Overwork, sir. He was a schoolmaster as a young man down in our -part of the country, and overworked his eyes like at his work, sir. -That’s how he lost his place. He had a fever, and they took him to the -Workhouse Infirmary. It’s that what made him go to the bad, they say, -sir; he’d always had a horror of the rates. He often talks of himself -as a pauper, as if it was a disgrace like. He’d worked his way up like, -sir, and couldn’t stand being mixed up with pauperism. So when they -discharged him he came up to London and went to the bad.’ - -‘Drink, I suppose? It always begins that way, I’m told.’ - -‘Mr. Hartopp, sir? Oh no, sir, I never knew him drink anything, sir, -nor smoke neither. Drink and tobacco he says are ... some funny word, -painkillers sort of, to keep the workin’ classes from yellin’ out while -they’re bein’ skinned alive. He’s a very funny man, sir, always makin’ -jokes. Not but what he’s fond of good livin’ too, sir. When trade was -good one time he used to go regular every day and lunch at the Carlton. -I only found out by chance; I was that surprised. Up till then I’d -always took him for a Socialist.’ - -‘How did he lose his leg?’ - -‘His leg, sir? I really don’t remember how that was. It wasn’t very -long ago, I know. Blind men often get knocked about like in the -traffic.’ - - - - -XXI - - -Dwala left his valet abruptly and spent many hours walking up and down -the picture-gallery, deep in thought. Some of his slow ideas were -coming suddenly to maturity. - -Men--these strange wild beasts that lived wholly in a delirium of -invented characters, assigning fantastic attributes to one another -and acting solemn plays where everything was real--blood, knives, and -misery--everything but the characters themselves--had thrust on him -the strangest mask of all; they had made him great. And now, at the -touch of one small hand on the lever, all the machinery of the theatre -was in motion to make him greater still, with the greatest greatness -of all--for so to his rude mind, unskilled in the abstract mystery of -Royalty, seemed political greatness, the power of ordering men’s days -and nights. - -Himself, he was nothing--nothing to anyone but himself; for others he -was a suit of irrelevant attributes; no one cared what he thought or -felt or was; his Ego had no place in their scheme. He had been always -the same; and all his differences were of human making. First Man -clapped on him the attribute of Monkey, and purposed putting him in -a cage and offering him for an entertainment. Then Man clapped God, -King, Prisoner, and Millionaire on him in quick succession; now they -were preparing Statesman for him to wear. Empty garments all of them, -by the very essence of things: Nature makes no Gods, Kings, Prisoners, -Millionaires or Statesmen. All fanciful unsubstantialities of men, real -only in their effect on men, as laws of gravity are real only in the -eagerness of little things to be impelled; empty shells, inhabited by -irrelevant I’s that live in corners of them, apart and unconsidered; -vacancies, chosen at random for a centre of genuflexions, services, -obediences, gold, velvet, paper, and different sorts of food. A wise -Providence has ordained that Man’s eyes should be blind to the vision -of real naked Nature-given personality: were it suddenly otherwise, the -long-wrought classifications of the ages would disappear at once in a -confusion of particular differences; all leadership and direction would -be lost; just as Science would shiver to a heap of individual facts if -she were robbed of her slow-built generalisations. - -Dwala saw that he could never merely put aside his mask and say, Behold -me as I am. Such revelations are unthinkable to the human mind: one -might as well say, Behold me, for I have disappeared. He could renounce -Statesman if he liked, stay Millionaire, go back to God or King or -Monkey; but until he went away from men, and hid himself in the wild -forest, he could never be plain self again: he must inhabit either a -palace, or a temple, or a cage. - -What was he going to do, he asked himself, in this new mask that Man -was preparing for him with so much labour? The answer was evident; -Lady Wyse knew it too. He was making a Joke, a big slow Joke; men were -rolling it painfully up the board for him, panting and groaning, and -when it reached the top he would tip it lightly over and see it fall -with a crash like a falling mountain. Surely that would make him laugh? - -And after? Well, that was a little matter. They would kill him, -perhaps; he would die laughing at them, laughing in their angry -shame-lit faces as they stabbed him. More probably they would let him -go. They would hardly exhibit him in Earl’s Court: ‘Pithecanthropus -erectus, ex-Cabinet Minister.’ He would get back to the woods of Borneo -again, and laugh among the trees. In any case, he would have had his -Joke. - -Meanwhile other attributes had been laid on him for which he had no -use: power to demand a million little satisfactions, gross and fine, -for which he had no taste. Space to sleep and wake, food enough to -nourish him--that was all he wanted till the great Joke reached the -tumbling point. A thousand minor jokes would crop up by the way in the -endless inequality of masks: jokes too slender for his own handling. -Must all this go to waste? Why not enjoy by proxy? To his large mind it -was indifferent _who_ was the agent of enjoyment: himself or another, -as they had the fitter talent. Therefore he had long been vaguely -seeking someone who could replace him in the present; an ambassador in -the courts of luxury; someone vivid, eager, strong and discontented, -some Enemy of the World, who could exploit for him the minor meannesses -of men, a preparatory humiliation, a handy touchstone for everyday use. -Surely Hartopp was the man? - -Dwala went with a candle in the middle of the night to his valet’s -bedroom and awoke him from uneasy sleep. - -‘I’ve made up my mind I must know this Mr. Hartopp, Prosser.’ - -‘I’m afraid you mightn’t like him if you saw him, sir,’ said the valet, -sitting up in his night-cap, with hollow eyes, as of one rescued only -for a while from some fear to which he must return anon. - -‘I don’t know. We’ll go and look for him to-morrow. You know where he -lives?’ - -‘Whereabouts, sir. Somewhere off Shaftesbury Avenue.’ - -‘All right. We’ll go and look him up to-morrow. That’ll be rippin’. -Good-night.’ - - - - -XXII - - -Neglecting his engagements and Huxtable’s remonstrances Dwala sought -Hartopp for many days in vain. With Prosser at his side he visited the -places where children play, open spaces, archipelagos of pavement, -washed by the roaring traffic of St. Giles’s: for it was among the -children that Prosser gave most hope of finding him. - -‘It’s one of his curious ways, bein’ with children, sir; his -dram-drinkin’ he calls it. He’s goin’ to raise a Revolution of the -children one of these days, he says. He don’t set much store by the -grown-ups: over-civilised he says they are, while the children are all -young savages.’ - -Hartopp had risen to lofty heights in Prosser’s estimation, since he -had realised Dwala’s plans about him; he was a Socrates now, whose -every saying had a strange new value in remembrance. - -At last they found him. They were standing one sunny summer day in -Shaftesbury Avenue, when Prosser cried: - -‘There he is!’ - -A throng of tiny Bacchanals came skipping and whooping out of Endell -Street, and in their midst the old Silenus, clumping and swinging -jovially along. It was a gay chatter of question and answer, gibe and -repartee, flying to and from Silenus to the nymphs, while laughter -flickered here and there at random. - -They crossed the broad roadway in open defiance of the traffic, and -landed on the island where Dwala stood. - -‘Five o’clock!’ cried the old Fence as St. Giles’s clock rang out: -‘time you were home for your teas!’ He grinned, and fumbled in his -big yellow pocket. ‘What are you waiting for, you little animals? -Your mothers are all drunk by now, and you’ll get what for if you’re -late.... Scramble!’ he shouted, suddenly flinging a handful of pink -sweatmeats up in the sunshine and down in the dirt, while the children -wallowed and fought with cries of joy. - -‘Here’s two toffs,’ said one of the knot of elders, drawing off as -Dwala and Prosser approached. - -‘Mr. Hartopp,’ murmured Prosser, touching his hat. - -‘Aha, my sentimental friend, are you there? I smell you. What’s the -news? Have you brought something sweet in chiffon for your darling -little daughter to drive in to the Opera to-night?’ - -‘Hoping you’ll excuse me, Mr. Hartopp, I’ve brought Prince Dwala, my -employer, who was anxious to see you.’ - -‘Oho! the “kind master.” Come to see how the “pooah” live, my Lord?’ - -‘I’ve come to ask if you won’t come and live with me.’ - -‘Live with you, d---- you?’ - -‘Yes, live with me, at home.’ - -‘Why?’ - -‘Because I like you.’ - -‘The h---- you do! Why?’ - -‘Because I believe you’re what’s called a “blackguard.”’ - -‘What’s this feller you’ve got hold of, Prosser? Is he a detective, or -a philanthropist, or a lunatic?’ - -‘He’s what’s called an “eccentric” I believe, Mr. Hartopp.’ - -‘Where do you live?’ asked the Fence abruptly. - -‘Park Lane,’ answered Dwala. - -The Fence whistled. - -‘What number?’ - -‘Number --.’ - -‘Number --?... I’ve got the plans of that somewhere. What’s the plate -like, Prosser?’ - -‘Very handy, Mr. Hartopp,’ answered the valet, falling into old tracks -of thought. - -‘It’s beautiful plate,’ said Dwala: ‘all the most expensive kinds. -You’d have it on the table every day at meals if you came and lived -with me, Mr. Hartopp: of course you wouldn’t see it, because you’re -blind, but you’d know it was there. It’s a lovely house altogether, -I believe: everything’s as expensive as we could get anywhere; there -are five footmen, and heaven only knows how many housemaids. What I’m -looking for is somebody who’d really enjoy all these things. I can’t. -It’s such a pity you’re blind, because you’ll miss a lot; in fact, I -had half a mind not to ask you, because you were blind. But I was so -awfully fetched by the way you threw those sweetmeats to the children.’ - -‘You’re another d----d sentimentalist, I see. Does he drink too, -Prosser?’ - -‘No, I don’t drink,’ said Dwala: ‘I have so many other amusements.’ - -‘What’s your income?’ - -‘Four hundred thousand pounds a year.’ - -‘Four hun.... Good Lord! you ought to be ashamed of yourself.... Here, -Thomas, Andy--anybody there?’ he cried out, hobbling excitedly towards -the iron seats. - -‘I’m here, Bill!’ came a voice from the distance. - -‘All right, I don’t want you.’ He hobbled back again, and blew three -calls on a dog-whistle which hung from his neck. ‘I’ll call Joey.’ Joey -came frisking up from nowhere, as dirty as mud could make her. - -She turned formal at once on seeing the ‘nobs,’ and put out her tongue -at Prosser. - -‘Joey, old girl, you see these two d----d fools here? One of ’em’s a -Prince of ancient lineage.’ - -‘What, that great big ugly bloke?’ - -‘With four hundred thousand pounds a year!’ - -‘Lor’!’ said Joey, politely. - -‘Borrow a hanky from some nice little girl and prepare for hysterics, -for the other one’s your long-lost father!’ - -‘He drinks,’ said Joey, edging away. - -Hartopp laughed. ‘It’s wonderful what a lot these children know. Now -look here, Joey.... Joey’s included, of course?’ - -‘Yes, Joey’s included,’ answered Dwala. - -‘You wouldn’t like to be a real lady, would you, Joey?’ - -‘Wouldn’t I!’ said Joey, shyly but decisively. - -‘What! Be a rotten West-End kid?’ - -Joey giggled an affirmative. - -‘Wash every day?’ Another giggle. - -‘Ain’t she sweet?’ murmured Prosser. - -A sudden idea flashed over Joey’s face. - -‘With him about?’ she asked. - -‘Yes, I’d be about, Joey,’ said Prosser. - -Without a moment’s hesitation Joey fled through the traffic and down -St. Martin’s Lane. - -‘Well?’ said Dwala: ‘what’s your decision, Mr. Hartopp?’ - -‘Go to h----!’ said the blind man, hobbling resolutely away. The Prince -and Prosser, after standing a little longer, turned and went sadly home -again. - - - - -XXIII - - -As Dwala and Huxtable were sitting at breakfast one morning, a week -later, the butler leaned down in his gentle fatherly way over the -Prince’s shoulder, and told him that a man had been asking for him. - -‘A blind man, sir, with a little girl with him; very respectable. They -came about half-past seven.’ - -‘Where are they?’ - -‘They went away again, sir.’ - -‘Did they say if they were coming back?’ - -‘Not a word, sir; they just turned round and went into the Park when -they heard you wasn’t up.’ - -Dwala then propounded at length to Huxtable all his ideas about Hartopp -and Joey. Huxtable listened quietly, with an occasional colourless: -‘Quite so, quite so.’ He retired to his room after breakfast, and -walked up and down a great deal. His ideas cleared after some hours of -perambulation. He arrived at the same conclusion as Prosser. Prince -Dwala was an eccentric. He thought over the cases of a number of peers -and millionaires he knew about who had been eccentric, and suddenly -realised that eccentricity was more than respectable; it was _chic_: -it belonged to the grandest school of behaviour. It was not what he -had expected in coming to Prince Dwala; his own part would be difficult -and call for care. It was like the Boer War; that had been eccentric -too; but for that very reason it had been the making of his cousin Jim, -who was now in command of a brigade. When he came down to luncheon he -looked at Dwala with an interest almost tender. - -Meanwhile Hartopp and Joey had not come back. Dwala had been out into -Park Lane three or four times in the course of the morning, looking -vainly up and down for them. There was only a patient four-wheeled cab, -with two big new leather trunks on it, standing a little way off the -gate; the driver opened his eyes heavily each time Dwala emerged, and -then returned to sleep. - -It was one of those solemn summer days which visit London like dreams: -one of those days when Hyde Park, with its smooth lawns and ancient -dignity of trees, seems like the revelation of a purpose in this -fantastic world--a purpose to which the surface of aristocratic life, -with its carriages and frocks and parasols, seems so well attuned, -that one is convinced that the whole mass of it must needs be as -respectable as Nature. - -They came at last: Dwala was on the steps to meet them: Hartopp in a -well-brushed black tail coat; Joey looking ugly in a tight velvet frock -and feathered hat, her hair drawn back into a pig-tail, all clean but -her hands. - -They both looked tired and saddened. Dwala felt a sudden disillusion, a -reduction of something big to small dimensions. - -‘Is that your cab outside?’ he asked. - -Joey nodded. ‘But we’ve not decided yet. We’ve only come to have a -look.’ - -She ran up the steps, and stopped, peering into the dark entry, awed by -the motionless forms of the big footmen. - -They went all over the house with Dwala, from bottom to top, -conscientiously, doggedly, examining everything. Joey insisted: Hartopp -followed, mumbling morosely. Joey listened to all explanations with -that air of undue, almost effusive, attentiveness, which marches so -nearly with boredom. They saw Huxtable once on a landing: he was -passing from one room to another, in spectacles, with a bundle of -papers; he always wore spectacles till tea-time. He looked at them -drily, externally, as one looks at events in another family. - -A kind of depression, a melancholy hush, weighed on the whole house and -household, as if someone had just died. One thing only was certain: -they all knew that the pretence of a probation was an empty one; -Hartopp and Joey had come to stay. - -Hartopp was aware of this, and wondered at his own blank listlessness. -The Enemy of Society felt suddenly as a wild bull might, which had -spent a long hot day goring a big cathedral and was now being led -quietly to a pew. There is a magic in our masquerading: it is with deep -feelings of solemnity that man shuffles off one disguise and gets into -another; the fraudulent company-promoter, growing rich, enters upon his -fortune almost with the same ennobling awe as a young girl going to her -Confirmation. - -Hartopp made an effort: he stopped Dwala as they went downstairs. - -‘Let’s understand one another clearly, Prince What’s-your-name. If I -come, I come as a free man: Joey too. We come as gentry, or we don’t -come at all. The servants are to treat us with respect as such. Do you -see?’ - -‘Of course, of course.’ - -‘We’ll have the best of everything: eat what we like, drink what -we like, spend as much money as we like. Do you see? No d----d -philanthropy.’ - -‘I promise you solemnly.’ - -‘That’s right.’ - -The cabman was paid off and the boxes were brought in. - -‘Both Joey’s,’ said Hartopp: ‘I’ve brought nothing.’ - -‘I’ll have a fire in my bedroom, please,’ said Joey. - -Huxtable came in at tea-time and recounted three amusing anecdotes, at -which Joey stared in awe and the old man chuckled faintly. The butler -inquired if the young lady would like a maid to unpack her boxes. Joey -declined: she would do it herself. - -She went out primly after tea, to see to it, jangling keys on a -string. Huxtable went back to some mysterious ‘work.’ - -Then the air cleared suddenly. The blind man unbent with a touch of -humour. It is humour that keeps the door in the wall through which -alone we may hope to peep into our neighbour’s garden. We have passed -that ivy-grown, impenetrable portal a thousand times, when suddenly one -day we find it open, and instead of a dog growling in an arid patch of -weeds, we find a friendly neighbour grinning in our face. - -‘Do you know what’s in those boxes?’ said Hartopp confidentially. - -‘No; what?’ - -‘Wood pavement.’ He exploded with laughter. ‘Her things weren’t fit to -bring, but she wouldn’t be seen arriving without luggage; so she put -that in to weight them down. That’s what the fire’s for. She’ll keep -’em locked till she’s got it all burnt--a little day by day. Don’t let -her know I told you.’ - -It was a great nuisance, Dwala said, he had to go out that evening. -Huxtable must entertain them. As for himself, he was dining with Lady -Wyse. - -‘Is Lady Wyse a friend of yours?’ - -‘A great friend.’ - -‘The one whose name’s always in the paper?’ - -‘I suppose so.’ - -‘Well, take my advice and don’t let Joey know.’ - -‘Why not?’ - -‘She’d look down on you.’ - -‘Why? Lady Wyse is a very charming woman.’ - -‘You say that because you’re a toff. She’d hear a very different name, -if she came down our street. I’d tell her straight myself.’ - - - - -XXIV - - -It was quite a small party at Lady Wyse’s. Disturnal was there, the -rising young High Church M.P.; Sir Peter Parchmin; his wife, and a -few miscellaneous ladies; General Wapshot; a Man with a Clever Face; -an Eminent Scientist; and a Philosopher. This last was not a speaking -character; a little wizened man with a bald head; he had made a -reputation in his youth by retiring into solitude for three years and -coming back with the apophthegm, ‘Give me a pebble and a protoplasm -and I will make you a universe.’ Nobody having given him either, his -plans had rested there. They put him in a Chair at Cambridge, and he -had never opened his mouth since. He and the Eminent Scientist were -men with that peculiar knack the learned have of looking out of place -in any clothes they wear, but convincing you somehow that they would -look more out of place without them. Lady Wyse had invited them quite -at random, because she thought they would be interested in a scientific -scheme which Sir Peter was to propound that night; she could not surely -be expected to distinguish different sorts of savants? - -Lady Parchmin was a tired but talkative blonde, who made one feel sorry -for Sir Peter in a kind of abstract way; yet she was a saint, and he -was an immoral man. He pretended to pursue Lady Wyse from mean and -interested motives; but there he lied. His love for Lady Wyse was the -only genuine sentiment he had ever felt--that was why she tolerated -him; she was a strong ennobling thought, like Wagner music remembered -or imagined in a railway train; his wife, the eternal passenger who sat -before him, dim and dowdy, on the other seat, was only a monument of -dull duty and a long-forgotten fancy. - -Dinner was drawing to a close. Wine and fruit were going round; the -butler had marched his squad away. - -The Man with the Clever Face suddenly distinguished himself--Lady -Wyse had introduced him as ‘the well-known Mr. Holmes,’ but neither -Disturnal nor the General nor the Eminent Scientist remembered to have -heard of him before. Lady Parchmin had been recounting her emotions on -seeing a newspaper placard as she drove to dinner. - -‘“There,” said I when I saw it, “I’m sure it’s the man I saw them -arresting this morning.”’ - -Mr. Holmes broke silence for the first time. He fixed his penetrating -gaze on Lady Parchmin’s hair, and said: - -‘You must have said that to yourself then, for you drove here alone.’ - -She put her hands up quickly to her head, saying: - -‘Good Heavens! How do you know that? I did. Peter walked.’ - -‘How extraordinary!’ murmured the guests. - -‘Do tell me how you told?’ said Lady Parchmin. - -Mr. Holmes looked round the table with a dry, triumphant smile; then -leaned confidentially towards Lady Parchmin, and explained: - -‘I saw your husband’s goloshes in the hall.’ - -‘You must be a detective!’ said Lady Parchmin. - -‘I am,’ he said. - -‘How funny!’ - -‘Odd thing to meet at dinner, isn’t it?’ said their hostess languidly. -‘Now then, Sir Peter, out with your little scheme.’ - -Sir Peter cleared his throat and rearranged his wine-glasses. He looked -at Dwala. - -‘I think you were present, Prince, at an evening at Lady Lillico’s, -where I was made to deliver a little lecture on the Missing Link?’ - -Dwala looked steadily into the Biologist’s eyes: he saw nothing there -but an enterprise and the desire to please; but he was conscious of a -secret triumph of amusement emanating from Lady Wyse. - -‘Yes, I was there.’ - -‘I mentioned, if you remember, a scheme for an expedition?’ - -‘Yes, to find the Missing Link.’ - -‘Quite so. Well, our plan is this--I’m empowered to speak for the -University--the new writ is issued, and we can proceed to nomination at -any moment. Now, of course, we don’t _sell_ our nomination; you quite -understand that?’ - -Mr. Disturnal caught his roving eye, and nodded brightly. - -‘But we’re determined to have a scientific man, or a man interested in -science. The University is delighted to accept you; but you must prove -your interest in science in the way that they select. Well, they’ve -selected a way, and if you accept their conditions, you’ll be nominated -on Saturday, which is the same thing with us as being elected.’ - -‘What’s the condition?’ asked Dwala. - -‘That you guarantee the Missing Link Search Fund by handing in a cheque -for 50,000_l._, the balance, if any, to be returned when the search -is over. Mr. Holmes here is going out to Borneo in charge of the -expedition; and a scientist or two will go with him. Do you accept?’ - -Dwala glanced at Lady Wyse. - -‘Certainly. I’ll send you the cheque to-night.’ - -‘And what do you propose to do with the Missing Link when you’ve got -him?’ asked Mr. Disturnal. - -‘Ah!’ said the Biologist, consulting the eye of the Eminent Scientist: -‘that’s a big question.’ - -‘Can’t you imagine,’ said Lady Wyse, ‘what a scientist would do with a -strange animal?’ - -‘I’d put him in a bag and drown him, by Gad!’ said the General genially. - -‘Ah, you’re not a scientist, General,’ said Lady Wyse. ‘Sir Peter would -thank Providence humbly for his opportunities, and set about studying -the creature’s soul. Can’t you imagine him walking politely round it -asking questions?’ - -‘Lady Wyse is joking, of course,’ said the Biologist. ‘If I got hold of -the animal, I know perfectly well what I should do.’ - -‘What’s that?’ asked Mr. Disturnal, in his bright, intellectual way. - -‘I should examine his hippocampus minor.’ - -‘Well, really!’ said Lady Wyse, pushing back her chair: ‘we women had -better be going.’ - -‘It’s a curve in the brain,’ almost shouted Sir Peter, hurrying to the -door handle: ‘the thing Owen and Huxley fell out about.’ - -‘Bring the men up quick,’ said Lady Wyse. ‘I and your wife’ll have -nothing to talk about upstairs but you, and we’ll both be bored to -death.’ - - * * * * * - -Mr. Holmes, who went early, had a great send-off; he was going -straight to Plymouth that night to superintend the preparation for the -expedition, which had only awaited Dwala’s promise. Sir Peter Parchmin -made a speech, and Mr. Holmes made a speech, and everybody waved -handkerchiefs on the balcony as he drove away. - -‘Well,’ said Lady Wyse, as Dwala sat down beside her at last: ‘what do -you think of my little joke?’ - -‘It’s too human.’ - -‘I thought you’d be amused.’ - -‘It takes a great deal to make me laugh.’ - -‘Are you afraid people will discover your secret?’ - -‘I think you’re rash.’ - -‘I’m not. I’m calculating. Arrived where you are, you could sit all day -on a churchyard wall yelling your secret in people’s ears, and they -would pay no attention to it.’ - -‘Unless an honest man came by, or a clever one.’ - -‘An honest man wouldn’t be clever enough to hear it, and a clever one -wouldn’t be honest enough to repeat it.’ - -‘Don’t endanger a joke for the sake of a ... an epigram.’ - -‘Do you know, Prince, I have a sort of presentiment our joke will never -come off.’ - -‘Shall I never have a good laugh before I die?’ - -‘Who knows? Something may turn up.... But why do you cough like that? -Are you ill?’ - -‘No. I often cough like that.’ - -‘It would spoil everything if you were ill.’ - -With a little gesture Lady Wyse summoned the watchful Parchmin, and -bade him bring his fellow-savants. - -‘What’s the matter with Prince Dwala?’ she asked. ‘He coughs in a funny -way. Examine him.’ - -The command covered the whole trio. The Philosopher assumed a frivolous -look. The Eminent Scientist disclaimed competence: he was Chemistry or -something. - -‘Nonsense!’ said Lady Wyse. ‘What’s the good of being a scientist?’ - -Dwala towered serenely while the Biologist and the Eminent -Scientist--having exchanged grimaces of apology--walked round and -round him, with their ears to his sides, one behind the other, as if -it were a game, with an occasional murmur from the Biologist of ‘Cough -again’--‘Say ninety-nine.’ - -The little bald Philosopher stood opposite, with his eyebrows raised -and his hands behind his back, tipping himself patiently up and down on -his toes, like a half-witted child. The Biologist, meeting the Eminent -Scientist accidentally at a corner, made a parenthesis of his mouth and -shook his head. Coming to the perpendicular soon, he recommended care -and a healthy life. - -‘Do you think there’s anything the matter with the Prince?’ Lady Wyse -asked Parchmin, aside. - -‘I couldn’t say,’ said the Biologist. ‘I should like to examine him -properly first.’ - -‘How properly?’ - -‘One can’t tell anything through a shirt-front.’ - -‘Take him in there,’ she commanded, pointing to the door of the next -room, ‘and examine him _thoroughly_.’ - -Dwala hesitated. ‘Isn’t he ... clever?’ he murmured. - -‘It’s all right,’ she smiled back; ‘he isn’t honest.’ - -A few minutes later, when the guests were gathering about Lady Wyse -to say good-bye, the door of the side-room burst open, and Sir Peter -Parchmin came tumbling out, white with horror. He seized the General, -who was nearest to him, in a wild embrace--half as a leaning-post, half -as a protection--crying: - -‘Good Lord! He’s got a ta ... ta ... ta....’ - -‘Confound you, sir!’ said the General; ‘do you take me for Lady -Parchmin?’ - -The Biologist only clung the closer, babbling feebly in his ear: - -‘He’s got a ta ... ta ... tail!’ - - * * * * * - -It was true. Dwala had a tail. Now I am aware that in these days of -learning, when many an ordinary College Don knows as much science as -the elder Pliny, this will seem almost incredible; and in the eyes -of some it will throw doubt on the truth of my story, for it is well -known that the anthropoid apes have no tails. But then Dwala was not an -anthropoid ape, but a Missing Link. The fact is that in the old times -there were as many varieties of _Pithecanthropus erectus_ as there are -nowadays of _Homo sapiens britannicus_; but the physical differences -between them were far more clearly marked than ours. The aristocracy of -the race, to which Dwala’s family belonged, were distinguished from the -plebeians, not merely by the greater stoutness of their bony structure -and the superior coarseness of their fur--distinctions which a -demagogue might have argued down to nothing--but also by the possession -of tails, a thing about which there could be no mistake. Among the -lower classes even the merest stump, the flattering evidence of an old -scandal, entitled the owner to a certain measure of respect. - - * * * * * - -‘Confound his tail!’ exclaimed the peppery General, pushing him away. -‘Who’s got a tail? the dog?’ - -‘Dog?’ murmured the Biologist, in the dazed, indignant tones of a man -under the influence of a drug. ‘No! Prince Dwala!’ - -The General dropped rigid into an armchair, and bobbed up and down on -the springs of it. A shocked silence fell on the room, as if something -grossly indelicate had been shouted out. Men blinked and lowered their -heads; women stared and raised them. There was a movement as of looking -for things lost, an untranslated impulse towards the stairs. - -Lady Wyse, the one thing alive in this wax-work show, went quickly to -the door and put her back against it, hand on handle, to prevent the -figures from escaping. - -‘Sir Peter is talking like an idiot,’ she said, in low, clear tones; -‘he knows perfectly well that Prince Dwala no more has a tail than any -one of _us_ has.’ - -The horror of the fact suggested passed directly into indignation -at the suggestion of it. They turned on the Biologist, demanding an -explanation. The little General voiced the public feeling. He shot up -out of his chair, and shook the tall savant violently by the lappels of -his coat. - -‘Have you been drinking, sir? Do you know that there are ladies -present?’ - -A chorus of inarticulate wrath went up. They crowded scowling round -the frightened Parchmin, women with folded arms, men with their hands -thrust deep down into their trouser pockets. - -‘Now then sir, explain yourself!’ said the General; ‘what do you mean -by a tail?’ - -‘Da ... da ... did I say a tail?’ - -The General shook him again. ‘You know you did!’ - -‘I ... I ... I ... I didn’t mean a tail,’ stammered the Biologist; ‘not -in the ordinary sense....’ - -‘You said _tail_, sir!’ - -‘I didn’t mean an ... an ... an actual prolongation of the caudal -vertebrae.’ - -‘Well, what did you mean, then?’ - -‘I only meant he had....’ - -‘Go on.’ - -‘I thought I detected....’ - -‘Go on--go on.’ - -‘That if the Prince wasn’t careful ... there was a sort of incipient -hardening of the skin which might lead to what German doctors call a -“tail.” It’s a purely technical term. I ... I ... apologise, I’m sure, -for having spoken inadvertently.’ - -‘He ought to be ashamed of himself!’ was the general verdict. - -‘What a dreadful thing to happen at a dinner-party!’ - -‘At Lady Wyse’s too, of all places!’ - -They all turned their backs on him, and crowded round Dwala, who -emerged serenely at this moment from the next room; shaking hands -warmly with him, as if he had just achieved a triumph. Mr. Disturnal -smiled him a meaning smile as he said good-bye. - -Dwala and the Biologist were the last to go. - -‘Good-bye,’ said Lady Wyse to Sir Peter. ‘I suppose you’ll stop the -Expedition now?’ - -‘Stop the Expedition? Why?’ - -‘Great heavens! Then you haven’t guessed the secret after all?’ - -The Biologist stared at her with wild eyes for several seconds, then -suddenly twirled and fell like a sack on the floor. When they had -bathed him back to his senses at last, he sat up on his hands and said: - -‘Prince Dwala must blow his brains out!’ - -Lady Wyse rang laughter like a bell. - -‘Why?’ asked Dwala, greatly interested. - -‘Any English gentleman would.’ - -‘I forbid it!’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘Why?’ - -‘He’d spoil his hippocampus minor.’ - -‘Pah!’ exploded Sir Peter bitterly: ‘you always take his side.’ - - - - -XXV - - -Arrived in his own hall, Dwala became aware of a faint shrill voice -talking rapidly and jerkily, accompanied by an even whirring noise. -He opened the library door. The room was lighted brilliantly. To the -left sat Hartopp, in evening dress, in a big armchair, with his leg on -another chair; a champagne bottle and glasses were on a table beside -him; he was smoking a fat cigar, and grinning as he listened. Below -him, sitting on the floor, with her pale face thrown back against the -chair, was Joey fast asleep. In the middle of the room sat Huxtable, -serious and concentrated, managing the gramophone: one hand hovered -over it, deft, square, and muscular, lightly adjusting some moth’s -wing of a lever in the instrument. Beyond him, in the background, was -a stout, serious, important looking man, with his face blacked--a -nigger minstrel in red and black striped trousers, with a tiny doll’s -hat pinned on the front of his head--who rose respectfully at Dwala’s -entrance, a glass of champagne in one hand and a banjo in the other. - -Evidently Huxtable had been doing his best to entertain the guests. - - - - -XXVI - - -Dwala was duly elected, and took his seat in the House of Commons. - -This Parliament, which had come in with loud blowing of trumpets as -a truly representative assembly, was but a poor thing after all, the -rickety child of a long line of dissipated ancestors; a perplexity of -Imperialists, Federalists, Separatists, Food Taxers, Free Traders, -Church Reformers, Church Defenders, Labour Members, Irish Members, and -Members frankly representative of private aims--men who sat for cotton, -or coal, or simply beer. No Prime Minister could have ruled the country -with it. - -The Government was in a tottering condition. Round after round they had -been so heavily punished by the Opposition, that it was all they could -do to stand up, dizzy and defensive, to await the knock-out blow. The -Irish Party, sated with concessions, had got altogether out of hand, -and at last gone frankly over to the other side. O’Grady, their leader, -like an elusive knight in a game of chess, sprang here and there -about the board, attacking in two or three places at once; while the -big-wigs of the Liberal Party sat solidly on their squares, breathing -destruction down appropriated lines. Tory Rooks and Tory Bishops -trembled every time O’Grady moved, and pawns went down like nine-pins, -sacrificed in the hope of deferring the inevitable check-mate. The poor -Premier, designed by Nature for a life of contemplation, marvelled -at the inconsiderate unrest of public men, and sought a decent -opportunity of withdrawing to the urbane refinements of private life. - -Meanwhile, what is called ‘the business of the country’ must be carried -on. Posts worth several thousand pounds a year cannot be left begging -for an occupant; as Ministers went under in the attack, new Ministers -must be found, not among the jealous multitude of small-bore country -squires and city manufacturers, but among the big guns of longer range. -Dwala was eminently one of this park. His apparition in politics -had been so sudden; the influence of his backers was so strong; his -stooping from big opportunities of pleasure to the tedium of Parliament -was so much of a condescension, that the Party felt he had a right to -a handsome recompense. Besides, the last vacant post could only be -filled by a representative of one of the great seats of learning. Dwala -was made President of the Board of Education. He said nothing, he did -nothing; others talked and worked; and all agreed that he was a great -success. He was the best-informed Minister in the Cabinet. Others acted -and did harm; he studied and did none. - - - - -XXVII - - -Much time passed. The Government stagnated, but the national life went -on, like a river piling its waters against the tottering dam. - -Then came the Great Crisis in which the Prime Minister went down. The -nation was no longer on the brink of ruin, as the ravens had so long -croaked, but in the very midst of it. - -There is an all-powerful Guardian of Truth, who avenges every lie. -Master, not of the world, which runs by rule, but of the Inward Meaning -of it, which is beyond the range of law; Master, not of enterprises -and institutions, but of the living souls of things which they rudely -symbolise; as the Poet is Master, not of words and verses, but of the -thing obscurely hidden in them; as the Musician is Master, not of notes -and harmonies, but of the soul made audible in them, like an invisible -gossamer thread revealed in dew: He teaches by destroying. The history -of Man is the history of the Master’s contempt for lies. The seer of -the Inward Truth sings its glory to a world of fools, who mistake -his symbols for the Truth itself and the seer for the Master of it, -building states and religions of the symbols; whereat the True Master -laughs, and the building tumbles, crushing men in its ruins. - -Ruins of lies fell upon England, crushing those that dwelt there as -they fell. England had reverenced forms and insulted realities. With -antiquarian fervour run riotously mad, we had thrust full-blooded, -growing realities into the shrunken and tattered livery of old -forms, stifling the life out of them; realities of Pure Ethic and -Awe of the Insoluble Secret into old liveries of Christian dogma; -realities of Anglo-Saxon gospel of universal Freedom into liveries -of insolent insular Imperialism; realities of Democracy into old -liveries of Feudalism, raising Tailors to high places due to sages and -centaurs--summoning Lords of the Shears and Thread to put patches over -the rents burst in the garments by the swelling life within, when we -should have torn the old fripperies away and let the Titan loose from -his bondage. - -England was rich in men and minds and money; but the different owners -of them stood face to face clutching their wealth, hissing defiance, -petrified with jealousy, while the worms crept in and devoured it, and -England starved. Good Government costs but little; but these men, rich -in hands and brains and the plunder of the centuries, wrangled who -should pay for Government, each preferring Anarchy to Government at his -own cost; and the foreigners coursed over the seas and took everything -but the bare land from us; the foreigners had no need to take that from -us for our ruin, for life is not the thing that stands still in its -place, but the thing that comes and goes, and while we boasted of our -fleet--as the paunchy brewer boasts of his cellar full of vats--and -while we boasted that no one dared to invade our country, the pride -and the boast turned bitter on our lips, and we found ourselves the -starving masters of a sun-sucked ash-heap. - -So came the great Famine, punishing the lies; men, women, and children -died in their thousands; the poor birds died also, and the dogs and the -horses--losing their long faith in the wisdom of imperial man. The -Titan’s livery hung loose about him; and the Lord High Tailors shook -their heads over their steak and onion, and said that the waist needed -taking in. - -Men had not died without a struggle; there had been riots and fighting -and theft; empty bellies had gone of their own accord through broken -windows to fill themselves with guinea loaves, and thence to the -crowded gaols to pick oakum into ropes to hang their leaders with; -women died patiently, like overloaded horses that fall on the climbing -hill, with a last look of the white bewildered eye entreating pardon of -their masters for having failed to drag the burden to the top. Children -died believing in their mothers; women died believing in some God or -Fate; men died believing in nothing but the Police. - - * * * * * - -At last the Famine abated; the ships of corn came hurrying in. Men are -men after all; and what is the function of the Colonies if not to -forgive the senile sins of England--to overlook the insults of the Old -Dotard’s vanity, and help him in his hour of need? - -For England is at once Titan and Dotard. Youth and old age, submissive -strength and tyrannous impotence--these are the two forces which make -the parallelogram of public life. The hard old father hobbles nobly -on his ebony cane in the sunshine of the castle terrace, unwilling -to shuffle off his gout and agues and be at peace, because he envies -possession to this rugged giant of an heir-in-tail, whom he keeps -carrying burdens, like Caliban, in the cattle yard. Happy the day when -we shall bear the old man at last, with ceremonious countenances, to -the expectant churchyard, and pack him solemnly away in his ancestral -vault. - -The habit of trusting in symbols instead of realities is not easily -put off. Those who have lived in darkness cannot face the sun of truth -at once; when the castle falls they run, not to the fields, but to the -stalls and sheds. When the vengeance of disaster comes upon a nation, -men fly instinctively from the owlish darkness of their ruined symbols -to the twilight of other symbols. - -Dreading above all things the multiple solitude which hastens every way -at once; craving before all things that sureness of direction in space -which makes the intensity both of hope and of prayer; fixing their -eyes on a personality as the distracted peasant fixes his eyes on an -image or an eikon, the crowd betake themselves, of a sudden unanimous -impulse, all in one way, shouting the name of a saviour or a scapegoat, -clearing confusion by the embodiment of vengeance and deliverance in -limited thinkable dimensions. They burn the witch, and clamour round -the prophet. - -But of forty million men, who can say which is the true prophet? - -In times of peace the mass of men live like fish in tanks, aware of -dim shades that come and go beyond, recking little of what is outside -their own tiny range of weed and gravel. To be great with the mass is -not to be a collection of definite great facts, but only a constantly -recurring vagueness. ‘I know his name,’ is the sum of ordinary -knowledge of great men. But with constant repetition the name of a man -or a cause takes on an awe-inspiring, trust-compelling quality, and the -fishes cry ecstatically: ‘Napoleon!’ ‘Buller!’ ‘Chamberlain!’ ‘Carter’s -Little Liver Pills!’ ‘Hurrah!’--and this makes fame. While the great -Poet is starving obscurely into immortality, the crowd without is -staring awestruck at the famous Laureate’s feather-nodding coach, as it -rolls him to oblivion in St. Paul’s. Why are all these people craning -and jostling in the roadway? Is it because they loved the Laureate’s -poems? Did he touch some chord in their hearts which the poor Poet’s -fingers were too delicate to handle? Not a bit! They know the one -man’s verses no better than the other’s; they stand lamenting for the -Laureate simply because they have so often heard his name. - -And now Dwala’s was such a name. His mind and character were still -unknown, even to journalists; but the wavering darkness of his name -had long been familiar to the fish in every tank. For months they had -read of him in papers and magazines: his wealth, his success, his -eccentricity, had been the talk of England. Then he had gone into -Parliament and figured large in the comic cartoons. Others, after -short notability, had lost favour by their speeches or their deeds; -Dwala had left his reputation to grow of itself, like a tree. They -felt his largeness. He was talked of everywhere as the capable man of -the Cabinet. A Minister, he was remarkable even among ordinary Members -as the man who never spoke. He was the ‘strong and silent man in a -babbling age.’ - -In the hour of despair the people clamoured, with as much reason as -they usually have for such clamouring: ‘Prince Dwala alone can save us! -Down with Glendover! Down with Whitstable! Down with Huggins! Dwala -for ever!’ The papers talked of a new era and a new man, who was to -‘cleanse the Augean stable’ and set Old England on its legs again. - -For the lobby and the drawing-room all this had to be translated into -a new language, full of such terms as ‘popular in the House’--‘the -support of the Church Party’--‘keep things going’--‘able to -entertain’--‘stop the mouth of the Irish Members.’ The division of -‘politics’ from national life which such phrases indicate does not -arise from any cynicism in the ruling classes, but from our system of -government itself. The evil begins in the polling booth, where men are -elected, not to sit for England, but to sit for a party or for local -wants. The interest of the nation is the only interest unrepresented in -the House of Commons. - -Deafened with the shouts of the people, afraid to venture to his -official home through the angry crowds that filled Whitehall, the -Premier tendered his resignation, and retired--poor scapegoat--to his -gardened grange, to finish his book on Problems of Pure Thought. - - - - -XXVIII - - -Disturnal came and went with an air of genial mystery. The cab that -carried him from Lady Wyse’s to Prince Dwala’s carried the fate of the -nation on its two wheels. He came to assure Dwala of the support of -the powerful Catholic Anglican party, of which he was business manager. - -‘Of course, I’m only a layman,’ he said, with his broad muscular -clean-shaven smile; ‘but you may take it the thing is done. The Bishop -of Windsor will have to come and see you, just as a matter of form. -He’s our President. He’s a dear old thing; you’ll like him. You’ll only -have to give him some lunch, and pat him on the back and send him home -again. I’ve settled it all with Lady Wyse.’ - -The Bishop came to lunch--really a ‘dear old thing’; a crumpled and -furrowed saint, with the wise brow of a Scotch terrier, fitted for -better things than to be managed by a scheming Jesuit like Disturnal. -Dwala respected him as a man; Huxtable as a Bishop; Hartopp as neither. -The mere title of Bishop was enough to provoke the fury of that pewed -ox. The old Fence broke in on the respectable conversation of the -lunch-table with ribald questions and sly allusions to Lady Wyse, and -parsons, and hopes of the Archbishopric--all of which amused him very -much, and only bewildered the good prelate, who had no notion what -he was driving at. Hartopp soon pushed his plate away, and sat with -his chin resting on the table and his pale blind eye-balls turned on -the Bishop, chuckling to himself, like the head of some decapitated -sorcerer in the ‘Arabian Nights’ making fun of a wicked Caliph. - -His conversational successes pleased him so much that he grew gay and -gallant when Dwala brought up Lady Wyse herself an hour later to his -rooms to introduce her. - -That crafty lady had prepared the way for friendship three weeks before -by sending him ‘The Doings of Thomasina,’ over which the world was -laughing--written by a lady of fashion, and absolutely true to life, -so Huxtable assured him. It had been the delight of many evenings when -Huxtable read it aloud to him and Dwala. - -‘If people went on like that in Seven Dials,’ he said, ‘there’d be -black eyes all round, and a lickin’ for the girl at the end of every -page.’ - -But he chuckled hugely, relishing it as a light upon the manners and -customs of the nobs. - -He had the first floor to himself now, eight rooms in a suite. He was -very strict in his sense of property, rushing out like an angry spider -from his lair if he heard sounds of intrusion. But this afternoon -he needed company as an outlet for the pride of his conversational -performance, and he hobbled forth on the landing with a grin when he -heard voices on the stairs. - -‘Ah, Lady Wyse, is it? We had some talk about you at lunch to-day, my -lady. “Lady Wyse is an old friend of mine,” says the Bishop. “Ha, ha,” -says I; “she’s a fine woman by all accounts.” And then I laughed, and -Huxtable up and asked the Bishop about the state of the Parsons’ Relief -Fund. “Parsons,” says I; “why I read the Bible right through once when -I was a boy, for a bet, and the word parson isn’t mentioned once in the -whole of the book. I suppose you hope to be Archbishop some day?” says -I. He pretended not to hear; but I wasn’t going to let him off. “Didn’t -Lady Wyse say anything about you bein’ made Archbishop?” I says. “Not -a word,” says he. “Didn’t she wink?” says I. “One doesn’t wink at -Bishops,” says Huxtable. “Ah,” says I; “you don’t know Lady Wyse”; and -I and the Bishop roared with laughter. The old man knows a thing or -two.’ - -Lady Wyse listened patiently, and charmed the Fence outright, without -exertion, by sitting down at the piano--_his_ piano, which nobody might -touch without his leave--and playing him ‘Simple Aveu’ and ‘The Song -which Reached my Heart.’ The proletariat, who abhor sentimentality in -real life, like nothing else in art. The sound of the music drew Joey, -a sad little creature now that she saw the possible limitations of the -pleasure of wearing new hats and steaming slowly in a motor-car round -the Park. Hearing her footstep four rooms off, while he was leaning, -full of noble emotion, over the plaintive piano, Hartopp rushed -thumping away, knocking over little tables as he went, and cursing to -himself. - -‘Who’s that?’ - -‘It’s only me, Toppin.’ - -‘What do you want?’ - -‘I come to hear the music.’ - -‘What do you mean by comin’ in without askin’? Have you cleaned -yourself up?’ - -‘Not partic’lar.’ - -‘Then clear out! I’ve got visitors. Wait till you’re sent for.’ - - - - -XXIX - - -They had tea in Hartopp’s room. Lord Glendover came in to inquire after -Dwala’s health, which had been visibly failing the last few days. - -‘We’ve cleared the last obstacle now,’ said Lady Wyse, marching up and -down the room. ‘To-morrow Dwala will step into the Premiership. Hooray -for the new Premier!’ - -She waved her cigarette triumphantly in the air. - -‘The Church Party practically held the balance, don’t you see? -Well, they were ready to follow Lord Whitstable, or Huggins, or -Strafford-Leslie, or Prince Dwala. Lord Glendover, of course, was out -of it. Well, Whitstable’s shelved: he’s incompetent, and he knows it.’ - -‘It’s very hard on him,’ said Lord Glendover. - -‘Still, he gets the Governorship of Australia,’ said Lady Wyse; ‘and -that’s fifteen thousand or so a year; not so bad after all. He’s -responsible for the loss of thousands of lives in Africa.’ - -‘Yes; but think of the poor beggar’s feelings!’ - -‘Huggins’s hopes were ruined by his case against the Red Sea Shipping -Company. It came out that his firm had been exporting arms to the Mad -Mullah.’ - -‘But quite innocently!’ said Lord Glendover. ‘He’s a business man; he -didn’t know it was against the law.’ - -‘So there was only the Prince and Strafford-Leslie left in the running. -Strafford-Leslie offered an Episcopal Council for Church Jurisdiction; -and we ... well, we really offered nothing.’ - -She laughed. - - - - -XXX - - -His appointment as Prime Minister was in the papers two days later, -with a throng of leading articles shouting Evoë! - -A spirit of busy gaiety ruled over the big house in Park Lane; such -a spirit of Bohemian ease as comes where private theatricals are -preparing. The policy of the Empire and the distribution of places -centred there. Everything bustled cheerfully; doors stood open; people -came and went; meals were snatched on corners of littered tables: -the servants were infected; footmen ran up and down the stairs like -school-boys; housemaids tittered at baize-doors, and forgot pails on -landings. - -And in the midst of it, still and listless, sat Dwala--the new Prime -Minister. Something strange had happened; he saw the world fading and -losing interest before his eyes. What was the thing he had looked -forward to so eagerly? A joke? What is a joke? In this new obscurity -his mind could not piece the thing together aright. Some sort of -surprise and ridicule? No matter. He was sorry for these pitiful actors -now; there was something so futile about all this busy scheming in a -world of shades. To show the unimportance of importance? Was that his -joke? Pooh! the joke itself was not important enough to amuse him now; -five minutes’ fun for a Hartopp; nothing more. - -Strange that the world should have altered so! He had noticed something -amiss with it that day he went to Windsor to receive his appointment -as Prime Minister; an unnatural clearness, like the clearness of a -landscape before a storm. - -As he stood on the platform at Paddington, looking at the crowd of -pleasure-seekers--men and women in boating-costumes--he had seen them, -not as creatures of flesh and clothes, but as translucent wraiths, -grinning and gibbering in one another’s faces; the only real live -being there, the Guard--Odysseus playing Charon in Hades--watchful, -responsible, long-glancing down the train, touching his hat, receiving -obols from the shades. - -Tears came into Lady Wyse’s heart as she sat and looked at him. She -guessed the truth, which he did not suspect; death was going to take -from her the companion-mind which had made her wilderness green again. -But that belief she put away from herself and him. - -In other things they thought together, these two minds: his, the -elemental, the slow, the encompassing; hers, the polished, the swift, -the penetrating; his, like the thunder rolling, huge and formless; -hers, like the music of the master’s fiddle, delicate, exact, -exhaustive. Both saw their old scheme for laughter vanish like a mirage -in the desert as the traveller approaches; and in its place, from the -heart of all things, welled up the new thought, the greater thought, -suited to the solemn grandeur of their friendship. - -Dwala was at a table, coughing feebly; opposite him Huxtable, busy -with ink and papers. Lady Wyse sat talking intermittently, absently, -listlessly, with Lord Glendover by the empty tea-cups. She rose, and -strayed over to Dwala’s table, where she stood awhile picking up papers -and throwing them down again. - -‘What this?... “The best hundred books.”’ - -‘That’s for the prospectus of Glenister’s new “Dwala Classics,”’ said -Huxtable. - -‘“The Bible, Shakespere, Confucius, Hi-ti-hi, Kipling, the Q’urân, The -Doings of Thomasina” ...’ - -She tore it up and threw it on the floor, paying no heed to Huxtable. -Then she picked up another paper and read it out aloud: “I am in favour -of inducing the Colonies to put heavy duties on all foreign goods. This -will promote a friendly feeling between England and her dependencies.” - -‘That’s rather neat,’ said Lord Glendover. - -‘Dull, I call it,’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘It’s out of the draft for the new pronouncement,’ said Huxtable. - -She took a pencil, and amended it. - -‘“I am in favour of inducing the Colonies to put heavy duties on one -another’s goods. This will promote a friendly feeling between England -and foreign countries.” That’s better, don’t you think, Lord Glendover?’ - -‘Yes, I think it is,’ said the noble Lord; ‘I like that touch about -“foreign countries.”’ - -Huxtable leaned forward as if about to speak; but sank back and cracked -his thumbs. She stood biting her pencil for a little time, and then -tore the pronouncement also in pieces, and threw it on the floor. She -walked up and down, and stopped in front of Lord Glendover, with -folded arms, and with tears standing in her eyes. - -‘It is a pitiful, pitiful thing,’ she said; ‘you are all so good, one -is obliged to believe in the Devil.’ - -‘That don’t hang together, you know,’ said Lord Glendover gravely. - -‘It is like some hideous game, where each child has to speak a harmless -word in turn, and the whole sentence is rank blasphemy and wickedness. -Each of you goes through a foolish, innocent routine, with a clear -conscience and the applause of the poor multitude; and the result is -misery, misery, misery. Not random misery, here and there, such as you -harmless creatures might chance on by the way, but a fearful consistent -scheme of deeply-calculated, universal misery--a thing of hellish -contrivance, worthy of the fiery genius of the sulphur pit. What am I, -and what is this poor Lord Glendover? Makers and unmakers of men? Pah! -We are pitiful pawns in the awful game, dreaming we move of our own -accord only because the other pawns do not jostle us. Why do we stay -cumbering the board? God knows! And yet without us there would be no -game. It lies with us, it lies with us to put an end to it.’ - -She spoke with lifted arm and ringing voice, like a prophet of -repentance; while Lord Glendover leaned back in his low chair, looking -up over his brown clasped hands with frightened eyes. There was -something comical in this big creature’s dependent, child-like look. -Lady Wyse smiled suddenly at him: - -‘We must kick over the board, my little man, and spoil the Devil’s -game.’ - -The scared look spread downwards to his mouth. He did not understand -any of the words she spoke; but a vague instinct of wisdom and alarm -shot through him, as through a baby hare, which thought it was play, -and suddenly finds death baying on every side. - -‘You don’t mean reconstruction, do you, Lady Wyse? Dwala’s not going -to....’ - -The awfulness was too sudden-spreading to be crumpled back into words. -She smiled again. - -‘Revolution, my child, revolution! We’ll make Old England stand on its -head and shout.’ - -‘Good Gad! But he’s bound to us in honour. Dwala’s a gentleman--we look -to him. We’d never have put him up if he hadn’t been pledged in honour. -He can’t go back on us now.’ - -‘He’s pledged to nothing, any more than I am; any more than a ship is -that you may charter to carry a cargo of slaves to Jamaica. And if the -ship is turned round in mid-Atlantic, and carried back to the coast of -Africa, what use is it your crying out: “You’re not a gentleman, you -ship! We trusted you, we chartered you to carry our blacks to slavery, -and here you are taking us back to be eaten by the cannibals.” I’m -sorry for you, Lord Glendover, quite sorry enough. You’re a good man, -and not more stupid than most. You might have been a decent farmer, or -bricklayer, or gamekeeper; but you’ve gone along the beaten track that -leads to villainy--unconscious, irreclaimable villainy. You don’t see -it, and you never will. Go home and be obscure. I’m sorry for you; but -I’m sorrier for the forty million blacks that we have on board, and -now we mean to carry them back to Africa.’ - -Lord Glendover went away, gloomy and bewildered, feeling great national -misfortunes gathering in the air. He visited his colleagues, and -considered how the country could be saved. - -But salvation was not to come from Lord Glendover. - - - - -XXXI - - -Parliament was dissolved, and the Great Policy was launched. The -obscurity had been suddenly lifted from Dwala’s mind: a hectic strength -and clearness took its place. He and Lady Wyse did not so much invent -the New Charter as discover it: it was the revelation of a thing -existent; as they sat pen in hand the words came to them from some far -place, illuminating and inevitable. - - - - -XXXII - - -A month had passed. The General Election was over. The great drought, -the heaviness, the dull unrest was ended. The Dragon of the myth, -the monster which slowly sucks up the waters, condemning the land to -infertility and pestilence, was slain, and the waters gushed forth -again to fruitfulness. The myriad warriors who had helped to pierce his -flanks went coursing over the plain, with a brandishing of spears and -cries of ‘Victory!’ St. George turned in his long sleep and opened his -heavy eyes. Well did he know those triumphing shouts. Was the race of -dragons ended now, or would a new dragon spring from the blood of the -old as heretofore? - - - - -XXXIII - - -Success is a strong wine. It was running vividly in Dwala’s veins. -Every least thing he did seemed to him fate-ordered and conclusive. Oh, -the pride of it, the joy of it, the ease of it! The acclamations and -the consciousness of right! - -The new Civilisation was like a poem, the scheme of which has come -whole and organic to the poet, and which germinates therefore without -constraint into its natural, necessary verses. The right men and the -right ideas fell of themselves into their places, like particles -forming a system of crystals. Dwala had found the basic idea, which -all this turbid mass had been so long awaiting. He created life and -received it. That same life flowed into his fibres, from the movement -of the multitude, which flows into the peasant-woman’s baby out of the -dust gathered on the busy highway. - -Lady Wyse, seeing the easy joyful motion of his limbs and hearing the -deep vigour of his voice, put her presentiments away. Dwala himself -looked back in wonder at that grey mood when the world had faded from -him. He was like the traveller who stands in the garish whirl of the -fair, wondering if this can be the place that looked so grim on Sunday. -He was enjoying the strong rush of life which a kindly Heaven sends to -the consumptive as consolation for their early death. - -He had new friends about him now. The Glendovers, the Disturnals, and -the rest of that crew had vanished into the Unknown; they were growing -turnips, shooting partridges, or riding on motor-ears somewhere in the -Outer Darkness. Hartopp and Prosser were still there; Joey had run -away to Seven Dials; Huxtable had packed his boxes, and stayed on in a -condition of provisional irresolution. - -On Dwala’s third floor lived an ascetic pensioner--a certain Mr. Bone, -an American, a traveller in the East, a friend of Lady Wyse--connected -by some mystery of familiarity with Dwala’s past. Rumour had it that he -was an adventurer who had been Dwala’s Prime Minister in his days of -sovereignty. - -Dwala’s palace, in fact, was fast turning into a monastery, where the -Abbot, with his little cell by the hall-door, was the least luxuriously -housed of all. - -Prosser, as I said, was still there, but he was no longer there as -valet. The acceptance of such personal service was inconsistent -with the Prince’s New Humanity, and Prosser was quite incapable of -performing his duties properly. For some time he had contented himself -with a life of ease in his own room. But _his_ politics also had -changed: he did not see why he should be worse off than Hartopp, and, -by force of gradual asking, acquired the whole of the second floor, -over Hartopp, for his portion. He had everything he could think of -wanting in his rooms; but even that did not content him. He had thought -that wealth was all he needed to make him happy in his sober intervals; -but soon found out that he was mistaken. His career had given him a -longing for _other_ people’s property; things lost their interest for -him once they became his own. He craved for the excitements of the -past. Scissors, and ashtrays, and other glittering things got a way -of disappearing wherever he went about the house. One night Dwala was -aroused by the screaming of a police whistle from one of Hartopp’s -windows over him, and going up he found the Fence sitting on Prosser’s -chest in the window-seat, and blowing for all he was worth. A broken -cupboard and a trailing jemmy explained the situation. - -‘All right, guvnor, I’ll go quietly,’ said Prosser, in a squeezed -husky voice; ‘I’m nabbed right enough this time.’ All the household -crowded in at the doorway with scared faces; policemen appeared, -and the alarm ended with the lights being turned up and everybody -sitting down together, policemen and all, to a scratch supper in the -dining-room, and laughing uproariously, as if something very funny had -occurred. - -The best of Prosser was that he never made any unpleasantness about -being arrested. He would surrender at discretion to the housemaid or -the boot boy, and offer to ‘go quietly.’ The policemen outside entered -into the joke of it, and were ready on the doorstep to come in for -their supper and half-crown whenever the episcopal butler ran out of -a night--as he always did--to fetch them. The American was the only -one who missed the fun of the thing; he swore that if he found anyone -prowling about his rooms he would punch his head and hand him over, bag -and baggage, to the police. - -Dwala himself was already tired of the joke, when the butler--rather -dishevelled--came in to the picture-gallery where he was pacing up -and down, one afternoon, with a sheaf of spoons in one hand and the -crestfallen Prosser in the other. - -‘Why don’t you steal something big and have done with it?’ Dwala said, -when he and the ex-valet were left alone. ‘One of these pictures, for -instance; they’re very valuable some of them, I know. Now here’s a -tremendously fine thing, I’m told. Who’s it by? The name’s written on -the frame.’ - -‘Rubens, sir.’ - -‘Now you take that, Prosser, some night. I don’t want it a bit, I -assure you. It’s worth something like fifteen thousand pounds, I’m -told.’ - -Prosser returned it after a couple of days. - -‘I can’t sleep with it in the room, I can’t, sir. When I shuts my eyes -I seems to see all them ladies rollin’ up and down and every way till -I’m fairly giddy. But I promise you, sir, I won’t go in no more for -little thievin’s, I’ll keep my eyes open for something big.’ - - - - -XXXIV - - -Sir Peter Parchmin was a rare visitor. He disliked the company which -Dwala kept; he couldn’t get on with Mr. Cato, who was always in and -out of the house. He was growing visibly older in the effort of keeping -his countenance, while his colleagues gloated over despatches of the -Missing Link Expedition, which kept writing hopefully from Borneo that -it was on the eve of achieving its object; Mr. Holmes had seen curious -scratches on trees, or had heard peculiar noises at night; once they -sent home a button which he had discovered in the forest. The hopes of -the scientific world ran high. - -‘You must get those people to come home, Sir Peter,’ said Dwala to the -Biologist, on one of his visits. ‘He’s a terrible fellow is that Mr. -Holmes; I shouldn’t feel safe in going back while he’s out there. He’d -have me, tail and all, in no time.’ - -‘But good heavens, dear Prince, you’re not thinking of leaving us?’ -said the Biologist. Joyful relief soared upwards from his heart; he had -barely time to clap a distressful expression over it to keep it from -escaping. - -‘Yes,’ said Dwala, ‘I’m going home. I have my own life to live, you -know. I’ve been a slave over here, working for the good of Man. My -work is done; I have delivered my message; and now I’m going back to -my wild life in the forest while I’m still young and strong. I mean to -... to throw all this off’--he flapped his coat like a bird--‘and enjoy -myself.’ - -‘I trust you will be very _very_ happy,’ said the Biologist, shaking -him warmly by the hand. ‘How are you going to manage about the money?’ -he asked in a lower voice. - -‘They’re arranging it in there,’ said Dwala, in the same precautious -tones, pointing to a door, behind which voices could be heard. - -The door opened at that moment and admitted an elderly obsequious man -in black, with a big parchment folded under his arm; and behind him -came Baron Blumenstrauss, Lady Wyse, Mr. Cato, and a lean brown man -with a tuft on his chin, whom Sir Peter had seen there once before. -This man smiled at Sir Peter drily. The obsequious man said good-bye, -and shook hands with the Prince. - -‘It’s all right, your Royal Highness; signed, sealed, delivered, and -stamped.’ - -‘Quite sound in law, is it?’ said the Prince. - -‘Inter fifos,’ nodded the Baron; ‘sount as a pell.’ - -The obsequious gentleman hurried out. - -‘Fonny man!’ said the Baron, patting the Prince on the shoulder, and -smiling at Sir Peter; ‘he gif his broperty all away, effery penny.’ - -‘It’s generous, dear Prince,’ said the Biologist, ‘but is it wise? Even -out there, no doubt, one has expenses.’ - -‘Oh! I sha’n’t want any money,’ said the Prince. - -‘They have no pockets, you know,’ said Lady Wyse. - -Whereupon the Baron, who was not initiated, adjusted his glasses and -looked at her with great attention. - -‘Remember King Lear,’ said the Biologist. ‘He divided his property in -two’.... - -‘Seely fellow!’ said the Baron. - -‘And his daughters were both ungrateful.’ - -‘Natürlich!’ said the Baron. ‘He trowed away de chief ting he haf; he -gif de broperty widout de power. If I difide my corner in Brazilians -into two corners for de boys, do you tink Max and Choel loff me very -moch?’ - -‘You would find some Cordelia, I am sure, dear Baron.’ - -‘Nod widout monny,’ said the Baron. - -‘There’s no Cordelia in this case,’ said Lady Wyse; ‘I’m Goneril and -the other lady all in one.’ - -‘Really?’ The Biologist was all smiles and proffered hands. ‘I -congratulate you. The Prince couldn’t have disposed of his fortune -better, I’m sure.’ - -‘Ah! that depends how people treat us.’ - -‘Dere is gondition,’ said the Baron, looking at his watch. - -‘May one inquire, dear Prince, what the condition is?’ - -‘Oh! it’s a mere nothing.’ - -‘Lady Wyse publish his “Memoirs,”’ said the Baron. - -The Biologist turned pale. - -‘That reminds me,’ said the American; ‘I mustn’t leave those papers -litterin’ about. I forgot to lock them up.’ - -‘Goot-bye,’ said the Baron. ‘I haf beesness encagement.’ He followed -the American out at the door. - -‘Of course!’ said the Biologist, brightening. ‘“Memoirs of a -Statesman”--anecdotes of the great people you have met. Who is the -American-looking man?’ - -‘Oh! that’s Mr. Bone, one of my collaborators. Mr. Cato and Lady Wyse -are the others; between us, you see, we cover the whole ground. I met -Mr. Bone in Borneo. In fact, he was ... he was my proprietor. I’m going -to leave the history of my life as a legacy and a lesson to the English -Nation.’ - -‘You’ll have to go over to Borneo with the Prince, Sir Peter,’ said -Lady Wyse: ‘you’ll be much more comfortable up one of his trees than -you will be in England.’ - -The question had been debated many and many a time between them. Mr. -Cato, as always, was for candour; he felt that Dwala was in a false -position; he thought the secret should be published at once, and -guaranteed the enthusiastic interest of the nation. Mr. Bone, for -other reasons, agreed with him as to immediate publication; he thought -there was money in it. Lady Wyse was all for caution; she lacked the -business instinct of the American, and the optimism of Mr. Cato; she -doubted the enthusiasm of the public; she thought it was running into -unnecessary danger to publish the secret before the Prince was out of -the country. It had therefore been agreed that she should publish it as -soon as he was safe in the great forest again. She was ready to incur -any danger herself; she was tired of life; and she did not in the least -mind what happened to the Biologist. - -The Biologist saw ruin impending. Savage, reckless hatred welled in -his breast as he looked at this great creature, fatally sick, but -rejoicing in a present intensity of life and vigour. He groped about -for something sharp and venomous to pierce him with; to make him fall -beside him into the valley of despair. He walked up to Dwala, hissing -like a serpent in his face. - -‘You have come to Man as an apostle, bringing us a new message of -Civilisation.’ - -Dwala nodded, rather proudly. - -‘Do you know what Man has given to you in return? What Man always gives -to such animals? What any scientist could have told you you were -bound to get in coming?... Consumption.... Phthisis pulmonalis.... -Death!... Going back while you’re young and strong to your wild life in -the forest! Pish! You won’t live the month out. I knew it that night. -You’re a dying beast.’ - -Alas! why had Lady Wyse never told him? He had never thought of that. -Life hummed and bubbled through his veins. He knew nothing of sickness -and death. He had always been alive. The world had been faint at times; -but that was the world, not he. A stiffening horror ran through him; -he felt his skin moving against his clothes. Then his mind ran rapidly -through all the series of events--the growth to the full knowledge of -Man, the labouring hope of a joke, the change, the revelation, the -submission to an overwhelming truth, the rejoicing millions.... Then -suddenly this discovery of an unsuspected vengeance-for-benefit which -had been stealing slowly and surely from the first in his steps, to -spring at last on his back in the moment of fruition. - -It was too funny; the surprise of the inevitable overcame him; it was -a Joke which suddenly leaped up embracing the whole life of a created -being, and the destiny of a nation--of humanity itself. - -Dwala laughed. For the last time he laughed. A laugh to which his -others were childish crowings; a laugh which flung horror on to the -walls and into the darkened air, and spread a sudden dismay of things -worse than death throughout the land. Men stopped in their work and in -their talk and their lips grew pale without a cause; some goodness had -gone out of Providence; some terror had been added to Fate. From the -fire of that dismay the Biologist emerged a withered and broken man; -Mr. Cato never flinched, his sheer goodness protected him; Lady Wyse -broke into tears. She, too, was unscathed. No human canon of ethics has -been invented by which she could be called good; she was a breaker of -laws, an enemy of her kind. But in the place of ‘goodness’ she had a -greatness which set her above the need of it. - -When the paroxysm of laughter was ended, Dwala staggered and sank into -a chair, and they saw him hanging from it with the blood streaming out -of his mouth. - -At once they were in the world of definite, manageable facts again. -The Biologist became the attentive practitioner, Lady Wyse the -understanding woman, Mr. Cato the bewildered layman, busily doing -unnecessary things, ringing the bell, calling for brandy, hurrying out -into the hall to see why they were so long. Huxtable and the American -came running down the stairs, and Dwala was carried to his room and put -to bed. - - - - -XXXV - - -While all the household radiated about Dwala’s sick-bed, and there -was no attention for any other thing, the Biologist ran swiftly up -the stairs, guided by a superhuman instinct of despair, straight to -the American’s room. He was going to seize the ‘Memoirs’ and burn -them. Dwala was dying; no new authentic copy could be produced again. -In the doorway he saw that his instincts had guided him aright. -American things greeted his eyes--an American hat on the chest of -drawers, American corn-cob pipes on the mantelpiece. But what was this? -Something alive in the room! A man crouching behind the table with a -bundle of papers. It was Prosser ‘doing something big’ at last. Too -much astonished to move for a moment, Sir Peter stood staring stupidly -at the frightened, cowering figure behind the table. - -‘Hello: what are you doin’ here?’ said a voice in the doorway. Then the -American espied the broken desk, and a moment later the Biologist found -himself clutched by the collar, trying helplessly to protect his head -from a flailing fist, while Prosser’s shadow shot low and horizontal -through the doorway. - -‘The Memoirs! the Memoirs!’ yelled the Biologist. ‘The d----d thief’s -stolen the Memoirs! Let me go! Let me go! It’s Prosser, not me! Oh, for -God’s sake, don’t hit me again!’ - -At the mention of Prosser the American stayed his hand, fumbled Sir -Peter’s pockets, then snatched him by the collar, and ran down the -stairs, dragging him after him like a live thing in a sack. But they -were too slow for Prosser. As they came out into Park Lane shouting -‘Stop thief! stop thief!’ there was the fat policeman saluting and -grinning delightedly. - -‘He’s got clean away this time, sir.’ - -‘Heavens alive! Why didn’t you stop him?’ - -‘I knows my place, sir’--with a wink. ‘It’s only Mr. Prosser.’ - -‘Blow your whistle, man! Blow your whistle! He’s stolen State Papers.’ - -The policeman walked very slowly forward to the edge of the pavement -and looked up and down the road, then turned about, smiling rather -nervously. - -‘Do you reely mean it, sir?’ - -‘Good Lord!’ said the American, and started off running madly without -another word into Oxford Street; while the Biologist careered, wild -and hatless, up Grosvenor Street, yelling desperately ‘Prosser, _dear_ -Prosser!’ to the scandal of Mayfair. - - - - -XXXVI - - -Among the many unnecessary things which Mr. Cato did in the -bewilderment of Dwala’s sudden illness, the most unnecessary was to -telegraph news of it to his sister, Lady Lillico. - -‘Dwala ill lung hemorrhage doctors offer little hope recovery Wyndham.’ - -They were in the drawing-room when the telegram came, just preparing to -go and dress for dinner. - -‘How too perfectly frightful!’ cried Lady Lillico. ‘The Premier dying! -I must go at once.’ - -‘Good Lord, Louisa, what for?’ said her husband. - -‘Don’t be so cynical, John. If Wyndham has telegraphed for me?’ - -‘Are you going to nurse the Prince?’ - -‘Of course I am. Pray keep your insinuations for some more fitting -time. What brutes men are! I believe you feel _nothing_ even now!’ At -which she began to cry. - -‘What about yer dinner?’ - -‘As if I could dine! Tell Hopkins to make up a little basket of -something to eat on the way. One mustn’t give any extra trouble. Oh -dear, oh dear; and my maid’s out! I shall have to take Emily. You must -send Harper on _at once_ when she comes in.’ - -However, no feats of heroism were demanded of Lady Lillico. She found -Mr. Cato and Huxtable waiting for her with a comfortable meal--Lady -Wyse stayed with Dwala--for though the servants’ hall was all agog -with the events of the afternoon, and the butler darkly prognosticated -‘the worst,’ things above stairs were in their usual train. And when -she presented herself an hour later, almost gay with fine emotion, in -a ‘business-like costume,’ cap and pinafore complete, in the darkened -sick-room, Lady Wyse, who hurried to the door to check her entry--her -violet eyes grown nearly black, and looking ‘very wicked,’ as Lady -Lillico said afterwards--told her baldly that she would not be wanted -till the morning. - - - - -XXXVII - - -When the sun cast his cold inquiring eye on England in the morning, -and the innocent fields awoke in their grey shifts of dew, the trains -that shot North, West, and South from London over the landscape, like -worldly thoughts in a house of prayer, bore the tidings of Dwala’s -disgrace. Trainloads of newspapers, the white wax sweated forth by -the grimy bees in the sleepless hives of the big city, rattled past -answering loads of milk and meat, gifts of the country, making the -daily exchange. Squires and parsons were too shocked to eat their -breakfast; their wives raced against the doctor to carry the news from -house to house; the schoolmasters told the children; the children -carried the tidings with the handkerchief of dinner to their fathers -under the trees in the field. There was no room for hesitation; verdict -and judgment were pronounced already. The country had been made the -victim of a hideous hoax. Dwala and all his works must perish. - -And yet, when the Biologist blurted his hint of a tail, a roomful of -people turned and rent him! It is the way of the world; it is part of -good manners. A partial revelation, a timid hint, an indiscretion, is -smothered ignominiously; when the whole blatant truth brays out, men -welcome it with ferocious joy. So, in the ancient days, tactless young -angels in Heaven were sent to Coventry who alluded to Lucifer’s tail, -or noticed anything odd about his feet; but when his tumbling-day came -at last, the Seraphim were in the very front of the crowd which stood -pelting meteors and yelling _Caudate! ungulate!_ down from the clouds. - -Men shut up their shops in London and gathered about taverns and -corner-posts to unravel the sense of the bewildering news. Public -Opinion, deserting the grass of the Parks, slouched into the streets to -learn what it must do. - -When Joey ran down into the street to fetch the morning milk, the -news stared out at her from the boards in pink and black: ‘Dwala, the -Missing Link!’ - -‘Golly!’ said her pals; ‘what’s your bloke been up to now?’ - -Joey was a heroine every day--the greatness of her acquaintance had -a savour in Seven Dials which it had lacked in Park Lane; but this -morning she soared altogether out of sight. What were milk-jugs and -breakfast to such a thing as this? The milk penny went in a couple of -newspapers, and she darted off with them across country for Dwala’s -house. Who knew but she might be the first to bring him the great news? - -Everybody was in the streets, as happens when public events are -astir; and every street sent forth a thin stream that trickled in the -same direction, till it formed a full river in Park Lane. A posse of -policemen guarded the spiked gates. - -‘Move on! Move on!’ said the official voice. - -‘None of your nonsense, constable; I’m a friend of the Missin’ Link.’ - -‘What! Miss Joey!’ beamed a familiar face from under a helmet. ‘Let her -in, Bill; _she_ won’t ’urt ’im.’ - -The steps were littered with telegrams that lay like autumn leaves -unswept; and an anxious footman, muttering to himself, was strapping a -bag in the entry. - -‘Is the Missin’ Link at home, young man?’ - -‘The brutes! To leave me behind, all alone!’ - -It was the last of the servants, deserted like an unwilling Casa -Bianca in the general flight, while packing his things in his cubicle. -A moment later he had gone too, without even looking at her, and she -stood alone in the empty, echoing hall. She could hear Hartopp cursing -and thumping with his wooden leg on the floor above. Then a pistol-shot -rang out somewhere in the house, and she was frightened. While she -stood hesitating which way to run a door swung to, and Lady Wyse walked -across the hall, with a basin steaming in her hands. She went in at -another door, and Joey followed her, clutching her newspapers. - -Dwala sat up in bed, propped against pillows, with ghastly, hollow -eyes; and on the chair beside him was Mr. Cato, pale and dishevelled, -fast asleep. A cold wave of disappointment surged over Joey. Was this -what Missing Links looked like? But he smiled at her, and the old -feeling of fellowship came back. - -‘Have you heard the news?’ said Joey. - -Dwala nodded. ‘What do they say?’ - -Joey read him column on column of frantic outcry, at all of which he -smiled gently. - -‘This is our joke,’ he said, at last, to Lady Wyse. - -‘It’s not our best.’ - -Then there came a tap at the door, and a gentle voice saying: - -‘May I come in?’ - -Lady Lillico had been awoken by a dream with the sound of a shot in -it. Nine o’clock! Why, where was Harper? She rang, and rang in vain. -Then she looked out of window, and smiled and nodded at the crowd. How -sweet of them to be so anxious about the poor dear Prince! And still no -Harper. Never mind! One must expect to rough it in a house of sickness. -She knotted her hair and slipped on her dressing-gown; a first visit in -_déshabillé_ lends a motherly grace to a nurse’s part. - -She tripped lightly down the silent stairs to Dwala’s room. - -‘May I come in?’ - -She tip-toed up to the bed with a ceremonious face. Mr. Cato frowned; -Lady Wyse looked at her with cold curiosity. - -‘Have you heard the news?’ said Joey, rustling a newspaper. - -‘Evidently not,’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘It’s all come out,’ said Mr. Cato, sepulchrally. - -‘What’s come out?’ said his sister, scared. ‘I’ve heard nothing.’ - -Joey thrust the paper at her with an indicating finger. - -She stared for a long time at the words without understanding; then -fell into a chair and laughed hysterically. - -‘What do you think of it now they’ve caught it?’ whispered Dwala, -turning white eyes towards her. - -‘Well, really, you ridiculous creature!’ she exclaimed, flapping at him -with a little lace handkerchief, half coquettishly, half as if keeping -something off. ‘It’s so out of the common.... The Prime Minister!... -One doesn’t know _what_ to say!’ - -‘He’s dying,’ said Mr. Cato. - -‘Wyndham! How can you!’ - -‘Lady Wyse must go and get some sleep now; you will take her place.’ - -‘Don’t be idiotic! I should be no use. Oh dear, oh dear! Where _can_ -Harper be?’ - -‘Sit down, Louisa!’ said Mr. Cato sternly, barring her way. ‘Lady Wyse -has been up all night.’ - -‘Don’t be so cruel.... Let me go! let me go!’ she screamed in an access -of sudden fear, wrenched herself free from him, and ran towards the -door. - -Then abruptly her horror leaped up and overwhelmed her; the instinct -of flying from the incomprehensible--the instinct of the horse which -shies at a piece of moving paper--was swallowed up in the nightmare -of realising that the impossible had happened, was in this very room -with her. This man she had come to nurse, this man with whom she had -talked and shaken hands, was suddenly not a man, but something unknown -and monstrous, of another world. Her faculties failed, as at sight of -a ghost, not in fear of injury, but in the mere awfulness of the alien -power. She staggered out at the door crying ‘Save me! save me!’ threw -her hands forward in her first natural gesture since childhood, and -fell swooning in the hall. When she came back to consciousness, after -long journeying in nightmare worlds, she heard angry voices speaking -near her. - -‘Let me out, d---- you!’ said Hartopp--that dreadful Mr. -Hartopp--‘they’re throwing stones at my windows, I tell you. They’ll -smash my china! Let me get at the brutes!’ - -‘This door ain’t goin’ to be opened till the Prince is re-moved.’ - -It was the American who answered him. He stood with his hat on, leaning -against the barred and bolted hall-door, his arms folded and a pistol -drooping from either hand. - -‘D---- the ----!’ said Hartopp. ‘Why don’t you chuck him out and have -done with it? It’s all his fault.’ - -‘Thank God you’re back!’ said Lady Wyse’s voice right over Lady -Lillico’s head. ‘Have you arranged it?’ - -‘The Boss is agreeable,’ said the American. ‘The “Phineas” will be -at Blackwall at twelve o’clock, steam up. One of his vans is waitin’ -down back in Butlin Street now, and we must shift the Prince at once, -before any onpleasantness begins. There was no other way; the Prince -will hev to go as an anamal.’ - -A stone came jingling through the window beside them, and others -followed in showers. - -‘B---- brutes!’ said the blind man. - -‘Where’s Huxtable?’ said Lady Wyse. - -‘Huxtable’s gone.’ - -‘Skunk!’ said Joey. - -‘Not quite a skunk,’ said the American; ‘“skunk” is goin’ too fur.’ - -There was a roar and a rush outside, battle cries, shrieks of -despairing whistles, and a moment later a heavy battering at the -mahogany of the front door. - -Lady Lillico, fully conscious at last, jumped up with piercing yells. -She ran this way and that, bewildered. - -‘We must get the Prince away quickly,’ said Lady Wyse, going towards -his room. - -‘Oh, let me out, let me out somewhere!’ cried Lady Lillico. Joey ran -past with her tongue thrust mockingly forth, like a heraldic lion -gardant. - -‘Here, give me your pistols,’ said the blind man; ‘I’ll give the brutes -what for!’ - -Slowly and heavily they carried Dwala out across the hall, wrapped in -his blankets like a gigantic mummy; while Hartopp stood in an expectant -joy of ferocity guarding the entrance. Down the kitchen passage they -carried him, and out into the high-walled garden--with Lady Lillico -flitting like a Banshee before them--through the stable-yard, and -into the deserted street, where the van was waiting for them. Public -Opinion, so rigorous once in its denunciation of ‘frontal attacks,’ -seemed to have forgotten the ‘lessons of the Boer War.’ When the big -door was battered down, and the furious crowd broke in, half a dozen -of them fell mortally wounded before Hartopp was overpowered. The old -Fence died, fighting like a tiger for his property. - - * * * * * - -What was Dwala thinking of as he lumbered slowly through the length of -London in that menagerie van? Was he laughing quietly to himself at -the thought that he, the saviour of England, the superhuman mind, was -being hustled secretly out of England, for a trivial pride of species, -as if he had committed some unspeakable crime? Was he weeping at the -nearness of his separation from this handful of faithful friends? -Probably not. His mind, withdrawn to the innermost darkness of the -caves, was probably busy with the trivial thoughts which beset men at -such times. It is only in the last moment that the soul throws off the -load of little things, and, soaring like a bird, sees Life and Death -spreading in their vastness beneath it. He lay still, with his eyes -shut, and his temples hollow with decay. Lady Lillico was fast asleep, -under a black cloak which somebody had thrown over her. The rest sat -silent in the jolting twilight with their feet in the straw. - -‘It’s a lesson for all of us,’ murmured Mr. Cato at last. - -‘It’s that,’ said the American; ‘it p’ints a moral sharp enough to -hurt.’ - - * * * * * - -As Mr. Cato stood with Joey on the jetty, watching the last moments -of departure, the American came to the bulwarks with Lady Wyse, and, -leaning over, beckoned him. - -‘“Skunk” was goin’ too fur for Huxtable. I’ve just bin tellin’ Lady -Wyse; he shot himself whin the noos came. I found him lyin’ in his -room.’ - -‘Was he dead?’ murmured Mr. Cato, awestruck at the fall of an enemy. - -The American nodded. - -‘Deader’n a smelt.’ - -‘I wish I were dead too!’ said Mr. Cato bitterly. - -The American made a motion of diving with his joined hands. Mr. Cato -shook his head. - -‘I have my two sisters to look after.’ - -‘I wish you joy.’ - -Then the cables were loosed, the screw snorted in the water, the -American waved, and followed Lady Wyse into the cabin; the boat slid -away from the jetty, and, slowly turning in mid-stream, reared its -defiant head towards the sea. - - * * * * * - -After many days of alert and passive silence, Dwala died on his pallet -on the deck. He turned his face sideways down into the pillow, as if -to hide the smile that was rising to his lips; then breathed one deep, -luxurious sigh, and was ended. They wrapped him in sacking, with an -iron reel at his feet; and in the cold, clear morning, when the sun -mounted flat and yellow to its daily course and the low mists smoked -this way and that along the waves, they slid him without a word off a -door and over the bulwarks. - -Down, down through the crystal indifference, wavering gently to his -appointed place in the rocky bottom of the rapt thicket of weeds; -losing the last remnant of individuality as the motion ceased; -indistinguishable from a little heap of sand; lying careless and -obscure, like some tired animal which has crept to rest in the wild -garden of a crumbled castle in an empty world, long since abandoned and -forgotten by mankind. - -The ‘Phineas’ paused for a moment in mid-ocean, the only living thing -of its tribe upon the waters without a purpose straining in its hull. -The hesitation lasted only a moment. The boat swung round, took one -look at the horizon, then dashed forwards again on the home journey to -England and new work. - -England had gone back to its occupations. The papers spoke of the -return of political sanity; of the rejection of ideas from a tainted -source; of the restoration of the system which had been the bulwark -of our greatness through so many centuries. The composition of Lord -Glendover’s Cabinet attested his sincere intention of putting public -affairs on a business-like and efficient footing. - -There is no remedy for the errors of Democracy; there is no elasticity -of energy to fulfil purposes conceived on a larger scale than its -every-day thought. Other systems may be purged by the rising waves of -national life; but Democracy is exhaustive. - - PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE - LONDON - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - -THIRD IMPRESSION. With 16 Illustrations by the Author. - -Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ - -DOWNY V. GREEN, - -RHODES SCHOLAR AT OXFORD. - -PRESS OPINIONS. - - -_TIMES._--‘We never remember to have read anything which more compelled -laughter than these too-few pages. We have a perfect carnival of -American slang.... The line illustrations, which are by the author, are -in some cases admirable; we may say comparable with Mr. Kipling’s.’ - -_DAILY TELEGRAPH._--‘It is one of the best bits of fooling we have read -for a long time, and is written by one who knows Oxford perfectly, and -has a command of American slang which Mark Twain himself might envy.... -This little book, which is cleverly illustrated by the author, deserves -as wide a vogue as its predecessor “Verdant.” Its humour is quite as -irresistible and more subtle.’ - -_PALL MALL GAZETTE._--‘A delightful skit.... We do not think anyone -has hit off better than Mr. Calderon the extraordinary cocksureness, -volubility, and linguistic exuberance of the typical American, yet he -never allows his humour to get out of hand. The Oxford characters are -marked with the same sureness of touch.’ - -_GUARDIAN._--‘If one must compare Downy with Verdant, the descendant’s -experiences are the better for being written by an Oxford man, while -Verdant’s were not. The satire is as admirable as the farce; but, on -the whole, Downy as Verdant makes one rather laugh aloud than smile.’ - -_WORLD._--‘The fun is kept up with an unflagging spirit and ingenuity -that render the skit--which the author has embellished with some -diverting illustrations from his own evidently facile pencil--a by no -means unworthy comparison to “Verdant Green” itself.’ - -_OXFORD MAGAZINE._--‘Mr. Downy V. Green is an American grandson of the -immortal Verdant, and it is not too much to say that he is fully worthy -of his lineage. From the moment one embarks upon his adventures it -is difficult to lay them down. Mr. Calderon has a biting humour, and -spares neither Oxford nor America.’ - -_MANCHESTER GUARDIAN._--‘A really capital narrative, in which an -accurate knowledge of Oxford life is combined with a marvellously wide -knowledge of the American language.... Nothing is more admirable than -the fertility which enables him to avoid employing English without -making his substitute for it grow tedious.’ - -_SPECTATOR._--‘Our readers may take our assurance that the book is -amusing in a high degree.’ - -_ATHENÆUM._--‘Mr. Calderon has an amazing command of picturesque -slang and metaphor from overseas, and, as befits the son of a late -distinguished artist, has himself provided excellent illustrations of -his ideas.’ - -_DAILY MAIL._--‘Most excellent fooling.... His sketches possess a -crude, rude vigour that remind the faithful of the immortal pencil of -Michael Angelo Titmarsh. He has it in him to become a humorist of the -first order.’ - -_VARSITY._--‘The whole book is full of rollicking humour from cover to -cover.’ - -_GLASGOW HERALD._--‘The book is capitally written, and evidently from -a first-hand knowledge of student life. It is full of humour--American -humour and Oxford humour--and is altogether an excellent book of its -kind.’ - - - - -ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS - -OF - -POPULAR WORKS. - -Handsomely bound in cloth gilt, each volume containing Four -Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each. - - =THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON.= By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. - =FRAMLEY PARSONAGE.= By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. - =THE CLAVERINGS.= By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. - =TRANSFORMATION=: a Romance. By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. - =DOMESTIC STORIES.= By the Author of ‘John Halifax, Gentleman.’ - =THE MOORS AND THE FENS.= By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL. - =WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.= By Mrs. OLIPHANT. - =CARITÀ.= By Mrs. OLIPHANT. - =FOR PERCIVAL.= By MARGARET VELEY. - =NO NEW THING.= By W. E. NORRIS. - =LOVE THE DEBT.= By RICHARD ASHE KING (‘Basil’). - =WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - =NORTH AND SOUTH.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - =SYLVIA’S LOVERS.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - =CRANFORD, and other Stories.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - =MARY BARTON, and other Stories.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - =RUTH; THE GREY WOMAN, and other Stories.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - =LIZZIE LEIGH; A DARK NIGHT’S WORK, and other Stories.= By Mrs. GASKELL. - - - - -THE CHEAPER ILLUSTRATED EDITION - -OF THE - -WORKS OF W. M. THACKERAY. - - 26 Volumes, crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each. Sets in cloth, £4. 11s. - -Containing nearly all the small Woodcut Illustrations of the former -Editions, and many new Illustrations by eminent Artists. This Edition -contains altogether 1,773 Illustrations. - -[Illustration: _Specimen Illustration from the Cheaper Illustrated -Edition of W. M. Thackeray’s Works._] - -OTHER EDITIONS OF MR. THACKERAY’S WORKS. - - =THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION.= In 13 volumes, large crown 8vo. cloth - gilt top, 6_s._ each. Prospectus upon application. - - =THE STANDARD EDITION.= 26 vols. large 8vo. 10_s._ 6_d._ each. - - ∵ _Only some of the Volumes are in print. Particulars upon application._ - - =THE LIBRARY EDITION.= 24 vols. large crown 8vo. handsomely bound - in cloth, £9. With Illustrations by the Author, Richard Doyle, and - Frederick Walker. - - ∵ _The Volumes are sold separately, in cloth, 7s. 6d. each._ - - =THE POPULAR EDITION.= 13 vols. crown 8vo. with Frontispiece to each - Volume, 5_s._ each. - - ∵ _Only some of the Volumes are in print. Particulars upon application._ - - =THE POCKET EDITION.= 27 vols. in cloth, with gilt top, 1_s._ 6_d._ - each; or in paper cover, 1_s._ each. - - _The Volumes are also supplied as follows_:-- - - =THE NOVELS.= 13 vols. in gold-lettered cloth case, 21_s._ - - =THE MISCELLANIES.= 14 vols. in gold-lettered cloth case, 21_s._ - - - - -WORKS BY F. ANSTEY. - - - =THE BRASS BOTTLE.= By F. ANSTEY, Author of ‘Vice Versâ,’ ‘The - Giant’s Robe,’ ‘A Fallen Idol,’ &c. With a Frontispiece. THIRD - IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo. 6_s._ - -=From THE SPECTATOR.=--‘In his logical conduct of an absurd -proposition, in his fantastic handling of the supernatural, in his -brisk dialogue and effective characterisation, Mr. Anstey has once more -shown himself to be an artist and a humourist of uncommon and enviable -merit.’ - -=From PUNCH.=--‘For weirdness of conception, for skilful treatment, and -for abounding humour, Mr. Anstey’s last, my Baronite avers, is a worthy -companion of his first (“Vice Versâ”).’ - - =THE TALKING HORSE and other Tales.= Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. - 6_s._ Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - -=From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.=--‘A capital set of stories, thoroughly -clever and witty, often pathetic, and always humorous.’ - -=From THE ATHENÆUM.=--‘The grimmest of mortals, in his most surly mood, -could hardly resist the fun of “The Talking Horse.”’ - - =THE GIANT’S ROBE.= Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 6_s._ Cheap Edition. - Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - -=From THE PALL MALL GAZETTE.=--‘The main interest of the book, which -is very strong indeed, begins when Vincent returns, when Harold Caffyn -discovers the secret, when every page threatens to bring down doom on -the head of the miserable Mark. Will he confess? Will he drown himself? -Will Vincent denounce him? Will Caffyn inform on him? Will his wife -abandon him?--we ask eagerly as we read and cannot cease reading till -the puzzle is solved in a series of exciting situations.’ - - =THE PARIAH.= Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 6_s._ Cheap Edition. Crown - 8vo. limp red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - -=From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.=--‘In “The Pariah” we are more than ever -struck by the sharp intuitive perception and the satirical balancing of -judgment which make the author’s writings such extremely entertaining -reading. There is not a dull page--we might say, not a dull -sentence--in it....’ - - =VICE VERSÂ; or, a Lesson to Fathers.= Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp - red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - -=From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.=--‘If ever there was a book made up from -beginning to end of laughter, and yet not a comic book, or a “merry” -book, or a book of jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a -tomfool book, but a perfectly sober and serious book, in the reading -of which a sober man may laugh without shame from beginning to end, it -is the book called “Vice Versâ; or, a Lesson to Fathers.”... We close -the book, recommending it very earnestly to all fathers in the first -instance, and their sons, nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.’ - - =A FALLEN IDOL.= Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - -=From THE TIMES.=--‘Will delight the multitudinous public that laughed -over “Vice Versâ.”... The boy who brings the accursed image to -Champion’s house, Mr. Bales, the artist’s factotum, and above all Mr. -Yarker, the ex-butler who has turned policeman, are figures whom it is -as pleasant to meet as it is impossible to forget.’ - - =LYRE AND LANCET.= With 24 Full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo. limp - red cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ - -=From THE SPEAKER.=--‘Mr. Anstey has surpassed himself in “Lyre and -Lancet.”... One of the brightest and most entertaining bits of comedy -we have had for many a day.’ - - -London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWALA *** - -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. 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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> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Dwala</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A romance</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George Calderon</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 10, 2022 [eBook #68496]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWALA ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h1>DWALA</h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<p><span class="xxlarge">DWALA</span></p> - -<p><span class="large"><i>A ROMANCE</i></span></p> - -<p>BY<br /> - -<span class="large">GEORGE CALDERON</span><br /> - -AUTHOR OF ‘THE ADVENTURES OF DOWNY V. GREEN’</p> - -<p><span class="large">LONDON<br /> -SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE<br /> -1904</span></p> - -<p>[All rights reserved]</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">TO<br /> - -<span class="large">KITTIE</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> - -<p class="ph2">DWALA</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">I</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> sun was sinking towards the Borneo mountains. -The forest and the sea, inscrutable to the -bullying noon, relented in this discreeter light, -revealing secrets of green places. Birds began to -rustle in the big trees; the shaking of broad -leaves in the undergrowth betrayed the movement -of beasts of prey going about their daily work. -The stately innocence of Nature grew lovelier in -a sudden trouble of virginal consciousness.</p> - -<p>There was only one sign of human habitation -in the landscape—a worn patch by the shore, like -a tiny wilderness in a vast oasis. Battered meat-tins, -empty bottles, and old newspapers littered -the waterline; under the rock was a tumble-down -hut and a shed; from a stable at the side a pony -looked out patiently over the half-door; something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> -rustled in a big cage. In the twilight -under the shed a man lay sleeping in a low -hammock, grizzled and battered, with one bare -brown foot hanging over the edge. He yawned -and opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>‘Are ye thar, Colonel?’</p> - -<p>Another figure, which had been crouching -beside the hammock with a palm-leaf, watching -the sleeper, slowly uprose. Hardly a human figure -this, though dressed like a man; something rather -akin to the surrounding forest; a thing of large -majestic motions, and melancholy eyes, deep-set -under thick eyebrows. The man sat up and -coughed for a little while.</p> - -<p>‘Whar’s the dinner, Colonel? You’ve not lit -the fire yet.’</p> - -<p>‘Fire crackles,’ said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>The man stretched and spat.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, you was afraid the noise’d wake me, -sonny. Wahl, hurry up now, for I’m as peckish -as a pea-hen.’</p> - -<p>The man refilled his pipe from the big tin -that lay in the hammock with him, while the -Colonel, going hither and thither with large, deft<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> -movements, piled a fire, boiled a pot and spread -the dinner. Dinner ready, he brought it to the -man; crouching at his feet he watched him reverently -as he handled knife and fork. At the smell -of dinner a number of large monkeys came swinging -down from the trees and collected outside the -shed. A captive chimpanzee came out of a tub-kennel -and began to ramble swiftly and silently -to and fro on its chain, as if developing in movement -some unwholesome purpose conceived in the -hours of quiescence. The man threw them pieces -from time to time, for which they scrambled and -fought in a way that called for interference.</p> - -<p>‘Now, Chauncey, you leave pore Amélie’s -whiskers alone. That piece was meant for her.... -Go slow, Marie! and you, William J. Bryan, -get up off Talmage, unless you’ve a yearn for the -far-end of my teacher’s help.’</p> - -<p>When the meal was over the American took -out some sewing—some old clothes of his own, -that he was patching up for the Colonel—while -the Colonel ate the scraps that remained, and -cleared the things away. This done, the Colonel -came and sat down once more by the man.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>‘Whar’s your Word-makin’ and Word-takin’ -gotten to, Colonel?’ said the American, looking -up from his sewing. ‘Hev you bin hidin’ it up -that teak tree agen?’</p> - -<p>The Colonel looked uncomfortably about him, -blinked once or twice, and scratched his thigh.</p> - -<p>‘Burn my fingers,’ said the man, ‘but I think -you’re as like a human b’y as any ape can get. -Slip off yer boots. Mosey up and fetch ’em back -right now, you young hellion, and spell me out -“Home, sweet home,” afore I get to the end of -this seam.’</p> - -<p>‘So I’m a scientific discoverer, am I?’ mused -the American, left alone. ‘And I’ve foun’ the -Missin’ Link at last, hev I? There’ll be a pile -o’ money in that, I shouldn’t wonder. The -Colonel’ll be mighty pleased when he hears he -ain’t an or’nary ape; he’ll be as proud as a Bishop -among the angels.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel meanwhile came climbing with -swift and solemn accuracy down the teak tree, -the box of letters in his mouth. The chimpanzee -growled and chattered with aimless fury as she -roamed to and fro.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>‘See here, Colonel, I’ve hed a letter from the -Boss. I fotch it in along with that passel on last -Toosday.... Squit that I-talian music, you -dun-coloured Dago’—this to the chimpanzee—‘you -unlicensed traveller in otto o’ roses; shet -yer head, I say, and don’t show yer lunch-hooks -at me.... I’ll hev to get rid o’ that dosh-burned -critter; she’ll niver be a credit to the -Show.... Whar was I? Why, letter from the -Boss; that’s so. Wahl, thar was noos in that -letter fur you an’ me, Colonel, big noos.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel turned his melancholy eyes on -his master: their expression never varied, but -his breath came quick and fast with an unspoken -interrogation.</p> - -<p>‘I’d bin expeckin’ it fur a lawng time; but I -begin to feel sorter queer now it’s nigh on comin’ -true.’</p> - -<p>‘Are they goin’ to fetch us away?’ said the -Colonel.</p> - -<p>‘This vurry next day that is, Colonel; one of -his boats will put in here and fetch me away with -the whole of my bag o’ tricks to meet the Show -in London.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>‘You’re mighty glad, eh?’</p> - -<p>‘I’m that, sonny. But I feel sorter queer too. -I’ve grown kinder used to this life, bein’ boss -myself an’ all that. And yet, if you come to -think of it, ... by Jelly, it’s the queerest thing -of all. Me goin’ inter pardnership, as you might -say, with an ornary ape! Hand me the matches, -sonny—by my foot thar; this blamey pipe’s gone -out agen.... Here was I an’ pore old Jabez -dumped down by the Boss, to train some monkeys -for his show. Whin Jabez took the fever and -went over the range I began to be kinder lonesome; -got a sorter hungry feel in my teeth with -not speakin’. So I slipped into a kinder habit -o’ talkin’ to you all like humans, jest to ease my -gums. An’ all of a sudden, one fine day, Colonel, -you bein’ dissatisfied with yer dinner, you ups -an’ answers me back. I was tolerable astonished -at the time, I remember, tho’ I didn’t let on, -maybe, but jest caught you a clip on the ear for -sassin’ yer biggers, an’ passed along. I’d niver -hed any back-talk from an anthropoid before. -Of course, as you say, it came nateral-like to you; -you was on’y addin’ one more language to your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -vurry considerable stock, an’ I reckon from what -you tell me that the de-flections of the verb are -much simpler in Amurrkan than in Chimpanzee -for instance; but the fack remains that you’re -the first monkey I iver heard talkin’ outside of -his own dialeck. The Boss was considerable -interessted in my re-port, an’ he’s worked up a -theory of how your species got the bulge on the -rest by larnin’ their various lingoes, workin’ trade -relations, and pouchin’ the difference of exchange -on cokernuts an’ bread-fruits. It’s his idee to -deliver himself of a lecture on the subject before -the R’yal Institoot, an’ make you sing some o’ -your folksongs whin we get to London.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah—what like’s London, dad?’</p> - -<p>‘Wahl, sonny, it’s not so fine a place as -Bawston, but it has its p’ints. The people are -easier took in than in Bawston, an’ we find it a -better place for a Show. Then they hev a King -in London, which we don’t hev in Bawston; -besides dooks and markises, which we on’y see in -Amurrka in the pairin’ season. An’ Shakspere -was born near there too, an’ the original Miss -Corelli. One city’s much like another, whin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -you’ve bin three years in Borneo. What a man -gits a yearn for is civalisation.’</p> - -<p>‘Ci-va-li-sation ... What’s civalisation, -dad?’</p> - -<p>‘It’s a hard word, sonny; but it means purty -well everything we don’t hev here in Borneo. It -means leadin’ a higher life, hustlin’ around, -machinery, perlicemen, hevin’ a good time, iced -drinks, theaters, ringin’ a bell fer yer boots, an’ -a hunderd other things. Gas lamps, an’ electric -light, an’ beer, an’ wine——’</p> - -<p>‘Like yonder?’</p> - -<p>‘That’s it, sonny; like that lot I brought -from Bilimano, on’y stronger. An’ iverybody’s -in lovely close; all the women lookin’ like -picters outer “Puck”; all the men wi’ creases -down their pants; pavement down along all the -streets——’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t stop sewin’, dad.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, you young scamp, you’re eager to git -inter yer new pair, I can see. Gosh, but the -women, they’re hunky.’</p> - -<p>‘What like’s the streets, dad?’</p> - -<p>‘It’s a cur’ous thing, but you don’t seem to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -take so much interest in the women as I’d hev -expected, sonny ... I reckon you were in the -habit, before I caught you, of sorter climbin’ out -with gals of your own species among the banyan-trees -down away in Java; and you don’t set -much store by other kinds. That’ll be another -p’int for the lecture.... Think what a man I’ll -be over in England, sonny; I’ll be top o’ the tree -over thar, you’ll be proud to know me. I’ll be -flyin’ around the town in a plug hat an’ silver-topped -cane, noddin’ an’ affable howdy to my -multitudinous friends from the top of a tramcar. -“Who’s that?” people will say. “Why, don’t -you know? That’s the scientific man who foun’ -the Missin’ Link.”’</p> - -<p>‘Missin’ ... Missin’ what, dad?’</p> - -<p>‘The Missin’ Link.’</p> - -<p>‘What’s the ... Missin’ Link?’</p> - -<p>‘Wahl, I should smile! Ef I hedn’t clean -forgotten to tell you. It’s all in the Boss’s -letter. Why—you’re the Missin’ Link, sonny!’</p> - -<p>‘What’s that, anyway?’</p> - -<p>‘Wahl, sonny, it means a sort o’ monkey that -isn’t quite an ornary sort o’ monkey ... kinder,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -sorter.... Wahl, as you might say, sonny, -partly almost more like a man.’</p> - -<p>‘Like—like you, dad?’</p> - -<p>‘Wahl, not that exactly—a sorter lower -creation altogether. But there’s a lot o’ scientific -folks as says that men are descended from Missin’ -Links.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel rose to his feet and looked out to -sea with dilated nostrils.</p> - -<p>‘Missin’ Links ... men ... civalisation -... and Colonel’s a Missin’ Link! Why, then....’</p> - -<p>‘Go slow, sonny. I on’y said you was a peg -higher’n an omary monkey. Jest sit down quiet -an’ figure out “anthropoid” with those letters o’ -yourn. You’d be mighty small potatoes in a -civalised crowd; so you’ve no need to slop over -that way.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel sat down, obediently, to his -letters, and they both worked in silence for some -time.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ continued the American, ‘I shouldn’t -wonder ef they was to eleck me a member of some -of those larned societies of theirs. They’ll be -askin’ me out to champagne dinners, too, no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -doubt. I shouldn’t wonder now ef I was to be -asked to go an’ dine with the Prince of Wales—him -I was tellin’ you about; distinguished -furriners always go to dine with the Prince o’ -Wales.’</p> - -<p>‘Take Colonel too, dad?’</p> - -<p>‘Whar to, sonny?’</p> - -<p>‘The Prince o’ Wales’s.’</p> - -<p>‘Now that’s downright foolish to be talkin’ like -that, Colonel. You’ll hev to stay with the Show, -of course.... You’ll be pleased with the Show; -it’s the most fre-quented place in London; they’ll -be givin’ you buns an’ candy all day long. The -Boss was thinkin’ of puttin’ you in the anamal -department, but ef he’s pleased with you I -shouldn’t wonder but what he’d promote you to -the human monstrosities. I’ll put in a good -word for you. We’ve bin the best o’ friends, -Colonel; you kin hev the key o’ my trunk any -day; but I won’t be able to see so much of you -arter to-morrow. No. I’ve been thinkin’ over -the question keerfully, an’ I’ve concluded you an’ -me’ll not be able to travel over together.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel listened with impassive attention.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -The American avoided his eye with some little -embarrassment.</p> - -<p>‘There’s all manner o’ difficulties, sonny. In -the first place, these ignorant Christian sailor-lads -that’ll come ashore to-morrow won’t perhaps -hardly grasp the situation ef they find me talkin’ -ornary sense with a hairy pagan ape; an’ I think -you’d best keep yer head shet until they’ve gotten -used to the looks of you, an’ I’ve hed time to -explain matters. It might create some jealousies -in the crew ef you was set up over their heads to -consort with the captain an’ the mate, as I’ll be -doin’. At first sight it seemed to me as ef you’d -hev to travel all alone in the steerage as a third-class -passenger.’</p> - -<p>‘Steerage—what’s the steerage?’</p> - -<p>‘That’s down in the between decks. Not so -bad, sonny: I’ve travelled that way often myself. -But it’s not high-class, like travellin’ with the -captain.... Yes, that’s what I’d meant at first. -But there’s obstacles in the way o’ that too, -sonny. I’ve been thinkin’ ef we enter you as a -passenger there may be difficulties at the Custom -House with the Alien Immigrants Act. They’re<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -mighty pertikler.... There, that’s done!’ he -interjected, as he bit off the thread and held up -the new trousers to view. ‘Climb inter those -pants, sonny, an’ let’s see how they look.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel did as he was told, and the -American continued:</p> - -<p>‘You an’ me would be mightily put about to -fill in the form of declaration as to famaly history -an’ religion an’ what not, ef it’s the same as in -the States. An’ on the whole I’ve concluded it -will be best to put you back in your old hutch -and take you over under the Large Wild Anamals -Act.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel seemed wholly absorbed in the -adjustment of his clothes. The muscles of his -big jaw worked backwards and forwards to a -pressure of the teeth.</p> - -<p>‘They’re a bit baggy behind,’ continued his -patron. ‘I’ll hev to take a reef in the seat. Slip -’em off again; you won’t be needin’ any close any -more till we get over to London.’</p> - -<p>Instead of obeying, the Colonel walked slowly -forward out of the penthouse to the shade of a -young tree where a big wooden cage lay lumbering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -on its side. He looked at it and turned it thoughtfully -over with a push of his powerful leg; then -laid one hand on the thick bough above him, the -other on the stem of the tree. A slow cracking -and rustling ensued, splinters gaped white, the -bough was in his hands, raised aloft, and descending -furiously, smashing the old hutch to little pieces. -The American rose astounded from his hammock.</p> - -<p>‘Quit that foolin’, and come here!’</p> - -<p>Bang! Bang! Bang!</p> - -<p>‘Come here, you mule-headed monkey.’</p> - -<p>The Colonel dropped breathless for one -moment on all fours, rose to his full height -swinging the monstrous branch over his head and -sending forth a long loud yell like a man in a -nightmare, then swept crashing away into the -forest, his weapon thumping like a sledge-hammer -as he went.</p> - -<p>The monkeys in the trees about chattered -applause or commentary, a cloud of sea-fowl flew -up from the shore, and the American stood -scratching the back of his head thoughtfully in -the midst. Then he looked round at the trees -and the sea and the pony, taking them all into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -his confidence with a discomfited smile; pulled -himself together and shouted:</p> - -<p>‘Colonel!’</p> - -<p>He grew contemptuous at the want of an -answer, thrust down the ashes in his pipe with a -horny finger, and returned slowly to his rest under -the shed, consoling his solitude with a slow-flowing -murmur of scorn:</p> - -<p>‘All right, my child. You wait till you come -back. Civalisation! You! You ornary, popeyed, -bobtailed, jimber-jawed, jerrybuilt jackass....’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">II</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Colonel went through the virgin forest, -spending his fury in motion, swinging forward -from branch to branch, running, leaping, till the -fury was lost in the recovered delight of liberty. -Childhood continued, after an irrelevance.</p> - -<p>Here was the old smell of forest earth, the -inexhaustible plenty of bare elastic boughs, the -cool feeling of fungus, the absence of articulate -speech, the impossibility of anger. Night came,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -the grand and terrible night, with its old familiar -fear, long lost in the neighbourhood of a confident -human mind. He rejoiced in his fear as in a fine -quality recovered, rousing it to an ecstasy after -long silences, by murmuring his own name in the -darkness in terrified tones: ‘Colonel! Colonel!’</p> - -<p>Then there came a rustling of leaves, a low -chuck-chuck of prey warning prey, the sound of a -vast retreat, and the slow padding of panther feet -on the forest floor. The Colonel lay still on -his bough, tingling with an unnatural calm, and -the Panther breathed deep below him and looked -up. And the Panther said:</p> - -<p>‘I am <i>the</i> Panther, all Panthers in one—a -symbol, irresistible.’</p> - -<p>Waves of strong life undulated down his -spotted tail, as though life passed through him -to and from all his tribe; and the Colonel lay in -a pleasant fear and numbness on his bough. And -the Panther said:</p> - -<p>‘I will climb slowly to you.’</p> - -<p>‘And leap suddenly!’</p> - -<p>‘The glory of my eye shall increase upon -you.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>‘Numbing my limbs!’</p> - -<p>‘We will fall and play together on the earth.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall die!’</p> - -<p>‘A noble death.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall be torn and eaten!’</p> - -<p>‘And your strength shall go into the strength -of All the Panthers.’</p> - -<p>But as the Panther reached the fork of the -boughs his paw slipped, and the numbness left -the Colonel, and he leaped upon the neck of the -panther with fingers and teeth, crying:</p> - -<p>‘You are not All the Panthers, but a single -creature like myself; and I will tear you as I -tear a young tree when my limbs desire it.’</p> - -<p>They fell together, a long distance, to the -earth, and the Colonel grasped one mauling hind-paw -of the panther with one foot and gripped -him by the belly with the other, and rolled over -and over with him, and strangled him, and tore -his two jaws apart to the shoulder as an angry -man might tear a glove. Then he licked his -wounds and slung his boots over his shoulder -again, and forgot all about the battle but the -joy of unlimited ferocity.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>So he went forward from day to day, forgetful -of the past, and thoughtless for the future, till -he came to the top of the mountain, and, looking -back, beheld the sea. He gazed at it for some -time, then murmured ‘Civalisation!’ and fell -into a deep gloom of thought.</p> - -<p>He followed the tops of the mountains to -the north, with an obscure dissatisfaction growing -in the dark back places of his mind; the pleasure -of motion was poisoned in each extreme tension -by a recurrent languor. He lacked something, -and he did not know what he lacked. He went -idly forward for many days, till he heard the -chopping of an axe. He drew stealthily nearer -to the sound, and followed the man back in the -evening to his village—a village of naked men -with dark skins, very orderly and quiet. And -the Colonel lurked about by the village and -watched the people, and was happy again.</p> - -<p>For he had tasted the supreme happiness of -the animal, the nearness of Man. The animal -that has once had Man for his companion or for -his prey is never afterwards contented with other -company or fare. Curiosity had taken its place<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -among his appetites; the necessity of watching -Man’s inscrutable ways, the pleasure of using his -implements and reproducing his effects.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">III</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the dead of night the Colonel descended into -the midst of the village, in boots and torn -trousers, and drew water on the long beam-lever -from the well and poured it into the tank, -talking gently to himself while he did it; and -the villagers, awakened by the creaking and -rattling, crept to crannies and looked on and -trembled.</p> - -<p>And in the morning they gathered in the -village square and speculated. Who is he? The -women were afraid to go into the forest; the ripe -crops dropped the seed from their ears in the -clearings.</p> - -<p>Night after night he was there, and graciously -tasted of their offerings of fruit and cakes. No -one slept by night but the children, and the -priest who dreamed true dreams. The priest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -was their hope, for through him alone could the -Soochings learn from the gods what must be -believed and done. And day after day the -perplexity grew, for the priest was old and forgot -his dreams; and though he sat till sunset with -the doctors of the law about him, he could not -recall them.</p> - -<p>But, one day, when they had sat for many -hours in silence, watching the True Dreamer with -his head bowed between his knees, trying to -remember, a young priest spoke:</p> - -<p>‘I myself have had a dream.’</p> - -<p>‘Of what use are your dreams?’ said the old -man, looking quickly up.</p> - -<p>‘I dreamed that I saw the True Dreamer -sleeping; and over him stood the vision of a -dead man, with the burial cords hanging loose -about him, and a peeled rod in his hand as of a -messenger.’</p> - -<p>A murmur ran round the squatting circle.</p> - -<p>‘It is true,’ said the old man ‘I have seen -this vision three times.’</p> - -<p>‘And the True Dreamer said, “Who is he -that cometh by night?” And the vision answered,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -“It is the God with Two Names, the inventor -of the blow-pipe, come back to be king over the -tribe as in the first time.”’</p> - -<p>‘Katongo tells the truth,’ said the old man -‘so spake the vision.’</p> - -<p>‘And the True Dreamer said, “Who shall be -his chief priest and interpret his meaning to the -multitude?” And the vision answered, “You -yourself, O True Dreamer; and at your right -hand shall stand the young man Katongo, who is -foolish, but full of zeal.”’</p> - -<p>‘All this was so,’ said the old man. ‘And, -furthermore, the messenger told me the rites by -which the God with Two Names may be propitiated. -These rites are a secret which it is -unlawful to reveal till the time be come. But -should any of them be left undone, pestilence and -destruction will fall on the whole tribe.’</p> - -<p>The True Dreamer arose and went back to -his house. The news spread through the tribe, -and there was great rejoicing. The old king -was promptly clubbed on the head, and the -priests, attended by the state conch-blowers and -heralds, proclaimed the accession of the new<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -monarch under the title of King Dwala, Him-of-Two-Names, -both unknown; drums were beaten, -hogs were killed, and the tribe gave itself up to -frenzies of loyalty and large draughts of the -fermented juice of the mowa-tree.</p> - -<p>The Colonel, terrified by the noise, withdrew -further into the forest, and did not dare to -return for several days. His absence gave no -one but the priests the least concern, as his place -was efficiently filled by a painted image of ugly -and imposing aspect.</p> - -<p>Preparations were hurried on for solemnising -the nuptials of the new monarch—or the image—at -the new moon, to the sacred sago-tree which -stood in the middle of the place of assembly.</p> - -<p>Politically speaking, the result of all these -events was that the war party had captured -the machine. The question which divided the -Soochings at this time was the relation to be -adopted by the tribe towards the gold-diggers -who had lately penetrated into the Sooching -forest. Many members of the tribe looked upon -the miners as harmless idiots, bound by the curse -of some more powerful magician to sweat at a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -spade, and too stupid to guard their treasures of -wonderful mugs and tins and nails and even large -pieces of corrugated iron from the clumsiest of -thieves; but the seriously-minded tribesmen, and -especially the religious party, penetrated their -hidden motive of digging up the Spirit of Tree-Vigour, -and bringing upon the Sooching forest -that same blight of sterility which followed the -track of the white men wherever they went. -Nothing, in their view, could appease the already -irritated Spirit but the wholesale destruction of -these desecrators.</p> - -<p>The Colonel’s continued absence put the war -party in a dangerous position; the more so as a -Jew from the mining camp arrived at this time -with a little cartload of looking-glasses and whisky -in the village, and brought over a number of -wobblers to the party of peace. The True -Dreamer worked hard for his party, dreaming -judicious dreams by night, and organising search -parties in the daytime for the purpose of bringing -the new king to his throne.</p> - -<p>The Colonel watched the search parties with -interest, and at last had the courage to follow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -one of them back to the edge of the camp. -That night, as he was amusing himself by the -well in the moonlight, he was astonished at hearing -a low clear whistle, and seeing men approaching -him slowly from every side with deep obeisances; -he had never yet seen human beings in this -attitude, which seemed to be copied from the -other animals. But it appeared that they meant -kindly by it, and he let them approach until they -made a small circle about him. A gaunt old -man stood before him with arms upraised to the -sky, pouring forth a torrent of incomprehensible -words. Not knowing what was expected of him, -the Colonel took a mug that lay beside him, -dipped it in the tank, and handed it to the -old man, whose eyes gushed over with tears of -delight at this sign of favour; while the rest -made a clucking noise with their tongues and -said:</p> - -<p>‘Dwala malana!’—which means, ‘Glory to -Him-of-Two-Names.’</p> - -<p>They invited him with gestures to taste the -dishes of fruit which lay about him; and he did -so, to their great joy. The village had all turned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -out by now; torches flared and smoked on every -side; and it was in a blaze of light and through -a thick avenue of men, women and children that -the Colonel was at last conducted to the temple -which had been prepared for him. The noise of -conchs and drums had no more terrors for him -now, and he watched the dances with an intensity -of interest that threw him at last into a state of -hypnotic coma.</p> - -<p>The village slept late next morning. When -the Colonel awoke he went out, from force of -habit, to prepare breakfast. The guardians who -slept on the threshold sat up and watched his -movements awhile in stupid amazement; his quiet -exit by the window had failed at first to rouse -them.</p> - -<p>He was working impatiently and irritably: -he was afraid of being late; nothing was in its -place. There was no axe to chop the wood; he -had to break it with his hands. There were no -matches, no tins of beef. It took all the gestures -of all the priests to make him understand that he -must not work. In time he grew used to being -waited on by others; he grew used to obeisances<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -and reverence. It was a new interest, and not -more puzzling than most things. One thing disturbed -him. Outside the temple was posted the -Royal Minstrel, who played only one tune on his -pipe—the Royal Tune. At first the Colonel had -been delighted with this tune, and had made the -minstrel play it to him from morning till night. -But he grew tired of it. Whenever he opened -the door, or even so much as showed his head at -a window, the minstrel fired off this thing; when -he went outside the village on any errand the -minstrel followed him playing it. It maddened -him, and at last he broke the pipe over the -minstrel’s head and slunk back into his temple, -and was very miserable for the rest of the day. -But the people were delighted with this kingly trait, -and the minstrel sold the pieces for a large price.</p> - -<p>A strict watch was kept over his movements -at first for fear he should escape; but after a -while this was relaxed, and he used to roam at -will in the forest. He usually returned at night, -but not always. He visited the gold-diggings, -but was alarmed by the look of the diggers, who -reminded him of the American; he was afraid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -they would put him into a hutch. In another -part of the forest he found a white man with -a large family. The women and children were -greatly frightened; but the man invited him into -the house and told him he was a Missionary. The -Colonel stayed there two days, and was converted -to Christianity.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the tribe was preparing for war. -The women were sealed up hermetically in huts; -the warriors danced and rubbed their muscles with -mowa juice; and late one night they disappeared -silently with shields and spears among the trees. -Next day they appeared again, exultant, with -loads of booty; the white men had been utterly -routed.</p> - -<p>The stupefaction of the succeeding orgies -was partially dispelled after many days by the -frenzy of inspired minstrels, who proclaimed the -imminence of the second Golden Age, and the permanent -establishment of the wise and beneficent -empire of the great Prince Dwala, Him-of-Two-Names, -over the whole of the island, and those -eyots beyond which constituted the rest of the -habitable world.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>The power of actual motion was finally -restored by the rattle of musketry in the grey -light of one dawn, and the snapping of twigs -overhead, followed by the appearance of men in -khaki among the trees. Unarmed and unprepared, -the villagers fled into the forest beyond, -and not a soul remained but the old Dreamer, -who was seeking new visions in the quiet recesses -of his sleeping apartment, and the Colonel, who -ensconced himself comfortably in the sago-tree -to watch this new human phenomenon. Horses -crouched and snorted, dragging guns up the last -slope, with a cluster of men straining at each -wheel; infantrymen advanced and halted and -turned at a shouted word; and the Colonel sat -and looked on as at a new dance performed for his -amusement. He was delighted at the burning of -the huts, which made the biggest flame he had -ever seen; but he grew tired at last of the long -pauses in the ballet; so he climbed down to the -tank and splashed water over the officers.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">IV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> royal prisoner was royally housed. After -the jolting journey in the sultry covered wagon, -to the steady tramp of the marching soldiers, and -the frightened crying of the old Dreamer who -crouched beside him, it was pleasant to be in -these spacious rooms, to look from under the sun-blinds -into the leafy garden, to sit on the wet -stones and dabble in the black pool in the hall.</p> - -<p>Prince Dwala was shut up in the Old Residence -while the Colonial Office made up its mind what -was to be done with him. Compassionate ladies -sent him baskets full of flowers. The rest of the -prisoners—the Dreamer and a rabble of braves -hunted down in the hills—were huddled away in -the jail.</p> - -<p>The Prince had many visitors. The Governor -came, accompanied by his staff, young men in -cocked hats, who looked as tall and morose as -possible while the Governor lectured him. A -young man came from the ‘Pioneer’ and interviewed -him as to his opinion of Western civilisation; -the Prince’s answers were disjointed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -amounting to little more than ejaculations, such -as ‘iced drinks’ and ‘theaters’; but his interest -was evident, and the ‘Pioneer’ said that his -views on the subject were ‘quite equal to those of -some of the best of our Indian Princes.’ On the -all-engrossing gold question he had been diplomatically -discreet, nor would he commit himself -on the equally difficult question of the British -suzerainty over the Soochings.</p> - -<p>He had numerous visits from Mr. Wyndham -Cato, the Pro-Boer M.P., who was staying with -the Governor, having arrived in the course of a -grand tour of the Colonies, destined to supply -him with ammunition for an attack on the -Government all along the line on the ‘native -question.’ But for Mr. Cato, the case of the -Soochings would never have attained the importance -it had. The Governor was disposed to -treat the whole thing as a hole-and-corner brawl, -a question of police; he would have bundled -Dwala and his braves obscurely away into a penal -settlement if he had been left alone. Mr. Cato -blew the bubble. Bouverie Street and Whitehall, -stimulated by telegrams, reacted one on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -other. It became a public matter. The Governor -smiled benignly, and squared it up to a larger -scale. Thanks to Mr. Cato, Prince Dwala was a -captive Prince instead of an arrested malefactor. -The Prince conceived a warm affection for the -little man, who let him try on his gold spectacles, -and showed him how his watch wound up.</p> - -<p>‘I have very little influence with the Governor; -I have done all I can, and I am afraid that your -deposition is certain,’ said Mr. Cato, one day, as -he and the Prince squatted side by side at the -edge of the pool—Mr. Cato folding little paper -boats out of pieces of newspaper, while the Prince -stirred the water with his foot to make them bob -up and down. ‘But, even then, you will still be a -Prince, and it is better to be a native Prince than -the hereditary tyrant of a so-called civilised -country, the heir of one of our mushroom dynasties -of Europe, whose only purpose in life is to help -a self-elected aristocracy, as vulgar as themselves, -to grind down the sweating millions of honest -working folk. You will still receive your revenues, -if there is any justice left in this disjointed world -of ours. I shall agitate to the best of my power<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -to get some addition to your income from our -niggardly Government. You will be a comparatively -rich man, and if you win your lawsuit -you ought to do very well indeed. Nobody has -a right to prevent your going to London if you -wish to. I am starting myself in a few days, and -if you will allow me, I shall be very glad to take -you with me.’</p> - -<p>‘Not in a hutch?’</p> - -<p>‘A “hutch”? Don’t be absurd. You won’t -be a prisoner. You’ll travel as I travel. And, -until some suitable residence has been found for -you, I insist on your coming to stay with us at -Hampstead. I am sure that my aunt and the -two sisters who live with me will welcome you -most warmly.’</p> - -<p>The lawsuit to which Mr. Cato alluded was -one of his own contriving. When the first load -of gold from the mines was sold to the Bank, the -Solicitor-General for the Colony had put in a -claim for a royalty, which was met by the defence -that the mine was outside the limits of the colony. -The miners set up concessions granted by the -deceased monarch of the Soochings. Mr. Cato, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -republican at home, but a firm upholder of the -divine rights of ‘native’ princes, hired a lawyer -on behalf of Prince Dwala and claimed the mines -as his personal property, set aside from time -immemorial for the maintenance of the dignity -of the Royal House. The tribe at large had -never exercised more than the right of hunting -over them. He denied the validity of the concessions, -and asked for a declaration that the fee -simple was vested in the Prince.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">V</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Prince Dwala</span> formed a frequent subject of conversation -at the Residence. Mr. Cato disagreed -on every possible question with everybody there; -but they found him a charming visitor, and the -process of ‘draain’ his leg,’ as the Scotch call -it, was an unfailing amusement to the younger -members of the party.</p> - -<p>He found them assembled round the breakfast -table when he came out on the veranda -next morning, beaming round through his gold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -spectacles with that benevolent smile with which -he always began the day. Lady Crampton sat at -the end, behind a silver urn—a flighty, good-looking -creature, who might have passed for -thirty. Besides her there were Mademoiselle and -the three girls; Dick Crampton, and Reggie the -nephew—secretaries both—deep in the batch -of last month’s newspapers, which had just -arrived.</p> - -<p>The Governor and his private secretary were -still at work.</p> - -<p>‘When’s the execution, Dick?’ said Reggie, -helping himself to ham.</p> - -<p>‘Half-past ten, old man; you’ve lots of time.’</p> - -<p>‘The usual tortures, I suppose?’</p> - -<p>‘Just the usual. The Mater’s been up for -hours sharpenin’ the spikes of the rack.’</p> - -<p>‘Getting rusty, I suppose?’</p> - -<p>‘Not they! They got blunted over all those -land-tax defaulters last week.’</p> - -<p>Helen, the youngest girl, tossed her long hair -over her cheeks and exploded with laughter.</p> - -<p>‘Soyez gentille, Hélène,’ said Mademoiselle: -‘les jeunes filles bien élevées ne rient pas à table.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>Mr. Cato adjusted his spectacles, and stared -with horror from face to face.</p> - -<p>‘What nonsense are those boys talkin’ down -there?’ said Lady Crampton. ‘For Heaven’s -sake don’t choke, Helen! Dick, you naughty -boy, do try to behave.’</p> - -<p>‘You mind what the Mater says, Reggie.’</p> - -<p>‘What was Her Excellency pleased to remark?’</p> - -<p>‘She says you’re not to play the elephas mas -gigas ass. Hello, Guv’; good mornin’.’</p> - -<p>His Excellency came in, tall and débonnaire, -and sat down to breakfast. After him came -his private secretary, a pale and anxious young -man, who said little, and opened an egg as -if he expected to find an important despatch -inside it.</p> - -<p>‘Any news, Reggie?’ said the Governor, -cheerfully rubbing his large white hands together.</p> - -<p>‘Fry’s hurt his finger.’</p> - -<p>‘Bad luck to it!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, Sir Henry,’ said Mr. Cato, beaming -away, ‘I’m going to have a <i>good talk</i> with you -after breakfast about Prince Dwala.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>‘Too busy, too busy, my dear Sir. You talk -it over with Mr. Batts; <i>he</i> knows all about -everything.’</p> - -<p>The private secretary looked up darkly, and -gave a dry nod at Mr. Cato.</p> - -<p>‘Rum chap that Prince,’ said Reggie: ‘looks -uncommon like a monkey.’</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato flushed with indignation.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Please</i> don’t talk like that, Mr. Crampton. I -know you mean no harm; but it’s just by little -remarks like that that we Englishmen nourish that -narrow-minded contempt for natives to which we -are all of us only too prone.’</p> - -<p>‘Dear little things, monkeys,’ murmured the -tactful Lady Crampton: ‘my sister used to keep -one in Kensington, till it took to hidin’ food in -the beds, and had to be given to the Zoo.’</p> - -<p>After breakfast Mr. Cato and Mr. Batts -retired into a dark chamber, and discussed the -question of the Prince’s future. Mr. Batts sat -like an eminent specialist, with folded arms and -pursed lips, while Mr. Cato expounded his views. -Mr. Batts held out great hopes of the Government -coming down handsomely.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>‘My dear Sir, we couldn’t have chosen a -better moment for the application. The Colonial -Office is bound to spend its grant by the end of -the financial year, under penalty of having it -reduced in the next Budget—it’s a Treasury rule. -What I’m telling you is a secret, mind; don’t let -it go any further. Between you and me, my -dear Sir, they’re often glad if some expense of -this kind turns up to put their surplus into; and -once they’ve got him over, it’s easy enough to -get the item renewed year by year. They like -native potentates; it’s picturesque and popular. -As for preventing white men from going into -their country, that is a policy which I can’t -accept. It’s opposed to the natives’ own interest: -their countries could never be developed without -European assistance.’</p> - -<p>‘How do you mean “developed,” Mr. Batts?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, take the question of gold, for instance. -These lazy beggars the Soochings would simply -leave it lying useless in the ground, as far as they -are concerned. Mind you, I’m not saying that -all these Jews and foreigners who start the thing -are the most desirable people to carry civilisation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -among the savages. Providence works for good -by very funny means.’</p> - -<p>‘But the gold belongs to the Soochings.’</p> - -<p>‘Gold or any other commodity belongs by -the law of nature to the man who works it. It’s -a reward for his industry. That’s in Mill. It’s -not by any means such an easy thing working a -mine as you might think, especially in a savage -country. First of all, there’s the labour difficulty -to deal with.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean by the “labour difficulty”?’</p> - -<p>‘Getting labour, of course; native labour to -work the mine.’</p> - -<p>‘But what are the Europeans doing there, if -they’re not going to labour?’</p> - -<p>‘You’ve evidently not studied the mining -question, my dear Sir. Once the prospecting is -over, Europeans don’t <i>dig</i>. That would be very -primitive. They have their work pretty well cut -out as it is, pegging out their claims and looking -after the men to see they don’t steal. Of course -they have to get natives to dig for them—Soochings -in this case.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>‘But why should the Soochings dig for -them?’</p> - -<p>‘Why should they, my dear Sir? Why, -we’d pretty soon <i>make</i> ’em! But it’s no good -arguing these big questions on first principles. -We simply follow the policy which has worked -so well in other parts of the world.... Now -what’s your figure for the Prince’s salary from the -Colonial Office?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, what do you say to a thousand a -year?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, make it two, make it two. That -Mandingo man gets two thousand; and we don’t -want to have our native princes priced lower -than Africans. It’s just these things which fix -the status of a Colony in the eyes of London -people.’</p> - -<p>‘Good; two thousand.’</p> - -<p>‘And as big a lump down as we can screw -out of them. I’ll instruct His Excellency.’</p> - -<p>‘Then he’ll get his ordinary revenue from his -subjects?’</p> - -<p>‘That won’t amount to much.’</p> - -<p>‘And the royalties on the gold?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>‘Don’t count on that. I saw the Chief -Justice last night; he’s going to give it against -you.’</p> - -<p>‘I shall appeal.’</p> - -<p>‘To the Privy Council? Well, well: one -never knows what will happen when a case gets -to the Privy Council.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">VI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cato</span> found his path unexpectedly smooth. -The Colonial Secretary, delighted at shifting an -awkward responsibility on to the shoulders of a -political opponent, telegraphed a gracious acceptance -of Mr. Cato’s offer to take charge of the -Prince. The two thousand a year was promised -without bargaining, with another two thousand -down for initial expenses. The Colonial Court, it -is true, had decided against the Sooching claim, -but leave was given to appeal; and Mr. Cato -took a lawyer and a packing-case full of evidence -with him on board the P. & O. in order to carry -the question before the Privy Council.</p> - -<p>He had taken up the clubs for Prince<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -Dwala on purely unselfish grounds, but he could -not help feeling a personal satisfaction in the -results of what he had done. His whole tour -had been a success; now that he had seen the -various kinds of native whom he had so long -championed in Parliament, the rightness of his -attitude came home to him with a picturesque -forcibleness. He was like a dramatist who had -seen all his plays acted one after the other for -the first time. And now by this last lucky hit -he had put himself over the heads of all his -rivals in his own peculiar line of politics. Prince -Dwala’s case would be famous; his colleagues -would help him trounce the Government for this -wicked gold war; the credit of it would be his; -every question would come round to him for -a final answer; the oppressed native would be -sitting at home in his drawing-room. As he lay -awake in his bunk he caught himself musing -pleasurably over the social distinction which it -might involve. Nonsense! A Prince is no better -than any other man, or very little. Still, other -people think so; it would be amusing to watch -their demeanour.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>It was no light matter being in charge of -a Prince on board ship. Mr. Cato found it best -during the daytime to keep him as much as -possible in his cabin, where he sat looking -patiently out of a port-hole, saying over new -words and phrases he had heard, or making -cigarettes with the little machine which Mr. Cato -carried about with him—a contrivance which -inspired him with far greater interest and awe -than the complications of the engine-room. It -was the best cabin on board, by-the-bye, for the -Shanghai merchant had insisted on giving it up -to the Prince. It was not that Dwala claimed -any outward signs of respect—he was modesty -itself; but his presence caused a certain <i>gêne</i> -among the other passengers, who were uncertain -whether to rise from their seats or not when he -entered the reading-room. Then he had no idea -of punctuality, and naturally nobody liked to -begin dinner until he came in. The sailors had -no end of a job enticing him down from the crosstrees, -where he had ensconced himself at the -sound of the dinner-bell. Then again, the chief -steward was nearly frightened out of his wits,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -when he leaned over his shoulder to offer him -potatoes, at the way the Prince grabbed his plate -and growled, under the impression that he wanted -to take it away from him. The passengers saw -but little of him till the last night of the voyage, -when they insisted on his presiding at the concert -in aid of the Sailors’ Orphanage. They were all -immensely impressed by the grave attention with -which he listened to the comic songs.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato was very busy all day going through -the evidence with the lawyer; and half of every -night he spent following the Prince in his swift -rambles over the ship, seeing that he did not get -into mischief. It was a relief when they landed -at last in England.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">VII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first thing Mr. Cato did, when he had -settled his guest comfortably at home in Hampstead, -under the kindly care of his two sisters, -was to go and call on Lord Griffinhoofe, his -immediate political leader.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>Mr. Cato’s party was divided at this time into -many sections. An official leader had at one -time been appointed, but in the confusion of -politics the party had lost the papers and -forgotten his name. The leadership was now -divided among a number of eminent men, of -whom Lord Griffinhoofe, ex-Cabinet Minister and -member of one of the oldest and richest families -in England, was not the least. It was generally -understood that he would get an important -portfolio when a Liberal Government should be -formed, and the urbanity of his manner was held -to fit him peculiarly for the Foreign Office.</p> - -<p>London was out of town when Mr. Cato -arrived. The Session was over; but Lord -Griffinhoofe was known to have come back on -business for a few weeks to his house in Piccadilly. -Mr. Cato found the blinds down, and -a charwoman washing the steps. He walked in -unannounced and entered the well-known reception-room -on the ground floor, disguised at -present with a furniture of linen bags, enfolding -monstrous shapes of large ornaments. Here he -found a flushed female, with a bonnet on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -side of her head, sitting on one of the long row -of leather chairs. She smiled and wagged her -feathers and roses at him pleasantly, assuring -him that ‘the good gentleman’ would be ‘out in -a jiffy.’ Mr. Cato seated himself modestly in a -dark corner and waited.</p> - -<p>After a little while the inner door opened, and -Lord Griffinhoofe himself appeared—a large stout -man, with peering short-sighted eyes. He smiled -and nodded when he found himself confronted -by a curtseying female. Then he cleared his -throat, looked in three pockets for his eye-glasses, -wiped them, and examined the dirty scrap of -paper which he held in his hand.</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Waggs?’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, my lord,’ said the smiling woman in the -bonnet; ‘that’s my name, sir, after my dear -’usband who went to the bad.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, and what can I do for you?’</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Waggs, my lord, that’s my name. I’ve -come to be cook, ’earin’ as you was in want of a -temp’ry from my good friend Mrs. ’Amilton, who -washes the steps, pore thing, of a Saturday when -the other lidy ’as to be at ’ome.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>Lord Griffinhoofe examined the paper very -carefully, and cleared his throat again.</p> - -<p>‘H’m! It’s very awkward. My wife’s away. I -hardly know what to do. You’re a cook, you say?’</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Waggs, my lord. Good plain or fancy -with the best of character’s, though short, bein’ a -temp’ry.’</p> - -<p>‘Can you ... can you dust things, Mrs. -Waggs?’</p> - -<p>‘Dust? Me dust? No thank you, my lord, -not if I know it. Thank ’Eaven, I ’aven’t come -down to a duster quite as yet. O no, thank you! -Mrs. Waggs, plain or fancy, on the usual terms, -but no dustin’, thank you! I’m not an ’ousemaid.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s very awkward. So you want to be cook. -Can you make pastry?’</p> - -<p>‘Anythink in reason, my lord. One doesn’t -ask too much of a pore woman with two children -and an ’usband in trouble. Pastry is not my -fort, nor ’ave I been accustomed to families where -pastry was eaten on a large scale.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, well. It’s very awkward. The fact -is that I <i>have</i> a cook already.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>‘And well you may, my lord, you that might -’ave dozens for the askin’.’ Mrs. Waggs burst -into tears. ‘But it’s ’ard on a pore woman -that’s trudged miles an’ miles without a drop -o’ drink to look for a job, to be told the place is -bespoke.’</p> - -<p>‘There, there, don’t cry, Mrs. Waggs. I -can’t turn my cook out to make a place for you, -can I?’</p> - -<p>‘An’ my pore ’usband in trouble, ’im that -never did an ’ard day’s work in ’is life before.’</p> - -<p>Clouds veiled the serenity of Lord Griffinhoofe’s -countenance for a little while, then he -passed his hand over his face and emerged with a -bright idea.</p> - -<p>‘How would it be if you saw the cook and -had it out with <i>her</i>?’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Waggs, paying no direct attention to -this proposal, nor to the next proposal to come -back in a few days and see what could be done -then, but continuing merely to repeat her name -and claims, Lord Griffinhoofe finally decided that -the best thing he could do was to ring the bell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -and consult the housekeeper. A lean woman in -black presented herself, glanced quickly round, -and listened with sour submission while Lord -Griffinhoofe explained the situation and its -difficulties.</p> - -<p>‘Shall I deal with the woman, my lord?’</p> - -<p>‘I shall be extremely grateful, Mrs. Porter. -I hardly know what to do myself.’</p> - -<p>Three short steps brought the housekeeper in -front of Mrs. Waggs.</p> - -<p>‘Now then, out you go! March!’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Waggs quailed and rose obediently.</p> - -<p>‘Comin’ here in such a state—the idea!’</p> - -<p>The housekeeper shut the front-door behind -the visitor, and returned demurely the way she -had come.</p> - -<p>‘Thank you, Mrs. Porter,’ said Lord Griffinhoofe, -with a nervous smile: ‘I thought you would -know what was the right thing.... And what -can I do for you, Madam?’ he inquired, stumbling -on Mr. Cato. ‘What, Mr. Cato! So you’re -back. How stupid of them to keep you waiting -in here. Come along! Come along!’</p> - -<p>He led him into his study beyond.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>‘So you’ve come back for the great fight. It’s -a secret—I had a wire this morning—you mustn’t -tell anyone; we’re within measurable distance of -a General Election.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes; I saw it in the “Westminster” last -night.’</p> - -<p>‘Really! How <i>do</i> these papers find out? -It came on me quite as a surprise. I’ve been -promised—practically promised the—h’m! h’m! -It’s a dead secret, mind; you mustn’t let it -out.’</p> - -<p>‘Why, the “Westminster”....’</p> - -<p>‘They had that in too?’</p> - -<p>‘No; in fact they mentioned Lord Rosebery.’</p> - -<p>‘Bosh!’</p> - -<p>‘Only guesswork, of course,’ added Mr. Cato -hastily, seeing an uneasy flush on Lord Griffinhoofe’s -face. ‘Quite impracticable! Not a man -we could work with.’</p> - -<p>‘A mere talker!’</p> - -<p>‘With the Eastern Question looming....’</p> - -<p>‘A man who can’t say No!’</p> - -<p>‘Russia needs a firm hand....’</p> - -<p>‘Rosebery’s no more capable of managing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -Russia than I am of managing a ... well, -a ... well.... And what was it you came -to see me about, Mr. Cato?’</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato entered with great detail into all -the facts of Prince Dwala’s case. The great man -rubbed his fat knees and assumed a sagacious -look; his breath came very short, and suddenly -he looked as if he were going to cry.</p> - -<p>‘Wait a moment, Mr. Cato. If I had a bit -of pencil, I should like to put your facts down, -so as to get a clear idea. In what year do you -say he was born?’</p> - -<p>‘I haven’t a notion. These facts aren’t -important enough to make a note of.’</p> - -<p>‘Then you oughtn’t to tell me them. It only -confuses.’</p> - -<p>‘The important thing is: how far will the -Party help him?’</p> - -<p>‘We shall want a pencil for that. It’s such a -nuisance my secretary being away. He always -has a pencil. He takes his holiday now. Couldn’t -we put it off till Parliament assembles?’</p> - -<p>‘The matter is urgent.’</p> - -<p>‘Everything seems so urgent nowadays,’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -Lord Griffinhoofe smiled sadly, as if remembering -better days.</p> - -<p>‘We must secure the best lawyers at once.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, it’s a law case! I see.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I’ve told you so already; an appeal to -the Privy Council. Colonial appeals go before -the Privy Council.’</p> - -<p>‘I remember. That’ll be the Judicial Committee, -no doubt. Well, can’t <i>they</i> settle it?’</p> - -<p>‘That isn’t the point. It’s a most difficult -question of law, and everything depends on how -the question is argued. We must get the very -best counsel we can. The expenses are enormous.’</p> - -<p>‘Can’t the ... er ... the what’s his name -manage it?’</p> - -<p>‘Prince Dwala? We have no right to ask it -of him. His fortune is very small, for a Prince; -and I look upon the British nation and the -Liberal Party as trustees to see that he gets it -intact. I myself have already incurred very heavy -expenses.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, you shouldn’t spend your own money.’</p> - -<p>‘That’s just it; I want the Party to help with -their funds.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>‘Well, well; if the cause is a good one. We -might wait a few months, and see what people -think.’</p> - -<p>‘But the case will be over.’</p> - -<p>‘One can’t help that. We mustn’t rush -things.’</p> - -<p>Nothing could budge the great man from his -attitude of caution and delay. It was evident -that, in the absence of his secretary with the pencil, -he conceived only the vaguest idea of the question -in hand. Mr. Cato went home at last, expressing -the heroic resolution to fight the case on his own -money, even if it ruined him.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">VIII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cato’s</span> work was no light matter. He followed -the case in every stage; he explained it all -to the solicitors, and re-explained it to different -layers of barristers. Every new document was -submitted to him for revision. He was tormented -all the time by anxiety for the future; his fortune -was not a large one, and he had to reduce his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -capital to a very serious extent in order to meet -the preliminary expenses of the case. The Prince, -his guest, must indeed miss no comfort in his -house; but in every other respect he enjoined -the strictest economy on his sisters.</p> - -<p>There were other things also to be thought -of. The Prince’s ignorance on many subjects -was astonishing; his questions showed it. This -was, of course, natural in a native; but if he was -to be a social success in England, then, in spite -of his age, it was necessary that he should have -some education. The Prince raised no objection. -He had taken quite a fancy to Miss Briscoe, who -appeared at first in the character of a guest at -lunch, with no suggestion of the governess about -her. A big genial woman of fifty, with thick -black eyebrows, and an indomitable belief in the -Christian fellowship of all men in this wonderful -world, she brought light into Dwala’s life.</p> - -<p>For it must be confessed that the Prince’s -first impression of this long-desired civilisation -was one of disappointment. It was undoubtedly -dull in Mr. Cato’s house. Mr. Cato was out all -day; and though his aunt was a dear old lady in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -her way, and his sisters two of the most charitable -creatures in the neighbourhood, nobody would -have called them lively company for a Missing -Link. The indoor life told upon his health; the -clockwork regularity of the daily round and the -entire absence of events reduced his spirits to the -lowest depth. He had been accustomed in his -childhood to the happy vicissitudes of forest life; -to the pleasure of escaping thunderstorms and -beasts of prey; to the relief of calm sleep after -weeks of storm-rocked trees; to the wild delight -after long hunger of finding more than he could -eat. It maddened him to hear these old ladies -chattering over tiny pulsations of monotony as it -they were events; to hear them discussing the -paltry British weather under an impervious roof; -to hear them talk of burglars in the next parish -as if they were tigers on the lower branches; -to learn that Julia’s quarrel with Mrs. Armstrong -had ended in changing her doctor, when -he had pictured her tearing handfuls of fur out of -Mrs. Armstrong’s back. He longed to throttle -the smug butcher who brought the daily tray of -meat, robbing life of all the pleasure of desire.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>When he first arrived the Prince had been so -easily amused. It was enough for him to sit at a -window and watch the men mending the road; to -follow the housemaid from room to room and see -her make the beds; to help to screw a leaf into -the dining-room table; to dust Mr. Cato’s books. -It was, therefore, a great surprise to his host -when he blurted this out one evening. Had it -been one of his nephews from the country—his -youngest sister married the Rector of Woolcombing—Mr. -Cato would have known what to -do; he would have treated him to some of those -amusements which are provided for country -nephews; taken him to the British Museum, -South Kensington, the Tower of London, or the -College of Mining in Jermyn Street; he would -have contrived little outings on omnibuses, ending -with tea at an Aërated Bread shop. But the -Prince seemed too old for these things; the -weather was bad; Mr. Cato was busy, and he -had determined to keep him at Hampstead till -things had settled down and he knew his proper -social value.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">IX</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> was one of Mr. Cato’s chief preoccupations. -What was the Prince’s social station in England? -How much deference might be demanded of the -world? Who were the people to whose company -he had a natural right? One must neither -prejudice his future by assuming too low a value -for him, nor expose him to any rebuff by claiming -too much.</p> - -<p>The question was one beyond Mr. Cato’s own -competence. His thoughts turned to his nephew -Pendred. Not a country nephew this, with any -implication of humbleness. Quite the contrary; -Pendred Lillico, ex-Lieutenant of the Grenadiers, -son of Mr. Cato’s half-sister, who had married -a hitherto obscure baronet in the days of her -beauty. Pendred was a dancing man, a well-known -man, a pattern of manners, an arbiter of -fashions. They rarely met: Mr. Cato was secretly -afraid of his nephew; Pendred seldom had occasion -to boast of his uncle.</p> - -<p>He arrived on his motor-car—small, fair, -translucent, admirable. The occasion suited him.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -Appreciation was his <i>métier</i>—appreciation of -frocks, laces, china, women, men. He knew hallmarks, -pottery-marks, marks of breeding, marks -of coming success. Mr. Cato passed the morning -before his arrival in a restless state; he was -nervous as to the verdict.</p> - -<p>‘How much a year, do you say?’ asked -Pendred, in his touching little glass voice.</p> - -<p>‘Two thousand.’</p> - -<p>‘H’m ... Borneo.... Can I see him?’</p> - -<p>‘But that makes no difference, does it?’</p> - -<p>‘It’s everything.’</p> - -<p>‘But, surely dukes and millionaires aren’t -estimated on their personal value?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, once you get into big figures!’</p> - -<p>‘But a man’s social value....’</p> - -<p>‘Social value, my dear uncle, is human -value.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, I’m delighted to hear it.’</p> - -<p>‘On two thousand a year, that is.... Well, -let’s see your man. I think I shall be able to -give you an opinion.’</p> - -<p>Prince Dwala was seated in an armchair in the -library—nursing the fire, remote, abstracted. So<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -abstracted that he took no notice of their -entrance. Pendred put his head on one side and -tried to sketch a rough estimate; he was puzzled. -He put his head on the other side and attempted -a new valuation. Mr. Cato touched the Prince on -the shoulder.</p> - -<p>‘I’ve brought you my nephew to make your -acquaintance.’</p> - -<p>Dwala gave a long sigh and looked up.</p> - -<p>‘Nephew ... what’s a nephew?’</p> - -<p>‘<i>This</i> is my nephew,’ said Mr. Cato, presenting -Pendred, who stepped delicately forward, -smiling, with hand extended.</p> - -<p>The Prince drew him towards himself. Then -suddenly, without any warning, as if it were the -most natural thing in the world, he took him up -in his arms and carried him to the light to make -a better examination. Mr. Cato stood petrified. -Pendred lay perfectly still, looking up with -frightened blue eyes. Dwala seated himself on -the edge of the table by the window, and put -Pendred on his knee. It was the first finished -product of civilisation that he had seen, perfect -at every point. He smelt him; he stroked his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -hair and ears; he felt the fineness of his clothes; -and growled a deep guttural growl of delight.</p> - -<p>‘I should like to have a nephew, too.’</p> - -<p>‘Put him down, put him down,’ cried Mr. -Cato, finding voice: ‘you mustn’t treat Pendred -like that!’</p> - -<p>Dwala glided obediently off the table, set -Pendred on a chair, and crouched at his feet -looking up.</p> - -<p>‘Does it talk?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>‘That’s right. Of course he does. Pendred’s -a terrible chatterbox. He’ll talk your head off.’</p> - -<p>‘Please make it talk.’</p> - -<p>‘How can he talk when you frighten him to -death like that?’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t be absurd, Uncle Wyndham,’ said -Pendred plaintively: ‘I’m not at all frightened, -thank you.’ He pulled out his case of gold-tipped -cigarettes, and lighted one, at which -Dwala growled again and clapped his hands.</p> - -<p>‘Did you have a jolly voyage? I hear you -were quite a lion on board. Terrible long -journey. Awful bore travellin’. What do you -think of England?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>‘Pretty voice! pretty voice!’ said the Prince, -stroking one of his little boots. ‘Will it eat? -He pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and put -it up to Pendred’s lips. Pendred slipped his legs -away and jumped up.</p> - -<p>‘No, thanks awfully. I must be gettin’ -home. People to tea. Awful bore.’ And with -this he bolted straight out of the door and -through the house to his motor-car, which was -snorting and jumping up and down outside, in -charge of a man in shiny black surrounded by -a crowd of ragamuffins. He was half-way down -the road when Mr. Cato emerged in pursuit.</p> - -<p>The Prince sat by the fire, nodding his head -in high spirits, and ejaculating: ‘Awful bore! -Awful bore!’</p> - -<p>‘How dare you?’ said Mr. Cato, coming in a -moment later, and shutting the door behind him.</p> - -<p>‘Dare what?’</p> - -<p>‘How dare you treat my nephew like that? -Pendred! A gentleman! A future baronet! -Here am I, working my fingers to the bone to -get justice done to you—at it night and day, -spending my substance, sacrificing everything—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -then, when I invite my nephew out here, -who might have helped you in your London -career, you treat him like that! You drive him -out of the house—he even forgot his gloves.’</p> - -<p>‘I liked him. I wanted to keep him.’</p> - -<p>‘You treat him like a child, like a plaything, -a doll. You forget that he is a man.’</p> - -<p>‘Is he a man?’</p> - -<p>‘He was twenty-eight in June. Of course -he’s a man.’</p> - -<p>‘I didn’t know. He has no eye.’</p> - -<p>‘No eye? What do you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing here.’ The Prince moved his hand -over his eyes. ‘Nothing behind.’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know what you mean. Eye or no -eye, I’ll beg you for the future to be respectful -to <i>everybody</i>, mind you—<i>everybody</i>, high or low. -Social position makes no difference. Now you’ve -spoilt everything. Pendred’s offended. He won’t -come back. How can you get on if you behave -like that?’</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato had heard of a man ‘having a leg,’ -but never of a man having ‘no eye.’ It conveyed -nothing to him. But the idea was clear and even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -elementary to Dwala. Being a beast, endowed -with no reason, having only instinct and that -μονὴ αἰσθήματος, or persistence of impressions, -which takes the place of reason in the lower -animals, he was incapable of the rational classification -of natural things which characterises the -human outlook. His criteria of species were -distinct but illogical; his categories did not tally -with human categories; they fell short of them -and they overlapped them. Species was defined -for him, not by the grouping of attributes, but -by an abstract something—a spiritual essence -inherent in the attributes. He was guided, to -put it in philosophical terms, not by ‘phenomena,’ -but by ‘noumena.’ For instance, he knew a -horse from a donkey, not by its size, its ears, or -its coat, not on consideration, but abruptly, -instinctively, round the corner, by an effluence -of individuality; in short, by its ‘equinity.’ So -too, in the forest, he had always known a venomous -cobra from a harmless grass-snake at any distance, -not by considerations of form or colour—considerations -which might often have led to too -late a conclusion—but merely by its ‘cobrinity.’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -But this attitude is liable to error; and Prince -Dwala had been led astray by it. His notion of -the essence of humanity was formed from the -men he had first met; it was limited and imperfect. -It included an element not essential to -humanity, this ‘eye’ of which he spoke: a thing -difficult to define; something revealed in the -bodily eye; not exactly strength of will or power -to command; not entirely dignity or courage; -some reflection rather of the spirit of the universe, -a self-completeness and responsibility, a consciousness -of individual independence. This he had -known and felt in the American, in the Soochings, -in Mr. Cato, in the housemaid—it was the basis -of his respect and obedience; but it was wanting -in Pendred Lillico.</p> - -<p>It was fortunate that he was disabused of -error so early in his career. He could afford to -laugh at his foolishness later—he saw what -mistakes of behaviour it would have led him into; -for when he came to know London better, he -found that the mass of people, both in drawing-rooms -and slums, indubitably men, altogether -lacked the ‘eye’ which he had thought essential.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">X</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> breakfast next morning Mr. Cato groaned a -good deal over his letters.</p> - -<p>‘Well, Wyndham, what does Pendred say?’ -asked sister Emily.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato frowned, and shook his head in a -menacing aside, enjoining discretion.</p> - -<p>‘I was afraid so,’ he said, after breakfast, when -Dwala had retired to the study fire. ‘Pendred -is very pessimistic. Oh dear, oh dear! And -yet, who can say he is not right after the way he -was treated? “I am afraid that the same thing -cannot be said of your <i>protégé</i>. Quite apart -from his rudeness to me—of which I will say -nothing, if you will do the same—it is evident -that Prince Dwala is not a gentleman. Not at -present, at any rate. There is a <i>brusquerie</i> about -him which would do very well in a Hapsburg or -a Hohenzollern, but not in a deposed Borneo -Prince. He doesn’t know how to sit down; nor -in fact what to sit on. He doesn’t know what to -do with his hands; all his movements are too -large, and, as Lady Hamish would say, ‘too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -conclusive.’” Pendred won’t come to lunch on -Tuesday—I was afraid not; he leaves town on -Monday. However, there is a ray of hope. It is -really very generous of Pendred, considering. It -is certainly worth trying. “Gentlemen are made -as well as born. Captain Howland-Bowser acquired -it because he was determined to succeed; -and now nobody would know he was not a gentleman, -and in fact a very fine gentleman, and -received everywhere. Of course it is a secret. I -should never have known if Warbeck Wemyss had -not told me himself. Present the letter I enclose, -and let him see that you mean perfect discretion.”’</p> - -<p>‘Who is Warbeck Wemyss? Not <i>the</i> ...’</p> - -<p>‘Of course.’</p> - -<p>‘The actor?’</p> - -<p>‘Gives lessons in manners, do you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘But won’t it be very expensive?’</p> - -<p>‘Of course Wyndham means the Prince to pay -himself.’</p> - -<p>‘Now Clara, once for all, let me hear no more -of these hints. The Prince shall <i>not</i> pay. We -have no right to expect it, poor fellow. We have -done very well without going to the country this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -year, and surely we can manage to do it again. -If the worst comes to the worst we can move into -a smaller house when the Prince leaves us. You -must try to be more economical; the bills come -to far more than they ought to.’ He closed the -discussion by leaving the room.</p> - -<p>Warbeck Wemyss consented, on terms. It -was a ‘wrench,’ as Traddles would have said; -but surely it was worth while. The lessons were -a great amusement for the Prince. The going -out into the passage; the entering the library, hat -in hand; the surprise on Mr. Wemyss’s part; the -little interchange on health and weather; the -play with his monstrous gloves: the more elaborate -lessons; introductions; forgetfulnesses; the -assumption of grave interest while a humble -Wemyss endeavoured to recall to him where they -had met before; the pretended dinners; the -new words; the manner of gallantry; the manner -of confidence; the gestures and ejaculations of -patience under a long anecdote—a thousand -situations which pictured a new and delightful -universe before his eyes. Dwala had the imitative -faculty in perfection; he almost cried with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -humble joy when Wemyss clapped him on the -shoulder, and assured him that he would make a -gentleman of him in no time. Mr. Cato was -delighted with the teacher’s reports: a little slapdash -at first; rather random in the use of -‘rippin’’ and ‘awful bore,’ but quicker progress -than he had ever seen.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span> there were other things to raise -Mr. Cato’s spirits. Parliament was back. The -Government still held good, it is true, in spite of -all rumours to the contrary; but opposition is -exhilarating. Best of all, the Privy Council was -in session. The Crown Officers, worn out with -long obstructive sittings, made a poor fight of it: -a dispute about a bit of land in Borneo was a -small matter compared with the fate of a historic -party. The judges were favourably impressed -by the brusque appositeness of Mr. Cato’s -counsel.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Cato came back one day in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -four-wheeler instead of the omnibus, his sisters -knew that something extraordinary had happened.</p> - -<p>‘We’ve won!’ he cried, sinking, smiling and -exhausted, into an armchair.</p> - -<p>Everybody shook hands with Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said, pressing each -hand delicately, and laying his left hand on the -top of it, in a graceful and engaging way which -Mr. Wemyss had taught him. ‘You’re very kind.’ -But he had no understanding of the news. Only -at dinner, when a gold-necked bottle of Christmas -champagne was produced and they all drank his -health, he began to realise that it was something -solemn and important.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was more solemn than anybody suspected. -The news from the mines had been good; but it -was nothing to what it was going to be. When -Mr. Cato came home in the afternoon, two days -later, he found a smart brougham at the door. -On the hall table lay a card: ‘Baron Blumenstrauss.’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -The famous Baron in his house! The -drawing-room was empty. He went into the -library. There he beheld an elderly bald-headed -Jewish gentleman in a white waistcoat, with fat -little purple hands clasping his spread knees, -gazing with baggy eyes through dishevelled -gold pince-nez at Prince Dwala, who lay back -in an armchair, lids down, breathing heavily. -At Mr. Cato’s entrance, the visitor took off his -pince-nez and looked up.</p> - -<p>‘It iss an extra-ordinary ting,’ he said: ‘de -shendlemann ’as gone to sleep!’</p> - -<p>The Prince awoke at this and leaned forward -blinking.</p> - -<p>‘Pray continue. It is <i>most</i> interesting.’</p> - -<p>‘I am not used to ’ave my beesness bropositions -receift in soch a way. I am Baron -Blumenstrauss,’ he said, turning to Mr. Cato, -with gurgling guttural r’s.</p> - -<p>‘Yes?... I am Mr. Cato—Mr. Wyndham -Cato ... I ... I live here, you know.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah—sit down, Mister Cato. I ’ave read your -speeches. You are cleffer man; you ’ave ideas; -wrong ideas, bot cleffer. What can I do wid a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -shendlemann dat go to sleep when I make him -beesness bropositions? I offer to make him very -rich man, he say “rippin’”; I say four hunderd -tousand pount a year, he shut his eye; I say <i>fife</i> -hunderd tousand pount, he go to sleep.’</p> - -<p>‘Five, hundred ... thousand ... pounds!’ -ejaculated Mr. Cato faintly, overwhelmed.</p> - -<p>‘Effery year.’</p> - -<p>‘Why?’</p> - -<p>The Baron winked ponderously, with an -effort, and smiled with exquisite penetration of -Mr. Cato’s labyrinthine slyness.</p> - -<p>‘Nod for nussing!’</p> - -<p>‘What is the proposition?’</p> - -<p>‘Are you de shendlemann’s guardian?’ -returned the Baron abruptly.</p> - -<p>‘Why no,’ reflected Mr. Cato: ‘I suppose I -am not. But I’m his principal adviser.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! I know.’</p> - -<p>The Baron rose suddenly, snatching up his -white-lined hat and lavender gloves.</p> - -<p>‘Well, goot-bye, shendlemen. I haf laties -wait for me at home. Adieu, mon Prince.’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Good</i>-bye, <i>good</i>-bye,’ said Dwala, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -careful intonations: ‘I hope you’ll look in again -some time.’</p> - -<p>‘Goot-bye, I leaf you to your books, your -studies. Goot-bye ... Dis vay?’ he appealed -to Mr. Cato, moving towards the door.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll see you out.’</p> - -<p>‘Goot! You haf charming leetle house. -Man can see dat Madame haf excellent taste.’</p> - -<p>He stopped at the hat-rack, took down a hat -and put it into Mr. Cato’s hand, nodding and -smiling.</p> - -<p>‘Put him on. You come wid me.’</p> - -<p>‘I wasn’t going out.’</p> - -<p>‘Come alonk. I make you beesness broposition.’ -He hurried him down the steps. ‘Leedle -flower’s all dead,’ he said, half glancing at the -wintry garden. ‘Half-past seex,’ he added, looking -at his watch.</p> - -<p>As they bowled along in the smooth brougham, -night fell. The Baron talked; Mr. Cato began to -see dimly the gigantic outline of the thing that -he had done. His mind was still numbed with -the vastness of big figures; he hardly perceived -the order in which things happened. The Baron<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -had drawn a paper from some recess of the -carriage and put it in his hand; he was fascinated -by the purple unconscious forefinger striding -about it, and the continuous voice in his ear. It -was a map, a copy of the map of the Sooching -forest made by the lawyers: ‘As shown in the map -appended hereto, and marked C,’ he repeated to -himself. Yellow squares, and circles and figures -in black had grown on the bare centre since he -last saw it. The purple blood-gorged finger was -running rapidly from pit to pit; they were all -full of gold, and the finger was peeping and gloating -and chuckling, planning schemes of union and -division, conquest and annihilation. The coachman’s -steady back looked in with its two silver -eyes from the box, like the face of a giant -Fate, rumbling and gliding them to inevitable -ends.</p> - -<p>The burst of a barrel organ brought him to -everyday consciousness. The Baron was still -talking.</p> - -<p>‘“Are de Government mad?” said my friends -to me. “Dey might haf taken de whole ting wid -deir retchiment of men; and dey let it all go to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -one shendlemann. An’ now dere can neffer be a -war for it; it is brivate broperty. Dey leaf it to -de Soochinks? Goot! Someday de Soochinks -rebel; dey oppose de Ettucation law, de Tynamite -law, de Church law: de Government take it away -from dem. Goot! Dat is Bolitics. But dey -have made it Broperty: dere is no Bolitics wid -Broperty. We shall see big row. De Government -will fall.”’</p> - -<p>‘They have many things to answer for.’</p> - -<p>‘It is solid gold!’</p> - -<p>‘Ten thousand butchered Bulgarians lie at -their door.’</p> - -<p>‘Polgarrians? What are your ten tousand -Polgarrians to me, ten hunderd tousand Polgarrians, -ten million Polgarrians? A tousand -tons of solid gold, I tell you. Dey know nussing, -your Government. All de land is one big reef. -I haf known it tree munt, you haf known it, -efferybody haf known it; but de Government -knows nussing, de Brivy Gouncil knows nussing.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you mean that the gold runs right across -this map, where these marks are?’</p> - -<p>‘Natürlich.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>‘I never even guessed it.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it a choke? Bah! Den why haf you made -soch friends of de Brince?’</p> - -<p>‘What’s your proposal?’</p> - -<p>‘Wait!’ He put his head out of window -and shouted to the driver: ‘Kvicker! Kvicker!’.... -‘I tell you at home. Haf a smoke?’ -He held out a fat cigar-case.</p> - -<p>‘No thank you.’</p> - -<p>‘Take it! take it! Fifty pount a box.’ Mr. -Cato still refused.</p> - -<p>Gates opened before them; they drove over a -gravel court, and ascended broad steps on a red -carpet rolled down by footmen.</p> - -<p>‘To de English room.’</p> - -<p>They flew through a monstrous hall, with -three footmen after them; fountains, palms, -mosaics, tiles, pillars, galleries, lights; a card-table, -dwarfed by the vastness; card-players, -lounging men, thin contemptuous women smoking -cigarettes. As they bowled rapidly by, the -Baron waved flickering red fingers:</p> - -<p>‘My exguses laties. Come along Max: -beesness!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>A young Jew arose from the table, threw -down his cards, made apologies, and followed -quickly.</p> - -<p>In the English room the Baron cast rapid -gestures at the pictures on the walls:</p> - -<p>‘Reynolds, Cainsborough, Dicksee, Constable, -Leader, Freeth. Come along, Max. Bring champagne,’ -he said to the footmen.</p> - -<p>‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Mr. Cato.</p> - -<p>‘Goot! I will drink it mysailfe.’</p> - -<p>They sat in a blaze of electric light, velvet, -gold, Venetian glasses; everything exhaled a fat -smell of luxury. This was the stunning atmosphere -in which the Baron preferred to make his -‘broposition.’ Papers flitted about the table; -champagne and diamond rings flickered before -Mr. Cato’s eyes.</p> - -<p>The Baron planned an amalgamation, a monopoly; -harmony and understanding; big handling -and cheap production; the sales regulated; the -market chosen; the rate of exchange manipulated. -A mass of companies, with different names, -different directorates, even different supposititious -localities.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>‘If I call him Cato Deeps, and say he is in -Mexico, who knows? who cares? De enchineer? -I pay him. De public? De diffidends are all in -Treadneedle Street.’</p> - -<p>An oscillation of good reports and bad -reports, share-prices going up and down, with the -Baron and his friends in the middle of the see-saw, -and money rolling to them from alternate -ends of the plank.</p> - -<p>‘Gold is goot, but gompanies are better,’ he -said.</p> - -<p>But the Baron must have a free hand; it -amounted to a purchase, a right to exploit. -Everything depended on the Prince, and evidently -the Prince depended on Mr. Cato. For the one -there waited the 500,000<i>l.</i> a year in perpetuity, -guaranteed on his own property; for the other, -directorships, fees, shares, pickings at every -corner; a safe income of at least ten thousand to -be had for the asking. He had only to get the -Prince’s consent to the bargain.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato flipped aside the personal question -without a word. But for the Prince? 500,000<i>l.</i> -a year. No one could reasonably ask more of life.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -Had he a right to refuse it? But these companies! -tricks of promotion! all the garbage of -the money market. Had he a right to accept it? -He hesitated.</p> - -<p>The butler came in, and murmured in the -Baron’s ear.</p> - -<p>‘Where?’</p> - -<p>‘Just outside, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Gif him a smoke, and tell him to vait.’</p> - -<p>‘Can I come in?’ said a voice at the door.</p> - -<p>‘Aha, cher Duc!’ cried the Baron with -brazen-voiced, brutal <i>bonhomie</i>: ‘go to de pilliard -room and vait.’</p> - -<p>‘Can’t you spare a moment?’</p> - -<p>‘Ne voyez-vous pas?’ The <i>bonhomie</i> passed -to imperial fierceness. ‘I am peezy!’</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ he said, as Mr. Cato still sat plunged -in thought. ‘For you it is leetle question—for -de Brince, leetle question: it is me or somebody -else. Fife hunderd tousand pount, effery -year.’</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato still pondered. He thought he saw -his duty clearing before him.</p> - -<p>‘Well? De Duke vaits; I vait. You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -impoverish de world: you widdraw me from -circulation. Is it Yes?’</p> - -<p>‘No!’ said Mr. Cato, pushing back his chair. -‘It is No.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah?... Who will manage de mines?’</p> - -<p>‘The Prince will manage the mines. <i>I</i> will -manage the mines.’</p> - -<p>‘Goot! You hear, Max? Dis shendlemann -will manage de mines.’</p> - -<p>Max only stared palely at Mr. Cato. The -irony was too great for laughter. He saw a man -putting to sea on a plank, unconscious of the deep -voice of the gathering tornado; a child going out -with a wooden gun to make sport of an angry -crowd of <i>sans-culottes</i>.</p> - -<p>‘Can I get a copy of the corrected map anywhere?’ -asked the Child.</p> - -<p>‘Gif him de map, Max,’ said the Baron, with -a short, indulgent laugh. ‘My secret achents haf -brepared it, Mr. Cato. Gif him de figures, all de -papers. Let him haf efferyting. Goot-bye, Mr. -Cato. See him to de carriage, Max.’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll walk, thank you.’</p> - -<p>‘Better drive. Goot-bye.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>‘Good-bye.’</p> - -<p>‘You will haf deeficulties, Mr. Cato.’</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato went home by omnibus. His heart -sank as he looked at the map, divorced from the -purple finger.</p> - -<p>There is lightheartedness in great conflict: -we see the larger outline; our forces are fed by -the consciousness of it. A field of gold, still in -possession; a thing still to sell, if need be: it -was an impregnable position. But courage is -needed after the battle; we see partially, at short -range. To have rejected a magnificent offer, to -have so little in its place—some papers, an idea, a -consciousness that needed an atlas to explain it. -To have rejected the proposals of confident -authority creates a helpless mid-air terror; that -is the power of religions. Mr. Cato felt like a -heretic of the Middle Ages, wondering, on the -way to the stake, if after all the Pope were not -right.</p> - -<p>He went straight to his bedroom; walked up -and down in his slippers, lay awake for hours in -long moods of elation and depression, and fell -asleep at last very cold.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">XIII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> wheel had begun to turn. Nothing could -stop it now. Next morning came a fresh-looking -elderly gentleman in grey, who announced himself -as ‘of the Colonial Office.’ He looked about -him as if he meant to buy the place; but -modestly, as if for someone else. Mr. Cato -received him in the drawing-room. He hoped -the Prince was well. The Colonial Office had -heard of the Prince’s improving fortunes. His -business concerned the Prince, but it could most -conveniently be broached to Mr. Cato. He -would see the Prince afterwards.</p> - -<p>It had probably struck Mr. Cato that the -time had now arrived for the Prince to set up a -separate establishment. The Colonial Office, -which was ultimately responsible for him, felt -that Mr. Cato’s kindness must not be trespassed -on. He must not be allowed to monopolise the -Prince.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato had probably noticed that native -potentates always had, what you might call, for -want of a better word, ‘keepers’ attached to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -their persons while they were in England. The -actual title varied. As a rule it was some tall -muscular military man who was said to be ‘in -attendance on His Majesty the So-and-so.’ It -was this functionary’s duty to keep him generally -out of mischief; for these Oriental fellows would -play the very deuce if left alone. Well, as far as -Prince Dwala was concerned, the Colonial Office -had decided that a Private Secretary would meet -the case, and they had in fact selected the man.</p> - -<p>‘Who is it?’ asked Mr. Cato, repressing a -pang of jealousy.</p> - -<p>‘One of the Huxtables—John Huxtable, a -son of the Bishop.’</p> - -<p>This again smelt of large success. Mr. Cato -knew nothing of this particular John; but he -was a Huxtable, and Huxtables are, like Napoleon, -not men but institutions. Nature has such -caprices. Out of many million wild rough briars, -one rougher and crabbeder than all the rest is -chosen by her for a fathering stock; whatever is -grafted on it thrives. Another is richer, larger, -better-flowered, the pride of the field—it is wise, -courteous, a soldier, a leader of men; it is made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -a Duke; it is grafted with the delicatest buds of -Paestum. But the bloom is frail and mean; -shelter and fine feeding avail not, it has a good -place in the garden, but it is fragrant only in its -name. The Huxtables came of a rough and -crabbed stock. Their great-grandfather was -somebody’s gamekeeper. His sons throve in business. -His grandsons were great men—soldiers, -lawyers, priests. His great-grandsons, an innumerable -rising generation, were destined for -greater greatness. It had become an English -custom to see large futures before them. They -were big and bony, they played at Lord’s, they -abounded in clubs and country houses; their -handsome, strong-toothed sisters married well, -breeding powerful broad-browed babies that -frowned and pinched.</p> - -<p>This particular Huxtable had tutored a Prince -of the blood. He had been secretary to a philanthropic -commission; he would be a Cabinet -Minister, a Viceroy—anything he pleased. For -the present he would be private secretary to -Dwala: he would manage him, regulate him, -assert him, protect him, establish him, marry him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -perhaps, and pass on to another broad stage in -the regal staircase of his career.</p> - -<p>As for the mines, the gentleman in grey had -no advice to offer. It was a private affair of -Prince Dwala’s; no concern of the Colonial Office. -Why not consult some big financier? Baron -Blumenstrauss, for instance.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cato made no reply.</p> - -<p>‘Well, after all,’ the grey gentleman concluded, -‘it had better be left to Mr. Huxtable.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XIV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Huxtable came later—a terrifying young -man, who said little, but listened with a tolerant -smile—and after him a host of others, entailed -by his plans for Dwala. A house had been found -in Park Lane. The owner, who was travelling in -the East, had left the thing intact; his creditors -wished to sell it as it stood. The appointments -were passable; he had been a rather random collector -of good things—some rubbish must be -weeded out and replaced, but there was nothing -to delay possession.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>However, it must be paid for. If Mr. Cato -would produce his accounts, the Huxtable would -be glad to go through them with him.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I have no accounts to show.’</p> - -<p>‘Why not?’</p> - -<p>‘Dwala has been my guest. There is nothing -to account for.’</p> - -<p>‘But the property in Borneo—you have an -account of that?’</p> - -<p>‘No.’</p> - -<p>‘This is all very curious. A man has a fortune -of some hundreds of thousands a year, and no -account is kept of it!’</p> - -<p>‘But he hasn’t got it yet. It lies buried in -the earth in Borneo.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes; it consists of mines, I know. But, of -course, the fortune was realisable as soon as the -Privy Council gave their decision.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, it hasn’t been realised.’</p> - -<p>‘But the decision was given a week ago. Do -you mean to say it has been <i>neglected</i> all this -time?’</p> - -<p>‘“Neglected” is a piece of impertinence, Mr. -Huxtable.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>‘A week’s income lost means something like -10,000<i>l.</i>’</p> - -<p>‘How dare you come to me—me, who has -been toiling night and day in the Prince’s interest—in -this authoritative, censorious way—I, who -am old enough to be your grandfather—talking -of neglect?’</p> - -<p>‘You regard it as an aspersion? Well, and -what are the results of all your labour?’</p> - -<p>‘I have secured him justice.’</p> - -<p>‘Justice is a matter of law, Mr. Cato: the -Privy Council has attended to that. If you were -incapable of realising his fortune yourself, why -not have applied to some big financier—Baron -Blumenstrauss, for instance?’</p> - -<p>‘I have seen Baron Blumenstrauss.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, what did he say?’</p> - -<p>‘He made an offer. He volunteered to buy -all the Prince’s rights for 500,000<i>l.</i> a year.’</p> - -<p>‘Then, surely, you have realised it?’</p> - -<p>‘No, sir, I have not.’</p> - -<p>‘You don’t mean that you refused his offer? -You weren’t expecting anyone to offer more, I -suppose?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>‘I refused his offer.’</p> - -<p>‘On what ground?’</p> - -<p>‘I regard Baron Blumenstrauss as an immoral -man. I regard his business methods as immoral. -If I had accepted the offer on the Prince’s behalf, -I should have been advising him to lend himself -to a vile system of exploitation, which I regard as -one of the most infamous curses of our modern -civilisation. I would rather see Dwala starve.’</p> - -<p>‘You have taken a very great responsibility -on yourself, Mr. Cato.’</p> - -<p>‘I am quite willing to bear it.’</p> - -<p>A smile flickered round the Huxtable’s nose, -and Mr. Cato felt that he was being betrayed into -melodrama. Silence ensued.</p> - -<p>‘Your sentiments are very noble, Mr. Cato,’ -said Huxtable at last. ‘I should say that they -did you every credit, if it were your own fortune -that we were talking about. But it is not. And -if you think it over, you will see that your conduct -lies open to the very gravest criticism. By a -series of unusual circumstances you find yourself -practically master of the disposal of a vast fortune -belonging to someone else. Instead of accepting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -an excellent offer for the benefit of the person -whose interests you for some reason claim the -right of defending, you go off at a tangent in -pursuit of your own political theories.’</p> - -<p>‘Political theories?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, sir; political theories. Your views are -well known. You regard the ways of the money -market as immoral; you preach saintliness in -the conduct of business; you think our social and -financial system a mistake; you are, in fact, -opposed to our civilisation as you find it. Those -are your politics. Excellent! Charming! That -is what makes your speeches a success. Moreover, -you have a perfect right to practise your -theories with your own property if you please. -This Sermon-on-the-Mount way of doing business -would make you a delightful customer in the City, -no doubt. But when it comes to Prince Dwala’s -affairs, the case is different. You are in the -position of a trustee.’</p> - -<p>‘Then is a trustee to be without a conscience?’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly not; that’s just the point. I -wonder you mention it. A trustee’s conscience -ought to be a very delicate affair.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>‘Do you mean to insinuate that I have acted -without conscience?’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t insinuate it, sir; I say it straight -out. You have acted unconscientiously.’</p> - -<p>‘You have the insolence to say that!’ cried -Mr. Cato, jumping up, with tears of fury in his -voice. ‘You dare to sit there and tell me I have -no conscience; you ... you damnable young -prig!’</p> - -<p>The Huxtable sat with folded arms, looking -at him coldly, magisterially. This young untroubled -man was the World, the unrighteous, -unanimous World, sitting in judgment on him.</p> - -<p>‘You don’t improve your case by losing -your temper and being abusive,’ said the World. -‘Your conscience, your whole conscience, should -have been bent on serving the Prince’s interests; -it was your duty to divest yourself of all personal -theories, all prejudices, all principles, and devote -yourself only to getting the best price you could. -You are not a business man, and you had no right -to experiment on the Prince’s behalf with theories -of business that never <i>have</i> worked, never <i>will</i> -work, and never <i>could</i> work. Nobody will offer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -you a better price than the Baron, because no -one can afford a better price.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, you have succeeded me. There are -the mines intact. Go to the Baron and get him to -renew his offer.’</p> - -<p>‘The Baron will not make the same offer -again.’</p> - -<p>‘How do you know?’</p> - -<p>‘Because I have seen the Baron.’</p> - -<p>‘You have seen him!... Then all this long -discussion was a trap for me?’</p> - -<p>‘You can call it a trap if you like, though -I think the word is a damaging one for you. I -have seen the Baron, and he at once stated that -he washed his hands of the whole affair.’</p> - -<p>‘But if his only motive is money, things are -just as they were a week ago. He can still make -his money.’</p> - -<p>‘You only expose your ignorance of the man -you were so ready to abuse—a man of unsullied -reputation, by-the-bye. Money is <i>not</i> his only -motive.’</p> - -<p>‘What other motive has he?’</p> - -<p>‘Pride.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>‘Him?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, sir; pride. When a man of that -magnitude steps off his pedestal and comes down -to a suburban house to offer his services to a -private individual, he expects to be treated at -least with consideration. He is accustomed to -dealing with Empires, Governments, National -Banks; not with obscure gentlemen in Hampstead -villas. What happened? The Prince fell asleep, -and you gave the Baron a blunt rebuff.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s not my business to keep Prince Dwala -awake.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s not your business to settle his affairs -while he’s asleep. You made an enemy of Baron -Blumenstrauss.’</p> - -<p>‘The Baron’s enmity to me is of no importance.’</p> - -<p>‘Quite true; of no importance. But you -made him the Prince’s enemy—an enemy of the -estate. He began negotiating against us at once, -floating companies over our head. He is omnipotent, -and you turned him against the Prince. -His pride was hurt.’</p> - -<p>‘Surely he can swallow his pride!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>‘No doubt; but not at the same figure. He -offers only 400,000<i>l.</i> a year.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, what do you mean to do?’</p> - -<p>‘I have accepted his offer.’</p> - -<p>‘Ha!... I hope you made a good thing -out of it?’</p> - -<p>They both rose to their feet.</p> - -<p>‘In what way, Mr. Cato?’</p> - -<p>‘There was, I suppose, some commission -attached to the negotiation?’</p> - -<p>‘No, sir; there was no commission. Baron -Blumenstrauss knew me better than to offer me -any such thing.’</p> - -<p>It was perfectly true. It would have been -inapt. There were other ways in which the -Baron could discharge his debt of gratitude to a -young man with a great future.</p> - -<p>‘Where is the Prince?’ said Huxtable.</p> - -<p>‘What do you want with him?’</p> - -<p>‘I am going to take him into London.’</p> - -<p>‘His house isn’t ready.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, it is. Will you make out your bill?’</p> - -<p>‘What bill?’</p> - -<p>‘For the expenses of his keep.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>‘He has been my guest, I tell you.’</p> - -<p>‘As you please. Where is he now?’</p> - -<p>‘He has gone for a walk with his governess.’</p> - -<p>‘I will wait for him.’</p> - -<p>This imperturbable young man sat quietly -down in an armchair and cracked his thumb-joints. -Mr. Cato looked at him with silent -wonder, and left the room. He envied the -Huxtable his nerves: his own were in a tumult; -he could not have stayed with him a moment -longer.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span> Dwala, all unconscious, was standing -on Parliament Hill, with Miss Briscoe’s tall -figure at his side. It must have been some unwitting -prescience which took them there that day.</p> - -<p>London lay at their feet: London, which -Dwala had never seen; London, where his life -would lie from this day forth. Not the formless, -endless, straight-ruled London seen by the man -in the street; not a pervading, uniform, roaring,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -inevitable presence: but London apart; in the -distance; without sound; without smell; set to a -foreground of sun-beaten grass and a gambolling -wind from the fields and seas; a thing with a -shape; a whole; bounded, surrounded, grim and -grimy, sprawling down the dishonoured valley; -murky, random, ridged and toothed, like the -<i>débris</i> of Ladoga’s ice, piled in the Neva by -December.</p> - -<p>Dwala laughed.</p> - -<p>It was a joke of a magnitude fitted to his -monstrous mind. ‘Man is the laughing animal:’ -he had proved himself human. Behold, he had -worshipped Man and his inventions; he had come -forth to see the sublimest invention of all; he -had travelled over half the world for it; everywhere -they spoke of it with awe. And now he -had seen it. It was London.</p> - -<p>The hill shook with his laughter. All the -birds and beasts in the big city heard it and -made answer—cheeping, squeaking, mewing, barking, -whinnying, and braying together; forgetful, -for the moment, of their long debates on -the habits of mankind, their tedious tales of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -human sagacity, their fruitless altercations as to -whether men had instinct or were guided only -by reason.</p> - -<p>The commotion escaped Miss Briscoe’s notice: -she heard only one deep guttural laugh beside -her, and looking up, beheld a grave impassive -face.</p> - -<p>‘There is St. Paul’s: do you see, Prince? -How grand it looks, watching over the great city -like a shepherd over his flock. “Toil on, toil on, -my children,” it seems to say: “I am here in the -midst of you, the Church, the Temple builded of -the lowly Carpenter, with my message of strength -for the faint-hearted, consolation for the afflicted, -peace for all when the day’s task is done. Toil -on, that the great work may be accomplished at -last.”’</p> - -<p>‘Work? Ah, you may well say work,’ said a -voice from the bench beside them.</p> - -<p>An old man was sitting there; a handsome -old man, with a strong, bony face. His knobbed -hands rested on the top of a walking-stick, his -chin on his hands. He wore the unmistakable -maroon jacket and black shovel-hat of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -workhouse; corduroys clothed his lean and -hollow thighs.</p> - -<p>‘Bless you, there’s work for everyone as -<i>wants</i> to work. See that chimney down there, -that biggun? That’s Boffin’s, where I was. -Three and fifty years I worked at Boffin’s.’</p> - -<p>‘Was it a happy life?’ asked Miss Briscoe.</p> - -<p>‘Happy? Bless you, the times I’ve had there -when I was a youngster. Always up to larks. -There’s three of my grandsons there now.’</p> - -<p>Miss Briscoe admired his furrowed, placid face. -‘Take this,’ she whispered.</p> - -<p>The old man looked coldly at a shilling.</p> - -<p>‘No, thanky ... but if the gentleman has -some tabacca on him, I could do with a bit.’</p> - -<p>As they neared the bottom of the hill, Mr. -Cato came hurrying towards them. There were -tears in his eyes, and wet hollows in his cheeks.</p> - -<p>‘Well, Dwala my boy, I’ve brought you news. -You’re going into London to-night, to your new -home.’</p> - -<p>Dwala put up his face to the sky and laughed -again.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">XVI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dwala</span> was a social success, an object of multiple -affection. His large grave ways, his modesty, -his kindliness, made him personally beloved. He -was, of course, always a ‘native’; there was no -escaping that. But to be tolerated, if you are -tolerated everywhere, is social greatness.</p> - -<p>One thing he lacked, they said—the sense of -humour. The tiny shock that makes a human -joke was too slight for his large senses. But -humour, after all, is a rather bourgeois quality.</p> - -<p>He was adopted from the beginning, pushed, -trumpeted, imposed, by that powerful paper -the ‘Flywheel.’ He had captivated Captain -Howland-Bowser, its correspondent, at the first -encounter. The ‘Flywheel,’ descending after a -century, from its Olympian heights, into the -arena of popular favour—by gradual stages, -beginning with the great American ‘pill competition’—had -put itself on a level with the rest -by adding a column of ‘Beau Monde Intime’ to -its daily issue. The thing was done on the old -Olympian scale. The column was not entrusted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -to a chattering magpie-newswoman, or to a broken-winged -baronet, as is the way with lesser sheets; -but to an eagle of the heights—the famous -Captain Howland-Bowser, our modern Petronius, -the Grand Old Man of Pall Mall; the Buck from -Bath, as envious youngsters called him; the well-known -author of ‘Furbelows’ and the ‘Gourmet’s -Calendar.’</p> - -<p>The fateful evening is recorded in his -‘Memoirs of a Man about Town,’ that farrago -of entertaining scandal, which proved a mine of -wealth to his sorrowing wife and family, to whom -he bequeathed the manuscript when he died, as a -consolation for a somewhat neglectful attitude in -life:</p> - -<p>‘It was at Lady L——’s that I first met -Prince D——, that “swart monarch” whose -brilliant career, with its astonishing <i>dénouement</i>, -made so much stir in 19—. I remember that -evening well. We had supper at the Blackguards; -<i>homards à la Cayenne</i> with <i>crème de crevettes</i>, -<i>cailles Frédérique</i>, <i>salade Howland-Bowser</i>, &c., -&c. Tom Warboys was there, gallant Tom; -Harry Clarke, of Sandown fame; Lord F——<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -(Mrs. W——’s Lord F——); R——, the artist; -poor H——, who shot himself afterwards; and a -few others. W-rb-ck W-m-ss came in later, and -delighted the company with some of his well-known -anecdotes. We formed a brilliant little group -in the dear old club—Adolphe was in his zenith -then. The Prince was in great form, saying -little, but enjoying all the fun with a grave -relish which was all his own. R—— was the -only blemish in the galaxy; <i>il faisait tache</i>, as -the volatile Gaul would say. H—— was getting -hold of him at the time to choose some pictures -for the Prince’s “’umble ’ut” in Park Lane. R—— -raised a general laugh at his own expense when I -pressed him for an estimate of Grisetti’s “Passive -Resistance,” the gem of our little collection. -The knowingest men in London were agreed -that it was not only one of the wittiest pictures -of the year, but the girl the man was kissing -was the most alluring young female ever -clapped on canvas. R—— valued it at twenty -pounds—the price of the frame! We roared. -It had cost a cool two thousand, and was -worth at least five hundred more. So much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -for experts! He was very chapfallen the rest of -the evening.</p> - -<p>‘However, <i>revenons à notre mouton</i>, as the -gay Parisians said, when the siege was raised -and <i>bottines sauce souris</i> went out of fashion. -It was at the supper-table that Prince D—— -revealed that extraordinary delicacy of perception -which first opened your humble servant’s eyes to -what a pitch refinement can go. His manners, -by-the-bye, were unimpeachable: stately, and yet -affable. <i>Non imperitus loquor.</i> But the amazing -thing was his palate. There are delicate palates -in London—though many who pose as “men of -culture” have little or none—but the delicacy of -Prince D——’s was what I should call “superhuman,” -if subsequent events had not proved -that this extraordinary gift had, by some topsy-turvy -chance, fallen to the lot of one who, I -suppose, after all, we must now acknowledge -“sub-human.”</p> - -<p>‘I had just brought to what I thought, and -still think, perfection, a mixed claret, on which I -had been at work a long time. The waiter had -his orders. “<i>Fiat experimentum</i>,” said I, and three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -bottles, unmarked, were brought. Every one at -table was given a liqueur glass of each to taste. -The company mumbled and mouthed them, and -each one gave a different opinion—all wrong. -The poor “gamboge-slinger” admitted at once -that he didn’t know port from burgundy: I had -suspected as much.</p> - -<p>‘“Well, Prince,” said I, “what’s your -opinion?” To my astonishment I saw that he -hadn’t touched a drop. He sat quite still, leaning -back in his chair; his nostrils quivered a little. -Suddenly he put out one of his long fingers—his -hands were enormous—and touched what I shall -call, for short, “Glass A.”</p> - -<p>‘“That is a good wine,” he said, “the same as -we had at home night before last.” He turned -to poor H——.</p> - -<p>‘“Château Mauville,” said H——.</p> - -<p>‘“And that,” he said, touching Glass B, “is -thin and sour; it smells of leather. And that,” -he said, touching Glass C, “is a mixture of the -two, and very good it is.” Saying which, he -drank it off and licked his lips.</p> - -<p>‘“Gentlemen!” cried I, jumping up; “this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard. -Without tasting a drop, the Prince has guessed -<i>exactly</i> right. It’s Château Mauville, which I -have mixed—a sudden inspiration which came -to me one morning in my bath—with an inferior -Spanish claret, tinged with that odd smack of -the wine-skin, which I thought would fit in with -the rather tea-rosy taste of the Mauville.”</p> - -<p>‘You can imagine the excitement which this -event produced in that coterie of <i>viveurs</i>. From -that moment his success in London was assured. -The story got about, in a distorted form of -course, as these things will. I was obliged to -give the correct version of it in the “Flywheel” -a few days later.</p> - -<p>‘It was I that introduced him to Lord X——, -who had been complaining for years that there -wasn’t a man in town fit to drink his Madeira. -Trench by trench the citadel of public -opinion was stormed and taken. How well I -remember,’ &c., &c.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">XVII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Prince Dwala</span> succeeded by other qualities than -those attributed to him. His wealth raised him -to a high tableland, where others also dwelt; it -was not his fine palate which raised him higher, -nor was it his manners. His manners, in point of -fact, were not perfect; his manner perhaps, but -not his manners. The finest manners were not to -be learnt in the school of Warbeck Wemyss, as -he quickly perceived; that was only a preparation, -a phase. Captain Howland-Bowser, who -believed his own success to be due to that schooling, -was mistaken; he underrated himself: his -success was greatly due to his fine presence, but -still more to the fact that his intelligence stood -head and shoulders higher than that of most of -those with whom he was thrown into contact; -and he had confirmed his pre-eminence by his -literary fame.</p> - -<p>Prince Dwala’s popularity was chiefly due to -the zeal, the zest, the frenzy, with which he threw -himself into the distractions and pursuits of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -best society. He missed nothing: he was everywhere; -wakeful, watchful, interested. He was a -dancing man, a dining man, a club man, a racing -man, an automobilist, a first-nighter. His dark -head, groomed to a millimetre, his big figure, -tailored to perfection, formed a necessary feature -of every gathering.</p> - -<p>Nor did he hold himself aloof from the more -serious pursuits of the wealthy: he was at every -meeting, big or small, that had to do with -missionary work, temperance, philanthropy; he -visited the Geographical Society, the Antiquaries, -the Christian Scientists, and the lady -with the crystal globe in Hanover Square.</p> - -<p>He was up early, walking through the slums, -or having his correspondence read to him. Tired -rings grew round the Huxtable’s eyes; the Prince -was as fresh as paint. He was studying ‘the -Human Question.’</p> - -<p>We will not follow him through all the -details of his social life: the limbo of frocks and -lights, the lovely people, the unlovely, the endless -flickering of vivid talk, the millions of ideas, -all different in outline but uniform in impulse,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -like the ripples on the Atlantic swell. We come -at once to the great day when he met Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>Strange that such a meeting should have -marked the day for him as great. Not strange -that it should be so for you and me: for us it -has inner meanings, implications of success; it -marks the grandeur of our flight; it has high -possibilities. Who knows but we may catch the -fancy of the lovely creature, be admitted freely to -her familiar fellowship; penetrate thereby to the -very innermost arcana of the Social Mystery?</p> - -<p>But for him—a monster of the forest, an -elemental being—that happiness should date from -his first meeting with a woman whom we must -call after all frail, the fine flower of all that is -most artificial and decadent in England: that -was strange. But so it was.</p> - -<p>He had studied; he had seen; he knew the -human question to the bottom. But what to -make of it? Was this all? Discontentment -gnawed him. He suffered a deprivation, as once -in the forest, when he lacked Man. Now he had -had Man, to the full; he was sated. What -more?</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>Lady Wyse understood his want, and helped -him to supply it. He must reduce himself, -limit his range to the human scale; he must put -off his elemental largeness and himself be Man; -be less—an Englishman, a Londoner.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XVIII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Lady Lillico’s</span> evening was crowded. ‘This is -quite an intellectual party to-day,’ she said, -shaking hands with Dwala and Huxtable, and -leading them down the avenue which opened of -its own accord in the forest of men and women. -‘Such a number of literary people. <i>How</i> do -you do, Mr. MacAllister? It’s an age since we’ve -seen you; and this is your wife, isn’t it? To be -sure. Let me introduce you to Prince Dwala.... -That was Sandy MacAllister, the author of -“The Auld Licht that Failit”—all about those -dear primitive Ayrshire people; everybody’s so -interested nowadays in their fidelity and simplicity -and religiousness and all that. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -Kirkyard School, they call it. It’s a pity his -wife’s so Scotch. Lord Glendover is here....’</p> - -<p>‘Cabinet Ministers, Oho!’ said Huxtable.</p> - -<p>‘And Lady Violet Huggins, and the Duke -of Dover, and Sir Peter Parchmin, the great -biologist, and Sir Benet Smyth, and <i>both</i> the -Miss Dillwaters. And who else <i>do</i> you think -I’ve “bagged,” Mr. Huxtable?’</p> - -<p>‘I can’t guess.’</p> - -<p>‘Lady Wyse!’</p> - -<p>‘Really? I congratulate you.’</p> - -<p>‘Isn’t it splendid? She’s been so rude.’</p> - -<p>‘Next thing I hear you’ll be having....’</p> - -<p>‘S’sh.... General Wapshot, that fierce little -man over there, came with her; we didn’t ask -him, but he always goes wherever she goes. And -isn’t it dreadful, Prince, I asked Wyndham to get -Mr. Barlow to come—the new poet, you know; -and it turns out that he’s a pro-Boer too, and -<i>insists</i> upon reciting his own poems? There he -is at this very moment.’</p> - -<p>In their course down the room they were passing -the door of a smaller apartment, given over -for the evening to a set entertainment. They<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -could see a rumpled young man waving his arms -in there; they caught a whiff of him as they -went by.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">‘Theirs not to do or die!</div> -<div class="verse">Theirs but to question why!’</div> -</div></div> - -<p>he was saying.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know <i>what</i> Mr. Disturnal will think; -that’s him, there’—she indicated a muscular ruffian -with a square blue jaw, priest or prize-fighter, -one would have guessed, who was leaning against -the door-post listening over his shoulder with a -sardonic smile.</p> - -<p>‘But, of course, you know all our celebrities -already, Prince. He’s the most coming man on -the Conservative side, they say; a staunch upholder -of the Church, with all the makings of -a really great statesman. It was he who saved -us only last week over the second reading of -that dreadful Prayer Book Amendment Act, by -borrowing a pole-cat in Seven Dials just in the -nick of time, and hiding it in the Lobby, so that -the supporters of the measure couldn’t get in to -vote. What a pity Julia isn’t here! I’m sure -he’s looking out for her. She’s just gone into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -the rest-cure; quite worn out, poor thing. We -live at a terribly high pressure, Prince; people -take life so seriously now. Oh, there’s the dear -Duke singing one of his delicious songs.’ They -were passing the door again on the return -journey, and the ping-pang of a banjo came -frolicking out on the air with a fat voice lumbering -huskily in pursuit:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">‘Oh, I always get tight</div> -<div class="verse">On a Saturday night,</div> -<div class="verse">And sober up on Sun-day,’</div> -</div></div> - -<p>sang the Duke. Laughter followed with the -confused thunder of an attempted chorus. Mr. -Disturnal had shifted his other shoulder to the -door-post and was looking in, with open mouth -and delighted eye.</p> - -<p>‘Isn’t it amusing?’ said Lady Lillico. ‘That -tall man with the white moustache over there is -Captain Howland-Bowser, quite a literary light. -You know him? He married one of the Devonshire -joneses; the Barley Castle joneses, you know, -with a small j.’</p> - -<p>Pendred passed at this moment, with a hungry -lady of middle years hanging on his arm; he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -slapped the Prince familiarly on the shoulder -as he went by. The awkwardness of their first -encounter had been quite lived down by now.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, please introduce me!’ begged the lady.</p> - -<p>‘What, to the Prince?’ said Pendred. ‘Oh, -you wouldn’t like him.’</p> - -<p>‘I should <i>love</i> him.’</p> - -<p>‘He has a most repulsive face.’</p> - -<p>‘I <i>love</i> a repulsive face.’</p> - -<p>‘He drinks like a fish.’</p> - -<p>‘I <i>love</i> a man who drinks. Oh, Mr. Lillico, -we mustn’t be too censorious about the conduct of -great people; they are exposed to innumerable -temptations of which we know nothing.’</p> - -<p>This was the famous Miss Dillwater, whose -<i>métier</i> in life was loyalty—loyalty to every kind -of Royal personage, but more particularly to the -unfortunate. From her earliest childhood her -dreams had been wholly concerned with kings -and queens; in the daytime she thought over the -clever answers she would make to monarchs whom -she found sitting <i>incognito</i> in parks, and pictured -herself kneeling in floods of tears when summoned -to the palace the next morning. She had pursued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -Don Carlos from hotel to hotel for years; and -only deserted his cause at last to follow King -Milan into exile. Every spring she returned to -London to lay a wreath on the grave of Mary -Queen of Scots, and to conspire with other -dangerous people for the restoration of Prince -Ferdinand of Bulgaria, our rightful monarch, to -the throne of England. Tears coursed down her -cheeks when Pendred introduced her, and it was -a considerable embarrassment to the Prince when -she seized his hairy hand and pressed it fervently -to her lips. She followed him about the rest of -the evening, with a melancholy smile on her wan -face.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Mr. Lillico,’ she said, in an aside to -Pendred; ‘I can never thank you enough. He’s -wonderful. That great jaw! those big teeth! -those long arms! that brow! He reminds me of -one of Charlotte Brontë’s heroes. I do love a -<i>man</i>!’</p> - -<p>The Prince was one of the magnetic centres -of the gathering; the particles regrouped themselves -as he moved about from place to place. -There was one moment when he was comparatively<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -deserted; everyone was crowding round a -lady in black; angry cries issued from the group. -Lady Lillico hurried up to him.</p> - -<p>‘Pray come over here, Prince, and listen to -what Miss Dillwater’s sister is saying. She is -about to reveal <i>the</i> great secret about Guy de -Maupassant and Marie Bashkirtseff. She’s a -great literary authority, you know. I’ve not read -anything by either of them myself as yet, but -I’m <i>deeply</i> interested. We are all Bashkirtseffites -or Maupassantists now.’</p> - -<p>But unfortunately, they were too late for the -secret; they came in only for the broken crumbs -of it.</p> - -<p>‘I was Marie’s <i>greatest</i> friend,’ Miss Sophie -was saying; ‘and you may depend upon it, what -I tell you is true. <i>That</i> is the reason why they -never married. I am a delicate-minded woman, -and nothing should have dragged this secret from -me if I had not felt the overwhelming importance -of it to literature.’</p> - -<p>‘The charge is false!’ bellowed a furious -voice.</p> - -<p>‘The thing will have to be looked into.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>‘Well, whatever anyone says,’ cried a stout -woman, ‘I never <i>have</i> read this Bashkirtseff -lady’s diary, and I never <i>will</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘And, pray, why not, Madam?’ snorted back -an elderly gentleman. ‘Maupassant is a fraud! -After what I have heard to-night, I disown him. -His books ought never to have been published.’</p> - -<p>‘Hear, hear! And with him goes Zola, and -all the rest of them. What do you think, Lord -Glendover?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, me? I never can see what people want -with all these foreign fellers. John Bull’s good -enough for me.’</p> - -<p>Attention was distracted at this point by a -new interest which had arisen on the outskirts of -the group. Sir Peter Parchmin, the great savant, -the petticoat pet—he had made a fortune in -fashionable medical practice, but was forgiven it -on his retirement, at fifty, in virtue of his new -claims as a researcher in biology—was wriggling -faint protests at the violence of a throng of -ladies who were propelling him, with the help -of a tall octogenarian buffoon, towards the centre -of the public.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>‘What’s up?’</p> - -<p>‘Parchmin’s going to tell us the latest news -about the Missing Link,’ said the big buffoon.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, a story about the Missing Link!’ -exclaimed Lady Lillico. ‘This is most exciting. -Sit down everybody, and let us hear it. I <i>adore</i> -scientific things.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, what <i>is</i> the Missing Link?’ said a -young lady. ‘I’ve so often heard of it, and -wondered what it is.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, ladies,’ said the Biologist, taking the -centre, and reconciling himself very readily to -the situation. He fondled and smoothed his -periods with undulating gestures of the long -sleek freckled hands. ‘You’ve all of you heard, -no doubt, of Darwin?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, yes,’ everybody chorussed.</p> - -<p>‘What, Sir Julius Darwin, who bought Upton -Holes?’</p> - -<p>‘No, no, Lord Glendover,’ explained Lady -Lillico, ‘one of the Shropshire Darwins—a very -well-known scientist.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ said Lord Glendover, sinking back -and losing all interest.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>‘Well, when he traced the relationship -between Man and the ... er, Anthropoids....’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, please don’t use technical terms, Sir -Peter!’ cried Lady Lillico. ‘We’re none of us -specialists here.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, let us say the manlike apes ... -when he had traced the relationship, there was -still one place left empty in the ... er ... so -to speak, in the genealogical tree.’ The Biologist -emitted this with a grin. ‘No remains have -ever been found of the hypothetical animal from -which man and the apes are descended: and this -link, which is still lacking to the completeness -of the series, has therefore been called the Missing -Link.’</p> - -<p>A very young soldier, with a handkerchief -sticking out of his sleeve, leaned forward at this -point, blushing deeply:</p> - -<p>‘Then do I understand you, sir, that we are -not actually <i>descended</i> from monkeys?’</p> - -<p>‘No, not actually descended.’</p> - -<p>‘How very curious!’</p> - -<p>‘Fancy! This is something quite new.’</p> - -<p>‘They certainly ought not to have attacked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -Genesis till they were more sure of their -ground.’</p> - -<p>‘How amusing of them to call it the Missing -Link!’</p> - -<p>‘Sort o’ pun, eh?’</p> - -<p>‘But what’s the story, Sir Peter?’</p> - -<p>‘I’m coming to that.... Now, we may -roughly put the date of the Missing Link from -which we are descended at about three hundred -million years ago.’</p> - -<p>An ‘Oh!’ of disappointment ran round the -ladies. The representative of the ‘Flywheel’ -gave a ‘Humph!’ and walked off, to look at -himself in the glass.</p> - -<p>‘But wait a moment,’ said the Biologist. -‘Though improbable, it is not impossible that -the species from which, by differentiation, arose -men on the one hand and apes on the other, -should have continued its existence, <i>undifferentiated</i>, -at the same time. And the rumour is -that there is at least one specimen of the race -still alive; and, what is more, that he was lately -in the possession of an American, and on the eve -of being shipped to England for exhibition.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>‘What an extraordinary thing!’</p> - -<p>‘It’s <i>too</i> fascinating!’</p> - -<p>‘Like those Babylonian hieroglyphics at the -British Museum.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes; or radium.’</p> - -<p>‘Or that rhinoceros in Fleet Street.’</p> - -<p>‘But how <i>old</i> he must be!’</p> - -<p>‘It is said that he escaped to the forest,’ continued -the Biologist; ‘and his keeper lost all trace -of him. We mean to raise a fund for an expedition -to find him.’</p> - -<p>‘What’s the good of him?’ asked a surly -man—one of the Bashkirtseffites—abruptly.</p> - -<p>‘The good, sir? It would be the most important -thing in Science for centuries!’</p> - -<p>‘What good will it do the community, I -should like to know? Will it increase our -output, or raise the standard of comfort, or do -anything for Civilisation?’</p> - -<p>‘Ha! now we’re getting into Politics,’ said -Lord Glendover, rising, and thereby giving an -impulse which disintegrated Sir Peter’s audience.</p> - -<p>Howland-Bowser detached Prince Dwala from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -the group as it broke up, and drew him aside, -with an air of important confidence.</p> - -<p>‘If you go to the refreshment room,’ he said, -‘<i>don’t touch the champagne that’s open</i>. Ask the -head waiter—the old man with the Newgate -fringe; if you mention my name, he’ll know. -It’s the ... ah ... ha....’</p> - -<p>While he was speaking two figures emerged -vividly from the mass, coming towards and -past them. Eyes darkened over shoulders looking -after them. The straight blue figure of a -smooth slender woman, diffusing a soft air of -beauty and disdain; and half at her side, half -behind her, the Biologist, sly and satisfied, hair -and flesh of an even tawny hue, the neck bent -forward, equally ready to pounce on a victim or -suffer a yoke, balancing his body to a Lyceum stride, -clasping an elbow with a hand behind his back, -bountifully pouring forth minted words and looking -through rims of gold into the woman’s face, as it -were round the corner of a door, like some mediæval -statesman playing bo-peep with a baby king.</p> - -<p>Lady Lillico was pursuing with tired and -frightened eyes.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>Howland-Bowser cleared his throat and -shifted his weight on to one gracefully-curving -leg. Lady Lillico had caught them in their -passage.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Lady Wyse,’ she said, with a downward -inflection of fear, as if she had stepped in a hole, -‘may I introduce Prince Dwala? Prince Dwala: -Lady Wyse.’</p> - -<p>The blue lady’s eyes traversed Howland-Bowser -in the region of the tropics with purely -impersonal contempt; he outlined a disclamatory -bow, and fingered his tie. The eyes reached -Dwala and came to anchor.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, you’re the Black Prince,’ said Lady -Wyse; ‘the Wild Man from Borneo that everybody -talks about?’</p> - -<p>Lady Lillico quailed, and vanished through -the floor. Howland-Bowser looked round the -room, chin up, and walked off with the air of an -archdeacon at a school-treat.</p> - -<p>‘How delightful!’ pursued the insolent lady -slowly. ‘Of course you’re a Mahommedan, and -carry little fetishes about with you, and all -that.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>Her eyes were directed vaguely at his shirt-studs. -Looking down from above he saw only -the lids of them, long-lashed and iris-edged, -convexed by the eye-balls, like two delicate blue-veined -eggs. She raised them at last, and he -looked into them.</p> - -<p>It was like looking out to sea.</p> - -<p>She looked into his: and it was as if a broad -sheet of water had passed swiftly through the -forest of her mind, and all the withering thickets, -touched by the magic flood, had reared their -heads, put forth green leaves, blossomed, and -filled with joy-drunk birds, singing full-throated -contempt and hatred of mankind. The energy -to hate, seared with the long drought of loneliness, -was quickened and renewed by this vision of -a kindred spirit.</p> - -<p>For she too was a monster. Not a monster -created, like Dwala, at one wave of the wand by -Nature in the woods; but hewn from the living -rock by a thousand hands of men, slowly chipped -and chiselled and polished and refined till it -reached perfection. Every meanness, every flattery -that touched her had gone to her moulding;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -till now she was finished, blow-hardened, unmalleable; -the multiplied strokes slid off without -a trace.</p> - -<p>Her position was known to all; there was no -secret about it. The great blow that had severed -the rough shape from the mass was struck, as it -were, before the face of all the world. They -might have taken her and tumbled her down the -mountain side, to roll ingloriously into the -engulfing sea. Instead of that they had set -her on a pedestal, carved her with their infamous -tools, fawned round her, swinging Lilliputian -censers, seeking favour, and singing praise.</p> - -<p>She was a monster, and no one knew it. And -now at last she had met an equal mind: her eyes -met other eyes that saw the world as she saw it—whole -and naked at a glance. There was no -question of love between them; they met in -frozen altitudes far above the world where such -things were. They were two comets laughing -their way through space together.</p> - -<p>All the Biologist saw was an augur-smile -upon their lips.</p> - -<p>‘Come along,’ said Lady Wyse, slipping her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -white glove through Prince Dwala’s arm. ‘Let’s -get somewhere where we can talk.’</p> - -<p>‘Then what becomes of me?’ grinned the -insinuating savant.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, you?’ said the lady. ‘You can go to -the devil!’</p> - -<p>Captain Howland-Bowser looked enviously -after them as they left the room.</p> - -<p>‘Your Borneo Prince has made no end of a -conquest, Baron,’ he said, finding Blumenstrauss—whom -he hated, by-the-bye—at his elbow. -‘H’m! H’m!’</p> - -<p>‘Aha, my dear Bowser, wid nine hunderd -tousand pount a year one can do anysing.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>What they could have to say to one another -in the window-seat, no one could imagine. They -were neither of them great talkers; everybody -knew that. Yet there was Prince Dwala, with -his grave face tilted to one side, eagerly drinking -in her words, answering rapidly, decisively; and -Lady Wyse giggling like a school-girl, blinking -away tears of laughter from her violet eyes. Such -a thing had never been seen. How long had they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -known one another? Never met till this evening. -Nonsense; he’s there every afternoon.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Whatever the subject of the duologue may -have been, the effect of it on Lady Wyse was -of the happiest kind. She was metamorphosed; -radiant, and, for her, gracious; transfused with -life, she seemed taller and larger than before.</p> - -<p>The Huxtable’s grim face was wreathed, in -spite of him, in smiles; a flush of pleasure peeped -out from under his bristling hair as Lady Wyse -stopped Dwala before him and demanded an -introduction.</p> - -<p>‘I’ve heard of you so often, Mr. Huxtable. -My father knew your uncle the Judge. I hope -you’ll come to some of my Thursdays.’</p> - -<p>The scent of her new mood spread abroad like -the scent of honey, and the flies came clustering -round her. Chief among them Lord Glendover, -the Cabinet Minister, who had made four remarks -in the course of the evening—all of them foolish. -Tall, lean, hairy, brown and grizzled, he was one -of those men who, though neither wise, clever,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -strong, nor careful, convey a sense of largeness and -deserved success. He would have been important, -even as a gardener; he would have ruined the -flower-beds, but could never have been dismissed. -His only assessable claim to greatness lay in the -merit of inheriting a big name and estate. He -was, in point of fact, quite stupid; but his -opinions, launched from such a dock, went out to -sea with all the impressiveness of Atlantic liners, -and the smaller craft made way respectfully.</p> - -<p>Sir Benet Smyth winged after him, buoyant -with the grave flightiness of diplomacy, and -luminous with the coming glory of his tour of -the Courts. For the Government, despairing of -reforms in the army, was meditating a wholesale -purchase of foreign goodwill, a cheap scheme -of national defence, founded on the precept, <i>les -petits cadeaux font l’amitié</i>. The details were not -yet made known, but rumour had it for certain -that the Spanish Infanta was to get the Colonelcy -of the Irish Guards, the Mad Mullah was to get -the Garter, and President Roosevelt was to get -Jamaica. It was also said by some that the -Government was going to strike out a new line in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -honorary titles by making the Sultan of Turkey -Bishop of Birmingham: but this was not certain.</p> - -<p>Sir Benet and Lord Glendover sat down with -Dwala, the General, the Biologist, the Baron, and -Huxtable, in a semi-circle centring on Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘We’ve been wondering, dear Lady Wyse,’ -said the Biologist, ‘what was the subject of your -engrossing conversation with the Prince.’</p> - -<p>‘I can guess de sopchect,’ said Baron Blumenstrauss. -‘It was loff ... or beesness.’</p> - -<p>‘You were so animated, both of you.’</p> - -<p>‘Den it was bote. De Breence would nod be -animated by beesness, and de laty would nod be -animated by loff!’</p> - -<p>‘Ha, ha!’ said Lord Glendover, vaguely -discerning the outline of an epigram; ‘that’s a -right-and-lefter.’</p> - -<p>‘You’re quite right, Baron,’ said Lady Wyse: -‘it was both. We’ve been making a compact, I -think you call it. The Prince puts himself unreservedly -into my hands. I’m to do whatever I -like with him.’</p> - -<p>‘Gompacts ...’ began the Baron, and -broke off.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>The Biologist looked as if he would like to -kick him, but lacked the physical courage.</p> - -<p>‘I’ve been telling the Prince he’s too modest,’ -said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘P’r’aps you didn’t lead him on enough,’ suggested -the diplomat; at which the Biologist -vented a sickly grin, and Lady Wyse hit him very -hard with her fan.</p> - -<p>‘Too modest about himself, I was going to say, -if I had a chance of ending my sentences with all -you wags about. A man of his talents oughtn’t -to be contented to loaf about doing nothing. -He might be anything with his intellect—a -great writer, or a scientist, or a diplomat, or a -financier.’</p> - -<p>‘Or a tinker or a tailor, or a soldier or a -sailor,’ said the Biologist.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think that I’m joking, you idiot?’ -said Lady Wyse, emitting a cold shaft of light -that went to his backbone.</p> - -<p>‘No, of course not, dear Lady Wyse! I was -only thinking....’</p> - -<p>‘Soldier or sailor—confound you, sir!’ said the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -little General fiercely. ‘There’s no need to drag -in the services.’</p> - -<p>‘No, no,’ said Lady Wyse: ‘we were talking -of intellect.’</p> - -<p>‘One isn’t a scientist by wishing it,’ said the -Biologist. ‘One has to go through the mill. -Besides....’</p> - -<p>‘Well, a diplomat, then. He’d look sweet -in a cocked hat.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, no really, Lady Wyse, I pro-test,’ said -Sir Benet; ‘you don’t know what a grind one -has.... Besides....’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! I forgot,’ said Lady Wyse, playing with -her fan. ‘Prince Dwala’s a black. Isn’t he what’s -called a black, Sir Benet?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, really, Lady Wyse!’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t mind me,’ said Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘No, no!’ interposed the Biologist: ‘it’s -quite a misuse of terms I assure you. The word -is applied loosely to Africans; but it is a mistake -to use it in speaking of the Archipelago. -The Soochings, as I understand, belong to the -Malayan family, with a considerable infusion, no -doubt, of Aryan blood. “Dwa-la,” “Two Names,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -is practically Aryan. So that the Prince belongs, -in point of fact, to the same stock as ourselves. -In fact, Lady Ballantyne mistook him for an -Englishman....’</p> - -<p>‘She’s as blind as a bat,’ said Lady Wyse. -‘Still, black or white, he belongs to a very old -family.’</p> - -<p>‘One of the oldest in the world,’ said Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘Well, never mind. Shall we make a writer -of him? I’m sure that doesn’t require any -preparation.’</p> - -<p>‘Ha, ha, that’s good!’ bellowed Lord Glendover. -‘Here, Howland-Bowser’—he beckoned -the journalist, who was hovering near the group. -‘Lady Wyse says any fool can be a writer.’ He -gripped him by the biceps, presenting him.</p> - -<p>‘You know Captain Howland-Bowser, don’t -you, Lady Wyse, our great literary man?’</p> - -<p>‘No,’ said Lady Wyse, looking calmly at her -fan: ‘never heard of him.’</p> - -<p>‘Aha, Bowser!’ said the Baron, with a nod.</p> - -<p>The Captain withdrew in good order, discomfited -but dignified.</p> - -<p>‘You’re very discouraging, all of you,’ pursued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -the great lady. ‘I suppose the Baron is now -going to tell me that you have to study for -twenty years before you can set up as a money-lender.’</p> - -<p>‘Dere is only one brofession,’ said the Baron -thoughtfully, ‘where one can be great man -widout knowing anysing; bot it is de most -eenfluential of all.’</p> - -<p>‘What’s that?’</p> - -<p>‘Bolitics.’</p> - -<p>‘Capital!’ said Lady Wyse. ‘We’ll put -Prince Dwala in the Cabinet.’</p> - -<p>Lord Glendover rose from his chair at this, in -what might almost be called a ‘huff.’ His gaunt, -important face hung over the group like the top -of an old Scotch fir.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know whether this sort of thing is -thought funny,’ he said, putting up his large -mouth to one side to help support the eye-glass -which he was busy placing. ‘But if you imagine, -Baron Blumenstrauss, that men are entrusted with -responsibility for the welfare of thirty-eight millions -of human beings without the most careful -process of selection, you are most confoundedly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -mistaken. I never heard such a statement! -You’d like to have an entrance examination -instituted for Cabinet Ministers, I suppose?’</p> - -<p>‘Excellent ideea!’ said the Baron.</p> - -<p>‘Sit down,’ said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Then all I can say is ... you’re an Anarchist! -I’ve served my country for forty years,’ he -pursued, in a voice broken with emotion, -resuming his seat. ‘When I came down, a -bright young boy, from Oxford, instead of -running about amusing myself, as I might have -done, I slaved away for years in an Under-Secretaryship....’</p> - -<p>‘This is all in “Who’s Who,”’ said Lady -Wyse. ‘We’re talking about Prince Dwala now.’</p> - -<p>It was embarrassing and even painful to the -smaller quantities of the group to see that great -noble child, Lord Glendover, being shaken up -and dumped down in this unceremonious way. -The diplomat played with his hat, while -Huxtable and the Biologist kept very still, with -their eyes on the ground. Dwala himself might -have been looking on at a game of spillikins for -all the interest he showed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>‘Cabinet Meenister is beeg to begeen?’ propounded -the Baron tentatively.</p> - -<p>‘It’s impossible!’ murmured Lord Glendover.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know whether you clearly understood -what I said about a “compact” just now,’ said -Lady Wyse, sitting back, beautifully inert, with -her hands in her lap. ‘It’s meant to be taken -quite literally. The Prince and I have entered -into an offensive and defensive alliance. Whatever -we do, we do in common. We have decided -that he is to be a Cabinet Minister. You see? -If it’s impossible, make it possible. You understand -me now, no doubt? I’m pretty clear. -You’ll have to exert yourselves, all of you.’ Her -eyes travelled slowly from face to face, looking -in turn at Lord Glendover, the Diplomat, the -Baron, the Biologist, and Huxtable.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, you too, Mr. Huxtable.’</p> - -<p>Then she suddenly yawned a cat-like yawn, -and sauntered forth to where Lady Lillico -stood.</p> - -<p>‘Good-bye; I’ve had a charming evening. Is -this your boy?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, this is Pendred.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>‘He looks very presentable.’ She nodded and -passed on.</p> - -<p>Lord Glendover and the Diplomat still sat -in their places when the little group dispersed. -Lord Glendover rubbed his knees. Their eyes -met at last, with the sly surprise of two naughty -boys who have just had their ears boxed; smiling -defiance, altruistically—each for the other; inwardly -resolving to incur no graver danger.</p> - -<p>Lord Glendover had only one tiny grain of -hope left; he was uneasy till it was shaken out of -the sack. He caught Lady Wyse near the door.</p> - -<p>‘Do you know that Prince Dwala isn’t a -British subject even?’</p> - -<p>‘Isn’t he? Make him one.’</p> - -<p>‘How am I to make him one?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, the usual way, whatever it is. Find -out.’</p> - -<p>In the next room she was stopped again. The -Biologist came writhing through the grass.</p> - -<p>‘I’ve thought of a little plan, dear Lady -Wyse, for starting Prince Dwala on his political -career.’</p> - -<p>‘Have you? I hope it’s a good one.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>‘First rate. Our member, Crayshaw—he sits -for London University, you know....’</p> - -<p>‘Hang the details! Ah, there he is!’</p> - -<p>Prince Dwala, with his henchman at his side, -was lying in wait for Lady Wyse by the second -door.</p> - -<p>‘Take the ugly duckling away,’ said Lady -Wyse; ‘I want to talk to the Prince.’</p> - -<p>The Biologist buttonholed poor Huxtable and -walked him off. Dwala and Lady Wyse stood -face to face again.</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ she said.</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ he answered.</p> - -<p>They remained for some time in a large, light, -comfortable silence.</p> - -<p>‘I’d been looking forward to another talk -with you,’ said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Had you?’</p> - -<p>‘But I see that we really have nothing to say -to one another.’</p> - -<p>‘Absolutely nothing.’</p> - -<p>‘And never shall,’ she added. ‘It wouldn’t -matter if we never met again.’</p> - -<p>‘Not a bit.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>They stood looking brightly at one another -for a minute or two.</p> - -<p>‘What fun it is!’</p> - -<p>‘Grand!’ said Dwala.</p> - -<p>She nodded and went home.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XIX</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Hitherto</span>, Dwala had been great, but great only -in the relative sense, in comparison with you and me -and the Man in the Street; great to the capacity -of a vast austerely-fronted house in Park Lane; -overwhelming for us on the pavement who fancy -him within, infusing that big block with a huge -cubic soul; who catch glimpses of him whirling -out of the big gates to take tea, no doubt, with -Ambassadors and Duchesses, and whirling in -again with some real live Royalty—so rumours the -little crowd outside as the stout policeman touches -his helmet. Not immeasurable, however, to the -big-calibred folk who eat with him, talk with -him, see him starting on routes of acquaintance -which they have long since travelled:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -even to Huxtable, mere man, a calculable -quantity.</p> - -<p>But a new movement was beginning, an upheaval; -volcanic forces were at work; the throes -of earthquake, striking premonitory awe into the -hearts of men, presaged a rearrangement of -geography. And slowly the Great World became -aware that a new mountain was rising in its -midst.</p> - -<p>The Dwala Naturalisation Bill, introduced -in the Lords, had run a calm and rapid course, -and Dwala was an Englishman. The journals -recorded it without exultation: it was placed -among the ‘Items of Interest’ in the ‘Daily -Mail.’ But soon there followed articles on his -scientific interests: it appeared that he was -already an eminent philatelist; Huxtable had -bought big stamp-collections for him at the sales—Huxtable -had innocent tastes which he was now -able to enjoy by proxy. The Prince was interested -in Antarctic Exploration—at least, he had signed -a cheque for a thousand pounds for the Relief -Expedition; in astronomy, too, for he had promised -a new telescope to the Greenwich<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -Observatory. His claims to represent Science in -Parliament—since he had decided to go into -politics—were indisputable; and there was ground -for the rumour that London University had -settled upon him for their representative, provided -that one or two stipulations were fulfilled. If -not, the Government had a safe seat for him in -Cornwall.</p> - -<p>His private life became a matter of public -interest. He had bought Wynfield Castle in -Yorkshire; he was fitting it with lifts and electric -light; the Saharan Emperor had promised to come -over for the shooting next autumn; Sir Benet -Smyth, who had arranged the visit, would be there. -There was no truth in the rumour of his engagement -to Lady Alice Minnifer, Lord Glendover’s -daughter; the rumour was at any rate premature.</p> - -<p>Politicians began to frequent his ways: he -was not destined to be an ordinary humdrum -Member, paying a heavy price to be driven in -and out of lobbies by a sheep-dog; he was going -to be a power. Of what nature, nobody knew -exactly; his opinions could only be guessed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -That mattered very little. All the public has to -do is to get the big man and plant him in office; -party discipline will do the rest. There were -fifteen parties in Parliament, and only two lobbies -for them to vote in; leaders with opinions were a -drug in the market; better the large unifying -vagueness of a mind with none. Why he was to -be great no one clearly knew; the fiat had gone -forth from some hidden chamber of the citadel; -or it had descended inscrutably from heaven, or -risen on the breath of the sweating multitude: -anyhow, there was a general agreement of unknown -origin to magnify the name of Dwala. -These things are mysterious, and the responsibility -cannot be fixed till the time of recrimination -comes.</p> - -<p>Huxtable was happy. Well he might be, -lucky dog! His uncles smiled and slapped him -on the back in public in their big successful way. -Lady Glendover remembered his face; Pendred -Lillico went about boasting that young Huxtable -had been his fag at Eton. These things were -pleasant to the Huxtable mind; pleasant also the -graciousness of Lady Wyse, who distinguished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -him at her Thursdays above his betters in the -social hierarchy.</p> - -<p>Yet there were things in Park Lane that he -could have wished different. Of course he had -done what he could to the right human furnishing -of the big house; he had secured his patron -the necessary atmosphere of awestruck service, -silent efficiency and unassuming pomp. There -was the stout butler, who looked like a conscientious -low-church Bishop left over from a -dinner-party, eager to please but uneasy at -finding himself still there. He went about the -house silently in flat slippers, seeking a clue to -his identity, and looking out of window from -time to time, as if he meditated escaping in -search of his See. Tall scarlet footmen, with -white legs, borrowed from some giant balustrade: -stately animals, ‘incedingly upborne,’ like Vashti -in ‘Villette’—alert but always perpendicular, -eager as midshipmen to the domestic call, -blighting visitors at the entry with the frigid -consciousness of social difference. For the rest -of the economy, invisible hands and watchful -eyes; she-brownies that came and went unseen;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -bells that rang in distant corridors, summoning -punctual feet to unknown observances; green-baize -doors that swung and hid the minor -mysteries of the great life.</p> - -<p>These things were good. But what of -Hartopp and the little girl?</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XX</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Huxtable’s</span> advertisement in the ‘Morning Post’ -had brought applications from 130 valets. It -brought also a letter from a country clergyman, -beseeking another chance for Prosser—ex-burglar, -son of a country poacher, a reformed character—lately -returned to his father’s humble home in -penitence from Portland, after five years of penal -servitude. The blameless, colourless remainder -had no chance against him. Dwala was delighted. -Prosser came—a little pale man, trim and finicking, -with shining eyes; nothing of the brutal house-breaker -in him; a man of patient, orderly mind, -who had gone to Burglary as another man might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -go to the Bar, because he had ‘influence,’ and no -aptitude for any other calling. With his father -to back him, he had a connection ready-made -among the ‘fences,’ or receivers of stolen goods. -He had not thought himself justified in throwing -away such chances with a wife and child to keep. -He studied the arts of valeting and butlering; -entered gentlemen’s houses with a good character -from a friendly ‘fence,’ and left them with the -jewellery and plate, till he was lagged over a -wretched little job in the suburbs, and taken -to Portland Bill, where one of his mates—a -fraudulent low-church company-promoter—converted -him and showed him the wickedness of -what he had been doing in all its coarse -enormity.</p> - -<p>His wife had gone to the bad during his -absence, and the little girl had been adopted and -cared for by another friendly ‘fence’—an afflicted -villain of the name of Hartopp. So much he -had heard; but he had not enough the courage -of his new innocence to go into that dangerous -neighbourhood to find her.</p> - -<p>Dwala elicited these facts in cross-examination.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -He was deeply interested in this new side of life; -and we must, perforce, follow him into it, though -it has little apparent relevance to the present -course of the story.</p> - -<p>For Dwala’s political eminence is a ‘set piece’ -which took some time in the preparing; and in -order to give the stage carpenters time to get -through with their work, it is convenient at this -point to get done with one or two necessary -‘flats.’ Besides, the social heights to which Fate -brought him are giddy places for those who have -not strong and accustomed heads, and it is safer -to descend now and then and amble in the plain, -among the greasy multitude that crawls so irrelevantly -below—despicable to the mountaineers, -who look down and mark the wind-borne cheers, -risking their heroic lives at every step among the -precipices, yet asking nothing more of the valley -than a distant awe, and a handful of guides and -porters, with baskets of meat, well-filled, and -topped with bottles of good champagne.</p> - -<p>Prosser passed under the trees to Hyde Park -Corner, bound on his daily walk. His eyes were -bright, and the world swam by as unimportant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -as a dream; for Prosser, in the respectable seclusion -of his room, had taken to drinking—steady -drinking day by day, without resistance or remorse. -Life, to which he returned from jail with such -hungry imagination, had suddenly revealed itself -to him in its ugly arid nakedness: his conversion -and good resolutions had stripped it of all its -meaning; now it was an old worn billiard-table, -with no balls or cues to it; cumbering the room, -importunately present, grim and terrible in its -powers of insistent boredom. To hide from it—to -crouch and hide with his head between his -hands, against the dirty floor—that was the only -resource since he had renounced the game and -sent the balls away. He drank and was happy; -not actively happy, but deviating this way and -that into dreamy vacancy and strong disgust, -escaping the awful middle way of boredom. He -felt his control going, and he smiled triumphantly -at the coming of his hideous mistress. Often he -thought of walking into the servants’ hall and -boasting of his secret. But the coarse activity of -real life dispelled the longing as soon as he neared -his audience. He remained trim, upright, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -serenely deferent, with shining eyes and pursed -dry lips.</p> - -<p>At Hyde Park Corner a little crowd was -gathered about a musician—an old man, with a -leg and a half and a crutch, and a placard -‘BLIND’ on his chest. He had just finished -a last shrill <i>bravura</i> on the penny whistle. A -respectable wet-eyed girl in black went round -with a bag and collected money.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Pity</i> the poor blind!’ shouted the musician -in a sudden angry imperative.</p> - -<p>Prosser wagged his head in a soliloquy of -recognition; and gazed giddily at the little girl.</p> - -<p>‘Nobody got a penny for the poor blind?’ -asked the angry voice.</p> - -<p>‘’Ark at ’im,’ said a woman. ‘Why, the gal’s -got a nole ’at full!’</p> - -<p>‘What girl?’ said the old man sharply.</p> - -<p>At that moment the girl dodged through the -little crowd and disappeared, bag and all, down -Piccadilly.</p> - -<p>‘Stop her! stop her!’ cried one or two ineffective -voices.</p> - -<p>The old man dashed his penny whistle angrily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -on the ground, buried his face in his hands, -turned to the wall, and broke into shoulder-shaking -sobs.</p> - -<p>‘What, ain’t that your gal?’ asked a compassionate -stout man in black, with a worn -leather bag, touching him gently on the heaving -shoulder—a dentist from the slums, one might -guess him at.</p> - -<p>‘Small girl in black, was it?’ asked the blind -man.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t exactly notice.’</p> - -<p>‘Sort of orphan-looking girl, very quiet?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, that’s her.’</p> - -<p>‘That girl’s a——little blood-sucker!’ said -the old man. ‘Wherever I go, there’s that girl -comes and collects the coppers kind people mean -for me. Leave me alone, all of you! Clear out! -I’ve broke my whistle now, and haven’t a copper -to get another, let alone a crust of bread these -three days.’</p> - -<p>‘What a shime!’ commented the crowd. -‘Call ’erself a gal! I’d gal ’er! A reg’lar little -Bulgarian, that’s what she is!’</p> - -<p>‘Now, then, move on there,’ commanded a big<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -policeman, bearing down on the crowd, confident -in his own broad momentum, like a punt among -the reeds. ‘What’s all this?’</p> - -<p>‘They’ve been robbin’ a pore blind man, -that’s what it is,’ said the benevolent dentist; at -which the policeman rounded on him sharply with -extended, directing arm.</p> - -<p>‘Now then, <i>you</i> move on there!’ And the -dentist retired submissively in the direction indicated, -hovering in safety.</p> - -<p>A benevolent, bent old gentleman, lately -helped by the porter down the steps of one of -the big bow-windowed clubs, came hobbling up -on three legs, and stopped and asked questions. -The policeman saluted. The little crowd closed -round them; the black helmet in the midst -leaned this way and that, arbitrating between -misfortune and benevolence. Judgment and award -were soon achieved; the black helmet heaved -and turned about, and the crowd scattered obediently -east and west.</p> - -<p>‘What a nice old gentleman!’ said one of -many voices passing Prosser.</p> - -<p>‘Give ’im a sovring, did he?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>‘Don’t you wish <i>you</i> was blind, Miss ’Ankin?’</p> - -<p>‘Lot of sov’rings <i>you’d</i> give me!’</p> - -<p>‘Gow on!’</p> - -<p>‘What did they take ’im up for then?’</p> - -<p>‘On’y takin’ ’im over the road, stoopid.’</p> - -<p>Prosser stood and watched the old man cross -in the constable’s grip; saw him loosed into -Grosvenor Place; followed, and watched him as -he clumped his way along the blank brick wall, -leaning forward from the crutch, grotesquely and -terribly, towards his extended arm, which beat -the pavement with a stick before him, driving -pedestrians to right and left, crying furiously as he -went ‘<i>Pity</i> the poor blind!’ and stopping now -and then to mumble the sovereign and chuckle to -himself.</p> - -<p>Near Victoria Station he stopped, and -thrashed the kerb. A girl slipped out from -somewhere and took his arm; the same girl who -had so lately robbed him.</p> - -<p>‘That you, Joey?’ said the blind man.</p> - -<p>‘What luck, Toppin?’</p> - -<p>The old man grinned.</p> - -<p>‘Got a plunk, Joey; benevolent gent.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>‘My, what a soft!’</p> - -<p>‘Just take me over to Victoria Street. Wait -at the Monico; ain’t safe here.’</p> - -<p>Over the road he gave the sovereign into -her keeping, and she frisked up a side street. -Prosser followed him down Victoria Street, helped -him silently over the crossings, and was still -dreaming of one like himself, meeting an old -friend and lacking the energy to acknowledge -him; when the blind man turned suddenly and -grabbed him by the arm.</p> - -<p>‘What’s your name?’</p> - -<p>‘Prosser,’ he faltered.</p> - -<p>‘I thought so. You’ve been drinking, you —— fool. -Where have you been all this time -since you came out?’</p> - -<p>‘I ... I’m in service.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah?’</p> - -<p>‘I’ve turned over a new leaf. Was that my -little girl?’</p> - -<p>‘That was Joey. Why?’</p> - -<p>‘I only wanted to know.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! making conversation, as it were. Yes; -you’re gentry now, of course—joined the respectable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -classes.’ He fumbled Prosser’s coat as he -spoke, feeling round the cloth buttons to see if -they were sound and fat. ‘One has to talk for -talking’s sake when one belongs to the gentry. -Well, I’m off. Don’t waste your elegant conversation -on me; go back to the Duchess.... -<i>Pity</i> the poor blind!’ He was off again, crying -hoarsely along the big grey blocks, and Prosser -pursuing timidly.</p> - -<p>‘Stop, stop, Mr. Hartopp! You didn’t mind -my mentioning the little girl?’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Pity</i> the poor blind!’</p> - -<p>His appeal to the public was launched with -an abrupt intonation which implied a final ‘D—— -you!’ as plain as words.</p> - -<p>‘It’s <i>my</i> little girl after all,’ said Prosser.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t talk like a d——d drunken maudlin -fool!’ growled the blind man, stopping short -again. People looked over their shoulders as they -went past, ladies from the Stores drew aside into -the road and hurried by, seeing this maimed old -man leaning back over his extended crutch, blaspheming -at the trim underling who stood so mild -and weak behind him.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>‘I know your sort! rotten gutless puppies -that lose their grit as soon as they get under. -Portland; good conduct marks; conversion; -piety; ticket-of-leave, and then drink, drink, drink! -“Gone into service!” “My little girl!” Ugh! -What do you want to do with your “little girl”? -Would you like the little pet to “go into service” -too? and wear a little muslin pinafore, with -pockets in front? Speak up, man, speak up. -Don’t stand there like a sodden hog, dreaming -over your next big drink while I’m making conversation. -Don’t you hear me, you elegant toff?’</p> - -<p>Prosser started guiltily.</p> - -<p>‘I’d been thinking perhaps my employer would -find her a nice home somewhere.’</p> - -<p>‘A little cottage in the country somewhere, -eh? with geraniums in the window and a little -watering pot all her own, eh? And what about -me? I’d make a pretty footman if you’d recommend -me, and stand on the steps in a salmon-coloured -suit and help the gentlefolk in and out -of their carriages.’</p> - -<p>‘He’d do something for you, I’m sure. He’s -a very kind master.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>‘“A very kind master!” Oh, good Lord!... -<i>Pity</i> the poor blind!’</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Hartopp, Mr. Hartopp!’</p> - -<p>The old man stopped again and faced right -round.</p> - -<p>‘Prosser, if you follow me an inch further I’ll -knock out your mucky fuddled brains with my -crutch all over the pavement. I swear I will. -Go home and soak, you sentimental skunk.’</p> - -<p>Prosser stood still for some time watching the -angry figure bobbing down the road. Then he -turned up by the Turkish Baths and made his -way home.</p> - -<p>That evening he related the whole of his -adventure to Prince Dwala, not even omitting the -confession of his own intemperance.</p> - -<p>‘So you drink, do you? Drink too much of -course, that is.’</p> - -<p>‘You’re not angry, sir?’</p> - -<p>‘Of course not. Not a bit.... It must be -awfully expensive?’</p> - -<p>‘I can’t help it, sir. I don’t want to help it. -Of course I’ll have to go?’</p> - -<p>‘Go where?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>‘Leave you, I mean, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, please don’t do that, Prosser. You shall -have as much as you need. Don’t have more -than you really need. I’m sorry it’s you, of -course, because I like you so much. But now -you explain it to me, I don’t see how it could have -been helped. I’m awfully sorry about it. That’s -a very wonderful old man.’</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Hartopp? Yes, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you think he’d come and live here?’</p> - -<p>‘He wouldn’t take service, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘No, as a friend, I mean. You see, Prosser, -this house is much bigger than I really need. I -have to live in it, of course, because I’m so rich; -besides, there’s poor Huxtable to think of.’</p> - -<p>‘You needn’t pity Mr. Huxtable much, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘No, that’s true: I suppose he’s very happy. -Do you know anything about Mr. Hartopp’s -past life? One isn’t born a “Fence” I -suppose?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh no, sir, it takes a very intelligent man -to be a Fence. Mr. Hartopp’s a very intelligent -man, and had a first-class education.’</p> - -<p>‘What’s his story, then?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>‘Story, sir? There’s no story as far as I ever -heard. Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘How did he become blind?’</p> - -<p>‘Overwork, sir. He was a schoolmaster as a -young man down in our part of the country, and -overworked his eyes like at his work, sir. That’s -how he lost his place. He had a fever, and they -took him to the Workhouse Infirmary. It’s that -what made him go to the bad, they say, sir; he’d -always had a horror of the rates. He often talks -of himself as a pauper, as if it was a disgrace like. -He’d worked his way up like, sir, and couldn’t -stand being mixed up with pauperism. So when -they discharged him he came up to London and -went to the bad.’</p> - -<p>‘Drink, I suppose? It always begins that -way, I’m told.’</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Hartopp, sir? Oh no, sir, I never knew -him drink anything, sir, nor smoke neither. -Drink and tobacco he says are ... some funny -word, painkillers sort of, to keep the workin’ -classes from yellin’ out while they’re bein’ skinned -alive. He’s a very funny man, sir, always makin’ -jokes. Not but what he’s fond of good livin’ too,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -sir. When trade was good one time he used to -go regular every day and lunch at the Carlton. -I only found out by chance; I was that surprised. -Up till then I’d always took him for a -Socialist.’</p> - -<p>‘How did he lose his leg?’</p> - -<p>‘His leg, sir? I really don’t remember how -that was. It wasn’t very long ago, I know. -Blind men often get knocked about like in the -traffic.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dwala</span> left his valet abruptly and spent many -hours walking up and down the picture-gallery, -deep in thought. Some of his slow ideas were -coming suddenly to maturity.</p> - -<p>Men—these strange wild beasts that lived -wholly in a delirium of invented characters, -assigning fantastic attributes to one another and -acting solemn plays where everything was real—blood, -knives, and misery—everything but the -characters themselves—had thrust on him the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -strangest mask of all; they had made him great. -And now, at the touch of one small hand on the -lever, all the machinery of the theatre was in -motion to make him greater still, with the -greatest greatness of all—for so to his rude mind, -unskilled in the abstract mystery of Royalty, -seemed political greatness, the power of ordering -men’s days and nights.</p> - -<p>Himself, he was nothing—nothing to anyone -but himself; for others he was a suit of irrelevant -attributes; no one cared what he thought or felt -or was; his Ego had no place in their scheme. -He had been always the same; and all his differences -were of human making. First Man clapped -on him the attribute of Monkey, and purposed -putting him in a cage and offering him for an -entertainment. Then Man clapped God, King, -Prisoner, and Millionaire on him in quick succession; -now they were preparing Statesman for him -to wear. Empty garments all of them, by the -very essence of things: Nature makes no Gods, -Kings, Prisoners, Millionaires or Statesmen. All -fanciful unsubstantialities of men, real only in -their effect on men, as laws of gravity are real<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -only in the eagerness of little things to be impelled; -empty shells, inhabited by irrelevant I’s -that live in corners of them, apart and unconsidered; -vacancies, chosen at random for a -centre of genuflexions, services, obediences, gold, -velvet, paper, and different sorts of food. A wise -Providence has ordained that Man’s eyes should -be blind to the vision of real naked Nature-given -personality: were it suddenly otherwise, the long-wrought -classifications of the ages would disappear -at once in a confusion of particular differences; -all leadership and direction would be lost; just as -Science would shiver to a heap of individual facts -if she were robbed of her slow-built generalisations.</p> - -<p>Dwala saw that he could never merely put -aside his mask and say, Behold me as I am. -Such revelations are unthinkable to the human -mind: one might as well say, Behold me, for I -have disappeared. He could renounce Statesman -if he liked, stay Millionaire, go back to God or -King or Monkey; but until he went away from -men, and hid himself in the wild forest, he could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -never be plain self again: he must inhabit either -a palace, or a temple, or a cage.</p> - -<p>What was he going to do, he asked himself, -in this new mask that Man was preparing for him -with so much labour? The answer was evident; -Lady Wyse knew it too. He was making a Joke, -a big slow Joke; men were rolling it painfully up -the board for him, panting and groaning, and -when it reached the top he would tip it lightly -over and see it fall with a crash like a falling -mountain. Surely that would make him laugh?</p> - -<p>And after? Well, that was a little matter. -They would kill him, perhaps; he would die -laughing at them, laughing in their angry shame-lit -faces as they stabbed him. More probably -they would let him go. They would hardly -exhibit him in Earl’s Court: ‘Pithecanthropus -erectus, ex-Cabinet Minister.’ He would get -back to the woods of Borneo again, and laugh -among the trees. In any case, he would have had -his Joke.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile other attributes had been laid on -him for which he had no use: power to demand -a million little satisfactions, gross and fine, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -which he had no taste. Space to sleep and wake, -food enough to nourish him—that was all he -wanted till the great Joke reached the tumbling -point. A thousand minor jokes would crop up -by the way in the endless inequality of masks: -jokes too slender for his own handling. Must -all this go to waste? Why not enjoy by proxy? -To his large mind it was indifferent <i>who</i> was the -agent of enjoyment: himself or another, as they -had the fitter talent. Therefore he had long -been vaguely seeking someone who could replace -him in the present; an ambassador in the courts -of luxury; someone vivid, eager, strong and discontented, -some Enemy of the World, who could -exploit for him the minor meannesses of men, a -preparatory humiliation, a handy touchstone for -everyday use. Surely Hartopp was the man?</p> - -<p>Dwala went with a candle in the middle of the -night to his valet’s bedroom and awoke him from -uneasy sleep.</p> - -<p>‘I’ve made up my mind I must know this Mr. -Hartopp, Prosser.’</p> - -<p>‘I’m afraid you mightn’t like him if you saw -him, sir,’ said the valet, sitting up in his night-cap,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -with hollow eyes, as of one rescued only for -a while from some fear to which he must return -anon.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know. We’ll go and look for him -to-morrow. You know where he lives?’</p> - -<p>‘Whereabouts, sir. Somewhere off Shaftesbury -Avenue.’</p> - -<p>‘All right. We’ll go and look him up to-morrow. -That’ll be rippin’. Good-night.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Neglecting</span> his engagements and Huxtable’s -remonstrances Dwala sought Hartopp for many -days in vain. With Prosser at his side he visited -the places where children play, open spaces, -archipelagos of pavement, washed by the roaring -traffic of St. Giles’s: for it was among the children -that Prosser gave most hope of finding him.</p> - -<p>‘It’s one of his curious ways, bein’ with -children, sir; his dram-drinkin’ he calls it. He’s -goin’ to raise a Revolution of the children one of -these days, he says. He don’t set much store by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -the grown-ups: over-civilised he says they are, -while the children are all young savages.’</p> - -<p>Hartopp had risen to lofty heights in Prosser’s -estimation, since he had realised Dwala’s plans -about him; he was a Socrates now, whose every -saying had a strange new value in remembrance.</p> - -<p>At last they found him. They were standing -one sunny summer day in Shaftesbury Avenue, -when Prosser cried:</p> - -<p>‘There he is!’</p> - -<p>A throng of tiny Bacchanals came skipping -and whooping out of Endell Street, and in their -midst the old Silenus, clumping and swinging -jovially along. It was a gay chatter of question -and answer, gibe and repartee, flying to and from -Silenus to the nymphs, while laughter flickered -here and there at random.</p> - -<p>They crossed the broad roadway in open -defiance of the traffic, and landed on the island -where Dwala stood.</p> - -<p>‘Five o’clock!’ cried the old Fence as St. -Giles’s clock rang out: ‘time you were home for -your teas!’ He grinned, and fumbled in his big -yellow pocket. ‘What are you waiting for, you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -little animals? Your mothers are all drunk by -now, and you’ll get what for if you’re late.... -Scramble!’ he shouted, suddenly flinging a handful -of pink sweatmeats up in the sunshine and -down in the dirt, while the children wallowed and -fought with cries of joy.</p> - -<p>‘Here’s two toffs,’ said one of the knot of -elders, drawing off as Dwala and Prosser -approached.</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Hartopp,’ murmured Prosser, touching -his hat.</p> - -<p>‘Aha, my sentimental friend, are you there? -I smell you. What’s the news? Have you -brought something sweet in chiffon for your -darling little daughter to drive in to the Opera -to-night?’</p> - -<p>‘Hoping you’ll excuse me, Mr. Hartopp, I’ve -brought Prince Dwala, my employer, who was -anxious to see you.’</p> - -<p>‘Oho! the “kind master.” Come to see how -the “pooah” live, my Lord?’</p> - -<p>‘I’ve come to ask if you won’t come and live -with me.’</p> - -<p>‘Live with you, d—— you?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>‘Yes, live with me, at home.’</p> - -<p>‘Why?’</p> - -<p>‘Because I like you.’</p> - -<p>‘The h—— you do! Why?’</p> - -<p>‘Because I believe you’re what’s called a -“blackguard.”’</p> - -<p>‘What’s this feller you’ve got hold of, -Prosser? Is he a detective, or a philanthropist, -or a lunatic?’</p> - -<p>‘He’s what’s called an “eccentric” I believe, -Mr. Hartopp.’</p> - -<p>‘Where do you live?’ asked the Fence -abruptly.</p> - -<p>‘Park Lane,’ answered Dwala.</p> - -<p>The Fence whistled.</p> - -<p>‘What number?’</p> - -<p>‘Number —.’</p> - -<p>‘Number —?... I’ve got the plans of that -somewhere. What’s the plate like, Prosser?’</p> - -<p>‘Very handy, Mr. Hartopp,’ answered the -valet, falling into old tracks of thought.</p> - -<p>‘It’s beautiful plate,’ said Dwala: ‘all the -most expensive kinds. You’d have it on the -table every day at meals if you came and lived<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -with me, Mr. Hartopp: of course you wouldn’t -see it, because you’re blind, but you’d know it was -there. It’s a lovely house altogether, I believe: -everything’s as expensive as we could get anywhere; -there are five footmen, and heaven only -knows how many housemaids. What I’m looking -for is somebody who’d really enjoy all these -things. I can’t. It’s such a pity you’re blind, -because you’ll miss a lot; in fact, I had half a -mind not to ask you, because you were blind. -But I was so awfully fetched by the way you -threw those sweetmeats to the children.’</p> - -<p>‘You’re another d——d sentimentalist, I see. -Does he drink too, Prosser?’</p> - -<p>‘No, I don’t drink,’ said Dwala: ‘I have so -many other amusements.’</p> - -<p>‘What’s your income?’</p> - -<p>‘Four hundred thousand pounds a year.’</p> - -<p>‘Four hun.... Good Lord! you ought to be -ashamed of yourself.... Here, Thomas, Andy—anybody -there?’ he cried out, hobbling excitedly -towards the iron seats.</p> - -<p>‘I’m here, Bill!’ came a voice from the distance.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>‘All right, I don’t want you.’ He hobbled -back again, and blew three calls on a dog-whistle -which hung from his neck. ‘I’ll call Joey.’ -Joey came frisking up from nowhere, as dirty as -mud could make her.</p> - -<p>She turned formal at once on seeing the ‘nobs,’ -and put out her tongue at Prosser.</p> - -<p>‘Joey, old girl, you see these two d——d -fools here? One of ’em’s a Prince of ancient -lineage.’</p> - -<p>‘What, that great big ugly bloke?’</p> - -<p>‘With four hundred thousand pounds a -year!’</p> - -<p>‘Lor’!’ said Joey, politely.</p> - -<p>‘Borrow a hanky from some nice little girl -and prepare for hysterics, for the other one’s your -long-lost father!’</p> - -<p>‘He drinks,’ said Joey, edging away.</p> - -<p>Hartopp laughed. ‘It’s wonderful what a lot -these children know. Now look here, Joey.... -Joey’s included, of course?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, Joey’s included,’ answered Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘You wouldn’t like to be a real lady, would -you, Joey?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>‘Wouldn’t I!’ said Joey, shyly but decisively.</p> - -<p>‘What! Be a rotten West-End kid?’</p> - -<p>Joey giggled an affirmative.</p> - -<p>‘Wash every day?’ Another giggle.</p> - -<p>‘Ain’t she sweet?’ murmured Prosser.</p> - -<p>A sudden idea flashed over Joey’s face.</p> - -<p>‘With him about?’ she asked.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I’d be about, Joey,’ said Prosser.</p> - -<p>Without a moment’s hesitation Joey fled -through the traffic and down St. Martin’s -Lane.</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ said Dwala: ‘what’s your decision, -Mr. Hartopp?’</p> - -<p>‘Go to h——!’ said the blind man, hobbling -resolutely away. The Prince and Prosser, after -standing a little longer, turned and went sadly -home again.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXIII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">As</span> Dwala and Huxtable were sitting at breakfast -one morning, a week later, the butler leaned down -in his gentle fatherly way over the Prince’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -shoulder, and told him that a man had been asking -for him.</p> - -<p>‘A blind man, sir, with a little girl with him; -very respectable. They came about half-past -seven.’</p> - -<p>‘Where are they?’</p> - -<p>‘They went away again, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Did they say if they were coming back?’</p> - -<p>‘Not a word, sir; they just turned round and -went into the Park when they heard you wasn’t -up.’</p> - -<p>Dwala then propounded at length to Huxtable -all his ideas about Hartopp and Joey. Huxtable -listened quietly, with an occasional colourless: -‘Quite so, quite so.’ He retired to his room after -breakfast, and walked up and down a great deal. -His ideas cleared after some hours of perambulation. -He arrived at the same conclusion as -Prosser. Prince Dwala was an eccentric. He -thought over the cases of a number of peers and -millionaires he knew about who had been eccentric, -and suddenly realised that eccentricity was -more than respectable; it was <i>chic</i>: it belonged -to the grandest school of behaviour. It was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -what he had expected in coming to Prince -Dwala; his own part would be difficult and call -for care. It was like the Boer War; that had -been eccentric too; but for that very reason it -had been the making of his cousin Jim, who was -now in command of a brigade. When he came -down to luncheon he looked at Dwala with an -interest almost tender.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Hartopp and Joey had not come -back. Dwala had been out into Park Lane three -or four times in the course of the morning, looking -vainly up and down for them. There was -only a patient four-wheeled cab, with two big -new leather trunks on it, standing a little way -off the gate; the driver opened his eyes heavily -each time Dwala emerged, and then returned to -sleep.</p> - -<p>It was one of those solemn summer days which -visit London like dreams: one of those days when -Hyde Park, with its smooth lawns and ancient -dignity of trees, seems like the revelation of a -purpose in this fantastic world—a purpose to -which the surface of aristocratic life, with its -carriages and frocks and parasols, seems so well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -attuned, that one is convinced that the whole mass -of it must needs be as respectable as Nature.</p> - -<p>They came at last: Dwala was on the steps -to meet them: Hartopp in a well-brushed black -tail coat; Joey looking ugly in a tight velvet -frock and feathered hat, her hair drawn back into -a pig-tail, all clean but her hands.</p> - -<p>They both looked tired and saddened. Dwala -felt a sudden disillusion, a reduction of something -big to small dimensions.</p> - -<p>‘Is that your cab outside?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>Joey nodded. ‘But we’ve not decided yet. -We’ve only come to have a look.’</p> - -<p>She ran up the steps, and stopped, peering -into the dark entry, awed by the motionless forms -of the big footmen.</p> - -<p>They went all over the house with Dwala, -from bottom to top, conscientiously, doggedly, -examining everything. Joey insisted: Hartopp -followed, mumbling morosely. Joey listened to -all explanations with that air of undue, almost -effusive, attentiveness, which marches so nearly -with boredom. They saw Huxtable once on a -landing: he was passing from one room to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -another, in spectacles, with a bundle of papers; -he always wore spectacles till tea-time. He looked -at them drily, externally, as one looks at events -in another family.</p> - -<p>A kind of depression, a melancholy hush, -weighed on the whole house and household, as if -someone had just died. One thing only was -certain: they all knew that the pretence of a probation -was an empty one; Hartopp and Joey had -come to stay.</p> - -<p>Hartopp was aware of this, and wondered at -his own blank listlessness. The Enemy of Society -felt suddenly as a wild bull might, which had -spent a long hot day goring a big cathedral and -was now being led quietly to a pew. There is a -magic in our masquerading: it is with deep feelings -of solemnity that man shuffles off one disguise -and gets into another; the fraudulent company-promoter, -growing rich, enters upon his fortune -almost with the same ennobling awe as a young -girl going to her Confirmation.</p> - -<p>Hartopp made an effort: he stopped Dwala -as they went downstairs.</p> - -<p>‘Let’s understand one another clearly, Prince<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -What’s-your-name. If I come, I come as a free -man: Joey too. We come as gentry, or we don’t -come at all. The servants are to treat us with -respect as such. Do you see?’</p> - -<p>‘Of course, of course.’</p> - -<p>‘We’ll have the best of everything: eat what -we like, drink what we like, spend as much money -as we like. Do you see? No d——d philanthropy.’</p> - -<p>‘I promise you solemnly.’</p> - -<p>‘That’s right.’</p> - -<p>The cabman was paid off and the boxes were -brought in.</p> - -<p>‘Both Joey’s,’ said Hartopp: ‘I’ve brought -nothing.’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll have a fire in my bedroom, please,’ said -Joey.</p> - -<p>Huxtable came in at tea-time and recounted -three amusing anecdotes, at which Joey stared -in awe and the old man chuckled faintly. The -butler inquired if the young lady would like a -maid to unpack her boxes. Joey declined: she -would do it herself.</p> - -<p>She went out primly after tea, to see to it,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -jangling keys on a string. Huxtable went back -to some mysterious ‘work.’</p> - -<p>Then the air cleared suddenly. The blind -man unbent with a touch of humour. It is humour -that keeps the door in the wall through which -alone we may hope to peep into our neighbour’s -garden. We have passed that ivy-grown, impenetrable -portal a thousand times, when suddenly -one day we find it open, and instead -of a dog growling in an arid patch of weeds, -we find a friendly neighbour grinning in our -face.</p> - -<p>‘Do you know what’s in those boxes?’ said -Hartopp confidentially.</p> - -<p>‘No; what?’</p> - -<p>‘Wood pavement.’ He exploded with -laughter. ‘Her things weren’t fit to bring, but -she wouldn’t be seen arriving without luggage; -so she put that in to weight them down. That’s -what the fire’s for. She’ll keep ’em locked till -she’s got it all burnt—a little day by day. Don’t -let her know I told you.’</p> - -<p>It was a great nuisance, Dwala said, he had -to go out that evening. Huxtable must entertain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -them. As for himself, he was dining with -Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Is Lady Wyse a friend of yours?’</p> - -<p>‘A great friend.’</p> - -<p>‘The one whose name’s always in the paper?’</p> - -<p>‘I suppose so.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, take my advice and don’t let Joey know.’</p> - -<p>‘Why not?’</p> - -<p>‘She’d look down on you.’</p> - -<p>‘Why? Lady Wyse is a very charming -woman.’</p> - -<p>‘You say that because you’re a toff. She’d -hear a very different name, if she came down -our street. I’d tell her straight myself.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXIV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was quite a small party at Lady Wyse’s. -Disturnal was there, the rising young High -Church M.P.; Sir Peter Parchmin; his wife, and -a few miscellaneous ladies; General Wapshot; a -Man with a Clever Face; an Eminent Scientist; -and a Philosopher. This last was not a speaking -character; a little wizened man with a bald<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -head; he had made a reputation in his youth by -retiring into solitude for three years and coming -back with the apophthegm, ‘Give me a pebble -and a protoplasm and I will make you a universe.’ -Nobody having given him either, his plans had -rested there. They put him in a Chair at -Cambridge, and he had never opened his mouth -since. He and the Eminent Scientist were men -with that peculiar knack the learned have of -looking out of place in any clothes they wear, but -convincing you somehow that they would look -more out of place without them. Lady Wyse -had invited them quite at random, because she -thought they would be interested in a scientific -scheme which Sir Peter was to propound that -night; she could not surely be expected to -distinguish different sorts of savants?</p> - -<p>Lady Parchmin was a tired but talkative -blonde, who made one feel sorry for Sir Peter in -a kind of abstract way; yet she was a saint, -and he was an immoral man. He pretended to -pursue Lady Wyse from mean and interested -motives; but there he lied. His love for Lady -Wyse was the only genuine sentiment he had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -ever felt—that was why she tolerated him; she -was a strong ennobling thought, like Wagner -music remembered or imagined in a railway train; -his wife, the eternal passenger who sat before him, -dim and dowdy, on the other seat, was only a monument -of dull duty and a long-forgotten fancy.</p> - -<p>Dinner was drawing to a close. Wine and -fruit were going round; the butler had marched -his squad away.</p> - -<p>The Man with the Clever Face suddenly distinguished -himself—Lady Wyse had introduced -him as ‘the well-known Mr. Holmes,’ but neither -Disturnal nor the General nor the Eminent -Scientist remembered to have heard of him before. -Lady Parchmin had been recounting her emotions -on seeing a newspaper placard as she drove to -dinner.</p> - -<p>‘“There,” said I when I saw it, “I’m sure it’s -the man I saw them arresting this morning.”’</p> - -<p>Mr. Holmes broke silence for the first time. -He fixed his penetrating gaze on Lady Parchmin’s -hair, and said:</p> - -<p>‘You must have said that to yourself then, -for you drove here alone.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>She put her hands up quickly to her head, -saying:</p> - -<p>‘Good Heavens! How do you know that? -I did. Peter walked.’</p> - -<p>‘How extraordinary!’ murmured the guests.</p> - -<p>‘Do tell me how you told?’ said Lady -Parchmin.</p> - -<p>Mr. Holmes looked round the table with a -dry, triumphant smile; then leaned confidentially -towards Lady Parchmin, and explained:</p> - -<p>‘I saw your husband’s goloshes in the hall.’</p> - -<p>‘You must be a detective!’ said Lady -Parchmin.</p> - -<p>‘I am,’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘How funny!’</p> - -<p>‘Odd thing to meet at dinner, isn’t it?’ said -their hostess languidly. ‘Now then, Sir Peter, -out with your little scheme.’</p> - -<p>Sir Peter cleared his throat and rearranged -his wine-glasses. He looked at Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘I think you were present, Prince, at an evening -at Lady Lillico’s, where I was made to deliver a -little lecture on the Missing Link?’</p> - -<p>Dwala looked steadily into the Biologist’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -eyes: he saw nothing there but an enterprise -and the desire to please; but he was conscious of -a secret triumph of amusement emanating from -Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I was there.’</p> - -<p>‘I mentioned, if you remember, a scheme for -an expedition?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, to find the Missing Link.’</p> - -<p>‘Quite so. Well, our plan is this—I’m -empowered to speak for the University—the -new writ is issued, and we can proceed to nomination -at any moment. Now, of course, we don’t -<i>sell</i> our nomination; you quite understand -that?’</p> - -<p>Mr. Disturnal caught his roving eye, and -nodded brightly.</p> - -<p>‘But we’re determined to have a scientific -man, or a man interested in science. The University -is delighted to accept you; but you must -prove your interest in science in the way that -they select. Well, they’ve selected a way, and if -you accept their conditions, you’ll be nominated -on Saturday, which is the same thing with us as -being elected.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>‘What’s the condition?’ asked Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘That you guarantee the Missing Link Search -Fund by handing in a cheque for 50,000<i>l.</i>, the -balance, if any, to be returned when the search is -over. Mr. Holmes here is going out to Borneo -in charge of the expedition; and a scientist or -two will go with him. Do you accept?’</p> - -<p>Dwala glanced at Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Certainly. I’ll send you the cheque to-night.’</p> - -<p>‘And what do you propose to do with the -Missing Link when you’ve got him?’ asked Mr. -Disturnal.</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ said the Biologist, consulting the -eye of the Eminent Scientist: ‘that’s a big -question.’</p> - -<p>‘Can’t you imagine,’ said Lady Wyse, ‘what -a scientist would do with a strange animal?’</p> - -<p>‘I’d put him in a bag and drown him, by -Gad!’ said the General genially.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, you’re not a scientist, General,’ said -Lady Wyse. ‘Sir Peter would thank Providence -humbly for his opportunities, and set about -studying the creature’s soul. Can’t you imagine -him walking politely round it asking questions?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>‘Lady Wyse is joking, of course,’ said the -Biologist. ‘If I got hold of the animal, I know -perfectly well what I should do.’</p> - -<p>‘What’s that?’ asked Mr. Disturnal, in his -bright, intellectual way.</p> - -<p>‘I should examine his hippocampus minor.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, really!’ said Lady Wyse, pushing back -her chair: ‘we women had better be going.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s a curve in the brain,’ almost shouted Sir -Peter, hurrying to the door handle: ‘the thing -Owen and Huxley fell out about.’</p> - -<p>‘Bring the men up quick,’ said Lady Wyse. -‘I and your wife’ll have nothing to talk about -upstairs but you, and we’ll both be bored to -death.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mr. Holmes, who went early, had a great -send-off; he was going straight to Plymouth -that night to superintend the preparation for the -expedition, which had only awaited Dwala’s -promise. Sir Peter Parchmin made a speech, -and Mr. Holmes made a speech, and everybody -waved handkerchiefs on the balcony as he drove -away.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>‘Well,’ said Lady Wyse, as Dwala sat down -beside her at last: ‘what do you think of my -little joke?’</p> - -<p>‘It’s too human.’</p> - -<p>‘I thought you’d be amused.’</p> - -<p>‘It takes a great deal to make me laugh.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you afraid people will discover your -secret?’</p> - -<p>‘I think you’re rash.’</p> - -<p>‘I’m not. I’m calculating. Arrived where -you are, you could sit all day on a churchyard -wall yelling your secret in people’s ears, and they -would pay no attention to it.’</p> - -<p>‘Unless an honest man came by, or a clever -one.’</p> - -<p>‘An honest man wouldn’t be clever enough -to hear it, and a clever one wouldn’t be honest -enough to repeat it.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t endanger a joke for the sake of a ... -an epigram.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you know, Prince, I have a sort of -presentiment our joke will never come off.’</p> - -<p>‘Shall I never have a good laugh before I -die?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>‘Who knows? Something may turn up.... -But why do you cough like that? Are you ill?’</p> - -<p>‘No. I often cough like that.’</p> - -<p>‘It would spoil everything if you were ill.’</p> - -<p>With a little gesture Lady Wyse summoned -the watchful Parchmin, and bade him bring his -fellow-savants.</p> - -<p>‘What’s the matter with Prince Dwala?’ she -asked. ‘He coughs in a funny way. Examine -him.’</p> - -<p>The command covered the whole trio. The -Philosopher assumed a frivolous look. The -Eminent Scientist disclaimed competence: he -was Chemistry or something.</p> - -<p>‘Nonsense!’ said Lady Wyse. ‘What’s the -good of being a scientist?’</p> - -<p>Dwala towered serenely while the Biologist -and the Eminent Scientist—having exchanged -grimaces of apology—walked round and round -him, with their ears to his sides, one behind the -other, as if it were a game, with an occasional -murmur from the Biologist of ‘Cough again’—‘Say -ninety-nine.’</p> - -<p>The little bald Philosopher stood opposite,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -with his eyebrows raised and his hands behind -his back, tipping himself patiently up and -down on his toes, like a half-witted child. The -Biologist, meeting the Eminent Scientist accidentally -at a corner, made a parenthesis of his -mouth and shook his head. Coming to the -perpendicular soon, he recommended care and a -healthy life.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think there’s anything the matter with -the Prince?’ Lady Wyse asked Parchmin, aside.</p> - -<p>‘I couldn’t say,’ said the Biologist. ‘I should -like to examine him properly first.’</p> - -<p>‘How properly?’</p> - -<p>‘One can’t tell anything through a shirt-front.’</p> - -<p>‘Take him in there,’ she commanded, pointing -to the door of the next room, ‘and examine him -<i>thoroughly</i>.’</p> - -<p>Dwala hesitated. ‘Isn’t he ... clever?’ he -murmured.</p> - -<p>‘It’s all right,’ she smiled back; ‘he isn’t -honest.’</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, when the guests were -gathering about Lady Wyse to say good-bye,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -the door of the side-room burst open, and Sir -Peter Parchmin came tumbling out, white with -horror. He seized the General, who was nearest -to him, in a wild embrace—half as a leaning-post, -half as a protection—crying:</p> - -<p>‘Good Lord! He’s got a ta ... ta ... -ta....’</p> - -<p>‘Confound you, sir!’ said the General; ‘do -you take me for Lady Parchmin?’</p> - -<p>The Biologist only clung the closer, babbling -feebly in his ear:</p> - -<p>‘He’s got a ta ... ta ... tail!’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was true. Dwala had a tail. Now I am -aware that in these days of learning, when many -an ordinary College Don knows as much science -as the elder Pliny, this will seem almost incredible; -and in the eyes of some it will throw -doubt on the truth of my story, for it is well -known that the anthropoid apes have no tails. -But then Dwala was not an anthropoid ape, but -a Missing Link. The fact is that in the old -times there were as many varieties of <i>Pithecanthropus -erectus</i> as there are nowadays of <i>Homo<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -sapiens britannicus</i>; but the physical differences -between them were far more clearly marked than -ours. The aristocracy of the race, to which -Dwala’s family belonged, were distinguished from -the plebeians, not merely by the greater stoutness -of their bony structure and the superior coarseness -of their fur—distinctions which a demagogue -might have argued down to nothing—but also -by the possession of tails, a thing about which -there could be no mistake. Among the lower -classes even the merest stump, the flattering -evidence of an old scandal, entitled the owner to -a certain measure of respect.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>‘Confound his tail!’ exclaimed the peppery -General, pushing him away. ‘Who’s got a tail? -the dog?’</p> - -<p>‘Dog?’ murmured the Biologist, in the dazed, -indignant tones of a man under the influence -of a drug. ‘No! Prince Dwala!’</p> - -<p>The General dropped rigid into an armchair, -and bobbed up and down on the springs of it. -A shocked silence fell on the room, as if something -grossly indelicate had been shouted out.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -Men blinked and lowered their heads; women -stared and raised them. There was a movement -as of looking for things lost, an untranslated -impulse towards the stairs.</p> - -<p>Lady Wyse, the one thing alive in this wax-work -show, went quickly to the door and put her -back against it, hand on handle, to prevent the -figures from escaping.</p> - -<p>‘Sir Peter is talking like an idiot,’ she said, -in low, clear tones; ‘he knows perfectly well -that Prince Dwala no more has a tail than any -one of <i>us</i> has.’</p> - -<p>The horror of the fact suggested passed -directly into indignation at the suggestion of it. -They turned on the Biologist, demanding an explanation. -The little General voiced the public -feeling. He shot up out of his chair, and shook -the tall savant violently by the lappels of his -coat.</p> - -<p>‘Have you been drinking, sir? Do you -know that there are ladies present?’</p> - -<p>A chorus of inarticulate wrath went up. -They crowded scowling round the frightened -Parchmin, women with folded arms, men with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -their hands thrust deep down into their trouser -pockets.</p> - -<p>‘Now then sir, explain yourself!’ said the -General; ‘what do you mean by a tail?’</p> - -<p>‘Da ... da ... did I say a tail?’</p> - -<p>The General shook him again. ‘You know -you did!’</p> - -<p>‘I ... I ... I ... I didn’t mean a tail,’ -stammered the Biologist; ‘not in the ordinary -sense....’</p> - -<p>‘You said <i>tail</i>, sir!’</p> - -<p>‘I didn’t mean an ... an ... an actual -prolongation of the caudal vertebrae.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, what did you mean, then?’</p> - -<p>‘I only meant he had....’</p> - -<p>‘Go on.’</p> - -<p>‘I thought I detected....’</p> - -<p>‘Go on—go on.’</p> - -<p>‘That if the Prince wasn’t careful ... there -was a sort of incipient hardening of the skin -which might lead to what German doctors call -a “tail.” It’s a purely technical term. I ... -I ... apologise, I’m sure, for having spoken -inadvertently.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>‘He ought to be ashamed of himself!’ was -the general verdict.</p> - -<p>‘What a dreadful thing to happen at a dinner-party!’</p> - -<p>‘At Lady Wyse’s too, of all places!’</p> - -<p>They all turned their backs on him, and -crowded round Dwala, who emerged serenely at -this moment from the next room; shaking hands -warmly with him, as if he had just achieved a -triumph. Mr. Disturnal smiled him a meaning -smile as he said good-bye.</p> - -<p>Dwala and the Biologist were the last to go.</p> - -<p>‘Good-bye,’ said Lady Wyse to Sir Peter. -‘I suppose you’ll stop the Expedition now?’</p> - -<p>‘Stop the Expedition? Why?’</p> - -<p>‘Great heavens! Then you haven’t guessed -the secret after all?’</p> - -<p>The Biologist stared at her with wild eyes for -several seconds, then suddenly twirled and fell -like a sack on the floor. When they had bathed -him back to his senses at last, he sat up on his -hands and said:</p> - -<p>‘Prince Dwala must blow his brains out!’</p> - -<p>Lady Wyse rang laughter like a bell.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>‘Why?’ asked Dwala, greatly interested.</p> - -<p>‘Any English gentleman would.’</p> - -<p>‘I forbid it!’ said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Why?’</p> - -<p>‘He’d spoil his hippocampus minor.’</p> - -<p>‘Pah!’ exploded Sir Peter bitterly: ‘you -always take his side.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Arrived</span> in his own hall, Dwala became aware of -a faint shrill voice talking rapidly and jerkily, -accompanied by an even whirring noise. He -opened the library door. The room was lighted -brilliantly. To the left sat Hartopp, in evening -dress, in a big armchair, with his leg on another -chair; a champagne bottle and glasses were on -a table beside him; he was smoking a fat cigar, -and grinning as he listened. Below him, sitting -on the floor, with her pale face thrown back -against the chair, was Joey fast asleep. In the -middle of the room sat Huxtable, serious and -concentrated, managing the gramophone: one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> -hand hovered over it, deft, square, and muscular, -lightly adjusting some moth’s wing of a lever in -the instrument. Beyond him, in the background, -was a stout, serious, important looking man, with -his face blacked—a nigger minstrel in red and -black striped trousers, with a tiny doll’s hat -pinned on the front of his head—who rose respectfully -at Dwala’s entrance, a glass of champagne -in one hand and a banjo in the other.</p> - -<p>Evidently Huxtable had been doing his best -to entertain the guests.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXVI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Dwala</span> was duly elected, and took his seat in the -House of Commons.</p> - -<p>This Parliament, which had come in with -loud blowing of trumpets as a truly representative -assembly, was but a poor thing after all, -the rickety child of a long line of dissipated -ancestors; a perplexity of Imperialists, Federalists, -Separatists, Food Taxers, Free Traders,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -Church Reformers, Church Defenders, Labour -Members, Irish Members, and Members frankly -representative of private aims—men who sat for -cotton, or coal, or simply beer. No Prime -Minister could have ruled the country with it.</p> - -<p>The Government was in a tottering condition. -Round after round they had been so heavily -punished by the Opposition, that it was all they -could do to stand up, dizzy and defensive, to -await the knock-out blow. The Irish Party, -sated with concessions, had got altogether out of -hand, and at last gone frankly over to the other -side. O’Grady, their leader, like an elusive -knight in a game of chess, sprang here and there -about the board, attacking in two or three places -at once; while the big-wigs of the Liberal Party -sat solidly on their squares, breathing destruction -down appropriated lines. Tory Rooks and Tory -Bishops trembled every time O’Grady moved, and -pawns went down like nine-pins, sacrificed in the -hope of deferring the inevitable check-mate. The -poor Premier, designed by Nature for a life of -contemplation, marvelled at the inconsiderate -unrest of public men, and sought a decent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -opportunity of withdrawing to the urbane refinements -of private life.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, what is called ‘the business of the -country’ must be carried on. Posts worth several -thousand pounds a year cannot be left begging -for an occupant; as Ministers went under in the -attack, new Ministers must be found, not among -the jealous multitude of small-bore country squires -and city manufacturers, but among the big guns -of longer range. Dwala was eminently one of -this park. His apparition in politics had been -so sudden; the influence of his backers was so -strong; his stooping from big opportunities of -pleasure to the tedium of Parliament was so much -of a condescension, that the Party felt he had a -right to a handsome recompense. Besides, the -last vacant post could only be filled by a representative -of one of the great seats of learning. -Dwala was made President of the Board of -Education. He said nothing, he did nothing; -others talked and worked; and all agreed that he -was a great success. He was the best-informed -Minister in the Cabinet. Others acted and did -harm; he studied and did none.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">XXVII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Much</span> time passed. The Government stagnated, -but the national life went on, like a river piling -its waters against the tottering dam.</p> - -<p>Then came the Great Crisis in which the Prime -Minister went down. The nation was no longer -on the brink of ruin, as the ravens had so long -croaked, but in the very midst of it.</p> - -<p>There is an all-powerful Guardian of Truth, -who avenges every lie. Master, not of the world, -which runs by rule, but of the Inward Meaning -of it, which is beyond the range of law; Master, -not of enterprises and institutions, but of the -living souls of things which they rudely symbolise; -as the Poet is Master, not of words and verses, -but of the thing obscurely hidden in them; -as the Musician is Master, not of notes and -harmonies, but of the soul made audible in them, -like an invisible gossamer thread revealed in -dew: He teaches by destroying. The history -of Man is the history of the Master’s contempt -for lies. The seer of the Inward Truth sings -its glory to a world of fools, who mistake his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> -symbols for the Truth itself and the seer for the -Master of it, building states and religions of -the symbols; whereat the True Master laughs, -and the building tumbles, crushing men in its -ruins.</p> - -<p>Ruins of lies fell upon England, crushing -those that dwelt there as they fell. England had -reverenced forms and insulted realities. With -antiquarian fervour run riotously mad, we had -thrust full-blooded, growing realities into the -shrunken and tattered livery of old forms, stifling -the life out of them; realities of Pure Ethic and -Awe of the Insoluble Secret into old liveries of -Christian dogma; realities of Anglo-Saxon gospel -of universal Freedom into liveries of insolent -insular Imperialism; realities of Democracy into -old liveries of Feudalism, raising Tailors to high -places due to sages and centaurs—summoning -Lords of the Shears and Thread to put patches -over the rents burst in the garments by the -swelling life within, when we should have torn -the old fripperies away and let the Titan loose -from his bondage.</p> - -<p>England was rich in men and minds and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -money; but the different owners of them stood -face to face clutching their wealth, hissing -defiance, petrified with jealousy, while the worms -crept in and devoured it, and England starved. -Good Government costs but little; but these -men, rich in hands and brains and the plunder -of the centuries, wrangled who should pay for -Government, each preferring Anarchy to Government -at his own cost; and the foreigners coursed -over the seas and took everything but the bare -land from us; the foreigners had no need to take -that from us for our ruin, for life is not the thing -that stands still in its place, but the thing that -comes and goes, and while we boasted of our -fleet—as the paunchy brewer boasts of his cellar -full of vats—and while we boasted that no one -dared to invade our country, the pride and the -boast turned bitter on our lips, and we found -ourselves the starving masters of a sun-sucked -ash-heap.</p> - -<p>So came the great Famine, punishing the lies; -men, women, and children died in their thousands; -the poor birds died also, and the dogs and the -horses—losing their long faith in the wisdom of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -imperial man. The Titan’s livery hung loose -about him; and the Lord High Tailors shook -their heads over their steak and onion, and said -that the waist needed taking in.</p> - -<p>Men had not died without a struggle; there -had been riots and fighting and theft; empty -bellies had gone of their own accord through -broken windows to fill themselves with guinea -loaves, and thence to the crowded gaols to pick -oakum into ropes to hang their leaders with; -women died patiently, like overloaded horses that -fall on the climbing hill, with a last look of the -white bewildered eye entreating pardon of their -masters for having failed to drag the burden -to the top. Children died believing in their -mothers; women died believing in some God or -Fate; men died believing in nothing but the -Police.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At last the Famine abated; the ships of corn -came hurrying in. Men are men after all; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -what is the function of the Colonies if not to -forgive the senile sins of England—to overlook -the insults of the Old Dotard’s vanity, and help -him in his hour of need?</p> - -<p>For England is at once Titan and Dotard. -Youth and old age, submissive strength and -tyrannous impotence—these are the two forces -which make the parallelogram of public life. -The hard old father hobbles nobly on his ebony -cane in the sunshine of the castle terrace, unwilling -to shuffle off his gout and agues and be at -peace, because he envies possession to this rugged -giant of an heir-in-tail, whom he keeps carrying -burdens, like Caliban, in the cattle yard. Happy -the day when we shall bear the old man at last, -with ceremonious countenances, to the expectant -churchyard, and pack him solemnly away in his -ancestral vault.</p> - -<p>The habit of trusting in symbols instead of -realities is not easily put off. Those who have -lived in darkness cannot face the sun of truth at -once; when the castle falls they run, not to the -fields, but to the stalls and sheds. When the -vengeance of disaster comes upon a nation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -men fly instinctively from the owlish darkness of -their ruined symbols to the twilight of other -symbols.</p> - -<p>Dreading above all things the multiple -solitude which hastens every way at once; -craving before all things that sureness of direction -in space which makes the intensity both -of hope and of prayer; fixing their eyes on a -personality as the distracted peasant fixes his -eyes on an image or an eikon, the crowd betake -themselves, of a sudden unanimous impulse, all -in one way, shouting the name of a saviour or a -scapegoat, clearing confusion by the embodiment -of vengeance and deliverance in limited thinkable -dimensions. They burn the witch, and clamour -round the prophet.</p> - -<p>But of forty million men, who can say which -is the true prophet?</p> - -<p>In times of peace the mass of men live like -fish in tanks, aware of dim shades that come and -go beyond, recking little of what is outside their -own tiny range of weed and gravel. To be great -with the mass is not to be a collection of definite -great facts, but only a constantly recurring vagueness.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> -‘I know his name,’ is the sum of ordinary -knowledge of great men. But with constant -repetition the name of a man or a cause takes on -an awe-inspiring, trust-compelling quality, and -the fishes cry ecstatically: ‘Napoleon!’ ‘Buller!’ -‘Chamberlain!’ ‘Carter’s Little Liver Pills!’ -‘Hurrah!’—and this makes fame. While the great -Poet is starving obscurely into immortality, the -crowd without is staring awestruck at the famous -Laureate’s feather-nodding coach, as it rolls him -to oblivion in St. Paul’s. Why are all these -people craning and jostling in the roadway? Is -it because they loved the Laureate’s poems? Did -he touch some chord in their hearts which the -poor Poet’s fingers were too delicate to handle? -Not a bit! They know the one man’s verses no -better than the other’s; they stand lamenting for -the Laureate simply because they have so often -heard his name.</p> - -<p>And now Dwala’s was such a name. His -mind and character were still unknown, even -to journalists; but the wavering darkness of his -name had long been familiar to the fish in every -tank. For months they had read of him in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -papers and magazines: his wealth, his success, -his eccentricity, had been the talk of England. -Then he had gone into Parliament and figured -large in the comic cartoons. Others, after short -notability, had lost favour by their speeches or -their deeds; Dwala had left his reputation to -grow of itself, like a tree. They felt his largeness. -He was talked of everywhere as the capable -man of the Cabinet. A Minister, he was remarkable -even among ordinary Members as the man -who never spoke. He was the ‘strong and silent -man in a babbling age.’</p> - -<p>In the hour of despair the people clamoured, -with as much reason as they usually have for such -clamouring: ‘Prince Dwala alone can save us! -Down with Glendover! Down with Whitstable! -Down with Huggins! Dwala for ever!’ The -papers talked of a new era and a new man, who -was to ‘cleanse the Augean stable’ and set Old -England on its legs again.</p> - -<p>For the lobby and the drawing-room all this -had to be translated into a new language, full -of such terms as ‘popular in the House’—‘the -support of the Church Party’—‘keep things<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -going’—‘able to entertain’—‘stop the mouth -of the Irish Members.’ The division of ‘politics’ -from national life which such phrases indicate -does not arise from any cynicism in the ruling -classes, but from our system of government itself. -The evil begins in the polling booth, where men -are elected, not to sit for England, but to sit for -a party or for local wants. The interest of the -nation is the only interest unrepresented in the -House of Commons.</p> - -<p>Deafened with the shouts of the people, afraid -to venture to his official home through the angry -crowds that filled Whitehall, the Premier tendered -his resignation, and retired—poor scapegoat—to -his gardened grange, to finish his book on -Problems of Pure Thought.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXVIII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Disturnal</span> came and went with an air of genial -mystery. The cab that carried him from Lady -Wyse’s to Prince Dwala’s carried the fate of the -nation on its two wheels. He came to assure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -Dwala of the support of the powerful Catholic -Anglican party, of which he was business manager.</p> - -<p>‘Of course, I’m only a layman,’ he said, with -his broad muscular clean-shaven smile; ‘but you -may take it the thing is done. The Bishop of -Windsor will have to come and see you, just as a -matter of form. He’s our President. He’s a dear -old thing; you’ll like him. You’ll only have to -give him some lunch, and pat him on the back -and send him home again. I’ve settled it all -with Lady Wyse.’</p> - -<p>The Bishop came to lunch—really a ‘dear old -thing’; a crumpled and furrowed saint, with the -wise brow of a Scotch terrier, fitted for better -things than to be managed by a scheming Jesuit -like Disturnal. Dwala respected him as a man; -Huxtable as a Bishop; Hartopp as neither. The -mere title of Bishop was enough to provoke the -fury of that pewed ox. The old Fence broke in -on the respectable conversation of the lunch-table -with ribald questions and sly allusions to Lady -Wyse, and parsons, and hopes of the Archbishopric—all -of which amused him very much, -and only bewildered the good prelate, who had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -no notion what he was driving at. Hartopp -soon pushed his plate away, and sat with his chin -resting on the table and his pale blind eye-balls -turned on the Bishop, chuckling to himself, like -the head of some decapitated sorcerer in the -‘Arabian Nights’ making fun of a wicked Caliph.</p> - -<p>His conversational successes pleased him so -much that he grew gay and gallant when Dwala -brought up Lady Wyse herself an hour later to -his rooms to introduce her.</p> - -<p>That crafty lady had prepared the way for -friendship three weeks before by sending him -‘The Doings of Thomasina,’ over which the -world was laughing—written by a lady of fashion, -and absolutely true to life, so Huxtable assured -him. It had been the delight of many evenings -when Huxtable read it aloud to him and Dwala.</p> - -<p>‘If people went on like that in Seven Dials,’ -he said, ‘there’d be black eyes all round, and a -lickin’ for the girl at the end of every page.’</p> - -<p>But he chuckled hugely, relishing it as a light -upon the manners and customs of the nobs.</p> - -<p>He had the first floor to himself now, eight -rooms in a suite. He was very strict in his sense<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -of property, rushing out like an angry spider from -his lair if he heard sounds of intrusion. But this -afternoon he needed company as an outlet for the -pride of his conversational performance, and he -hobbled forth on the landing with a grin when -he heard voices on the stairs.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, Lady Wyse, is it? We had some talk -about you at lunch to-day, my lady. “Lady -Wyse is an old friend of mine,” says the Bishop. -“Ha, ha,” says I; “she’s a fine woman by all -accounts.” And then I laughed, and Huxtable -up and asked the Bishop about the state of the -Parsons’ Relief Fund. “Parsons,” says I; “why -I read the Bible right through once when I -was a boy, for a bet, and the word parson isn’t -mentioned once in the whole of the book. I -suppose you hope to be Archbishop some day?” -says I. He pretended not to hear; but I wasn’t -going to let him off. “Didn’t Lady Wyse say -anything about you bein’ made Archbishop?” -I says. “Not a word,” says he. “Didn’t she -wink?” says I. “One doesn’t wink at Bishops,” -says Huxtable. “Ah,” says I; “you don’t know -Lady Wyse”; and I and the Bishop roared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -with laughter. The old man knows a thing or -two.’</p> - -<p>Lady Wyse listened patiently, and charmed -the Fence outright, without exertion, by sitting -down at the piano—<i>his</i> piano, which nobody -might touch without his leave—and playing him -‘Simple Aveu’ and ‘The Song which Reached -my Heart.’ The proletariat, who abhor sentimentality -in real life, like nothing else in art. -The sound of the music drew Joey, a sad little -creature now that she saw the possible limitations -of the pleasure of wearing new hats and steaming -slowly in a motor-car round the Park. Hearing -her footstep four rooms off, while he was leaning, -full of noble emotion, over the plaintive piano, -Hartopp rushed thumping away, knocking over -little tables as he went, and cursing to himself.</p> - -<p>‘Who’s that?’</p> - -<p>‘It’s only me, Toppin.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you want?’</p> - -<p>‘I come to hear the music.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean by comin’ in without -askin’? Have you cleaned yourself up?’</p> - -<p>‘Not partic’lar.’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>‘Then clear out! I’ve got visitors. Wait -till you’re sent for.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXIX</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> had tea in Hartopp’s room. Lord Glendover -came in to inquire after Dwala’s health, -which had been visibly failing the last few days.</p> - -<p>‘We’ve cleared the last obstacle now,’ said -Lady Wyse, marching up and down the room. -‘To-morrow Dwala will step into the Premiership. -Hooray for the new Premier!’</p> - -<p>She waved her cigarette triumphantly in the -air.</p> - -<p>‘The Church Party practically held the -balance, don’t you see? Well, they were ready -to follow Lord Whitstable, or Huggins, or -Strafford-Leslie, or Prince Dwala. Lord Glendover, -of course, was out of it. Well, Whitstable’s -shelved: he’s incompetent, and he -knows it.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s very hard on him,’ said Lord Glendover.</p> - -<p>‘Still, he gets the Governorship of Australia,’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -said Lady Wyse; ‘and that’s fifteen thousand or -so a year; not so bad after all. He’s responsible -for the loss of thousands of lives in Africa.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes; but think of the poor beggar’s -feelings!’</p> - -<p>‘Huggins’s hopes were ruined by his case -against the Red Sea Shipping Company. It -came out that his firm had been exporting arms -to the Mad Mullah.’</p> - -<p>‘But quite innocently!’ said Lord Glendover. -‘He’s a business man; he didn’t know it was -against the law.’</p> - -<p>‘So there was only the Prince and Strafford-Leslie -left in the running. Strafford-Leslie -offered an Episcopal Council for Church Jurisdiction; -and we ... well, we really offered -nothing.’</p> - -<p>She laughed.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXX</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">His</span> appointment as Prime Minister was in -the papers two days later, with a throng of -leading articles shouting Evoë!</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>A spirit of busy gaiety ruled over the big -house in Park Lane; such a spirit of Bohemian -ease as comes where private theatricals are -preparing. The policy of the Empire and the -distribution of places centred there. Everything -bustled cheerfully; doors stood open; people -came and went; meals were snatched on corners -of littered tables: the servants were infected; -footmen ran up and down the stairs like school-boys; -housemaids tittered at baize-doors, and -forgot pails on landings.</p> - -<p>And in the midst of it, still and listless, -sat Dwala—the new Prime Minister. Something -strange had happened; he saw the world fading -and losing interest before his eyes. What was -the thing he had looked forward to so eagerly? -A joke? What is a joke? In this new -obscurity his mind could not piece the thing -together aright. Some sort of surprise and -ridicule? No matter. He was sorry for these -pitiful actors now; there was something so futile -about all this busy scheming in a world of shades. -To show the unimportance of importance? Was -that his joke? Pooh! the joke itself was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -important enough to amuse him now; five -minutes’ fun for a Hartopp; nothing more.</p> - -<p>Strange that the world should have altered -so! He had noticed something amiss with it that -day he went to Windsor to receive his appointment -as Prime Minister; an unnatural clearness, -like the clearness of a landscape before a -storm.</p> - -<p>As he stood on the platform at Paddington, -looking at the crowd of pleasure-seekers—men -and women in boating-costumes—he had seen -them, not as creatures of flesh and clothes, but -as translucent wraiths, grinning and gibbering -in one another’s faces; the only real live being -there, the Guard—Odysseus playing Charon in -Hades—watchful, responsible, long-glancing down -the train, touching his hat, receiving obols from -the shades.</p> - -<p>Tears came into Lady Wyse’s heart as she sat -and looked at him. She guessed the truth, which -he did not suspect; death was going to take from -her the companion-mind which had made her -wilderness green again. But that belief she put -away from herself and him.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>In other things they thought together, these -two minds: his, the elemental, the slow, the -encompassing; hers, the polished, the swift, the -penetrating; his, like the thunder rolling, huge -and formless; hers, like the music of the master’s -fiddle, delicate, exact, exhaustive. Both saw -their old scheme for laughter vanish like a mirage -in the desert as the traveller approaches; and in -its place, from the heart of all things, welled up -the new thought, the greater thought, suited to -the solemn grandeur of their friendship.</p> - -<p>Dwala was at a table, coughing feebly; opposite -him Huxtable, busy with ink and papers. -Lady Wyse sat talking intermittently, absently, -listlessly, with Lord Glendover by the empty -tea-cups. She rose, and strayed over to Dwala’s -table, where she stood awhile picking up papers -and throwing them down again.</p> - -<p>‘What this?... “The best hundred books.”’</p> - -<p>‘That’s for the prospectus of Glenister’s new -“Dwala Classics,”’ said Huxtable.</p> - -<p>‘“The Bible, Shakespere, Confucius, Hi-ti-hi, -Kipling, the Q’urân, The Doings of -Thomasina” ...’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>She tore it up and threw it on the floor, -paying no heed to Huxtable. Then she picked -up another paper and read it out aloud: “I am -in favour of inducing the Colonies to put heavy -duties on all foreign goods. This will promote a -friendly feeling between England and her dependencies.”</p> - -<p>‘That’s rather neat,’ said Lord Glendover.</p> - -<p>‘Dull, I call it,’ said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘It’s out of the draft for the new pronouncement,’ -said Huxtable.</p> - -<p>She took a pencil, and amended it.</p> - -<p>‘“I am in favour of inducing the Colonies to -put heavy duties on one another’s goods. This -will promote a friendly feeling between England -and foreign countries.” That’s better, don’t you -think, Lord Glendover?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I think it is,’ said the noble Lord; ‘I -like that touch about “foreign countries.”’</p> - -<p>Huxtable leaned forward as if about to speak; -but sank back and cracked his thumbs. She -stood biting her pencil for a little time, and then -tore the pronouncement also in pieces, and threw -it on the floor. She walked up and down, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -stopped in front of Lord Glendover, with folded -arms, and with tears standing in her eyes.</p> - -<p>‘It is a pitiful, pitiful thing,’ she said; ‘you -are all so good, one is obliged to believe in the -Devil.’</p> - -<p>‘That don’t hang together, you know,’ said -Lord Glendover gravely.</p> - -<p>‘It is like some hideous game, where each -child has to speak a harmless word in turn, and -the whole sentence is rank blasphemy and -wickedness. Each of you goes through a foolish, -innocent routine, with a clear conscience and the -applause of the poor multitude; and the result -is misery, misery, misery. Not random misery, -here and there, such as you harmless creatures -might chance on by the way, but a fearful consistent -scheme of deeply-calculated, universal -misery—a thing of hellish contrivance, worthy of -the fiery genius of the sulphur pit. What am I, -and what is this poor Lord Glendover? Makers -and unmakers of men? Pah! We are pitiful -pawns in the awful game, dreaming we move of -our own accord only because the other pawns do -not jostle us. Why do we stay cumbering the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -board? God knows! And yet without us there -would be no game. It lies with us, it lies with -us to put an end to it.’</p> - -<p>She spoke with lifted arm and ringing -voice, like a prophet of repentance; while Lord -Glendover leaned back in his low chair, looking -up over his brown clasped hands with frightened -eyes. There was something comical in this big -creature’s dependent, child-like look. Lady Wyse -smiled suddenly at him:</p> - -<p>‘We must kick over the board, my little man, -and spoil the Devil’s game.’</p> - -<p>The scared look spread downwards to his -mouth. He did not understand any of the words -she spoke; but a vague instinct of wisdom and -alarm shot through him, as through a baby hare, -which thought it was play, and suddenly finds -death baying on every side.</p> - -<p>‘You don’t mean reconstruction, do you, -Lady Wyse? Dwala’s not going to....’</p> - -<p>The awfulness was too sudden-spreading to -be crumpled back into words. She smiled -again.</p> - -<p>‘Revolution, my child, revolution! We’ll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -make Old England stand on its head and -shout.’</p> - -<p>‘Good Gad! But he’s bound to us in -honour. Dwala’s a gentleman—we look to him. -We’d never have put him up if he hadn’t been -pledged in honour. He can’t go back on us -now.’</p> - -<p>‘He’s pledged to nothing, any more than I -am; any more than a ship is that you may -charter to carry a cargo of slaves to Jamaica. -And if the ship is turned round in mid-Atlantic, -and carried back to the coast of Africa, what use -is it your crying out: “You’re not a gentleman, -you ship! We trusted you, we chartered you to -carry our blacks to slavery, and here you are -taking us back to be eaten by the cannibals.” -I’m sorry for you, Lord Glendover, quite sorry -enough. You’re a good man, and not more -stupid than most. You might have been a -decent farmer, or bricklayer, or gamekeeper; but -you’ve gone along the beaten track that leads to -villainy—unconscious, irreclaimable villainy. You -don’t see it, and you never will. Go home and -be obscure. I’m sorry for you; but I’m sorrier<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -for the forty million blacks that we have on -board, and now we mean to carry them back to -Africa.’</p> - -<p>Lord Glendover went away, gloomy and -bewildered, feeling great national misfortunes -gathering in the air. He visited his colleagues, -and considered how the country could be -saved.</p> - -<p>But salvation was not to come from Lord -Glendover.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXXI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Parliament</span> was dissolved, and the Great Policy -was launched. The obscurity had been suddenly -lifted from Dwala’s mind: a hectic strength and -clearness took its place. He and Lady Wyse did -not so much invent the New Charter as discover -it: it was the revelation of a thing existent; -as they sat pen in hand the words came to -them from some far place, illuminating and -inevitable.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXII">XXXII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">A month</span> had passed. The General Election was -over. The great drought, the heaviness, the dull -unrest was ended. The Dragon of the myth, the -monster which slowly sucks up the waters, condemning -the land to infertility and pestilence, -was slain, and the waters gushed forth again -to fruitfulness. The myriad warriors who had -helped to pierce his flanks went coursing over the -plain, with a brandishing of spears and cries of -‘Victory!’ St. George turned in his long sleep -and opened his heavy eyes. Well did he know -those triumphing shouts. Was the race of dragons -ended now, or would a new dragon spring from -the blood of the old as heretofore?</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXXIII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Success</span> is a strong wine. It was running vividly -in Dwala’s veins. Every least thing he did -seemed to him fate-ordered and conclusive. Oh, -the pride of it, the joy of it, the ease of it! The -acclamations and the consciousness of right!</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>The new Civilisation was like a poem, the -scheme of which has come whole and organic to -the poet, and which germinates therefore without -constraint into its natural, necessary verses. The -right men and the right ideas fell of themselves -into their places, like particles forming a system -of crystals. Dwala had found the basic idea, which -all this turbid mass had been so long awaiting. -He created life and received it. That same life -flowed into his fibres, from the movement of the -multitude, which flows into the peasant-woman’s -baby out of the dust gathered on the busy -highway.</p> - -<p>Lady Wyse, seeing the easy joyful motion of -his limbs and hearing the deep vigour of his -voice, put her presentiments away. Dwala himself -looked back in wonder at that grey mood -when the world had faded from him. He was like -the traveller who stands in the garish whirl of the -fair, wondering if this can be the place that looked -so grim on Sunday. He was enjoying the strong -rush of life which a kindly Heaven sends to the -consumptive as consolation for their early death.</p> - -<p>He had new friends about him now. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> -Glendovers, the Disturnals, and the rest of that -crew had vanished into the Unknown; they were -growing turnips, shooting partridges, or riding -on motor-ears somewhere in the Outer Darkness. -Hartopp and Prosser were still there; Joey had -run away to Seven Dials; Huxtable had packed -his boxes, and stayed on in a condition of provisional -irresolution.</p> - -<p>On Dwala’s third floor lived an ascetic -pensioner—a certain Mr. Bone, an American, a -traveller in the East, a friend of Lady Wyse—connected -by some mystery of familiarity with -Dwala’s past. Rumour had it that he was an -adventurer who had been Dwala’s Prime Minister -in his days of sovereignty.</p> - -<p>Dwala’s palace, in fact, was fast turning into -a monastery, where the Abbot, with his little cell -by the hall-door, was the least luxuriously housed -of all.</p> - -<p>Prosser, as I said, was still there, but he was -no longer there as valet. The acceptance of such -personal service was inconsistent with the Prince’s -New Humanity, and Prosser was quite incapable -of performing his duties properly. For some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -time he had contented himself with a life of -ease in his own room. But <i>his</i> politics also had -changed: he did not see why he should be worse -off than Hartopp, and, by force of gradual asking, -acquired the whole of the second floor, over -Hartopp, for his portion. He had everything he -could think of wanting in his rooms; but even -that did not content him. He had thought that -wealth was all he needed to make him happy in -his sober intervals; but soon found out that -he was mistaken. His career had given him a -longing for <i>other</i> people’s property; things lost -their interest for him once they became his own. -He craved for the excitements of the past. -Scissors, and ashtrays, and other glittering things -got a way of disappearing wherever he went -about the house. One night Dwala was aroused -by the screaming of a police whistle from one of -Hartopp’s windows over him, and going up he -found the Fence sitting on Prosser’s chest in the -window-seat, and blowing for all he was worth. -A broken cupboard and a trailing jemmy explained -the situation.</p> - -<p>‘All right, guvnor, I’ll go quietly,’ said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -Prosser, in a squeezed husky voice; ‘I’m nabbed -right enough this time.’ All the household -crowded in at the doorway with scared faces; -policemen appeared, and the alarm ended with -the lights being turned up and everybody sitting -down together, policemen and all, to a scratch -supper in the dining-room, and laughing uproariously, -as if something very funny had occurred.</p> - -<p>The best of Prosser was that he never made -any unpleasantness about being arrested. He -would surrender at discretion to the housemaid or -the boot boy, and offer to ‘go quietly.’ The -policemen outside entered into the joke of it, and -were ready on the doorstep to come in for their -supper and half-crown whenever the episcopal -butler ran out of a night—as he always did—to -fetch them. The American was the only one -who missed the fun of the thing; he swore that -if he found anyone prowling about his rooms he -would punch his head and hand him over, bag -and baggage, to the police.</p> - -<p>Dwala himself was already tired of the joke, -when the butler—rather dishevelled—came in to -the picture-gallery where he was pacing up and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> -down, one afternoon, with a sheaf of spoons in -one hand and the crestfallen Prosser in the other.</p> - -<p>‘Why don’t you steal something big and -have done with it?’ Dwala said, when he and -the ex-valet were left alone. ‘One of these -pictures, for instance; they’re very valuable some -of them, I know. Now here’s a tremendously -fine thing, I’m told. Who’s it by? The name’s -written on the frame.’</p> - -<p>‘Rubens, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Now you take that, Prosser, some night. I -don’t want it a bit, I assure you. It’s worth -something like fifteen thousand pounds, I’m told.’</p> - -<p>Prosser returned it after a couple of days.</p> - -<p>‘I can’t sleep with it in the room, I can’t, sir. -When I shuts my eyes I seems to see all them -ladies rollin’ up and down and every way till I’m -fairly giddy. But I promise you, sir, I won’t go -in no more for little thievin’s, I’ll keep my eyes -open for something big.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXXIV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Sir Peter Parchmin</span> was a rare visitor. He -disliked the company which Dwala kept; he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -couldn’t get on with Mr. Cato, who was always -in and out of the house. He was growing visibly -older in the effort of keeping his countenance, -while his colleagues gloated over despatches of -the Missing Link Expedition, which kept writing -hopefully from Borneo that it was on the eve -of achieving its object; Mr. Holmes had seen -curious scratches on trees, or had heard peculiar -noises at night; once they sent home a button -which he had discovered in the forest. The -hopes of the scientific world ran high.</p> - -<p>‘You must get those people to come home, Sir -Peter,’ said Dwala to the Biologist, on one of his -visits. ‘He’s a terrible fellow is that Mr. Holmes; -I shouldn’t feel safe in going back while he’s out -there. He’d have me, tail and all, in no time.’</p> - -<p>‘But good heavens, dear Prince, you’re not -thinking of leaving us?’ said the Biologist. -Joyful relief soared upwards from his heart; he -had barely time to clap a distressful expression -over it to keep it from escaping.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ said Dwala, ‘I’m going home. I have -my own life to live, you know. I’ve been a -slave over here, working for the good of Man.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -My work is done; I have delivered my message; -and now I’m going back to my wild life in the -forest while I’m still young and strong. I mean -to ... to throw all this off’—he flapped his -coat like a bird—‘and enjoy myself.’</p> - -<p>‘I trust you will be very <i>very</i> happy,’ said -the Biologist, shaking him warmly by the hand. -‘How are you going to manage about the -money?’ he asked in a lower voice.</p> - -<p>‘They’re arranging it in there,’ said Dwala, in -the same precautious tones, pointing to a door, -behind which voices could be heard.</p> - -<p>The door opened at that moment and -admitted an elderly obsequious man in black, -with a big parchment folded under his arm; and -behind him came Baron Blumenstrauss, Lady -Wyse, Mr. Cato, and a lean brown man with a -tuft on his chin, whom Sir Peter had seen there -once before. This man smiled at Sir Peter drily. -The obsequious man said good-bye, and shook -hands with the Prince.</p> - -<p>‘It’s all right, your Royal Highness; signed, -sealed, delivered, and stamped.’</p> - -<p>‘Quite sound in law, is it?’ said the Prince.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>‘Inter fifos,’ nodded the Baron; ‘sount as a pell.’</p> - -<p>The obsequious gentleman hurried out.</p> - -<p>‘Fonny man!’ said the Baron, patting the -Prince on the shoulder, and smiling at Sir Peter; -‘he gif his broperty all away, effery penny.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s generous, dear Prince,’ said the Biologist, -‘but is it wise? Even out there, no doubt, one -has expenses.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! I sha’n’t want any money,’ said the -Prince.</p> - -<p>‘They have no pockets, you know,’ said Lady -Wyse.</p> - -<p>Whereupon the Baron, who was not initiated, -adjusted his glasses and looked at her with great -attention.</p> - -<p>‘Remember King Lear,’ said the Biologist. -‘He divided his property in two’....</p> - -<p>‘Seely fellow!’ said the Baron.</p> - -<p>‘And his daughters were both ungrateful.’</p> - -<p>‘Natürlich!’ said the Baron. ‘He trowed -away de chief ting he haf; he gif de broperty -widout de power. If I difide my corner in -Brazilians into two corners for de boys, do -you tink Max and Choel loff me very moch?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>‘You would find some Cordelia, I am sure, -dear Baron.’</p> - -<p>‘Nod widout monny,’ said the Baron.</p> - -<p>‘There’s no Cordelia in this case,’ said Lady -Wyse; ‘I’m Goneril and the other lady all in one.’</p> - -<p>‘Really?’ The Biologist was all smiles -and proffered hands. ‘I congratulate you. The -Prince couldn’t have disposed of his fortune -better, I’m sure.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! that depends how people treat us.’</p> - -<p>‘Dere is gondition,’ said the Baron, looking -at his watch.</p> - -<p>‘May one inquire, dear Prince, what the -condition is?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! it’s a mere nothing.’</p> - -<p>‘Lady Wyse publish his “Memoirs,”’ said -the Baron.</p> - -<p>The Biologist turned pale.</p> - -<p>‘That reminds me,’ said the American; ‘I -mustn’t leave those papers litterin’ about. I -forgot to lock them up.’</p> - -<p>‘Goot-bye,’ said the Baron. ‘I haf beesness -encagement.’ He followed the American out at -the door.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>‘Of course!’ said the Biologist, brightening. -‘“Memoirs of a Statesman”—anecdotes of the -great people you have met. Who is the -American-looking man?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! that’s Mr. Bone, one of my collaborators. -Mr. Cato and Lady Wyse are the -others; between us, you see, we cover the whole -ground. I met Mr. Bone in Borneo. In fact, -he was ... he was my proprietor. I’m going -to leave the history of my life as a legacy and a -lesson to the English Nation.’</p> - -<p>‘You’ll have to go over to Borneo with the -Prince, Sir Peter,’ said Lady Wyse: ‘you’ll be -much more comfortable up one of his trees than -you will be in England.’</p> - -<p>The question had been debated many and -many a time between them. Mr. Cato, as -always, was for candour; he felt that Dwala -was in a false position; he thought the secret -should be published at once, and guaranteed the -enthusiastic interest of the nation. Mr. Bone, -for other reasons, agreed with him as to immediate -publication; he thought there was money -in it. Lady Wyse was all for caution; she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -lacked the business instinct of the American, -and the optimism of Mr. Cato; she doubted the -enthusiasm of the public; she thought it was -running into unnecessary danger to publish the -secret before the Prince was out of the country. -It had therefore been agreed that she should -publish it as soon as he was safe in the great -forest again. She was ready to incur any danger -herself; she was tired of life; and she did not in -the least mind what happened to the Biologist.</p> - -<p>The Biologist saw ruin impending. Savage, -reckless hatred welled in his breast as he looked -at this great creature, fatally sick, but rejoicing -in a present intensity of life and vigour. He -groped about for something sharp and venomous -to pierce him with; to make him fall beside him -into the valley of despair. He walked up to -Dwala, hissing like a serpent in his face.</p> - -<p>‘You have come to Man as an apostle, -bringing us a new message of Civilisation.’</p> - -<p>Dwala nodded, rather proudly.</p> - -<p>‘Do you know what Man has given to you -in return? What Man always gives to such -animals? What any scientist could have told<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -you you were bound to get in coming?... -Consumption.... Phthisis pulmonalis.... -Death!... Going back while you’re young -and strong to your wild life in the forest! Pish! -You won’t live the month out. I knew it that -night. You’re a dying beast.’</p> - -<p>Alas! why had Lady Wyse never told him? -He had never thought of that. Life hummed -and bubbled through his veins. He knew -nothing of sickness and death. He had always -been alive. The world had been faint at times; -but that was the world, not he. A stiffening -horror ran through him; he felt his skin moving -against his clothes. Then his mind ran rapidly -through all the series of events—the growth to -the full knowledge of Man, the labouring hope of -a joke, the change, the revelation, the submission -to an overwhelming truth, the rejoicing millions.... -Then suddenly this discovery of an unsuspected -vengeance-for-benefit which had been -stealing slowly and surely from the first in his -steps, to spring at last on his back in the moment -of fruition.</p> - -<p>It was too funny; the surprise of the inevitable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -overcame him; it was a Joke which suddenly -leaped up embracing the whole life of a created -being, and the destiny of a nation—of humanity -itself.</p> - -<p>Dwala laughed. For the last time he -laughed. A laugh to which his others were -childish crowings; a laugh which flung horror on -to the walls and into the darkened air, and -spread a sudden dismay of things worse than -death throughout the land. Men stopped in -their work and in their talk and their lips grew -pale without a cause; some goodness had gone -out of Providence; some terror had been added -to Fate. From the fire of that dismay the -Biologist emerged a withered and broken man; -Mr. Cato never flinched, his sheer goodness protected -him; Lady Wyse broke into tears. She, -too, was unscathed. No human canon of ethics -has been invented by which she could be called -good; she was a breaker of laws, an enemy of her -kind. But in the place of ‘goodness’ she had a -greatness which set her above the need of it.</p> - -<p>When the paroxysm of laughter was ended, -Dwala staggered and sank into a chair, and they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -saw him hanging from it with the blood streaming -out of his mouth.</p> - -<p>At once they were in the world of definite, -manageable facts again. The Biologist became -the attentive practitioner, Lady Wyse the understanding -woman, Mr. Cato the bewildered layman, -busily doing unnecessary things, ringing the -bell, calling for brandy, hurrying out into the -hall to see why they were so long. Huxtable -and the American came running down the stairs, -and Dwala was carried to his room and put -to bed.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXXV</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">While</span> all the household radiated about Dwala’s -sick-bed, and there was no attention for any other -thing, the Biologist ran swiftly up the stairs, -guided by a superhuman instinct of despair, -straight to the American’s room. He was going -to seize the ‘Memoirs’ and burn them. Dwala was -dying; no new authentic copy could be produced -again. In the doorway he saw that his instincts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -had guided him aright. American things greeted -his eyes—an American hat on the chest of -drawers, American corn-cob pipes on the mantelpiece. -But what was this? Something alive in -the room! A man crouching behind the table -with a bundle of papers. It was Prosser ‘doing -something big’ at last. Too much astonished -to move for a moment, Sir Peter stood staring -stupidly at the frightened, cowering figure behind -the table.</p> - -<p>‘Hello: what are you doin’ here?’ said a -voice in the doorway. Then the American espied -the broken desk, and a moment later the Biologist -found himself clutched by the collar, trying helplessly -to protect his head from a flailing fist, -while Prosser’s shadow shot low and horizontal -through the doorway.</p> - -<p>‘The Memoirs! the Memoirs!’ yelled the -Biologist. ‘The d——d thief’s stolen the -Memoirs! Let me go! Let me go! It’s Prosser, -not me! Oh, for God’s sake, don’t hit me -again!’</p> - -<p>At the mention of Prosser the American -stayed his hand, fumbled Sir Peter’s pockets,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -then snatched him by the collar, and ran down -the stairs, dragging him after him like a live thing -in a sack. But they were too slow for Prosser. -As they came out into Park Lane shouting ‘Stop -thief! stop thief!’ there was the fat policeman -saluting and grinning delightedly.</p> - -<p>‘He’s got clean away this time, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Heavens alive! Why didn’t you stop him?’</p> - -<p>‘I knows my place, sir’—with a wink. ‘It’s -only Mr. Prosser.’</p> - -<p>‘Blow your whistle, man! Blow your whistle! -He’s stolen State Papers.’</p> - -<p>The policeman walked very slowly forward -to the edge of the pavement and looked up and -down the road, then turned about, smiling rather -nervously.</p> - -<p>‘Do you reely mean it, sir?’</p> - -<p>‘Good Lord!’ said the American, and started -off running madly without another word into -Oxford Street; while the Biologist careered, -wild and hatless, up Grosvenor Street, yelling -desperately ‘Prosser, <i>dear</i> Prosser!’ to the -scandal of Mayfair.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">XXXVI</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Among</span> the many unnecessary things which Mr. -Cato did in the bewilderment of Dwala’s sudden -illness, the most unnecessary was to telegraph -news of it to his sister, Lady Lillico.</p> - -<p>‘Dwala ill lung hemorrhage doctors offer -little hope recovery Wyndham.’</p> - -<p>They were in the drawing-room when the telegram -came, just preparing to go and dress for dinner.</p> - -<p>‘How too perfectly frightful!’ cried Lady -Lillico. ‘The Premier dying! I must go at once.’</p> - -<p>‘Good Lord, Louisa, what for?’ said her -husband.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t be so cynical, John. If Wyndham -has telegraphed for me?’</p> - -<p>‘Are you going to nurse the Prince?’</p> - -<p>‘Of course I am. Pray keep your insinuations -for some more fitting time. What brutes -men are! I believe you feel <i>nothing</i> even now!’ -At which she began to cry.</p> - -<p>‘What about yer dinner?’</p> - -<p>‘As if I could dine! Tell Hopkins to make -up a little basket of something to eat on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -way. One mustn’t give any extra trouble. Oh -dear, oh dear; and my maid’s out! I shall have -to take Emily. You must send Harper on <i>at -once</i> when she comes in.’</p> - -<p>However, no feats of heroism were demanded -of Lady Lillico. She found Mr. Cato and -Huxtable waiting for her with a comfortable -meal—Lady Wyse stayed with Dwala—for -though the servants’ hall was all agog with the -events of the afternoon, and the butler darkly -prognosticated ‘the worst,’ things above stairs -were in their usual train. And when she presented -herself an hour later, almost gay with fine -emotion, in a ‘business-like costume,’ cap and -pinafore complete, in the darkened sick-room, -Lady Wyse, who hurried to the door to check her -entry—her violet eyes grown nearly black, and -looking ‘very wicked,’ as Lady Lillico said afterwards—told -her baldly that she would not be -wanted till the morning.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">XXXVII</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the sun cast his cold inquiring eye on -England in the morning, and the innocent fields<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -awoke in their grey shifts of dew, the trains that -shot North, West, and South from London over -the landscape, like worldly thoughts in a house -of prayer, bore the tidings of Dwala’s disgrace. -Trainloads of newspapers, the white wax sweated -forth by the grimy bees in the sleepless hives of -the big city, rattled past answering loads of milk -and meat, gifts of the country, making the daily -exchange. Squires and parsons were too shocked -to eat their breakfast; their wives raced against -the doctor to carry the news from house to house; -the schoolmasters told the children; the children -carried the tidings with the handkerchief of -dinner to their fathers under the trees in the -field. There was no room for hesitation; verdict -and judgment were pronounced already. The -country had been made the victim of a hideous -hoax. Dwala and all his works must perish.</p> - -<p>And yet, when the Biologist blurted his hint -of a tail, a roomful of people turned and rent -him! It is the way of the world; it is part of -good manners. A partial revelation, a timid hint, -an indiscretion, is smothered ignominiously; -when the whole blatant truth brays out, men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -welcome it with ferocious joy. So, in the ancient -days, tactless young angels in Heaven were sent -to Coventry who alluded to Lucifer’s tail, or -noticed anything odd about his feet; but when -his tumbling-day came at last, the Seraphim -were in the very front of the crowd which stood -pelting meteors and yelling <i>Caudate! ungulate!</i> -down from the clouds.</p> - -<p>Men shut up their shops in London and -gathered about taverns and corner-posts to unravel -the sense of the bewildering news. Public -Opinion, deserting the grass of the Parks, -slouched into the streets to learn what it must -do.</p> - -<p>When Joey ran down into the street to fetch -the morning milk, the news stared out at her -from the boards in pink and black: ‘Dwala, the -Missing Link!’</p> - -<p>‘Golly!’ said her pals; ‘what’s your bloke -been up to now?’</p> - -<p>Joey was a heroine every day—the greatness -of her acquaintance had a savour in Seven -Dials which it had lacked in Park Lane; but -this morning she soared altogether out of sight.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -What were milk-jugs and breakfast to such a -thing as this? The milk penny went in a couple -of newspapers, and she darted off with them -across country for Dwala’s house. Who knew -but she might be the first to bring him the -great news?</p> - -<p>Everybody was in the streets, as happens -when public events are astir; and every street -sent forth a thin stream that trickled in the -same direction, till it formed a full river in Park -Lane. A posse of policemen guarded the spiked -gates.</p> - -<p>‘Move on! Move on!’ said the official -voice.</p> - -<p>‘None of your nonsense, constable; I’m a -friend of the Missin’ Link.’</p> - -<p>‘What! Miss Joey!’ beamed a familiar -face from under a helmet. ‘Let her in, Bill; -<i>she</i> won’t ’urt ’im.’</p> - -<p>The steps were littered with telegrams that -lay like autumn leaves unswept; and an anxious -footman, muttering to himself, was strapping a -bag in the entry.</p> - -<p>‘Is the Missin’ Link at home, young man?’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>‘The brutes! To leave me behind, all -alone!’</p> - -<p>It was the last of the servants, deserted like -an unwilling Casa Bianca in the general flight, -while packing his things in his cubicle. A -moment later he had gone too, without even -looking at her, and she stood alone in the empty, -echoing hall. She could hear Hartopp cursing -and thumping with his wooden leg on the floor -above. Then a pistol-shot rang out somewhere -in the house, and she was frightened. While she -stood hesitating which way to run a door swung -to, and Lady Wyse walked across the hall, with -a basin steaming in her hands. She went in at -another door, and Joey followed her, clutching -her newspapers.</p> - -<p>Dwala sat up in bed, propped against pillows, -with ghastly, hollow eyes; and on the chair -beside him was Mr. Cato, pale and dishevelled, -fast asleep. A cold wave of disappointment -surged over Joey. Was this what Missing Links -looked like? But he smiled at her, and the old -feeling of fellowship came back.</p> - -<p>‘Have you heard the news?’ said Joey.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>Dwala nodded. ‘What do they say?’</p> - -<p>Joey read him column on column of frantic -outcry, at all of which he smiled gently.</p> - -<p>‘This is our joke,’ he said, at last, to Lady -Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘It’s not our best.’</p> - -<p>Then there came a tap at the door, and a -gentle voice saying:</p> - -<p>‘May I come in?’</p> - -<p>Lady Lillico had been awoken by a dream -with the sound of a shot in it. Nine o’clock! -Why, where was Harper? She rang, and rang -in vain. Then she looked out of window, and -smiled and nodded at the crowd. How sweet of -them to be so anxious about the poor dear Prince! -And still no Harper. Never mind! One must -expect to rough it in a house of sickness. She -knotted her hair and slipped on her dressing-gown; -a first visit in <i>déshabillé</i> lends a motherly -grace to a nurse’s part.</p> - -<p>She tripped lightly down the silent stairs to -Dwala’s room.</p> - -<p>‘May I come in?’</p> - -<p>She tip-toed up to the bed with a ceremonious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -face. Mr. Cato frowned; Lady Wyse looked at -her with cold curiosity.</p> - -<p>‘Have you heard the news?’ said Joey, -rustling a newspaper.</p> - -<p>‘Evidently not,’ said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘It’s all come out,’ said Mr. Cato, sepulchrally.</p> - -<p>‘What’s come out?’ said his sister, scared. -‘I’ve heard nothing.’</p> - -<p>Joey thrust the paper at her with an indicating -finger.</p> - -<p>She stared for a long time at the words -without understanding; then fell into a chair -and laughed hysterically.</p> - -<p>‘What do you think of it now they’ve caught -it?’ whispered Dwala, turning white eyes towards -her.</p> - -<p>‘Well, really, you ridiculous creature!’ she -exclaimed, flapping at him with a little lace -handkerchief, half coquettishly, half as if keeping -something off. ‘It’s so out of the common.... -The Prime Minister!... One doesn’t know -<i>what</i> to say!’</p> - -<p>‘He’s dying,’ said Mr. Cato.</p> - -<p>‘Wyndham! How can you!’</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>‘Lady Wyse must go and get some sleep now; -you will take her place.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t be idiotic! I should be no use. Oh -dear, oh dear! Where <i>can</i> Harper be?’</p> - -<p>‘Sit down, Louisa!’ said Mr. Cato sternly, -barring her way. ‘Lady Wyse has been up all night.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t be so cruel.... Let me go! let me -go!’ she screamed in an access of sudden fear, -wrenched herself free from him, and ran towards -the door.</p> - -<p>Then abruptly her horror leaped up and overwhelmed -her; the instinct of flying from the -incomprehensible—the instinct of the horse which -shies at a piece of moving paper—was swallowed -up in the nightmare of realising that the impossible -had happened, was in this very room -with her. This man she had come to nurse, -this man with whom she had talked and shaken -hands, was suddenly not a man, but something -unknown and monstrous, of another world. Her -faculties failed, as at sight of a ghost, not in fear -of injury, but in the mere awfulness of the alien -power. She staggered out at the door crying -‘Save me! save me!’ threw her hands forward in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -her first natural gesture since childhood, and fell -swooning in the hall. When she came back to -consciousness, after long journeying in nightmare -worlds, she heard angry voices speaking near her.</p> - -<p>‘Let me out, d—— you!’ said Hartopp—that -dreadful Mr. Hartopp—‘they’re throwing stones -at my windows, I tell you. They’ll smash my -china! Let me get at the brutes!’</p> - -<p>‘This door ain’t goin’ to be opened till the -Prince is re-moved.’</p> - -<p>It was the American who answered him. He -stood with his hat on, leaning against the barred -and bolted hall-door, his arms folded and a pistol -drooping from either hand.</p> - -<p>‘D—— the ——!’ said Hartopp. ‘Why -don’t you chuck him out and have done with it? -It’s all his fault.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank God you’re back!’ said Lady Wyse’s -voice right over Lady Lillico’s head. ‘Have you -arranged it?’</p> - -<p>‘The Boss is agreeable,’ said the American. -‘The “Phineas” will be at Blackwall at twelve -o’clock, steam up. One of his vans is waitin’ -down back in Butlin Street now, and we must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -shift the Prince at once, before any onpleasantness -begins. There was no other way; the Prince -will hev to go as an anamal.’</p> - -<p>A stone came jingling through the window -beside them, and others followed in showers.</p> - -<p>‘B—— brutes!’ said the blind man.</p> - -<p>‘Where’s Huxtable?’ said Lady Wyse.</p> - -<p>‘Huxtable’s gone.’</p> - -<p>‘Skunk!’ said Joey.</p> - -<p>‘Not quite a skunk,’ said the American; -‘“skunk” is goin’ too fur.’</p> - -<p>There was a roar and a rush outside, battle -cries, shrieks of despairing whistles, and a moment -later a heavy battering at the mahogany of the -front door.</p> - -<p>Lady Lillico, fully conscious at last, jumped -up with piercing yells. She ran this way and -that, bewildered.</p> - -<p>‘We must get the Prince away quickly,’ said -Lady Wyse, going towards his room.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, let me out, let me out somewhere!’ -cried Lady Lillico. Joey ran past with her -tongue thrust mockingly forth, like a heraldic -lion gardant.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>‘Here, give me your pistols,’ said the blind -man; ‘I’ll give the brutes what for!’</p> - -<p>Slowly and heavily they carried Dwala out -across the hall, wrapped in his blankets like a -gigantic mummy; while Hartopp stood in an -expectant joy of ferocity guarding the entrance. -Down the kitchen passage they carried him, and -out into the high-walled garden—with Lady -Lillico flitting like a Banshee before them—through -the stable-yard, and into the deserted -street, where the van was waiting for them. -Public Opinion, so rigorous once in its denunciation -of ‘frontal attacks,’ seemed to have forgotten -the ‘lessons of the Boer War.’ When the big -door was battered down, and the furious crowd -broke in, half a dozen of them fell mortally -wounded before Hartopp was overpowered. The -old Fence died, fighting like a tiger for his -property.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>What was Dwala thinking of as he lumbered -slowly through the length of London in that -menagerie van? Was he laughing quietly to -himself at the thought that he, the saviour of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -England, the superhuman mind, was being -hustled secretly out of England, for a trivial -pride of species, as if he had committed some -unspeakable crime? Was he weeping at the -nearness of his separation from this handful of -faithful friends? Probably not. His mind, -withdrawn to the innermost darkness of the -caves, was probably busy with the trivial -thoughts which beset men at such times. It is -only in the last moment that the soul throws -off the load of little things, and, soaring like a -bird, sees Life and Death spreading in their -vastness beneath it. He lay still, with his eyes -shut, and his temples hollow with decay. Lady -Lillico was fast asleep, under a black cloak which -somebody had thrown over her. The rest sat -silent in the jolting twilight with their feet in -the straw.</p> - -<p>‘It’s a lesson for all of us,’ murmured Mr. -Cato at last.</p> - -<p>‘It’s that,’ said the American; ‘it p’ints a -moral sharp enough to hurt.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As Mr. Cato stood with Joey on the jetty,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -watching the last moments of departure, the -American came to the bulwarks with Lady Wyse, -and, leaning over, beckoned him.</p> - -<p>‘“Skunk” was goin’ too fur for Huxtable. -I’ve just bin tellin’ Lady Wyse; he shot himself -whin the noos came. I found him lyin’ in his -room.’</p> - -<p>‘Was he dead?’ murmured Mr. Cato, awestruck -at the fall of an enemy.</p> - -<p>The American nodded.</p> - -<p>‘Deader’n a smelt.’</p> - -<p>‘I wish I were dead too!’ said Mr. Cato -bitterly.</p> - -<p>The American made a motion of diving with -his joined hands. Mr. Cato shook his head.</p> - -<p>‘I have my two sisters to look after.’</p> - -<p>‘I wish you joy.’</p> - -<p>Then the cables were loosed, the screw snorted -in the water, the American waved, and followed -Lady Wyse into the cabin; the boat slid away -from the jetty, and, slowly turning in mid-stream, -reared its defiant head towards the sea.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After many days of alert and passive silence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -Dwala died on his pallet on the deck. He -turned his face sideways down into the pillow, as -if to hide the smile that was rising to his lips; -then breathed one deep, luxurious sigh, and was -ended. They wrapped him in sacking, with an -iron reel at his feet; and in the cold, clear morning, -when the sun mounted flat and yellow to its -daily course and the low mists smoked this way -and that along the waves, they slid him without -a word off a door and over the bulwarks.</p> - -<p>Down, down through the crystal indifference, -wavering gently to his appointed place in the -rocky bottom of the rapt thicket of weeds; losing -the last remnant of individuality as the motion -ceased; indistinguishable from a little heap of -sand; lying careless and obscure, like some tired -animal which has crept to rest in the wild -garden of a crumbled castle in an empty world, -long since abandoned and forgotten by mankind.</p> - -<p>The ‘Phineas’ paused for a moment in mid-ocean, -the only living thing of its tribe upon the -waters without a purpose straining in its hull. -The hesitation lasted only a moment. The boat -swung round, took one look at the horizon, then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> -dashed forwards again on the home journey to -England and new work.</p> - -<p>England had gone back to its occupations. -The papers spoke of the return of political sanity; -of the rejection of ideas from a tainted source; -of the restoration of the system which had been -the bulwark of our greatness through so many -centuries. The composition of Lord Glendover’s -Cabinet attested his sincere intention of putting -public affairs on a business-like and efficient -footing.</p> - -<p>There is no remedy for the errors of -Democracy; there is no elasticity of energy to -fulfil purposes conceived on a larger scale than -its every-day thought. Other systems may be -purged by the rising waves of national life; but -Democracy is exhaustive.</p> - -<p class="center"> -PRINTED BY<br /> -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE<br /> -LONDON</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p> -</div> - -<p class="center">THIRD IMPRESSION. With 16 Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p class="center">Crown 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> - -<p class="ph2">DOWNY V. GREEN,</p> - -<p class="ph1">RHODES SCHOLAR AT OXFORD.</p> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<p class="ph1">PRESS OPINIONS.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>TIMES.</i>—‘We never remember to have read anything which more compelled -laughter than these too-few pages. We have a perfect carnival of American slang.... -The line illustrations, which are by the author, are in some cases admirable; we may -say comparable with Mr. Kipling’s.’</p> - -<p><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH.</i>—‘It is one of the best bits of fooling we have read for a -long time, and is written by one who knows Oxford perfectly, and has a command of -American slang which Mark Twain himself might envy.... This little book, which is -cleverly illustrated by the author, deserves as wide a vogue as its predecessor “Verdant.” -Its humour is quite as irresistible and more subtle.’</p> - -<p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—‘A delightful skit.... We do not think anyone -has hit off better than Mr. Calderon the extraordinary cocksureness, volubility, and -linguistic exuberance of the typical American, yet he never allows his humour to get out -of hand. The Oxford characters are marked with the same sureness of touch.’</p> - -<p><i>GUARDIAN.</i>—‘If one must compare Downy with Verdant, the descendant’s -experiences are the better for being written by an Oxford man, while Verdant’s were -not. The satire is as admirable as the farce; but, on the whole, Downy as Verdant -makes one rather laugh aloud than smile.’</p> - -<p><i>WORLD.</i>—‘The fun is kept up with an unflagging spirit and ingenuity that render -the skit—which the author has embellished with some diverting illustrations from his -own evidently facile pencil—a by no means unworthy comparison to “Verdant Green” -itself.’</p> - -<p><i>OXFORD MAGAZINE.</i>—‘Mr. Downy V. Green is an American grandson of the -immortal Verdant, and it is not too much to say that he is fully worthy of his lineage. -From the moment one embarks upon his adventures it is difficult to lay them down. -Mr. Calderon has a biting humour, and spares neither Oxford nor America.’</p> - -<p><i>MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.</i>—‘A really capital narrative, in which an accurate -knowledge of Oxford life is combined with a marvellously wide knowledge of the American -language.... Nothing is more admirable than the fertility which enables him to avoid -employing English without making his substitute for it grow tedious.’</p> - -<p><i>SPECTATOR.</i>—‘Our readers may take our assurance that the book is amusing in -a high degree.’</p> - -<p><i>ATHENÆUM.</i>—‘Mr. Calderon has an amazing command of picturesque slang -and metaphor from overseas, and, as befits the son of a late distinguished artist, has -himself provided excellent illustrations of his ideas.’</p> - -<p><i>DAILY MAIL.</i>—‘Most excellent fooling.... His sketches possess a crude, rude -vigour that remind the faithful of the immortal pencil of Michael Angelo Titmarsh. He -has it in him to become a humorist of the first order.’</p> - -<p><i>VARSITY.</i>—‘The whole book is full of rollicking humour from cover to cover.’</p> - -<p><i>GLASGOW HERALD.</i>—‘The book is capitally written, and evidently from a -first-hand knowledge of student life. 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Norris</span>.<br /> -<b>LOVE THE DEBT.</b> By <span class="smcap">Richard Ashe King</span> (‘Basil’).<br /> -<b>WIVES AND DAUGHTERS.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.<br /> -<b>NORTH AND SOUTH.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.<br /> -<b>SYLVIA’S LOVERS.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.<br /> -<b>CRANFORD, and other Stories.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.<br /> -<b>MARY BARTON, and other Stories.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.<br /> -<b>RUTH; THE GREY WOMAN, and other Stories.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.<br /> -<b>LIZZIE LEIGH; A DARK NIGHT’S WORK, and other Stories.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>.</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1">THE CHEAPER ILLUSTRATED EDITION</p> - - -<p class="center">OF THE</p> - -<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">Works of W. M. THACKERAY</span>.</p> - -<p class="center"> -26 Volumes, crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each.         Sets in cloth, £4. 11s.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>Containing nearly all the small Woodcut Illustrations of the former Editions, and many new -Illustrations by eminent Artists. This Edition contains altogether 1,773 Illustrations.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_illo_3.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption"><i>Specimen Illustration from the Cheaper Illustrated Edition of W. M. Thackeray’s Works.</i></p> - -<hr class="tiny" /> -<p class="ph1">OTHER EDITIONS OF MR. THACKERAY’S WORKS.</p> - - - -<p><b>THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION.</b> In 13 volumes, large crown 8vo. cloth<br /> -    gilt top, 6<i>s.</i> each. Prospectus upon application.</p> - -<p><b>THE STANDARD EDITION.</b> 26 vols. large 8vo. 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> each.</p> - - -<p class="center"><span class="large">∵</span> <i>Only some of the Volumes are in print. Particulars upon application.</i></p> - - - -<p><b>THE LIBRARY EDITION.</b> 24 vols. large crown 8vo. handsomely bound in<br /> -    cloth, £9. With Illustrations by the Author, Richard Doyle, and Frederick Walker.</p> - - -<p class="center"><span class="large">∵</span> <i>The Volumes are sold separately, in cloth, 7s. 6d. each.</i></p> - - - -<p><b>THE POPULAR EDITION.</b> 13 vols. crown 8vo. with Frontispiece to each<br /> -   Volume, 5<i>s.</i> each.</p> - - -<p class="center"><span class="large">∵</span> <i>Only some of the Volumes are in print. Particulars upon application.</i></p> - - - -<p><b>THE POCKET EDITION.</b> 27 vols. in cloth, with gilt top, 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> each; or in<br /> -   paper cover, 1<i>s.</i> each.</p> - - -<p class="center"><i>The Volumes are also supplied as follows</i>:—</p> - - - -<p><b>THE NOVELS.</b> 13 vols. in gold-lettered -cloth case, 21<i>s.</i></p> - -<p><b>THE MISCELLANIES.</b> 14 vols. -in gold-lettered cloth case, 21<i>s.</i></p> -</div> - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2">WORKS BY F. ANSTEY.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="blockquot"> -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>THE BRASS BOTTLE.</b> By <span class="smcap">F. Anstey</span>, Author of -‘Vice Versâ,’ ‘The Giant’s Robe,’ ‘A Fallen Idol,’ &c. With a -Frontispiece. <span class="smcap">Third Impression.</span> Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE SPECTATOR.</b>—‘In his logical conduct of an absurd proposition, in his -fantastic handling of the supernatural, in his brisk dialogue and effective characterisation, -Mr. Anstey has once more shown himself to be an artist and a humourist of uncommon -and enviable merit.’</p> - -<p><b>From PUNCH.</b>—‘For weirdness of conception, for skilful treatment, and for abounding -humour, Mr. Anstey’s last, my Baronite avers, is a worthy companion of his first -(“Vice Versâ”).’</p> - - -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>THE TALKING HORSE and other Tales.</b> -Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i> Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. -limp red cloth, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.</b>—‘A capital set of stories, thoroughly clever -and witty, often pathetic, and always humorous.’</p> - -<p><b>From THE ATHENÆUM.</b>—‘The grimmest of mortals, in his most surly mood, -could hardly resist the fun of “The Talking Horse.”’</p> - - -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>THE GIANT’S ROBE.</b> Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. -6<i>s.</i> Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE PALL MALL GAZETTE.</b>—‘The main interest of the book, which is -very strong indeed, begins when Vincent returns, when Harold Caffyn discovers the secret, -when every page threatens to bring down doom on the head of the miserable Mark. -Will he confess? Will he drown himself? Will Vincent denounce him? Will Caffyn -inform on him? Will his wife abandon him?—we ask eagerly as we read and cannot -cease reading till the puzzle is solved in a series of exciting situations.’</p> - - -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>THE PARIAH.</b> Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i> Cheap -Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.</b>—‘In “The Pariah” we are more than ever -struck by the sharp intuitive perception and the satirical balancing of judgment which -make the author’s writings such extremely entertaining reading. There is not a dull -page—we might say, not a dull sentence—in it....’</p> - - -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>VICE VERSÂ; or, a Lesson to Fathers.</b> Cheap -Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.</b>—‘If ever there was a book made up from -beginning to end of laughter, and yet not a comic book, or a “merry” book, or a book -of jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tomfool book, but a perfectly sober -and serious book, in the reading of which a sober man may laugh without shame from -beginning to end, it is the book called “Vice Versâ; or, a Lesson to Fathers.”... -We close the book, recommending it very earnestly to all fathers in the first instance, -and their sons, nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.’</p> - - -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>A FALLEN IDOL.</b> Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp -red cloth, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE TIMES.</b>—‘Will delight the multitudinous public that laughed over -“Vice Versâ.”... The boy who brings the accursed image to Champion’s house, -Mr. Bales, the artist’s factotum, and above all Mr. Yarker, the ex-butler who has turned -policeman, are figures whom it is as pleasant to meet as it is impossible to forget.’</p> - - -<div class="hangingindent"> -<p><b>LYRE AND LANCET.</b> With 24 Full-page Illustrations. -Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><b>From THE SPEAKER.</b>—‘Mr. Anstey has surpassed himself in “Lyre and -Lancet.”... One of the brightest and most entertaining bits of comedy we have had -for many a day.’</p> - - -<p class="ph1">London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DWALA ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<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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