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diff --git a/old/69114-0.txt b/old/69114-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ec872b7..0000000 --- a/old/69114-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11800 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Wonderful Selves, by Roland -Pertwee - -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: Our Wonderful Selves - -Author: Roland Pertwee - -Release Date: October 8, 2022 [eBook #69114] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed Proofreaders - Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net from page images - generously made available by the Internet Archive - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR WONDERFUL SELVES *** - - OUR - WONDERFUL - SELVES - - - - - “_Of making many books there is no end:_ - _and much study is a weariness of the flesh._” - ECCLESIASTES XII, 12. - - - - - OUR - WONDERFUL SELVES - - - - BY - ROLAND PERTWEE - - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK ALFRED • A • KNOPF MCMXIX - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY - ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - _To_ - _AVICE_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART I A QUESTION MARK IN SUBURBIA 11 - - PART II THE PURPLE PATCH 61 - - PART III PARIS 115 - - PART IV THE PEN AND THE BOARDS 173 - - PART V EVE 199 - - PART VI “HE TRAVELS FASTEST— 241 - - PART VII —WHO TRAVELS ALONE” 289 - - PART VIII THE LEAP 321 - - - - - PART I - A QUESTION MARK IN SUBURBIA - - - I - -Wynne Rendall was a seven months’ child; the fact is significant of a -personality seeking premature prominence upon this planet. He spent the -first weeks of his infancy wrapped in cotton wool and placed in a basket -as near the fire as safety allowed. He scaled precisely two pounds -fifteen ounces, and the doctor, who manipulated the weights and was -interested in mathematics, placed two pounds fifteen ounces over seven -months and shook his head forebodingly at the result. - -“If he lives he will be a sickly child, nurse.” - -This opinion the nurse heartily endorsed, and added, in tribute to the -kindliness of her disposition: - -“Poor little thing!” - -Mrs. Rendall did not show great concern at the untimely arrival of her -offspring. She accepted it, as she accepted all things, with -phlegmatical calm. A great deal was required to still Mrs. Rendall’s -emotions, so much, in fact, that it was not within the recollection of -any of her intimates that they ever had been stirred. It did not occur -to her that the birth of a child, mature or premature, was a matter of -moment. If it lived, well and good, and the best must be done for it. If -it died, the occurrence must be regarded as sad and an occasion for -shedding a given number of tears. It was clearly useless to foreshadow -either event, since one was as likely as the other and could be as -readily treated with when the time arose. - -It must not be thought that Mrs. Rendall’s calm was the result of -philosophy. That would be far from the truth. It occurred simply and -solely from a vacant mind—a mind nourished by the dead-sea fruit of its -own vacuity. She lacked impulse and intelligence, and was, indeed, no -more than a lifeless canal along which the barges of domesticity were -drearily towed. Her ideas were other people’s, and valueless at that; -her conversation was a mere repetition of things she had said before. - -When the doctor, rubbing his hands to lend an air of cheerful optimism -to a cheerless situation, declared, “We shall pull that youngster -through, see if we don’t,” she responded, “Oh, yes,” with a falling -inflexion. If he had said the opposite, her reply would have been the -same—delivered in the same manner. - -In some cases heredity ignores personalities, and this, in the instance -of Wynne Rendall, was hardly difficult of achievement. From his mother -he took nothing, unless it were a measure of her fragility, which was -perhaps the only circumstance about her to justify attention. The -characteristics that he did not bring into the world with himself he -inherited from his grandfather, _via_ his own sire. - -The grandfather was certainly the more notable of the two gentlemen, and -had achieved some astonishing ideals on canvas, very heartily -disapproved of by the early Victorian era, and some memorable passages -of wit which had heightened his unpopularity. He was an artist who went -for his object with truly remarkable energy. To seek a parallel among -modern men, his work possessed some of the qualities of Aubrey -Beardsley’s, combined with the vigour of John S. Sargent. But the world -was not ready for such productions, and, casting its eyes upward in -pious horror, hurried from the walls on which they were exhibited. Old -Edward Tyler Rendall scorned them as they departed, but he understood -the situation notwithstanding. - -“I’ve come too soon,” he mused, “too soon by a generation or more.” - -His belief in his art was so great that he determined to sacrifice his -liberty and get married, in the hope that he might have a son who would -carry on the work for the benefit of a world enlightened by -broader-minded civilization. - -In due course the son was born, and when he reached an age of -understanding, the reason of his being was dinned into his ears. - -“Get away from old traditions; build something new, dextrous, adroit, -understanding. See what I mean, Robert boy? Be plucky—plucky in line, -composition, subject. Always have a purpose before you; don’t mind how -offensive it is—no one cares for that if you’ve the courage to declare -your meaning in honest black and white.” - -The result of this intensive artistic culture was that Robert Everett -Rendall, at the age of sixteen and a half, ran away from home and took a -position as office boy in a large firm of tea-tasters in the City. - -This case presents unusual features, being in itself an inversion of the -usual procedure. - -Old Rendall made one heroic effort to win him back, and stormed the City -citadel to that end; but here he encountered from Robert a metropolitan -manner so paralysing that he fled the office in wholesome disgust. - -Ever courageous, he urged his wife to labour anew, and was rewarded by a -daughter who unhappily perished. The disappointment was acute, and when -some three years later a son was born his energies had so far abated -that he made no further effort to inculcate the spirit of artistry which -had been the essence of his being. - -Meanwhile Robert Everett Rendall lived a sober and honourable life in -the City, and heartily abused all matters pertaining to art. Nothing -infuriated him more than to find himself drawing, with an odd facility, -strange little designs on the corners of his blotting paper while -engaged in thinking out the intricacies connected with the tasting of -tea. - -The suppression of a natural ability sometimes produces peculiar results -and the deliberate smothering of all he had been taught or had inherited -from his father brought about in Robert Everett Rendall a deplorable -irritability and high temper. This he was discreet enough to keep in -hand during City hours, but in his own home he allowed it full sway. - -At such times his actions were abnormal. He would pick up any object -convenient to hand and throw it with surprising accuracy of aim at one -or another of the highly respectable water-colour paintings which -adorned the walls of his abode. - -But even in this matter his City training stood him in good stead, for -there was very little spontaneity in the act. According to the degree of -his ill-humour, so was the target chosen. If he were in a towering rage -the 20x30 drawing of Clovelly would be bound to have it; and so down the -scale of anger to the 10x7 of Beachy Head. It made no difference whether -the picture were large or small, his projectile struck it with -never-failing precision. The tinkle and crash of the falling glass -seemed to restore his calm, for when the blow had been struck he -returned to more normal habits. - -Had Mrs. Rendall been gifted with observation she would have known -exactly, according to his mood, which picture would fall, and would thus -have saved herself much ducking over the dining-room table. Such -conclusions, however, were beyond the reach of her unsubtle soul. - -In connection with this matter she produced, and that unintentionally, -one of her only flights of humour: - -“If you would throw your serviette ring, Robert, it would not matter so -much, but the salt-cellar makes it so uncomfortable for every one else.” - - - II - -The news of Wynne’s birth was conveyed to Mr. Rendall on his doorstep at -an inopportune moment. He had pinched his fingers in the front gate, and -followed this misfortune with the discovery that his latchkey had been -left in another pair of trousers. Few things irritate a man more than -ringing his own door bell, and Mr. Rendall was no exception to the rule. -In common with the general view, he conceived that the parlour-maid kept -him waiting unduly. - -“I cannot think what you girls do all day long,” he said sharply, when -the door opened. - -To this Lorna replied: - -“Oh, sir, if you please, the baby has come.” - -“Well, that won’t alter the price of bacon,” ejaculated Mr. Rendall, and -pushed past her into the hall. - -But notwithstanding this attitude of _nonchaloir_, he was genuinely put -about by the news. He did not admit the right of babies to take -liberties with their time-sheets. To do so was an impertinent -indiscretion. The other two children had not behaved in this manner, and -he saw no reason why a special latitude should be extended to the new -arrival. Already he had made preparations for being from home when this -troublesome period arrived, and now, by a caprice of nature, he was -involved in all the discomfort that falls to the lot of a husband at -such a time. It was not part of his nature to take a secondary place in -his own household, and he esteemed that to do so was derogatory to his -position. - -Throwing his hat on the hall chair he entered the drawing-room, where he -received a rude surprise. It was his habit, before setting out to the -City, to finish his breakfast coffee by the drawing-room fire. To his -disgust and irritation he found the empty cup, a crumpled newspaper, and -his soft slippers just as he had left them that morning. Mightily -angered, Mr. Rendall moved toward the bell, when his eye fell upon a -basket in the grate. With the intention of throwing cup, newspaper, -shoes and basket into the garden, he crossed the room, but as he stooped -to carry out his resolve, a faint, flickering wail came to his ears. The -contents of the basket moved ever so slightly—a fold of blanket turned -outward, and the thin, elfin face of his youngest son was revealed. - -At that moment the nurse came into the room. She hesitated at the sight -of Mr. Rendall, then stepped forward with, - -“Oh, it’s you, sir. Hush, that’s the baby.” - -“D’you imagine I thought it was a packet of envelopes?” retorted Mr. -Rendall. “But why not put him in the nursery?” - -“The other children have only just been sent to their aunt’s, sir, and -the nursery isn’t quite ready. Poor little thing’s very weakly, and has -to be near a good fire.” - -“H’m,” said Mr. Rendall. “I see! Boy, eh? Not much good—weakly boys!” - -“Oh, but he’ll soon strengthen up.” - -“Hope so. Yes. Doctor’s bills—no good! Mrs. Rendall all right?” - -“Going along very nicely, I’m glad to say.” - -“H’m. Yes. When did all this happen?” - -“About three o’clock.” - -“Not much of a chance to clear up, eh? Cups and things lying about! -Well, I suppose I may as well go upstairs.” - -The interview between husband and wife does not affect our narrative and -may well be omitted. - - - III - -Despite adverse conditions, Wynne Rendall survived the perils of -infancy. He was, however, a fragile child, susceptible to chills and -fever, and ailments the flesh is heir to. In appearance he in no way -resembled his brother or sister—healthy children both, with large -appetites and stupid, expressionless faces. He had a broad brow, which -overcast the slender lower portions of his face and accentuated the -narrowness of his shoulders. His eyes were restless and very bright; -they flickered inquiry at every object which passed before their focal -plane. His attention was readily attracted to anything unusual even in -his early pram days. On one occasion he saw a balloon floating over the -houses at a low altitude, and his perambulator never passed the spot -above which he had seen it, without his eyes lifting toward the skies in -anxious search. Wynne’s nurse was a conscientious little being, and took -a fierce pride in the prowess of her charge. - -“The way ’e notices, you know. Never forgets so much as anything,” she -would confide to other nurses as they pursued their way toward the -gardens. “Knows ’is own mind, ’e does, and isn’t afraid to let you know -it, either.” - -Certainly Wynne held ideas regarding the proper conduct of babies and -did not hesitate to raise his voice in displeasure when occasion -demanded. In this, however, he showed a logical disposition, for he -never cried for the sake of crying. Of toys he very soon tired, and -signified lack of interest by throwing them from his pram at moments -when his actions were unobserved. As a rule he showed some enthusiasm -with the arrival of a new toy, and cherished it dearly for two or three -days, but directly the novelty had worn off he lost no time in ridding -himself of its society. If he were caught in the act, and the toy -restored to him, he would cry very heartily, bite his hands, and kick -his feet. - -Unlike most children, his first adventures with talking did not consist -in repetition of the words “mummie” and “daddy.” The nurse did her best -to persuade him, but he was obdurate, and declined to accept the view -that they should take precedence in forming a vocabulary. Trees, sky and -water he articulated, almost perfectly, before bothering about nouns -defining mere mortals. - - - IV - -At the age of four and a half he was sent to a kindergarten, where he -found many things to wonder about. He spent a year or more wondering. He -wondered about the ribbons that tied little girls’ hair, and why hair -need be tied, since it was pleasanter to look upon in riot. He wondered -why the lady who kept the school had a chain to her eye-glasses, since -they gripped her nose so securely that the danger of their falling off -was negligible. He wondered why A was A, and not for example S, and -would not accept it as being so without a reason being furnished. Also -he wondered why he should be set tasks involving the plaiting of -coloured strips of paper, which were tiresome to perform and unsightly -when finished. - -“Why need I?” he asked petulantly. “Grown-ups don’t. They are ugly and -silly.” - -“You mustn’t say that, Wynne,” reproved the mistress. “Besides it isn’t -true. Doesn’t your mother do pretty embroidery? I am sure she does.” - -The logic of the reply pleased him, but it also set him speculating why -his mother devoted her time to such profitless employment. The designs -she worked were stereotyped and geometrical. It seemed impossible any -one could wish to be associated with such productions, and yet, when he -came to reflect upon the matter, he realized that most of her time was -spent stitching at them. - -At the first opportunity he said: - -“Mummie, why do you do that?” - -“Because it is pretty,” she replied. - -There must be something wrong then, he decided. Either she had used the -wrong word, or the natural forms which he had decided were “pretty” were -not pretty at all. The train of thought was a little complex, so he -questioned afresh: - -“What are they for when you’ve done?” - -“Antimacassars.” - -“What’s antercassars?” - -“It means something you put over the back of a chair to prevent the -grease from people’s hair spoiling the coverings.” Mrs. Rendall’s -grandmother had provided her with this valuable piece of knowledge. - -“Oh,” said Wynne. - -His eyes roamed round the precise semi-circle of small drawing-room -chairs, each complete with its detachable antimacassar. As he looked it -struck him that the backs of these chairs were so low that no grown-up -person could bring his head into contact with them unless he sat upon -the floor. Wherefore it was clear that his mother was making provision -against a danger which did not exist. - -With this discovery awoke the impression that she could hardly be a lady -of sound intelligence. Rather fearfully he advanced the theory that her -labours were in vain. - -“Don’t bother your head about these things,” said Mrs. Rendall. “Plenty -of time to think of them when you are grown up.” And she threaded her -needle with a strand of crimson silk. - -Wynne passed from the room disturbed by many doubts. To the best of his -ability he had proved to his mother that antimacassars in no sense were -antimacassars, and, in defiance of his logic, she continued to produce -them. Moreover, she had said they were pretty, and they were _not_ -pretty—she had said they were antimacassars and they were _not_ -antimacassars. Could her word, therefore, be relied upon in other -matters? For instance, when she announced at table, “You have had quite -enough;” or at night, “It is time to go to bed,” might it not, in -reality, be an occasion for a “second helping” or another hour at play? -It was reasonable to suppose so. - -He decided it would be expedient to keep his eyes open and watch the -habits of grown-ups more closely in the future. - - - V - -The next serious impression on Wynne’s susceptible brain was the -discovery of routine, and he conceived for it an instant dislike. To him -it appeared a grievous state of affairs that nearly all matters were -guided by the clock rather than by circumstance. One had one’s breakfast -not because one was hungry, but because it was half-past eight, and so -on with a mass of other details, great and small, throughout the day. -That people should wilfully enslave themselves to a mere mechanical -contrivance, instead of rising superior to the calls of time and place, -was incomprehensible to Wynne. He could not appreciate how regularity -and repetition in any sense benefited the individual. He observed how a -breakdown in the time-table of events was a sure signal for high words -from his father, and an aggravated sense of calamity which ran through -every department of the house. True, a late breakfast presaged the loss -of a train, and so much time less at the office, but surely this was no -matter for melancholy? It argued a poor spirit that could not rejoice at -an extra quarter of an hour in bed, or delaying the pursuit of irksome -duties. - -Wynne had never seen his father’s office, but at the age of seven he had -already formed very pronounced and unfavourable views regarding it. To -his mind the office and the City were one—a place which swallowed up -mankind in the morning and disgorged them at night. The process of -digestion through which they appeared to have passed produced -characteristics of a distressing order. - -A child judges men by his father, and women by his mother. From this -standard Wynne judged that men might be tolerable were it not for the -City. The City was responsible for his father’s ill-humours at -night—the city inspired home criticism and such observations as: - -“I come back tired out and find——” etc. - -Wynne had a very wholesome distaste for recurrent sentiments; he liked -people to say new things that were interesting. The repetition of -ready-made phrases was lazy and dull—the very routine of speech. It -were better, surely, to say nothing at all than have catch-phrases for -ever on one’s lips. - -From this point his thoughts turned to inanimate objects, and -subconsciously he realized how routine affected their arrangement as -inevitably as it affected human beings. Look where you would, there was -always a hat-rack in the hall, a church almanack in the lavatory, and a -clock on the dining-room mantelpiece. Why? - -There was a certain rough justice in the position of the hat-rack, -assuming that one admitted the law which discouraged the wearing of hats -in the house, but why should one desire to study saints’ days while -washing one’s hands? A clock, too, would be none the less serviceable if -standing on a cabinet. Who, then, was responsible for dictating such -laws? he asked himself. Clearly these were matters for investigation. - -An opportunity to investigate arose a few days later. There was a new -housemaid, and after her first effort to turn out the drawing-room Mrs. -Rendall summoned her to explain that the chairs and tables had not been -put back in their proper places. - -“Your master would be most annoyed if he saw this, Emily. It is very -careless indeed. These chairs must go like this”—and the old order was -restored. - -“Why do they have to go like that, Mummie?” demanded Wynne, when the -maid had departed. - -“Because they always have,” replied Mrs. Rendall, with great finality. - -He was too young to understand the meaning of a vicious circle or he -might have recognized its rotations in her reply. So everything must be -done again because it has been done before. Seemingly that was the law -governing the universe. - -Speaking almost to himself he mused: - -“I think it would be nice to do things because they _never_ have been -done before.” - -To which Mrs. Rendall very promptly replied: - -“Don’t be silly.” - -“That isn’t silly,” said Wynne. “Why is it silly?” - -“If you say another word you will go straight to bed.” - -The remark was as surely in place as the clock which stood on the dead -centre of the mantelpiece. - - - VI - -Middle class suburban prosperity was not the atmosphere to produce the -best results from Wynne Rendall’s active, sensitive brain. He could not -understand his parents, and they did not attempt to understand him. His -elder brother and sister, being three and four years his senior, left -him outside their reckoning. They played sedate games, in which he was -never invited to take part. To tell the truth, he had little enough -inclination, for most of their ideas of entertainment revolved round -commercial enterprise, which he cordially disliked. His brother would -build a shop with the towel-horse, stock it with nursery rubbish, and -sell the goods, after much ill-humoured bartering, to his sister. She, -poor child, in spite of frequent importunities, never once was allowed -to play the rôle of shopkeeper, but continued as a permanent customer -until the game had lost its relish. - -Thus Wynne was thrown very much on his own resources. He read -voraciously whatever books he could procure, and spent a deal of time -working out his own intricate little thoughts. - -Somewhere at the back of his head was a strong conviction that the world -held finer things than those surrounding him. To strengthen this belief -were certain passages in the books he read. On the whole, however, he -was rather disappointed with reading. This in itself was not surprising, -in view of the quality of the books to which he had access. It seemed to -him that a man might very easily devise more romantic imaginings than -any with which he had come into contact. - -To test the truth of this theory, he took a pencil stump and some paper -into the garden and tried to write about pleasing things. But the words -he desired were hard to find, hard to spell, and difficult to string -together. So, instead, he decided to draw the little Princess who was -the heroine of his unwritten tale. In this he was more successful and -achieved a dainty little figure with an agreeable smile. To some extent -this pleased him, but not altogether. He was painfully conscious that -her feet were clumsy, and her eyes ill drawn, and that the picture did -not express half he desired to express. A picture was stationary, and -lacked the movement and variety of words. Words could describe the -picture, but the picture could not speak the words. Thus his first -artistic experiment was fraught with disappointment. As luck would have -it, his father chanced by and flicked the paper from his fingers. - -“What’s this, eh?” he demanded. “Wasting your time drawing! Why aren’t -you at play?” - -“I’m ’musing myself,” replied Wynne, sulkily. - -“You amuse yourself with a ball, then, like anybody else.” - -It is curious how closely a ball is associated with amusement. The -average man is incapable of realizing entertainment that does not -include the use of a ball. Reputations have been made and lost through -ability or inability to handle it in the proper manner. A man is -considered a very poor sort of fellow if he expresses disdain and -contempt for the ball. Conceive the catastrophic consequences that would -result if a law were passed forbidding the manufacture of balls? A -shudder runs through the healthy-minded at the bare thought of such a -thing. - -Mr. Rendall’s anger can readily be appreciated, then, when his son made -answer: - -“There isn’t any fun in that.” - -“No fun?” roared Mr. Rendall. “Time you got some proper ideas into your -head, young fellow. Be ashamed of yourself! Fetch a ball from the -nursery at once, and let me see you enjoying yourself with it, or you’ll -hear something. Understand this, too—there’s not going to be any -drawing in this household, or a lot of damn high-falutin artistic -business either. Get that into your head as soon as you can. Be off.” - -Ten minutes later, in a white heat of fury, Wynne was savagely kicking a -silly woollen ball from one end of the grass patch to the other. - -“That’s not the way,” said his father. - -“Damn the ball,” screamed Wynne, and made his first acquaintance with a -willow twig across the back. - - - VII - -It is a matter for speculation as to what extent environment can smother -natural impulses. Surrounded on all sides by convention and routine, the -spark of originality is in a fair way to become dampened or altogether -extinguished. - -Such was the case with Wynne Rendall. He was half confident that many -existing ideals were not ideals at all, and that much that was desirable -to develop was wilfully undeveloped; but weighing in the balance against -this view were the actions and opinions of those with whom he came into -contact. Was it, then, he who was at fault? A glance to the right and -left seemed to point to that conclusion. And yet there was nature to -support his view: nature with its thousand intricate moods of growth and -illumination—nature who pranked the water to laughing wavelets and -tasselled the sky with changing clouds—nature who made night a castle -of mystery where invisible kings held court, and mischievous hobgoblins -gobbled at the fairies’ toes as they tripped it beneath the laurel -bushes in the garden. Surely, surely these things mattered more greatly -than half-past eight breakfast, and the 9:15 to town? Surely there was -greater happiness to be found thinking of these than in flinging a ball -at ninepins or kicking it through a goal? - -And yet his father beat him because he drew a fairy, and his mother -threatened him with an early bed when he desired to do as others had -never done before. - -His brother and sister played at “shop,” and comforted their parents -exceedingly by so doing. They never asked “silly questions,” he was -constantly told. They were all right, and only he was wrong. - - - VIII - -It is hard indeed to preserve faith with so great a consensus of opinion -against one, and it is probable Wynne Rendall would have dulled into a -very ordinary lad had it not been for a chance visit from his father’s -brother. Wynne had often heard his parents speak of Clem Rendall. They -referred to him as a “ne’er-do-well,” a term which Wynne took to imply a -person who did not go to the City in the morning. - -“Idle and good for nothing,” said his father—“never do anything useful -in this world.” - -If by doing anything useful he implied the achievement of business -success his remarks were certainly true, and yet there were features in -Clementine Rendall which called for and deserved a kindlier mention. - -He was born, it will be remembered, at a time when his father’s virility -had to some extent abated. He was, in a way, an old man’s child, free -from all ambitions toward personal advancement. Heredity had endowed him -with imagination, appreciation, a charming exterior, a fascinating -address, and an infinite capacity for doing nothing. At the clubs—and -he was a member of many—his appearance was always greeted with -enthusiasm. Few men could claim a greater popularity with both men and -women, and his generosity was as unfailing as his good humour. - -There was no real occasion for Clementine Rendall to work, for he had -inherited what little money his father had to leave, and a comfortable -fortune from his mother, which he made no effort to enlarge. - -Wynne’s father, who had not profited by the decease of either of his -parents, did not love his brother Clementine any the better in -consequence. He was a man who liked money and desired it greatly. He was -fond of its appearance, its power, and the pleasing sounds it gave when -jingled in the pocket. - -At the reading of the will there had been something of a scene on -account of a piece of posthumous fun from the late Edward’s pen: - -“To my son Clementine I will and bequeath my entire fortune and estate, -real and personal.” And written in pencil at the foot of the page—“To -that pillar of commerce, Robert Everett Rendall, who was once my son, I -bequeath a quarter of a pound of China tea, to be chosen according to -his taste.” - -It was on a bright Sunday morning that Clem Rendall appeared at “The -Cedars,” and his visit was entirely unexpected. - -“Morning,” he greeted the maid who opened the door. “Family at home?” - -Wynne’s father came out into the hall to see who the visitor might be. - -“Hullo, Robert,” said Clem, “coming for a walk?” - -Nearly ten years had elapsed since their last meeting, and Mr. Rendall, -senior, conceived that the tone of his brother’s address lacked -propriety. - -“This is a surprise, Clem,” he observed, soberly enough. His eyes -travelled disapprovingly over his brother’s loose tweed suit, -yellow-spotted necktie, and soft felt hat. - -“Such a lovely day, I took a train to Wimbledon and determined to walk -over to Richmond Park. Passing your house reminded me. Are you coming?” - -“I don’t go for walks on Sunday, Clem.” - -“Do you not?” - -It was at this point that Wynne, who was coming down the stairs, halted -and noted with admiration and surprise the bluff, hearty figure of the -strange visitor, who wore no gloves and carried no cane, and whose -clothes seemed to breathe contempt for Sabbatical traditions. - -“Do you not? Why not?” - -“Some of us go to church on Sunday.” - -“Do you go because you want to go or because it’s Sunday?” - -Wynne’s heart almost stopped beating. Those were his feelings about -half-past eight breakfast expressed in words. Apparently Clem neither -desired nor expected a reply, for he put another question: - -“How’s tea, Robert? ’Strordinary thing, here are you—most respectable -fellow living—deliberately supplying a beverage that causes more -scandal among its consumers than any other in the world. Opium’s a joke -to it. Ever thought of that?” - -“No, and don’t intend to.” - -“Ha, well—it’s worth while. Hullo! Who’s this?” His eye fell upon -Wynne. - -“This is my younger son. Wynne—come along, my boy—gaping there! Shake -hands with your Uncle Clementine.” - -Wynne did not require a second invitation, but descended the stairs two -at a time. - -“Frail little devil, aren’t you?” said Clem, enveloping the small hand -of his nephew. “Jove! Robert, but there’s a bit of the old man in -him—notice it? Something about the eyes—and mouth. How old are you, -youngster?” - -“I’m nine,” said Wynne. - -“Nine, eh! Fine age. Just beginning to break the bud and feel the sun. -Wish I were nine, and all to make. Don’t you wish you were nine, -Robert?” - -“I do not.” - -“’Course you do. If you were breaking the bud at nine you wouldn’t graft -the stem with a tea-plant. Would he, youngster? Not on purpose. He’d -pitch it a bit higher than that—see himself a larkspur or a foxglove -before he’d be satisfied. Well, what about this walk? Bring the -youngster too.” - -“I think his mother has already arranged—” - -“Nonsense! If you don’t care to come he and I’ll go together. Get your -hat, son.” - -For the first time in memory Wynne was grateful for the hat-rack being -in the hall. He snatched his cap from a peg and ran into the front -garden before his father had time to say no. - -Apparently Clem realized that an embargo would in all probability be -placed on the expedition, for he only waited long enough to say: - -“Expect us when you see us,” and followed Wynne, closing the front door -behind him. - -“Come on, youngster,” he ordered; “we must sprint the first mile or -they’ll put bloodhounds on our track.” - -He gripped Wynne’s hand and raced him down the road. At the corner a fly -was standing, with the driver dozing upon the box. - -“Jump in,” shouted Uncle Clem. Then “Drive like the devil, Jehu. We’ve -broken into the Bank of England and Bow Street runners are after us.” - -The driver was a cheerful soul, and he whipped up the horse to a -galumphing canter. - -Wynne was quite speechless from laughter and excitement. When at last he -recovered his voice it was to say: - -“But you haven’t told him where to go, Uncle.” - -“Wouldn’t be half such fun if we knew. Besides, he’s a fellow with -imagination—he knows what to do. He’ll take us to a secret place in the -heart of the country where we can bury the treasure. I wouldn’t be a bit -surprised if he took us to Richmond Park.” - -He spoke loud enough for the driver to hear, and was rewarded for his -subtlety by an almost imperceptible inclination of the shiny black hat, -and the cab took a sharp turn to the left along a road leading over the -common in the direction of Sheen Gate. - -Uncle Clem preserved the hunted attitude until they had covered the best -part of a mile; then he leant back with a sigh of relief. - -“I believe we have shaken off our pursuers,” he declared, “and can -breathe easily once more. Hullo!” pointing to the sky, “that’s a -hawk—see him? Wonderful fellows, hawks! Always up in the clouds rushing -through space, and only coming to earth to snatch at a bit of food. -That’s the right idea, y’know. Never do any good if you stick to the -ground all the while. ’Course he’s a nasty-tempered fellow, and a bit of -a buccaneer, but there’s a good deal to be said in favour of him.” - -The look of admiration on Wynne’s face made him smile and shake his -head. - -“No, you are wrong in thinking that, youngster. There’s nothing of the -hawk about me. I lack the energy that compels his headlong flights. One -might say that I was a bit of a lark, for I enjoy a flutter in the blue, -and I can’t help lifting a song of praise when I get there.” - -Wynne did not dare to open his lips, lest he should stay the course of -this wonderful being’s reflections. It was almost too good to be true to -find himself actually in contact with some one who spoke with such -glorious enthusiasm and spirit about these delightful unearthly matters, -and whose conversation seemed to bear no relation to time-tables and -ordinary concerns of life. So he nodded very gravely and edged a little -nearer the big man in the rough tweed suit. - -Uncle Clem understood the impulse, and slipped his hand through his -little nephew’s arm. He took possession of Wynne’s hand and raised it in -his palm. - -“All of us have five fingers and five senses, and most of us use none of -them. Yes, most of us are like mussels on a rock, who do no more than -open their shells for the tide to drift victuals into their mouths. -That’s the thing to avoid, y’know—molluscry. What are you going to do -with your five fingers and your five senses, youngster?” - -“I—I don’t quite know what I will do with them, Uncle,” Wynne replied, -hesitatingly. Then, with more assurance—“But I know what I shan’t do -with them.” - -“Yes?” - -“I shan’t do things because they always have been done before.” - -Clementine laughed. “Not a bad beginning,” he said; “but you want to be -very sure of the alternative. No good pushing over a house if you can’t -build a better. You didn’t know your grandfather—no end of a fine -fellow he was—used his brain and his hands to some effect. He was an -artist.” - -“Oh, was he?” said Wynne, with a shade of disappointment. He had never -been told before. - -“Doesn’t that please you?” - -“I don’t know, Uncle. I think it would be nice to be an artist, but—” - -“Yes?” - -“We’ve got some pictures at home, and they don’t seem very nice.” - -“Ah, they wouldn’t. But there are all sorts of pictures, and perhaps -yours are the wrong sort. Now, your grandfather painted the right sort. -Here, wait a minute.” He fumbled in his pocket and produced a -letter-case. “There!” taking a photograph from one compartment. “This is -a copy of one of his pictures. Look at it. A faun playing his pipe to -stupid villagers. D’you see the expression on his face? He looks very -serious, doesn’t he, and yet you and I know that he’s laughing. Can you -guess why he’s laughing?” - -Wynne took the photograph and studied it carefully. At length he said: - -“He’s laughing because they can’t understand the tune he’s playing.” - -“Bravo!” cried Uncle Clem, and clapped him on the back. “Any more?” - -Wynne turned to the picture again. - -“Some of them aren’t paying attention. Look at that one—he’s cutting a -piece of stick to amuse himself. And this—he looks just like his father -does when he’s wondering if he has time to catch the train.” - -“Oh, excellent! That’s precisely what he is doing. If he had been born -in a later age he’d have been looking at his watch—as it is he is -telling the time by the sun—see it falling there between the -trees?—and he seems to be saying, ‘If this fellow goes on much longer I -shall miss my tea.’ Don’t you think that picture was worth painting?” - -“Yes,” said Wynne; “but I’ve never seen a picture like that before. Ours -are all lighthouses and things. What is the name of the man who is -playing the pipe?” - -“He’s a faun—or, as some people would say—a satyr.” - -“I’d like to be a faun,” said Wynne, “but if I were I should get into a -fearful temper with the people who didn’t like my tunes. I should hit -them over the head with my pipe.” - -“You’d cease to be a satyr if you did that. To be a proper satyr you -must smile and go on playing until at last they do understand. That’s -the artist’s job in this world, and it is a job too—a job and a fearful -responsibility.” - -“Why is it?” - -“Because at heart the villagers don’t want to understand, and if you -feel it’s your duty to make them—your duty to stir their souls with -music—then you must be doubly sure that you give them the right music. -A mistake in a row of figures doesn’t matter—any one can alter -that—but a false note of music—a false word upon the page—a false -brush-mark upon a canvas stands for all time.” - -“I see,” breathed Wynne. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’d only thought it -mattered to make people believe something different.” - -“Hullo! We’re through the gates,” exclaimed Uncle Clem. “Drive on -somewhere near the ponds, Jehu, and deposit us there. Ever been in the -Royal Park of Richmond before, young fellow?” - -Wynne shook his head. His mind did not switch over to a new train of -thought as rapidly as his uncle’s, and it still hovered over the subject -of the picture, which he kept in his hand. - -“Keep it if you like,” said Uncle Clem, following the train of his -nephew’s thoughts. “Keep it and think about it.” - -“Oh, may I really? It would be lovely if I might.” His eyes feasted on -his new possession. “Uncle, there are two of the villagers who seem to -understand, aren’t there? These two, holding hands.” - -“Ah, to be sure they do. That’s because they are lovers.” - -“Lovers?” - -“Yes, lovers understand all manner of things that other people don’t. In -fact, only a lover can properly understand. But I’ll tell you all about -that later on.” - -“Later on” is so much kindlier a phrase than “When you are old enough.” - -“There, put it in your pocket. What—afraid of crumpling it? Half a -minute, then; I’ll turn out the letter-case and you can have that too.” - -And so Wynne came to possess a most marvellous picture and a crocodile -case, bearing in silver letters “C. R.” - -“I think,” said Clem to the driver, as they descended by the -rhododendrons near the ponds, “it would be a good idea if you drove to -Kingston and bought us a lunch. You know the sort of thing—meat pies, -jam tarts, ginger beer, fairy cakes—anything you can think of. We’ll -meet you here in an hour and a half.” - -He gave the driver a five-pound note and smiled him farewell. - -It was very splendid to be associated with a man who would trust a -stranger with so huge a fortune without so much as taking the number of -the cab. Wynne could not help recalling the precautions his father had -taken when once he had despatched a messenger to collect a parcel from -the chemist’s. The comparison was greatly to the detriment of Mr. -Rendall, senior. - -“This is one of the wildest parts of the park,” announced Uncle Clem. -“If we go hushily we shall see rabbits before they see us, and perhaps -almost get within touch of a deer.” - -“What, real deer—stags?” - -“Any amount of them. They bell in the mating season, and have battles -royal on the mossy sward.” - -“And can you get near enough to touch one?” - -“Not quite. You think you will, and tiptoe toward him with your hand -outstretched, and then, just as you almost feel the warmth of him at the -tips of your fingers—hey presto! Zing! he’s gone, and divots of earth -are flying round your ears. That’s why the stag is the ideal -beast—because he’s elusive.” - -“You could shoot him,” suggested Wynne. - -“Yes, you can kill an ideal, and a lot of good may it do you dead. -Shooting is no good, but if you run after him, as like as not he’ll lead -you through lovely, unheard-of places. Here’s an umbrageous oak. We’ll -spread ourselves out beneath it and praise God for the sunshine that -makes us appreciate the shade.” - -He threw himself luxuriously on the soft green carpet, and felt in his -pocket for a pipe. It was not until he had carefully filled it that he -found he had no matches. - -“This,” he said, “is really terrible. What is to be done?” - -“I’ll run off and find some one,” exclaimed Wynne, enthusiastic at the -chance of rendering a service. But Uncle Clem restrained him. - -“No, no,” he said, “we must think of more ingenious methods than that. -You and I are alone on a desert island, but we possess a watch. Casting -our eyes around we discover a rotten bough. Look!” He broke a little -fallen branch that lay in the grass beside his hand. “The inside you see -is mere tinder. Now we will roll out into the sun and operate.” - -It was some while before the concentrated ray from the watch-glass -produced a spark upon the wood. - -“Blow for all you are worth,” cried Uncle Clem. “Splendid—it is -beginning to catch! Oh! blow again, Friday—see it smoulders! One more -blow—a gale this time. Oh, excellent Man Friday!—what a lucky fellow -Robinson Crusoe is!” - -He dropped the ember into his pipe and sucked furiously. At last tiny -puffs of rewarding smoke began to emerge from his lips. His features -relaxed and he grinned. - -“We have conquered,” he declared—“earned the reward for our labours! -But the odd thing is that now the pipe is alight I am not at all sure if -I really want it.” - -Every boy must possess a hero—it is the lodestar of his being. He can -lie awake at night, happy in the mere reflection of that wonderful -being’s prowess. In imagination, enemies, one by one, are arraigned -before the protecting hero, who, with the justice of gods admixed with a -finely-tempered satire, judges their sins and sends them forth -repentant. But this is not all. He can lift the soul to empiric heights, -and open at a touch new and wonderful doors of thought and action. He -can enthuse, inspire, illumine, refresh old ideals—inspirit new—make -dark become light, and light so brilliant that the eyes are dazzled by -the whiteness thereof. - -The hero occurs by circumstance or deed, and his responsibility is -boundless. He must think as a king thinks when the eyes of the nation -rest upon him—he must tread all ways with a sure foot and proud -bearing—chest out and head high. He must not slip upon the peel that -lies in the highway, nor turn aside to escape its menace; he must crush -it beneath his heel as he strides along, a smile upon his lips, his cane -swinging—the veriest picture of majesty and resource. - -Wynne Rendall found his hero that Sunday in Richmond Park, and -worshipped him with the intense devotion of which only a boy is capable. -God, he conceived, must have had some very personal handiwork in the -fashioning of Uncle Clem. He saw him as a man possessed of every -possible charm and virtue, without one single unpleasing factor to -offset them. It is not unnatural, therefore, that Wynne should have -fallen down and worshipped, and not unnatural that there should have -been a dry ache in his throat as, in the lavender twilight, the cab -turned the corner of their street and slackened speed. - -“Let’s say good-night outside, Uncle,” he suggested, huskily. - -Perhaps he hoped his uncle would give him a kiss, but Clementine had -something far better in store. He threw an arm round the narrow little -shoulders and gave Wynne a combined pat and hug. The broad comradeship -of the action was fine—magnificent. Pals both! One good man to another! -it seemed to say. Stanley and Livingstone must have met and parted in -suchwise. - -“A capital day,” said Uncle Clem. “We must repeat it—you and I. Better -wait, Jehu, for I shan’t be long.” - -The atmosphere of the drawing-room struck a chill as they entered. From -the reserve displayed it was clear that Wynne’s parents had been -discussing the expedition adversely. - -“Go and change your boots, Wynne,” said his mother. - -It was a cold welcome, he reflected, as he departed in obedience to the -command. - -“That’s a good boy,” remarked Uncle Clem. - -“I hope he will prove so,” said Mr. Rendall, devoutly, as befitted a -Sunday evening. - -Mrs. Rendall said nothing. She had nothing to say. Granted the necessary -degree of courage she would have been glad to ask Clem to change his -boots, but circumstances being as they were she was denied the -privilege, and kept silent. - -“Yes, there’s a lot in him. You’ll have to go to work pretty carefully -to bring it out. A rare bulb with delicate shoots. Touch ’em the wrong -way and they’ll wither, but with the right amount of nursing and the -right degree of temperature there are illimitable possibilities. -Interesting thing education!” - -“Yes,” concurred Mr. Rendall. “A sound business education fits a boy for -after life.” - -“Business! H’m! Think he suggests a likely subject for business, Robert? -I fancy, when the time comes, the boy’s bent may lie in other -directions.” - -“The boy will do as he is told, Clem.” - -Clem smiled, looked at the ceiling, and shook his head. - -“Which of us do?” he said. “Never even the likely ones. You may bend a -twig, but it springs straight again when your hand is removed. Seems to -me our first duty toward our children is to encourage their mental -direction and not deflect it. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Rendall?” - -“Oh, yes,” replied that lady, with her inevitable falling inflection. - -“No, you don’t,” snapped her husband, “so why say you do? No reason at -all! In the matter of educating children, Clem, I cannot see you are -qualified to hold an opinion. The first duty of a parent is to instil in -the child a sense of duty to its parent.” - -“Oh, bosh!” said Clem, pleasantly. “Absolute bosh. Respect and duty are -not a matter of convention or of heredity, they must be inspired.” - -“We are not likely to agree, so why proceed?” - -“If we only proceeded on lines of agreement we should come to an -immediate standstill. Let’s thrash out the matter. To my thinking, the -father should respect the child more than the child should respect the -father. It must be so. The poor little devil comes into the world -through no impulse of its own. It had no choice in the matter. Its -coming is impressed—it is conscripted into being—that’s indisputable. -Then, surely to goodness, it is up to us to give it, as it were, the -Freedom of the City—the freedom of the fields, and every possible -latitude for expansion and self-expression. To do less were an -intolerable injustice. Our only excuse for producing life is that we may -admire its beauty—not that it may admire ours.” - -“This is wild talk,” began Mr. Rendall. But Clem was too advanced to -heed interruption. - -“The most degrading thing you can hear a man say to his child is, ‘After -all I’ve done for you.’ It should be, ‘Have I done enough for you? Have -I made good?’ That is the straightforward attitude; but to bring a child -into the world against its will and to force it along lines that lead -away from its own inclination is dastardly.” He turned suddenly to Mrs. -Rendall. “It must be so wonderful to be a mother, so glorious to have -accepted that mighty responsibility.” - -Mrs. Rendall fumbled at the threading of her silk and dropped her -scissors to the floor. As he stooped to pick them up Clem continued: - -“To know that within oneself there lies the power to fashion a body for -those tiny souls that flicker out there in the beyond.” - -“Clem!” Mr. Rendall tapped his foot warningly. - -“Ah, Robert, we know nothing of these matters—they are beyond our ken.” - -“A very good reason for not discussing them. The subject seems to be -rather—” - -“Rather what?” - -“Distasteful.” - -“Is it? Good God! And yet we discuss our colds in the most polite -society, and bear witness to their intensity by quoting the number of -handkerchiefs we’ve used. We have no shame in trumpeting our petty -thoughts of the day, but that faint bugle-call that sounds in the night -and summons us—” - -“I think supper is waiting,” said Mrs. Rendall, rising to her feet. “I -suppose you will be staying.” - -“Delighted,” said Clem, affably. “And I’ll bring the bugle-call with -me.” - -“I trust you won’t forget that servants will be in the room,” remarked -Mr. Rendall. - -“We can send ’em out to ask my cabby to wait.” - -Clem did not delay his departure over long. His conversational tide was -somewhat dammed by the cold mutton and cold potatoes that formed the -basis of his brother’s hospitality. - -He allowed Mr. Rendall to do the talking, and was oppressed by a great -pity for his little nephew, who had to listen to such irritable and -melancholy matter at every meal. - -Wallace and Eva, the two elder children, behaved with precision and did -not open their lips, save for the reception of food. Wynne was -discouraged on the few occasions he spoke, and was the recipient of -injunctions not to “crumble his bread,” and to “sit up properly.” These -recurred with a clockwork regularity that deprived them of the essence -of command. - -The result was to make Clem feel very dejected and forlorn. - -He said good-bye on the doorstep and walked, alone as he thought, to the -front gate. Arrived there he said in a very heartfelt manner: - -“God! What a night!” and was not a little taken aback when his brother, -who had followed, in soft shoes, demanded: - -“I beg your pardon?” - -Clem recovered himself a little too intensely. - -“All these damn stars,” he replied, with a broad gesture. - -“H’m!” said Mr. Rendall. Then: “I hope you haven’t been putting ideas -into that boy’s head, Clem.” - -“They are there already,” came the response. “Take care of them, -Robert.” - -He jumped into the cab and drove away. - - - IX - -A fall of rain and a little sunshine make a magic difference to a garden -bed. The petals of flowers unfold—colours clear and intensify—white -buds glisten beneath their tight-drawn casings. - -“We can do with a lot of this,” the flowers seemed to say. “Treat us -aright and there is no limit to our beauty and fragrance.” - -But our English climate is not always amenable. Sometimes it replies -through the mouth of a nipping norther, or by the hard, white hands of -frost, and down go the flowers, one by one, till only the sturdiest -remain standing. - -It would be no exaggeration to say that Wynne Rendall’s soul had been -opened out, in that one day with his uncle, from forty-five to ninety -degrees. So many things he had doubted had been made sure, and so many -fears had been swept aside, to be replaced by finer understandings. - -Through Uncle Clem the world had become a new place for him. It was no -longer a public park, with railings and finger-boards pointing the -directions in which one might or might not proceed. He did not quite -know what sort of place it had become, but he was radiantly confident of -glorious possibilities. Clearly it would be the duty of all who had eyes -to see, and ears to hear, to perform something in praise of this -marvellous planet, and the wonderful people (_vide_ Uncle Clem) who -walked upon it. - -He, Wynne, would do something—he felt the immediate need to do -something—he would do something great. People, beholding what he had -done, would exclaim, “This is marvellous! Why have we not been shown -these wonders before?” Then they would feel for him the same admiration -he felt for Uncle Clem. - -In the midst of these rapturous reflections came the thought that -perhaps he was a little young to become the leader of a new movement. -This, however, in no wise oppressed him. The younger the better. The -distillations of his soul would be none the less rare for being -contained in a small vessel. He would play upon a pipe to foolish -villagers. There were foolish villagers around him in abundance. He knew -of two in their own kitchen—hide-bound creatures who excused themselves -from doing anything he asked on the grounds of suffering from “bones in -their legs.” Were there not others, beside, with whom he sat daily at -table? Charity should begin at home (there was a motto to that effect -hanging on the wall in the spare bedroom), it should therefore begin -with the lowest storey and work up to the highest. These people were of -proven folly—that much he knew from personal investigation; it was his -duty to pipe them to a better understanding. And then arrived a really -disturbing thought. He possessed no pipe, nor any skill to play upon it -had he possessed one. From exaltation his spirits fell to despair. Was -the world to be denied enlightenment for so poor a reason? Such a pass -would be unendurable. - -Wynne Rendall was nothing if not courageous. If he felt an impulse of -sufficient force he would accept any hazard to give it expression. His -bodily frailty and susceptibility to pain were no deterrents. He -decided, therefore, while the spirit moved him the supreme moment must -not be lost. He would have to rely upon circumstance and the fertility -of his imagination in carrying out the campaign, and not allow his -thoughts to be damped by knowledge of their unpreparedness. He recalled -how yesterday the sweet environment had lent colour to much that his -uncle had said, and reflected it would be well to profit by that lesson, -and set the scene for his new teachings in a fashion calculated to -promote a sympathetic atmosphere. To speak to his parents of a freer -life and purer outlook in their drawing-room, as they had arranged it, -would be to court failure. His father was at the City, his mother was -out—this, then, was the ideal moment to strike a blow against symmetry -and in favour of æsthetics. - -With heart sledge-hammering against his ribs, Wynne descended the stairs -and entered the drawing-room. With disfavour his eyes roamed over the -accustomed arrangements. Balance was the inspiring motive which had -dominated the Rendalls’ mind when they set out their ornaments and hung -their pictures, and balance was the motive which Wynne determined to -destroy. - -Beginning with his old enemy, the mantelpiece, he cleared everything -from it. None of these detested examples of art should remain, he -decided. The marble clock, ticking menacingly, was crammed into the -cabinet, where it was speedily followed by the equestrian bronzes and -the wrought-iron candlesticks. - -Wynne gasped with ecstasy as he viewed the straight marble line denuded -of these ancient eyesores. He had decided that this should be the -abiding place for a china bowl containing tulips, a flat silver box and -some books. They should repose there in natural positions as though set -down by a thoughtless hand. He tried the effect, and was disappointed; -it lacked the spirit of negligé he had designed. Then came an -inspiration—of course, it looked wrong because of the mirrors of the -overmantel. These immoral reflectors were at the desperate work of -duplication, and were forcing symmetry and balance despite his -precautions. - -This being the case, but one course of action was open—the overmantel -would have to go. It was a massive affair, securely fastened to the wall -with large brass-headed nails, and Wynne was a very small person to -undertake its removal. To his credit it stands that he did not wilt -before the task. He climbed upon a table and shook it to and fro until -the nails worked loose, then, exerting all his strength he heaved -mightily. For awhile it defied his efforts, but just as he was beginning -to despair the plaster gave way and the mighty mass of wood and mirrors -tilted forward. Nothing but the presence of two little legs in front -which supported a pair of flimsy shelves prevented Wynne from being -telescoped in the subsequent collapse. He had just time to spring to the -floor and hand it off as the legs broke and the whole affair slithered -to the hearthrug. The fine swept top broke like a carrot, and two of the -side mirrors cracked from end to end. Wynne lay under the debris -breathing very hard, and wondering if the crash had been loud enough to -reach the ears of the servants below. Fortunately for him the kitchen -was at the other end of the house, and there came no rush of feet from -that direction. He waited a few terribly anxious moments, then crawled -out and surveyed his handiwork. - -No great revolution appears at its best in the initial stages, and -certainly this was a case in point. Balance he had destroyed beyond all -dispute, but in its place had arisen chaos. Large patches of plaster -littered the carpet, and the grate was filled with pieces of wood and -wreckage. Where once the overmantel had covered its surface, the -wallpaper, in contradistinction to the faded colours surrounding, showed -bright and new. It seemed as though the spook of the detestable affair -still haunted the spot, and would continue to do so down all the ages. - -In that moment of extreme desolation Wynne experienced the sensations -which possess a pioneer when he doubts if he has the strength to cross -the ranges. He had, however, already committed himself too deeply to -hang back, and so, with feverish energy, he began to drag the remains -into a corner of the room. As he did so he overset an occasional table -bearing a potted fern and some china knick-knacks, all of which were -smashed to atoms. - -With this calamity Wynne Rendall lost control of himself. The mainspring -of his idea snapped, and he became merely a whirlwind of senseless -activity. He dragged pictures from the walls and thrust them beneath -tables, he wrenched the green plush curtains from the lacquered pole and -cast them anyhow—over chairs and sofas—the straight-laid rugs he -pulled askew, he flung an armful of books haphazard on the top of the -piano—he set fire to the crinkly paper in the grate and threw two -aspidistras into the garden. An insane humour seizing him, he brought in -the hat-rack from the hall, and hung coloured plates on all its pegs. - -At the end of an hour the effect he had produced could have been more -simply arrived at, and with less destruction to property, if some expert -from Barcelona had exploded a bomb in the apartment. - -Wynne’s clothing was awry, his fingers cut and bleeding, and his face -covered with dust and perspiration, when his father, followed by his -mother, opened the door and stood spellbound upon the threshold. - -With eyes glittering like diamonds he turned and faced them. The long -pause before any word was spoken was the hardest persecution he had to -bear. Then came the inevitable: - -“What the devil is the meaning of this?” - -“It means—” he began, but the words stuck in his throat. - -“Are you responsible for this?” Mr. Rendall took a step toward him. - -Wynne nodded. “Yes-s,” he breathed. - -“Is he mad?” Mr. Rendall appealed to his wife, but she was too -flabbergasted to utter a sound. “Are you mad?” - -“No,” said Wynne. He knew he must speak. His whole being called on him -to speak, and yet, try as he would, the words refused to come. Oh, why, -why wasn’t Uncle Clem present to say the things he could not express? If -he failed to establish his position there and then the chance would be -gone for ever. - -“You had better speak,” said his father, “better explain the meaning of -this—and explain quick.” The last part of the sentence rose to a shout. - -“I did it—I did it because you are all wrong—that’s why—all wrong.” - -“Wrong! What about?” - -“Oh, everything. It’s—y-you can see, now, you were wr-wrong—c-can’t -you? Now that I’ve—oh, you were so wrong—” - -“There won’t be much wrong with what I intend doing to you, my boy.” - -A hand fell heavily on his shoulder, but he did not wince. - -“Won’t make any difference.” - -“We’ll see about that.” - -“Uncle Clem said they didn’t want to understand—but you just have to -make them understand, and go on until they do.” - -“Did he? Well, you’re on the point of understanding something you’ve -never properly appreciated before. Out of the way, Mary.” - -Mr. Rendall selected a cane from the umbrella stand, as he thrust Wynne -down the hall to the dining-room. Over the arm of the leather saddlebag -chair he bent the supple little body, and in the course of the half -minute which followed he performed an ancient ritual which even Mr. -Squeers would have found it difficult to improve upon. - -When it was over he threw the cane upon the table and folded his hands -behind his back. - -“Had enough?” he interrogated. - -The poor little faun twisted and straightened himself. His face was -paper-white, and his breath came short and gasping, one of his hands -fumbled on the chair-back for support, and his head worked from side to -side. - -As a man Mr. Rendall found the sight unpleasant to look upon, but as a -father he felt the need to carry the matter through to its lawful -conclusion. - -“If you’ve had enough say you are sorry. I want no explanations.” - -Wynne forced himself to concentrate his thoughts away from bodily -anguish. - -“I’ve had enough—but it doesn’t mean that I’m sorry.” - -“Silence!” roared his father. - -“I’m not sorry—not a bit sorry.” - -“D’you intend to do this kind of thing again, then?” - -“No. I shan’t do it again—not yet.” - -“Then get out of the room—get to bed at once.” - -Uncle Clem knew. The villagers do not want to understand. Wynne groped -his way from the room and up the stairs. The world was not such a -wonderful place after all. - -Meanwhile Mrs. Rendall had been taking an inventory of the disaster in -the drawing-room. She sought her husband with details of the result. - -“The overmantel is quite ruined,” she announced. - -“Damn the overmantel!” he retorted. - -“Did Wynne say he was sorry?” - -“Sorry—no—he’s not sorry.” - -“Then I cannot think what he did it for,” she remarked illogically. - -“Oh, don’t talk like a fool,” he implored. - -“Two of the aspidistras have been thrown into the garden,” said she. - -Actions resulting from mental suggestion are sometimes immediate. Mr. -Rendall caught up the sugar-castor and sent it hurtling through the air, -and once more “Clovelly” faced the world without a glass. - -“Oh dear!” lamented Mrs. Rendall, “there seems such a lot of smashing -going on today, one can’t keep pace with it all.” - - - X - -Next morning found Wynne ill and feverish. The mental excitement and -bodily pain of the previous day had proved more than his constitution -could endure. Wherefore he tossed in bed, lying chiefly on his side for -obvious reasons. Mr. Rendall was thorough, of that there was no -question. Wynne was able to reassure himself of his father’s -thoroughness when he touched his small flank with tentative finger-tips. - -As the fever burnt within him he felt mightily sorry for himself. The -world had used him hardly when he sought to offer rare and wonderful -gifts. That this should be so was a great tragedy—and a great -mystery—also it was infinitely sad. The sadness appealed to him most, -and he wept. He wept very copiously and for a long time. The weeping was -a pleasant relief and a compensation for misery. He felt, if the world -could behold his tears, they would assemble about his bedside and -realize the injustice wrought by their deafness and stupidity—they -would be compassionate and anxious to atone. Then, maybe, the great god -of expression would provide him with the words to make his meaning -clear. With this conviction he wept the louder, hoping to attract -attention, but none came nigh him. Accordingly he wept afresh, and this -time from disappointment. In the midst of this final mood of tears his -brother, Wallace, came into the room. - -Wallace had been privileged to see the state of the drawing-room, and -although he knew Wynne’s features well enough, he felt the need to -scrutinize afresh the appearance of one who had wilfully produced such -havoc. The characteristic is common to humanity—a man’s deeds create a -revival of interest in his externals, hence the success of Madame -Tussaud’s and the halfpenny illustrated press. - -At the sight of his brother, Wynne stopped crying, and composed himself -to the best of his ability. - -“What do you want?” he asked. - -Wallace found some difficulty in replying. No one cares to admit they -are visiting the Chamber of Horrors for pleasure, although that is the -true explanation of their presence. At length he said: - -“Shut up—” and added in support of his command, “you silly fool.” - -“You needn’t stare at me if I’m a silly fool,” said Wynne. - -“A cat may look at a king,” was Wallace’s considered retort. - -“Well, I’d rather a cat looked at me than you did,” said Wynne, feeling -he had nearly brought off something very telling. - -Wallace’s intention had not been to excite an argument on reciprocal -lines. He desired to get at his brother’s reasons for the wholesale -smash-up downstairs, consequently he allowed the remark to pass -unchallenged. - -“Why did you break the overmantel and all those vases?” he demanded. - -“Because they were beastly and ugly.” - -“Beastly and ugly?” - -“Yes, horrid—and there were _two_ of each of them.” - -Wallace began to feel out of his depth. - -“But they were in _the drawing-room_,” he said. - -Since the drawing-room in every house is, or should be, the abode of -art, it was obviously absurd to say that the appointments thereof were -beastly or ugly. - -Wynne did not answer, so Wallace fell back on his beginnings. - -“You _must_ be a fool. Father gave you a good hiding, didn’t he?” - -“Yes.” - -“Did it hurt?” - -“Yes.” - -“I’ve never had a hiding.” There was rich pride in the avowal. - -“You’ve never done anything worth getting one for.” - -“Haven’t I? ’Tany rate, I bet you don’t behave like this again.” - -“I bet I do,” said Wynne. - -“When will you?” exclaimed Wallace, conscious of great excitement, and -hoping that on the next occasion he might be privileged to witness the -work of destruction in full swing. - -“Not yet.” - -Wallace hesitated. “What room will you smash up next time?” he asked. - -“Oh, it isn’t for that,” cried Wynne, “you can’t see—nobody -understands—” - -“Then shut up,” said Wallace, and departed. - -Strange as it may seem, this interview had great results in moulding -Wynne Rendall’s character. From his brother’s obvious inability to -realize any motive in his action, other than a wilful desire to destroy, -he turned to an active consideration of what his motives had been. - -What was this message he had wished to convey to the world, and had -stumbled so hopelessly in endeavouring to express? It was the first time -he had put the question directly to himself. He knew he had had a -quarrel with many existing matters, but in what manner did he propose to -better them? And the answer came that he did not know. - -He had committed the very error against which Uncle Clem had warned -him—the error of breaking down an old régime before he was able to -supply an agreeable alternative. Small wonder, then, if his actions had -savoured of lunacy to those who had beheld them. In imagination he -pictured the drawing-room as it appeared after he had dealt with it, and -was bound to confess that his labours had rendered no service to the -shrine of comfort, art or beauty. Had he himself come suddenly upon such -a room he would have been disgusted by its foolish and wanton disorder. - -The revolution had been a failure—complete and utter. Sobriety had been -dragged from his throne, and havoc and ruin reigned instead. Havoc and -Ruin—deplorable monarchs both, of senseless countenance and destructive -hands. Small wonder if their subjects struck at them with sticks and -staves. Small wonder if they could not see the ideals that lay hidden -behind the wreckage of the great upheaval. - -The fact stood out clearly that his talents were not ripe. The time had -not come when his song should thrill the world. But come it should, some -day. To that end all his energies should be conserved. Yes, he would -make the world a listener, but he would give it full measure for its -attention, and even though each note should cut them as a knife—it -should not be the gross stab of a maniac lurking in a dark doorway, but -as the cut of a surgeon’s scalpel, who cuts to cure. - -Wynne sat up in bed, although to do so caused him pain, and registered a -vow that he would learn all there was to learn, whereby in the end he -might teach the more. - - - - - PART TWO - THE PURPLE PATCH - - - I - -A man with a call is a very estimable fellow, but is apt to prove -tiresome to his companions. The same might truthfully be said to apply -to a child, although cases of a call in a child’s disposition are -fortunately not of very frequent occurrence. - -After this one excess Wynne’s behaviour provided his parents with little -reason for complaint. He developed a strange amenity to domestic -discipline—he went to bed when he was told, and did not pursue his old -habits of asking “stupid questions.” But there was about him a certain -secretiveness at once perplexing and irritating. He obeyed readily, and -accepted correction in good part, but there hovered round the corners of -his mouth a queer and cynical smile. His expression seemed to say, “You -are in command, and what you say I must do I will do, but of course your -rulings are quite absurd.” - -Mr. Rendall endured this inexplicable attitude for several months, but -finally was so annoyed that he wrote the master of the day-school of -which Wynne was a member, and asked him to investigate the matter and -inflict what punishments might seem adequate. To this letter he received -a reply to the effect that as Wynne was showing such astonishing -diligence at his books he deemed it advisable to ignore an offence -which, at most, was somewhat hypothetical. - -Mr. Rendall was by no means satisfied of the advisability of taking so -lenient a course. He considered it pointed to a lack of authority which -might well prove fatal in the moulding of character. He decided, -therefore, to tackle Wynne himself upon the subject, and did so in his -accustomed style. - -Wynne was working at Latin declensions in the morning-room when his -father entered. - -“Proper time for everything,” he said. “Put away that book and go out -for a walk—plenty of time for book reading in school hours.” - -“All right,” said Wynne, with resignation. As he walked toward the door -the smile curled the corners of his mouth. - -“Here! come back,” ordered Mr. Rendall. “Now then what are you smiling -at?” - -Wynne thought for a moment, then he answered, “I shan’t tell you.” - -“Oh, you won’t!” - -“No. I obey what you tell me to do, and without any fuss, but I shan’t -tell you why I smile.” - -“We’ll see about that. P’r’aps I can find a way to stop it.” - -“You couldn’t.” - -“Oho! couldn’t I?” - -“No, because I couldn’t stop it myself,” said Wynne, and walked from the -room. - -He had learnt the value of a Parthian arrow. To remain after the -discharge of a shaft was to court painful consequences. It was therefore -his habit, after once unmasking his batteries, to withdraw them speedily -to new emplacements. This was not cowardice, but diplomacy, for there -was no value in risking chastisement which might be avoided. - -The chief point of difference between Wynne and his father was that, -whereas Wynne only cared to inquire into matters of which he had no -knowledge, Mr. Rendall resented inquiring into concerns of which he was -not already thoroughly conversant. A man, woman or child whose thoughts -ran on different lines to his own became automatically perverse and -troublesome—a person to avoid where possible, or, if impossible, to be -forcibly cowed into subservience to his rulings. As in America a -Standard automobile is forced upon the public, so in his own home Mr. -Rendall strove to standardize mental outlook and opinion. Hitherto, at -the expenditure of a very slight amount of authority, his efforts had -been rewarded with some success, but in Wynne he perceived the task was -one which bade fair to stretch his patience to the breaking point. - -Wynne obeyed his rulings with submission, but it was clearly evident his -acceptance of them was purely superficial. In no case was it apparent -that his son was satisfied either of their justice or value. Such a -state of affairs was intolerable. Thoughts of it invaded the privacy of -his mind during the sacred hours spent at the City. Something would have -to be done—stringent reforms—penalties—hours spent in the -bedroom—bread and water. These and many other corrective measures -occurred to Mr. Rendall as he sat behind his paper in the suburban -train. And yet the whole thing was a confounded nuisance. He didn’t want -to be bothered—that was the truth of the matter. Life had come to a -pretty pass if, after fifteen years of comparative matrimonial quietude, -a man had to worry his head about the conduct of the people who dwelt -beneath his roof. - -Had Mr. Rendall compiled a dictionary some of his definitions would have -been as under:— - -_Home._—A point of departure and return, costing more in upkeep than it -should. A place for the exercise of criticism—a place from which a man -draws his views on the injustice of local taxation—a spot where a man -desires a little peace and doesn’t get it. - -_Wife._—A person who is always a trifle disappointing—a woman who does -not understand the value of money—a woman who asks silly questions -about meals and fails to provide the dishes a man naturally desires. -Some one who may be trusted to say the wrong thing, who lacks proper -authority over the servants and children, and who does not appreciate -all that has been done for her. - -_Child._—A being who makes a noise about the house, the proper -recipient of corrections, the abiding place of “don’ts.” A being who -occasionally accompanies a man for a short walk, and is precluded from -doing so again on account of ill-behaviour. A creature with irritating -habits, unlikely to repay all that has been spent upon it in doctor’s -bills and education. - -These instances should give a clearer understanding of Mr. Rendall’s -outlook. They may serve also to enlist our sympathies on his behalf in -the unhappy possession of such a son as Wynne. - -Mr. Rendall conceived that a subject that could not be understood should -be immediately dismissed, and he applied the same theory to human -beings. Taking this into consideration it is surprising that he did not -pack Wynne off to a boarding-school and so rid himself of the source of -his irritation. But Mr. Rendall, however, was not prepared to take risks -where money was concerned. Rather than squander large sums upon -education, the benefits of which his son might prove too young to -appreciate, he determined that his own convenience must be sacrificed. -He seriously considered the idea of sending Wynne to a cheaper school -than Wyckley, but abandoned the project as being too hazardous. - -Wyckley was not a first-class school, but it had the reputation of -providing boys with an excellent business education. To send Wynne to a -cheaper might result in equipping him less well to earn his own -livelihood. - -He therefore endured the inconvenience of Wynne’s society until he had -celebrated his twelfth birthday, and then with a feeling of consummate -relief dispatched him to Wyckley complete with an ironbound wooden box -and a deplorably weak constitution. - - - II - -On the day before Wynne’s departure Clementine Rendall paid a surprise -visit. Wynne had not seen him since the day in Richmond Park, three -years before, for his parents had discouraged their intimacy, but Uncle -Clem still lived in his mind as a very romantic figure. - -Wynne had been buying some of the kit required for his school equipment, -and on his return he found his father and Uncle Clem in the -morning-room. His heart leapt at the sight of the big man, still -splendid as of yore, but the three years of suppression through which he -had passed had chilled the old impulse of enthusiasm which had brought -him down the stairs three at a time on their first meeting. - -“Hullo, youngster!” came the cheery voice. - -“Good afternoon, Uncle Clem,” said Wynne, extending his thin white hand. - -“Looks ill!” observed Clem to his brother. - -Mr. Rendall raised his shoulders. - -“Boy’s disposition is unhealthy,” he remarked, “which naturally reacts -on his physique.” - -Clem flashed a glance from the speaker to the subject, and noted how the -corners of Wynne’s mouth curled down as much as to say, “You see what I -am up against.” - -“You’re hard to please. Boy’s all right! Aren’t you, youngster?” - -“The boy is far from all right, Clem. He appears to lead a double life -with some private joke of his own.” - -“I’ll ask him,” said Clem. - -“What father says is true. I have a private joke, uncle.” - -“Then get it off your chest, youngster. A joke is like a drink, and must -not be taken alone.” - -Wynne pondered awhile before replying, then he produced his first -epigram. - -“Yes, but you can’t share a drink with a teetotaler.” - -The subtlety of the phrase pleased him inordinately, and he was -surprised to see that it produced nothing but a frown from Uncle Clem. - -“Robert, the youngster and I will take a turn in the garden.” - -Mr. Rendall demurred, but Clem waved the objection aside and led the way -down the openwork iron stairs to the lawn. - -“Now then,” he said. “What’s the trouble with you? Didn’t like that -calculating remark of yours one bit.” - -“I’m sorry,” said Wynne, “but why should I tell them my joke, they -couldn’t see it.” - -“Then keep it for the dark, old fellow, or conceal it altogether. The -I-know-more-than-you-but-I-won’t-say-what-it-is attitude does no one any -good.” - -Wynne jerked his head petulantly. - -“The faun was laughing in grandfather’s painting.” - -“Oho! So that’s it? But the villagers didn’t know he was laughing.” - -“You and I did.” - -“Perhaps. But we shouldn’t be so unsubtle as to tell them so. Consider a -minute. Suppose we thought lots of people were very wrong, and their -wrongness tickled our humour, d’you think the best way of putting ’em -right would be to laugh at ’em? Take it from me it isn’t. If you laugh -at a dog he’ll bite you, but pat him and, in time, he’ll jump through -hoops, walk on his hind legs, and be tricksy as you want.” - -“They always frown at me.” - -“Maybe they wouldn’t if you didn’t smile at them. Just what is it you -are trying to get at?” - -Wynne hesitated. - -“You don’t know.” - -“No, I don’t know yet—but some day I shall, and then won’t I let them -have it!” - -He closed his mouth tight, and there was a fierce resolve in his eyes. - -“Then here’s a bit of advice for you. Don’t start quarrelling with the -world you hope to reform. Remember other people must build the pulpit -you hope to preach from. If you get their backs up before you’ve learnt -your sermon no one but yourself will ever hear it. Lie low and gather -all you can from the plains before you seek the Purple Patch on the hill -top.” - -“Purple Patch,” repeated Wynne. - -“Yes. Every artist builds his tower on a Purple Patch, and in his early -working days he sees it shining gloriously through the morning mists. -There is honey heather there, larkspur and crimson asters, and all the -air is brittle with new-born, virgin thoughts. I tell you, old son, that -purple patch is worth making for, and it’s good to reflect when you have -got there that you came by a gentleman’s way. There are some may call it -Success, but I like the Purple Patch better. Success may be achieved at -such a dirty price and the climber’s boots may be fouled with trodden -flesh. Stick to the Purple Patch, Wynne, and you’ll be a man before you -become a ghost.” - -Before taking his leave Clem gave Wynne a five-pound note. - -“It is a sad thing,” he said, “but a new boy with a five-pound note is -far more popular at school than one without. If I were you I should blow -a part of it at the tuck-shop and do your pals a midnight feast.” -Privately he remarked to Mr. Rendall, “That boy is woefully fragile. I -have some doubt as to whether you are wise in sending him to a boarding -school. You should drop the headmaster a line saying he’ll want special -care.” - -“I have already done so,” remarked Mr. Rendall, with a somewhat sardonic -smile. “If you are passing the box you might post a letter for me.” - -Clem took the letter and said good-bye. He was about to drop it in the -pillar-box when a curious doubt assailed him. Therefore, although to do -so was entirely foreign to his nature, he broke the seal and scanned the -contents. - -“Oh, no, Robert,” he observed to himself, “most emphatically not. We’ll -give the boy a fair chance by your leave.” - -And accordingly he posted the letter, torn in many pieces, through the -grating of a convenient sewer. - - - III - -Wynne arrived at Wyckley in all the rush and turmoil of a new term. The -boys had so many confidences to impart regarding their holiday exploits, -that his presence was not observed until after tea. Consequently he had -leisure to dispose his belongings and take a walk round the schoolrooms -and playgrounds. - -What he saw was new and interesting. The high bookcases, crammed with -scholastic literature, impressed him with the majesty of learning. The -laboratory with its glass retorts and shelves of chemical compounds -bespoke the infinite latitude of science. Least of all did he care for -the studio, in which the drawing classes were held. The cubes, pyramids, -cones and spheres did not appear to bear any relation to art as he saw -it. His being craved for something more organic, and was not satisfied -even by the bas-reliefs of ivy and hedge-roses. To him these were -trivial matters of little concern which might well be omitted from an -educational program. The main hall, with its platform and organ, its -sombre lighting and heavily trussed roof, gave him far greater -satisfaction. In such semi-dark surroundings he felt that an eager soul -might well acquire illumination. - -The terraces outside were correct and ordinary, the yellow gravel and -the deep green grass were too familiar to attract attention; accordingly -he passed to the rear of the building and explored what lay beyond. Here -he discovered many fives courts—some football grounds, complete with -nasty little pavilions, and a swimming bath. Further investigation -disclosed a fowl-run and some pigs grunting contentedly in a well-kept -sty. Wynne found these far more to his liking, and was further -interested to learn that a pig will devour a piece of brick, with -apparent relish, provided it has been given to him by the hand of man. - -From this circumstance he was about to draw some interesting theories on -life, and probably would have done so had it not been for the compelling -note of a bell. This bell betokened the arrival of tea, some one had -warned him of that; they had also warned him on no account to be late, -so he made his way, hands in pockets, toward the big dining-room. A -large number of eyes assessed him as he entered, and he bore their -scrutiny without flinching. Oddly enough he was aware of an agreeable -satisfaction arising from their attention, and returned stare for stare -in excellent good part. Presently some one directed him to a place at -the table where he found himself with other fresh arrivals. - -The inclination to converse is never very marked on the part of -_nouveaux_, and for the major part the meal proceeded in silence. Then -presently his left-hand neighbour, a little boy with a round face and -sad blue eyes, said: - -“D’you like jam?” - -“I like it to eat,” said Wynne, “but it isn’t much good to talk about.” - -This was discouraging, as the small boy felt, but he continued bravely: - -“I don’t want to talk about it, but I want to talk to some one, and I -thought that would be an easy way. I haven’t made a friend yet, and I -thought if you’d like to be a friend I could give you some jam mother -gave me to bring.” - -Before Wynne had time to reply to this sweet overture one of the older -boys approached the table. - -“All you chaps will go to the gym, when tea is over,” he announced. “In -fact you had better go now. Come on.” So saying he herded them down a -long corridor to the far end of the building. - -“Wait in the dressing-room,” he said. “The Council hasn’t turned up yet. -You’ll be called one by one, and you’d better be jolly careful how you -answer.” - -The door was shut and they found themselves packed closely in a small -room full of lockers. With a curious sense of impending evil they -waited, and presently a name was called out, and the first sufferer went -forth to face the dread ordeal of the Council Chamber. - -It was nervy work waiting, since none who went forth returned to bear -witness to what was taking place. Hours seemed to pass before Wynne’s -name was given by a boy with a low, threatening voice. He stepped -bravely from his confinement, and, hands in pockets, walked into the -centre of the gymnasium. - -Seated on a high horizontal bar, at the far end, sat the four members -who composed the Council. Beneath them, gathered in rough formations, -were other boys whose duty it was to carry out the Council’s awards. -These were the executioneers, and each was skilled in his craft. Whether -the decree went forth in favour of scragging, knee jarring, or -wrist-twisting there was an expert to conduct it upon orthodox lines. -The faces of the Council, though not remarkable, were stern and -resolute, and bespoke a proper appreciation for the dignity of office. - -“Bring him forward,” said a very plain lad, who wore round pebble -spectacles, and appeared to be leader of the movement. - -With no great courtesy Wynne was thrust forward to a chalk circle in the -centre of the floor. - -“You mustn’t come out of the circle until you have permission,” was a -further instruction received. The escort drew away and stood with folded -arms as befitted a stern occasion. - -“What is your name?” said he of the spectacles. - -“Wynne Rendall.” - -“Wynne Rendall?” - -“Yes.” - -“Gentlemen, you heard! Can we permit the name of Wynne? Does it belong -to the same category of nomenclature as Eric, Archibald and Desmond, -which we have already black-listed?” - -There followed a murmur of assent. - -“I thought as much. By my troth, it is a sorry name, and makes the gorge -rise in disgust and abhorrence.” - -The magnificence of this language created a profound impression in which -even Wynne himself participated. He was not, however, prepared to allow -the speaker to have it all his own way, since he felt, if it came to the -turning of a phrase, he might show them some skill. Accordingly he said: - -“The name was in no wise my own choice, so I can take neither blame nor -credit for it.” - -“Be silent or be scragged, Wynne Rendall.” - -“Well, what is your name, anyway?” - -The speaker turned his eyes heavenward as though seeking fresh tolerance -from the high gods. - -“Know,” he said, “that by no means shall you ask us to betray our -cognomens. We are the Council and known only by our might. If you are -curious, Sir Paulus Pry, you shall ask some of these others how we are -called—but at another time.” - -This Wynne conceived to be highly proper and in every sense an example -of the splendid isolation of the Ruler. No sane individual would ask a -king his name, but would address the question to a chamberlain. - -The only fly in the amber was the appearance of the Chief of Council, -who went on to say: - -“For the name Wynne punishment of the second order shall be inflicted. -Is it met?” - -“It is met,” droned the Council, with solemn intonation. - -“Let us proceed then. What manner of man is thy father, O Wynne Rendall? -Speak us fair, and do not seek to hide his calling.” - -“I have not yet found out what manner of man he is,” replied Wynne, -lightning quick to pick up the pedantry of his interrogator, “but it -beseems me he is a fellow of heavy wit, who bears always a befrowning -countenance. As to his calling he doth trade of import with our brothers -of the Ind for the dried leaf of the tea plant.” - -This speech composed and delivered with ceremony created something of an -uproar. Cries were raised that the penalty of the parallel bars should -be summarily inflicted. In the midst of a chaos of many voices the Chief -of Council held up his hand for silence. - -“Look here, young Rendall,” he said, “you’d better jolly chuck cheeking, -or it will be the worse for you. You answer properly if you don’t want a -putrid licking—which you’ll get anyway.” - -“Then go on,” said Wynne, who was enjoying himself immensely. It was a -new and delightful experience being the centre of attraction, and he -felt he had the situation well in hand. - -“Shall I proceed, gentlemen?” - -“Go forward,” crooned the Council. - -“Are you a gamesman or a swotter? Ponder well before replying, for much -depends upon this.” - -“I am not a gamesman.” - -“Mark his utterance, O men. Thou art, then, a swotter.” - -“I didn’t say so. Don’t even know what a swotter is.” - -“Explain,” said the Chief. And one of the four, a freckled lad with red -hair and a big healthy body, announced: - -“A swotter is the sort of ass who mugs at lessons and thinks more of -books than footer.” - -“The Council will sing the Song of the Swotter,” said the Chief. - -So the Council sang— - - “The swotter is a rotter, - And we always make it hotter - For the swotter who’s a rotter— - Yes, we do.” - -“Yes, we do,” was repeated by all present. - -When this impressive rendering was over, Wynne replied: - -“I think I am a swotter all right.” - -“Be it remembered,” said the Chief. “Little remains to be said. The C. -I. D. will now report on this miscreant’s behaviour since arrival.” - -Whereupon a foxy little boy came forward from one of the groups, and -after making a profound obeisance to the Council began: - -“He has worn his cap on the back of his head and put his hands in his -trousers’ pocket. I have been to his bedder, and he wears a woollen -nightshirt and combinations instead of pants and vest.” - -Wynne felt himself flush with hot anger and resentment, and heard an -expression of disgust from all present. - -“Are these things true, O most wretched Wynne Rendall?” - -“Yes, they are, but how dared that beastly little swine touch my box?” - -“Be silent—scrag him—scrag the swotter,” came from all sides. - -“I don’t care—he’s a dirty little—” - -“Pin him,” ordered the Chief, with a gesture so commanding that he all -but fell from his perch. - -Very adroitly two volunteers stepped forward and twisted Wynne’s wrists -under his shoulder blades, while a third, with a skill which would have -defied the ingenuity of the Davenport Brothers, made fast his hands with -a knotted kerchief. - -The work accomplished they stood aside and refolded their arms. - -“Pass judgment,” they demanded. - -“Judgment shall be passed,” said the Chief. “You, Wynne Rendall, have -been given fair and lawful trial, and are found guilty on several -counts. First, you bear a name that is unpleasant to the tooth, and for -this nose-pressure shall be inflicted.” (The presser of noses girt his -loins for battle, and examined a row of shiny knuckles to see that all -was in order.) “Second, your reply when asked of your father’s doings -was too cheeky by a long chalk, and for this two circuits of the -frog-march shall be administered.” (The frog-marcher-extraordinary made -no movement, but he smiled as one who knew full well his own -potentiality.) “Third, and methinks the gravest charge of all, it is -established that thou art a swotter, and for this the ordeal of the -parallel bars must and shall befall you.” Eight boys stepped forward, -but the Chief shook his head. “Three a side will suffice,” he said. -“That much mercy will I grant thee on account of your miserable size. -The punishment for the nightshirt and the combinations will be the shame -of wearing them, but I put it forward that they may help us in deciding -a proper nickname for you. After the punishments have been inflicted you -will step once more into the circle and declare you will not attempt to -use your trousers’ pockets until the beginning of your second term. This -you will swear most solemnly by the Goal-post and the Fives Ball. O men! -has the word gone forth?” - -“It has.” - -“Do the punishments meet?” - -“They meet.” - -“Let them go forward.” - -Wynne had scarcely time to appreciate the anguish inflicted by the -nose-twister before he found himself ignominiously drummed round the -gymnasium at the knee of the frog-marcher. It was a jarring and painful -means of progression, and almost he welcomed the narrow invitation of -the parallel bars which loomed before him at the close of the second -circuit. - -The variety offered, however, was far from consoling, and during the few -moments’ pressure in that inhospitable spot he feared his last hour had -come. He was made to form a buffer in the middle, while three boys on -either side, bracing their legs against the upright supports, pushed -toward the centre with their united strength. He could feel his ribs -caving inward and the breath was forced from his lungs. Respite came not -a moment too soon, and when they drew away he hung over the bar in an -ecstasy of exhaustion and nausea. - -It was not until he heard the voice of the Chief announcing that he had -borne the ordeal in honourable silence that he was aware he had forborne -to scream. - -“Help him to the circle,” came from a far-off voice, but he shook aside -the proffered assistance and tottered to the circle unaided. - -“Your bearing has been creditable,” said the Chief, “and that inclines -us to leniency. Speak by the Goal-post and Fives Ball that the word may -be fulfilled.” - -Then said Wynne, with a somewhat hysterical catch in his voice: - -“I swear by the Goal-post and the Fives Ball that to save myself the -pain of offending you fools I’ll keep my hands out of my pockets for as -long as you stupidly want.” - -And the world became singularly black, the sky full of crimson stars, -and he sat down awkwardly upon the floor with his head between his -knees. - - - IV - -It would be far from the truth to state that Wynne Rendall was popular -at school. On account of the readiness of his wit and an adroit, if -somewhat embittered, knack of turning a phrase, he achieved a kind of -notoriety. - -Mentally he was always more of a match for his physical superiors, as -those who came up against him in differences of any kind were compelled -to testify. There was a quality of courage about him that at once -perplexed and irritated. The threat of a licking was of no avail in -turning his point of view, and he would stand up courageously to a -battery of blows which on some occasions, by pure vital energy, he would -return with interest. But in the main his companions avoided offering -him offence, since to do so was generally the occasion of their own -downfall. He possessed a faculty, somewhat rare in the infant outfit, of -being able to follow his opponent’s mental processes, and this, coupled -with a ready power of expression, gave him an instant ascendancy. -Intuitively he knew the very thing they were least likely to desire to -hear, and although he was not of a naturally caustic bent, he would not -hesitate to employ it if the situation demanded. Very early he made the -discovery that loud-voiced, broad-shouldered fellows were by no means -invulnerable, and indeed might very well prove cowards at heart. - -The type he found greatest difficulty in dealing with was the muscular -and sheep-minded lad who from sheer natural stupidity was insensible to -verbal attacks. This type was represented by a fairly large section, -and, on account of their bulk, could not with impunity be ignored. They -were a piratical band of burly buccaneers, who would undertake any dirty -work if the premium offered were sufficiently tempting. They hired -themselves out to smaller boys who desired the “licking” of some one -they were unable to vanquish themselves, and for the service rendered -would exact a very heavy toll in stationery or delicacies from the -tuck-shop. Being impervious to conscience, they were only accessible by -other means. - -Two days after his arrival Wynne had his first experience of the -workings of this band. - -He was walking by the Fives Court with Cedric Allen, the small boy who -had offered jam and friendship, when the foxy youth, who had borne -witness to his possession of a nightshirt, hailed and bade them stop. -Lipchitty, for so he was named, addressed them in tones of authority. - -“I’m going to speak to this kid, but you can stop, young Rendall. Now -then, kiddie Allen, I want your Swedish knife.” - -Cedric quailed before these dread tidings. The knife was a most -important affair, and boasted a handle of bird’s-eye maple of unequalled -loveliness. It was reputed that this knife would kill a man, and its -possession had excited an interest in Cedric that might well dissipate -with its passing. Wherefore, in a trembling fashion, he replied: - -“My sister gave it to me.” - -Lipchitty was very properly disgusted. - -“The sort of soppy thing she would do,” he replied, and brought a flush -of resentment to Cedric’s round little face. “’Tany rate, I’m going to -have it.” - -“You aren’t. You shan’t.” - -“If you don’t give it to me there’ll be a jolly fine licking for you.” - -Cedric weighed his chances before replying. - -“You’re not much bigger than me; p’r’aps you’d get licked if you tried.” - -“Don’t mean to try,” responded the base Lipchitty; “I shall get Monkton -major to do it for me, and he’ll half kill you.” - -Monkton major was no idle threat—a fellow of vast proportions with a -gross and sullen countenance. - -In imagination Cedric saw his beloved possession float over the horizon, -but he made one final effort. - -“Why should he lick me? I haven’t done anything.” - -“I shall give him some silkworms to do it,” announced Lipchitty. - -The system was exposed. Terrorism at a price. Wynne Rendall’s quick -brain seized on the flaw, and was away with it in a second. - -“Right!” he interrupted, “then I’ll give him a fountain pen not to do -it.” - -“You shut up,” warned Lipchitty, but there was alarm in his voice. - -“I shall.” - -“You’d better not. If you do I’ll give him a Brownie to lick you.” - -Wynne laughed. “Then,” he said, “I’ll give him five and six to lick -you.” - -Lipchitty trembled, for the price was rising out of all expectation. -Dared he bounce it another sixpence and overthrow his opponent? The risk -was great, so he temporized with— - -“How much have you got? I warn you I’ve ten bob, so you’d better look -out!” - -Ten bob! The game was in Wynne’s hands. With cruel leisure Wynne -produced his adored letter-case and took out the five-pound note. - -“That’s done you,” he cried. - -The sight of so much wealth staggered Master Lipchitty, who with a -mumbled unpleasantry started to move away. But the spirit of reprisals -was upon Wynne, and he called on him to stop. - -“Look here, Lipchitty, I haven’t done with you. You started this -business, and now you are going to finish it. It was you who made me out -a fool before the Council by sneaking into my box. Very well, you’ve -jolly well got to swop a pair of pyjamas for one of my nightshirts or -I’ll give Monkton major ten and six to lick you silly.” - -That night Wynne slept very honourably in a coat and trousers of -delicate striped taffeta, while Lipchitty mumbled in his sleep and -dreamed lurid dreams of knife-thrusts in dark corridors, and enemies -cast unsuspectingly into the yawning shaft of the _oubliette_. - - - V - -The prediction that Wynne Rendall would prove a swotter was more than -amply borne out by his conduct in the class-room. - -In most branches of education he displayed voracity for learning to an -unusual extent. Latin and Greek delighted his soul, and his form-master, -who was not a man of great erudition, was sorely put to it to keep pace -with the extraordinary rapidity with which he acquired a knowledge of -these dead tongues. His translations were admirable, and he seemed -capable of reproducing the original spirit and lilt of the lines into -English prose. Horace, Virgil, Homer were more than mere tasks to Wynne; -they were delights which breathed of the splendid freedom in thought and -action of the old periods which had passed away. - -To a very large degree he possessed appreciation for what Ruskin so -happily terms “the aristocracy of words.” He realized how one word -allied to another made for dignity or degradation, and he strove never -to commit himself to an expression in writing that did not bear the -stamp of honourable currency. - -From the school library he acquired his taste for the poets—one or -another of which he carried with him on all his wanderings and greedily -assimilated. Unlike most early readers he did not pin allegiance to any -particular writer, but pored over all with equal concentration, carrying -away the best from each in his remarkably retentive memory. - -But for his incurable stupidity in regard to mathematics, it is probable -at the age of sixteen he would have been head of the school, but -mathematics defeated him at every turn. He hated figures, and it was -characteristic that he would never attempt to acquire a better liking -for the things he hated. He ignored and passed them over, admitting -neither the interest nor the logic that lay in the science of figures. - -“It is a great pity, Rendall, that you will not concentrate on these -matters,” said the Head. “You display ready enough intelligence in other -directions.” - -Wynne shook his head. - -“I am sorry, sir,” he said, “but I find no satisfaction in mathematics.” - -“You should feel the satisfaction of doing a thing right.” - -“The reward doesn’t tempt me, sir. Given that the answer to a most -intricate problem proves to be .03885—what has been achieved beyond a -row of figures? In after years none will look back and say, ‘He was the -man who found this answer,’ for the reason that there is no charm or -beauty in his findings. To the eye of the onlooker, sir, .04996 would be -none the less pleasing.” - -“But it would be wrong,” urged the Head. - -“Nero was wrong in setting fire to Rome, yet people still speak of -that.” - -“They speak in horror, Rendall.” - -“And a certain amount of admiration, sir. He was artist enough to play -upon a harp while the roof beams crackled and fell.” - -“I am afraid your instance suggests a certain laxity of moral outlook, -Rendall, which one can only deplore.” - -Wynne looked up at the ceiling and smiled. - -“He created a stir, sir—that is what I am getting at. Good may have -resulted too. Possibly a deal of pestilence was scorched out of the city -in that mighty fire.” - -The Head eyed him seriously. - -“Let me see, Rendall,” he said, “how old are you?” - -“Sixteen, sir.” - -“Sixteen. You are a precocious boy. You have revolutionary qualities -that do not altogether please me. You are far too introspective, and -introspection is a dangerous thing in unskilled hands. It is a pity you -do not cultivate a greater taste for outdoor games.” - -“Thank you, sir, but I don’t want to shine in after life as a cup-tie -footballer or a Rugby international.” - -“Possibly not, but healthy exercise promotes a healthy mind, my boy.” - -“I believe, sir, that is the general opinion.” - -“You venture to doubt it?” - -“Well, sir, I would not attach much value to a champion heavyweight’s -views on a matter of æsthetics.” - -“Æsthetics are beside the point altogether. Too much æsthetics is quite -as bad as—as—” - -“Too much football, sir?” - -“You are disposed to be impertinent, Rendall; I have no desire to -staunch the flowings of your brain, but I would remind you that God -equipped mankind with legs and arms, and it was clearly not the -intention that we should allow them to stagnate from disuse. That is a -piece of wisdom you would do well in taking to heart. A brain that is -overworked will conduct its owner unworthily, therefore I should tonic -yours with a little exercise.” - -Wynne had never held a very high opinion of the Head since the day he -had been informed of the mysteries of perpetuating the species. On that -occasion the Head had fallen very considerably in his esteem. - -He had floundered sorrowfully in his logic, had shown embarrassment, and -made a muddle of what he had to say. - -For some reason the good man had confused the subject with the -commandment, “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” and as his exposition was -by no means clear on either count Wynne had been greatly perplexed. He -was informed of certain consequences of sex and at the same time warned -that indulgence was forbidden. When it was over he felt he had been told -of something which by holy law was impossible of achievement. He left -the study far more uncertain as to how the race was perpetuated than he -had been on entering. Incidentally he felt rather sick, and in the -privacy of his little den he had thrown his books about and stared at -himself in the glass with a new and half-fledged understanding. - -He was, however, a singularly sexless boy, and the effect produced was -of no very enduring character. Sex curiosity had no abiding place in his -disposition, and he entirely failed to understand the impulse which -compelled some of the older boys to bring opera glasses to bear on the -windows of the servants’ quarters in the hope that some disrobing act -might be espied and magnified. He would take no part in the whispered -conversation that forms part of a nightly program in practically every -school, and found no reason to reverence those scions of adventure who, -with a wealth of imagination, drew pictures of their conquests over -undefended citadels. - -For this reserve he was almost unanimously dubbed a prig, but with -little enough justice. Wynne possessed no great distaste for wrong as -being wrong; indeed, in many cases, wrong appealed to him more -generously than the accepted view of right. - -It was the schoolboy form of especial backstairs carnalism that provoked -in him the greatest distaste. There was, he thought, something sordid -and paltry about an enterprise that could only be referred to in -half-tones. If one sinned one should sin openly as Nero had done, and -play upon a lyre while the smoke of one’s sinning columned to the sky. - -There is in the make-up of most growing boys a substratum of nastiness, -and it may well prove to be an act of divine providence that this should -be so. By the great Law of Contrast our judgments are made. They are -made in contrast to the error of our earlier ways. From the lowest stage -we step to higher planes and look back with timid disgust on thoughts -and actions we have left behind. It is seldom enough, thank God, we -consider our vulgar embryonic excesses in any other light than that of a -degrading folly which, by the grace of better understanding, we have -filtered from our systems. It is seldom enough that the most perverted -boy carries out into the world the brand of his unmoral beginnings. -There should be comfort in this for the parent whose son returns from -school before the holidays begin. - -Wynne was coldly unmoved by the most lurid imaginings of sex. He would -merely shrug his shoulder and go elsewhere. Yet mentally he was every -kind of sensualist. The music of words stirred him illimitably—it would -quicken his pulses and shorten his breath as no bold appeal from the -eyes could have done. He could recognize love in the grand periods of -the poets, and gasp with emotion at the splendour and passion it -bespoke; but to associate love with the individual, or to consider -himself in the light of a possible lover, never entered his mind. - -And so he passed over his period of first knowledge and learnt nothing -from the lesson. - - - VI - -Wynne Rendall returned home for the summer vacation in his seventeenth -year. He was heavily laden with prizes and lightly poised with -enthusiasm. In every department of learning, save only mathematics, had -he borne himself with honourable success. It was not unnatural, -therefore, he should have looked for some expression of rejoicing from -his parents, but herein he was destined to be disappointed. - -His father had not returned from the City when he arrived, but he found -his mother in the drawing-room. Her old allegiance to embroidering -antimacassars had by no means abated with years, and as Wynne entered -she was still mismating her coloured silks with the afore-time guarantee -of hideousness. But even this circumstance would not staunch the -enthusiasm Wynne felt in his own prowess. The desire to impart the news -of his successes was perhaps the youngest trait in his character, so -when the greeting was over he broke out: - -“I’ve done simply splendidly, mother. I’ve simply walked away with all -the prizes, and the classic master says my Greek verses are the best the -school has ever produced.” - -His eyes sparkled as though to say, “There, what do you think of that?” - -Had Mrs. Rendall known it she would have recognized that here was a -moment to win a large measure of her son’s affection. Encouragement -given at the right time is the surest road to the heart. But hers, alas! -was not an analytic mind. All she contrived to say was: - -“Oh, yes. Well, that’s quite nice, isn’t it?” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Wynne. “You’re hopeless.” And that is a very dreadful -thing for a boy to say to his mother—and a more dreadful thing for him -to feel. - -Mrs. Rendall laid aside her work, and remarked, “I am sure I don’t know -why you should say that.” - -“Well, it is so—so deplorable.” - -“What is?” - -“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” - -“I said nothing at all.” - -“That’s true—that’s just it.” - -“What did I say? I said it was quite nice.” - -“Yes. You did. But don’t let’s talk any more about it.” - -“And you replied that I was hopeless. You must have had some reason for -saying that?” - -“No, none at all.” - -“It would have been different if I had said it wasn’t nice, but I said -the right thing and you were rude.” - -Wynne did not reply, but he breathed despairfully. - -“It is a great pity to be rude, Wynne, and you should try to guard -against it. You will never get on if your manners are not nice. Your -Great-uncle Bryan” (he was a deceased relation on her side of the family -who had made a nice little income as a chemist) “attributed his success -entirely to the possession of an agreeable counter-manner.” - -“Preserve me from that,” cried Wynne, and fled from the room. - -When his father returned from the City the scene in many respects was -re-enacted. Mr. Rendall senior ignored his son’s classical and literary -successes, and focused his attention upon the absence of any achievement -on mathematical lines. - -“Lot of use Socrates and all these other Latin chaps are if you can’t -cast up a row of figures!” - -Wynne smiled. - -“I fancy that Socrates was a Greek,” he replied. - -“I’m not going to quibble about that. He could have been an Esquimaux -for all the good he’ll do you in the City.” - -Wynne had been expecting this for some time, and he replied with a -steady voice, - -“I shan’t take him to the City, father.” - -“Better not. Better forget all about him and fix your mind on things -that matter. How did you do with book-keeping?” - -“I did nothing. I wish to make books, not to keep them.” - -“Don’t want any racecourse jargon here, please.” - -“You misunderstand me. I ought to have said write books.” - -“There are plenty of books without your writing them.” - -“What a good thing Shakespeare’s father didn’t think so!” mused Wynne. - -Mr. Rendall ignored the interruption. - -“I’m giving you one more term at school, so make the best use of it. You -are not by any means a fool, and what your brother Wallace could do you -should be able to do.” - -Wallace was already established in a clerkship whither he daily -proceeded in a silk hat. Being drawn into the conversation he felt it -incumbent upon himself to offer a contribution. - -“You will find in the City, Wynne, people are not inclined to put up -with a lot of nonsense.” - -“I think it unlikely I shall find out anything of the kind,” replied -Wynne. - -“I say you will,” retorted his brother. - -“And I repeat I think it is unlikely.” - -“Your brother Wallace knows what he’s talking about,” said Mr. Rendall. - -“That’s it!” exclaimed Wynne, jumping to his feet; “he knows what he is -talking about, and that is all he ever can or ever will know.” - -“Will you sit down at table!” ordered Mr. Rendall. “I never saw such an -exhibition.” - -“It is terrible,” lamented Mrs. Rendall. - -“You listen to what your elders have to say, and don’t talk so much -yourself. Your brother Wallace is making thirty-five shillings a week.” - -“O most wonderful Wallace!” cried Wynne. “Villon starved in a gaol and -wrote exquisite verses, but he could not earn so much as brother -Wallace.” - -“Look here, young Wynne,” exclaimed his brother, “you had better shut up -if you don’t want me to punch your head.” - -“‘Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,’” chanted Wynne irrepressibly. - -“Father! Can’t you speak to him?” - -“Speak to him be damned!” said Mr. Rendall, for no particular reason. -“He’s got to toe the line, that’s what it amounts to—toe the line.” - -“And when I’ve toed the line, what then?” demanded Wynne; but none -seemed able to supply the answer, and the advice to “shut up about it” -could hardly be regarded as illuminating. - -The argument concluded with the brief comment from his father: - -“I’ll talk to you in the morning.” - - - VII - -The matter was not broached again until after breakfast on the following -day, when Wynne and his father were left alone over the empty cups and -dishes. - -“Discuss your future!” announced Mr. Rendall. He rose and placed a lump -of sugar between the bars of the canary’s cage. The canary chirruped to -signify gratitude for the gift. - -“Seems to me there is no advantage keeping you at school any longer. Bit -of practical experience in life will lick you into shape quicker than -anything else.” - -“One minute,” said Wynne, “I believe I could get a University -scholarship if you gave me another term.” - -“Scholarship be damned! I never went to a University; no reason why you -should go. Not going anyway—” - -“Yes, but—” - -“Quiet. D’y’hear! There can be altogether too much of a good thing—too -much altogether. I have my own plans for you.” - -“And so have I,” said Wynne. - -“Then you’ll make them fit in with mine—got that?” - -Wynne’s foot began to tap on the ground and his mouth straightened -thinly. - -“Go on.” - -“I’ll go on in my own damned time. A little hard discipline is what you -want and it’s what you’ll get.” - -“Well?” - -“I spoke to Kessles on the ’phone last night about putting you there.” - -“Kessles?” - -“The warehouse people—don’t you know that?” - -“No.” - -“What do you know? Nothing.” - -“A bit hard on Mr. Kessles then.” - -“Quiet. He’s prepared to give you an opening, and I’ve accepted it.” - -“That’s just as well, because I certainly shouldn’t have done so.” - -“I’m not putting up with any argument. You can have a couple of weeks -holiday, then go up to the City like any one else.” - -Wynne shook his head resolutely. - -“There is no question about the matter, my boy, it is a case of ‘having -to.’ High time you began to make a way in the world.” - -“Yes,” said Wynne. “I’ll make a way in the world—I want to and I -shall—but it will be _my_ way, not yours.” - -“What do you mean by that?” - -“I mean that I am not going to the City—I absolutely -refuse—absolutely.” - -“Continue like that and I won’t be answerable for my actions,” cried Mr. -Rendall. - -“And you shan’t be for mine.” - -The determination in Wynne’s tone was extraordinary considering his age -and fragility. Without raising his voice he dominated his father by -every means of expression. Mr. Rendall felt this to be so, and the shame -of it scarleted his features. - -“Since you were born,” he shouted, “you have been perverse and -maddening—ever since the day you were born!” - -“Never once since the day I was born have you tried to see how my mind -worked,” came the retort. “You have done no more than force your mental -workings on me. All I know or shall know will be in spite of you.” - -“Have you no proper feelings?” - -“No, not as you read the word. Proper feelings are free feelings, new -thoughts and fresh touches of all that is wonderful and unexplored. You -think in a circle—an inner circle that constricts everything worth -while like the coils of a snake. And now I’ve had enough of it—enough -of you—more than enough.” - -“Enough!” - -“Yes, I’m going—I’m going to clear out and find some atmosphere where I -can breathe.” - -“D’you dare to suggest running away?” - -“Yes, I’m clearing out.” - -Some half-formed thought drove Mr. Rendall to seize the handle and put -his back against the door. - -“That won’t stop me,” said Wynne. “It isn’t a race for the front door, -which I lose if you’re quick enough to stop me.” - -“Very well,” conceded Mr. Rendall. “Very well—and how the devil do you -think you’d live! Hey?” - -“I shall manage.” - -“Manage be damned! Not a penny shall you have from me—not a -farthing—not a bean.” - -“Then take back what I have already.” - -Wynne’s hands dived into his trousers’ pockets and pulled out the -linings. Two or three florins and a few odd pence tumbled to the floor -and circled in all directions. - -Something in the action deprived Mr. Rendall of the last of his -self-control. Seizing the silver entrée dish he sent it hurtling through -the lower pane of the dining-room window. It was the first time his -temper had risen to such heights. - -“Let in the air,” cried Wynne, with a note of hysteria, and picking up -the pair of candlesticks from the mantelshelf he flung first one then -the other through the remaining panes. - -The south-west wind bellied the Nottingham lace curtains and stirred the -feathers in the canary’s back. - -“Twirrup,” he chirped, and hopping to the upper perch broke into a fine -song of the palms that bow so statelily in the islands of the south. - -“Get out!” said Mr. Rendall. “I’ve done with you—get out!” - - - VIII - -Wynne packed a suit case in his own time. He was not fastidious in the -matter of clothes, and books were the chief things he took. Oddly enough -he had no fear in facing the world alone. Possibly through inexperience -the problem presented no alarming features. He did not imagine he was -stepping out to meet an immediate fortune—education and added years had -taught him that his singing days were still far ahead. He was -confidently sure he would arrive eventually, but in the meantime the -world lay before him—a mighty class-room through which he must pass -before setting foot upon the Purple Patch. Bearing the bag in his hand -he descended the stairs. - -In the hall he hesitated. Should he or should he not seek his mother and -risk the possibility of a further scene. The problem was solved by her -sudden appearance at the door of the drawing-room. In some respects her -face had lost its wonted stolidity. She seemed as one perplexed by vague -understandings. Cain might have looked so when he saw death for the -first time in the fall of his brother, and wondered stupidly what manner -of thing it might be. - -“So you are going away, Wynne,” she said. - -“Yes, mother.” - -“I see.” But she did not see very clearly, as her next remark betokened. -“Have you packed your clean things?” - -For some human reason Wynne had no inclination to smile at this. It -struck him as being somewhat pathetic. - -“I think so,” he replied. - -“That’s right. Did you ask cook to cut you some sandwiches?” - -“No, mother. I—I don’t think you quite understand. I’m not going away -just for the day—I’m going for good.” - -“For good!” repeated Mrs. Rendall, in an expressionless voice. “Really? -Yes, well that does seem a pity. Your father had a nice opening for you -with Mr. Kessles.” - -“I don’t think I should have flourished in an office, mother. I want to -do and do and do.” - -“You might have gone to the office in the day-time and done a little -writing in the evening. I am sure your father wouldn’t have objected to -that.” - -Wynne shook his head. “Wouldn’t work,” he said. - -“Oh, I don’t know. Your brother Wallace finds time for chip-carving -after city hours. He made me such a nice blotter last month—very pretty -it was.” - -“’Tisn’t quite the same, is it?” - -“Well, I don’t know, one hobby is very like another.” - -“I’m sorry,” said Wynne, “but I’ll have to go.” - -“Where will you go to?” - -“No idea.” - -“How very extraordinary! But you might turn up anywhere?” - -“Yes.” He fidgeted. It was hard to find anything to say. “I’d better be -off.” - -“Have you any money?” - -“No. But I want none of father’s—I’ll take none of that.” - -“You would take some of mine?” - -“Why should I?” - -“Because you can’t go away to nowhere without any money. Wait a minute.” - -He demurred, but she took no notice, and went upstairs to her room. When -she returned she gave him two ten-pound notes. - -“I should have given you these on your eighteenth birthday, Wynne, so -you may as well have them now. I did the same for Wallace when he was -eighteen.” - -It was the old symmetry coming out again—a clock in the middle, and a -candlestick on either side. - -“Thanks awfully much,” said Wynne. - -“It is part of what I inherited from your Great-uncle Bryan.” - -Uncle Clem had spoken the truth when he said, “Others will build the -pulpit from which you hope to preach.” Wynne was going out to face the -world on the reflected gilt of an agreeable counter-manner! - -“Good-bye, mother.” - -“Good-bye, Wynne.” - -It was surprising when he kissed her she should have said, - -“I think I am going to cry.” - -He answered quickly, - -“I shouldn’t—really I shouldn’t.” - -Crying is so infectious. - -“Perhaps I needn’t—but I could—I—I’m not sure I shan’t have to.” - -“It’s quite all right,” said Wynne. He kissed her again and hurried down -the steps. - -The wind blowing through the broken window slammed the front door -noisily. It occurred to Mrs. Rendall that the curtains might knock over -the palm pedestal. Following the direction of her thoughts she moved to -the dining-room to take steps. Her husband had said Wynne would -return—“would crawl back on hands and knees”—and suppose he did not -return? Well, then he wouldn’t. - -Hers was the kind of concentration that attaches more importance to -airing a person’s sheets than to the person himself. Crying was of -little service, and the impulse had lessened with the peril of the palm -pedestal to be considered. - - - IX - -Many courageous people are nervous to a fault in certain directions. - -Wynne Rendall possessed the pluck of the devil where his point of view -or ideals were at stake, but in the performance of simple everyday -affairs he was afflicted with a great shyness. - -He hovered fearfully before the portals of several small hotels in the -Strand district before summoning up courage to enter and take a room. It -seemed to him the proprietors of these places would refuse and ridicule -him—that they would tax him with his youth, and query if he had ever -used a razor. Yet men great and small, of important or insignificant -appearance, passed in and out of the swinging doors with the smallest -concern imaginable. They dropped their baggage in the hall, and -conversed with the clerks about rooms as he might have helped himself to -salt at the table. - -In all his life Wynne had never stopped at an hotel, and had no -experience from which to adjust his actions. He realized, however, that -to delay the ordeal indefinitely would serve no useful purpose. An hotel -attracted his attention on the opposite side of the road, and squaring -his shoulders he boldly approached it. His shame was boundless when he -walked deliberately past the open doors and down once more to the -Strand. - -“That’s the most cowardly thing I have ever done,” he rated himself. - -In Villers Street he espied an eating-house with an uncooked sirloin, -embellished with parsley and tomatoes, standing on a silver salver in -the window. He halted and read the various legends pasted to the inner -surface of the plate glass. “A good dinner for 1s. 6d.” “Steaks and -onions.” “Stewed tripe.” “Bed and breakfast, 3s.” Without waiting for -his courage to ebb he walked inside. A dirty Swiss waiter pulled a chair -from a small table and flicked the seat invitingly with a napkin. - -“I want—that is, would you be good enough to let me a room. I was -recommended to come here—at least I think—” - -“A room—sartainly—one minute,” he called a name through an open door, -and a stout lady entered. “A room for zis gentleman. You will go wiz -her.” - -As he mounted the stairs Wynne reflected that there was nothing in it -after all. It was the simplest matter. He wished he had omitted the -legend about having been recommended to the place; clearly there was no -occasion for anything beyond a simple expression of one’s needs. He had -not thought to learn anything from a Swiss waiter in a Villers Street -hotel, yet a new department of learning had been opened for him from -which he might profit in the future. - -The room to which he was shown was very ordinary, and made little -impression upon him. He threw his bag to the bed and seated himself -easily beside it. - -The landlady lingered by the door, and he ventured a remark to her: - -“I suppose you let quite a number of rooms?” - -“It would be,” she answered, “a bad thing for us if we didn’t.” - -As there appeared to be nothing further to contribute to that line of -inquiry, he nodded and remained silent. - -“You’ll want a bit of dinner, I suppose.” - -“Oh, yes, thank you—thanks.” - -“If you was to order it now it would be ready when you come down.” - -“All right,” he said. Then, as she still lingered: “I think I’ll wash my -hands if you don’t mind.” - -“What’ll you have to eat?” - -Of course! It was so obvious—he ought to have thought of that. What -could he have? It would betray inexperience to ask what there was—a man -of the world would know in an instant what his appetite desired. Wynne -had often pictured himself ordering a dinner, but now the time had come -he felt strangely unable to do so. His memory served him with a picture -of the uncooked sirloin and the tomatoes, but it was unlikely they would -oven this on his behalf. - -The need to answer being imperative, he ordered “A chop, please, and -some potatoes.” After the departure of the landlady he cursed his woeful -lack of imagination. He had dreamed to feast, as the old emperors, upon -ortolans and the brains of peacocks, and instead he had ordered the very -dish which, in the ordinary rotation of the home-menu, would have -appeared on his father’s table that night. - -Before going downstairs Wynne decided very firmly what he would say when -asked as to his choice of drink. He would order shandy-gaff, and he -would name it familiarly as “shandy.” - -This resolve completed, he opened his suit case and set out his -belongings in careless disorder. Beyond doubt it was very fine to be a -free-lance and possess a room of one’s own in the heart of London. He -took a pace or two up and down the floor and filled his lungs with air. -The rumble of traffic and the long-sustained London note, made up of -thousands of fine particles of sound, drifted to his ears. - -“Something like!” said Wynne. “This is something like!” - -He put his head out of the window and spoke again: - -“You silly old crowds, all hurrying along. You don’t know me—but one -day you shall. Yes, I shall find out all your secrets, and you will come -to me to disclose them. Oh! you silly, busy, hurrying old crowds, I’m -getting ready for you. Why don’t you look up and see me? Don’t you want -to? There’s no charge yet. Look while you have the chance, for later on -I shall tip up your chins and hold your eyes whether you want me to or -not.” - -But none was disposed to glance his way. The day’s work was done, and -London emptying itself homeward. There were dinners, warm fires, and -welcomes awaiting them, why should they waste a glance upon the white -face of an anæmic boy who hung out over the sill of a three-shilling -bedroom and blathered his foolish thoughts to the night. - -Wynne ordered “shandy” with an air of some importance: by sheer bad luck -the Swiss waiter’s vocabulary was deficient of this word. He asked Wynne -to repeat it, and, still failing to understand, further asked how the -beverage was concocted. This threw Wynne into a blushing difficulty, -since he himself was doubtful as to the ingredients used. Accordingly he -revoked the order and asked for some ale, and since he stated no -particular quantity he was saddled with a bottle of the largest size, -which greatly taxed his powers of consumption. He struggled bravely, -however, and the good malt fluid gave tone to his being and warmed his -imagination. - -He rose from the table with the pleasant confidence that he had left -much of his awkwardness behind. He had thought to spend the evening -considering his future, but in his rosy mood he decided a theatre would -prove a more agreeable form of entertainment. - -Hitherto his playgoing had been confined to a yearly visit to the local -pantomime, a performance which had made no special appeal to him. As -master of his own choice he repaired to Shakespeare’s Henry VIII., and -was vastly impressed by the splendour of it all. Here and there he found -himself at variance with the actors’ renderings of certain passages, and -during the intervals ruminated upon alternative readings. On the whole, -however, the experience was delightful. - -At the conclusion he emerged from the theatre in a state of artistic -intoxication. He longed for a companion to whom he could express the -views which the play had set in motion—any one would do so long as he -might speak his thoughts aloud. With all these jostling crowds it was -absurd that any one should be denied an audience. Surely some one would -be glad to lend an ear. There must be some companionable soul in this -great city with a thirst for knowledge and enlightenment. - -“The clouds that gather round the setting sun.” Wolsey had been wrong to -betray so much emotion in delivering that speech. A man like Wolsey -would see grim humour in his own downfall. It was contrary to the -character, as he saw it, to stress the emotions of such a coming to -pass. Wynne knew the speech intimately, and felt a great desire to -repeat it aloud in the way it should be repeated. The Haymarket was -hardly a place for such a recital, so he turned into Orange Street and -the narrow thoroughfares adjoining. Here in a shadow he began the lines, -but had hardly uttered a sound before a step caused him to stop. Looking -round he saw a girl walking slowly toward him. A fur swung from her -shoulders and a bag dangled in her hand. The white of her boots seemed -phosphorescent in the half-light. As she came abreast of him their eyes -met. Hers were bold and black-lashed, and the lids drooped in lazy -insolence. - -“Kiddie,” she said, “coming home?” - -And Wynne was startled into replying: - -“Why, do you want a friend too?” - -She curled her scarlet lips into a smile. - -“I always want a friend,” she answered. - -“I don’t,” he said; “only sometimes! Sometimes one feels one must -confide. I feel like that tonight.” - -“Confide in me, then. What’s to stop you?” - -“I think I will. You’re frank—unconventional; some one like you I’ve -been looking for. I couldn’t sleep tonight—couldn’t go to bed.” - -The smile came again—went—and was replaced by an expression of -perplexity. It was not the conversational formula to which she was -accustomed. - -“Well, don’t let’s hang about, anyway,” she said. “There’s sure to be a -cab in Waterloo Place. Come on.” - -“D’you live far from here, then? It would be jollier to walk, don’t you -think?” - -She had heard that phrase before, on the lips of economists, and the -business side of her nature sprang to action. - -“If you’ve no money—better say so.” - -“I’ve plenty of money.” - -“What do you call plenty?” - -“Don’t let’s talk money. People never speak of anything else.” - -“I’m beginning to think you know a thing or two.” - -“Perhaps I do.” The suggestion flattered him. - -“So do I, and I’d like to know what I’m standing for, too. I’m too fly -to bounce, kiddie. Get me?” - -“No,” he replied. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He -hated confessing this, but it was no less than the truth. - -“Of—course—not,” she drawled the syllables, and leaned against his -shoulder with fingers that travelled caressingly over his wrist and -palm. - -“O God!” exclaimed Wynne. “I see.” A kind of fear possessed him and he -backed a pace. - -“What’s the matter now?” - -“Only—only that I’m a fool. I must be. You’re Adventure, aren’t you? -Commercial Adventure?” - -“Now then! Who are you calling names?” - -“I must be a fool.” - -This concerned him most, and provided him with courage. - -“All boys are fools—men too, for that matter. Come along if you’re -coming.” - -“But I’m not,” said Wynne. - -“Why not?” - -“I made a mistake.” - -“A mistake, eh? You’re a cheeky little devil. Who are you to speak to a -girl? I should like to ask?” - -“I didn’t recognize you, that’s all. I’ve never met you before. Another -time I shall know. Good-night.” - -He turned quickly and walked away. - -“Silly little kid!” murmured the girl, and fell into her roving pace -once more. - -“I wish I had told her how rotten I thought she was,” mused Wynne, as he -pulled off his boots before getting to bed. “I might have gone home with -her!” He tried to picture such a happening, but it brought nothing to -his imagination. There was not the slightest tremble of passion to weigh -against his satisfaction at having avoided the offered temptation. - -“Fools men must be to yield to that sort. I never should. I think I got -out of it all right after the first mistake. Original sin!” He fell to -quoting Swinburne, a poet who had pleased his ear alone. - - “What sterile growth of sexless root or Epicene, - What flower of kisses without fruit of love, Faustine.” - -“She was very pretty—pretty figure—and her hands and feet were small. -Yes, all the temptation was there, and I didn’t yield. Glad I met her. -It’s helped me to know myself. I’m all right.” - -As he drew the blanket under his chin Wynne felt unduly -self-satisfied—he forgot, perhaps, that it is easy to resist when there -is no impulse to sin. - - - X - -At the National Gallery on the following morning Wynne fell into -conversation with an old man. The old man wore an Inverness cape and a -wide-brimmed felt hat, he had shaggy eyebrows, a wispy moustache, and -his cheeks were seamed and furrowed with wrinkles. He muttered to -himself and seemed in a fine rage. Sometimes he rattled his umbrella and -scowled at the passers-by, and sometimes he tossed his head and laughed -shortly. Scarcely a soul came nigh him that he did not scrutinize -closely and disapprovingly. Before him was Leonardo’s “Virgin of the -Rocks,” and by his mutterings and rattles he kept the space before the -picture clear of other humanity, as a sheep-dog rings his flock. - -As Wynne approached he came under the influence of the old gentleman’s -inflamed stare, which, being in no wise alarmed, he returned with -interest. - -“Keep your eyes for the pictures,” rapped out this peculiar individual. - -“So I would,” returned Wynne, “if it were not that you disturbed them.” - -“Ha! You’re like all the rest. You’d run from your own bridal altar to -see a cab-horse jump the area railings. I know the breed—I know ’em.” - -“Concentration is easily dislocated,” said Wynne, choosing his words -carefully, “attention is dependent upon circumstance and atmosphere.” - -“Good, enough, O most wise Telemachus,” came the answer, with a mixture -of agreement and cynicism, “the very reason for _my_ invitation. How the -devil shall a man keep his mind on this” (he nodded at the picture) -“while this herd is using the Gallery as a shelter from the rain?” - -Wynne laughed. An attack on the people always gave him pleasure. - -“That’s a fair statement of the case. The sun’ll be out in a minute,” he -cocked his eye to the sky-light. “Then we shall have the place to -ourselves. Mark my words.” - -“They’ve no artistic appreciation,” said Wynne, feeling on safe ground. -“A very bovine race, the English.” - -“Tommy rot!” said the old gentleman, unexpectedly; “don’t talk -drivelling nonsense. Best race in the world, the English, but they won’t -let ’emselves go.” - -“Well, doesn’t that amount to—” - -“No, it don’t. You can’t judge the speed of a racehorse while he is -munching oats in a stable.” - -“No, sir; but presumably the people should come here to appreciate. They -can do their munching at home.” - -“Rubbish! English folk are too shy to express appreciation. That’s the -trouble with ’em—shyness. National code! They keep away from all -matters likely to excite ’em artistically for fear of being startled -into expressing their true feelings. Englishmen’s idea of bad form, -expression! Damn fine people! Bovine? Not a bit of it!” - -Seemingly, to be consistent was not a characteristic of the old -gentleman, a circumstance which rendered argument difficult. Wynne fell -back on: - -“After all, it was you who attacked them first.” - -“Know I did. Good reason too. A lot of clattering feet thumping past my -Leonardo! Scattering my thoughts. ’Taint right—’taint reverent. If I’d -my way I’d allow no one to enter here who hadn’t graduated to a degree -in the arts—or respect for the arts. ’Tisn’t decent for people to use -as a waiting-room a gallery holding some of the world’s greatest -achievements on canvas. It’s degrading and disgraceful. Why aren’t we -taught to respect art from infancy, hey? And pay it proper compliments, -too. We have to take our hats off in a twopenny tin chapel, and are -thought blackguards and infidels if we keep ’em on, but do we ever touch -a forelock to a masterpiece in paint, and does any one think any the -worse of us however idiotically we behave before it? No! Then I say that -we are no better than hooligans and savages, and have no right of -contact with the glorious emblems of what a man’s hand and a man’s head -can achieve.” - -This speech he delivered with enthusiasm and a profusion of gesture. -Wynne was properly impressed, and hoped the old gentleman would proceed, -which he readily did. - -“Good Gad a’mighty!” he ejaculated, pointing a claw-like forefinger at -Leonardo’s Virgin. “Whenever I doubt the Scriptures I look at her and -the doubt passes. Da Vinci _saw_ her. _Saw_ her, and he painted what he -saw—the flesh and the spirit. See the eyelids, they tremble—don’t -they? They are never at rest. That’s the woman essence—the mother -essence—eyes trembling over the soul of her child. And the hands! Don’t -you feel at any second they may move? One might come tomorrow and find -them any-other-where. Motion—touch—a quickening sense of protection. -Use the place as a shelter against the rain! Damnable! There’s just the -same amazing mobility in the expression of La Jaconde—at the Louvre, -but with this difference. The Virgin”—he pointed again at the -picture—“and Monna Lisa, the woman who saw the world through eyes of -understanding which curled her lips to humour. A courtesan some folks -say she was—not unlikely—inevitable almost! Takes a courtesan to -contrive a measured expression like that. Lord! if a good woman could -understand as a courtesan _must_ understand, what a superwoman she would -be! Intellect springs from knowledge of the flesh, and is sunk in it -too—more often the latter. The revelation of one sex to another is the -well-head of all learning. Passion of the soul is the reaction of bodily -passion—must be—_is_. What is it Pater says about Monna -Lisa?—‘Represents what, in a thousand years, man had come to desire.’ -True too! Even a fool would admit that. There’s a fleeting look in the -eyes and the mouth that adjusts itself to every line of thought—gives -an answer to every question—a compassion for every sin—an impetus to -all betterment. Been to the Louvre? Know the picture?” - -“No,” said Wynne, rather ruefully. - -“Good Gad a’mighty! then you’ve plenty to learn, and the sooner you -start the better. What are you—art student or what?” - -“I am going to be a writer.” - -“How old?” - -“Seventeen and a bit.” - -“Then learn to paint first. There are no schools for writers, and -painting’ll teach you more than all the libraries in the world. Teach -you values—that’s the hinge of all learning in art—values! Relative -values. The worth of this as compared with that. Teach you line—the -infinite variety of line—the tremendous responsibility of line—the -humour—the severity of line. Teach you nature—the goddess from whom -all beauty is drawn, and whose lightest touch has more mystery in it -than all the creations of man. That’s what you want to do. No good -trying to write till you’re nearing thirty—abouts. Learn on canvas how -to ink your paper thoughts. Pack your bag and go to Paris.” - -“I believe I will,” exclaimed Wynne. “Where—where should I go when I -get there?” - -“Anywhere—Julian—Calarossi. The Quartier is full of ’em. Make for the -Boule Miche, and stop the first boy with a beard. He’ll tell you where -to go.” - - - - - PART THREE - PARIS - - - I - -At nine o’clock next evening a slightly confused Wynne Rendall was -seeking a cab midst the din and clatter of the Gare St. Lazare. He had -escaped the escort of several insidious gentlemen who offered their -services as “Guides,” and spoke suggestively of Corybantine revels they -were prepared to exhibit. Wynne had been warned by an amiable Customs -official to have nothing to do with “zes blerdy scoundrills,” so he was -able to reply to their English solicitations, “Pas ce soir, merci,” and -move on in the press of crowds. - -He succeeded in attracting the attention of a very aged cab-driver, who -controlled two white steeds, of even greater age, with a pair of scarlet -reins. Him he addressed in his best school French: - -“Je desire trouver un hotel très petit et pas trop cher,” he said. - -The driver seemed at some difficulty to understand, but when finally he -succeeded in doing so he bade Wynne climb inside, and, gathering up his -reins, shouted a frenzied command to the horses. Seemingly these beasts -were unaffected by his cries, for they moved away in the stateliest -fashion; whereupon the driver rose to his feet and laid about him with a -whip like any Roman charioteer. This produced the desired result, and -the vehicle, swaying perilously, thundered over the cobbles of the -station yard and out into the night. - -“This is magnificent,” said Wynne. “Oh, gorgeous!” - -His eyes feasted on the broad boulevards—the _cafés_, with their little -tables set upon the pavement beneath the gay striped awning—the -unfamiliar cosmopolitan crowds who jostled along or sat sipping their -syros and bocks at pleasant ease. Also it was very wonderful to be -driving on the wrong side of the road and apparently ignoring all -traffic laws. Once a gendarme with a long, clattering sword held up his -hand to bid them stop, but him the driver ignored, beyond a sharp rattle -of criticism as they brushed by. - -At the corner of the Rue St. Honoré a _fiacre_ in front knocked a man -off his bicycle, and proceeded as though nothing had happened. The -unfortunate cyclist picked himself up and started in pursuit, leaving -his bicycle lying in the highway. A motor bus, considering such an -obstacle unworthy of changing its course to avoid, ran over it, crushing -the frame and rims, and Wynne’s cab, following behind, did likewise. - -Nobody seemed to care. Passers-by scarcely wasted a glance over the -affair. A desire to cheer possessed Wynne. It seemed he had arrived at -the City of Harlequinade, where the wildest follies were counted to be -wise. - -Further down the road a fight was in progress. No blows were exchanged, -but the disputants grabbed and clawed at each other’s clothing. They -ripped out neckties and tore the buttons from waistcoats. They stamped -upon and kicked each other’s hats—pockets were wrenched from coats, and -shirt-tails sprang unexpectedly to view. - -Wynne could not help thinking how funny it would be if Wallace were to -appear in Wimbledon High Street with a battered silk hat and his -shirt-tail flapping over his breeches. There was humour in this fight -which seemed to justify it—not blood and staggering figures, such as -one saw outside the publichouses at home on a Saturday night. - -Wynne blessed the old gentleman of the National Gallery who had inspired -him to come to Paris. - -They passed a great _magasin_ with blazed arch lights, and turned up a -tiny street to the left. Wynne caught a glimpse of its name as the cab -turned the corner. “Rue Croix des Petits Champs.” Then the vehicle -stopped abruptly—so abruptly that the nearside horse fell to his knees -and nearly dragged the driver from the box, who marked his disapproval -by liberal use of the whip. Order being restored, he pointed to a big -arched doorway and cried: - -“Voilà! Voilà!” - -So Wynne alighted and demanded: - -“Comme bien?” - -“Cinq francs quatre-vingt-cinq.” - -Wynne was unaccustomed to French money, and the centimes conveyed -nothing to him. He proffered four francs and was amazed at the flow of -incomprehensible invective which followed. It was impossible to argue at -anything approaching that speed, so he held up his palm with some silver -in it and said: - -“Alors prenez ce que vous voulez.” - -The driver accordingly appropriated eight francs, and with a cry of -“’Voir et merci,” whipped up his horses and vanished into the night. - -Wynne subsequently learned that the fare should have been about one -shilling and threepence. - -He entered the arched gates and found himself in a small courtyard with -a lighted door at the further end. Above this was written, “Hotel du -Monde et Madagascar.” - -The idea of referring to Madagascar as though it were a satellite of the -world pleased his sense of humour and warmed his heart toward the new -abode. - -The foyer at the hotel was quite small, and there was a little office, -on the immediate right of the entrance, in which sat a sweet-looking old -lady dressed in black, and wearing a beautifully laundered cap. - -Wynne gave her good evening, stated that he wanted a room, “très bon -marché,” and told her his name. - -“Et moi je suis Rosalie,” returned the little concierge, with the -sweetest smile imaginable. - -Certainly he could have a room—it was on the fifth floor, and cost but -twenty francs a month. That he would like it she was sure, since it was -“clair, propre et tout ce qu’il faut.” She would ring for Benoit, who -was “un garçon bien gentil,” although suffering from “mal é la -poitrine,” which would carry him off all too soon. “Qui, c’est triste!” - -Benoit’s appearance, when eventually he arrived, did not give rise to -any immediate anxiety regarding his health. He was a big and cheerful -man, beside whom Wynne felt painfully insignificant. Taking possession -of the bag, Benoit led the way up many flights of stairs, until at last -they arrived at the fifth floor. Here he threw open a door and said: - -“Voilà! N’est-ce pas?” - -Wynne’s reply, “C’est de luxe,” amused Benoit greatly, who sat on the -bed to enjoy a hearty laugh. - -While the bag was being unpacked, Benoit supplied information regarding -Parisian life. Thus Wynne learnt that the average boarder in small -French hotels went out for his meals and his bath. By this means either -one or the other could be taken at the convenience of the individual, -who was therefore in no way constrained to be at a certain place at any -specified hour. Wynne inquired how far it was to the Quartier Latin, and -was greatly delighted to learn that ten minutes’ walk would land him -there. - -Many students from the ateliers lodged at the hotel, he discovered, some -of whom were “bien gentil,” and others “méchant.” - -“Aprés le Bal Quatres Arts! O c’était terrible!” He, Benoit, was -constrained to prevent a certain young Englishman, who habitually was -“tout à fait milord,” from importing to his apartment a lady dressed as -Britannia, whom he claimed as his bride. It was undoubtedly very droll, -and he was sympathetic, but the good name of the house came first, and -since no marriage lines were available, husband and wife were forced to -celebrate their nuptials apart. Doubtless the young man was carried away -by patriotism, but if the excellent “Madame” had heard of such goings on -she would have been in a fine rage. - -Further advices were given as to where Wynne would do well to seek his -food. He would find excellent hospitality “chez Bouillon Aristide” at -the corner, and a little further down the Rue St. Honoré was a creamery -whose chocolate and croissons would compare with those set upon the -table of the President. - -He urged Wynne to avoid sliding on the polished floor of his bedroom, -since the practice provided him with additional labour in the mornings. -Also he volunteered the remark that the room was popular because it was -very amusing. - -Wynne liked the room, but could not at the time comprehend in what sense -the word amusing could be associated with it. When he awoke the -following morning an explanation arose, for his ears were filled with -the sound of girls’ voices singing a merry song. - -Opening his eyes he observed through the window an apartment some twenty -feet away on the other side of the courtyard. Herein sat perhaps a dozen -little workgirls, plaiting and combing long switches of false hair. They -were employés of a perruquier, and cheerful, light-hearted souls they -appeared to be. When he sat up in bed they greeted him with the -friendliest gaiety, giving thanks that their fears that he might be dead -were not realized. - -Wynne felt a little embarrassed having to make his toilet in these -circumstances. He remained between the sheets indecisively until forced -to rise by the friendly chaffery from opposite. Then he grabbed his -clothes from the chair and ran the gauntlet to the corner of the room, -where he might dress without being observed. - -This manœuvre excited gusts of merriment, in which he found himself -joining very heartily. - -After all, why should one mind dressing before an audience? It was -ridiculous to be super-modest over such trifles. He realized with a -start that his own stock of unconventionalism was thoroughly outclassed -by these simple little midinettes, and this being so, he at once -conceived for them a very profound esteem. - -Accordingly, with a hairbrush in one hand and his braces trailing behind -him, he stepped upon the tiny balcony and said: - -“Bon jour. Je pense que vous êtes très, très douce les toutes.” - -The cordial reception accorded to this sentiment encouraged him to -further efforts. He found, however, that his stock of French was -insufficient for the needs of the occasion. After a laborious endeavour -to express appreciation for their sunny broad-minded temperaments and to -include a few words stating that his mission in life was to inculcate a -similar breadth of mind to the hide-bound pedants who infested the -world, he was compelled to stop for lack of the material to proceed. - -His merry audience, in spite of having failed to understand a single -word, cheered the speech very generously, and blew him a cloud of aerial -kisses. - - - II - -Wynne Rendall took his chocolate and immersed his roll therein with all -the skill of a Parisian, and later, in a very rapturous frame of mind, -crossed the Seine by the Pont des Arts and made his way to the Rue du -Dragon. He had no difficulty in discovering the Atelier Julien, and -addressing himself to a bearded and aproned old gentleman who sat on a -high stool in a very small office. - -He had feared there might be difficulty in gaining admission, since he -could claim no previous experience of the plastic arts, but in this his -misgivings proved groundless. It was merely a matter of paying one’s -fee—a small fee at that—and taking one’s place. - -Asked if he had any choice of masters, he shook his head. He was placed -therefore under the guardianship of Le Maître Jean Paul Laurens, a man -“both strong and brilliant,” whose studio was on the first floor. - -Since he desired to spend the day seeing Paris, and purchasing colours -and canvas, Wynne decided he would not start work until the morrow. - -“Bien; demain matin à huit heures! Très bien. Au ’voir.” - - - III - -It was splendid to reflect that he was a full-blown student of the -Quartier, thought Wynne, as with ringing steps he swung along the narrow -thoroughfares. He wished Uncle Clem had been there to witness his glory. -Never before had he felt so confident of his own personality. Rivulets -of water danced and chattered along the gutters reflecting the gladness -of his mood—the sun shone gloriously on the tall white houses. Quaint -old men with baskets of merchandise piped beseechingly on tiny horns. -Thousands of purple-dyed eggs filled the shop windows, and the -wonderful, everchanging, raffish, homely crowds chattered, gesticulated -and hurried along in ceaseless streams. - -Wynne was possessed with a foolish desire to shake hands with every one -he met, and tell them all about himself; to explain why he had come, and -to give them a glimpse of the workings of his many-sided nature. A -measure of common sense dissuaded him from so doing, but he sang as he -walked, and expanded his narrow chest to its fullest capacity. Presently -he found himself by the riverside, and hovered awhile over the -book-sellers’ stalls perched on the stone copings of the embankment. At -one of these he bought a translation of Shakespeare’s works, an old -volume of Balzac, and some paper-bound copies of the plays of Molière. -It was the first time he had rummaged among books, and the experience -was delightful. The mere touch of them sent a thrill of learning through -his being. - -For awhile he hovered by the riverside watching the energetic -steamboats—the sober barges—and the great floating warehouses moored -by the tow-path. Everywhere were people sketching—placid and -preoccupied. No crowds of curious urchins jostled around them with -stupid comments, as was always the case at home when any one had the -temerity to bring their colour-box into the open day. - -Paris respected its artists, and gave them as great seclusion out of -doors as in their own studios. Sombre sportsmen, rodded and -camp-stooled, lined the banks and strove to catch the elusive gudgeon. -It seemed as though their attention was centred anywhere but upon the -float. Their eyes rested dreamily on the spanned arches of Pont Neuf or -the flying buttresses of Notre Dame, while invisible fish in the green -waters beneath worried the bait from the hook with perfect immunity from -danger. - -To the island of Notre Dame Wynne directed his steps, and spent an hour -of sheer delight with imagination let loose. Romance breathed in the air -around him, and memory of dead things sprang to life. He pictured -himself back in Dumas’ days—with king’s men and -cardinals—swashbuckling on the footway—with masked ladies flitting -into dark doorways, and the tinkle of blade against blade from some -courtyard near at hand. - -Chance led him to enter a low, stone building by one of the bridges. All -manner of men and women passed in and out of this place, and Wynne -followed the general lead. There was a glass compartment across the far -side of the hall, before which a large crowd was assembled. A nursemaid -wheeling a perambulator, and a group of blue-smocked, pipe-smoking -ouvriers hid from view what the case contained. - -The exhibits, whatever they might be, were clearly very popular. Wynne -reflected that probably they were Napoleonic relics, or maybe the crown -jewels, when a rift in the crowd betrayed the fact that the case was -full of dead men. With heads tilted at shy and foolish angles, with -bodies lolling limply against the sloped marble slabs, the corpses of -the Seine bleared stupidly at the quick. - -It was the first time Wynne had looked on the face of the dead, and the -sight chilled him with a faint, freezing sickness. - -“Oh, God, how awful!” he muttered, and turned to go, but the way before -him was barred by fresh arrivals. “I want to get out,” he cried, but no -one heeded him. He began to struggle, when a firm hand fell on his -shoulder, and a voice, speaking with a Southern American accent, said: - -“Calm down, son. What’s the trouble?” - -Wynne looked up and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man smiling upon him. -He wore a blue serge shirt, a pair of sailor’s breeches, and no hat. His -black, sleek hair hung loosely over his left temple. - -“It’s horrible,” said Wynne. “I want to get away.” - -“Yer wrong,” came the answer. “Yer wan’ to stop. The spirit of Paris -abides in this place. There’s no intensive life without an intensive -death. Only when they come here do they realize how very much alive they -are. Sometimes I believe the Morgue is the greatest tonic in this city. -Now jest pull up and we’ll step round the cases together.” - -Wynne shook his head. - -“Yer not afraid?” - -“No, but—it seems so callous, and—I want to live—and do great -things—wonders. I don’t want to stare at a row of corpses.” - -“There’s a fellow there”—he nodded his head toward the case—“who was -an artist. He wanted to live and perform wonders too. Then he found out -that he couldn’t—found out that a dozen idle, do-nothing fellows could -outclass him at every turn. What happens? He puts a brick in pocket and -jumps. Seems to me, with your ideas, you might learn something from the -page of those cold features.” - -“All right,” said Wynne; “lead away.” - -They joined the crowd that slowly filed past the silent watchers. - -“I’m glad I saw them,” he said, as they turned once more toward the -door. “I never realized before what full-stop meant. It makes one feel -the need to get on—and on. Death is so horribly conclusive.” - -He drew a breath of air gratefully as they came into the sunlight. - -“A cure for slackers, eh?” said the American. - -“Yes—rather.” - -He was a pleasant fellow, the American, and volunteered to share a table -at lunch. - -“Painting student?” he asked. - -“I’m making a start tomorrow at Julien’s.” - -“Then pay for your drink when the Massier introduces himself, and if you -know a rorty song sing it for all you’re worth.” - -After lunch he helped Wynne buy colours, brushes, and a beautiful walnut -palette, then wished him luck and departed. - -They never met again. Paris is the place of quick friendships and -equally quick partings. Races lose their characteristic shyness under -the Paris sun. Strangers accost each other and join in day-long or -night-long festivities, exchange their most intimate thoughts, and -finally go their ways without even so much as asking each other’s names. - - - IV - -Wynne arrived at the Atelier Jean Paul Laurens at a quarter to the hour -of eight A. M. He was the first comer, and had a moment’s leisure to -survey his surroundings. The studio itself was not large, and as high as -the arm could reach the walls were plastered, generations deep, with -palette scrapings. Above in great profusion were studies from the nude, -heads and charcoal drawings in every possible mood of form and light. To -Wynne, hitherto accustomed to regard paintings as pictures, these -canvases struck a note of brutal coarseness, offending his æsthetic -sensibilities. They seemed no more than men and women stripped of their -clothing and indecently exposed. - -“God! I won’t paint like that,” he thought. - -From a great pile of easels in the corner he selected one and disposed -it a few feet away from the model’s throne; which done, he set his -palette with an infinite number of small dabs of colour. He thrust a few -brushes through the thumb-hole, and was ready to make a start when the -time arrived. - -Presently a little Italian girl, with heavy gold rings in her ears, and -a coloured kerchief over her head, came in and nodded a greeting. - -“Nouveau?” she inquired. - -“Oui,” replied Wynne. - -She smiled agreeably, and seating herself on the throne kicked her shoes -behind a screen and pulled off her stockings. - -“O-ooo!” she shivered, “c’est pas chaud.” - -She nodded toward the stove, and Wynne was glad of the opportunity to -put on some coal, since he was conscious of some small uneasiness, alone -and unoccupied while the maiden disrobed. He took as long as possible, -and when he had finished discovered that she had finished too, and was -calling upon him to provide her with a “couverture.” This he sought and -handed to her, not entirely without embarrassment. - -“Merci, Bébé,” said the Italian, and draped the old curtain around -herself. - -From the passage outside came the sound of many footsteps—a clamour of -voices, and a moment later some twenty students clattered into the -studio, with others at their heels. They were men of all ages and every -nationality—some dressed as typical art students, others as -conventionally attired as any young gentleman from Bond Street. An -impulse which they shared in common was to make a noise, and in this -they achieved a very high standard of perfection. A great variety of -sounds were produced, mostly patterned from the fowl-run or the asses’ -stall. One serious-minded and bearded boy devoted his ingenuity to -reproducing the noise of a motor horn; while another, leaping to the -model’s throne, hailed the dawn like any chanticleer. Espying Wynne’s -beautifully white canvas perched upon its easel, a red-headed Alsatian -flung a tabouret which swept all before it, and sent the new palette -planing to the floor. - -“What the devil do you mean by that?” cried Wynne, and was told to “Shut -up, you silly ass. Don’t ask for trouble,” by an English voice at the -back of the crowd. - -At this moment a very precise little Frenchman stepped forward and made -a bow. - -“Moi je suis le Massier,” he announced, and asked if Wynne were prepared -to stand a drink to the students. Twelve francs was the sum -required—payable in advance. - -The money was produced, whereat every one, including the model, who had -borrowed a long painter’s coat for the occasion, rushed from the studio. -Half the crowd became wedged in the doorway, and the other half fell -down the stairs _en masse_. Wynne was swept along by the tidal wave at -the rear, and trod on many prostrate pioneers before swinging out into -the Rue du Dragon. There was a small café fifty yards distant, and -thither they raced, sweeping every one from the pavements as they ran. -Further jostling ensued at the doors of the café, but finally every one -struggled through and found accommodation. - -A chair was set upon a table and Wynne invited to occupy it. This he did -with very great satisfaction and a kingly feeling. Busy waiters below -hurried round with trays, bearing glasses of black coffee, and a very -innocuous fluid known as “grog Americaine.” - -When all had been served the Massier called upon the “nouveau” to give a -song, and reminded him that failure to do so might result in unhappy -consequences. - -So Wynne stood upon the chair, with his head touching the ceiling, and -sang several questionable limericks at the top of his voice. Hardly a -soul understood the words, but from the spirit of their delivery they -judged them to be indecent and bawdy, and as such very acceptable to -hear. Moreover, there was a refrain in which all were able to join, and -this in itself readily popularized the effort. - -The Massier personally complimented the vocalist, and suggested that the -occasion was almost sufficient to justify a barricade. - -Cries were raised that nothing short of the barricade could be -contemplated, and in an instant all the chairs and tables from the café -were cast outside into the street. Skilled at their work, the -barricaders set one table against the other with chairs before them. The -company then seated itself and began to sing. Ladies from adjoining -houses leaned out and threw smiles of encouragement, and the traffic in -both directions ceased to flow. - -Many and strange were the songs sung, and they dealt with life and -adventure of a coarse but frisky kind. - -Thus the passers-by learned what befell an officer who came across the -Rhine, a sturdy fellow with an eye for a maid, and a compelling way with -him to wit. Some there were who glowered disapprovingly at this morning -madness, but more generally the audience were sympathetic, and yielded -to the student the right of levity. - -All would have gone well but for a surly dray-driver, who, wearying of -the hold-up, urged his hairies into the midmost table with a view to -breaking the barricade. This churlish act excited the liveliest -activity. The horses were drawn from the shafts and led forthwith into a -small greengrocer’s shop, where they feasted royally upon the carrots -and swedes basketed in abundance about them. The owner of the shop and -the driver raised their voices in protest, and their cries attracted the -attention of the patron of the café. This good man, supported by three -waiters, came forth and argued that the jest had gone far enough. - -In so doing he was ill-advised, for in Paris a kill-joy invariably -prejudices his own popularity. Some of the students formed a cordon -about the good man and his staff, while others seized the chairs and -tables and piled them on the tops of the waiting vehicles. This done -they started the horses with cries and blows, and a moment later the -furniture was careering up the street in all directions. - -“C’est fini,” said the Massier. - -The cordon broke, Monsieur le Patron and his garçons were away in -pursuit, and the students, headed by the bare-footed Italian girl in her -paint-smeared jacket, turned once more to their labours. - -Wynne was almost exhausted with laughter. It seemed impossible such -revels could be conducted by perfectly sober men before half-past eight -in the morning. Perhaps strangest of all was the suddenness with which -the robes of gaiety were discarded, for ten minutes later each man was -at his easel setting out his palette as soberly as a city clerk plays -dominoes during the luncheon hour. - - - V - -It should be stated that Wynne Rendall showed small skill as a painter. -He approached the task with a pleasant conviction that he would at least -rival if not excel the ordinary run of students. At school he had been -able to achieve clever little caricatures of masters and boys, and he -had thought to draw from life would be a simpler matter altogether. To -his chagrin he discovered that he was not able even to place the figure -roughly upon a canvas. He realized the intention of the pose, but his -efforts to convey it were futile and grotesque. - -With jealous irritation he observed how the other students dashed in the -rough constructive features of a figure with sure sense of proportion -and animation. - -“Wha’ are ye trying to do?” inquired a Scotch lad, who had abandoned his -work for the pleasure of watching Wynne’s confusion. “Mon, it’s awfu’. -Have ye no drawn from the antique?” - -Wynne was not disposed to give himself away, although the words made him -hot with shame. - -“Every one has his own method,” he retorted. - -“A’mitted, but there’s no meethod in yon. Stand awa’ a meenit.” And -before Wynne had time to protest he struck a dozen red lines upon the -canvas which gave an almost instantaneous likeness to the subject. - -“Leave it alone,” said Wynne. “It isn’t yours.” - -“I need hairdly say I’m glad. Now look ye here. Ye know naything, and a -leetle ceevil attention will profit ye.” - -He did not pay the slightest heed to Wynne’s sulky rejoinder, but, -sucking at his pipe, continued to work on the canvas with great -dexterity and skill. Presently he wearied of the occupation, and Wynne -came back to his own with a somewhat chastened spirit. - -It is an understood thing in the ateliers that every one criticizes -every one else, and supports his theories by painting on the canvas he -may be discussing. Before the day was out half a dozen different men -left their mark on Wynne’s study. The most irritating feature about this -practice was the coincidence that they always obliterated some little -passage with which he was pleased. To quote one instance, he had -succeeded rather happily in the treatment of an eye, imparting to it a -sparkle and lustre that gave him profound satisfaction. He could have -screamed with rage when the red-headed Alsatian, dipping his thumb in -some raw umber, blotted it out, saying sweetly: - -“It is not that it is an eye—it is a shadow that it should be.” - -A similar experience occurred when, a week later, the great Jean Paul -Laurens halted in amazement and disgust before his performance. - -“This,” said he, “is a series of trivial incidents, of disjointed -details! To we artists the human figure is a mass of light and shade. It -is not made up of legs and hands, and breasts, and ears and teeth. -No—by the good God, no!” - -With which he seized a brush and scrabbled a quantity of flake white -over the entire surface. - -“Good!” he said. “It is finished.” And passed on to the next. - -Thinking the matter over in bed that night Wynne realized he had learnt -a great and valuable lesson: breadth of view—visualizing life as a -whole. It was knowledge that could be applied to almost everything. -Detail merely existed as part of the whole, but the whole was not -arrived at by assembling detail. - -The same would apply, he perceived, to every art, to business, too, and -to life in general. He began to understand how it was possible for -people like Wallace and his father to have their place in the scheme of -things. They ceased to exist as individual items, brought into undue -prominence by enforced propinquity, but became parts of a great -machinery whose functions were too mighty to comprehend. These were the -shadows which gave tone-value to the high-lights. They were vital and -essential, and without them there would be no contrast, no variety, -nothing but flat levels—dull and marshy—and never a hill on the -horizon showing purple in the morning sun. - -“I must learn this trade of painting,” said Wynne, “it’s the short road -to all knowledge.” - -He flung himself into the work with an energy truly remarkable. From -early morning till midnight he battled with the craft, and thought and -talked of nothing else. In the cafés, where students met and thrashed -out their thousand ideas, Wynne was well bethought, for although his -skill with a brush was small he could advance and support a theory with -the liveliest talker in the Quartier. His success in argument was, -perhaps, not altogether of advantage to his immortal soul, since it led -him to cultivate a cynical attitude toward most affairs. He very readily -became conversant with the works of the Masters, old and new, and -praised or attacked them with great impartiality. Preferably he would -detract from accepted geniuses, and deliver the most scathing criticisms -against pictures before which mankind had prostrated itself for -centuries. One day he would admit of the value of no artist save Manet, -and another would accuse him of possessing neither skill nor artistry, -but merely “a singularly adroit knack of expressing vulgarity.” - -He did not attempt to be honest in regard to his points of view, being -perfectly satisfied so long as he could hold a controversial opinion. - -Not infrequently high words would result from these discussions, and on -one occasion a table was overset, glasses smashed, and a chair flung. -Police arrived on the scene, and Wynne and three companions spent the -night in a lockup. This he did not mind in the least, and continued to -air his views in the small hours of the morning until threatened with -solitary confinement unless he desisted. - - - VI - -On the tenth week after his arrival in Paris, Wynne’s money gave out. He -had not bothered to consider what he should do when this happened, and -as a result poverty seized him unprepared. - -To do him justice he did not bother in the least as to the future of his -bodily welfare, but was distressed beyond expression at the thought of -abandoning his studies. - -A wild idea possessed him to sell some of his future years for a few -more terms at the studio. He even went to the length of discussing the -project with the Massier. This gentleman, however, shook his head -dubiously. - -“Impossible,” he said. - -“Why?” said Wynne. “I’ll give two-thirds of all I earn for the next -three years to any one who’ll finance me now.” - -“No doubt; but, monsieur, philanthropists are few in the Quartier—and -your painting!” He made an expressive gesture. “Your paintings will -never be sold. He who gave the money would see it again—never! I am -sorry—it is sad—but what would you?” - -Wynne turned away heavy at heart and angry, and next morning his place -before the throne was vacant. - - - VII - -Of all cities in the world Paris is the least hospitable to a bankrupt. -It does not ask a man to be rich, and it does not mind if he be poor, -for the great Parisian heart is warm to either state, but for the man -who is destitute there is no place in its affections. - -Your Quartier art student is an easy-going fellow in most directions, -who will share his wine and his love with amiable impartiality, but he -is proof against the borrower’s craft, and will do anything rather than -lend money. - -Of this circumstance Wynne was already aware, and in a sense was glad -that it should be so. He was not of the kind who borrow, but had it been -easy to negotiate a loan his awkward plight might have weighed against -the maintenance of his ideals. - -As he walked up the Rue Buonaparte, his colour-box swinging in his hand, -he reflected that the moment had come to prove his fibre. Between -himself and starvation was a sum amounting to one franc fifty centimes, -barely enough to purchase a couple of modest meals. - -“This time the day after tomorrow I shall be very hungry,” he said. - -He was not alarmed at the prospect—and, indeed, he regarded it with a -queer sense of excitement. By some twist of imagination he conceived -that an adventurous credit was reflected upon himself by the very -emptiness of his pockets. Tradition showed that most of the world’s -great artists had passed through straitened circumstances, wherefore it -was only right and proper he should do otherwise. Certainly there was no -very manifest advantage in starving, but it would be pleasant to reflect -that one _had_ starved. Almost he wished he could banish the still -haunting flavour of the chocolate he had drunk at his _petit déjeuner_, -and feel the pangs of hunger tormenting his vitals. He consoled himself -with the thought that these would occur soon enough. In the meantime it -would be well to consider what line of action he proposed to take. The -impulse to do a sketch and carry it to market he dismissed at once. The -schools had taught him that whatever virtues his artistry might possess, -they were not of a saleable kind. It was therefore folly to waste his -money in buying a good canvas which would undoubtedly be spoilt. - -“No good,” he argued. “No good at all. I must do something that I can -do.” - -On the embankment he was accosted by the keeper of a bookstall which of -late he had patronized freely. - -“I have here a copy of the verses of Sully Prudhomme,” said the man, -“and the price is but one franc. Such a chance will scarcely arrive -again.” - -It was sheer bravado, but Wynne bought the little volume without so much -as an attempt to beat down the price. He felt no end of a fine fellow as -he pocketed it and strolled away. Yet, curiously enough, he had not gone -far before a panic seized him and he longed to rush back and beg for his -money to be returned. - -“That’s silly,” he told himself—“cowardly.” His hand stole to his -pocket and took comfort from the feel of the fifty centime piece which -remained. - -“If I were really a man I’d spend that too.” - -And spend it he did, but on a long loaf of stale bread which he brought -back with him to the hotel. - -He found Benoit at his interminable occupation of polishing the bedroom -floor. This duty was performed by means of a flat brush strapped to the -sole of the boot. The excellent fellow, while so employed, resembled a -chicken scratching in straw for oats. Polishing had become a second -nature to Benoit. He polished while he made beds, he polished while he -emptied slops, he polished while he indulged in his not infrequent -spells of religious rumination. - -It was in this latter state of mind Wynne found him, and for want of a -better confidant explained his unfortunate predicament. - -“Benoit,” he said, “I am ruined—utterly ruined and penniless.” - -“That,” replied the garçon, “is a pity, since I had had in mind that on -the morrow you would be giving me five francs.” - -It is the custom to give five francs to the garçon at the beginning of -each month. - -“Your chances of getting it, Benoit, are very remote.” - -“It is to be hoped you will, then, be able to give me ten in the month -which follows.” - -“I pray that it may be so. In the meantime what am I to do that I may -subsist?” - -“That is a matter which rests with the good God.” - -“Suing your pardon, I prefer to believe that it rests with me, Benoit.” - -“It is inferior! I remark that you already possess bread.” - -“It is the smaller part of my possessions.” - -“And the larger, m’sieur?” - -“Brains, Benoit—brains.” - -“For myself I had rather have of the bread, believing it to be the more -substantial blessing.” - -“Which proves, Benoit, that you speak without consideration. A fool and -his loaf are soon parted, but a wise man has that within his head which -will stock a bakery.” - -“May it prove so with you, m’sieur.” - -“A thousand thanks. But, to return to our muttons, how am I to use my -brains to best advantage?” - -“By considering the lives of the saints, m’sieur.” - -“A pious answer, Benoit, but I seek to use them to more profitable -account. When I am relieved of the immediate anxiety of prematurely -meeting these personages, I shall doubtless be better able to direct my -thoughts toward them.” - -“I can only repeat, m’sieur, that in divine consideration lies the -province of the brain. If it be the body you desire to profit, then, -beyond doubt, it is your hands must seek employment.” - -“But I have no skill of the hands, Benoit.” - -“There is no great skill required, m’sieur, to carry a basket at Les -Arles.”[1] - -“I urge you, Benoit, to avoid words of folly. Am I of the fibre to lift -crates from a market cart? And if I were, do you suppose I could adjust -my intellect to so clumsy a calling?” - -“It is better, m’sieur, to engage upon a humble task than to wallow with -the gudgeon of the Seine.” - -“Pooh! Benoit, am I a likely suicide?” - -“Given no meat, a man will drink betimes over-deeply of the water.” - -The answer and memory of a certain grotesque figure in the Morgue gave -Wynne to pause. - -“You are a cold comforter,” he said. “Have you no happier suggestion to -offer?” - -“I speak from knowledge, m’sieur. If you are destitute you must be -content with the smallest blessings.” - -“But I have intellect, Benoit, in larger measure than most. Is there no -market for intellect in this city of Paris?” - -“There will be better intellects than yours that sleep without a roof in -Paris tonight. Why should you, a stranger, look to France to buy your -thoughts?” - -“Because France alone, of all countries, holds out the hand of welcome -to Art.” - -“It may be so—and it may be in so doing she fills her own coffers. -These are matters which I do not understand, but I know well, and well -enough, that the stranger may learn an art in this city, but he cannot -sell it here. M’sieur, when your bread is eaten I would advise that you -go to Les Arles and offer your hands. There is always a value for hands, -even though it be but very small, and maybe, by using them, you would in -the end find profit for the brain.” - -“Hum!” said Wynne despondently, “of all men you are the most cheerless.” - -“But indeed no. If my mind was melancholy it was but to suit an occasion -of some sadness. Let us, if you will, speak of lighter affairs.” - -But since that line of conversation inevitably led to descriptions of -_jeunes filles_ who at one time or another had confided their affections -over-deeply to Benoit’s keeping, Wynne declined the invitation, and, -picking up his cap, descended the stairs and walked towards the Louvre. - -The discussion had done little to brighten his horizon, and he was -oppressed with misgivings as he passed through the streets. Obviously it -was absurd to attach importance to the words of an ignorant _valet de -chambre_. On the other hand, there was a degree of probability in what -he had said which could not be lightly dismissed. - -Suddenly an idea possessed him, and his spirits rose with a leap. It -occurred from the memory of a remark made by the patron of a _brasserie_ -in the Boule Miche. - -“Ah, monsieur,” he had said, “it is long since we entertained a customer -who spoke with such inspiration on so many subjects.” - -The remark had been made after a long sitting in which Wynne had held -the attention of a dozen students for several hours while he threw off -his red-hot views on art and life in general. As a result the little -absorbent mats, upon which the glasses stand, and which mark the number -of drinks each man has taken, had piled high. - -“I measure the value of conversation,” the patron had continued, “by the -amount of bock which is consumed, and tonight has surpassed all previous -records. I trust m’sieur will return many times, and place me even more -deeply in his debt.” - -“By Heaven,” thought Wynne, “I believe he’d pay me a salary to talk.” - -So greatly did the belief take hold of him that, unthinkingly, he sprang -upon a tram, only to spring off again with the recollection that he had -not the wherewithal to pay the fare. - -M. le Patron greeted Wynne with amiable courtesy, and invited him to be -seated, asking at the same time what manner of drink would be agreeable -to his taste. - -“I want nothing,” said Wynne, “but the privilege of a few moments’ -conversation.” - -“That will be delightful; then we will sit together.” - -“I do not know if you remember an evening a short while ago when I was -here.” - -“It is, indeed, one of my pleasantest recollections.” - -“On that occasion you were good enough to observe that my conversation -resulted in a marked increase in your sales of liquor.” - -“And indeed, m’sieur, it was no less than the truth. The nimbleness of -m’sieur’s wit, the charm of his address, and the adroitness of his -argument are only comparable to those of that most admirable Bohemian, -Monsieur Robinson, who, I have no doubt, is well known in England.” - -“Probably,” said Wynne, “although I have never heard of him. But to -return. I have come here today to make you a business proposition.” - -“It is very kind.” - -“Not at all. I am obliged to do something of the sort owing to financial -difficulties which have suddenly arisen.” - -“Tch-tch-tch! How very provoking.” - -It was noticeable, however, that the brow of M. le Patron had clouded, -and his sympathy was not wholly genuine. Wynne, however, was paying more -attention to himself than to the attitude of his hearer. - -“What I was about to suggest is this. Encouraged by your words of a -month ago, I am willing to occupy a table at your café each night, and -to discourse upon all the burning questions of the day. In return for -this small service and the undoubted credit it will bring to the -establishment, I put forward that you should offer me the hospitality of -free meals and a trifle of twenty francs a week for my expenses.” - -He delivered the speech with an air of cordiality and condescension -designed to introduce the offer in the most favourable light. Hearing -his words as he spoke them there remained small doubt in his mind that -the astute Frenchman would embrace the opportunity with gratitude. In -this, however, he was sadly at fault. - -“M’sieur is an original,” came the answer; “but he can hardly be -serious.” - -“I am entirely serious.” - -“Then I fear that, with due regret, I must decline.” - -“Decline? But—but the notion was originally your own. I should not have -suggested it had it not been that you—” - -“Pardon, m’sieur, I see the fault was mine, and my words evidently -placed m’sieur under a misapprehension. He will readily perceive, -however, that, as patron, it is my duty to be affable, and, although it -desolates me to confess so much, it has been my long habit to express to -all my more loquacious guests precisely the same sentiments which I -addressed to m’sieur on the evening of which he spoke.” - -“Oh! has it?” said Wynne, rather dully. “Then there’s no more to be -said.” - -“Alas! no. It is sad, but what would you? Au revoir, m’sieur.” - -“Au ’voir.” He moved a pace away, then turned. “I suppose you haven’t -any sort of job you could offer me?” - -“Unhappily!” said the patron, and turned to welcome a new arrival. - -“I shan’t give up,” muttered Wynne, as he walked moodily down the busy -boulevard. “After all, it was only a first attempt.” - -But he did not sleep very easily that night. He lay with his eyes open -in the dark and wondered what would befall him—where he would be in a -week’s time—if what Benoit had said were true. These and a thousand -perplexing fears and fancies raced and jostled through his brain. -Presently one big thought rose and dominated all the rest. - -“I mustn’t forget any of this. It is all valuable—all part of the -lesson—part of the training—part of the price which a climber has to -pay.” - -Then he thought of The Cedars, and of Wallace setting forth to the City -after a “good” breakfast. - -Wallace would have “sensible” boots, and would carry an umbrella. -Wallace would exchange views on the subject of politics or chip-carving -with other folk as sober as himself. Wallace would smirk at his -employer, and would eat a Cambridge sausage for his lunch. Wallace would -go to bed at 10.30 P. M. that he might be ready to do these things again -on the morrow. With this reflection there came to Wynne a very glorious -satisfaction. - -“I wouldn’t change with you,” he said, and turning on his side fell into -a comfortable and easy sleep. - ------ - -[1] The Covent Gardens of Paris. - - - VIII - -The sun was shining brightly when he awoke, and all the little -midinettes were in full song. - -Wynne sat up in bed and ate a piece of his bread and drank a glass of -water. Asked why he did so, he cheerfully replied, - -“Moi, je suis ruiné.” - -Whereupon the maidens laughed very heartily and said he was a droll. - -Wynne had become quite used to the little audience across the way and -scarcely took them into consideration. Women, as such, made little or no -impression upon him. He liked them well enough, but never cared to -better his knowledge or acquaintance with any with whom he had come into -contact. Physically they made not the slightest appeal to him—his -senses were inert toward the impulse of sex, and he was given to -criticize contemptuously those of his companions who staked their -emotions in the ways of passion. - -“Do not imagine I suffer from moral convictions,” he would say; “but, -according to my views, you attach an importance to these matters out of -all relation to their value.” - -The sentence had inflamed to a very high degree the student to whom it -was addressed. - -“Fool! Fish!” he had shouted, by way of argument; and again, “Fish! -Fish!” - -To a running fire of semi-serious sympathy Wynne dressed himself and -went out. In a sense he was a little distressed to sacrifice his -accustomed cup of early morning chocolate—but this, he argued, was a -matter of small concern. A plethora of victuals stagnates the mind, and -on this day he had every reason to desire a clear head. - -In the Elysée Gardens he found a bench and contracted his brow in -meditation. What, he ruminated, were the essentials required to gain a -livelihood? Obviously there was a place for every one in this world, or -mankind would not survive the ordeal of birth. There was a place for -people of every kind of intelligence—a glance at the passers-by proved -it, and proved that even the stupid may sometimes prosper. This being -so, it was obvious that the wise must prosper even more greatly. - -“What have I got to sell?” he asked himself. “What have I got that these -other people desire? What can I do that other people can’t do?” - -But though he racked his brain he could find no answer to the questions. - -After a while he rose and started to walk. He walked fast, as if to -escape from his own thoughts, and Fear, so it seemed, walked by his -side. - -“Nothing,” said Fear—“you have nothing to sell. Nobody wants -you—nobody will care if you starve.” - -“Go away,” said Wynne. “I tell you I am wanted. I say I shan’t starve.” - -“Little idiot! What have you learnt to do but sneer at the real worker? -There is no market price for sneers. Sneerers starve—starve! Who are -you to laugh at the honest people of the world?” - -“I didn’t laugh. I only pitied.” - -“How dared you pity—you, who have achieved nothing? Even that small -errand boy yonder is a worthier citizen than you—he at least earns his -ten francs a week. What have you earned? Only the wage-slave deserves to -be a freeman. What is the value of all this trash of art and æsthetics? -These are only accessories of life—life itself must be learnt before -you can deal in these.” - -“But I don’t want to be a wage-slave. I want to be a king.” - -“Kingdoms are not won by desire. You must be a subject first.” - -“I will be a king—a ruler.” - -“A beggar in a week. Come off the heights, little idiot; come down into -the plains and lay a road.” - -Wynne stopped suddenly in the great quadrangle of the Louvre. - -“Right,” he said. “I’ll be content with small beginnings, but show me -the way to find them.” - -And looking across the cobbled yard he saw three people. They were quite -ordinary, and obviously English. There was a middle-aged man with a -disposition toward side-whiskers. He carried an umbrella, and wore a -severe bowler hat. His clothes spoke of prosperity coupled with a due -regard for quiet colours. By his side walked a stout lady, in a -tailor-made dress of suburban cut. Upon her head reposed an example of -Paris millinery, and consciousness of its beauty gave her face an added -tendency to perspire. It was a new hat, and did not seem to have -sympathetic relations with her boots. People who go abroad for the first -time are apt to overestimate the probable amount of wear their -shoe-leather is likely to incur, and guard against walking barefoot by -donning boots whose sturdiness would defeat the depredations of a -Matterhorn climb. - -By the lady’s side was a youth—a very unprepossessing youth too. His -face was blotchy, almost as blotchy as his tie. His waistcoat was -double-breasted and of a violent grey. He carried a vulgar little cane -in his yellow-gloved hand. - -That the trio were strangers to the city was indisputably betrayed by -the consciousness of their manner and the elaborate precautions they -were at to look at everything. The elder man drew attention to a sewer -grating in the middle of the quadrangle, and pointed with his umbrella -at the pigeons. - -Presently they came to a halt, and produced a Baedeker, which provided -them with small enlightenment. - -“You are supposed to know French,” Wynne heard the elder man say, “then -why not ask some one how we get into the place.” - -“I can’t,” replied the son. - -“Well, all I can say is it seems a very funny thing.” - -While conversing they failed to observe the approach of an official -guide, who, complete with ingratiating smile and a parchment of -credentials, offered to pilot them round the galleries. - -At this they at once took flight, with much head-shaking and confusion, -and had the misfortune to run into the arms of two more of the -fraternity. These two importuned them afresh. - -“Certainly not,” said the paterfamilias, as though he had been asked to -participate in some very disgraceful orgy. - -An Englishman always runs away from a guide, although sooner or later he -becomes a victim. - -Being aware of this fact, one, more assiduous than the rest, followed -them closely with invitations and beseechings, and headed them toward -the spot where Wynne was standing. It was clear that the unhappy people -were greatly unnerved, and equally clear that in a moment they would -cease to retreat, and surrender. - -Perceiving this, Wynne was conceived of an idea, and as they came -abreast he brought to bear upon the guide with a quick barrage of Paris -invective. In effect his words were: “These people are my friends—get -out,” although he coloured up the phrase with some generosity. The -victory was instantaneous, and a moment later he had raised his hat and -was saying: - -“I don’t think you will be bothered any more.” - -“Very kind of you—very kind,” said the father, mopping his brow. “Great -nuisance, these people.” And the lady favoured Wynne with a grateful -smile. - -“You were about to visit the galleries?” - -“Well, we thought we’d take a look round, you know. The thing to do!” - -“Oh, quite. Are you familiar with the Louvre?” - -“Er, no—no. Can’t say we are—no.” - -“H’m. I was wondering if I should offer to conduct you.” - -“Hey? Well. Ho! I see! Not a bad idea! What do you say, Ada?” - -“It would be very nice.” - -“You do this job, then?” - -“Occasionally. Not regularly.” - -“Well, I don’t mind. Got to see the things, I s’pose.” - -“It is customary, isn’t it?” smiled Wynne. - -“Hum. How long will it take to do the place?” - -“Five years—perhaps a little less.” - -The joke was not well received, so Wynne modified it. - -“I could show you the more vital points of interest in a couple of -hours.” - -“Two hours, eh? And you’d want how much an hour?” - -Wynne considered. “Should we say five francs?” he suggested. - -“Jolly sight too much, I call it,” observed the blotchy youth, whose -name was Vincent. “Get a seat at a café chantong for that.” - -“Well, what do you say?” said the father. - -“I am silent, like the ‘G’ in _chantong_,” replied Wynne. He had begun -to feel the spice of adventure in bartering, and would not give ground. - -“We mustn’t forget we are on a holiday,” the mother reminded them. - -“Let it go,” said the father; “and I only hope it will be worth it.” - -“I can promise you it will be more than worth it,” said Wynne, and led -the way to the entrance. - -As they mounted the stairs, blotchy Vincent plucked at his sleeve and -asked, _sotto voce_: - -“I say, do you know Paris well?” - -“Intimately. Why?” - -“I only wondered.” - -He nodded toward his parents and shook his head mysteriously. - -Wynne was not entirely easy with his conscience at having accepted the -post of guide, and determined to justify himself by a great liberality -of artistic expression. He therefore began to talk with exceeding -rapidity the moment they entered the first gallery. - -“This collection is more or less mediocre, although one or two examples -are worthy of attention. This Cupid and Psyche, for instance, may at -first strike you as insipid, but it presents interesting features. You -observe how there is a far greater similarity between the sexes than we -find in nature. It is almost as though, by combining the two, the artist -sought to arrive at the ideal human form.” - -“Dare say he did,” admitted the father, rather uncomfortably, while the -mother looked with eyes that saw nothing. Blotchy Vincent, on the other -hand, pricked up his ears at the word “sex.” - -“One might sum up this school by saying they were inspired by an -hermaphroditic tendency.” - -“M’yes. Well, I don’t think we need inquire into that. -It’s—hardly—er—” - -“The same spirit is prevalent in modern French sculpture.” - -“I think we will have a look at something else.” - -“That’s a nice picture,” said Mrs. Johns—for Johns was the name of the -family. “Very nice, I call that—quiet!” - -She directed their attention toward a large canvas depicting a lady -sitting upon a couch with her legs resting straightly on its flat -surface. - -“Ah, that _is_ a nice picture,” agreed Mr. Johns. - -Vincent, however, lingered before Cupid and Psyche. It did not compare -with sundry picture postcards he had seen, but it held greater -attractions than the portrait of Madame Récamier. - -“I consider the colour is disappointing,” observed Wynne—“disappointing -and improbable. When one comes to consider that Madame Récamier held in -her day the most popular Salon in Paris, and reflects that to do so she -must inevitably have been demimondaine of the demimondaine, one is -justified in expecting an added brilliance to the cheeks and an added -scarlet to the lips.” - -Hereupon Mr. Johns favoured Wynne with a warning look, which he was -pleased to ignore. - -“This particular canvas is illustrative of what somebody—I think Samuel -Butler—said, that a portrait is never so much of the sitter as of the -artist. Shall we take some of the older masters next?” - -He led the way to an inner gallery, the Johns family trooping behind -him. As they passed through the arched doorway Mr. and Mrs. Johns -exchanged glances as though to say: - -“I think we have made a great mistake introducing this young man into -our God-fearing midst!” - -Before the canvases of the Old Masters Wynne expanded his views with -great liberality. Correggio and Botticelli were favoured with a kindly -mention, Rembrandt was patted on the back, and Raphael severely -criticized. An ill-advised appreciation of a canvas by Jordeans brought -upon Mr. Johns a vigorous attack: - -“Oh, believe me, very second-rate indeed. A mere copyist of Rubens, who, -himself, in no way justified the position of being a target at which a -self-respecting artist should aim. Here is a Titian now—” - -“Oh, really!” said Mrs. Johns. “I’ve often heard of Titian red. Do you -see, father, that’s a Titian.” - -“Oh yes,” said Mr. Johns, consulting his catalogue. “So it is. Seems -good!” - -“Very wonderful how the colours last so long. Isn’t it pretty, Vincent?” - -“I don’t know,” said Vincent, who was very bored. “Dare say it’s all -right.” - -“I wonder,” remarked Wynne, “if you can detect the fault in that -picture.” - -Mr. and Mrs. Johns half closed their eyes, by which means they fondly -believed faults were more easily detected. After much consideration they -produced the joint statement that it looked “a little funny—I don’t -know!” - -“The fault lies in the fact that there are no faults—which, to my way -of thinking, is very heinous.” - -“That sounds nonsense to me,” said Mr. Johns, who was getting heartily -sick of the whole exposition. - -“Not at all. There must be impurity to emphasize purity. Where would the -Church be were it not for sinners? What would be the worth of virtue if -there were no vice? Therefore I contend that nothing is so imperfect as -perfection.” - -Carried away by his own arguments, Wynne hurried his charges along to -Leonardo’s “Baptist.” - -Here he drew breath and started to speak afresh. - -“An amazingly happy performance—instinct with life, saturated with -humour. You notice the same classic tendency towards sexlessness? In my -opinion this is all a painting should be. There is something -astonishingly compelling in every line of the form and features.” - -“She is certainly very pleasant-looking,” said Mrs. Johns. “Who was the -young lady?” - -“John the Baptist, madam.” - -At this Mr. Johns very properly interposed with: - -“I don’t tolerate jokes about the Bible, young man.” - -Even Vincent looked as though he expected Wynne to be struck down by -some divine and correcting hand. Mrs. Johns was frankly horrified. - -“Look at your catalogue,” said Wynne. - -This advice Mr. Johns accepted, but even the printed words failed to -convince him. - -“If that’s John the Baptist,” he remarked, “all I can say is that it’s -not _my_ idea of John the Baptist.” - -“What is your idea, sir.” - -“An elderly gentleman with a beard.” - -“With all respect, I think Leonardo’s is preferable. Youth is more -appealing than middle age. These half humorous, wholly inspired features -would lose the greater measure of their attraction if the lower part of -the face were covered with hair.” - -“I don’t agree with you, and I don’t consider the subject at all a -proper one,” said Mr. Johns sternly. “As for that picture, I am very -sorry I’ve seen it.” - -It is probable Wynne would have answered hotly had not Vincent advanced -a suggestion: - -“Why don’t you and the mater sit down for ten minutes,” he said. “This -Mr.—er—can take me round for a bit.” - -“I’d like to rest my feet,” admitted Mrs. Johns; “the leather has begun -to draw.” - -So Wynne and Vincent entered the next gallery together. - -“My people are all right, you know,” said Vincent; “but they are a bit -off in Paris, you know.” - -“Oh, really.” - -“Yes. _You_ know! Isn’t there anything a bit more lively we can see? I -don’t think a lot of these Old Masters—damned if I do.” - -Wynne had to bear in mind that he was the servant of these people, and -accordingly he replied, civilly enough: - -“Perhaps you’d like the more modern school better.” - -“I thought French painting was a bit livelier, but it seems about as dud -as the Liverpool Art Gallery. Aren’t there any more of those figure -pictures?” - -“Nudes?” - -“That what you call ’em?” - -“That is what they are called.” - -“Let’s have a look at some, anyway.” - -“We’ll go through here, then, and I’ll show you ‘La Source.’ It is -considered remarkable flesh painting, although I don’t care for it very -particularly.” - -As they turned to the modern side, Vincent dropped his voice, and said: - -“Pretty hot, Paris, isn’t it?” - -“I’ve never been here in the summer,” replied Wynne, an answer which -made his companion laugh very heartily. - -“You are not giving much away, are you?” he mocked. - -“There,” said Wynne; “this is ‘La Source.’” - -He halted before Ingres’ masterpiece—the slim figure of a naked girl, a -tilted pitcher on her shoulder, from which flows a fall of greeny-white -water. - -“Remarkable, perhaps, but not art.” - -“No,” said Vincent, “I don’t like it either, you know. I see what you -mean—it isn’t spicy enough, is it?” - -“Spicy?” - -“Yes—you know. Look here, I was wanting a chance to speak to you alone. -I’ve got a bit of money.” - -“You are more fortunate than I.” - -“I don’t mind you having a bit of it.” - -“Oh.” - -“The mater and pater get to bed by 10 o’clock, and I could easily slip -out after that.” - -“It ought not to be difficult.” - -“We could meet, I thought, and you could show me round a bit. See what -I’m driving at?” - -“No. What _are_ you driving at?” - -“I want to see a bit of life, and you’re the chap to show it me.” - -And suddenly Wynne became very angry, so angry that his face went pink -and white in turns. - -“What the hell do you mean?” he exploded. “Do you take me for a -disorderly house tout?” - -“Shut up—don’t shout.” - -“You dirty, pimply— Good God!” - -“If you call me names you won’t get your money.” - -“Money!” cried Wynne. “D’you think I’d take money from any one who begat -a thing like you. Clear out, get away, and tell your father, when next -he thinks he’d like a son, to blow out his brains instead.” - -Thrusting his hands in his empty pockets, and tossing his head from side -to side, Wynne stamped furiously from the gallery and down the steps to -the courtyard below. - -It was two hours before he recovered an even temper, and then he -surprised many passers-by by stopping in the middle of the Rue de Rivoli -and shouting with laughter. - -“One up to my immortal soul,” he cried. “And now for Les Arles!” - - - IX - -For well-nigh eighteen months Wynne Rendall, seeker of eminence, -destroyer of symmetry, professor of æsthetic thought, worked with his -hands in little byways of the unfriendly city. - -He had come to look on Paris as the unfriendly city, for very shabbily -she served him after his money gave out. They laughed at his frail -stature and careful, elegant speech when he sought work in the Covent -Garden of the French capital, and it was a desperately gaunt and hungry -boy who at last found employment in a small _pâtisserie_ somewhere in -the neighbourhood of Boulevard Magenta. Things had gone so ill with him -that he was rocking on his heels, staring greedily at the cakes in the -pastry-cook’s window like any starving urchin. He did not notice the -printed card, “Youth wanted,” which stood among the trays. A stout woman -behind the counter saw and beckoned him to enter. - -“You look hungry,” she said. - -“I am.” - -Even short sentences were difficult. - -“D’you want work?” - -“I want to eat.” - -“Eating is for people who work. Would you care for a place here, -delivering bread? I need some one.” - -“I could not be trusted with a loaf,” he said, and fainted. - -The stout lady was comparatively kind. She threw water over his face, -and when he came to, gave him coffee, a piece of sausage, and some -bread. She allowed him to finish, and then told him very plainly he -might express gratitude by accepting the post of errand boy at a small -wage. - -To Wynne it seemed that any wage was acceptable which could be earned in -an atmosphere so rich in odours of cooked corn. He said “Yes” almost -before she had framed the offer. Later he repented, for the hours of -labour were incessant, the food scarce, and the room in which he slept -was dirty, damp, and ill-ventilated. Of his weekly earnings, when he had -bought himself cigarettes and paid back a certain proportion for -lodging, there remained little or nothing. Books, which had hitherto -been the breath of life to him, were of necessity denied. Very -occasionally he scraped together a few coppers and bought some dusty, -broken-backed volume which he scarcely ever found leisure to read. He -was too physically fatigued at night for reading, and during the day was -kept continually on the run. - -He did not stay with the stout lady for long, but the changes he made -were rarely of great advantage. Once he found employment at a small -stationer’s, which bade fair to prove pleasanter, but from here he fled -precipitately on account of the amorous importunities of the stationer’s -younger daughter. She, poor child, had lost the affections of a certain -artisan, who lodged in the same house, and sought to regain them by -exciting jealousy. In the pursuance of this time-worn device she -proposed to sacrifice Wynne, and was prepared to go to no mean lengths -in order to give the affair a colourable pretence of reality. Wherefore -Wynne ran, not so much from the probable fury of the artisan as from a -vague fear which he did not entirely understand. - -After this episode he became a waiter—or, to be exact, a wine boy. In -this branch of employment he was rather happier, although much of it -proved irksome and distasteful. He found that a waiter is allowed, and -even encouraged, to possess a personality. In the other callings in -which he had worked personality was condemned, but customers welcome an -individual note in a waiter. It helps them to identify him among his -similarly arrayed companions, and affords them opportunity for a lavish -expenditure of wit and sarcasm not always in the best taste. - -For the first time Wynne was able to save a little money, which he put -by towards paying the price of a passage to England. He had decided to -leave Paris as soon as he had accumulated enough to pay the cost of -travel. In this matter, however, a certain inconsistency forced him to -remain. He would save the best part of the two pounds required, and, a -day or so before departure, would yield to an irresistible impulse and -spend several francs on the purchase of a book. He did this about a -dozen times altogether, and although the habit formed the nucleus of a -library, it postponed his departure indefinitely. - -At last he had in his possession the required sum, and determined to -leave Paris at the close of the week, but certain pneumonic cocci -floating in the atmosphere and seeking a human abiding place, had other -plans for him, and by the Sunday morning, high-temperatured and -semi-conscious, he lay in his bed with a perilously slender hold upon -life. - -M. le Patron had been aware of Wynne’s intention to depart, and had been -wishful of retaining his services. Without Wynne it would be impossible -for an honest man to display in his window the legend “English spoken,” -an announcement which stimulated trade among foreigners. - -Accordingly he put himself to the trouble of engaging a doctor, whose -injunctions in regard to the treatment of the invalid he very faithfully -followed. It should be stated that he was no less faithful in recording -the out-of-pocket expenses incurred, which at the close of a six weeks’ -illness were presented to Wynne in the manner of a debt. - -“It will now be necessary that you shall remain until this sum is -restored to me,” he said. “I am generous not to have increased the -liability, for times were many when it seemed that I had incurred upon -myself the cost of a burial.” - -Wynne reckoned that the least time in which he could reasonably hope to -clear the score would be from three to four months, and raised his voice -in protest. - -“But my career, monsieur—what will become of my career?” - -Money is one of the few things a Frenchman takes seriously; in nearly -all other matters he is possessed of an enchanting elasticity. Wynne’s -lamentations were heard without sympathy. - -“The debt must be discharged,” said M. le Patron. - -So once more Wynne donned his evening clothes with the break of day, -once more a serviette swung from the bend of his arm. - -Strange to say menial service did not break his spirit or lessen his -conceit. There are certain compensations in the life of a waiter if he -be an observant fellow. Many and various are the types in which he comes -into contact, and there is no surer way of fathoming the character of -man than is afforded by watching him at his meat. - -To a certain extent Wynne took a pride in his waiting, and made an -especial study of the craft. It amused him to “bank” his corners -perilously with a pile of plates on his hand; it amused him to whip off -the cover of an omelette and introduce it most exquisitely to its future -consumer; it amused him to theorise on a customer’s likely choice of -wine, and to suggest the vintage as he handed the card. But most of all -it amused him to reflect that he, Wynne Rendall, was a waiter. Not for -an instant did it occur to him that, up to this point, his achievements -had not merited his occupation of a more illustrious position. In the -back of his head was a comfortable assurance that he was a very -important and valuable person, and this being so, that it was -exceedingly droll for him to minister to the wants of the vulgar-minded. - -He acquired the habit of jotting down his daily thoughts on odd scraps -of paper as he lay in bed at night, and some of these would have made -good reading had they been preserved. Also they would have served to -show very clearly the streak of egoism which outcropped his entire -personality. Occasionally he flew to verse of a style and metre very -much his own. - -Here is an example: - - “Garçon!” - In black and white I serve their bellies’ need, - Paid with a frown, a curse, a penny in the franc. - Will they thank - Me with a smile, when, playing on my reed, - I bid them hear, and from my cathedra - Their silly loves and lusts, dull thoughts and empty creed, - In black and white I show them as they are? - -The verse in itself has few merits, but it afforded him a sense of -luxury to produce such lines. He felt as a king might feel who lay -hidden in a hovel, conscious of greatness in little places. - -To his brother waiters Wynne was ever remote and a shade cynical. He -laughed at, but never with them, and affected a tolerant attitude which -they found far from endearing. Occasionally one of the sturdier would -attempt to bully him, but in this would seldom prosper. A Frenchman, as -a rule, bullies with his tongue rather than his hands, and Wynne’s -tongue was ever ready with a lightning counterstroke. These passages -were in some respects a repetition of the old schoolday affairs, and -since he never forgot a lesson he was well armed to defend himself. - -And so the weeks dragged into months and the debt gradually diminished. - - - X - -One bright spring morning, some two years after his arrival in Paris, -Wynne received a surprise. A broad-shouldered figure came under the -shadow of the awning and seated himself at one of the small round -tables. - -“It’s Uncle Clem!” gasped Wynne to himself. He straightened his -waistcoat and went outside. - -“M’sieur!” he said. - -“Un bock,” came the reply. - -Unrecognized, Wynne retired and returned a moment later with a glass -tankard which he set upon the table. - -“Beau temps, m’sieur!” - -“Ah, oui!” - -“Just such another day as the one we spent in Richmond Park together.” - -The big Englishman turned his head and raised his eyes sharply. - -“Good Gad! It’s the Seeker!” he exclaimed. His hand shot out, enveloped -Wynne’s, and wrung it furiously. “Sit down! What the devil are you up -to?” - -“Waiting,” Wynne smiled; “but I haven’t given up hope.” - -“Splendid—and this is fine”—he tweaked the apron. “Serious?” - -“Oh, very.” - -“A man now, eh?” - -“Something of the kind.” - -“Fine! though why the hell you couldn’t let us know what had become of -you—” - -“Touch of pride, Uncle Clem. I neither wanted to please my people nor -disappoint you.” - -“Ah, now, now, now! None of that—none of it. They wouldn’t gloat and I -might have helped.” - -Wynne seated himself thoughtfully. - -“Yes, I think that’s true; but I wonder if you believe me when I say -that never once has it crossed my mind as a way out of the difficulty. -When I left home I left finally, not experimentally. If my father were -to see me as I am now he would say I had slipped down hill, but I -haven’t—I haven’t. Downhill I may have gone with a bit of rush, but I’m -gathering impetus all the time, getting up weigh for the climb ahead. -You see that, don’t you? This is all to the good, isn’t it?” - -There was an honest, genuine sincerity in the way he spoke. - -“Every time. All to the good. I should say it is. Hullo! who the devil -is this?” - -“This” was M. le Patron, highly incensed at the sight of one of his -waiters sitting at a table. - -“Ça fait rien,” began Uncle Clem. Then to Wynne, “Oh, you tell him it’s -all right; tell him I’m your uncle—say you’re coming out for the -afternoon. Here’s ten francs. Get your hat, and shove that damned dicky -in your pocket. Tell the old fool he’s a good fellah and to go to the -devil.” - -A certain amount of foregoing advices were translated, and M. le Patron, -placated by the ten-franc note, granted Wynne leave of absence and -conversed affably with Uncle Clem while Wynne mounted the stairs and -changed his coat. - -“Come on,” said Uncle Clem. “Let’s get somewhere where we can talk.” - -He hailed a fiacre and they drove to the Bois de Boulogne. Here they -alighted, and sprawled upon the grass beneath a tree. - -“Now let’s have the story from the word Go.” - -So Wynne wound himself up and reeled off all his experiences in the -unfriendly city. Once or twice during the recital Uncle Clem frowned, -and once or twice looked at his nephew in some perplexity, but in the -main he nodded encouragement or gave little ejaculations of praise. - -“Plucky enough,” he remarked at the close. - -“I wonder sometimes. Is it plucky merely to fight for existence?” - -“Did you merely fight for existence—was there no impulse behind it -all?” - -“Yes, the impulse to do and to know has helped me over the stonier -parts.” - -“The painting was not a success, eh?” - -“It isn’t my medium.” - -“Have you found out what is?” - -The question was hard to answer. It would sound futile to reply, -“Writing,” when one had but a few occasional jottings on the back of -envelopes to substantiate the claim. - -“I haven’t had much time,” said Wynne, ruefully. - -“Of course not. After all, the medium doesn’t matter—it’s the motive -that counts. Have you determined on your motive?” - -“I have learnt enough to show people what they are.” - -“Then don’t. That’s a cynic’s task, not an artist’s.” - -“Sometimes I think that one is but another name for the other.” - -“Not it. An artist shows people what they might be.” - -“Yet many have climbed to the peaks” (he was too self-conscious and -diffident, with added years, to say the Purple Patch) “by holding up a -mirror.” - -Uncle Clem shook his head. - -“A mirror should only reflect beautiful folk,” he replied. “There are -better things than to be a man with a camera.” - -“I sometimes wonder if there are.” - -“Don’t wonder. Beauty is not to be found by sorting out dustbins. Beauty -is in the woods, Wynne. Listen! You can hear the leaves in the tree -above us whispering of her, and the little waves in the pool yonder, are -leaping up lest they should miss her as she passes by. Can’t you feel -the wonder of her everywhere, now in the spring, when she leaps splendid -from her winter hiding? D’y’know, when April’s here I throw open my -window and look up into the blue and then I see her riding on a cloud. -You know the kind of cloud—the great white sort, which brings the -summer from the seas. Ha! Yes, and I shout my homage as I brush my hair, -and sometimes my poor man Parsons thinks I’m cracked. But what’s the -matter if she smiles—for she’s a smiling lady if ever there was one, -and her breath is like a breeze which is filtered through a copse of -violets.” - -“Oh Lord, you are just the same old Uncle Clem as ever,” laughed Wynne. - -“Damn your eyes,” came the colloquial rejoinder—“if you’re not -patronizing me!” - -“Not I. Believe me, I wouldn’t have you different, but perhaps I’ve -changed a bit, and these dream pictures aren’t so real as they were.” - -“Then make ’em real—they’re worth it.” - -Wynne hesitated, then said: - -“I’m beginning to see the world as it is, and it doesn’t look like that -any longer. I see it as a vast machine built up of cranks and gears, and -bolts and cogs—some odd, but mostly even. A thing of wheels and -reciprocal activity, for ever revolving and for ever returning to the -point from which it started. It’s hard to believe in fairies when one -thinks like that.” - -“Then don’t think like that, or, if you do, think of the energy that -moves the machine—that’s where the mystery and the essence lie. The -wheels are nothing—it is the power which drives ’em that counts. Why, -heavens above! that should be the task for you, and such as you—to find -and refine the essence, to know and increase the power. For God’s sake -don’t scorn a thing because it goes round, but give it a push that it -may revolve faster. That’s the job! and a fine job too. It’s easy to -acquire cheap fame by jeering at a man because he goes to bed at night -and gets up in the morning—easy—but no good. Give him something to get -up early for and sleep the better for; that’s the way to earn your own -repose.” - -“And you were the man who first showed me a satyr,” said Wynne. - -“And I was the man who told you of the Purple Patch,” came the reply. - -“I know, and I shall get there in the end.” - -“But not by being of the clever ones. They sit on the lower slopes. They -bark—they don’t sing.” - -“Up against intellect now?” - -“I’m against obvious intellect all the time, because it’s perishable. -Look here, I may not make myself clear, but of this I am sure—a great -man is not great because he is clever, but he is clever because he is -great. The cleverness of the clever is merely an irritant. For a season -it may tickle the public palate, but it will never endure.” - -“And how does a man become great?” - -“By the strength of his ideals. Ideals never perish because they are -never wholly realized—besides, they spring from other causes.” - -“And what is the fountain of ideals?” - -“Feeling—human feeling. Don’t you know that—yet?” He turned a -penetrating glance on his nephew. “Never been in love?” - -Wynne coloured slightly. - -“No,” he replied, “I’ve never been in love.” - -“Then be in love.” - -“But that’s rather—” - -“No it ain’t. You must be in love—it’s God’s great education to -mankind. A man knows nothing of himself, or of anything else, unless he -is a lover. Happy—wretched—sacred or profane—love is the mighty -teacher. What the devil d’you mean by never having been in love?” - -Wynne laughed. “Couldn’t I ask the same question of you?” he asked. - -“No, you couldn’t, for I always am. Ah, I may not be married—and that -is a great blessing for some poor dear unknown—but I’m always in love. -Sometimes it’s a girl with whom I have never exchanged a word, sometimes -a dead queen or a goddess of ancient times, and sometimes in silly, -sordid ways which lonely men will follow. But the spark of love that is, -or the spark of a love that was, I keep for ever burning. What sort of -life do you imagine mine would be without it?” - -“Isn’t there a difference,” said Wynne. “You’re not a striver—you are -content—” - -“Yes, I’m a loafer—a dilettante—who whistles his song of praise in the -country lanes—but—” - -“The country lanes are the lover’s lanes; there is no time for love in -the great highways. How does the line go? ‘He travels fastest who -travels alone.’” - -Uncle Clem rose and, stretching out a hand, pulled Wynne to his feet. - -“He may travel fast,” he said, “but he don’t get so far. Come on! What -do you think—lunch chez Fouquet?” - -They made a very excellent déjeuner at the pleasant little restaurant -under the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe, and when it was over, and Uncle -Clem had produced two delicate Havana cheroots, the conversation turned -to Wynne’s future. - -“You’ve done enough of this waiting business,” he said. “Better come -back with me at the end of the week.” - -“Sorry,” said Wynne, “but it won’t run to it yet.” - -“Well, I’m your uncle—so that’s that, ain’t it?” - -“It’s that as far as the relationship goes, but no farther.” - -“D’you mean you won’t be helped?” - -“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful.” - -“But look here—” - -“Don’t make me,” pleaded Wynne. “It would be so easy that way.” - -“But it’s all nonsense. You’ve proved your mettle—no harm relaxing a -trifle.” - -“I have proved my mettle to the extent of being a waiter,” said Wynne, -“and that isn’t as far as I want my mettle to carry me.” - -“You might be here for years.” - -“Perhaps. It will be my fault if I am. I have to prove my right to -climb. Help would disprove it.” - -“’Pon my soul I admire your pluck.” - -“It’s all you do admire, isn’t it?” - -“Ah, get away with you! I talk a lot, that’s all; but I’ve a mighty -strong conviction that you’ll do.” - -“I’ll do _and_ do,” said Wynne. “Maybe you won’t approve, but I hope you -will.” - -“I hope so, and believe so—for the elements are yours—but I shan’t -tell you so if I don’t.” - -With which somewhat cryptic remark they parted. Wynne had not gone very -far down the street, however, before he was overtaken by a somewhat -breathless Uncle Clem, who said: - -“But, for God’s sake, fall in love if you can.” - - - - - PART FOUR - THE PEN AND THE BOARDS - - - I - -The manner of Wynne’s return to England was fortuitous. It resulted from -the remark of a chance customer at the little restaurant. - -“I wish to heaven you’d come right down to one of my rehearsals, young -man, and show the Gordam idiot I’ve engaged how a waiter waits.” - -The speaker was a Cockney impresario who had come to Paris to collect a -few French revue artistes for a scene in a London production. - -“I’ll come and play the part if you like,” replied Wynne. - -The little man scrutinized him closely. - -“Some idea!” he ejaculated (he had a habit of employing American -expressions). “But could you realize your own personality?—that’s the -point.” - -“Good God! you don’t imagine this is my personality,” came the reply. -“This is as much a performance as any of Sarah Bernhardt’s.” - -“Durn me, but I believe you.” - -As a result Wynne took the evening off without permission, and made his -first acquaintance with the histrionic art. Being in no way affected -with nervousness he did not attempt to do otherwise than portray a -waiter as a waiter actually is. The producer acclaimed the performance -with delight. He sacked the other probationer, and gave Wynne a contract -for two months at a salary of two pounds five shillings a week. - -“If I am to come with you I shall want five pounds down to discharge a -debt,” said Wynne. - -The impresario grumbled somewhat, but since he was paying thirty -shillings a week less than he had anticipated, and was getting a vastly -superior article, he finally agreed. - -So Wynne signed the contract, pocketed the notes, and went to break the -news to his employer. - -M. le Patron was not stinting in the matter of abuse. He condemned Wynne -very heartily for lack of devotion to his welfare, upbraided himself for -misplaced generosity, offered him an increased wage to remain, and -finally—protest proving useless—shook hands and wished him every kind -of good fortune. - -Four days later found the little company of players waiting for the -outgoing train at the Gare du Nord. To Wynne there was something -tremendously portentous in the moment. To find seclusion for his -thoughts he walked to the extreme end of the platform, where it sloped -down to the line, and here, to the unlistening ears of a great hanging -water-pipe, he bade farewell to the Unfriendly City. - -“One of these days I shall return,” he spoke aloud; “one of these days -you will stretch out your hands to welcome me.” - -And the little Cockney impresario who had followed him, fearful lest he -should try to escape with the five pounds, touched his shoulder, and -said: - -“Studying your part, son?” - -“Always,” came the answer. - - - II - -They arrived in London about half-past six the same evening, and Wynne -could not help smiling as he noticed how all the good people were -hurrying homeward from their work as though their lives depended upon -expedition. As he came from the station he observed how they fought for -places on the omnibuses, and jostled down the steps to the tube -stations. - -In Paris one is never conscious of that soundless siren which bids -mankind close the ledger and lock the office door. The Parisian does not -appear to be in any immediate hurry when work is over. He stays awhile -to converse with a friend, or takes his _petit verre_ under the shade of -a café awning. - -Wynne reflected that the English must be a very virtuous race to exert -so much energy to arrive home. He recognized that the old goddess of -punctuality was still at work, and that the popular craving to be at a -certain place at a certain time, which had galled him so much as a boy, -was no false imagination. - -“They are still in a hurry—still tugged along by their watch-springs,” -he thought. - -As he watched the tide of hastening humanity he became suddenly aware -that he was glad that it should be so—glad for a personal reason. - -Routine which formed so national a characteristic argued a nation whose -opinions, once formed, would endure. - -To be accepted by such a people would mean to inherit an imperishable -greatness. - -“Presently,” he thought, “these people will accept me as essential to -their lives. I shall be as necessary to them as the 8.40 from Sydenham. -They will no more miss me than they would miss their breakfasts.” - -At this point the little impresario once more broke in upon his -reflections. - -“Ten o’clock rehearsal tomorrow,” he said. Then with severity, slightly -diluted with humour, “No slipping off, mind. Feel I ought to keep an eye -on you till that debt’s wiped off.” - -It is hard for any one to maintain glorious views as to the future while -the present holds a doubt as to his probity in the matter of a -five-pound note. - -For the second time in his life Wynne occupied the bedroom in the little -Villers Street hotel. The good lady proprietress said she really did not -remember if he had stayed there before or not, but she “dared say” he -had. It was the sight of apparently the same uncooked sirloin surrounded -by apparently the same tomatoes which had lured Wynne back to the little -eating-house. - -At dinner he conversed with the waiter upon technical subjects, and gave -his views upon perfection in the art of waiting. The worthy fellow to -whom these were addressed was not greatly interested however. He was -glad to converse with any one skilled in his native tongue, but a long -sojourn in the British Isles had given him taste for a meatier -conversational diet, and he preferred the remarks of two men at another -table who exchanged views relative to Aston Villa’s chances in the Cup -Tie. - -In consequence Wynne was left to his own thoughts, which, on this -particular night, he found both pleasant and companionable. It was good -to feel that at last he would be earning a livelihood by means of an -Art, and a good Art too. Not so good, perhaps, but that it might not be -a great deal better. In the few rehearsals he had already attended he -had noted some glaring conventions and very grave stupidities, which he -vowed in the future he would eradicate. The position of producer—a -calling of which hitherto he had hardly been aware—suggested, of a -sudden, illimitable possibilities. - -The producer was the man with the palette and brushes, and the artistes -were merely tubes of colour, to be applied how and where they would give -the best result. There was no end to what a producer might achieve, and -perhaps no better medium for conveying ideas to the public mind than -through the stage. - -And just as Wynne had said, nearly two years before, “I must learn this -trade of painting,” he now determined to master the art of acting in all -its variations. - -“But I must write, too,” he thought, “and read and work all the time.” - -He passed a hand across his forehead and exhaled noisily. Great are the -responsibilities which a man will take upon his shoulders! - - - III - -At the outset of his career as an actor Wynne found much to disappoint -him. He learnt that brains and application do not necessarily result in -stage success. - -Among all the actors he met it was all too often the case that the most -intelligent were the least successful. Personality and notoriety -outweighed intellect. Even the most egregious ass, provided he was -representative of a certain type, prospered exceedingly, while the -really clever ones languished in the understudy room or formed -unspeaking props to hang clothes upon. - -A man needs to be on the stage some while before he can appreciate that -casting and the box office are the chief considerations in a producer’s -mind. It is easier and more satisfactory to engage a fool to play a fool -than to ask a wise man to turn his wisdom to folly. Also it is a shrewd -business stroke to give the public some very rapturous feminine vision -to behold rather than give the part to some lady whose brain has a -greater claim to admiration than her features. The world forgives -stupidity when offset by loveliness—or even by a hint of subtle -scandal—but a very high standard of intellectual perfection is required -before the world will ignore a youth which has passed. - -Taking these matters into consideration, Wynne was constrained to -believe that if theatre-goers were blind, and men gave up talking of -matters which concerned them not, there would be an immediate demand for -a class of actors, and particularly actresses, of a far higher mental -quality than heretofore. - -Regarding acting as an Art he had more admiration for the surviving -members of the old school, who handed over their lines with an -assumption of great importance, than he entertained for the scions of -the new. - -“You, at least, do something,” he observed to one old fellow, in a drama -company of which he had become a member. “You do something, and do it -deliberately.” - -“That’s so, my boy—that’s so,” came the mightily satisfied endorsement. - -“These moderns do nothing but realize their own ineffability.” - -“It’s true—it’s too true!” - -“And of course the worst of it is what you do is utterly -useless—utterly false—and utterly wrong—” - -“Eh?” A stick of grease-paint fell to the floor. - -“Whereas what they fail to do is, in the general sense, absolutely -right.” - -Remarks of this kind do not make for popularity. This, however, did not -concern Wynne in the least. He had acquired the habit of talking rather -less than he was used to do. The thoughts and convictions which at one -time had bubbled to the surface he now mentally noted and preserved. He -felt, in the pride of his egoism, that it was not wise to give away his -ideas in conversation to the more or less trivial people with whom he -came into touch. - -It was otherwise when one of the more successful members of the company -deigned to exchange a few remarks, for then he would bring all his -mental batteries to work with a view to prove to them how vastly -inferior they actually were. - -One or two engagements were lost through the exercise of this habit, and -several straitened and penniless periods resulted. Twice in three years -Wynne left the stage, but from circumstance or inclination gravitated -back again. He was always able to earn two pounds to two pounds ten a -week playing small character parts, and if his attitude had been a shade -more congenial it is probable he would have done still better. - -As a character actor he was singularly faultless and singularly -conscientious. He possessed a remarkable facility for submerging his own -personality and throwing off tiny portraits of different types, which -were recognizable to the minutest detail. In the performance of these he -took special pride, but if the producer interfered or made any -suggestions he was truculent to a degree, and fought for his rendering -with tiresome constancy. - -“It isn’t as if your suggestion would be in the least improving, -and—good God!—if I am not to be trusted alone with eight lines, why on -earth engage me?” - -This remark was fired at a super-eminent producer before an entire West -End company, and brought back from the black void of the auditorium: - -“Would you please draw a fortnight’s salary from the business manager, -Mr. Rendall, and return your contract?” - -He left the theatre straight away, and did not attempt to draw the -salary. In the sunshine outside he was overtaken with a masterful desire -to cry: - -“They shan’t lead me—they shan’t! they shan’t!” - -It was the wail of a little boy rather than of a man who fain would be a -king. - -He returned to his room in Endell Street and flung himself face downward -on the bed, where he lay with heaving shoulders for a long, long while. -Presently he turned round and sat bolt upright. - -“Everybody is against me, and I’m against everybody.” - -On the table before him was a heap of books and a pile of papers, odd -jottings, queer little articles, scraps of poetry written in the -after-theatre hours. With a sudden fury he kicked at the table-leg and -sent them tumbling and fluttering to the floor. - -“Why do I hate the world when I want to exalt it? Oh, God—God—God! -Damn this room! Oh, I’m lonely, I am so—so horribly lonely!” - -He went and stood in the corner, rested his head on the faded wallpaper, -and sniffed: - -“I’m lonely—lonely—lonely—lonely—lonely! I don’t think I’m very -strong—I think I’m ill—ill and lonely—lonely and ill—very ill, and -very lonely!” - -Then suddenly he burst out laughing: - -“Fool!—idiot!—I’m all right! Papers all over the place. Pick ’em up. -What’s all this rot about?” He read a few lines in his own handwriting: -“A good sort is the type of man with whom we trust our sisters—a bad -sort is the type of man with whom our sisters trust themselves!’ -Epigram! Too long! ‘A sport is a man who says Cherio, and carries his -brains in a cigarette case.’ Necktie would be better. Oh! what’s the -good of writing this rubbish? What am I going to do now?” - -He snatched a hat and went out. Presently he found himself in Pen and -Ink Square, with the ceaseless grumble of the news-producing engines -throbbing in the air. Before him was a doorway over which was written -“_The Oracle_.” He knew “_The Oracle_” for a democratic organ which -shrieked obscenely at the politics and morals of the country—under the -guise of seeking to purify, it contrived to include in its columns some -very prurient matter, without which its sales would have been even -smaller than they were. - -Wynne walked straight in, mounted some stairs, and beholding a door -labelled “Editor—Private,” entered without knocking. - -“Who the devil are you?” said a stout man sitting before a roll-top -desk. - -“You wouldn’t know if I told you,” replied Wynne. “I’m nobody yet.” - -“What d’you want?” - -“Thought I’d write some articles for you.” - -“Think again—outside!” - -“Might not get in so easily another time.” - -“Well, get out now, then.” - -“That’s very foolish. How d’you know I may not be bringing you a -fortune?” - -“I’m prepared to take the risk.” - -“Then take a smaller one, and give me a subject to write you a sample -about.” - -“Write about damn nuisances,” said the editor. - -“Give me a sheet of paper.” - -“Look here! Are you going to get out?” - -“No. You told me to write about damn nuisances, and I’m going to do it.” - -At this the editor leant back in his chair and said: - -“Well, if you haven’t a profound cheek—” - -Realizing the opening, Wynne seated himself before a vacant table and -took up a pen. - -“Paper and silence,” he said, “are the ingredients required, and you -shall have your article in an hour’s time.” - -Being a man of some humour the editor relaxed, and laughed exuberantly. - -“Go to it then,” he said. “I’m off to tea, and I shall clear you out -when I come back.” - -“You’ll do nothing of the kind. I’ll be on the permanent staff by -nightfall.” - -In writing upon damn nuisances Wynne took for his subject such widely -divergent national symbols as the Albert Memorial and _The Oracle_. Of -the two _The Oracle_ fared worst, and came in for the most complete -defamation in its heartily criticized career. The article was -iconoclastic, spirited and intensely funny. The entire office staff read -it, and the editor volunteered to take Wynne out and make him drunk then -and there. This offer Wynne declined, but he accepted the post of a -casual article writer at a penny a line, and returned home with a -greater feeling of satisfaction than he had known for some time. - -The satisfaction, however, was short-lived, for in a very little while -he was heartily ashamed of subscribing his signature to scurrilous -paragraphs deprecating the private lives of parsons, and hinting darkly -at dirty doings in Downing Street. - -He perceived that by such means greatness was not to be achieved, and -sought to ease his conscience by spending nearly all his earnings on -reputable books, and most of his spare time in the reading-room at the -British Museum. In the matter of food he was most provident, scarcely, -if ever, standing himself a good meal. He acquired the habit of munching -chocolate and of making tea at all hours of the day and night. By this -means, although he staved off actual hunger, he was never properly -satisfied, and his physical side became ill-nourished and gaunt. The -hours he kept were as irregular as could well be conceived, and he -frequently worked all night without a thought of going to bed. - - - IV - -The days of his employment on the staff of _The Oracle_ were far from -happy, and the material he was asked to write soured his style and -embittered his outlook. Of this circumstance he was painfully aware, and -tried to combat it by writing of simple, gentle matters for his own -education. But the canker of cynicism overran and corrupted his better -thoughts like deadly nightshade twining in the brambles of a hedgerow. - -Always his own severest critic, he would tear up the sheets of -close-written manuscript and scatter them over the room, stamp his feet -or throw up the window and hurl imprecation at the dying night. - -Sometimes he sent articles or stories to the press, but from them he -received no encouragement. _The Oracle_ had an unsavoury reputation in -Fleet Street, and no self-respecting editor desired to employ the -journalists who wrote for this vicious little rag. - -After his uncompromising attitude at their first meeting, the editor of -_The Oracle_ made a great deal of Wynne, and besought him to sign a -binding contract. - -“I won’t sign anything,” Wynne replied. - -“I’ll give you a salary of seven pounds a week if you do.” - -“I wouldn’t for seventy.” - -“You’ll think better of it later on.” - -“Later on I shall wish to God I had never written for you at all. It -isn’t a thing to be proud of.” - -At this the editor laughed and clapped him on the back. - -“I’ve been wanting some one like you for years,” he cried. - -“You’ll be wanting some one like me again before long,” came the answer. - -Strange to say, the stout man did not resent Wynne’s attitude, neither -did he understand it. He regarded this queer, emaciated boy as an -agreeable oddity, and allowed him to say whatever he liked. Wynne was -most valuable to _The Oracle_, for his articles were infinitely more -educated and infinitely more stinging than any of the other writers’. As -a direct result they caused a corresponding increase of irritation and a -corresponding improvement in sales. - -Whenever there was a hint of scandal, or any disreputable suggestion in -regard to some notable personage, Wynne was put on the track, with -_carte noire_ to give the affair the greatest possible publicity. In the -pursuance of this degrading journalese of detection and exposure he -disclosed unexpected moral considerations. When he did not consider the -person to be attacked merited rough handling he would resolutely decline -to associate himself in any way with the campaign. Entreaties and -protests were alike incapable of moving him. He would set his mouth, and -refuse, and fly into a towering fury with the editor when he suggested: - -“Very well, then, Harbutt must do it.” - -“Isn’t there enough beastliness in the world without seeking it where it -doesn’t exist?” cried Wynne. “I’ll burn this damn building to the ground -one of these days.” - -He did not actually put this threat into practice, but did the next best -thing. A dispute had arisen in regard to some sordid disclosures which -the editor desired to make, and Wynne had proved beyond dispute that -there was no foundation for the charges. The editor, however, decided -that the story was too good to lose, and accordingly had it inserted, -with a thin veil drawn over the identity of the persons concerned. - -“All right,” said Wynne, after he had seen a copy. “You’re going through -the hoops for this.” - -An opportunity arose a short while after, and Wynne seized it without -scruple. - -It was the habit of the paper to reserve a column each month in which to -set forth their ideals and intentions. Sometimes one and sometimes -another of the writers undertook this work. As a rule it was the last -paragraph to be inserted, and depended for its length upon the available -space. - -The sub-editor, who was also proof-reader, was not a conscientious man, -and frequently delegated his duties to subordinates. - -“It’s all plain sailing,” he said to Wynne. “Write about four hundred -words, and sling it over to the compositor. I’m meeting a friend or two -tonight.” - -With that he went out, and Wynne, with a peculiar smile, wrote the -article, and very faithfully described the motives which inspired the -paper. - -“_The Oracle_,” he wrote, “is the Mungo of the London Press—a sniffing -wretch for ever scrabbling garbage in the national refuse heaps.” - -There was a good deal more in this style, and the compositor, while -setting up the type, was not a little disturbed in mind. - -“Is this to be printed?” he asked Wynne. - -“Certainly.” - -“Danged if I can see what the idea is.” - -“Imagine the sales, and go ahead.” - -The entire issue had to be destroyed, but one or two copies escaped from -the printer’s hands, and a rival flew to hilarious headlines about it. - -To the amazement of every one Wynne marched into the office the morning -after he had perpetrated the offence. - -“What the hell is the idea?” shouted the editor. “What the hell do you -think you’re doing?” - -“Getting even with my conscience,” replied Wynne. - -He looked very frail and insignificant with the semi-circle of scarlet, -inflamed countenances and threatening fists besetting him. - -“If you don’t want to be killed, take your blasted conscience out of -here.” - -He did, but with no great speed, although many were the offers of -violence made as he passed out. - - - V - -On the Embankment Wynne apologized to God very sincerely for having -debased his art. It was rather a pretty little prayer which he put up, -and had a gentler tenor than his wonted expression. After it was -finished he felt easier in mind, and comforted. But when he returned to -his rooms the oppression of a great loneliness took command of his soul. -Of late this feeling had dominated his thoughts not a little. He desired -some one to whom he might confess his thoughts and fears, some one of -the sympathetic intellect, who could smooth out the harsher creases of -life’s cloak, and give companionable warmth to the solitary hours. - -No such friendships had come his way, and when he turned his thoughts -more closely to the subject he could not imagine that he would be likely -to happen upon such a one. Beyond the intermittent flashes of Uncle -Clem’s society there had been no one with whom he could discuss his real -feelings and emotions. Pride, and desire to excel, had kept him from -seeking Uncle Clem when the mood of loneliness was upon him. He, as it -were, saved up that friendship for the great days ahead. The few -occasions when he had sought to quicken intimacy from acquaintance had -invariably led to nothing. Once a young actor asked him to share an idle -hour or two, and before they arrived at the end of the street stopped at -the door of a public-house and invited him to enter. - -“Let’s get primed—what do you say?” - -And Wynne said, “Need we? I don’t drink for a hobby.” - -“Care for a game of pills?” - -“Not very much.” - -“Well, what _do_ you care about?” - -The suggestion that in order to be entertained one must either drink or -play billiards made Wynne laugh, and since no man cares to have his more -serious pleasures ridiculed, the young actor snorted, and left him to -spend the rest of the evening alone. - -Possibly it was loneliness which directed Wynne once more to seek -employment upon the stage. In the play in which he appeared he was given -the part of a hot-potato man who was on the stage for only a few -moments. - -To perfect the detail for this rôle he made the acquaintance of a real -example of this calling, and spent many midnight hours talking with the -old fellow and warming himself before the pleasant coke fire. - -Wynne discovered that there was a deal of philosophy to be gleaned in -this manner. Thereafter he became well known to many of the strange, -quiet men who feed the hungry in queer, out-of-the-way corners of the -sleeping city. - -On Sundays he would go to Petticoat Lane, or pry into the private lives -of the outcasts of Norfolk House. The East End fascinated him, with its -mixture of old customs and new—its spice of adventure and savour of -Orientalism. Many of the folk with whom he conversed were strangely -illuminating. After an initial period of distrust and suspicion they -would open out and disgorge some startling views on life and matters in -general. They spoke of anarchy and crime and confinements as their more -civilized brothers of the West spoke of the brand of cigarettes they -preferred. The elemental side of these men’s natures, being so totally -dissimilar from his own, made a profound impression upon Wynne. Their -attitude toward women amazed and perplexed him. The phrase, “_my_ -woman,” with its solid, possessive, animal note, was original to the -ears. It suggested an entirely different attitude from the one he had -observed in France, the one so alive with thrill and volatile desire. - -“_My_ woman!” he repeated it over to himself as he plodded homeward -through the dark streets. He said it experimentally with the same -inflection that had been used—and yet to him it was only an inflection. -He could not conceive a circumstance in which he would naturally stress -the “my,” or would actually feel the possessive impulse to make it -inevitable. - -“She’s _my_ woman,” the man had said, when telling his story—“_my_ -woman, d’y’hear?” Followed an oathy description of a chair and table -fight, a beer bottle broken across a bedrail and used as a -dagger—something, that was once a man, carried in the arms of a -trustworthy few and hidden in a murky doorway a couple of streets -distant. - -It was hard to imagine such a coming about at the dictates of a -convention of sex. If a woman inclined to sin with another man, let -her—what did it matter? Fidelity was of very little consequence. Common -reason proved it to be a myth. Yet men committed murder that -fidelity—physical fidelity—might be preserved. That’s what it amounted -to. But did it? That possessive “my” argued a greater and more masterful -motive—something beyond mere moral adherences. - -“_My_ woman!” Very perplexing! - -“But I suppose I would fight to the death for my ideals—whatever they -may be.” - -With sudden force it struck Wynne that he should define his ideals, and -know precisely at what he aimed. It was good for a man to be certain of -those things for which he would be prepared to lay down his life. - -He set himself the task of writing down what his ideals actually were, -and in so doing failed horribly. What he wrote was inconclusive and -embryonic. To a reader it would have conveyed little or nothing. There -was a hint of some ambition, but nothing more. It showed the target of -his hopes in the pupal stage. The grammatical perfection with which he -wrote only added melancholy to the failure. - -“My God!” exclaimed Wynne, “I can’t even write a specification of what I -want to do.” - - - VI - -The play in which Wynne figured as a hot-potato man was not a success, -and there followed a period in which he found no work, and very -considerable hardship. Then his fortunes turned a trifle, and to reward -himself for all he had endured he took new rooms at the top of a house -near Tottenham Court Road, and spent all his money buying furniture and -queer odds and ends of brass and Oriental china. It was the first time -he had indulged in the luxury of agreeable appointments, and it gave him -tremendous pleasure. The furniture he bought was true to its period, -though time and the worm had bitten deep beneath the blackened surfaces. -He bought in the Caledonian Market or little known streets, and took a -fierce pride in bartering for his prizes. These he would bring home upon -his head, or, if their size defeated his powers, would push them before -him on a greengrocer’s barrow. For pieces of _vertu_ he possessed a sure -and infallible eye, and a remarkable sense for disposing them to the -best advantage. - -On the mantelpiece of the attic sitting-room he achieved successfully -what, years before, he had failed to do in his father’s home. A note of -colour from a cracked Kin Lung bowl, a fillip of light from a battered -copper kettle, a slanting pile of beautifully-bound books, and the thing -was done. - -There was no struggle after effect, but the effect was there as if by -nature—the right things had found their rightful abiding place. - -He found writing easier in these surroundings. Hitherto his eye had -inevitably fallen upon some hideous object or picture, unthinkingly -bought and disastrously disposed in relation to its neighbours—then his -thoughts would travel away, lose the thread of their reasoning, or -become involved in futile speculation upon other folks’ perverted -tastes. But here it was different: here there were no disturbing -influences, nothing but a pleasant, restful simplicity. - -Mrs. Mommet, the bed-shaker, who, for a very small wage, gave Wynne an -equally small measure of time, did not share his high opinions of -himself as a decorator. - -“I don’t know ’ow you can put up with the place,” she said, shaking her -head sadly over the pail of dirty water which was her constant -companion. “It gives me the creeps every time I comes into it. That ole -table, y’know. Well, it _looks_ as if it was a ’undred years old.” - -“It’s a great deal more,” said Wynne. - -“There you are, y’see! Why you don’t git a nice cloth and cover it up -beats me!” - -“Roundheads drank at that table,” said Wynne. - -“Fat-’eads, more like—nowhere for your knees or anything. And the -walls, too! My ole man does a bit o’ paper-’anging to oblige in ’is -spare time. I dessay ’e’d ’ang a piece for you, to oblige.” - -“He would oblige me very much by doing nothing of the kind.” - -“Thet’s silly—that is. No one can’t like plain walls when they can ’ave -’em floral. Not so much as a picture anywhere! W’y don’t you pin up a -few photos?” - -“Don’t possess any, and I—” - -“Well, if that’s all, I dessay I could give you a few. Liknesses, they’d -be—not views. You could ’ave any one of my pore Minnie o’o was took.” - -Wynne did not want to offend the woman, but was forced to safeguard his -own peace of mind. - -“You ought not to give them away in the circumstances,” he said. - -Fortunately Mrs. Mommet did not press the offer. She had some views to -express in relation to “nice plush curtains,” which Wynne hastily -discouraged. - -“Oh, well, you must please yourself, I s’pose. Gentlemen never do ’ave -any taste, as the sayin’ is. Still, it’s no small wonder you look -poorly, and yer face is as white as the under-side of a lemon sole.” - -The description was apt. Wynne’s features were certainly of a lifeless -hue. The long hours, the poor food, and the never-ending mental activity -had sapped a full measure of his youth. No one would have placed his age -at twenty-three, yet twenty-three summers were all that he held to his -credit. One might have guessed him nearer forty—and a none too hearty -forty either. Only his eyes were young—young and greedily active—for -ever assessing and assimilating, but this seemed to detract from, rather -than add to, his youth. - -Yet despite his frailty and general suggestion of weakness, Wynne could, -upon occasion, develop startling energy. He used his brain as the -driving force which overcame his feebleness, and bade his muscles -undertake tasks out of all proportion to their ability. On one occasion -he carried an armchair, weighing nearly a hundredweight, for three -miles, a task which a strong man might well have failed to accomplish. -His power lay in the will to do, and a form of obstinate courage which -defied all obstacles. - -“I am glad you said soul,” he said, “for I have long believed that to be -the only thing that matters.” - -Mrs. Mommet shook her head. - -“I was talkin’ of fishmonger’s, not parson’s souls,” she replied; “but -if you ask me, I should say firce look after the body, and the soul’ll -look after itself. Same as the ole sayin’ ’bout the pennies and the -poun’s. If you was to feed your body up a bit, ’stead o’ wastin’ money -on ole cracked plates, books and whatnot, you’d be doing yerself more -good, you would.” - -“Depends on the point of view.” - -“I know I can’t never do nothin’ if I neglect my bit o’ nourishment.” - -“Nor I, but you work with your body and I with my brain. That’s why we -stock our larders with different fare. There’s mine yonder.” He tilted -his head toward the crowded bookcases. - -“Lot o’ nonsense! Ole books!” - -“Don’t despise them, please.” - -“I don’t; but a book’s a thing for after dinner, not to make yer dinner -off of, like you do. Wonder is you ’aven’t more pride in yerself.” - -“Pride?” He was quite startled. - -“A young feller like wot you are lettin’ ’imself go to pieces like the -lilies in the field, or whatever the sayin’ is. ’Ow d’you s’pose you’ll -ever take the fancy of a young woman lookin’ like you do? You wouldn’t -never do it.” - -Wynne smiled. “Is it only the dressed ox which can go to the altar?” he -asked. - -“I donno nothin’ ’bout dressed oxes, but I do know as any young woman of -spirit looks for a man with a bit of blood in ’im. After all, nature’s -nature, y’know, with Christian or ’eathen alike, and there’s no gettin’ -away from it.” - -“You should write a treatise on Eugenics,” said Wynne, and escaped to -the solitude of his bedroom. - - - - - PART FIVE - EVE - - - I - -During a rehearsal of a new play in which he was engaged Wynne noticed -Eve Dalry. She was walking-on in the crowd, and did not seem of a piece -with the other girls. When her scene was over she slipped away to a -quiet corner and produced a book. Finding the required page, she shook -her head as though to banish other considerations, seated herself on an -upturned box, and began to read with great absorption. - -Partly from curiosity to see the title of the book Wynne moved toward -her. Carlyle’s “Heroes and Hero Worship.” A queer choice for a girl to -make, he thought, and wondered how much she understood. For awhile he -stood behind her glancing at a paragraph here and there, and watching -the careful way she turned over a page, then turned it back again to -reread and reconsider some passage not wholly understood. He was unused -to women who read so seriously, and, despite the semi-cynical smile at -the corners of his mouth, her studiousness impressed him. - -Presently, impelled by a new and curious familiarity, he drew a long, -tapered forefinger over the straight, thin parting in her hair. She -looked up slowly, as though his action had been scarcely enough to -distract her attention. - -“I like the shape of your head,” he found himself saying in reply to the -query in her eyes, “it is the kind of vessel which is never empty. The -square of your chin, too, is so very right. One seldom sees the two -together.” - -She met the critical survey with equal candour. - -“I have been liking your head,” she said, “but not the chin. Its—” - -She drew a slanting line in the air. - -“I know,” he nodded; “but it’s not significant.” - -“I meant that—insignificant.” - -Wynne was not at his best when humour turned against him. His smile and -his frown struck a balance. - -“I could quote the names of a dozen brilliant men who did not carry -their strength or wit in the lower half of their faces, and illustrate -my instances at the National Portrait Gallery.” - -“Are you brilliant?” There was no barb to the question. - -“It pleases me to think so.” - -“One wonders, then, why you are doing this little jobbery in a theatre.” - -“Yes, that’s reasonable enough. I wonder, too, sometimes. I suppose I -was hungry when I took the engagement.” - -“This is not your real work, then?” - -“I hardly know what my real work is, but it is not in the market. In -theory real work never should be in the market.” - - “‘And no one shall work for money - And no one shall work for fame,’” - -quoted Eve. - -“Spare me from Kipling. It is so disheartening to find one’s views -supported by quotations.” - -“I’m not so advanced as that. I’m rather proud of quotations—I look on -them as medals for reading.” - -He made an intolerant gesture. - -“But no sane persons show their medals.” - -“While I’m young I had rather not be altogether sane.” - -“Good! I take back sanity. It’s the worst asset an artist can possess.” - -She looked at him with a faint, intricate smile. - -“You are easy to catch out,” she said. - -“Possibly. I don’t aspire to be a cricketer. Indeed, cricket stands for -all I dislike most. Cricket is an Englishman’s notion of the proper -conduct of life—a game with rules. If he resists seducing a friend’s -wife it is because to do so is not cricket.” - -“Do you favour his doing so?” - -“Not I—but it depends on the mood and the man, and the attraction. I -simply do not admit the existence of cricket in these matters.” - -“Do you know,” said Eve, “you seem to me to be expressing ideas and not -thoughts. Tell me, what is your real work?” - -“I assume that one day I shall know, but I don’t know yet. If I were to -say painting—writing—talking—acting—I should be equally right. I -have searched the dictionaries in vain to find a word to describe -myself. The verb ‘to lead’ is the nearest approach. I think, by nature, -I am the centre of a circle—a circle that is even widening. Sounds -absurd, doesn’t it?—to lead from the centre of a circle.” - -The conviction and frankness with which he discussed himself was -remarkable, and, strangely enough, not offensive. He possessed a quality -of magnetism which robbed his words of half their arrogance. Eve allowed -her eyes to travel over him with calm interest. His clothes were -careless and shabby, his collar too big, and his cuffs frayed; his tie -seemed anywhere but in the right place. At the first glance she saw he -was ill-nourished, and felt an immediate impulse to feed him up with -possets and strong beef tea. Frailty excites kindly resolves from the -generous-hearted. She found his features attractive, despite their -irregularity, and his eyes appealed to her enormously. They were such -plucky eyes, eyes that would look the world in the face unfalteringly -and support with impertinent courage the wildest views which the mobile, -cynical, and weak mouth might choose to utter. - -When anything pleased her, Eve laughed—not so much a laugh of amusement -as a purr of satisfaction. The unusual appealed to her, and beyond all -doubt Wynne Rendall was unusual. Hers were plucky eyes too. They rested -frankly, and seemed to read the meanings of what they reflected. Eve had -a broad forehead, straight brows, and clean-cut, clearly defined -features. Her mouth was sweet and tolerant; to borrow from a painter’s -terminology, it was a beautifully drawn mouth. One felt she would be -very sure in all her dealings—analytic and purposeful. Hers was not a -present-day face, but belonged rather to the period of the old -Florentine Masters. - -For quite a while these two young people surveyed each other with calm -appreciation, and presently Wynne broke the silence. - -“You are a new type to me,” he said—“a perplexing type. I’ve seen you -on canvas, but never in the flesh. Something of Leonardo’s Lucretia! We -might see more of each other, I think.” - -“Yes,” she said. - -He was about to speak again when the leading man came through a door in -the canvas scene and moved toward them. In an instant Wynne pulled down -the corners of his mouth pathetically. - -“Oh dear! I must go.” - -“Why? Your scene is a long way ahead.” - -“I know, but here’s K. G. If I stayed he might think I wanted to talk to -him—and I don’t.” - -Eve understood the feeling very well. Those whose future is all to make -are wary and resentful of patronage, and often needlessly shun the -society of others more successful than themselves. None is more jealous -of his pride than the climber. - -She allowed Wynne to depart unhindered, and presently the eminent K. G. -came near enough to condescend a “Good morning.” - -“Been talking to young Rendall?” he queried. - -She nodded. - -“A queer boy—quite a clever actor—quite! A good sense of character!” - -“Very.” - -“Know him well?” - -“About five minutes.” - -“Oh, yes—yes. Sadly opinionated! Notice it?” - -“He has opinions, certainly.” - -“H’m! Never get on—people with too many views. He won’t learn—clever -enough in himself, but won’t learn from others.” - -“I rather thought he had learnt a good deal from others.” - -“Oh no—most inaccessible.” - -“Does that mean he wouldn’t learn from you?” she inquired, very frankly. - -K. G. looked down in mild surprise. Young ladies who are “walking-on” -should agree with and not interrogate those lofty beings whose salaries -are paid by cheque. But this young lady ignored the principle, and -seemed to expect an answer. - -“Yes,” he replied, very frankly. “Of course it’s his own affair if he -cares to ignore the advice of—well—” Modesty forbade the mention of -his own name, and he finished the sentence by a gesture. - -“Of course it is,” said Eve. - -K. G. frowned. The conversation was not proceeding on orthodox lines. - -“Still, as I say, young men of that sort do not get on.” - -“I can’t see why. Perhaps he thought you could teach him nothing.” - -It was the protective mother instinct compelled the words. The remark -annoyed K. G. excessively. It was not, however, his habit to vent -irritation upon a woman, even though she might be its original cause, -consequently he attacked Wynne Rendall. - -“He is a fellow who wants a good kicking, and has never had it.” - -“A man always wants to kick what he cannot understand,” said Eve. - -To defend some one who is absent from the attacks of a third person is a -sure basis upon which friendships are established. When Eve returned to -her little bed-sitting-room after the rehearsal, Wynne Rendall occupied -a large share of her thoughts. - -“I like him,” she said to herself. “He’s all wrong in all sorts of ways, -but there’s something tremendous about him in spite of that—and I like -him.” - -She fell to wondering how he had arrived at what he was, what queer -turns of circumstance or inclination had aged the youth from him. With -quickening sympathy she recalled his sunken cheeks, the nervous -sensitive movements of his hands and head. - -“Looks as if he never had enough to eat. I’m sure he doesn’t eat -enough.” - -Then she laughed, for in her own existence eating did not enter very -largely. A salary of one pound one shilling per week does not admit of -extravagant _menus_. A woman can keep the roses of her cheeks flowering -upon very little. With a man it is different. A man, to be a man, must -set his teeth in solid victuals, or nature denied will deny. - -She thought over her exchange with the leading man, and was glad she had -stood up for Wynne. It offended her that a fat, luxurious fellow should -say what he chose, and imagine himself immune from counter-attack on -account of his position in the company. She would not have been at ease -with her conscience if she had acted otherwise. In the circumstances Eve -did not prosper well with her reading that night. “Heroes and Hero -Worship” was cast aside to make room for other considerations. - -At the rehearsal next day it was with almost a proprietary interest she -responded to Wynne’s flickering greeting. - -“You are making a reputation,” he said, and added, “by the easiest way.” - -“What way is that?” - -“Being frank with your superiors.” - -“Is it easy?” - -“Assuredly—if you have the courage. Most people are content to accept -their superiors as being superior. Invert the principle—tell an -accepted success you consider him an ass—and you create an immediate -interest in yourself.” - -“It wasn’t my reason,” said Eve. - -“Wasn’t it?” He seemed quite surprised. - -“No. He annoyed me, and I showed him I was annoyed.” - -“You were sincere, then?” - -“Of course.” - -“How queer of you.” - -“Why queer?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. It seems so odd to be sincere with a man like that. -Are you often sincere?” - -“Yes. Aren’t you?” - -“Inside I am. Been at the stage long?” - -“This is the beginning.” - -“The egg stage?” - -“Yes.” - -“Tell me, where do you live?” - -“A room—anywhere.” - -“You’ve no people, then?” - -“None to whom I matter—or who matter to me.” - -“I know. D’you know I was afraid you might have been rich and -comfortable.” - -Eve fingered a piece of her dress and held it out. - -“Eight-three a yard, and made at home.” - -“There are rich women who disguise themselves.” - -“I am not one. I have king’s treasures, that is all.” - -“A row of books over your bed, h’m.” - -“That was clever,” she smiled. - -“I could guess the authors.” - -“Try.” - -“Meredith—Browning—Hardy—Wendell Holmes.” - -“Pretty good—especially Meredith.” - -“You mustn’t overdo Meredith—he is a cult, not an author. You’re -intricate—with the ‘Diana’ courage, and that’s dangerous. If you care -to borrow I have some books. Come and choose a few.” - -“May I? I should like that.” - -“Come tonight?” - -“It’s the first night of the play.” - -“I’d forgotten. Well”—with a sudden impulse—“why not after it is -over?” - -“If you like.” - -He rubbed his chin with his long, sensitive fingers, and nodded -approvingly. - -“You’d make a friend,” he said. - -He could say things very attractively when he chose. The remark was a -compliment to Eve and her sex. - - - II - -Wynne’s part ended with the first act, but he waited at the stage door -till the close of the play. Presently Eve came out and joined him. - -Very small she looked wrapped in a long brown coat, with her hands -tucked in the pockets. She wore a little close-fitting hat which -accentuated the oval of her gravely piquant face. - -“Which way?” she asked. - -“Through Covent Garden, if we walk. Be jollier to walk, I think, don’t -you?” - -He suddenly remembered when last he had put the same question, and -almost flushed at the memory. Then, as now, he had been seeking a -friend. He had been a long time finding one. - -“Yes, much,” said Eve. “I always walk back. I like it, and it saves the -pennies.” - -“I like it, and try not to remember that it saves the pennies,” he -remarked whimsically. “’Tisn’t bad being poor when one doesn’t mean to -be poor for ever. I have tremendous beliefs that this is only a passing -stage, haven’t you?” - -“A valley?” - -“Yes, which in passing through gives us the answer to all manner of whys -and wherefores.” - -Eve nodded. “What a queer old street!” she said. “I haven’t been this -way before.” - -“There’s a coffee stall at the corner where I buy provender; that’s why -I brought you. There it is.” - -They stopped at the stall, with the proprietor of which Wynne seemed on -excellent terms, and bought some hard-boiled eggs, “balls of chalk” as -they are familiarly called. - -“A friend to every one that man is,” said Wynne as they proceeded on -their way. “Does all manner of good turns to the queer folk whose -business keeps ’em abroad late. He lent me three suppers once, at a time -when I needed them badly.” - -From a glowing oven on wheels nearer his lodging they bought baked -potatoes. - -“Put one in each pocket. Finest things in the world to keep your hands -warm.” As she followed his advice he nodded encouragingly. - -“That’s the way. It’s a fire and a good dinner all in one. I’ve a very -great regard for a baked potato; it’s the president of the republic of -vegetables, as the hot pie is the dowager queen of confectionery.” - -“What do you call a hot pie?” - -“Just that! They used to be cooked in the streets in little portable -ovens. Did you never meet a pieman?” - -“I don’t think so.” - -“Daresay not, for the last one died two years ago. A fine fellow he was. -I went to his funeral.” - -“I’d love to have seen a real pieman. Didn’t Simple Simon meet one going -to a fair?” - -“So it’s said.” - -“And now they’ve all gone for ever. How sad!” - -“Tell you what,” exclaimed Wynne, “there’s an old man Richmond way who -sells hot turnovers. When the spring comes we might ’bus down there, -have a walk in the park, and munch turnovers in the night on the way -home.” - -“Yes, let’s do that.” - -Very ordinary affairs assume a delicate outline when approached in a -romantic spirit. The idea of eating turnovers on the top of a ’bus does -not sound very attractive, and yet to Wynne, as he suggested it, and to -Eve as she listened, the promised expedition seemed full of the happiest -possibilities. They felt the touch of a spring breeze blowing in their -hair, and saw the whitey-green of the new leaves, and the blue sky turn -to a lavender in which the stars appeared. Almost they could taste the -good baked crust and the sour-sweet apples of the midnight feast. - -“D’you know,” said Eve, “I think, of all things in the world, the most -glorious are those we mean to do.” - -They stopped before an old Queen Anne house, and producing a latchkey -Wynne unlocked the door. - -“Top floor,” he said, “and rather a climb.” - -They mounted the creaky stairs, and he was puffing gustily when they -reached the top landing. For a young man he seemed unduly exhausted. -Striking a light on his boot, he entered and lit a shaded lamp. - -“Take off your hat and I’ll get the fire going. Look! I must have paid -the rent, for it is actually laid.” - -Eve smiled as he went down on his knees before a tiny basket grate, then -let her gaze travel round the room. Inset, in the damp-stained slanting -roof, were two gable windows, broad silled and littered with books and -papers. Before one of these was a writing table, dilapidated but -glorious with age; this, too, was liberally sprinkled with half-written -manuscripts, pens, cigarette ends, and the jumble of odds and ends with -which a man surrounds himself. A small Jacobean table stood in the -middle of the uncarpeted floor, a tarnished copper bowl, battered but -still shapely, giving tone to its dark fissured surface. Two age-worn -grandfather chairs were drawn up near the fire. In each recess in the -walls was a bookcase, piled ceiling-high with books. A couple of Holbein -prints, and an unframed Albrecht Dürer completed the decoration. It was -a shabby, unkempt room, yet, like its owner, it possessed individuality -and charm. - -“I like this,” said Eve. “I’m glad I came.” - -“You like it. I thought you would—hoped so, too. I’ve never shown it to -any one else. It is good though, isn’t it? Try that chair. I carried it -back on my head from a ragshop in Holloway Road, and having nearly -deprived me of life it gave it back to me in sweet repose. Take off your -coat first, won’t you? That’s right. Don’t forget the ’taters though. -Thanks! I’ll put ’em on the trivet. Good. Thank God the fire means to -burn. D’you know sometimes I’ve almost cried when it wouldn’t. I can’t -lay a fire, and I loathe to be defeated.” - -He began wandering round the room and producing plates and knives from -unexpected quarters. Presently he stopped and puzzled. - -“Can you think of a likely place to find the bread?” he asked. - -“Where did you see it last?” - -“I don’t know. I have meals at all sorts of odd times and places, so one -loses track. Wait a minute, though.” - -He disappeared into the bedroom and emerged with a loaf and a saucer -with butter on it. - -“Breakfasted while I was dressing,” he explained, “or else I had supper -in there over night. I don’t know which—but let’s make a start.” - -They feasted very royally off bread and hard-boiled eggs and hot -potatoes and raspberry jam, followed by a pot of tea. The tea they drank -from little Chinese Saki cups without handles. - -“I only use these on the especialist occasions,” he announced, adding -with a smile, “In fact I have never used them before.” - -“Haven’t you many friends?” - -“No. Have you?” - -“No.” - -“I thought you hadn’t.” - -“Why?” - -“People with lots of friends don’t like me—but then I don’t like -them—so that’s that—isn’t it. Let’s draw near the fire. The poor -little thing means well, but it can’t reach us at such a distance.” - -So they drew up their chairs and talked. They talked of books, of dead -men, and of great ambitions. Under the influence of her society Wynne -seemed to lose much of his arrogance and cynicism. He spoke of the -things he loved naturally and with reverence. Ever and again he would -dart to the shelves for a volume and read some passage to the point of -the subject they had been discussing. Then he would throw it aside and -paraphrase with a clear and almost inspired insight. - -“One should always paraphrase,” he said. “One should paraphrase one’s -own thoughts and every one else’s. It’s the sure way of getting down to -basic facts. If I were to produce a play of Shakespeare’s I should make -every actor translate his lines into colloquial schoolboy English. Then -we should know he had his meanings right. Some glimmer of that necessity -occurred to me the first time I went to a theatre, but now I see how -absolutely essential it is.” - -The talk always led back to himself. His own ego was the all-important -factor. - -“Extraordinary wrong most people are in their ideas!” - -“When will you start to put them right?” - -He looked at her keenly—on guard lest she should be laughing at him. -But the question was sincere enough. - -“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t believe in beginnings—gradual -ascent, ladder of fame, and all that. Life to me is divided into two -halves—the period of finding out and the period of handing out. I don’t -intend to be a person who is beginning to be spoken of. When I am spoken -of it will be by every one—simultaneously. In the meantime it is better -to be obscure—and absorbent.” - -“You want success.” - -“I shall have it too.” - -“For the world’s sake.” - -“Ye-es—and for mine.” - -Quarter after quarter boomed out from the neighbouring clocks. It was -after two when Eve rose and took her coat from the nail on the door. - -“You going?” - -“Yes.” - -“Shall I walk with you?” - -“No, it isn’t far.” - -“Very well—I want to work too. But you’ll come again, won’t you?” - -“If I may.” - -“’Course you may. You must. You’re an easy person—easier than I’d have -thought possible—you sort of—don’t bother me. Take a Walter Pater with -you. Better for you than Meredith. Treat it gently, though; I starved a -whole week to buy that book.” - -She took the white-vellum bound volume, nodded, and tucked it under her -arm. - -“Good-night.” - -“’Night. You are rather an admirable person.” - -“Am I?” - -“Yes. A girl is generally frightened to be in a man’s rooms in the -middle of the night.” - -“It wouldn’t occur to me to be frightened of you,” said Eve. - -“Why not?” - -“A man who starved for a week to buy this.” She touched the book under -her arm. - -For some reason her gently spoken words piqued him, and he replied: - -“Yet I am a man just the same.” - -“A man but not the same,” she said, and, smiling, passed out on to the -landing. - -She had descended the first flight before he moved and followed her to -the front door. - -“I will walk back with you.” It was what any man would have said. - -“No, please not. I had rather think of you as the student working for -the day.” - -He hesitated—then, “Very well. Good-night.” - -“Good-night.” - -He retraced his steps slowly. The memory of her attitude and her words -puzzled him. - -“More like a boy,” he concluded, which if you think it out was a very -fine form of conceit. - -His thoughts wandered from his work, and he bit his pen for a long, long -while. His eyes rested unseeingly on the black patch which was the -window. - -“More like a boy—much more.” - -He nodded to convince himself. After all, the friendship of a boy who is -really a girl is very pleasant. - -Never once did it cross his mind how entirely negligible was the -physical side of his nature. A man whose brain works with febrile -intensity night and day, and whose earnings are scarcely sufficient to -buy the meanest fare, knows little or nothing of passionate callings. -Unlike your idle, over-fed fellow whose intellect performs no greater -task than finding excuses for bodily indulgence, the student’s -sensuality lies in words and colour. His worst vice is the prostitution -of an artistic standard. - - - III - -It was the neuter quality in Wynne Rendall which made possible the -all-hour intimacy which came to exist between Eve and himself. She would -come to his rooms, indifferent to time and convention, and stay far into -the night. - -Sometimes they conversed little, and then, while he worked or wandered -about in a seemingly aimless fashion, seeking some cherished but elusive -word, she would read, curled up in the age-worn chair. When the talking -mood possessed him she would lay her book aside and contribute -endorsement or censure to his ideas. In this respect her courage was -boundless, for she never hesitated to dispute with him when she felt he -was at fault. He would fight for his mental holdings to the last breath -of argument, then of a sudden swing round and say: - -“Yes, I know you are right—but how do you know?” - -His extraordinary belief in himself filled her with a queer mixture of -distress and admiration, but the distress was outweighed by the -admiration and the joy she took in their brain to brain fencing or -accord. Their talks, although embracing nearly every subject under the -sun, were, as a rule, impersonal, or rather impersonal in so far as -their relations to one another was concerned. - -In common with many folk, Wynne thought more highly of his lesser deeds -than of his greater, and vaunted them enthusiastically. He was -inordinately proud of his truculence and acerbity to men who were more -successful than himself, and took pleasure in recounting the fine-edged -verbal tools he had employed against them. He was mortally offended when -Eve told him frankly the attitude was unworthy and easily misconstrued. - -“They only think you are envious,” she said. - -“I envious of them? Good God!” - -Her frankness had its effect, however, for he modified the -characteristic, and no longer shouted “Yah” at lesser intellects and -longer purses. - -Another change she brought about was the matter of diet. Very -drastically she quashed the nibbling habit which with him had taken the -place of meals. - -“Wynne,” she said, “what did you have for breakfast?” - -“Lord knows. I don’t! Nothing, I expect.” - -“Would you like to please me?” - -“Yes,” he answered, “I suppose so.” - -“You are starving yourself.” - -“What nonsense!” - -“You are. You won’t be able to stand the strain if you don’t eat -properly.” - -“I shan’t if I do,” he replied. “How can I buy books and pay rent and -all that if I lavish my substance on victuals.” - -“How much do you spend a week on food?” - -“Never thought.” - -“Think then.” - -“Not I. Look! You haven’t seen this copy of ‘Erewhon,’ have you? It’s a -first edition!” - -“I want you to answer my question.” - -He tossed his head petulantly. - -“Oh, don’t be like that,” he implored. “The world is peopled with folk -who worry about these matters; let’s be away from them. You’ll want me -to buy a dinner-gong next so that half the street may know I am sitting -down to table.” - -“Perhaps I shall, for I want you to sit at table—regularly.” - -He caught the word “regularly,” and played tunes upon it. - -“I know,” said Eve, “and I like you for feeling that way—but you are -fighting against nature—not convention—and that’s all wrong. We funny -little things who walk about on the world must follow certain laws—we -can’t help ourselves—and we may as well follow them sensibly. We have -to lie down and get up and wash our faces and brush our hair and eat our -dinners; we have to—if we didn’t we should accomplish nothing. It is -foolish to fight with the ‘musts’ when there are armies of ‘needn’t -be’s’ to draw the sword against.” - -He snorted derisively and ridiculed prosaic philosophy. When he had -finished she calmly repeated her question. - -“How much do you spend a week on food?” - -Very reluctantly he produced a sheet of paper and a pencil and scribbled -a rough estimate. - -“Will you give me the nine shillings and let me cater for you?” - -“No,” he said emphatically. - -“Please do.” - -“Why should I spend money on a dinner when I can stave off hunger with a -stick of chocolate?” - -“Couldn’t we make a common fund and have one meal together each day. I’d -cook it here.” - -His expression brightened instantly. - -“You would? You’d come each day?” - -“If you consent.” - -Hitherto her comings had been sporadic—too sporadic. He had felt, when -she was absent, the consciousness of something lacking. - -“I should like you to come here every day,” he said. - -He was willing to accept a routine of her society, though rebelling -against a time-table for meals. She smiled as the thought crossed her -mind, but to have voiced it would have been to sacrifice the gains she -had made. - -“If you consent,” she repeated. - -“All right; do what you will,” he said. - -So every afternoon Eve cooked a meal over a grubby little gas-ring, -assisted by a methylated spirit stove, and had the satisfaction of -seeing her labours rewarded by a slightly added tinge of colour to his -cheeks. - -In buying the food she contributed more toward the cost than he, for in -the matter of money he was strangely unmindful. Frequently he forgot his -weekly contribution altogether, and returned home with some trifle of -china or an old print by way of alternative. On these occasions it did -not occur to him to question how meals still appeared upon his table, -and Eve would not have told him for the world how hard it had been that -this should be so. - -Increasingly her thoughts centred on his welfare, and her own -personality took second place. Even her ambitions—and they had been -many and glorious—became merged in the task of helping him to success. - -He had not taken into consideration the possibility that she, too, was a -climber at heart, and had set her sails for the port where the dreams -come true. He was quite offended when one day she spoke of herself. - -“But can you act?” he staccatoed. - -“One day I shall,” she answered. “One day I shall feel I know so much -more than all the others—then I shall act, and people will sit up and -say so.” - -“H’m.” - -“You think it unlikely?” - -“Oh, I don’t know.” He fidgeted with a cup on the mantelshelf. “It -seemed you were echoing those things which I say to myself.” - -“We have thoughts in common.” - -He shook his head irritably. - -“I don’t admit it. There is no common currency in thoughts or ideas. To -me parallel lines are antagonistic lines. Why should you want to act?” - -“I want to express myself as strongly as you do. I want to succeed.” - -“I don’t like women who succeed. Why should you succeed? Where’s the -necessity—?” - -“Born in me,” she answered. - -His words for the moment had hurt her bitterly, but the subtler side of -her nature took comfort from the almost childishly petulant tone in -which he had spoken them. - -“The necessity is born by the things around you,” he said. “They are the -impulses toward success.” - -“Yes, that’s true. Perhaps it was the wretched drabness of my -surroundings which fired the impulse in me. We haven’t talked to each -other of our people, you and I?” - -“I never think back,” he said. - -“I do, because it’s the impetus to think forward.” - -He looked at her critically. - -“You might have come from princely stock by the look of you. You haven’t -the seeming of the drab.” - -“Perhaps I did; but it was the inbred collapsed finish of the good -stock. My father idled backward to the slums—my mother was gentle, but -that was all. He was dead before I could remember. Oh, that dreadful -back-street life! You can’t understand. We were only a little removed -from the gossipy-doorstep folk who talk of a neighbour’s confinement as -they lean on the rickety railings. We played with their children, my -sister and I, bought from their horrid mean shops—went to the same -wretched school. Oh! how I hated it all—the miserable rooms, the -bargaining for food, the squabbles, and the never-ending economy and -thrift. Grey—grey—grey! I used to lash a purple whiptop at the corner -of the street, and pray sometimes a great chariot of fire would snatch -me up into the skies.” - -It was Wynne’s habit to ignore central ideas in another’s conversation, -hence the question: - -“Why a _purple_ top?” - -“I hardly know—but it was _always_ purple. I kept a patch of purple on -my horizon.” - -He looked at her queerly. - -“What do you mean by that?” - -“The Royal Purple. Somehow it stands out as the colour which rises above -all sordidness. Can’t explain it otherwise.” - -He nodded. “I know what you mean. Strange you should feel like that, -too.” The “too” was scarcely audible. - -“When I was ever so little I had that feeling, and it has grown up with -me. I used to believe that a purple goodness lined the great clouds -above and the hilltops of my imagination. I could travel in my -imagination, too. Just close my eyes and say to myself: Now the world is -falling away, and I’m floating upwards, and I would pass above all the -slates and see down all the chimneys until the houses became cities, and -the cities grey marks on the green earth—and the rivers twisted silver -wires which curled from the mountains to the sea.” - -“You should meet Uncle Clem,” said Wynne. - -“Who is he?” - -“A man who thinks that way. But what is it like up there in the clouds?” - -“Do you know, strangely, it isn’t very different—only fuller. Just as -if one went up discontented and found contentment in what one had left -behind. I used to think this was because my imagination couldn’t picture -a better state, but I believe that no longer.” - -“The climb is for nothing, then?” - -“Oh, no, for the climb proves that what you sought is the best of what -you left behind.” - -“H’m! Sometimes,” he said. “You have queer notions. Have you found out -what is the best of your possessions?” - -“I don’t know them by heart, yet.” - -“Why by heart?” - -“I am a woman.” - -“Yes, and sometimes, I think, just like any other.” - -“I am.” - -“Once I tried to define my motives—can you define yours?” - -“I want a place in the sun—want it tremendously. I want to be able to -think and feel and move among lovely things and people. I have given -away twenty years to sordidness, and all I have earned is appreciation -of the beautiful. I want to live the beautiful now, and rise above the -trivial bother of a washpail and a gas-ring.” - -“Mammon, Mammon,” cried Wynne, for want of a better thought. - -“Oh no. Don’t think I crave for money, for it isn’t so; but one must -have money if one is never to think of it.” - -“Why?” - -“Isn’t half the sorrow in the world traceable to such little causes as -an extra halfpenny on a quartern of bread?” - -“Not untrue,” Wynne nodded. His eyes fell on the dirty gas-ring of the -grate, and he frowned. “Why do you come here, then?” - -“Don’t you know?” she replied. - -“No. It’s squalid enough!” - -“Then it is because you are the first real person I have ever met -outside the cover of a book.” - -“I give you something, then?” - -“A great deal.” - -A modesty seized him, touched with self-reproach. - -“Only because it pleases me,” he said, brusquely. “The giving is done by -you. That much I realize.” - -“I’m glad—and I’m glad to give.” - -“Yes, a woman’s life is to give—that’s natural law—the only kind of -law worth accepting.” He hesitated—then, “Are you satisfied to give?” - -She smiled her wise, intricate smile, and he did not wait for the -answer. - -“You never smile as you should,” he reproached. “Yours is a thinking -smile—perplexing. Do you never smile or laugh from sheer happiness?” - -“Perhaps I have never yet been sheerly happy.” - -“What would make you?” - -“I haven’t found out.” - -“But I want to know. If you smiled for me you would seem less remote.” - -“Am I remote?” - -“Yes—remote is the word.” He looked at her fixedly, then shook himself -and began to pace up and down the room. When next he spoke his voice was -querulous and irritable: - -“I should have been working all this while. The train of my thoughts is -all upset—disordered. It is unlike you to disturb me. I’ve lost an -hour. Tomorrow I must work all day—alone.” - -“Go back to yourself,” she said, gently. - -She did not leave at once, but half an hour later he looked up and saw -she was buttoning her coat. - -“You needn’t go.” - -“I had better,” she said; and at the door—“I come here too often, -perhaps. It is selfish of me.” - -“But I like you to be here—I want you here. I meant nothing—only I’m a -little keyed up and worried. I don’t know why.” - -“It’s all right,” said Eve. “Just for tomorrow I’ll stay away.” - -“You want to?” - -“No; but it is good sometimes to do what one doesn’t want. G’bye.” And -she was gone. - -That night, as he lay in bed, the same feeling of self-reproach which -had sprung into being for an instant during their talk came back to him -heavily. - -“What do I do for her? Nothing.” - - - IV - -The thought awoke with him next day, and seemed to write itself across -the pages of his manuscript. He could not concentrate, and the ink on -his dipped pen dried times without number, and not a line was committed -to the paper. The hour for their united meal came, and with it a feeling -of loneliness and disappointment. He made no attempt to set the table -for himself, but sat staring dully at the criss-cross lines of the -window transoms, fiddling aimlessly with the books and papers before -him. - -Once he thought he would go out, but changed his mind, and threw his hat -aside before he had reached the door of the room. He tried to read, but -the words were meaningless and confused, and conveyed nothing to his -mind, so he dropped the book to the floor and fell back to the fruitless -staring again. The words she had spoken about her childhood recurred, -and with the startling reproductive faculty which he possessed he was -able to picture it all very vividly. He could almost visualize the cheap -short dress she would have worn when, years before, she lashed her -purple top at the corner of that grey side street. The houses there -would have narrow and worn steps leading down to the pavement; they -would have mean areas, and windows repaired with gelatine lozenges. One -of the lodgers would boast a row of geranium pots on the window-sill, -stayed from falling by a slack string. No flowers would bloom in those -pots—a few atrophied leaves on a brown stalk would be the only reward -of the desultory waterings. In the yards at the back queer, shapeless -garments would flap and fill upon a line, and gaunt cats would creep -along the sooty walls. There would be querulous voices somewhere raised -in argument or rebuke, and the shrill cries of children at unfriendly -games. On Sundays vulgar youths with button-holes would loaf by the -letter-box at the street corner, making eyes and blowing coarse kisses -to the giggling girls who warily congregated on the far side. At times -there would be chasings, slaps, and rough-and-tumble courtships. Old men -without coats would blink and smoke complacently on the doorsteps, and -women would nod and whisper of their misfortunes and their fears. - -“She came from there—untouched by it all,” thought Wynne. “She deserves -her place in the sun.” - -A strange restlessness seized him, and he started to pace up and down. - - - V - -Wynne arrived at the theatre earlier than usual that night, and met Eve -in one of the corridors. - -“Well,” he said. - -“Well?” - -He shook his head. “I haven’t worked all day—I couldn’t.” - -“I’m sorry. What have you done?” - -“Walked about—and thought.” - -“Of what?” - -“Of you mostly.” - -“Have you? I’m glad. I wanted you to think of me today.” - -“Why today?” - -“It’s my birthday.” - -“No!” - -She nodded. - -“How old?” - -“Twenty-one.” - -“Twenty-one!” - -It seemed rather sad. Twenty-one is a great birthday. Had she been an -earl’s daughter there would have been laughter and dancing in the hall -that night—white flowers and scarlet in happy clusters everywhere. -There would have been pearls from her father, and a dream dress to wear. -Wax candles would have glittered the silver on the board, and -pink-coated huntsmen would have led her to the dance. - -It seemed rather sad she should be walking-on in a crowd to earn three -shillings and sixpence. And with this reflection there came to Wynne an -idea—one of the first that did not actually concern himself. It smote -him gloriously, and sent a pulsation of delight throbbing through his -veins. But all he said was: - -“You will come to the rooms after the play?” - -She hesitated. “I said I would not.” - -“But it’s your birthday.” - -“Then, if I shan’t disturb you.” - -“Even if you do, I want you to come.” - -“Very well. Will you wait for me?” - -“No. Follow me round. I’ve something to do first. Here, take a key and -keep it if you will. I give you the freedom of the rooms.” - -“I wish you’d wait,” she said. - -“Sorry,” he replied, shaking his head. - -“After all, a birthday means very little to a man,” thought Eve. Yet she -was disappointed he had refused so small a service. - -When his scene was over, Wynne dressed quickly and hurried from the -theatre. In his pocket was a sum of six shillings and threepence. He -counted it by touch as he walked down Maiden Lane and struck across -Covent Garden. Before a modest wine shop in Endell Street he stopped and -considered. In the window was a pyramid of champagne bottles, the base -composed of magnums, the first tier of quarts, the second of pints, and, -resting proudly on top, a single half-pint. Each size was carefully -priced, even the tiny bottle showing a ticket on which was printed, “Two -shillings and eightpence.” - -Wynne squared his shoulders and entered the shop with an air of some -importance. - -“This Dry Royal,” he said, “is it a wine you can recommend?” - -“It is a very drinkable wine,” replied the merchant. “Of course it does -not compare—” - -But Wynne interrupted with: - -“I’ll take one of the half-pints to sample.” - -“I have no half-pints.” - -“There is one in the window.” - -“It is not for sale.” - -“Why not?” - -“There is no demand for that size.” - -“I am supplying the demand.” His tone was irritatingly precise, and the -merchant was offended. - -“I regret, sir, I cannot undertake to spoil my window dressing for so -small an order.” He spoke with finality that could not be misconstrued. - -“Good God!” exclaimed Wynne. “You call it a small order? It is nearly -half of all I possess. Am I to be cheated of a celebration for the sake -of your damned ideas of symmetry?” - -His very genuine concern excited interest. - -“I should be very sorry to cheat you of anything,” came the answer in a -more kindly voice. “Perhaps if you would explain—” - -“What explanation is needed? Why does any one buy champagne except to -celebrate an event? Must I sacrifice the desire to please and the hope -of giving a sparkle of happiness because your hide-bound conventions -won’t let you knock the top off a triangle? Is the expression of a -kindly wish to be nullified because my worldly wealth won’t run to a -pint? Would you decline to serve a rich man with a quart because you -stock magnums? There’s no damned sense of justice in it.” - -It so happened there were warm springs in the heart of the little Endell -Street wine merchant—and imagination too. As he listened to this -intemperate outburst he pictured very vividly the event which the small -gold-braided bottle was destined to enliven. A man does not spend half -his belongings for no purpose, and accordingly he said: - -“I never wish to disappoint a customer, sir. If you would accept a pint -for the price of the half, you would be doing me a service.” - -But the rancour had not abated, and Wynne replied: - -“This is a celebration—not a damned charity.” - -“I see—of course not. Please forgive me,” said the little man, and -opening a panelled door he took the tiny bottle from the top of the -pyramid and wrapped it up. - -Wynne placed two shillings and eightpence on the counter, pocketed the -parcel, and walked to the door. Arrived there, he turned and came back -with an outstretched hand. - -“You’re a good sort,” he said. - -“Thank you, sir, and a very merry evening.” - -They shook hands warmly. - -At a very special fruiterer’s in Southampton Row Wynne bought a quarter -of a pound of hothouse grapes, and argued fiercely with the shop -assistant who did not consider the purchase warranted placing the fruit -on vine leaves in a basket. He next made his way to a confectioner’s, -and forced an entrance as they were putting up the shutters. Here he had -a windfall, and secured a small but beautifully iced cake for a -shilling, on the double account of the lateness of the hour and a slight -crack in the icing. - -On the pavement outside he counted what remained of his original -capital. - -“One and tenpence—good!” he remarked. - -The red and green lights of a chemist lured him to enter, and he -emerged, after a period of exquisite indecision, with two elegant -packages—one containing a tablet of soap, and the other a tiny bottle -of perfume. - -Carrying his treasures with prodigious care he hastened toward his -rooms, but had hardly covered half the distance when an appalling -thought occurred to him. Under the weight of it he stopped short, and -beat his forehead with a closed fist. - -“I’ve forgotten the candles,” he gasped. “The fairy candles—the -twenty-one candles!” - -Without those twenty-one candles the whole affair would be flat and -meaningless. In being able to obtain them reposed the success of the -scheme. He tried an oilshop, but without success—he tried another with -the same result. - -“My God!” he exclaimed in an ecstasy of anxiety, “where can I get the -things?” - -And the good angel who listens for such prayers heard, and sent toward -him a small boy of pleasing exterior who whistled gaily. - -“I say,” said Wynne, “ever had a Christmas-tree?” - -The boy grinned and nodded. - -“One with candles on it, I mean—coloured candles?” - -“Yus, it was a proper tree.” - -“I want some candles—want ’em tremendously. Know where I could get -some?” - -Appealed to as a specialist, the urchin adopted a professional mien, and -paused for consideration. Eventually he said: - -“Dad got ours at Dawes’s, rahnd the street. She’s still got some, ’cos -my mate, Joe, bought one for his bull’s-eye.” - -“Round which street?” - -“Over there.” - -Wynne waited for no more, and broke into a run. By a kindly Providence -Mrs. Dawes had not put up the shutters, being a lady who traded sweets -to little voyagers whose parents were not over particular as to the -hours they kept. - -“I dessay I could lay my ’and on a few,” she replied to Wynne’s fervent -appeal, “though it isn’t the season for them, you understand.” - -With that she opened, or rattled, an incredible number of wrong boxes, -taken from beneath the counter. The sweat had beaded Wynne’s forehead -when at last she discovered what she had been seeking. She did not -appear to be in any hurry, and conversed on technical subjects during -the search. - -“There isn’t the sale for coloured candles that there used to be. Of -course you may say as it is more the peg-top season, and that might -account for it; but it doesn’t—not altogether, that is. Putting the -Christmas trade on one side, boys don’t go for bull’s-eye lanterns as -once they did—no, nor Chinese neither. It’s all iron ’oops, or roller -skates nowadays, as you may say. Why, I dessay I sell as much as ten or -a dozen ’oops a week.” - -“Do you indeed?” - -“Quite that. Let’s see! Candles! Ah, I think this is them.” And it was. - -“Thank God!” exclaimed Wynne. “I want twenty-one.” - -He watched in an agony of suspense as she turned out precisely that -number. - -“Five a penny,” she said. - -“Lord!” he gasped. “I’ve only fourpence.” - -“You can pay me the odd farthing when you are passing.” - -Greatly to the good lady’s surprise the extraordinary young man leant -across the counter and planted a kiss upon her ample cheek, then seizing -his purchases raced from the shop and scuttled down the street. - -“Well I never!” she exclaimed—“must be a bit mad.” But nevertheless she -rubbed the spot where the kiss had fallen with a kindly touch. - - - VI - -Probably for the first time in his life Wynne felt the need of fine -linen. It is a sorry happening to lay choice dishes on a bare board. A -flash of memory provided an alternative, and he unearthed a roll of -white wallpaper from a cupboard. Mindful of a trick performed by small -boys at gallery doors, he folded and tore the paper to a rough -presentment of a lace cloth. Quite imposing it looked upon the black -surface of the old oak table. - -To the rim of a fine, but much-riveted blue-and-white plate he waxed the -twenty-one candles, and in the centre, pedestalled upon an inverted -soap-dish, he stood the birthday cake. The champagne and some glasses -were placed on one side of this setpiece, the grapes on the other, while -before it, squarely and precisely laid, were the two beautifully tied -parcels of soap and scent. - -So wrapped up was he in the exquisite pleasure of his preparations that -he was quite insensible to the deliberate symmetry he had brought -about—a circumstance which may prove a great deal, or nothing at all. -When he had done he fell back and surveyed his handiwork as an artist -before a masterpiece. - -And outside rumbled the voices of the clocks saying the hour was eleven. - -“Eleven! She will be here in a moment,” he thought. A sudden nervousness -seized him. He did not know why or what it was about. He touched his -pocket to be sure the matches were there. He wondered if she were all -right, and had crossed Long Acre and Oxford Street safely—they were -busiest in theatre traffic at that hour, and private cars and taxis paid -little heed to pedestrians. It would be so easy for her to be knocked -down and run over. He could picture the curious, jostling crowds that -would gather round, the blue helmets of the police in the centre—and -the gaunt ambulance which would appear from nowhere. - -“God! What a fool I am,” he exclaimed. “She’s all right—of course she -is.” - -Yet, despite this guarantee of her safety, thoughts of possible disaster -raced across his mind. Memory of his visit to the Morgue in Paris arose -and would not be banished. He recalled what he had said that day: “Death -is so horribly conclusive.” Conclusive! Suppose it were visited upon -her?—something would die in him, too. He asked himself what that -something would be, but could find no answer. It would be something so -lately come to life that he did not know it well enough to name. - -Once more his eyes fell upon the table, and the fears vanished. Of -course she would come—of course nothing would happen to her. Even -though it were against her will, she would be drawn by what he had -prepared. - -He blew out the lamp, and crossing the room opened the window and leant -over the sill to wait. - -It was a sweet night, starred and silent. Smoke rose ghostily from the -silhouetted stacks, and a faint, murmurous wind, which seemed to have -stolen from a Devon lane, touched his hair to movement. North, south, -east, and west stretched the roofs of London, and in imagination he -could hear the soft rustle as the dwellers beneath tucked themselves in -for the night. - -A hundred times before he had leant out, as now, with thoughts which ran -on the groundlings who ate and slept and worked and squabbled beneath -that army of stacks and slates; and how, one day, his name should come -to be as familiar with them as the pictures hanging on their walls. But -tonight his feelings were different. He conceived these people in their -relation to each other and not to himself. In each and all those myriad -abiding-places there would be folk with gentle thoughts and kindly -desires, even as his were then. They would be linked together by the -common tie of doing something to please. Never before had it occurred to -him that in pleasing another happiness was born in oneself. Hitherto he -had only thought to please by the nimbleness of his artistry—the -perfection of a style, the ability to express; but now he saw the surer -way was to appeal to the heart—to minister to the true sentiment—to -hand over sincerity from one’s simple best. - -A footfall below, and the glimpse of a grey figure in the light of the -street-lamp, brought him to immediate action. He drew back from the -window, and, trembling with excitement, put a match to the circle of -coloured candles. - -A ring of fire leapt into being—a tiny flame for every year of her in -whose honour they were burnt in offering. - -Standing behind the lights, and almost invisible in the twinkling glare, -Wynne waited breathlessly for the door to open. - -She was drawing off her gloves as she came into the room, but she -stopped, and her hands fell gently to her sides. Her eyes rested on -every detail of the little scene, hovering over it with an exquisite -increase of lustre. And slowly her lips broke into a smile of the purest -child-happiness, as, with a little catch in her voice, she breathed: - -“How lovely and dear of you.” - -It was hard to find a reply. - -“You’re pleased?” he said. “I’m glad.” - -“Pleased! Look! there are two presents for me—real champagne, with its -livery all bright and goldy—and the bloom on the grapes, it’s—that’s a -proper birthday cake, with ‘marzi’ inside—and twenty-one candles -because I am twenty-one years old today.” - -She held out her hand, and he came to her and took it in one of his. For -quite a while they stood in silence. - -“This is my first real birthday, and you’ve thought of it all for me. -Oh, it is wonderful, you know.” - -“You have done something more wonderful for me,” he said, in a voice -that seemed unlike his own. - -“I?” - -“You smiled for me.” - -“Because you made me utterly happy.” - -“D’you think—I could—go on making you happy?” - -For the first time she raised her eyes from the fairy candles to meet -his. - -“Do you want to?” - -His reply was characteristic. - -“Yes—for I am happier now than I have ever been.” - -She laughed understandingly, and caressed his hand. - -“Oh, here!” he said. “Sit down, I want to talk.” He almost thrust her -into the chair and settled himself upon the arm. “All of a sudden you -have become something that I want—must have. Spiritually I want you -near me—you’re—you’re essential. Without you I am incomplete. If I -lost you I should lose more than you—far more. D’you understand?” - -“Yes, I understand.” - -“Together we could reach any heights, you and I, for you give me the -atmosphere I need—the right essence. I used to believe the line, ‘He -travels fastest who travels alone,’ but now I scout it—it’s lost its -truth for me. I believe you are wrapped up in my happiness and my -success; I believe without you they would be in jeopardy—in danger. -D’you care for me well enough to take me on those terms?” - -Very slowly she replied: - -“I want you to have your happiness, Wynne, and your success—I want that -to be a true dream.” - -“Then—?” - -“I’ll accept your spiritual offer—and give you all in return. But won’t -you say just one thing more?” - -“What have I left unsaid?” - -“Did you say you loved me?” - -“No,” he replied; “but, in God’s name, I believe I do.” - -“My dear,” she said, with a mother’s voice. - -He broke away from her and started to pace the room feverishly. - -“Come back,” she pleaded. “I am so proud of that belief.” - -He threw up his head. - -“I was honest enough to offer all I possessed,” he cried. “A man would -have taken you in his arms. God! I’m only half a man—a starveling—! -You are beautiful—beautiful to me—beautiful—subtle—desirable—but I -haven’t a shred of passion in my half-starved body.” - -“Yours is the better half, dear. The spirit counts, and the greatest -possession a woman can have is all that her man can give. Let us keep -our spirits bright together.” She rose, and he came toward her, and -suddenly his face lost its tragic look, and the lines at the corners of -his mouth pulled down in a whimsical smile. - -“What a triumph for Plato!” he said. “When shall it be?” - -She smiled back at him. “Whenever you wish.” - -Very delicious she looked in the dancing fairy light. A strangely new -and elemental impulse seized him, and he gripped her shoulders fiercely. - -“You are wonderful,” he said. “We’ll work together for the Day. The Day -shall be our _real_ wedding; till then—partners.” - -“Partners.” - -“You shall help to make a success, and—a man; and when I’m a man I -shall seek a man’s reward. We’ll pledge that! Come, let’s feast before -the candles burn low.” - -The tiny bottle of champagne popped bravely, and the wine tinkled -against the glass. - - - - - PART SIX - “HE TRAVELS FASTEST— - - - I - -They were on their way to the registrar’s when Wynne stopped short and -exclaimed, “Of course!” Then, in answer to an arched-brow inquiry from -Eve: “Would you like to meet some one nice?” - -“I have,” she smiled, for it was their wedding day, and future wives and -husbands say pleasant things to each other on their wedding days, even -though sometimes they forget to do so afterwards. - -“A man—in fact, an uncle of mine.” - -“Uncle Clem?” - -“Yes. How did you know?” - -“Guessed.” - -“Have I spoken of him?” - -“Once.” - -“I want you to meet him.” - -“Then I do too.” - -“Don’t know where he lives though.” - -“Let’s try a telephone directory.” - -They did—and successfully. - -“He would live in Kensington Square,” said Wynne. - -“Have you never been to see him before?” - -Wynne shook his head. - -“But why not?” - -“Did you never have that feeling of wanting to keep something back? How -can I explain? If you are thirsty and at last you are within reach of a -drink, have you never waited awhile instead of snatching it to your -lips?” - -“I know.” - -“Then that’s why. Only here and there has he entered my life, and -somehow each time I felt the better for him. I’m not a very grateful -individual, but I’m grateful to Uncle Clem—and I’m grateful _for_ Uncle -Clem, too. He sees things very agreeably. When I was a child I thought -him a god—and I haven’t altogether outgrown that feeling.” - -“Then why do you avoid him?” - -“When one goes before the Presence one likes to have something to show.” - -“I see.” - -He touched her hand lightly. - -“Today I have something to show.” - -They climbed to the top of a bright red ’bus and journeyed to -Kensington. At the church they descended, and dipped into the little -side street which leads to the Queen Anne houses of Kensington Square. - -There was a copper knocker on the door of Uncle Clem’s abode, with which -Wynne very bravely tattooed his arrival. - -“Yes, Mr. Rendall is in,” admitted the manservant who answered the -summons. “Was he expecting you?” - -“Heavens! no,” said Wynne. “I’m his nephew—but let him find out for -himself. We shouldn’t pocket the spoons if you invited us to come -inside.” - -The man smiled. “I recognize the relationship in your speech, sir.” - -He opened the door of a white-panelled room, and, when they had entered, -mounted the stairs to inform his master. - -“Good, isn’t it?” said Wynne, his eyes roaming over the comfortable -disorder and beautiful appointments. “Everything right. Hullo!” He -halted abruptly before a large framed canvas on one of the walls, “The -Faun and the Villagers.” - -He was standing so when the door opened, and Uncle Clem, dressed in -quilted smoking jacket and a pair of ultra vermilion slippers, came in. -He paused a moment, then out rang his voice: - -“Ha! The young fellow! Ain’t dead, then? Let’s look at you!” - -Wynne met the full smack of the descending hand in his open palm. - -“No,” he laughed. “Look here, instead,” and pivoted Uncle Clem so that -Eve came in his line of sight. - -“Splendid!” said Clem, moving to meet her. “Used to tell him he’d do no -good until he fell in love. May I kiss her?” - -“Don’t ask me.” - -“Well, may I?” - -“Um!” said Eve. - -And he did, saying thereafter: - -“First rate! I like it immensely. Sit down—take off your hat, or -whatever you do to feel at home. That’s the way. Now let’s hear all -about it. Are you married—or going to be? I see—going to be—no ring. -Splendid!” - -“Here’s the ring,” said Wynne. “It will be worn for the first time -today.” - -“Today! Today the best day in all the year! And you came to see me on -the way to the church. Fine! Y’know, there is something in ’im after -all, even though he’s devilish sporadic in coming to see me.” - -“He’s saving you up for the good time ahead,” said Eve; “and I can see -why, now.” - -“Then give up seeing why, little lady. What’s your name, by the way? -What is her name, young fellar?” - -“Eve.” - -“Eve—couldn’t be better. What was I saying? Ah, yes. Give up seeing -_why_ and come and see _me_ instead. Rotten policy to save! (never saved -a penny in my life). Fatal to save! Find out, when it’s too late, don’t -want what you’ve been saving for—outgrown your impulses. Buried with -your bankbook, and every one glad you’re dead. No—no. Spend while you -are young. Get a hold on all the friendship and all the love within -reach—and then, why then, when you’re old, at least memories will be -yours as comforters. You agree, don’t you?” - -“Yes, I agree,” said Eve. - -“And what about you?” - -“All or nothing,” replied Wynne. “And I had rather keep the ‘nothing’ -till I can claim the ‘all.’” - -“Good stars!” exclaimed Clem. “What a speech for a wedding day!” Then, -catching a glimpse of the growing colour on Eve’s cheeks: - -“Don’t heed me, my dear. I’ve a reputation for saying things which, in -the vernacular, I didn’t ought. But a man who speaks of nothing on his -wedding day—?” - -Wynne hesitated, then: - -“This isn’t altogether our wedding day,” he said. - -“Eh?” - -“Today she and I are becoming—legalized partners.” - -“What the devil are you talking about?” - -“Partners. We shall join forces, she and I, and work together for -success—think of, live for, and concentrate on that goal. Afterwards -we—” - -But Uncle Clem would not let him finish. - -“Rank folly!” he cried, jumping to his feet. - -“You’ve read your Plato!” said Wynne. - -“Plato be damned! Well enough for an old philosopher to mumble his -repressive theories from a dead log in the market-place—but for you at -twenty-what-ever-it-may-be, tss—madness—rot—folly! My dear, dear -girl, for God’s sake, tell him not to talk such utter damn nonsense.” - -“You haven’t quite understood,” said Eve, very gently. - -“He speaks of success and denies love—he places success before love. -Doesn’t he know—? Here! don’t you know,” twisting suddenly round, “that -love is the only success worth having—that success is only possible -through love?” - -“Love is the reward,” said Wynne. - -“It is not. It is no more the reward than rain is a reward to the -ground, or air is a reward to the lungs. Love is a necessity—a primary -necessity—and the fountain of all inspiration. If you can’t realize -that, don’t marry—you have no right to marry. Don’t marry him, my dear. -Keep away from him till he comes to his proper senses.” - -“I think we have a greater knowledge,” said Wynne, moving to Eve’s side. - -“And I think you have no knowledge whatsoever—that you are throttling -it at the main. Partners!” he threw up his head. “Oh, can’t you see what -partners means—what it amounts to in practice? A staling of each other -for each other—that’s all. A mutual day-by-day loss of conceit and -regard. You can see it in the City, or wherever you choose to look. -Listen to what any man says of his partner: ‘He’s all right, but getting -old—losing his grip—isn’t the man he was,’ so on and so forth. And why -is it? Because they have no closer tie than their signatures on a piece -of paper. Nature admits of no lasting partnership between man and woman -save one—love.” - -“Even that partnership is sometimes dissolved.” - -“By fools, yes, and by the blind, but not by those who can see. -Knowledge is the keystone which holds up the archway of heaven, my -boy—knowledge which has sprung from love. I may be no more than a -talkative old bachelor, but, by God! I know that to be true. There are -few enough spirits on this earthy old world of ours, and only through -love comes the power to know them each by name.” He stopped and fiddled -with a pipe on the mantelshelf. “This is a disappointment to me—a big -disappointment. I’d looked to you young folk to open your hearts and -tell me what was inside, and, instead, I’ve done all the talking, and -told you what I think they ought to contain, and perhaps offended you -both into the bargain.” - -“No, you haven’t,” said Eve. “I like you for it.” - -“And you?” - -“If I were offended,” said Wynne, “I should not ask you to come to the -wedding—and I do.” - -Uncle Clem shook his head slowly. - -“Not I,” he said. “I’m an idealist—not a business man. I’d as soon -watch a stockbroker signing scrip.” - -On the doorstep, a few moments later, he touched Eve’s arm and -whispered: - -“Run away—don’t do it—run away.” - -She shook her head. “I love him,” she said. - -In silence she and Wynne walked to the High Street and turned into -Kensington Gardens. - -“He’s losing his grip—not the man he was—getting old,” quoted Wynne. - -“And yet,” she answered, “he is younger than we are.” - -They fell upon a second silence, then very suddenly Wynne said: - -“Are you unhappy?” - -“No.” - -“Are you doubtful?” - -“No.” - -“You do believe in me?” - -“Yes.” - -“It’s—it’s not much of a wedding for you.” - -“There’s all the future.” - -“Yes. He was wrong, of course.” - -“If the future is to be ours.” - -“It shall be ours. What’s it matter if we grope along the flats if at -last we jump to the mountain top together?” - -“I put all my faith in that.” - -“You shall never regret it.” - -She hung close upon his arm. “No, you won’t let me regret it, will you? -You won’t _ever_ let me regret it?” - -“’Course not.” - -“I want to know, when you make that leap to the mountain top, that my -arm will be through yours as it is now.” - -“It will be then. I shall want to show my treasures to the world,” he -said. - -Her mouth broke into a smile. - -“Nothing else matters,” she said. - - - II - -A registrar is not, as a rule, an enlivening person. He is a dealer in -extremities—to him a birth or a death is merely a matter of so many -words written upon a page, and a marriage is no greater affair than a -union of two people brought together for the purpose of providing him -with subjects for his more serious offices. - -The particular registrar who was responsible for making Wynne and Eve -man and wife was no exception to the rule. He proved to be a man of -boundless melancholy, who recited the necessary passages with a gloom of -intonation better befitting a burial than a bridal. His distress was -acute in that they had failed to import the required witnesses—and, -indeed, at one time he seemed disposed to deny them the privileges of -his powers. The apartment in which the ceremony took place smelt -disagreeably from lack of ventilation, and the newly-wed pair were -thankful to come into the sunshine of the street outside. - -So great was the oppression produced that neither one nor the other felt -capable of saying a word, and it was only by a mighty effort Wynne was -able to say: - -“We’re married.” - -Eve pressed his hand, and nodded. - -“Rather beastly, wasn’t it?” - -She nodded again. - -“Doesn’t seem very real, does it?” - -And she replied, “Would you kiss me just to make it seem more real?” - -Rather awkwardly he stooped and brushed her cheek with a kiss. - -“Better?” he said. - -“A bit.” - -He began to speak rather fast: - -“After all, what’s it matter? This is only the beginning. We’ll count -today as any other day—a working day. I’m no more to you—or you to -me—beyond the sharing of a single name and a single roof. We won’t -spoil our future by any foretaste of its good. Do you agree?” - -“I agree.” - -“Then shake hands, partner.” - -“God bless you and let you win,” said Eve, as she laid her hand on his. - -By the doors of the British Museum they nodded a temporary farewell. He -entered and made his way to the reading-room, and she walked home alone. - - - III - -The moonlight streamed through the slanting window, pitching a dim ray -upon Wynne as he lay asleep. - -It was dark in the lonely corner, on the far side of the room, where, -very faintly, the outline of a slim white figure could be seen—a figure -hugging her knees and resting her chin upon them. Very quiet it -was—just the rise and fall of a man’s breathing and the muted, humming -noises of the night. - -The clocks of the City coughed and jarred the hour of three. - -Presently the still white figure moved, and, bare-footed, crossed the -floor between the two beds. For a little while she stood looking down -upon the sleeping man; then, in answer to a human impulse too gentle, -and yet too strong to be denied, stooped and laid her head beside his -upon the pillow. Her breath was warm upon his cheek, but he made no -movement; her hair tressed upon his arm, but it did not quicken to life -and fold around her, as a husband’s might; her lips were almost touching -his, but he did not move that they might meet in the darkness. - -With a little catch in her throat Eve lifted herself and crossed to the -lonely shadows beneath the sloping roof. - - - IV - -“May I read these?” asked Eve. - -She had unearthed a box full of old manuscripts he had written and cast -aside. - -“Burn ’em, if you like,” he replied. - -She chose one from the pile, saying: - -“Have they been sent anywhere?” - -“Oh yes, a few have been the round. They are true to the boomerang type, -for they always returned to the point of departure.” - -She curled herself in the big armchair and began to read. The breakfast -things had been washed up, the beds made, and the rooms tidied. - -It was an article she had chosen, and the subject was “Education.” Wynne -had a singularly marked style of his own—his sentences were crisp and -incisive, his views original and striking. When he chose he could write -with a degree of tenderness that was infinitely appealing; but in odd -contrast to this mood, and usually in immediate proximity to his most -happy expressed phrases, occurred passages of satire and mordant wit -which detracted immeasurably from the charm of the whole. They stood out -like blots upon the page. - -The same conditions prevailed in each of the other manuscripts which Eve -read, with the result that the fine susceptibilities which had been -awakened by his best, were wounded by the ill-humour of his worst. - -“Why do you give all the butterflies stings?” she asked. - -The question pleased him, and he smiled. - -“Why not? Aren’t they mostly well deserved?” - -“By whom?” - -“The public.” - -She had it in mind to say that it was not the public who felt the sting, -but, instead, she replied: - -“May I copy these out?” - -“If you like.” - -She did, and, with certain reservations and omissions, dispatched them -to the kind of periodical which might be interested. - -Three weeks later a letter arrived from _The Forum_ accepting the essay -on Education. “Payment of ten guineas will be made on publication,” said -the letter. - -“But they refused it before!” exclaimed Wynne. - -“I made a few cuts, and altered it a little.” - -His forehead flew into straight creases. - -“Where? What did you cut?” - -She showed him. - -He shook his head and paced up and down the room. “Heavens above!” he -reproached. “Those were the best passages.” - -“They weren’t. They were bad, and destructive.” - -“Revolutionary, if you like.” - -“The wrong sort of revolution.” - -“Not at all. I wrote them with a purpose.” - -“Then the purpose was wrong.” - -“Thank God you cut them and not I. I should esteem myself a coward if I -had done that.” - -“I don’t. You will never heal by throwing vitriol.” - -Wynne’s tenacity was tremendous, and he fought for every inch of ground -before conceding it. The lesson, however, did him good, and thereafter, -if not always with the best grace, he submitted his writings to her for -approval. - -Eve had a very sure literary sense, and her criticisms were as just as -they were courageous. Wynne could never gauge to what extent a reader -will allow the scourge of wit to fall upon his shoulders, but Eve, by -some peculiar insight of her own, knew this to a nicety, and little by -little forced him to her way of seeing. - -As his writings began to be accepted he came to a silent acknowledgment -of the value of her decisions, and, subconsciously, his mind, in certain -directions, ran parallel with hers. By his sharp acquisitive sense he -came to know how she arrived at her reasoning, and in learning this, the -necessity to appeal to her diminished correspondingly. Once an idea was -firmly implanted it became a part of his being, and very soon his pen -lost its jagged edge and ran more smoothly over the pages. - -For nearly a year the partners worked together, each in their separate -spheres, to the common end of success. - -That his mind might go free and unworried wheresoever it willed, Eve -cooked and darned, and kept his house in order. It was a grey enough -life, with little to raise it from the ruck of sordid domesticity. To -all intent and purpose she was a general servant, privileged at rare -intervals to wash her hands, sit at her master’s table and share his -speech. Her reward was to hear an echo of some of her sweetness in his -writings, and to see the results of her gentle care in his looks and -bearing. - -He had more colour, his step was springier than in the days before they -had met, and this added vitality he converted into longer hours of -labour. He never spared himself or relaxed, and his tireless energy, -perseverance, and concentration were abnormal. Except when he needed her -advice he appeared to be wholly detached, and scarcely aware of her -presence. The cramped conditions in which they lived made it very -difficult for Eve to conduct her household duties without disturbing -him. He was very sensitive and exacting, and the sound of a rattled -teacup would throw him out of line. Not the least of Eve’s achievement -was the manner in which she contrived to do everything that was needful -without disturbance, and at the same time to be ever ready to lay all -aside in case he should want her. - -A man will always give or find occupation for a woman, and in some small -way or another the whole of Eve’s time was taken up in meeting his needs -and wishes. She was obliged to forego many of the happy book hours she -used to spend in order that the wheels could run smoothly and silently. -This in itself was a very great sacrifice, for she had loved her -reading, and grubbing with pots and pans, or bargaining with tradesfolk, -was a sorry substitute. - -“But it’s only for a while,” she comforted herself. “One day—” and her -thoughts floated out to the sun-lit hills and the sweeping purple -heather of the moors. - - - V - -One evening Wynne arrived home and announced that he had left the stage. - -“I am going to write a play,” he said, “and I shall want all my time.” - -He had not taken into consideration that with the loss of his theatre -salary their finances would be seriously crippled. Of late there had -been rather more money than usual, and Eve had entertained the hope of -engaging a maid to come in and do the rougher work, but with this -announcement that happy prospect took immediate wings. - -A play would certainly take several weeks to write, and probably months -or even years to place. In the meantime there were three or four -outstanding sales of stories and articles which would realize a total of -thirty or forty pounds. - -Yet, although these considerations arose very clearly in Eve’s mind, she -only nodded and expressed enthusiasm for the idea. - -And so, with a great deal of energy and intention, Wynne attacked the -play, and Eve rolled up her sleeves and washed the greasy plates, and -blacked the stove and cooked the meals, and did the meagre housekeeping, -and many things she liked not, on little more than nothing a week. It -was strenuous work, but she carried it out cheerfully and -unostentatiously, and contrived to provide enough to keep his mind from -being worried with sordid considerations. - -Sometimes—not so often as she wished—he read what he had written, and -they talked over the human considerations that go to make a play. He -himself was most enthusiastic about the work, and to a great extent she -shared his belief. There was, however, a certain chilliness in his lines -and expressed thoughts, which by the gentlest tact she strove to warm. - -It was a delicate enough operation in all conscience, for there is no -machinery more difficult to guide than an artist’s mind, and none that -demands overhaul more constantly. Hers was the task of tightening the -bolts of a moving vehicle—one attended with grave risks to the -mechanic. She took her satisfaction after the manner of a mechanic, by -noting the smoother running and more even purr of the machine. - -As they had determined upon their wedding day, the physical, and even -the spiritual, side of their union was in abeyance. Of sweet intimacies -and gentle understandings there were none. It was the work first, the -work last, and the work which took precedence to all. - -For Eve it was a lonely life—a life of unceasing mental and manual -exercise. She strove with head and hand that his spirit might talk with -posterity. - -Sometimes there were knocks, but she took them bravely, looking always -to the future to repay. - -One morning in the early summer Wynne fretfully threw down his pen. - -The whitey-gold sunshine was calling of bluebell woods and cloud shadows -racing over the downs. - -“I must get out,” he said—“out in the fields somewhere.” - -Eve filled her lungs expectantly. - -“Let’s go to Richmond,” she said. “Do you remember the first night I -came back, and we said we’d go there one day and eat apple turnovers on -the way home?” - -“Yes, oh yes.” - -“It’ud be gorgeous to have some fresh air, and we could make plans -and—” - -“Yes, but not today. I want to think today—I should be better alone.” - -It was foolish to be hurt, and gently she answered: - -“I shouldn’t stop you thinking.” - -“Some other day, then. This morning I’ll go alone. That last act is -bothering me. I shall bring back a fierce hunger for you to appease.” - -That was all. He reached for his hat and walked to the door. As he laid -his hand on the knob she said: - -“Think of me bending over the gas-ring, Wynne.” - -He turned and looked queerly at her without replying. The angle of her -speech was new and unexpected. Then his cleverness suggested: - -“I shall think of you as you’ll look when our honeymoon begins.” - -In an instant she was disarmed and had stretched out a friendly hand. - -“I wanted to be level with the future for one day,” she said. “Out in -the fields we are as rich as we shall ever be.” - -He nodded. - -“The leaves would be no greener if all fame were ours,” he answered; and -added, “but they’d seem greener. Come, if you like.” - -“No, I’ll stay.” - -She gave his hand a small pressure. He looked down on it as it lay in -his palm. There was dirt upon her fingers from the scouring of pots and -pans. As he noted this he laughed shortly. - -“We must employ a Court manicurist when our Day dawns,” he said. “I -could not worship a queen whose hands were soiled. Expect me about six.” - -He closed the door behind him. - -Who can pretend to fathom the deeps of a woman’s mind. Long after he had -gone, Eve stood looking at her hands with solemn, frightened eyes. - - - VI - -The manner of Wynne Rendall’s coming into prominence was fortuitous. It -happened a little over two years after his marriage, and, broadly -speaking, was engineered by Eve. - -As a result of some unexpected sales to American publishers a few extra -pounds slipped through the lodging letter-box, and Eve insisted he -should spend some of these in joining a club of good standing. - -“You’ve been in the dark too long, Wynne. A writer of plays must be -known by the people who produce them, by the better actors and critics. -They must get used to seeing you before they will believe in you.” - -He raised no opposition to the idea. Of late he had felt cabined and -confined, and the thought of broader horizons appealed to him. - -“Uncle Clem would put you up for the Phœnician, wouldn’t he?” - -Wynne shook his head irritably. - -“I’m not disposed to ask favours of Uncle Clem,” he replied. - -“Why not?” - -“It was evident enough he disapproved of my mode of life when last we -met. It will be time to ask him to do things for me when he approves. -Besides, there’s no need. A cousin of my mother’s is a member—I’ll ask -him.” - -“Does he approve of your mode of life?” - -“Probably not; but, since I have no interest in him one way or the -other, it doesn’t matter. The man is rich and a fool.” - -“I didn’t know you had a rich cousin.” - -“It isn’t a thing to boast about. I rather believe I have a moderately -rich father and mother somewhere—still it can’t be helped.” - -“Do you know,” said Eve, “you have never mentioned them before.” - -“I don’t know what persuaded me to do so at all.” - -“Tell me about them.” - -“Nothing to tell. They wanted me to accept a sound commercial -position—whatever that may mean; in declining to do so I forfeited my -birthright, and sacrificed my immortal soul to the flames.” - -“Did you run away?” - -“I walked away. They were too slow to render running a necessity.” - -“I think you are rather callous,” said Eve. - -“Surely to God you don’t expect me to take off my hat, like a music-hall -serio, when I speak of Home and Mother.” - -“No, that would be rather silly—still—” - -“One must judge the value of things and persons on two counts—their -service and their effect. If their service is negligible, and they -produce no effect, it is clearly useless to have any further dealings -with them.” - -“I don’t like that,” said Eve. “It’s a cold philosophy. You sponge the -wine from the cellars and complain when the vats are empty.” - -“I don’t complain—I pass on. One must, or die of thirst.” - -“It is a false thirst.” - -“That doesn’t matter so long as one feels it acutely.” - -She generally allowed him the luxury of supplying the phrase to round -off an argument. It is a tribute to the gallantry of women that they -will allow the vanquished to feel he is the victor, and as true of the -best of them as the popular belief to the contrary is false. - -Wynne joined the Phœnician, and after a while came to spend much of his -time there. It made, he said, a change from the never-ending sameness of -their penny-threefarthing home. - -It was so long since he had foregathered with fellow-men that at first -he spent his club hours in shy silence. He would sit, ostensibly reading -a periodical, and actually listening to the conversation of those about -him. In so doing he learnt many things in regard to the subjects which -men will discuss one with another. The Phœnician was to a great extent a -rabble club. The members were composed of professional men—artists, -writers, actors, and those curious individuals who form a tail-light to -the arts, being bracketed on as a kind of chorus. These latter always -appeared to be well provided with money and ill provided with brains. -They knew the names of many stage people, and reeled them off one after -another as a parrot delivers its limited vocabulary. Seemingly they -derived much pleasure from the practice, and their happiest -conversational circumstance was to mention some one whose name they had -never introduced before. - -Wynne made unto himself an enemy of this section of the rabble by a -chance remark on an occasion when he happened to be in their midst. - -“I suppose,” he said, “you collect names as more intellectual folk -collect cigar bands.” - -As invariably was the case he was rather pleased with himself for -producing this remark. It suggested a line of thought, and shortly -afterwards he produced an article entitled “Men and their Talk.” The -article, which boasted a lemon wit, appeared in the _Monday Review_, and -offended many people. - -“The average man,” he wrote, “has but four topics of conversation which -he considers worthy of discussion. 1. His relation to other men’s wives. -2. His prowess at sport. 3. The names of restaurants at which he would -have us believe he dines. 4. His capacity for consuming liquor. Of these -subjects Nos. 1 and 4 are usually taken in conjunction. Thus, before we -are privileged to hear the more intimate passages of his amours, we are -obliged to follow the assuaging of his thirst from double cocktail to -treble liqueur. A nice balance in self-satisfaction is proved by a man’s -pride in what he drinks and how he loves.” Then, in another paragraph: -“The average man is not proud of resisting the temptations of the flesh, -but is always proud of yielding to them. Whenever men are gathered -together you will hear them speak in admiration of what our moral code -forbids, but you will not hear them boast of their fidelity. Many a -faithful husband lies of infidelity that he may stand even with his -fellows.” - -Of all the criticisms provoked by this article Wynne was best pleased by -one from a brother member, who announced that it was “an infernal breach -of confidence.” - -The club made serious inroads on Wynne’s finances, for no matter how -abstemious a man may be, he cannot rub shoulders with his own kind -without a certain amount of wear on his pocket linings. In consequence, -Eve was obliged to cut things very fine and forego every atom of -personal expenditure. - -Possibly because he had had such small dealings with money, Wynne was -not a generous giver. In these days he disbursed less toward the -household account than ever before, but did not expect less to appear -upon the table on this account. Neither did he expect Eve to appear -before him in dresses which had lost all pretentions to attractiveness. -Sometimes he would remark: - -“When on earth are you going to throw away that dreadful old garment?” - -The artistic mind is apt to be unreasonable in its demands—a -circumstance which Eve was obliged to keep very much before her eyes if -she would stay the tear which sought to rise there. - - - VII - -It was some months before the club yielded a practical return. - -Wynne was seated in the hollow of a deep leather chair, and he overheard -two men talking. One was Max Levis, London’s newest impresario, and the -other Leonard Passmore, a producer of some standing, whose methods Wynne -disapproved of very heartily. - -“You’ve read the play?” queried Levis. - -“Yes. I should say it was a certainty.” - -“Thought you would—that’s capital! Wanted your opinion before writing -to Quiltan.” - -Wynne knew Quiltan by reputation. His Oxford verses had caused a stir, -and the rare appearances of his articles were hailed enthusiastically by -press and public alike. Lane Quiltan besides being gifted, was -exceedingly well off—a reason, perhaps, for his small literary output. - -Max Levis played with the pages of a manuscript copy of the play. - -“Formed any views regarding the production?” he asked. - -Mr. Passmore had formed many views, and proceeded to expound them at -some length. He held forth for the best part of half an hour, while -Wynne, from the screen of his chair, silently scorned every word he -uttered. - -“God!” he thought, “and these are the men who cater art to the nation!” - -Presently the two men rose and walked toward the dining-room, heavy in -talk. On the small table beside where they had sat lay the copy of the -play. As the swing doors closed behind them Wynne picked it up and -started to read. - -Messrs. Levis and Passmore stayed long at their meat, and Wynne had read -the play from cover to cover before they returned. - -It was not often his heart went out to a contemporary’s work, but this -was an exception. What he read filled him with delight, envy, and -admiration. “Witches”—for so the play was called—possessed the rarest -quality. There was wit, imagination, and satire, and it was written with -that effortless ease at which all true artists should aim. - -As he laid the copy back on the small table Wynne gave vent to an -exclamation of indignant resentment, provoked by memories of the -proposals Passmore had made in regard to the manner in which he proposed -to interpret the work. Here was a thing of real artistic beauty, which -was to be subjected to commercial mutilation by a cross-grained fool who -had made a reputation by massing crowds in such positions that the -centre of the stage was clear for the principals. - -His feelings toward Mr. Passmore were not improved when that gentleman -and Mr. Levis reoccupied their former chairs, and, warmed by wine, -started to discuss their mutual follies. - -With silent irritation Wynne rose and left the club. He arrived home -about nine o’clock, where he inveighed against managers and producers, -and the dunces who dance in high places. In the course of the tirade he -explained the cause of his anger. - -“There’s a real thing—and it’s good and right, and cram-jam full of -exquisite possibilities. Those idiots haven’t begun to understand -it—are blind to its beauty—haven’t a notion how good it is. In God’s -name, why don’t they let me produce the thing?” - -Then Eve had an inspiration which sent Wynne forth into the night, and -found him, twenty minutes later, ringing the bell of a house in Clarges -Street. - -Taking into consideration the clothes he wore, and his general look of -dilapidation, his attitude when the door was opened by an important -footman was praiseworthy and remarkable. - -He simply said “Thank you,” and stepped into the hall. Then he removed -his hat and gave it to the man, saying, “Mr. Wynne Rendall.” The bluff -resulted in his being ushered into a drawing-room, in which were a -number of ladies and gentlemen. - -“It is always easy to recognize one’s host in a mixed gathering, -provided he does not know you,” commented Wynne, as the door closed, -“for he is the person whose face betrays the greatest perplexity. How do -you do, Mr. Quiltan?” - -Lane Quiltan shook hands doubtfully, but not without interest. Out of -politeness he said: - -“I seem to know your name.” - -“That’s unlikely,” replied Wynne, “for I have been at some pains to keep -it in the background. One of these days, however, you will know it very -much better.” - -“Did you come here to tell me so?” - -“Not altogether, although in a sense it is mixed up with my visit. To be -frank, I came in the hope of finding you alone. Still, I suppose later -on you will be.” He smiled engagingly. - -Quiltan scarcely knew whether to be annoyed or amused. In deference to -his guests, he chose the latter alternative. - -“You seem to be an unconventional man, Mr. Rendall,” he laughed. - -“Come, I had not looked for a compliment so soon; but perhaps you use -the term correctively?” - -“It is just possible, isn’t it?” - -“And yet my conduct is nothing like so unconventional as the central -character in ‘Witches’”—a remark which startled from Lane Quiltan: -“What on earth do you know about ‘Witches’?” - -Wynne smiled agreeably. - -“I have relations of my own.” - -“Doubtless, but I _would_ like an answer to my question.” - -He did not get it, for Wynne only repeated the smile, with a shade more -satisfaction. - -“I fear,” he said, “our conversation is proving very tiresome to your -friends. Shall we talk in another room?” - -“Extraordinary creature!” gasped a very splendid lady seated at the -grand piano. - -“It is what every one will be saying shortly,” returned Wynne, and won a -laugh for the readiness of his wit. - -“I suppose, Lane,” assumed a man who was airing the tails of his -dress-coat before the fire—“I suppose we ought to take the hint and -depart, but your friend is so devilish amusing I vote in favour of -remaining.” - -“Sir,” said Wynne, with very great solemnity, “if I vow to be devilish -dull, will you in return vote in favour of going?” The laugh came his -way again; and he proceeded, “I make the suggestion with the most -generous motives, for if you remain with your coat-tails so perilously -near the flame we shall be constrained to the inevitable necessity of -putting you out.” - -A youngish man, who was sitting in a corner, rose and shook the creases -from his trousers and glanced at the clock. - -“I at least have to go,” he said. - -“You needn’t hurry away!” - -Wynne touched Quiltan on the arm. “Never stay a pioneer,” he implored. -“‘For the rest shall follow after by the bones upon the way,’ to quote -Kipling.” - -Ten minutes after his arrival he had cleared the room completely. The -guests departed without apparent resentment: indeed, one lady gave Wynne -her card, and said, “You positively must come and be amusing at one of -my Thursdays.” - -Quiltan was wearing an expression of some annoyance when he returned -after bidding farewell to the last of the company. - -“It is all very well,” he said; “but what precisely do you want?” - -Before answering Wynne took an easy inspection of the man before him. - -Lane Quiltan was tall, well built, and very pleasant to look upon. His -features were attractive and regular, his voice and expression were -compelling of confidence. At a glance Wynne summed him up as a “good -fellow, and a good deal more.” - -“Well?” said Quiltan. - -“Primarily I have succeeded in doing what I wanted, and that was to -convince you that I am no ordinary man. Secondly, I want to produce your -play, ‘Witches,’ and if you will ask me to sit down for a minute I shall -prove beyond argument why I am the only person who can do it justice.” - -Lane Quiltan gestured Wynne to a chair, and seated himself. - -“Fire away!” he said; “but I am afraid your chances are small. The play -is already in the hands of Max Levis.” - -“I know.” - -“You seem pretty well acquainted with my affairs.” - -“On the contrary, I know nothing about them. I knew Levis had the play, -because I borrowed his copy without permission while the fellow was -feeding.” - -“Do you generally do things like that?” - -“I have no general practices. I act as the inclination suggests. In this -case it is fortunate for both of us that I did.” - -“For both of us?” - -“Certainly, for I _mean_ to produce ‘Witches.’” - -Quiltan laughed. - -“At least you are persistent,” he said. - -“I am, and you are not. You take things too easily, because you’ve all -this”—he made an embracing gesture. “You are too sure, Mr. Quiltan, I -know. You write this play and direct it to Max Levis, and then, because -fame and money are merely accessories in your life, you take no further -interest in the matter.” - -“How do you arrive at that conclusion?” - -“Simply enough. Why did you send the play to Levis? Do you admire his -work so inordinately?” - -“I know very little about him.” - -“Exactly. Would you hand over a best child to be taught by some one who -might be an idiot for all you knew? Two years ago Max Levis was a -diamond buyer—what the devil should he know about plays?” - -“He engages competent people to produce them.” - -“And takes forty per cent. for doing so. Do you consider he is more -qualified to engage competent people than you are?” - -“I have never thought about it.” - -“Then think about it now. Don’t spoil a fine work through artistic -slackness and drift.” - -“I like your enthusiasm.” - -“You’d like my production better. Now, look here, I overheard Levis -talking to Leonard Passmore about your play tonight. These are some of -Passmore’s ideas. Tell me if you like ’em.” - -Word for word he repeated the conversation of a couple of hours before. - -“Were those your intentions, Mr. Quiltan?” - -“No, not exactly.” - -“What were?” - -“I’m not a producer.” - -“Of course you are not. You’re an author, and an author never knows -where the good or bad in his own work lies. Your work is shining -good—if the good can be brought out,—and you’d entrust it, without a -thought, to a couple of merchants, with no more artistry or selection -between ’em than a provincial auctioneer. Let me produce the play, and -I’ll give you this—” - -There was something dazzling in the sparkle of thoughts Wynne gave voice -to as he discussed the possibilities of the play. He seemed to have -grasped its living essence, and to have impregnated it with a spirit of -higher worth than even the author had believed possible. - -“And you could do that?” - -“I can always do as I feel.” - -Quiltan rose and paced the room excitedly. - -“I believe in you,” he said. “I favour this co-operation. But what’d -Levis say? He’d stick out for his own man.” - -“Good heavens! What do you want with Levis? Back the venture yourself.” - -“I—but—” - -“God knows you’ve money enough.” - -“I know nothing about theatres.” - -“I know plenty.” - -Quiltan paused and bit his forefinger. - -“Take a theatre and do it ourselves?” he queried. - -“Why not?” - -“By the Lord, why not indeed! It ’ud be tremendous fun.” - -“It ’ud be tremendous earnest.” - -“Either way, I’m game.” - -“Settled, then?” - -“Yes, it’s settled.” - -Wynne stood himself a cab from Clarges Street at three o’clock in the -morning. He looked ten years younger as he burst into the room where Eve -was waiting up for him. - -“I’ve done it!” he cried. “I’ve done it! I’m on the road upward at -last.” - - - VIII - -Wynne was extraordinarily full of himself in the days which followed. -Day and night he worked with feverish energy on schemes for the play. He -went out and came in at all hours. In his excitement he entirely ignored -Eve’s presence, except when he appealed to her on some delicate point -dealing with the attitude of the women characters. Having secured what -he wanted he would wave aside further discussion and plunge afresh into -his thought-packed aloneness. - -Once he jerked out the information that he was to receive a hundred -pounds for the production and ten per cent. profits during the run of -the piece. - -“I’ve engaged the cast and we shall arrange about the theatre in a day -or two. Here, read that speech aloud—I want to hear what it sounds like -in a woman’s voice. Yes, that’s it. Thanks! That’s all I want to know. -You read it quite right. I believe you could have acted! Is there -something to eat ready? I’m going out in ten minutes.” - -“It won’t be long.” - -“Quick as you can, then.” - -As she laid the cloth, Eve ventured to say: “Don’t you think we might -have a maid to do the grubby work? It would give me more time to help -you.” - -He seemed absorbed. - -“Yes, all right. Some day. You do everything I want, though.” - -“Yes, but—” - -“Is that lunch ready?” - -Some clothes arrived for him a few days later, and for the first time -Eve saw her husband well clad. The build of them gave an added manliness -to his slender figure. - -The business of taking a theatre being successfully accomplished, Wynne -assumed instantly the guise of a commander-in-chief. He spoke with an -air of finality on all subjects, and wrapped himself in a kind of -remoteness not infrequently to be observed in actor-managers. - -Oddly enough, his new importance possessed Eve with a desire to laugh -and ruffle his hair. Had he taken himself less seriously she would have -done so. - -Once she asked if he would not like to give her a part in the play. - -“Heavens alive!” he said, “I’m pestered the day long with people who -want engagements. Spare me from it at home.” - -It was hardly a graceful speech, but it demonstrated his frame of mind -with some accuracy. Perhaps he realized the remark was churlish, for he -followed it with another: - -“Besides, you’ll have plenty to do. We’re going to get out of this. I -took a flat this afternoon.” - -“Without saying a word to me?” - -“I said all that was needed to the agent.” - -“Yet you might have mentioned it.” - -“I was busy. After all, it only requires one person to take a flat. -There, that’s the address. Fix up moving in as soon as you can.” - -Eve picked up the slip of paper he had dropped into her lap. Despite her -disappointment she felt a thrill of excitement at the news: - -“How many rooms are there?” - -“Oh, four or five—a bedroom for each of us—I forget the number. Have a -look at it in the morning.” - -“We shall want carpets and some more furniture.” - -“Yes, but that can wait—can’t it?” - -Take away the joy of planning from a woman and you rob the safe of half -its treasure. - - - IX - -There was no room in Wynne’s mind for further discussion. It was fully -occupied with his great advertisement scheme, which, in a few days’ -time, would fling his name upon every newspaper and hoarding in the -metropolis. He had no intention of allowing his share in the production -to lack prominence. The name Wynne Rendall was to take precedence of all -other consideration in his campaign. - -“The public is to take this play through me,” he announced, “and me they -shall have in large doses.” - -Eve visited the flat alone, and made what arrangements were needful for -moving their few belongings. It was a sunny little flat, and with -adequate appointments would have looked very charming. The small amount -of furniture they possessed, however, seemed painfully inadequate spread -over the various rooms. - -On the day of the move she worked like a galley-slave to put the place -in agreeable order. She felt somehow that it was a great occasion, and -that when Wynne returned from the theatre he would feel likewise. -Together, perhaps, they would have a glorious talk about their nearing -future, and a little house-warming of two. - -But she was disappointed, for Wynne made no comment when he came in. - -“My posters are out,” he cried. “Have you seen ’em?” - -She shook her head. - -“I haven’t had a chance. I’ve been busy here all day getting straight.” - -She looked tired and rather grubby—her hair was tumbled, and her hands -patched with floor-stain. For some reason her untidiness irritated -Wynne. The girls at the theatre were smart and fresh, and their clothes -were pleasant to see. A man expects his wife to be always at her best. - -“Um!” he remarked. “You look in rather a pickle.” His eyes wandered -round the room: “Seems very bare, doesn’t it?” - -It seemed bare to her, too, but she would have taken it kindly if he had -not said so. - -“With some curtains it would be better—and a few more chairs.” - -“Yes. Still, it’s the address that matters at the moment. The rest can -wait till we see how the play goes. Just now I need all the money I can -get for my own pocket. It’s essential. It’s bare and uncomfortable; but -I have the club, so it doesn’t really matter.” - -“I haven’t a club,” flashed Eve, and repented the words almost before -she had spoken them. - -Wynne looked at her fixedly. - -“Lord!” he exclaimed, “we are not going to start that sort of thing, are -we?” - -Something in the quality of his voice struck her with startling force. -It was so much more a “married” tone than she remembered to have heard -before. The petulant child note had disappeared, and with its -disappearance the mother note in her own voice wrapped itself up in -sudden hardness. - -She held his eyes with hers. - -“I bargained for a share,” she said. “Am I getting it?” - -He wilted, and his head tossed from side to side. - -“What is all this about?” - -“Am I getting my share?” repeated Eve, more kindly. “You know if I am. -Answer ‘Yes,’ if you honestly think so.” - -“I’m tired,” he countered. - -“Not too tired to say ‘Yes.’” - -“Oh, very well! If you want furniture and things, buy them. I rather -thought you could see deeper than that. Still, if you—” - -“Stop! Don’t say any more—please don’t.” She pressed her hand quickly -and nervously to her lips; then, with a half-laugh, “Oh, how silly I am; -but you frightened me. You—you were laughing, Wynne, when you said -that—weren’t you?” - -He looked at her perplexed, and saw she was in deadly earnest. - -“Oh, yes,” he answered. “I was laughing—’course I was.” - -But to tell the truth, Wynne Rendall, Master of Psychology, was sorely -out of his depth. - -“That’s all right,” said Eve, and crossed to the little fireplace, where -she stood awhile thinking. “I’ll fetch your dinner now.” - -She laid the cloth and placed the dishes upon it. There was an -awkwardness between them as they took their places, and very little -disposition to talk. Wynne’s thoughts were mixed with wondering at her -attitude and with intentions for the play. Hers were back to the -birthday party of nearly three years before. It had been a night so full -of promise. Everything had seemed so likely then. Then it had seemed -good that the love and sunshine for which her spirit prayed should be -rendered on the deferred payment system. Was it possible those goods -would be outworn before the debt was discharged? She shivered and looked -up under her lids at Wynne. He had changed so much; he seemed -bigger—more like a man! The frail boy body and restless spirit were no -longer upon the surface. He looked to have more ballast—to stand more -firmly as a man among men. - -His voice broke in upon her thoughts: - -“You’re extraordinarily mine, aren’t you?” - -“Yes,” she nodded, and after a pause, “are you glad?” - -He did not give a direct answer. - -“You should know. Look! small wife, this is a between-while with us, and -I want you to sympathize with the position. I’m all out to win—and I -shall win—but I haven’t won yet. Until I do it isn’t possible for us to -stand side by side. There’s barely enough to keep one afloat, and that -one must be myself. You admit that, don’t you? I’m meeting all sorts of -alleged big-wigs, and I must meet ’em level. As things are it is only -just possible to do so. To raise the scale at one side, t’other must be -kept down. But it won’t be for long, and afterwards it will be you and -I—understand.” - -“Of course I do.” - -“Keep on helping, then, all you can.” - -“Of course I will.” - -“That’s all right.” - -And so the best of us fulfil our obligations and justify our -consciences. - - - X - -Eve sat by herself in the second row of the stalls. Her eyes were -glorious with hope. On her lap lay the program of the piece, with -Wynne’s name ringing from the page. - -The printing was a stupendous piece of self-sufficiency. She had noted, -half-fearful, half-amused, the hum of conversation which had gone round -the theatre as the audience noted the persistent large-type booming of a -single unknown personality. - -“This young man is taking responsibilities upon his shoulders,” observed -one newspaper critic to another. - -The other smiled sardonically. Already he was tasting in anticipation -several phrases he proposed to level against Mr. Wynne Rendall. - -“But who is he anyway?” seemed to arise from the general buzz of voices. - -From where she sat Eve could see the profile of Lane Quiltan. His box -seemed very full—a circumstance which made her glad, for Wynne had -refused to offer her a seat there. “He won’t want to be bothered with -introductions on a first night; besides, there are lots of people who -must be invited. I want you to be in the body of the house and feel the -pulse of the audience.” - -So it came about she was alone with none to talk with, and none to -admire the pretty frock she wore. - -It had not occurred to Wynne she would want a dress for his first -night—she had not expected that it would; but, nevertheless, she was -beautifully clad. - -The possession of the evening dress and a wrap marked her first -deliberate step toward rebellion. She had ordered it from a first-class -West End dress-maker. - -“Send the bill to Mr. Wynne Rendall at the Vandyke Theatre,” she had -said. - -Never before had Eve possessed so sweet a frock, and the touch of it -sent a pleasurable thrill through her body. When she had finished -dressing, every vestige of the drab, houseworking little figure had been -transformed into a simple expression of fragile and delicious womanhood. -Very gloriously she had felt this to be so as she stood before the -mirror waiting for Wynne to return and take her to the theatre. - -But he did not return. A messenger boy came instead, with a scribbled -note asking for his “dress things, as I shan’t have time to get back -before the play begins.” - -Thus Eve was denied even a moment to wish him well, and took her stall -unnoticed and alone. - -As she looked at Lane Quiltan’s profile she wondered how he felt at -being forced to take a second place to Wynne in every point of -prominence. For some reason she conceived that he would not be troubled -over-much. There was a repose and stability in his looks which suggested -a mental balance not easily disturbed by small-weight issues. - -At long range she liked and felt the wish to know him better. - -“Steadfast, substantial,” she reasoned; “very unlike Wynne. He is hoping -for the success of the play, not of himself. He won’t mind sacrificing -himself to get it.” - -It came to her that both she and Quiltan were contributing their share -toward the making of Wynne Rendall, and both she and Quiltan were being -left a little behind in the doing of it. - -The curtain rose, and half an hour later Eve knew that Wynne had made -good all he boasted he would do—and more. The spirit of the play shone -through the lines with a truth of definition that was truly remarkable. -The values of the human emotions portrayed were perfect. It was an -example of the purest artistry and the surest perception. Not an idea -was blurred—not an inflection out of place. Through an infinity of -natural detail, rendered with mirrored exactitude, ran the soul and -intention of the play, like the dominant theme of a great orchestral -fugue. Even the veriest tyro in matters dramatic realized that no mere -assembly of actors and actresses, however brilliant, could have achieved -so faultless an effect without a master hand to guide them. What Wynne -had learnt in the Paris ateliers years before he had set upon the stage. -The words of the old Maitre had soaked in: “To we artists the human -figure exists in masses of light and shade. It is not made up of legs -and hands, and breasts, and ears and teeth. No, by the good God, no!” -Wynne had remembered, and here was the distillation of the words. Here -was his canvas with its faithful _chiaroscuro_ of life. - -But of all the people in the house that night only Eve knew the palette -whereon the colours had been mixed. One by one she recognized and -silently named them, and sometimes she glowed with pride, for many owed -their brilliance and their being to herself. - -“Well done, Wynne! Oh, well done!” she breathed, as the curtain fell. - -“We are seeing things tonight,” said an important critic as he and a -contemporary passed toward the foyer. - -Eve rose and followed them, and during the interval she moved from group -to group and listened to what the audience had to say. - -There was no doubt Wynne Rendall had come into his own, for although -every one praised the play it was his name which came first. - -“I shall let him off a scathing over the press campaign,” said a -representative of one of London’s dailies. “It’s the best production -I’ve seen in years.” - -Eve noticed and recognized from Wynne’s descriptions, some of the -tail-lights to the arts. They were busy adding his name to their lists. -They were boasting of alleged friendship with him. One of the more -venturesome spoke of him familiarly as “old W. R.” - -A man who leaps from obscurity to initials in a single night is getting -a move on. - -At the final curtain there was an ovation. The author and Wynne -responded to “author’s call” together, then, as the applause continued, -Wynne came down to the footlights alone. He seemed very collected, and -twisted an unlighted cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. For the -first time Eve thought he looked young—young and care-free, as though -he had stepped into the element he had searched for for so many years. -In this new element he moved with an ease and assurance that surprised -her. She had thought he would show feverishness or excitement, but there -was no trace of either in his bearing. - -“Speech! speech!” shouted the gallery. - -He looked up at them with a winning smile, and replied, “Of course.” -There was a fresh burst of applause and a wave of laughter, and when it -died away he began to speak in the manner of a man chatting with friends -about a fireside: - -“It’s a charming play, isn’t it? Very charming. Tomorrow my learned -critics will be saying so. They will say, perhaps, ‘The play’s the -thing’; but I trust they won’t forget that the manner of its -interpretation is possibly an even greater thing.” He stopped, smiled -and said, half under his breath, “Render unto Cæsar—Good-night, -everybody.” - -Eve waited in the foyer, her cheeks aglow with excitement. Presently she -saw Wynne come through an iron door into the press of congratulation. -Half the important stage people in London were thronging round him. His -composure was remarkable. Under the influence of success he seemed to -have grown up and moved as a man among men. A pretty, rather elaborate -girl pressed forward to greet him with adulation, and Eve noted how he -touched her cheek with a kind of possessive patronage, and turned aside -to speak to some one else. The action was very unlike her preconception -of his character. Presently he noticed her, and nodded a smile across -the crowded room. - -“Like it?” his lips framed. - -And her eyes flashed back the answer. - -Seemingly this satisfied him, for he moved away. A little later on he -noticed her again. - -“Don’t wait for me,” he said. “I’m sure to be late.” - -Eve walked out of the theatre alone. - -“Get me a cab,” she said to the commissionaire. - -“I’m sorry, madam, but there are very few tonight.” - -“That one,” she pointed to a taxi standing by the curb. - -“That is being kept for Mr. Rendall, madam.” - -“Oh, is it?” said Eve, and walked toward the Tube. - - - XI - -As she turned into Jermyn Street a middle-aged man, walking briskly in -the same direction, came level with her. He was in evening dress, and -his coat was open to the night air. He wore a soft hat, and a pipe -projected from his mouth at a jaunty angle. As he walked he sang to -himself as one who is glad. - -Eve caught a glimpse of his features, and gave a little exclamation, -whereupon the man turned and looked at her. - -“Hallo!” he said, “I know you—but—good heavens! I’ve got you. But what -in blazes are you doing here by yourself, tonight of all nights?” - -“I’m walking home, Uncle Clementine.” - -“Then, begad! it’s meself will walk with you. Always talk Irish when I’m -excited—at least I believe I do; but what’s it matter? I’m excited -enough to talk double Dutch tonight—aren’t you?” - -“Rather,” responded Eve, for Uncle Clem awoke an echo of his mood in -others. - -“I should think you were. Splendid! Top-hole! Lord! Lord! Lord! What a -production! Aren’t you proud?” - -“Very.” - -“He’s away, that young fellar of yours—he’s up and away. Always knew he -had the stuff, from the day when I ran off with him in a station fly and -talked fairies under the trees. He’s learnt—knew he would, and he has. -Oh! he’s learnt well! Wouldn’t mind laying a fiver he’s taken a share of -his knowledge from you.” - -“That’s nice of you.” - -“Not a bit—common sense! Tell you what, though—’tween us two—that -speech was a mistake. Cheap and nasty! Drop him a hint, there’s a clever -girl, to cut all that stuff right out.” - -Eve smiled. “Have you ever tried to drop Wynne hints about things like -that?” - -“I’ve thrown him a slab of wisdom from time to time. Not that kind, -perhaps. But that’s what I say—_you_ tell him. You’ve the opportunity. -Ha!” He threw up his head. “That’s one of the good things in life that -I’ve missed.” - -“What is?” - -“To have some one who, in the night, will touch my foot with her -littlest toe and breathe over the pillow all the naughty mistakes I’ve -made during the day.” - -“I see,” said Eve. - -Something in her tone discouraged him. - -“’Course that mayn’t be the way it’s done; I’ve no experience, but I’ve -fondly imagined it was so.” - -“So have I,” said Eve; “but, like yourself, I have no experience.” - -“What d’you say?” - -“If I stretched out my littlest toe I should bump it against the -partition wall. That would be very sad, wouldn’t it?” - -Uncle Clem stopped short. - -“Are you serious?” - -“Yes. Don’t you remember our wedding talk?” - -“Remember it!” - -He began to walk very fast, so fast that she could scarcely keep pace -with him. At last he jerked out the question: - -“That travesty holds good, then? That’s why, on the night of his -success, you’re walking home alone ’stead of feasting at a top-notch -restaurant. Good God! And I’ve been shaking hands with myself these four -hours past that my gloomy forebodings hadn’t come true—but, damn it! -they have.” - -“No,” exclaimed Eve, “you mustn’t say that; it isn’t so.” - -“But it is.” - -“No. The success was to come first. You remember we said so that day.” - -“Well, what’s wrong with tonight’s success?—and you’re walking home -alone.” - -“Yes, tonight he has found himself.” - -“And left you behind.” - -“I don’t want to say that. I beg you not to say things like that. They -hurt so.” - -In an instant he was all sympathy. - -“Why, my dear, don’t heed me. You understand the boy, and I’m only an -onlooker who gets a glimpse here and there. That’s how it seemed to me -at a snapshot glance—but I may be wrong. I don’t know what I’m talking -about half the time. I love that husband of yours, he has such a -splendid pluck.” - -“Yes, he’s been so splendid, Uncle Clem—you must believe that. Never -for an instant has he spared himself. He’s worked—worked—worked. -That’s why he came out so finely tonight.” - -“I know. But though a man does not spare himself he must always spare -others—that’s the great science of life. Haven’t you worked too?” - -“We’ve been partners, as we said we’d be until success was ours. And now -he’s made the success, and—” - -“Success as an artist, and he’s going to share it as a man?” - -“I believe so—oh, I do believe so.” - -Uncle Clem walked awhile in silence. When he began to talk it was almost -as if he were speaking to himself. - -“Queer trusting folk, we mortals,” he said. “And we set ourselves such -wonderful tasks. How old Dame Nature must laugh at us and all our -philosophies. Fancy two young people locking up the spark of love which -had sprung between them, packing it away in a secret safe, and believing -it could be brought to life when convenience allowed. How old Dame -Nature must laugh! Can’t you imagine her peeping into the safe to see -how the spark is getting along?” He turned suddenly upon Eve. “How is it -getting along?” - -“I keep it locked up here.” She pressed her hand upon her heart. - -“Wonderful you!” said Uncle Clem. “God bless your trust. Hullo! This -where you live?” - -“Yes.” - -“Can I come up for awhile?” - -“Not tonight.” - -“No—no—no. Of course not. He’ll come back with his pockets full of -champagne, and his heart come to life. I like you, you know. I think -you’re fine. You’re so damn good to look at, too. Ever hear of the -purple patch?” - -“Yes. Why?” - -“Just thinking you’ve the leading light in your eyes that should guide a -man there. Good-night.” - -“Good-night, Uncle Clem.” - -At two o’clock Eve took off her pretty frock, put on her plain cotton -nightdress, and went to bed. - - - - - PART SEVEN - —WHO TRAVELS ALONE” - - - I - -In the weeks following it was made clearly evident that Wynne Rendall -was taking no precautions that his wife should share his new prosperity. -Conceivably he thought that the mere sharing of his name—a name which -had sprung into such instant prominence—was adequate compensation for -any woman. - -The newspapers had given him unsparing praise, and already he had been -approached by several managements with a view to undertaking their -productions. To these offers he shook his head, replying that he was a -writer by profession and not a producer. - -In an interview he told the reporter that he only worked in the -direction of his ambitions, and for the moment his ambitions were -satisfied. - -This was, of course, mere persiflage, but several members of the reading -public thought it very fine. - -He was asked everywhere—but only accepted invitations which appealed to -him. At the functions he attended he usually contrived to fire off at -least a couple of startling phrases which were remembered and repeated -by those persons who unintentionally work inside advertising for the -would-be great. - -Being out and about so much he did not bother to alter the conditions of -life at home. It is true he left rather more money for Eve to use, but -since he showed no disposition for her to take a place beside him on the -new plane she found no incentive to change the old régime. - -On the morning after the play was produced, with all the notices before -her, Eve had stretched out a hand to him, and said: - -“You’ve won—absolutely you’ve won. My dear, I am so proud.” - -“Yes, I’ve made a start. There’s a long way to go yet.” - -With a chilly sense she felt that he had not said this from any modesty, -but rather to delay admitting the success for which they had fought -their battle. - -She was conscious afterwards that he shunned the topic of his success, -and kept the conversation on impersonal lines. - -That glorious moment to which all her hopes had been pinned and all her -labours consecrated did not mature into reality. It seemed that he was -floating out of her life as a steamship passes a yacht at sea. And so, -with the measure of his success, there came about in Eve a corresponding -stagnation. - -It would have been easy then to have engaged a servant to do the -housework, to have bought furniture, linen, and the many delightful -things she had planned to do; but somehow the inclination to do so had -gone. It was preferable to have occupation of some sort, if only to keep -her thoughts from brooding on these disappointments. Besides, she took -an almost cynical interest in wondering how long he would allow her to -remain as a drudge who worked for him with her two hands. - -Wynne himself was cheerfully indifferent to the trend of her thoughts. -He was in excellent spirits, enthusiastic for the present, and full of -plans for the future. - -When “Witches” came to an end he said he proposed to put on a play of -his own. Lane Quiltan would supply the capital. - -“Have you asked him?” said Eve. - -“Not yet.” - -“Wouldn’t it be better to do so before being too sure?” - -He tossed the idea aside with: - -“Some things one can take for granted. I am as confident of his support -as I am confident that at least five young ladies in the company are -wondering when I shall invite them to Brighton for the week-end.” - -With rather an effort, Eve replied: - -“Only five?” - -“I said in the company,” he very rapturously retorted. - -The suggestion of these words struck a peculiar chord of memory in Eve. -They recalled very vividly a vulgar little cousin of hers—a boy -scarcely out of his teens—who had boasted, with considerable pride, of -a liaison with a young lady at a tobacconist’s. It was an unpleasant -parallel, but she could not clear it from her mind. - -Hitherto the physical side of Wynne had been so dormant. She had nursed -the shell which held his spirit, and nourished it to a manlier form. As -he stood there before speaking she realized that in body he was a man of -different fibre, capable of passions not only of the mind. It would be -tragic and pitiable if these were to be awakened by the same vulgar -instincts which attack the little Lotharios of nineteen. - -This was the man who had starved for a week to buy a copy of Walter -Pater. - -She fell to wondering whether, had their first meeting been now instead -of then, she could have sat the night through in his rooms without fear -of consequence. - -And while she wondered upon these matters, Wynne’s eyes travelled -critically over her face and figure. - -“You’re rather drab,” he thought; “you haven’t much colour. If your hair -were dressed differently it would be an improvement, perhaps. That is -certainly a deplorable dress—and your hands!” - -A man whose function is to produce plays acquires a ready knack of -judging possible qualities by external indications. The habit is not one -to be recommended in the home, for in practising it he is apt to -overlook many essentials and ignore grave liabilities. - -A just man would not accuse a sweep of possessing a blackened soul -because his face was sooted from sweeping the flues. The instance may -sound trivial enough, but it is no less trivial than the train of -thought running through Wynne’s lightly-poised mind as he contemplated -the wife of his own making. His eyes were deceived by petty -superficiality, and blinded to the beauty veiled behind a screen of -three years’ unremitting toil. He did not bother to speculate if that -beauty would leap to glorious life at the touch of the hand that swept -the screen away. To follow his thoughts to their inglorious anchorage, -he was sensible to a wave of self-pity. It seemed rather ill-luck, with -the ball of success at his feet, a fresh glow of manhood ripening in his -veins, that he should be tied to a woman who had lost the fine edge of -her desirability. - -“I see,” said Eve at last; “and do you propose to disappoint them?” - -Wynne dropped his cigarette into the grate. - -“I never know what I propose to do. The greatest mistake in the world is -to cut the picnic sandwiches before knowing what the weather will be.” - - - II - -It was more to please his humour than from any liking for the lesser -grades of courtship that Wynne came to amuse himself at the theatre by -talking perilous rubbish to a highly unimportant young lady of the cast. - -Never before had he indulged in this particular sport, and never, until -lately, had the temptation to do so allured him. - -To tell the truth, he was not a little flattered by the success of his -early attempts at love badinage; although, had he chosen to look beneath -the surfaces of the very shallow waters which were ruffled by his wit, -he would have found little cause for self-congratulation. - -Esme Waybury, the favoured, had an ax to grind. In her trivial soul was -ambition to get on (“getting on” implying the receipt of a salary large -enough to satisfy her tastes in shoe-leather and millinery). A little -moral laxity is sometimes a short road to the realizations of these -trifles. Favours, artfully bestowed in the right quarter, are often more -fruitful of success than is genuine talent. - -To her, Wynne Rendall was a power in the land—a power which, with a -little tact, might easily be diverted toward herself. Without being -affected by prickings of conscience, she decided, if occasion offered, -she would compromise herself with him, and step lightly from the -wreckage of her virtue to spheres of extravagance hitherto unattainable. -To the furtherance of this ignoble end, she pouted, smiled, and -performed those various verbal and facial evolutions which, for a -hundred centuries, have served to divert mankind from the straight and -narrow path. - -Esme was one of those pouting darlings who look infinitely sad at the -smallest word, with that quality of sadness which provokes thoughts of -remedial kisses in the male mind. - -Eve produced her first pout at an understudy rehearsal taken by Wynne. - -“You know,” he had said, “you are very bad in this part.” - -Esme then pouted. - -“Well, aren’t you?” continued Wynne. - -Esme added four quick blinks to the pout very adroitly. - -That was all, but when Wynne passed through the stage door Esme and her -pout were there—a vision to disturb dreams. - -Wynne smiled as he walked up the street. It was pleasant to reflect that -by half a dozen words he could cause a pout to be produced of so -enduring a nature. As an observer, he considered the elements which go -to make a good pout. Undoubtedly Esme’s pout had been a good one. Her -lips were of a sweet red, and moist with the dews of grief. With a good -pout one saw ever such a little more of lips than one was accustomed to -see. - -No man can think long of this subject without considering the -possibilities thereof, and for the first time Wynne was consciously -drawn to the idea that it must be a sweet enough task to kiss a pair of -pretty lips. Further to this line of thought, he deemed that it might be -pleasanter still to kiss a pair of pouting lips. And here his -investigation stopped short in a sharp surprise that such considerations -could find a place in his over-stocked brain. - -Clearly he must have changed in some important features. Was it a sign -of age or youth? he asked himself. He became aware that his feet rang -heartily upon the pavement, and when he filled his lungs with good air -the life quickened in his veins. - -“It’s youth,” he said aloud—“youth!” - -To the astonishment of a passer-by he stretched out his arms luxuriously -and laughed: - -“I’m young—young!” Then with a wave of self-pity: “Lord! I’ve worked -hard!” - - - III - -Even the most virtuous of men are conscious of a foolish elation when -marked for favour from a woman’s eyes. They do not, as a rule, inquire -over-deeply into the value of the glances bestowed upon them. In theory -Wynne Rendall was not in the least virtuous. At the club he had -frequently remarked that, if lack of virtue were not such a general -failing with mankind, he would certainly have been a very devil of a -fellow. But this and many similar statements had been mere -phrase-making, designed to fit the wall-space of a conversation. - -To adopt a cynical attitude toward human frailty was part of his mental -routine, and in no way sprung from a natural distaste for sin. Until now -sex had left him unmoved and apathetic. He had watched others flounder -in the toils of emotion, himself unstirred by curiosity or desire. - -With the discovery of Esme’s pout and his own youth arose the -opportunity to direct the currents of his stored wisdom upon himself. -And, after the fashion of most men since the world began, he did no such -thing. He made no attempt to consider whither these thoughts led, or -where they drifted, but contentedly let himself gravitate toward the -enchanting vortices so lately revealed to him. - -And so, on the night on which he had told his wife that he never knew -what he proposed to do, he engaged Miss Esme in trivial conversation, -and found in the practice a new and amusing diversion. - -He was sufficiently entertained to mention some of the passages which -had occurred between them at breakfast next day, and thereafter the name -Esme—always referred to in the lightest manner—recurred with some -frequency in his conversation. - -But, if he were pleased with the affair, Miss Esme deplored its tedious -progression, and did her noblest to smarten up the course of events. In -this, however, she met with ill-success. Wynne was amused, but no more, -and made no attempt to encourage a closer intimacy. - -There are few women who would have undergone those first months of -Wynne’s success as courageously as did Eve. There are few who would have -followed so particularly, and with such understanding, the mental -processes through which he passed. - -To the Esme affair she attached no great importance. She realized that -any healthy-bodied youngster would have outgrown the Esme period as he -passed from his teens. That Wynne had failed to do so was a natural -consequence of the starved, brain-fagging life he had led. - -“How old Dame Nature must laugh at us and all our philosophies,” Uncle -Clem had said. Very clearly Eve saw the meaning he had sought to convey. -Dame Nature must be laughing now—laughing at the natural reaction of -nature denied. - -A woman will always make allowances for the man she loves, and she -forced herself to believe that the period through which Wynne was -passing would prove transient. When it had passed the real metamorphosis -might come about—and the future promised to each other. - -One of the greatest mercies is the survival of the hoping habit. In -imagination it still seemed possible Wynne would turn to her with the -light of pride and possession, and call her to his side because he -needed her there. - -So once more she harnessed her soul to wait, though the collar galled as -never before. - - - IV - -One night Wynne said: - -“I shall tackle Quiltan tomorrow about backing my play. I would have -spoken at the club tonight, but some one always interrupts. Think you -could provide a decent meal if I asked him to lunch here?” - -Eve’s spirits leapt. - -“Of course I could,” she said. - -At last, and for the first time, he was bringing his interests home. -Unimportant though his words may have seemed they were full of the most -glorious possibilities. It meant so much more than asking a man to -lunch. It meant that, at a critical point, he and she would be side by -side to discuss a great step in his future—in their future. Besides, it -would be so splendid to meet Quiltan—to know and be known by a friend -of Wynne’s. She suddenly realized in the three years of their married -life there had been no friends—nothing but work and their partnership -to relieve the grey monotony of existence. At the mere suggestion of -Quiltan’s coming she was bubbling over with excitement. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Wynne. - -“I don’t know—only I’m awfully, awfully glad. It’s—I haven’t met many -people lately—and your asking him—here, I— What would you like for -lunch?” - -“Heaven knows! Any notepaper? I’ll drop him a line.” - -That night Eve lay awake and her thoughts were good to own. They began -nowhere and travelled everywhere—out into the unknown and beyond. And -because of a sudden intense happiness she forgot all manner of doubts -which of late had oppressed and haunted her. - -She rose early and took a pretty dress from a drawer—a dress which, -because he seemed not to care about these things, she foolishly had -never worn before him. When she returned from the shops she was laden -with parcels, and light of heart. - -Wynne was standing in the sitting-room with an expression of some -displeasure upon his face. The spring sunshine coming through the -windows emphasized the shabbiness of the furniture and appointments. A -golden shaft caught Eve’s face as she entered, and made her radiant. But -Wynne did not look toward her. His eyes rested on the tufts of horsehair -projecting from the upholstery of the old armchair—the sunken springs, -and the threadbare dilapidation of the carpet. - -“I’ve bought a sole,” said Eve, “and some cutlets and peas, and I’ll -make an omelette with apricot jam—” - -“Yes—all right,” said Wynne. - -“But I must hurry, for there’s a fearsome lot to do.” - -Away she went to the kitchen, where she donned an apron, rolled up her -sleeves, and got to work. - -Never since the early days of her marriage had she set about her duties -so happily. - -“God’s going to be good to me soon,” she said to the frying-pan. “I know -He is—I know He is.” - -The sunshine thrilled her veins with a new sense of life. Two -affectionate sparrows set up a lover-like duet on the kitchen -window-sill. The air was full of young spring. All was right with the -world. - -“Hallo!” It was Wynne’s voice calling. “I say, I can’t possibly ask -Quiltan to this shabby old place. It would bias any one. I’ll ring him -up and tell him to meet me at the club. G’bye.” - -A moment later the front door slammed. The sound scared the sparrows at -their courtship and sent them fluttering to a tree below. - -Then Eve sat down, and resting her head on the kitchen table, cried as -if her soul were broken in two. - - - V - -Wynne rang up Quiltan’s number, and was answered by the manservant, who -said: - -“Very good, sir. I will tell him.” But when he went to do so he found -his master had already gone out. - -Lane Quiltan was somewhat surprised when the door of Wynne’s flat was -opened by a girl who by no stretch of imagination could be thought to -belong to the servant class. She wore a coarse apron, her sleeves were -rolled up, and there was a redness about her eyes that could only have -come from tears. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said; “is this Mr. Rendall’s flat?” - -“Yes.” - -“Is he—at home?” - -“No,” replied Eve. Then, as she realized what had happened, a smile -broke the tragical lines of her expression. - -“He asked me to lunch,” said Quiltan. “May I come in?” - -“Yes, please do.” - -He followed her to the shabby sitting-room. - -“I’m afraid,” said Eve, “my husband won’t be back to lunch. He was -telephoning to ask you to meet him at the club instead.” - -“Your husband?” He looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t know Rendall was -married.” - -She bit her lip—it was rather an unkind stab. He noticed this, and -hastened to say: - -“That is, he never told me.” - -“Why should he?” she answered quickly. - -He looked at her for a longish while before replying: - -“I can see quite a number of reasons.” - -The words were spoken with simple sincerity, and they brought a glow of -bright colour to her cheeks. Thinking perhaps he had offended, he said: - -“Well, since he has gone to the club, I suppose I had better follow him -there. I don’t want to go a bit, and I’m sorry we shan’t be lunching -together.” - -“So am I,” she nodded. - -“Why aren’t we?” he asked, unexpectedly. - -“I suppose there is no great harm telling you—since you are here. This -was to have been a business meeting, and Wynne thought the surroundings -might prove—unproductive.” - -“Oh!” He hesitated; then: “When did he think that?” - -“An hour ago.” - -“Then,” said Quiltan, with quick intuition, “the lunch must have been -partially prepared?” - -“It was.” - -He took a deep breath. - -“Isn’t it a pity to waste it? I mean, don’t you think I might be invited -to share it with you?” - -There was something very attractive in the tentative manner in which he -made the proposal. - -“Do you want to stay?” - -“Very much indeed.” - -“Do stay, then—please stay. I was rather— I mean, it would make a -difference if you stayed. But I haven’t finished cooking yet. You’d have -to wait a little.” - -“So much the better.” - -“I’ll be as quick as I can. There are plenty of books here.” - -He made a wry face. - -“Of course, if I must read I will,” he said; “but I’d much rather help -cook.” - -“You can if you like.” - -“That’s jolly of you.” - -He threw his overcoat over the back of a chair, and together they made -their way to the kitchen. - -“I had no idea a sole had its face powdered before being put in a -fry-pan,” he observed, and made her laugh merrily. - -“It goes in like a white Parisian, and comes out a sunburnt Spaniard,” -she returned. - -“You look as if some sun would do you no harm.” - -“I dare say it wouldn’t. Haven’t tried the experiment. Would you like to -be useful and lay the table in the front room?” - -“Oh, can’t we eat here?” - -“If you’d rather, we can.” - -“Much rather. Everything piping hot, and you won’t be everlastingly -running off to fetch dishes, will you?” - -It was so long since any one had minded what she did that Eve caught her -breath in a half-sob. - -“What’s the matter?” - -“Nothing.” - -It had seemed rather cruel that this five minutes’ friend should say the -very things Wynne never bothered to say. - -“But you—” - -“I did. I do silly things sometimes, but I’m not really hysterical.” - -“I know.” - -“How can you know?” - -“I seem to know you very well. That remarkable husband of yours -contrived to put a lot of you into the characters of my play. I used to -puzzle about it—used to wonder where his extraordinary intimate -knowledge came from.” - -Eve was all enthusiasm in a second. - -“You really mean that?” - -“’Course. He used to show the women what to do in the most amazing way. -Now I can see the source of his wisdom.” - -“That’s made me happy. It’s nice to feel one is of use, isn’t it? There -are some knives and forks in the box there, and the plates are in the -dresser.” - -It was because she could feel his eyes resting inquiringly upon her that -she gave him this sudden direction. - -Presently they sat down to the first course. - -“This is jolly,” said Quiltan. - -“It’s a change for you. I wonder—” - -“What?” - -“Only whether you would think it quite so jolly if it were all.” - -For awhile he made no reply, then he laid down his knife and fork. - -“I say,” he said, “shall we be friends?” - -“I am sure we shall be.” - -“I mean— Well, this meeting of ours was never really intended, so one -might excusably assume that it had never taken place. Wouldn’t we be -justified, then, in talking to one another as we might have talked to -ourselves if we had been alone?” - -Eve shivered. “It might not be a happy conversation.” - -“Even so—why not? We could be as honest as dreams are, and what we said -could be as easily forgotten.” - -“I’m frightened of dreams,” said Eve. “They never come true.” - -“Won’t you tell me one that hasn’t come true? If it hasn’t come false -there is hope for it yet.” - -“I suppose there is.” - -“Won’t you tell me that dream?” - -“If you promise to wake up and forget it.” - -“Tell me first.” - -And so, rather haltingly, but with growing confidence, Eve told the -stranger of her hopes: - -“I can see clearly now, it was a companion Wynne needed, that’s all—a -mental companion. Had I been a man I might have entered more deeply into -his life. You see, we fought to rise out of this rut, and now he has -begun to rise he finds that I am part of the rut—something to be left -behind. I believe a man and woman were not intended to live together as -we have—there was no fire, you see—we were just partners. The marriage -link cannot be welded without fire. I wonder—do you understand what I -mean?” - -He nodded gravely. - -“Wynne’s was all mental fire. The embers of his love for me have never -glowed into a flame.” She laughed to smother a sob. “They are out—out -altogether—dead and cold! At least it seems so. I have been like a book -to him—an information bureau and debating society in one. Ever ready to -supply the thoughts that were not self-revealing. And now I have been -read from cover to cover, and it’s foolish, I suppose, to expect a place -in the new library.” - -“What a damnable story!” said Quiltan, with sudden fierceness. “I feel -like—kicking him.” - -“Don’t feel like that. Everybody has wanted to kick Wynne. It was the -first thing which drew me toward him. And when you look at it all from -his point of view, you _can see_.” - -“_You_ find excuses for him?” - -“Easily.” - -“How—how?” - -“I love him.” - -“Still?” - -“Yes. And I’d go through just such another three years if I thought that -he would love me at the end—gladly I would.” - -“But suppose he never does love you! What then? How long can you last -out like this? Don’t you want to live?” - -“Oh, yes, I want to live.” - -“Well then?” - -“But all the folk who want to live can’t have their way. Perhaps I shall -just go on wanting till even the want dies.” - -“That’s unthinkable.” - -“But very possible.” - -She became suddenly aware of the intensity of his expression. The sinews -of his close-shut hands showed white, and in his eyes burnt a strange -fire. An odd fear seized her, and to cover her nervousness she quoted at -random. - -“Don’t you remember the Browning lines: - - “‘Some with lives that came to nothing, - Some with deeds as well undone, - Death came tacitly and took them where they never see the sun.’” - -He seized on the purport of a single line, and said: - -“Isn’t the alternative better, perhaps, than this?” - -“Death?” she queried. - -“‘Some with deeds as well undone.’” - -He spoke with a queer hoarseness. - -For a moment she held his eyes steadily, then with quick colour turned -away her head. - -“I thought,” she said, “we were to be friends.” - -“Haven’t you had enough of friendship?” - -She had thought he would recover himself at the rebuke, but if anything -his voice was more insistent. - -“Haven’t you?” he repeated. - -“There is no need for you to make love to me, Mr. Quiltan.” - -“How do you know?” he retorted. “How can you possibly say that?” - -She rose and moved some plates to the dresser. - -“I suppose you were sorry for me, and thought that the kindest way to -show it. You were wrong.” - -His reply was unexpected: - -“How can you possibly say I was wrong? You don’t know—you don’t know -what may have happened to me since I came here. If I made you think I am -a lover by trade I apologize—for it’s the last thing I would have you -believe.” - -She scarcely knew what to answer, but there was no need, for he started -afresh: - -“D’you know, I have never been in love with any one before. I have never -even made love to any one; but, by God! I want to make love to you. The -instant you opened the door I knew something had happened to me. I’m in -love with you—do you understand?—absolutely.” - -Despite the startled fear these crazy words awoke, Eve could not but -feel a sudden impulse of warmth. In the midst of the passionless -monotony of her life—at a time when her every thought was doubting if -she possessed any one quality to endear—came this sudden avowal, backed -by a sincerity that could not be misunderstood. The very surprise -written on his face testified that he meant all he had said. - -So they looked at each other with the greatest perplexity, and only the -silliest, most conventional phrase found its way to Eve’s lips. - -“I’m married,” she said. “You forget. You mustn’t speak so.” - -“I deny your marriage, so why shouldn’t I speak as I feel? I must -speak.” - -“When I ask you not?” - -His hands fell to his sides. - -“Why do you ask me not? Is it nothing to hear of love, even though you -may not need it? Oh, I—” - -“Please.” - -He took a step toward her, then turned sharply away. Presently he -laughed: - -“Ha! I said we’d be as honest as dreams are—and we have been. You know -how dreams go—leaping from rock to rock—clearing all difficulties—you -and the subject to the predestined end.” - -“What is the predestined end?” said Curiosity. - -“To make you happy.” - -“Is that a part of love?” - -“All of mine,” he said. - -She stretched out her hand. - -“Oh, you’re rather good. I’m glad you came, you have given me back what -I had lost.” - -“What?” - -“You’ve given me hope.” - -“I wish I could give you reality.” - -“Hope is better, New Friend.” - -“Until it dies.” - -“It shan’t die,” said Eve, with a sudden fierceness. - -“But if it should, would not reality help you to forget?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“How would you know if hope had died?” - -“If—if he failed me altogether,” she slowly answered. - -“I understand,” said Quiltan. - - - VI - -Wynne Rendall was not a little irritated at Quiltan’s failure to keep -the appointment. He lunched alone at the club, and for want of better -occupation strolled round to the theatre afterwards. He walked on to the -stage at the very moment Miss Esme was beginning her scene, and, -observing him, this young lady very promptly gave up all attempts to -proceed, and said: - -“I do wish you wouldn’t come to rehearsals—you frighten me most -dreadfully.” - -“Come along, Miss Waybury,” insisted the stage manager. - -But Wynne held up his hand. - -“Wait a bit. We’ll go over it together. Take the rest through, Henson, -and read for Miss Waybury.” - -He led the way to a comfortable office which had been set aside for his -use, and nodded Esme toward one of the big leather chairs. - -“Now then, what’s the matter with you?” - -“You frighten me.” - -“Do I?” - -“Umps!” - -“Don’t believe it,” said Wynne. “You’re up to some mischief, you are.” - -Esme pouted and looked at him demurely for just the right length of -time. - -“I’m not.” - -“Oh, yes you are.” - -Esme hesitated. “Well, I can’t help liking you.” - -“Heroic announcement of an infatuated young lady. And now what good -purpose do you suppose that will serve?” - -“No good.” - -“At the first guess!” - -“Because you’re so stand off.” - -“Would the purpose be any better if I weren’t?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Well, think.” - -“No. You’re horrid—you’re trying to tie me up.” - -“Believe me!” Wynne negatived. - -“Yes, in words—and I can’t talk.” - -“Eloquent in other ways?” - -“I’m not.” - -“Oh, yes. That pout, for instance.” - -“You _are_ horrid.” - -“But I like the pout. You pout ever so much better than you act—you -should stick to pouting. Pout now!” - -“I shan’t.” - -“Come, just a little one—one small pout.” - -“No.” - -“I insist.” - -“You can’t make me.” - -“I’m waiting.” - -Esme covered her mouth with her hand. “Now what are you going to do?” - -“Wait—go on waiting.” - -Very slowly she lowered her hand, and for a short second he saw the -little red lips screwed up in obedience to his command. Absurd as it may -seem, the foolish conquest gave him a perplexing thrill. - -“Again,” he said. “It was too short.” - -“No,” said Esme, shaking her head. “I shan’t do it again. You’re -laughing at me.” - -She rose and moved a little toward him and the door. - -“And what’s wrong with that?” - -“Don’t want to be laughed at—not by you.” - -“I doubt if you know what you do want.” - -“’Tany rate I shan’t tell you.” - -“Wonderful independence!” - -“I’ll go back now, please.” - -“Never neglecting her studies for an instant!” - -Esme came level with him and laid her hand on the door knob. - -“Sometimes,” she began, “I think—I think—” - -“No.” - -“I think you are a very good little boy.” - -She opened the door, but as quickly he closed it again. - -“What do you mean by that?” - -Her eyes rested on the pattern of the carpet. There was brighter colour -on Wynne’s cheeks as he repeated: - -“What do you mean by that?” - -“Just what I said.” Her eyes were still lowered. “’Course I don’t blame -you—some people are born good—some people can’t help it—some people -aren’t plucky enough to be anything else.” - -They stood without moving, while new and insane senses started to pulse -in his side and throat. - -Then very slowly Esme raised her chin and looked at him, her eyes half -hidden by their lids, her lips curled in a moist, mocking pout. - -In an instant Wynne’s arms fastened round her, but she pressed away from -him. - -“You mustn’t kiss me—you mustn’t. If you did I don’t know what would -happen.” - -“I don’t care,” said Wynne, madly. - -So having won her pretty little battle she struggled no more, but put -her lips where best they might be reached. - - - VII - -Five minutes later he was speeding northward in a taxi. He had given the -driver his home address, but he said a second later: - -“No; drive me out Hampstead way—keep going—any old where.” - -Then he lay back and let the wind rush through his hair, while his -thoughts ran riot. - -His last words to Esme had been: - -“In a few days—I’ll arrange something.” - -He had meant it—he meant it still. She was nothing to him—only youth. -But youth was splendid. What did anything else matter? He felt like some -wild young thing of the forests when the “spring running” was in the -air. A great sense of release possessed him. It was unlike any other -sensation he had ever known. He was amazed it should have sprung from so -trivial a source, but ignored to inquire more deeply into this line of -thought. Had he but known it, the change that had come about in -him—that curious, half-wicked ecstasy—was of the same emotional -coinage that attacks the average boy when first he kisses a pretty -chambermaid in the dark of a dormitory corridor. - -As the taxi climbed the Hampstead hill his thoughts turned to Eve, and -he wondered how he should approach her in the telling of the affair. -After all, there was nothing to tell yet—but later there would be. - -In his insane exuberance he decided that he would make no attempt to -mask his actions. If he were not ashamed he would not act as though he -were. Emphatically not. Let people say what they might, he would steer -his own course—go his own way for all the world to see. - -Would Eve mind a great deal? Why should she? After all, there was but a -partnership of brain and work which bound each to each. He wondered even -if there would be any infidelity in what he proposed to do. - -But what had infidelity or partnership, or obligation or anything else, -to do with it? He was an artist, unruled by law or convention. If he -desired an excess of the brain he had indulged the desire—why not, -then, an excess of the body. - -In the middle of the Heath he left the taxi, and tramped across the soft -turf. He walked fast and in a large circle. As he went he sang to -himself, and once, hat in hand, chased a butterfly as a schoolboy might -have done. In the little clearing among the trees he came upon some boys -and girls playing a boisterous laughing game. The girls were flappers -with short skirts, and cheeks rosy with running. He stayed to watch -them, and, fired by enthusiasm, shouted encouragement to pursuer and -pursued. One of the bolder shouted back that he should join in, and -without a thought he threw aside his coat and was racing and laughing -with the rest. The game was postman’s knock, and as postman he caught -the prettiest after a spirited chase, and kissed her as they collapsed -into the tangled brambles. - -Still laughing and breathless, he picked up his coat and followed his -way. - -The sun was falling red, and the chill evening air tasted like -champagne. - -Champagne—yes—he would go to the club and drink champagne—lots of it. -He wanted to hear men talk—listen to and applaud their tales of -adventure. He had laughed at them—hurled at their frailty lampoons -through the press, and yet tonight he would laugh with them—yes, with -them, for they were right, and he, for all his wisdom, had been -wrong—wrong—wrong. - -God gave unto each man one life—to make the most of. That was the wise -man’s creed. - - “Of making many books there is no end: - and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” - -He arrived at the club about seven o’clock, and was informed that a -gentleman was waiting to see him. - -“I don’t want to see anybody. Who is he?” - -The page produced a card bearing the name, “Mr. Sefton Wainwright,” and -below, “New British Drama Association.” - -Every one had heard of the New British Drama Association. It was -rumoured that it would be the greatest and most progressive theatrical -enterprise in England. The scaffold-poles of the façade of their -splendid new theatre were already being taken down, and it was said that -the opening would be in the coming autumn. - -“How long had he been waiting?” - -“Nearly an hour, sir.” - -“Then he deserves to see me.” - -Mr. Wainwright was very affable, also he was very businesslike. - -“We want three producers on our permanent staff—a business producer, a -classic producer, and one with a _flair_ like yourself. We mean to do -things at our theatre, Mr. Rendall!” - -“Aha.” - -“Well, what about it?” - -“I’m a writer.” - -“So much the better. You’ll have plenty of time.” - -“I believe I’m a mercenary too.” - -“A thousand a year any good?” - -Wynne smiled. - -“I have lived on less,” he said. - -“Then I repeat, what about it?” - -“If you’ll do a play of mine I’ll think more kindly of the offer.” - -“Send it right along. And in the meantime—” - -“You let me know about the play and I’ll let you know about the -producing.” - -“Very well—today is Friday. Shall we say Friday week?” - -“I’ll come and see you at eleven o’clock.” - -“And you like the idea?” - -“I like everything. I’m in love with the world today.” - -At dinner Wynne drank a large quantity of champagne, and insisted that -every one else in the immediate neighbourhood should do likewise. As he -drank his spirits rose, and so also did his voice. There was a great -deal of laughter and much wit—and the wit was accorded more laughter -than it deserved. After dinner there were brandies and sodas and more -wit—lots of wit—so much wit that every one was witty at once and -missed their neighbour’s scintillations. Under the influence of the -brandies and sodas wit ripened to adventure. Many and glorious were the -adventures recited, and it seemed that all save Wynne had adventured -deeply. He leaned against the mantelshelf and looked at the brave with -bright eyes. - -“Oh, you marvellous Lotharios!” he cried. “To think that you, Anson—and -you, too, Braithwaite—should have adventured along paths denied to -myself.” - -Many wise heads were shaken at this improbable suggestion. - -“No, no, no, I assure you—innocent, my lords and gentlemen—hand on -heart I say it” (much laughter and ironical cheers). “But I will turn -over a new leaf. The spring is in the air—the call! Guide me with your -wise lights to glades of Eros, for honestly”—he dropped into the -commonplace—“if I ran away with a girl I shouldn’t know where to run. -Tell me, some one.” - -“Depends on how secret you wish to be,” the some one replied. - -“Secret no—to hell with subterfuge!” cried Wynne, who had many drinks -beneath his waistcoat. “Love is for the light, the sunshine, and the -sea.” - -“Nothing for it but the Cosmopolis, Brighton.” - -“Right—every time. Marvellous Lotharios! Every time right. The -Cosmopolis, Brighton. I shan’t forget—write it down, some one, ’case I -do. Hullo, that you Quiltan?” - -Lane Quiltan, who had entered the room five minutes earlier, nodded. - -“Made an appointment, and you didn’t turn up.” - -“Yes.” - -“Lost a fine chance! Might have had an interest in something of mine.” - -“Might I?” - -“Had your chance—didn’t take it. Too late now!” - -“Is it?” said Quiltan. - - - - - PART EIGHT - THE LEAP - - - I - -Clementine Rendall lay in bed and watched the sun-patterns of the -string-coloured pile carpet. The birds on the lettuce-green trees of -Kensington Square sang gaily of summer and their adventurous flights -from the roof of John Barker’s to the happy hunting ground of Earl’s -Court. It was a good day, he reflected, a day full of scent and harmony, -and yet for some reason he felt oppressed. - -“Parsons,” he said, as his man entered with a small tea-tray. “Parsons, -I have an impression that I am not going to enjoy myself.” - -“I hope that won’t be so, sir.” - -“So do I, Parsons; but I fear the worst. How old am I?” - -“Fifty-one and three months.” - -“That’s not very old—but it’s too old!” - -“For what, sir?” - -“I don’t know. But I should like always to be young enough to go -courting when summer’s here. Dreadful thing when one loses the -inclination to court, isn’t it?” - -“I couldn’t say, sir.” - -“Then you’re not fifty-one.” - -“That was not my meaning.” - -“Seems to me, if one can’t go courting oneself one should show the lanes -to others. Know any one, Parsons, to whom I could show the lanes? I’d be -an awful good guide.” - -“I rather fancy, sir, young folk find ’em pretty easy without help.” - -“You’re wrong there—they don’t—least some don’t; they stick to the -barren moor and the wind-swept places. Not very good tea this morning, -Parsons.” - -“I’m sorry, sir.” - -“’Twouldn’t have been good, anyhow. I’m in for a bad day. I can feel it -in my bones.” - -Parsons laid out a tweed suit and a cheerful necktie, and placed a silk -dressing-gown over the bedrail. - -“Ready for your bath, sir?” - -“Yes, turn it on.” - -Parsons retired and returned a few moments later with the announcement: - -“A gentleman has called to see you, sir. I told him you wasn’t up, but -he asked permission to wait.” - -“Who is he?” - -“Mr. Lane Quiltan, sir.” - -“Quiltan, oh, yes—yes, wrote that play at the—. What’s he after?” - -“I don’t know, sir. Looked a bit worried, I thought.” - -“Oh! I don’t know the fellar. What’s he like? Think he’d care for me in -my dressing-gown?” - -“I could ask, sir.” - -“Yes, ask, and tell him if he wants me in a suit he can’t have me at -all.” - -Clementine Rendall swung his feet to the floor as the door closed and -felt for his slippers. He pulled on the bandanna dressing-gown, lit a -cigarette, and combed his hair. As he did so he sang cheerfully a song -written to the occasion: - - “I don’t know the fellar, - I don’t know the fellar, - I don’t know the fellar, - Or who the hell he is.” - -At the conclusion he became aware of the reflection of a stranger in the -mirror. - -“Hullo! Mr. Quiltan,” he said. “Excuse my song—went with the comb -strokes. Liked your play no end—top hole! Sit down, won’t you. What you -come to see me for, eh?” - -Quiltan hesitated. - -“It’s difficult to answer,” he replied, “for really I don’t know.” - -“That’s the style. Just a friendly visit.” - -“Not altogether. I want to talk to some one—and I chose you. I’m in -love.” - -“I envy you.” - -“You needn’t, for I’m as miserable as hell.” - -“It’s all a part of it.” - -“And I don’t know what to do.” - -“It’s all a part of it.” - -“Don’t you want to know with whom I’m in love?” - -“Does it concern me?” - -“In a way it does.” - -“Fire ahead.” - -“Wynne Rendall is your nephew, isn’t he? I’m in love with his wife.” - -Clementine shot a quick, fierce glance at his visitor. - -“Oh! Well, hadn’t you better get over it?” - -“I’m not sure that I want to. Not at all sure.” - -“Then I’m glad you came to see me. Why did you?” - -“Your name occurred last night. She said that you understood. Well, I -want you to understand, that’s all; to understand that, if anything goes -wrong, it’s her husband’s fault, not hers.” - -“And not yours?” The question was very direct. - -“No, by God, I believe not mine either. I want her to be happy—I think -of nothing else.” - -“And isn’t she?” - -“You know the life she’s led!” - -“Well?” - -“Doesn’t that answer the question? He treats her as if she didn’t exist. -I verily believe he isn’t even conscious of her.” - -“Is she in love with you?” - -Quiltan hesitated. “Not yet—but I think I could make her.” - -“Ha! Make her love you that you may make her happy, eh? Roundabout -scheme, isn’t it?” - -“She shall be happy. I’m determined on that.” - -“You’re very sympathetic.” - -“I am.” - -Clem’s voice softened. - -“I believe you are,” he said. “Tell me—what’s the trouble there?” - -“He’s cheated her, and used her as a ladder to climb from her world. -It’s a damnable enough story—d’you want to hear it?” - -“No—no—no. I can fill in the gaps. But look here! D’you think a lover -will make up for what she’s lost? And are you sure she has lost? That’s -the point to decide.” - -“I say he ignores her—isn’t conscious of her—” - -“But imagine what might happen if he were.” - -“He never will be.” - -“You’re very sure.” - -“Absolutely.” - -“How long have you known her?” - -“We met first last Friday.” - -“And today’s Thursday. Six days?” - -“We’ve met every day since.” - -“Does he know that?” - -“No.” - -“Tell him.” - -“Why should I?” - -“You said you wanted her to be happy.” - -“I do, but why should I tell him?” - -“Love is a light sleeper—who wakes very easily. Tell him—wake him up. -The boy is drunk with success—blind drunk. Are you going to steal from -a blind man?” - -“I shan’t tell him,” said Quiltan, slowly. - -“No, because you’re a coward. Frightened of losing ground. Her -happiness! You don’t give a damn for it beside your own.” - -“That’s not true. If I refuse to tell him, it’s because he wouldn’t care -if I did. God! he isn’t even faithful to her.” - -Clementine Rendall sprang to his feet and dropped a hand on Quiltan’s -shoulder. - -“You’re inventing it—inventing it.” - -“No. He boasted at the club the other night of a girl he would take to -Brighton.” - -“He was drunk.” - -“He had been drinking.” - -“Who listens to a drunken man?” - -“He was sober enough to mean it. Besides, it’s true. I know the -girl—Esme Waybury, a pretty, flaxen little strumpet—week-end wife to -any bidder—understudying at the theatre. You needn’t doubt the facts. -Half the company knows by this time.” - -Clem rapped his closed fist upon the table. - -“I hate this,” he exclaimed, “hate it! What will she do—Eve?” - -“God knows. It’ud be the last knock. God knows how she’ll take it. -Anything might happen—she’s extraordinary, and she’s counted on him so -much—built up a future of hopes. It’s pitiable. If he fails her -altogether—” - -“If?” - -“As he will tomorrow night.” - -“Tss!” - -“Sounds sordid enough, doesn’t it?” - -“Well, what then?” - -“As I said—anything. She might jump off a bridge.” - -“Or fall into your arms, eh?” - -“They are waiting.” - -For a moment or two Clementine paced the floor of the bedroom, his brows -creased and his chin down. - -“Where’s it all going to lead? How are we going to pull ’em out?” - -“Them?” - -“Yes. For the boy’s worth saving when he comes to life. I’m sorry for -him—damn sorry.” - -“Think he’s worth it?” - -“Worth it? Of course he’s worth it. One can see—you can’t, perhaps, but -I can—why this has happened. She knows too. One gets a true perspective -right down the aisle of all those straining, striving years through -which he struggled. A boy of no physique, whose mind was a great -question-mark, and a mighty desire to find the answer. That was all that -mattered—Nature could go hang. He’s dragooned that body of his to carry -the mind to the places where the answers might be found—worked, toiled, -sweated, starved for that ideal, asking no help, accepting no charity, -driving, driving forward on the fuel of his own brain. Then she -came—the all-understanding she—and took half the burden from his -shoulders, and built up his neglected body to the likeness of a man. -Nature was coming back! She knew his ideals, and wanted him to realize -them—gave up herself that he might realize them, for there was a -promise in his eyes that she and the ideals might be one.” - -“Will it come true?” - -“God knows; but He does not put promises there for nothing. It’s all -outside their reach now. Now Nature is taking a hand—cruel, tempting, -thrilling old Nature. She’s found the untried subject, and is whispering -her thousand impulses in his ear. Take your mind back, Quiltan. Can’t -you remember how it was? Can’t you recall the first pretty face you -kissed, for no better reason than a whisper of Nature’s that today it -would be different from what it had been before. And wasn’t it -different? And didn’t Nature whisper to you that night of a thousand -other differences? And didn’t you tremble and wonder, and wasn’t -curiosity alive in you? Oh, man, it comes to all of us sooner or later, -and the later it comes the more devil there is to pay. A boy is young -enough to be afraid and old enough to live clean; but a man is not -afraid, and when his passions come to life they rule him through and -through, and no damned power on earth can turn them aside.” - -“There isn’t much hope, then, for her.” - -“It looks like that. But we’ve got to try.” - -“Are you going to see him?” - -“Not for an instant.” - -“Then what?” - -“Don’t know. Perhaps something will turn up. But you’ll give her her -chance?” - -Quiltan hesitated. - -“Come on, man!” - -“Very well.” - -“Word of honour?” - -“Word of honour.” - -“Good. Where can I find you tomorrow?” - -“You’ve got my card. I’ll stop in all day.” - -“There’s a good chap.” - -Quiltan rose and moved toward the door. - -“Good-bye, then.” - -“’Bye.” - - - II - -Wynne rose from the breakfast table and took a step toward the window. -Then he turned abruptly, as a man will who has something important to -say. - -“Yes,” said Eve. - -He shook his head. “Nothing. I—er. No, nothing.” - -It was the first time he had spoken that morning. They had sat opposite -each other in silence, and three times he had opened his lips as if -about to speak, only to close them again. - -They were both near, perilously near, saying many things to each other, -but that unexplainable conversational barrier which holds up the traffic -of speech had risen between them. For six days it had been thus, six -days in which they had not expressed a word that was not commonplace. - -That night at the club it had seemed easy enough to Wynne to come and -tell his wife that red blood was coursing in his veins, and white -carelessness had thrown an arm about his shoulders. It had seemed a -simple and an honest confession. She was concerned in him, and had a -right to know. Yet try as he would his pluck broke down before the -ordeal. He could do no more than look at her furtively and postpone. - -Wynne hated himself when he shirked a deed. Want of courage galled him, -and the knowledge that he lacked the temerity to put his intentions into -words seemed to clip the wings of the new mad impulses which possessed -him. - -All the while Eve knew there was something he wanted to say, but she -could not fathom what manner of thing it might be. Thus from his silence -grew her own, each waiting for the other to begin. - -The day before he had telephoned to the Cosmopolis for rooms. He and -Esme were going down by the 9.15 that night. As an understudy it was -easy for her to be released from appearing at the theatre on the -Saturday. If Eve were to be told it would have to be at once, for the -appointment with the British Drama Association was at eleven o’clock. - -He put a cigarette in his mouth and tapped his pocket for matches. - -“Empty,” he said. - -“I’ll get you some.” - -“Doesn’t matter.” - -“I’m going to the kitchen with these things.” - -As she went from the room carrying the tray he noticed how shabby she -was. He was not irritated, but it seemed wrong, somehow. Presently she -returned and laid a box of matches on the table. - -“Thanks. I—” - -“Yes.” - -“I shall want a box. I’m just going out.” - -“I see.” - -“Got to—er—see some people. Might be rather good. Do my play, perhaps, -and a big production job. Quite good, it might be.” - -“I’m glad.” - -“Yes. ’Pointment at eleven. There’s—er—. Didn’t you want some -furniture for this place?” - -“No,” said Eve. - -“Thought you said—” - -“I may have done—but—” - -“No reason why you shouldn’t have it.” - -A vague hope took shape, but it was too vague to risk encouraging him to -say more. Often before the hope had arisen, only to fall to dust. - -She made no answer. - -“No reason at all why you shouldn’t have it,” he repeated, “or any -clothes you want. Don’t you want some clothes? You do.” - -Still she made no answer. - -“Come on.” - -“I want clothes—yes.” - -“Well, get them, I mean.” - -“Is that all—all you mean?” - -“Yes, I think so.” - -“I don’t want any clothes,” said Eve. - -He looked at her uneasily, then at his watch. - -“I ought to be off.” - -She nodded. - -“Shall you be back?” - -He hesitated. - -“Probably; but don’t keep anything for me if I’m late. I may—be late.” - -As the door closed Eve said, very gently: - -“Oh, we’re having a hell of a life.” - -Wynne went to his bedroom and pulled out a drawer. He threw a shirt or -two and some collars on to the bed, then rummaged for a suit case behind -the dressing-table. - -“Damn the things, I can buy what I want,” he said. - -Eve heard the front door slam a moment later. - - - III - -At the offices of the New British Drama Association Wynne met some -important gentlemen, and the words they spoke acted upon him like good -red wine. - -“It’s an astonishing play,” said Mr. Howard Delvin, who was not given to -encomiums. “So astonishing that we propose to use it for our opening -event.” - -“I thought _you’d_ like it, Mr. Delvin,” said Wynne. - -“I don’t like it—I dislike it very much indeed. I said it was an -astonishing play, and that is exactly what I meant. Your wit is -positively polar, there is no other word; and your philosophy is -glacial—with all the hard, clear transparence of ice. My personal -inclination is to put the whole play in a stewpan and boil it, for if -any man were clever enough to raise its temperature to blood heat he -would have achieved a play—I say it in all sincerity—of incomparable -worth. However, we’re satisfied, and now well see if we can satisfy -you.” - -When Wynne departed from that erudite circle he felt almost -sublime—like nightingales sang their words of praise. A wild elation -prompted him to sing, to dance, to fill his lungs with the thin air of -the high peaks to which he had leapt. With youth in one hand and success -in the other there were no limits to the achievements which might be -his. - -He felt a frenzied desire to celebrate—to celebrate wildly. - -He lunched at Scott’s, and ordered a lobster, because its livery was -scarlet, and a rare champagne, because it beat against the glass. He -pledged himself and the future—the broad, untrammelled future—and -drank damnation to the cobwebs of dull care. - -The wine fired his brain and imagination, restocked his courage, and set -his heart a-thumping. - -“Paper and an envelope and some Napoleon brandy,” he called to the -waiter. And when these were brought: - -“I was a waiter once—just such a fellow as yourself—a very devil of a -waiter. Here’s a sovereign. Go and be happy.” - -The white paper lay before him, and he dashed a dozen careless words -across its surface. The envelope he addressed to his wife. - -“Here,” he cried, “send that along in an hour or two. God bless you.” - -He rose and pushed his way through the swing doors. - - - IV - -Clementine Rendall spent the morning in a peculiar fashion. He first -called on his banker, and, armed with many banknotes, took a cab to the -Vandyke Theatre. At the stage door he inquired for Miss Esme Waybury. - -“Just gone,” said the doorkeeper, “half an hour ago.” - -“Unfortunate. Now I wonder when I could see her. Comes out about eleven -at night, I s’pose?” - -“Get out ’bout nine. Understudyin’, she is.” - -“I wonder if you could ask her to wait a little tonight.” - -The doorkeeper negatived the idea: “Wouldn’t be any good. She’s a-goin’ -to Brighton by the 9.15, and won’t be back till Monday. Ast me to have a -cab ready.” - -“I see. ’Safternoon I’m engaged. But you could give me her address, no -doubt.” - -“Couldn’t. ’Tisn’t allowed.” - -“Nonsense. I’m her uncle. Right to know.” - -He produced silver in generous quantities, to which the doorkeeper -succumbed. - -Miss Esme had a flat in Maida Vale, whither Clementine Rendall proceeded -with all dispatch. - -In the taxi he reflected that he had set himself a foolish and a -hopeless task. Even supposing he succeeded in buying off Miss Esme, -nothing would have been achieved. To postpone a crisis is not to avert -it. Accordingly he thrust his head from the window and addressed the -driver: - -“Look here—I don’t want to go to Maida Vale. Drive me to Whatshisname -Mansions—one of the turnings off Baker Street. I’ll rap on the glass to -show you.” And as he subsided on the cushions again: “Heaven knows what -I shall do when I get there.” - -He found a porter, who directed him to Wynne’s flat, and though assailed -by many doubts, he beat a cheerful tattoo upon the knocker. - -“Hullo!” he exclaimed, when Eve opened the door. - -“Can you do with a visitor?” - -Without waiting for the answer he kissed her very cordially, and putting -a friendly arm round her shoulders carried her off to the sitting-room. - -“As you never come and see me I came to see you,” he announced. “Well, -how’s things?” - -“Oh, they are all right.” - -There was a restraint in her manner, which even his cheeriness was -unable to break down. He could feel a sense of crisis in the atmosphere. - -“And Wynne?” - -“He’s out.” - -“Out to lunch?” - -“Yes.” - -“Brain storm!—we’ll go out too.” - -“You and I?” - -“As ever is! Get yer hat.” - -Eve hesitated. “I—” - -“Don’t tell me you haven’t a hat.” - -She laughed. “No; but it’s so long since I went out to lunch, probably I -shouldn’t know how to behave.” - -“I never could,” he answered. “Eat peas with my knife, talk with my -mouth full—never was such a fellar as me. Come on—lively does it. What -’ud you like to do afterwards?” - -“Anything.” - -“’Cos I’ve an idea—more’n that, I’ve the means of carrying it out. -Listen to the program: Taxi; a sole and a cutlet at the Berkeley Grill, -with just a little Rhine wine to help it along. Then what? I suggest a -picture gallery, and you nod—I suggest a theatre, and you nod a bit -more agreeably. Finally, I suggest a shopping excursion up Bond Street -and down Regent Street, with a taxi rolling from door to door to carry -the parcels; at this you nod vigorously—and perhaps you smile. You -shall have a Crême de Cacao after your ice, and then you _will_ smile. -The third and last proposal is carried unanimously, and before we start -we make out a complete trousseau on the back of the menu card. Outside -and inside we’ll get the lot. What do you say?” - -Eve leant over and touched his hand. - -“It sounds so lovely,” she said in a trembling voice; “but what do I -want with a trousseau?” - -“Want with it? Every one wants a trousseau.” - -“If anybody cared how you looked in it.” - -Uncle Clem’s forehead clouded, and his eyes rested upon her. As he -looked he noted how sadly she was dressed. - -“Little Eve,” he said, “has he ever seen you in a trousseau? I -mean—look here, my dear, we men are such poor trivial, sleepy beings. -We only wake up when something bangs us in the eye. Have you never -thought it might be worth while to bang him in the eye with all that -beauty of yours in the setting it deserves? You see we get used to -things as they are, and never bother our heads with things as they might -be. Don’t answer. I know it’s all quite indefensible, and I know you -know it too. But just for fun—for a lark—a spree, let’s go out and do -this thing. He’ll be in later, yes?” - -“He said he would come to dinner.” - -“Then we’ll fill in the time between then and now, and I’ll take -charge.” - -Eve stood up suddenly. - -“Why—why do you always make me feel it will be all right?” - -“It will. There, be off and get your hat.” - -“Very well.” At the door she turned. “I have a frock if you’ll let me -put it on. You won’t have to take me out in this old thing.” - -“Have you worn it for him?” - -“No.” - -“Silly girl. Wear it for me, then. I’ll wait.” - -As the door closed he muttered to himself: - -“Wonder why the devil I’m buoying up her hopes. Wonder where we’ll be -this time tomorrow?” - -Clementine Rendall was a wonderful host, and he ordered the most -delicious luncheon. He and monsieur, the faultless monsieur, laid their -heads together and made decisions over the menu with a deliberation -Downing Street might have envied. Monsieur would touch the title of some -precious dish with the extreme point of pencil, and Clem would nod or -query the suggestion. At last the decision was made, brought up for -amendment, and finally approved. - -The cooking was incomparable, and Uncle Clem matched his spirits to its -perfection. Gradually he drew Eve out, and by the time the last course -was set before them she was full of exquisite plans for the things they -would buy together. The harmony of the surroundings, the attention, the -good food, and the subtle white wine worked a miracle of change. Her -eyes softened and took fresh lustre, her cheeks glowed with a gentle -colour, and her voice warmed. - -Noting these matters Uncle Clem was glad, but feared greatly. - -“Now for the shops,” she said. - -They had scarcely turned the corner of Piccadilly before he rapped -against the glass of the taxi. - -“Barrett’s!” he cried; “we mustn’t pass poor old Barrett’s without -giving them a look in.” - -Next instant they were in those pleasant leather-smelling showrooms, and -an attentive assistant was directing their gaze to rows of dressing -bags, both great and small. - -“Make your choice—mustn’t lose time.” - -“Am I really to have one of those bright bottley things?” - -“’Course you are; what’s old Barrett run the place for? Choose, and -quick about it.” - -Long economy prompted Eve to decide upon the smallest and cheapest. -Whereupon Clementine pointed to another with his stick, and cried: - -“Sling it in the taxi—you know me! Right! On we go.” - -But he did not go on before he had purchased a great spray of malmaisons -at Solomon’s. - -“Hats, dresses, and all the rest of it! Bond Street, cabby.” - -In Bond Street he was at his best. He insisted on following Eve through -all manner of extraordinary departments. - -“Oh, go on with you. I’m old enough to have been married years ago. I’ll -look out of the window if you like—but if the bill ain’t big enough I -shall turn round. Get busy!” - -Infected by his enthusiasm Eve got busy, and two great boxes of -exquisite frillies floated down to the taxi. - -“When we’ve filled this cab we’ll get another,” he declared as they -clambered in and took their seats. - -At Redfern’s, in Conduit Street, he showed that he was a man of -discrimination. He paraded the _mannequins_, and bought four dresses -after a deal of inspection and deliberation. - -“But four’s such a heap!” said Eve. - -“Nonsense. I’ll make it six if you say another word. Here, bundle off -and put on that fawn thing—know it’ll suit you—want to see how you -look! I’ll go and choose hats. I’m a whaler on hats.” - -So while she changed he went off hatting, to the great joy of the -department, and returned with many. - -Eve was very quick, and as she came from the little changing-room he had -a wild desire to cheer. - -“Lord! You look lovely! Here, try some of these. Ain’t I a chooser? This -one! Ain’t it a tartar—the very devil of a little hat.” - -He was right. - -“It!” he cried. “It! Clicks with the dress every time! Keep it on. Here, -some of you kind young ladies, this lot for the taxi. Bill! Splendid.” - -He shovelled out a handful of notes and they followed their purchases to -the street. - -“No more,” begged Eve, between laughter and tears. “Not any more today.” - -“Gloves—shoes—’brollies must be bought.” - -He was inexorable, and it was six o’clock before the laden taxi rolled -them to the door of the Mansions. - -“You’ve given me my most wonderful day,” she said. - -“You child!” he answered, and pressed her hand. “There are lots more -wonderful days ahead—remember that.” - -Then he and she, and the driver, each burdened sky-high with packages, -mounted the stairs to the flat. - -As Uncle Clem paid the fare, Eve stooped and picked up a note from the -door-mat. She opened it as he closed the door. - -“God!” she said, in a very little voice. - -He took the note and read it. - - - V - -Twenty minutes later Clementine Rendall was hammering on Quiltan’s front -door. - -He had seen what to do. It had come to him very suddenly with all the -force of a strong white light. He had made no attempt to comfort -Eve—she had not needed that. Wynne Rendall’s note had done its work -strangely. At the death of her hopes Eve had laughed a careless, wanton -laugh. It was the laugh which gave him the idea. - -“Mr. Quiltan—at once!” he said to the servant who opened the door. - -“Well?” said Quiltan. - -“You’re in love with Eve?” - -“Yes.” - -“Will you run away with her—now?” - -“Now?” - -“At once. Go and make love to her. Don’t be frightened, it will be quite -easy. She knows. Then take her away.” - -“But I don’t understand.” - -“Have you got a car?” - -“Yes.” - -“Order it. Pack her inside and get away to Brighton.” - -“Brighton?” - -“I said so—the Cosmopolis.” - -“But good God! he’s going there.” - -“She doesn’t know that.” - -“Have you gone mad?” - -“Thought you wanted her to be happy?” - -“I do.” - -“Thought you were prepared to give her the chance.” - -“Yes, but—” - -“Then do as I say. Take her to Brighton. She’ll go—give her supper in -the public room at 10.30. Don’t look so blank, man. After all, it’s ten -to one against, and the odds are with you.” - -Quiltan hesitated. “It’s so extraordinary.” - -“Quiltan! if you refuse to do this thing I’ll shoot you—by God! I -believe I will.” - -Quiltan rang the bell. - -“I want the car,” he said—“immediately—and—and a suit case.” - - - VI - -Eve scarcely spoke in the car as they drove over the long, undulating -road to Brighton. When Quiltan came to the flat he found her with a -queer hard light in her eyes. She nodded in a detached kind of way when -he told her he knew. In the same detached way she listened to his -half-scared, wholly genuine, protestations of love. She even allowed him -to kiss her. - -“I want you to come with me,” he had said—“to come away now.” - -And with a fierceness which astonished him she had answered: - -“Yes—yes— I don’t care—I will—will. Seems rather funny to me! All -right. I’ve heaps of clothes—I’ll come—yes.” - -At Crawley a tyre burst, and it took nearly an hour to wake up a garage -and procure a new outer cover. It was after 10.30 when they drew up -before the Cosmopolis, with all its naughty lights winking at the sea. - -Eve laughed as they stood in the foyer, and the porter brought in her -beautiful new suit case. - -“Don’t,” said Quiltan. - -For the first time she seemed aware of his presence, and turned with -kindlier light in her eyes. - -“I’m sorry. I’m not playing the game, am I? But it _does_ seem funny. I -suppose we have supper now. Will you wait, and I’ll run up and put on a -pretty frock for you?” - -He would have stopped her, but she was gone with the words. - -Rather nervously he entered the great dining-hall and ordered a table -for two. There were many guests present, and his eyes travelled quickly -from table to table. Wynne was nowhere to be seen, and with this a -sudden intolerable excitement seized him. It was short-lived, however, -for his next glance lighted on the fluffy head of little Miss Esme, her -eyes demurely lowered over a dessert plate. Facing her, with his back to -Quiltan, sat Wynne. They were some distance away, and while the room was -crowded it was impossible to see them from the table he had taken. - -Quiltan took a cigarette from his case and passed out to wait for Eve. - -As she stepped from the lift he thought her the most wonderful being he -had ever seen. Fragile—adorable—desirable—everything to set a man’s -heart on fire. - -With a passion he could not control he whispered: - -“You dear, beautiful—beautiful dear!” - -Her answering smile seemed to come from a long way off. - -They took their places, hers looking in the direction of Wynne’s table, -and a busy waiter approached: - -“Ah, in one minute the supper. Wine? Cliquot ver’ good.” - -“Champagne?” queried Quiltan. - -“I suppose so—yes, of course.” - -He gave the order. - -A _consommé_ was brought in little cups. Presently a cork popped into a -serviette and the creaming wine tinkled into the glasses. A few guests -at the neighbouring table rose and left, one or two others following -their example. - -The company began to thin out, and vistas occurred through which one -could see people in other parts of the room. The conversation lost its -general constant hum and became isolated and more individual. - - - VII - -“You are a quiet old boy, aren’t you?” whispered Miss Esme. - -Wynne started and raised his head. - -“What—what’s that?” - -“I say you are quiet.” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“Funny old boy!” - -He called a waiter. - -“Get me some more cigarettes—these little boxes hold none at all.” - -“You smoke too much.” - -He played with a cold cigarette-end upon his plate. - -“You simply haven’t stopped.” - -“What?” - -“I say”—she whispered it—“isn’t it lovely being down here—just we -two?” - -“Um.” - -He crumbled a piece of bread, then swept the crumbs to the floor. He -shot a quick glance at her, lowered his eyes, picked up the -cigarette-end again, and drew with it upon his plate. - -“I say—” - -“Wish that waiter would do what he is told.” - -Esme sighed and stole a shy glance at the clock. - -“Isn’t it getting late?” - -“Is it? I don’t know—I’m a late person. Ah, that’s better!” - -He took the cigarettes from the waiter and lighted one. - -When the man had gone, Esme remarked: - -“Everybody seems to be going away. Nobody left soon—but us.” - -“H’m.” - -“I love Brighton. Don’t you love the sea? I do—and the hills—oh, I -love the hills!” - -Quite suddenly Wynne said: - -“Must you talk such a lot?” - -“Oh,” said Esme, “you old cross patch.” - -A party of people at a round table in the centre of the room rose and -moved toward the door. - - - VIII - -Eve and Quiltan sat in silence as course after course was brought to -them. His few efforts to talk had broken down, and all he could do was -to look at her—look at this woman who _might_ become his. - -As the party from the round table passed them by he said: - -“Emptying now.” - -Eve roused herself, and her eyes wandered round the room. Suddenly she -leant forward with a sharp little gasp in her throat. - -“What is it?” said Quiltan, although he knew. - -She ignored his question. Her eyes were wide open and bright. Then she -laughed a cold, quick laugh. - -“I’m glad,” she whispered—“yes, I’m glad—glad. Look!” - -She did not notice if he acted well or ill when he saw the sight he had -expected to see. - -“What are you going to do?” he asked. - -“I don’t know—don’t care.” - -She did not move her eyes from Wynne’s table, and after a moment a -puzzled look came into her face. She had recognized his attitude. He -always sat like that, with his head down and his fingers fidgeting, when -he was irritated. But why now? A sudden insane desire possessed her to -spring to her feet and cry aloud. - -Then Esme’s eyes, wandering once more toward the clock, met hers, and in -an instant Eve smiled and bowed. Esme looked surprised, and Eve smiled -again. - -“Some one over there knows me,” said Esme, “but I don’t know her. No, -you mustn’t look, ’cos she’s too pretty.” - -Wynne turned slowly in the direction indicated, and saw. His napkin -dropped to the floor, and unsteadily he rose to his feet. He rubbed one -hand over his eyes as though to clear the vision. He took a few quick -steps to the centre of the room—stopped—then came on again. - -And all the while Eve kept her eyes on his. - -Beside her table he stopped, and looked from one to the other, his mouth -twitching and his face strangely white. - -“Yes—well?” he said, as if expecting they would be ready with -explanation. - -“What are you doing here?” - -“Or you?” she answered. - -“What’s _he_ doing?” - -“Or _she_?” - -“Come on.” - -“Can’t you see?” - -“No.” - -“We said when we took the leap we’d take it together. We are.” - -Quiltan rose and moved a little away. - -“I shall want you,” whispered Wynne. - -“No, you won’t,” said Eve. - -Quiltan walked from the room. In the hall he waited indecisively. Then -he remembered the flash of a light seen in Wynne’s eyes—a light of -possession—wild, primal, outraged possession. He drew a quick -conclusion. - -“I’m no good,” he thought. Then, turning to the porter, “I want that car -of mine.” He waited in the porch until it came. - -Wynne jerked his head toward the door. - -“Out of this,” he said. “Can’t talk here.” - -He moved to the half-light of a deserted winter garden beyond the -dining-hall, and suddenly he spoke, very fast and hoarsely: - -“You and that fellar—wasn’t true!” - -“Yes it was.” - -“God!” - -“Why not?” - -“God! But you’re mine.” - -“You say that.” - -“Mine.” - -“In what possible way?” - -“You are—you are! My woman—mine!” - -“And that other one?” - -“That! Nothing—it’s you—you!” - -He clenched and unclenched his hands. Then caught at a random hope: - -“You knew I was here—came because of that.” - -She shook her head. - -“You did.” - -“I came with him.” - -His hands fell on her shoulders and shook her fiercely. - -“For Christ’s sake! no, that’s not the reason!” - -The wild agony in his voice started the honest answer: - -“I came because of what you’re doing.” - -He stopped, caught his breath, took fresh fear, and sobbed out: - -“But—but you’ve never looked—like this before—you never looked like -this for _me_.” - -“Did you ever want me to look like this for you? Did you ever—— -Oh—oh—oh!” - -She turned, covered her eyes with her hands, and fell sobbing on to a -chair. - -And he fell on his knees beside her, and fought to draw away her hands, -calling: - -“Oh, God! I haven’t lost you! For God’s sake!—for Christ’s sake!—I -haven’t lost you!” - - - IX - -Miss Esme sat at her table wearing an expression of absolute amazement. -A slight but growing tendency toward tears emphasized itself in her -small and brittle soul. She, of all the guests, remained in the room. -Presently the lights were lowered one by one, and presently an elderly -gentleman detached himself from a shadowy seat in a window corner and -came toward her. - -“Don’t you think you’d better be going?” he said, in the kindliest -possible way. - -Esme started. - -“I beg your pardon—n-no, I must wait for my husband.” - -“Dear me! I shouldn’t do that, because—I mean—after all—you haven’t -one—and he has a wife already.” - -“Oh!” she exclaimed, “then that—” - -“Quite so. Splendid, isn’t it?” - -“But—who are you?” - -“Just a friend.” - -“Of course,” said Esme, trying to recover a grain of lost prestige. “I -hadn’t any idea he was married.” - -“’Course not. Not in the least to blame.” - -“Fancy his being married!” - -“I’m doing that,” said Clem, with rather a wonderful expression on his -face. “But, look here, suppose we do the rest of our fancyin’ in the -12.30 to town? Nice time to catch it.” - -“Well, I can’t stop here, can I?” - -“Wouldn’t do.” - -They had a first-class compartment all to themselves, and Uncle Clem -made a most favourable impression upon Miss Esme. She thought him such a -nice old gentleman. He talked of such pleasant things in such a pleasant -way. He wasn’t a bit prudish, and seemed to think she had done perfectly -right in coming away with Wynne. - -“Still, I do think it was very wrong of him, as he was married,” she -said. - -“Yes—yes—yes. Still, it’s a queer world. You see he may have forgotten -he was married—some folk do. He may never really have known—but he -_will_ know. My dear, it isn’t until we realize the wonder of another -that we become wonderful ourselves. You don’t know what you’ve done for -that young man.” - -“Somehow I don’t believe I should like to have married him,” said Esme, -thoughtfully. - -“You don’t! No! Well, there you are, you see! Yet somebody is always -wanted by somebody else, and that somebody else can always make that -somebody into something. Victoria! Wouldn’t be any harm to kiss you -good-night, would it? ’Course not! That’s right Splendid!” - - - THE END - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -A few obvious punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected -without note. When multiple spellings occurred, majority use has been -employed. - -A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public -domain. - -[End of _Our Wonderful Selves_ by Roland Pertwee] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR WONDERFUL SELVES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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